#fucking adding like 5k to the story but it’s 5k of CRIME

[britcision]

Listen. Could Dead and Loving It be a fraction of the length and maybe finished by now if I only focused on Danny and Jason?

Possibly

Would it be a better story?

Probably, from several perspectives

But it absolutely would not be the same story, and nor would it be the story I want to tell

Because I am hopelessly addicted to ensemble casts, and I don’t want the boys to exist in a vacuum. I want Jason to run off with his siblings and with Danny’s friends, and I want Danny to fuck with the bats

I want them to touch all the parts of each others lives that existed before they met, and will still continue to exist after even if things change forever between them

I want all the background characters to interact with each other, have their own inner worlds and their own motivations, and yeah, this absolutely means this is not an efficient telling of a slow burn romance

Because the story isn’t the slow burn romance

The story is these two people, and the world they live in, the story is the way Duke and Cass both see Jason differently than Dick and Tim ever could and that matters, and that none of them are wrong

The story is Danny finally telling people who will listen about the Anti-Ecto Acts, and all the fucked up things the GIW do, and being able to ask for help and have that be okay

The story is messy and complicated and will have so many rises and falls, so many pivotal moments that are drama and combat and so many that are just two people talking to each other and finally seeing eye to eye

The story is the way that Jason’s relationships with his family can finally mend, now that he has someone who can get him the help he’s needed

The story is the way that Danny can come to terms with the responsibilities of being a king, the constant question of agency and power and what he’s worth if he’s only Danny and not the Ghost King

The story is Clockwork fucking with the pair of them because he specifically thinks it’s funny (he’s right)

And yeah, there’s a slow burn romance in there. There’s also a coming of age tale, and a story about healing and reconciling and moving forward knowing you cannot change the past, but you can do better

Unless fucking Clockwork decides you can change the past because yeah then it’s fine to just go do that I guess

I was kinda considering breaking the story out into multiple chunks because holy fuck is 100k an intimidating chunk of words, but I’m not gonna

It’s all one story, and you will be my hapless victims as we get to fucking 300k or wherever this beast ends because we are not here for efficient story telling and motion of the plot

We’re here for the connections, the characters, the meaningless bullshit that would absolutely be cut in anything anyone ever wanted to sell, cuz I am not selling this

Imma write every fucking scene I wish I got from books, TV, movies, podcasts, actual plays, every fucking time I scream at the characters to just fucking talk to each other because messy is good too

Messy is okay

Stories don’t need to be marketable to be worth telling, and this one’s gonna be too long and intimidating for some people and that’s okay

But I fuckin’ rolled in from Critical Role which averages around 500 hours of content per campaign and a cast of 7 plus Matt’s NPCs

And I STILL want more goddamn character moments from all of them so I haven’t found a size yet that I can’t manage

I love reading focused stories that I can get through fast, and fuck, look at the rest of my AO3; I will fucking never diss a one shot, or a short story, or a piece that really focuses in on one or two characters

Delicious, I love them, my bread and butter

It’s just not what this mess is gonna be, and that’s okay too

Gods be fucking willing we will not have another six chapters that take place over the course of three hours, but we’ll just have to see how that shakes out cuz I’m being possessed by a seemingly infinite number of plot bunnies and my own tendency for “hey it’d be funny if”

And oh boy has it been funny every time

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 8

A/N Too many emotions to make sense of it all

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

“Can’t believe he lost his apartment over a damn jacket. How stupid could the guy be?” Jonah said as we headed back down the metal stairs towards the motel parking lot.

I only hummed in response, my gaze downcast on the precisely decorated sleeves of the custom jacket, another 5k drained from my account and into the hands of a snarky stranger who my wife seemed to work into his near demise. Even in death she knew how to drive me fucking crazy. But, goddammit, how could I be mad at her?

Jonah helped himself into the passenger seat of my car and I stopped on my way around the other side to drop the jacket in the trunk. I glanced around the immediate area before opening it up and stared down at the dark grey equipment case laying in front of me. It was silent except for the faint sound of traffic from the nearby freeway. The wind blew slightly and ghosted a light chill across my neck but I still pulled the jacket off and tucked it gently between the case and the inside ledge of the trunk.

The sleeve that happened to rest on the top of the denim read ‘honey’ up at me. She was there with me in some twist of purgatory reality and more than just her physical body I was sure of it.

“Well what do you want me to do?! Do you not like having this house and a nice car and that huge fucking diamond on your finger? Well sorry to break it to you, honey, but without this job, you wouldn’t have any of that!”

“There you go again!” Avalon threw her hand up in my direction, “It’s not all about your fucking money, Daniel! I don’t care about that! I would even be perfectly happy living on the side of the fucking street with you because I love you! None of this other shit that you think is required for a happy and fulfilling life; because – news flash – it’s not!”

“Well it makes me pretty damn happy.”

“Oh really? Are you happy now? Huh?” her volume rose more until she was screaming at me, “Does this make you fucking happy?”

“Yes! Because at least my house or my car doesn’t spew this fucking bullshit at me all the time!” I shouted back.

Avalon literally scoffed and took a step back, her voice lowered to a steady unimpressed drawl, “You’re a selfish prick, Daniel Seavey. I’m done trying to help you…you’re such a lost cause that…God…sometimes I wish I never married you.”

I dusted my fingers over the tough plastic edge of the equipment trunk as if trying to touch her through the material. I could hardly remember the last time I told her I loved her…and if she died by my hand, was the last thing she saw the hatred in my eyes? Did she even know I loved her? She must have…right?

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out with a startle. Two consecutive texts from my brother,

Have you been remembering to take your meds?

Please call me, Daniel.

I scoffed in annoyance and closed the trunk without a second look at the case. My nosy older brother was the last person I wanted to concern myself with at the moment. I got back in the drivers seat and started the car with a tired sigh.

“You alright?” Jonah asked.

I took a moment to ponder his question. I didn’t seem to know a lot of things and I certainly didn’t know if I was alright. I only offered him a shrug in response.

We sat there in the parking lot of the motel for a moment. Jonah didn’t rush me, even though I was sure he was stressed about staying on one place for too long with a body in the trunk. He simply watched me as I left my hands gently on the steering wheel and stared straight out the windshield.

There was something that the custom jacket inflicted in me that made this all feel so much harder than it felt when the day started. I woke up on a rug drenched in my wife’s blood and even that initial shock of finding her didn’t come close to the sudden waves of emotions that were washing over me right then. I really truly loved her and the realization that she was gone and that I was a piece of shit excuse of a husband seemed to hit me all at once.

I can’t even explain it to you, dear reader, but I would if I could. It’s the feeling of someone reaching into your chest and grabbing your beating heart and squeezing it until you’re nearly doubling over in pain. Was this heartbreak? I must have been as in the dark through all this as you are right now, reading this, among all these lose ends. Except you are not the one who may have the blood on their hands. You can read these words every day for the rest of your life and in no way will it hinder your existence. For me? I had to either deal with the guilt or the heartbreak and, right now, it truly felt more of the latter.

The tears didn’t come. My sadness came to me in waves of anger instead and I found myself taking out my frustrations on the steering wheel, hitting the rim with the side of my fist until my skin bruised. Jonah let me.

I think I screamed a little. Honestly, I don’t remember much of that moment. I think I was too overcome with shock and frustration to even register anything that I was doing to try and lessen any of the weight that had settled on my chest. It hurt to breathe.

I didn’t cry – although I must admit I was close to it – and I looked out the drivers side window into the early afternoon sun and furiously blinked away the dampness that was growing in my eyes. My chest heaved with each breath, jaw clenched and hands gripping the wheel of the parked car until my knuckles burned white.

I was in love with her. And I was so, so stupid.

When I had breathed myself into somewhat of a state of calm, I let out a deep sigh and turned forward again. Jonah was staring at me but I didn’t even want to look at him after my momentary outburst. I rubbed my hand over my aching chest.

“What if I didn’t do it?” I asked quietly.

“Did you not?” Jonah pressed.

I paused, “I don’t know.”

“So who would have?”

“I don’t know.”

Jonah reached into the backseat again and pulled out the pad of paper from his bag as well as a black pen and clicked it open as he set the pad on his lap. I watched him write ‘Motives’ at the top of the page and he underlined it sharply.

“Who would want to kill her? Did anyone have anything against either of you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You had your anger towards her and her inability to accept your career.”

Jonah wrote my name down on the paper and a summary of that statement beside it.

I scoffed and looked back out the window beside me.

“Who else?”

I thought for a moment. My eyes scanned the perimeter of the motel we were parked in front of and went along the second storey railing until they stopped at number 19.

“Jack.”

Jonah wrote it down on another line.

“She fucked his whole life up.”

Jonah added it.

I shifted my grip on the steering wheel of the parked car as I continued under my breath, “She meets a stranger online…that’s just recipe for murder. She gave him our address…shit.”

“Who else?” Jonah asked again.

I thought for another moment. I wracked my brain for anyone who may have had hostile thoughts towards either Avalon or myself. She didn’t seem to have any enemies…I certainly had enough for the both of us. Well, maybe not enemies per se but enough people who didn’t agree with me or with what Jonah and I were working towards. There was one in particular that stood out in my mind.

“There’s one…” I spoke slowly as I tried to recall the day he came to our studio. It had been a few months.

Jonah’s eyes went wide as I looked over at him. Seems I didn’t have to say a word and he knew who I was talking about. I watched him write the name down on the pad of paper, followed by the words: ‘literally a psycho’.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

[solohux]

We’re almost halfway through the year so I felt in the mood to make a rec list, and what better fics to rec than the ones which have possibly been overlooked in 2020!

Please remember that this is my own rec list and not being on here does not reflect skill, enjoyment or anything else. It’s just my opinion!

Enjoy! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

• Pretty Little Bunny by funnylookinfella (2.2k, E) Kylo makes the 'mistake' of telling Hux he thinks bunnies are cute. Just a silly little smut fic for springtime!

• Kitten by koi_boi (3k, M) Hux sleeps in an orange cat onesie (which happens to match Millicent). Kylo catches him snoozing in said onesie. They cuddle.

•  Paintball Warriors by @rudbeckiasun​ (2k, E) Supreme Leader Kylo Ren decrees that all officers must have shore leave. Then someone suggests teambuilding activities. Hux isn’t convinced, but paintballing turns out to be far more entertaining than he ever imagined.

• You're My Fucked Up Remedy by @nonsensicalsoliloquy​ (15.7k, E) For years now, Hux had plans. For so many long, arduous years he’d schemed in the shadows, waging a silent war with the men who’d taken his life and diligently strived to have it suit their every desire. He thought himself prepared for anything. However, what Hux hadn’t planned for, what took over his messed up existence like it suddenly had any other meaning beyond vengeance…was Ren.

• Revenge is Best Served with Hesitation by @heresetrash (4.6k, E) Hux had never been one to do his own dirty work. He preferred to send others to perform those tasks for him. Not because he couldn't do them himself - he was more than capable - but such work was time-consuming and messy, and he had better things to do. Kylo, however, was different. This was personal. Hux didn't just want to kill him himself, he needed to.

• Matters of Efficiency by mundanecactus (4.3k, T) A diplomatic mission goes awry, and General Hux is forced to admit that maybe he doesn't have a protocol for everything...

• Sick Day by newh0pe (2.3k, T) Kylo Ren has killed Supreme Leader Snoke and become one of the most powerful men in the galaxy... but his boyfriend still has to drag him out of bed when he isn't feeling well and baby him.

• We Remain by @drxcomxlfoys​ (1.1k, G) Kylo finds Hux in the holding cell after Pryde shot him. They both decide to leave the First Order.

• Smirks and Cigarettes by @ashenpages​ (1.8k, T) The first time Hux has Ren light his cigarette, it isn’t planned or discussed, or even a sensible time to be smoking.

•  ghosts from the past by morlawny (<1k, T) It was the same nightmare he had been having for the past few months, and it was haunting him. His father’s voice, the look he gave him… The way his hand touched his face... Kylo released a deep, heavy sigh, causing the body next to him to stir.

• Regeneration by DaisyChainz (3.8k, E) Hux discovers Kylo Ren out in the woods practicing a local ritual to welcome their current planet's Vernal Equinox. Somehow he gets drawn into the rites and finds that, while he objects to the mess, there might be something to the idea of 'renewal'.

• You're Making Fun of Me by DeviantDarkBelle (<1k, M) Kissing something that shouldn't be kissed.

• A Murder on Starscatter Isle by @theweddingofthefoxes​ (WIP, 8.2k, M) Detective Armitage Hux has volunteered for the case of a lifetime -- solving the murder of Snoke, the leader of a mysterious and isolated commune. If he succeeds, he's sure to get promoted. But if he fails, he could be in for more than he ever expected. Is the new leader, Kylo Ren, a friend, a foe, or something else entirely?

• By the Grace of the Fire and the Flames by Mothwing (11.1k, E) The sight of the pale, sunken chest lifting, pausing, falling again as the valve released. Air escaped the slack mouth with a little huff. Hux’s eyes were sunken and closed. He looked so much smaller than Ben remembered, vulnerable, almost soft around the edges, all his wiry strength gone. Ben had strangled him with both the force and his bare hands before, in anger and in a lust that felt very much like anger. And even though it could have never been easier to end his life, something stopped Ben just as it had always stopped Kylo. Something about the dry patches on his hands. Something about the blue shadows under his eyes. It felt odd to say this, but there was simply no honour in killing this man. Nothing good would come from ending this life, even though, and Ben knew that, they both deserved to die. A little balance. A little justice. And you could not tell a corpse that it’d lost. Ben dismissed the thought. No one was even keeping score any more.

• Whole Worlds Fade by boomsherlocka (34.5k, M) Their first meeting was not noteworthy. Hux was not yet General, and Ren was not yet what he would eventually become.

• Watch This by DaisyChainz (2k, E) Hux had never had a lover like Kylo before: someone that wants Hux, and not just a random warm body. So Hux Really wants to give Kylo what he's asking for, but he's just so damn exhausted. Luckily, Kylo has a stimulating solution.

• Aural by @kyluxtrashpit​ (2.7k, E) Hux fucks Kylo's ear.

• let go by DarthKyloRen (1.8k, G) “You’re in pain,” Ben’s small voice broke the silence. Kylo nodded in agreement. “I am.” “You don’t have to be.” “Yes I do.”

•  The Bidding by tsar_saltans_swan (3.4k, T) "Going once, going twice, won't these gentlemen suffice?" Armitage, a young lawyer, is suddenly thrown into an auction house to atone for the crime of not finding a wife by 25. It's a living hell... until he meets Ben.

• My Jolly Sailor Bold by @ellalba​ (<1k, G) A ship wonders into the Knight’s of Ren territory and get taken down by Kylo and his knights. Kylo has always been fascinated by humans but never really gotten the opportunity to actually interact with one in a way that doesn’t end with bloody murder. So he spots his opportunity to keep one when he sees a survivor getting away in a rowboat. A survivor with red hair.

• Take A Jump And Pray, May The Force Guide You by @ggerisminth​ (5.5k, M) The Resistance won, there is peace, well their version of peace. It isn't peace, it isn't even stability. It's just as worse as it was if not worse. But the far greater tragedy is the death of her family, and she will do everything in her power to get them back, even if that means using a technology created by the Sith to take her back in time. Even if it means that it might not work, or that she can never come back. She will never stop fighting to get them back, that is a promise. A promise to the Force, the Stars, and the Moon.

• Stay or Go? by Lokisbestgirl (5k, M) Hux enters into an arranged marriage with General Pryde for power and protection, but he's not getting any satisfaction in the bedroom. When Kylo comes around, they start sleeping together behind Enric's back and Hux finds out he is expecting. The trick is to get Pryde to sleep with Armitage again before suspicion arises. Will Pryde find out or will they get away with it all?            

• Fixed by Offing (<1k, T) There was a small bottle sitting on the side table. It was clear, filled with a yellow liquid, and labeled simply, “Happiness”. A hypodermic needle sat next to it.    

• I Really Wish I Hated You by inquisitor_tohru (1.5k, T) In another galaxy far, far away, Kylo Ren becomes aware that the voices he's hearing may not be aIl that they seem and comes to the unfortunate conclusion that Hux may be his only hope.              

• Caim by Eiramma (20k, T) Hux is stolen from his academy bunk late one night and is dumped on the frozen waste land that is Ilum along with a small handful of his other classmates. Despite never having dreamed a night of his life, on his first night on this frozen planet, Hux finds himself in the body of an angry padawan, Ben Solo. As his stay on Ilum continues, it becomes apparent that pair of them share some sort of deep connection forged through mysticism of the Force, that permits them spend their dreams in one another's waking lives, and Hux has no idea why. But with danger lurking around every snow covered tree, Hux begins to wonder if he will be able to live long enough to understand the mystery of their bond, never mind deal with the growing fondness for the other boy that has begun to bloom in his heart.

• A War of Wages by R_Quarion (2.9k, M) When Kylo Ren kills Palpatine and the power is passed onto him, the Rebellion becomes a story of the past. With the First and Final Order in control of the galaxy, Hux cannot believe that he doesn't even have control over his own paychecks. Phasma is stubborn.

• Wookie Wash by @bostarsky​ & @sunnywritesstuff​ (5.6k, E) There had been posters, propaganda on the minuscule level. Nobody had been bold enough to do anything directly, but Hux could tell the decision had not been taken well by his men. That was when he had prompted the head of morale on base to do something about the insurrection, and she had told him she would fix it. Hoping he had finally washed his hands of the matter, Hux had gone back about his day as normal. That had been three days ago, before all the racket. The issue with the campaign was that the model who had been shown in the ad was... Incredibly attractive, to say the least, and apparently the morale officer said that that man was none other than Kylo Ren. Now, nobody had ever seen his face before, but everyone always assumed he was ugly. Hux loathed drama and gossip of all kinds, it distracted his officers from their important duties... But even he couldn't get over the ridiculousness of the new advertisement. There was no way in the galaxy that such an attractive man could be under that mask, and Hux wanted to get to the bottom of it.

• To be Licked, Topped and Loved by hexgoldyloins (2.1k, E) Ren wants to be licked, topped and loved. Hux is willing to explore that.

• For This One Night by Lady_Faulkner (<1k, T) As Starkiller Base nears its completion, Supreme Leader Snoke orders General Hux to go on vacation. The general isn’t pleased. At least he has Kylo Ren in a speedo to look at.

• Halloween Candles by @paperprinc3​ (1.3k, M) Ben convinces his friend Hux to help him with a ritual so that Ben can try and talk to his dead grandfather Anakin. The ritual requires a virgin host to take the spirit however Hux didn't think that it was meant literally.

• Fate Is A Cruel Thing by shinogi (<1k, T) What would happen if Kylo was on the steadfast during the events that took place to Hux?    

• An Eros Festival Gift by Lady_Faulkner (<1k, T) Hux has been away for two weeks, but he’s due back on the start the Eros Festival, a galaxy wide festival of love, and Kylo has the perfect gift for him. That is, he hopes he does.

• An Earned Reward by PrincessDesire (5.2k, E) Hux rewards his sub Ren for a successful mission.

• Snow Powered by IsaiahVirus (<1k, G) Kylo finds comfort in the snow and in Hux.

• Calligraphy by @emperorsvornskr​ (1.1k, T) Kylo goes back to an old form of meditation assistance, and asks Hux to participate to give them both some stress relief.

• He's Got the Whole World in his Hands by undernightlight  (<1k, G)   Finally, he is the Supreme Leader. He has the power he’s always deserved, the power that was promised to him, so then, why does he still feel hollow?    

• Twin Crowns by kylux_nonsense (<1k, G) Twin thrones, one black marble on white floor, one white marble on black floor. Twin crowns, one rests amongst long, dark hair, one sits atop fiery red. There is but one galaxy, and in all its infinite variety every corner owes its allegiance to one or the other.

• Eh, it's love by @abboh​ (<1k, G) Hux was never one to show love of any degree but then there was Kylo, who showed his love in his own little ways.

• Castles in the Sand by orphan_account (2.4k, T)   A depressed General Hux and his secretive obsessive pining for Kylo Ren.      

• The Duel of the Fates by mheb (31.2k, E) Hux’s datapad chimed again, a call from Kuat this time, and he sighed aloud at it, exasperated. “What?” Hux leaned back in his chair, eyeing the holographic figure seated across from him, the shadowy form of their TIE cockpit barely visible around their body, the entire image emitted from the steel inlay in the far wall that Hux used to transmit his speeches. Hux carelessly knocked over a good half of the physical chess pieces in front of him, putting his bare feet up on his desk. His projected guest scowled at him. But Hux paled at the words that met his ears through his datapad. 'Jedi are with the rebel group that bombed the fueling station...the girl is here.' He ended the call without a goodbye, returning to the other conversation he’d been having, up until this point quite pleasant. “Ren.”

• And They Were Bottoms! (~oh my God, they were bottoms~) by   Ki_Ken_Tai_Ichi (<1k, T) Kylo and Hux both had very similar -and yet very different- plans for how their first night of intimacy was going to go.

• Tough Games by ouigeneral (4k, E) Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux have been participating in a secret relationship for a while. Both men love power play and experimenting with bondage. One night Hux organises a surprise for Kylo. Kylo certainly is surprised.  

• Hate until you love by SuperEllen (<1k, T) Can you hate someone so much that you actually love them?            

• Mark Me, Burn Me (the sun is nothing compared to you) by                 DiamondCrystalInk (1.7k, T) Enjoying a morning on Coruscant, Hux gives Ren a proposition. It's time Hux leaves his mark.

• Put Your Money on Me by Asrael_Valtiri (2.5k, E, WIP) He felt Ren press against his back, wrap his arms around his waist. He couldn’t help himself; he leaned back into Ren’s broad chest. Hux was glad their full-length mirror was behind them; he didn’t want Ren to see his face. So Hux closed his eyes a moment, let himself pretend he possessed all he’d ever wanted. Power, security, order, galactic peace--and above all, Ren.

• deep by g4t1t0 (2.9k, T) snoke dies and kylo ren is lost. hux hates to see him this way, but for a reason he cant name/hux prefers to see ren enraged, violent, hungry/he gets what he wants

• Heads Will Roll by @pizzzazlut​ (2.3k, M) Hux and Kylo decide to venture into the notoriously haunted Arkanis Asylum one night to try and see if they can get actual evidence in their ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real?

• Grandfather of the Century by ashangel101010 (<1k, T) The Emperor of the Seven Sith Hells does his best to protect his grandson.

• Love and Fear by @abboh​ (<1k, G) Sometimes it is better to be feared than loved by your people. But, gazing down from above, love can be found amdist all that fear.

• Take A Moment To Ask Yourself, Is This How We Fall Apart? by @bumblebae8​ (1k, T) Take a moment to ask yourself… if this is how we fall apart?

• You Ruined It by ravenlights (1.1k, T) Kylo Ren is serious about home-baked muffins, and Hux, well. Hux ruins it.          

• Crevices Of Sanity by WynneWritesHQ (<1k, T) How late the hour was, or how ramshackle the small room in which General Hux had decided he would spend the night, did not matter anymore. Not when everything he could think about was the man kissing his neck, carrying him aloft and onto some crates that, miraculously, withstood the general disorder better than the dusty residues beneath his always-well-polished boots.

• Pygmalion by orphan_account (17.4k, T) This is a story inspired by the theme of artificial intelligence and explores Armitage Hux's feelings of loneliness and isolation in the First Order. Unable or unwilling to seek out human connections and relationships, Hux turns to a company which provides custom built androids as personal companions to satisfy his need for intimacy.

Adjacent Ship Recs

• Home for Dinner by DaisyChainz (2.9k, E) Matt is always so sweet and attentive to Techie. When he's having a bad day, Techie tries to be brave enough to make things better for him.

 • Icing on the (Strawberry) Cake by Luxuria_Ira (3.6k, G) On a rainy night in June, Clyde takes Stensland up into the rolling hills of West Virginia and asks him a question that's been on the tip of his tongue since they met.

• Better, Ren? by DeviantDarkBelle (1.5k, E) Before Hux and Kylo have to return from leave, Hux hopes he can treat Kylo to something nice. Of course, Thomas and Charlie are more than willing to help out.

• Someone could see us by DeviantDarkBelle (<1k, E) Thomas McGregor is on vacation in NYC. He runs into Charlie Barber. Somewhere along the way, feelings are caught.     

• Horny Hearts by Rattlesnake (9.5k, E, WIP) Techie has a new flatmate called Matt and all he can really think about is doing it with him.

• Leaving It Up to You by undernightlight (8k, E) Henry Beard had been staring at him all day - Flip wasn't blind. Once it was just the two of them in the office, Flip decided to casually confront him about why. He had a mild suspicion, but he wanted to know for sure. He likes to be proven right.

• The Might and Measure of Love by @atlinmerrick (1.2k, E) A clearer invitation to go poking around inside Mr Cheung's house was never made, so a minute later and sure enough Clyde found Stens in the bathroom making weird little frantic noises. Clyde knew those noises. They were 'trying desperately to get off because of awkwardly-timed stiffy' noises.

[quiet-onset]

In The Wind

Pairing: Steve Rogers x black!Reader

TW: alcohol consumption, implied sexy times, a pinch of fluff and a fuck ton of angst

Word Count: 10.2k (this is the longest single fic I’ve ever written by like 4-5k words, i'm never doing this again lmao)

A/N: Broke = cacw discourse, Woke = using cacw canon to write angsty fics at 3 am. this is only kind of edited so it is what it is lol. Enjoy!

You weren’t sure if you regretted meeting him.

You didn’t know how you felt anymore. You knew you thought of him everyday. You knew that you longed to feel the warmth and heaviness of his body against yours. You also knew that you were angry, so damn angry for making you feel these things. For making you miss him, want him.

But did you regret him? You weren’t sure. 

The first time you met shouldn’t have happened. Steve knew that. He should’ve been more careful. Checked more security cameras, spied a little better. But espionage was always Natasha’s expertise, and, for now, he was running it solo. So when he ran from the FBI in Hell’s Kitchen, he had no one to blame but himself. 

He had been jumping from roof to roof, dreading the sound of the approaching helicopter. He knew if they got that spotlight on him, it’d be over. So, instead of jumping to the next roof, he dropped onto the fire escape, traveling down until he found an open window. 

He climbed inside and pressed himself to the adjacent wall, heart pounding against his ribcage. He listened as the helicopter continued on, searching for him with no success. Just as he allowed himself to breathe, he heard the cock of a gun. 

When he turned his head, there you stood, curls tied up with a blue silk scarf, shorts and a T-shirt two sizes too big, with a shotgun aimed and ready to fire. “Get out of my house.”

Steve took a step toward you, watching as you steadied your hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m the one with the gun here, dude. So, unless you want a chest full of buckshot, get—“

Finally, you saw him clearly. His hair was a tad longer and he had the slightest bit of stubble, but he was still recognizably Steve Rogers. After all, the news had his and his friends mugshots plastered on every channel. You barely managed to part your lips for a gasp when Steve heard the thunder of footsteps come down the hall outside your door.

“Look,” He said, “I’m sorry, I just needed—“

Three solid bangs on your front door. “FBI, open up!”

You lowered the gun as you looked back at Steve. It was clear that he was trying and failing to come up with a new route of escape. Three more bangs, and you sighed. “One second!” You called.

You handed him the gun and quickly guided him to your bedroom. “Get under the bed and wait.”

He followed your instructions while you grabbed your robe and scurried to the door. You swung the door open as you brushed a stray curl away from your face. “Can I help you?”

Two men pushed past you and into your apartment as the first one spoke. “We need to inspect your apartment.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“Are you hiding something?” He returned.

“Asking for a warrant isn’t an admission of guilt, agent.” You raised a brow. “Besides, what would the FBI be looking for here?”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” He eyed your living room suspiciously before continuing down the hall, leaving you to follow close behind. 

“Captain America?” You snorted. “What would he be doing in some random woman’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“You tell me.”

He walked into your bedroom, and your heartbeat sped up. You had no idea why you were putting yourself at risk for a stranger, but somehow, it felt right. Like you were doing what you were meant to be doing in that moment.

“Agent, I am not hiding Captain America in my fucking bedroom. Alright? I was getting ready for bed, actually, when you banged on my door like I was the one being arrested.”

He walked up to you, invading your space. He looked down at you, tried to make you feel small. It was a popular tactic, one you were used to. You watched as the other two agents came in and began to search. “We have orders to search every apartment. If you don’t want to cooperate, we can arrest you, too. Ma’am.” 

“This might be news to you, but I have rights, same as you. You need a warrant to search my house unless I’m an immediate danger to the public.” You told him. “However, considering you’ve already searched my entire home, I suggest you leave now while I’m still thinking about not suing you.”

“Suing us?” He chuckled.

“I have some lawyer friends, same ones that put Wilson Fisk in jail. If they can get a life sentence for a man like Fisk, imagine what they could do with this story. Agent.”

You watched as they all stopped, including the agent who was just about to bend over to look under the bed. The agent’s brow twitched as he stepped back and gave you an indignant look. “That’s what I thought.” You said. “Feel free to come back with a warrant.”

Moments later, your front door was locked, and you went back to your room where Steve sat on your bed. You almost winced when you saw him in the light. His right eye was beginning to swell, his lip was split, and his leg looked like he needed stitches. He placed the shotgun beside him. “Do you really know the lawyers who took down Wilson Fisk?”

“Not at all.”

He chuckled and stood on his feet. You knew he was trying not to put too much pressure on his leg, but his scrunched brow told you he was failing. When he managed to steady himself, he saw the shine of concern in your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Super soldier healing. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me help you.”

“You’ve done enough for me already.” He told you. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“Easy?”

“I’m an Avenger, but I’m not blind.” He said sincerely. “America’s fucked up, and anyone who’s not white or rich gets the short end of the stick.”

You paused, surprised that he’d explained himself so outright. He seemed unapologetic about his statement, eyes only wavering when the pain became too much. A sigh with the faintest remnants of a smile passed through your lips. You walked a few steps over to your dresser and pulled open your drawer. Out of it, you pulled a bottle of whiskey and a first aid kit. “I’m already abetting a fugitive, Rogers. Might as well add aiding to the crime. Sit down. I’ll get some ice for your eye.”

Steve usually didn’t take well to orders. But you, you made something in him stir, if only for a moment. Some part of him that longed for someone else to take over. To make him forget about being an alleged criminal, about the friends that he’d lost. The part of himself that he’d lost. 

So he sat down.

When you came back, you began tending to his wounds. Your hands were delicate as you tried your best not to cause him any additional pain. He almost chuckled at your caution and grace. In some dark part of his mind, he knew the damage he could cause you. Yet, you were the one asking every other second if he was okay.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this.” He said.

“I didn’t have to not shoot you either, but here we are.” You answered, tilting your head. You handed him the bottle of whiskey as you got ready to stitch the wound in his thigh. “You might wanna drink some of that.”

He chuckled, “Alcohol doesn’t really do anything for my senses.”

“Right. Super soldier, I forgot. Guess you’ll have to brave it.” 

“Not the first time.” He let out a small hiss as you moved the fabric away from the cut.

Your eyes flickered up to him for a moment, catching the clench of his jaw, sharp and tense. “So you sneak into people’s houses to hide from the FBI often?”

“I was, um, handling some business in Hell’s Kitchen. Wasn’t paying attention, and they found me.”

“Wow. Steve Rogers outsmarted by the FBI.” You joked. He chuckled along with you as you finished stitching him up. You offered him the bottle once more. “It won’t get you drunk, but it’ll burn on the way down, and I have a feeling that’s what you really need.”

He looked taken aback for a moment. You imagined that not many people were so straightforward with him. He was called Captain for a reason, you supposed. Not many people told Steve what he needed to hear — that was why the Avengers was perfect for him. Nobody was afraid to tell Steve how it really was. But now, with him being a fugitive, lots of people were scared. Of him or of what he represented, he wasn’t sure.

But not you.

He took the bottle with a small smile.

“Well,” Steve spoke when the silence got a bit too loud for his liking. “I should be going. If that agent’s attitude was any indication, they’ll probably be back with a warrant. That’ll give you some time to get rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“My blood?” He chuckled.

You looked down at your hands and saw the faint tint of blood on them. You let out a short laugh and nodded, “Right.”

The way you looked at each other was far too comfortable for two strangers. Each set of eyes held a story. The ever-stretching line of inconceivable loss in his and the struggle to overcome social hardships in yours. Both your hearts were hardened in some ways, and you could both sense it. When it became too much, your gaze flickered to the ground for a quick moment. “Don’t pull those stitches, Captain. I won’t redo them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said with a weak salute. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t get caught.”

The next afternoon, the FBI would return with a warrant and search your apartment as you watched the news. The headline?

Captain America in the wind once more.

---

“I’ll be fine.” You slurred to your friend. “I can get upstairs just fine.”

Your friend, Heather, shot you a disapproving gaze as you hiccuped, the alcohol in your body starting to slowly wear off. She unlocked the car door with a sigh. “Text me when you’re inside.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not moving until you do.” She added. “And lock your door!”

“Alright!”

Although you stumbled up the stairs and eventually had to take your heels off, you made it safely to your apartment. The text you sent as you locked the door was incoherent, but you knew your friend would understand. You dropped your heels at the door and padded into your living room.

“Your window is broken.”

You gasped at the sudden deep voice that cut through the dark, only recognizing him when he turned on the lamp. There sat Steve Rogers once more. He looked up at you with a furrowed brow, noticing your glazed over eyes. You threw your phone at him for scaring you, which he caught easily. “You can’t just break into someone’s house and sit in the dark! That’s weird!”

“I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me.” He explained quickly. He stood, “Are you drunk?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re drunk in an apartment with a broken window. Anyone could break in. I did.”

“Yeah, which is still weird.” You hiccuped. “What are you doing here, Captain?”

He was at a loss for words. He didn’t have an answer. Not one that made any sense, at least. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but he couldn’t forget you. Your eyes were burned into his mind, your bravery forever in his heart. He tried everything to forget you, but nothing worked. Whether it was attraction, infatuation, or some feeling that could only be expressed in another language, he didn’t know. Still, he couldn’t tell you that. Especially not while you were drunk. So he settled for, “Steve. Call me Steve.”

You paused, crossing your arms over your chest. “Alright. Steve.”

Steve felt a shiver travel down his spine. He would never admit he liked the way his name slipped past your lips. He watched you stumble over to the couch and helped you sit down. “Happy drunk or sad drunk?”

You snorted, “Both.”

“Wow, two for one.”

“I broke up with my cheating boyfriend.” You explained. “I’m happy to be rid of that asshole, but it still hurts, you know?”

Steve nodded, holding back a chuckle as you burped quietly. You groaned and threw your head back as you realized you would probably throw up soon. 

“He didn’t deserve you.” He told you.

You laughed bitterly, “I know.”

As if on cue, you stood and ran to the bathroom with Steve quick on your heels. He watched as you dropped to your knees over the toilet bowl and emptied the contents of your stomach inside. You pulled a few stray curls out of your face and held them back, praying you hadn’t gotten any vomit in your hair. You felt Steve’s presence behind you and sighed. “I’m sorry. You should… you should just go.”

But of course, Steve was never good at taking orders.

He marched up to your sink and found a few bobby pins before opening up your medicine cabinet. He found some painkillers for later and took them out for you. He quietly walked up behind you and softly cupped your hands with his own. You barely had the chance to protest before another wave of sickness washed over you.

“Let me help you.” Steve said gently. “I’m just returning the favor.”

You knew there wasn’t much you could do for yourself, and you couldn’t deny that you needed help. So you let go of your hair and allowed him to pin it back. His warm hands then fell to your shoulders as he spoke. “I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, he returned with a glass of water and some crackers he’d found in your cabinet. He sat with you on the cold tile floor, flushing the toilet as you turned away from it. He offered the glass silently, and you drank it in a few gulps. You looked over at him as he worked on opening the crackers. “You know, you’re good at this.”

He chuckled, seeing that you were starting to sober up. “You’re not the first drunk person I’ve taken care of.”

You took a cracker from the packet. “When was the first time?”

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“If I were humoring you, you’d know.” You scoffed playfully. “I want to know. At the very least, it’ll keep my mind off of the nausea.”

He shook his head with a short laugh as he took out a cracker for himself. “I was fifteen. My best friend Bucky told me he had a surprise, that I had to come over after school. I didn’t suspect anything until I saw the brown paper bag in his hands.”

“Wait, you’re, like, ninety. Isn’t this during Prohibition?”

“He always knew a guy who knew a guy.” Steve nodded with a smirk. “His parents were out of town, and his sisters only kept his secret because he let them taste it. I already had enough health problems back then, so I wasn’t really interested in getting drunk. But Bucky…”

“As drunk as me?”

“Oh no, much worse. Absolutely shit-faced.” A smile tugged at his lips as you laughed. He admired the way your glazed eyes lit up with happiness for those few mere moments. “I ended up in the bathroom with him all night.”

You smiled softly as you nibbled on another cracker. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Steve felt his chest tighten at the smile on your lips. His brain told him to stop whatever he was feeling. He had no business barging into your house, into your life. He had other things, bigger things to worry about. Yet, he sat here on the floor of your bathroom, worrying about whether you were going to vomit again or if you needed more water. It was stupid of him to let this feeling go so far, he knew. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you smiled like that.

He reached over to the sink and grabbed the painkillers, giving you two. “I’m gonna get you some more water. Keep eating those crackers.”

“Yes, sir, captain sir.” You gave him a weak salute. He saluted back with a playful chuckle before leaving to get more water, not sure if this behavior was your true self or the remaining alcohol.

When he returned, he found you clumsily taking off your makeup. “That couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” He asked, handing you the glass of water.

“No. Do you know how bad that is for your skin? I’m too pretty to damage my skin.” You chuckled before downing the pills.

Steve looked to the ground, making a quiet noise of agreement. He hadn’t expected you to stop drinking the water and ask him what he said. He was caught red-handed. “What?”

“What did you say?” You asked.

“It’s not important. I just…” He sighed. “I agreed with you. About you being pretty.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. You’d have recognized the slight shyness in his voice if you were fully sober. “I’m not blind.”

It got quiet after that. You couldn’t help the way your mind was racing alongside your heart. The space between you both was so small. All it would take a gust of wind, a slight nudge and the space would be filled. And for some reason, you longed to fill it. As your thoughts caught up with you, you remembered that you’d just met him. He didn’t even know your name. The longing you had made no sense. Not to mention, you were still a little drunk and nauseous. You couldn’t act before you considered the outcomes. “Y/N.”

“What?” Steve’s brow furrowed.

“My name. It’s Y/N.” You stepped back and took a deep breath. “I just realized I never told you.”

“Right.” He mimicked your movements, putting a bit more distance between you. “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll, um, head to bed right now.”

Steve nodded once before giving you one last long look. He told himself that this would be the last time, that he wouldn’t give in to that insistent tugging in his heart. If this was the last time he’d see you, he wanted to remember. You watched him as he walked back down the hallway, stopping just before he entered the living room.

“Fix your window, Y/N.” He called.

You smiled. “I will.”

“Someone could break in and sit in the dark.”

“I get it, Steve.”

And just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone. 

---

A few months pass before you see him again. And you have to be honest with yourself, you spend every second thinking about him.

You weren’t sure what it was about him. Sure, he was Captain America, but that didn’t seem to matter when he came through your window. In your apartment, he’s just a man. He’s just Steve Rogers. Sure he was on the run from every conceivable government authority, but he was running from more than that. It was like he was running from himself, from everything that made him Captain America. And without fail, all the running somehow led back to you.

It didn’t matter where you were or who you were with. At work, you’d see his smile in the reflection of your computer screen. When you were with your friends, you could hear Steve’s laughter as he recounted his childhood. Even on the few dates you’d been on, the only thing on your mind was Steve’s voice calling you pretty.

And that was the annoying part. You knew you were pretty. You knew your value and how much you were worth, but when he said it, it felt unreal. There were butterflies in your stomach, a feeling you hadn’t felt since you were a teenager. It was strange having such a visceral reaction to a statement you already knew to be true, but it wasn’t the statement. It was the man making it.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

You were walking home from a friend’s when two men in ski masks stopped you. Guns locked and loaded, they shouted at you to give them your wallet and phone. Your hands were raised in hopes that they wouldn’t shoot, but they simply yelled louder.

“Okay, okay.” You started calmly. You moved your hands slowly to your purse, digging around the bottom in a frantic search. You flinched as they told you to hurry up. 

Suddenly, a man dropped down from a nearby fire escape. Steve.

As soon as he snatched the guns, Steve crushed the barrels with his bare hands. A fist flew at one guy’s face while you grabbed the pepper spray at the bottom of your purse and sprayed the other. 

You watched as Steve kept going with a fierce look in his eyes. It was unlike anything you’d expect from Captain America. No, this was sheer rage. You marched up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away. He only allowed it as the two men scurried away with blood dripping down their faces. 

“Steve, what the hell?” You dragged him into a nearby alley. “What are you doing out in broad daylight?”

He ignored your questions and placed two large hands on your cheeks, tilting your head this way and that as he checked you for injury. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Steve, stop it. I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to your apartment when I saw those guys trying to rob you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why were you going to my house?” You asked. “Why do you keep coming to my house?”

And once again, Steve was speechless. He couldn’t explain the panic in his heart when he saw you being held at gunpoint. He couldn’t explain the blind rage he felt as his fists collided with their bodies. He wanted to believe he had  no idea why he kept coming back to see you, but he knew why. Despite his reputation, he was never great with his feelings. At least not these kinds. “Y/N, can we just.. Can we talk? Please?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Meet me at my place. And try not to make another scene. You’re a fugitive, Steve.”

He’d made it there before you, but was unable to get in. See, you’d taken his advice and fixed your window. So, he stood on the fire escape, hoping to God that no one would look and see him as he waited for you. When you got back, you rushed over and flipped the latch, pushing the window up with a squeak of the frame. “Again, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

“You fixed your window.”

“Yeah, you told me to.” You stepped aside so he could slip in. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Y/N, they were robbing you. You don’t have to—“

“No, not that. I mean, also that, but I meant thanks for that night a few months ago.”

His head dropped as he let out a weak chuckle. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“I remember waking up with the worst hangover. I also remember the night before.”

“Everything?”

You nodded. 

You could see the gears in his head begin to turn, giving you a moment to look over him. His beard was thick and full, and his hair was longer than before. Dressed in a black combat suit, you wondered where he just came from. He obviously had bigger fish to fry, so what kept him coming back to Hell’s Kitchen. 

Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out before placing it on the table between you. 

A cell phone. Albeit a very old one, but a cell phone nonetheless. 

“I wanted to give you this.” He said, “For… emergencies.”

You stared at the phone, your brow furrowed, before looking back up at him. “Steve—“

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His eyes were shut tight as he emptied his heart. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. No matter where I’m going or what mission I’m on, you’re always on my mind. I know it doesn’t make any sense, and I understand if it freaks you out, but I needed to tell you.”

“Steve—“

“And even if you don’t feel the same, just keep the phone. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened and you needed to contact me but couldn’t.”

You paused as he took a deep breath, finally opening his eyes. You looked at him expectantly. “Are you done?”

“I think so.”

You silently picked up the flip phone, chuckling because it was just so Steve-like. You opened it and realized that his number was the only one programmed into the phone. You smiled softly as you raised an eyebrow, “Does it work?”

“I just—” Steve let out a short laugh of disbelief. “Yes, it works.”

Steve watched as you pressed a button and held the phone up to your ear. You looked up at the ceiling, clicking your tongue as it rang. With a grin on his lips, he dug his phone out of his other pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“I like you, too, dummy.”

---

Turns out, you changed the definition of emergencies only. 

It had been four or five months since you last saw Steve. He’d spent the night after you both confessed to the feelings that you’d been repressing since the day you met. You helped him peel off the black suit he wore and showered with him. You helped him scrub off the blood that had dried into his skin, and he massaged your shoulders, tight and tense from the stress of your own life. And later, you’d both gotten into some activities that made you both need another shower. 

But now, you were alone. Your place felt so empty without him. It was only one night, yet your whole life was changed. You were acutely aware of the sound his bare feet made against the hardwood floor. The warmth of his chest against your back as you slept in bed. The low timbre of his voice when he just wakes up. 

Plus, it was the day before his birthday.

You knew how stupid that sounded. Steve Rogers was a fugitive on an international scale. He had plans to be in a different state or country practically every other week — he hardly had time to celebrate about being a year older. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that he deserved it. He deserved to do something as mundane as celebrate his birthday. 

So, instead of using the burner for its intended purpose — emergencies — you called him. 

And received no answer. 

You sighed and snapped the phone shut. You held the phone against your lips as you thought through a plan. When you had it all figured out, you smiled, wondering if that was how Steve felt when he finally perfected a plan. You grabbed your purse and headed to the nearest grocery. 

You strolled through the decorations aisle with your cart, stopping as you saw an employee, a teenager, removing something from the display. As you got closer, you realized what it was and frowned.

Fourth of July balloons with Steve’s shield plastered on them.

The employee saw you eyeing them and smiled gently. “Got a call from the owner himself to remove them.”

“Crazy, right?”

“Not that much.” She shrugged. “I mean, he did break the law.”

“Yeah, to do the right thing.”

“How do we know he was right, though?”

You stared at a picture of Steve’s shield and saw all it represented. Hope, justice, bravery — you couldn’t explain how you knew. You just did. “He was.” You told the kid.

The kid watched you stare aimlessly at the balloons. She wasn’t sure why you were so invested, she could tell it meant a lot to you. She pulled two packets out of the box and handed them to you.

“They were taken out of circulation so security won’t pick it up.” She explained. “Just don’t let the manager see.”

You looked over at her, not even realizing that you’d zoned out. You smiled at her and took the balloons before slyly stuffing them in your purse. “Thank you.”

Your smile returned as you gathered all your other supplies before walking over to the bakery. The man behind the counter smiled as you approached. “Last minute Fourth of July cake?”

You chuckled, “No, not Independence Day. A birthday actually.”

“What would you like on it?”

“Do you, um, do you mind decorating it with Captain America’s shield? Or maybe just red, white, and blue in general?”

The baker’s smile widened. “You’re the first person to ask for that this year. I’m glad.” He began gathering the frosting he’d need. “I don’t believe anything they say about him. He’s a good man.”

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah. The best.”

Meanwhile, Steve was in Philadelphia, trying to get some intel into Tony’s future plans. He just got back to the quinjet when Natasha called his name from the pilot seat.

“You’re never leading the mission again.” Steve teased her, touching two fingers to his split bottom lip as he stood just to the side of her seat. 

“Afraid of getting a little banged up?” She chuckled.

“More like tired of it.” He replied. “Bucky and I have been taking all the beatings lately while you and Sam somehow always manage to come out unscathed.”

“You and Bucky should do better at your jobs then.”

Steve let out a little laugh as she lifted the jet into the sky and immediately turned on the cloaking mechanism. He braced himself above her head and looked out over the clouds. “So why did you call me?”

“‘Cause somebody called you.”

“What?”

“That mysterious burner you always carry around? It rang while you were in the field.”

His eyes widened as he reached for the flip phone, seeing the ‘Missed Call’ notification glaring back at him. He turned back to Natasha, “I need you to take me back to the city.”

Her brow furrowed as he began packing a duffel bag toward the back of the jet. “What, New York?”

“Anywhere is fine. I’ll get to where I need to be.”

“Steve, we’re supposed to be headed for Switzerland in a week—“

“Then, I have a week.”

“Tony and the feds will be on our asses soon if we don’t get out of the country.”

Steve turned to look at her and saw that she’d put the jet on autopilot. She was looking right back at him in that way that she always did. If there was anything Natasha Romanoff was good at, it was knowing when someone was lying, even by omission. But Steve was no victim of her skills. He was her best friend. And that worried look in his eyes? It scared her.

Steve sighed. “There’s someone on the other end of that phone. Someone I really care about. She’s the only one with that number and I told her to call me if there’s an emergency.”

Natasha shifted her weight onto her other leg, her hands on her hips. “Is she cute?”

“Natasha.” He smiled softly.

“Where can I drop you off?”

“Near Hell’s Kitchen.”

She turned on her heel and began punching coordinates into the navigation system. “I get to choose where we go after Switzerland.”

You arrived back at your apartment a few hours later, finally gathering everything you needed to pull off your plan. You smiled to yourself as you locked your front door and threw your keys onto the side table. 

Suddenly, when you turned the lights on, a man emerged from the hallway, and you let out a loud gasp. You dropped the bags you had been carrying, only calming when you realized that it was only Steve.

“Steve!”

You stepped over the bags and raced into his arms. He wrapped his arms tight around you, cradling the back of your head in his large palm. He couldn’t help but release a breath of relief as he felt the comfortable weight of your body against his. He pulled away from you and held your face in his hands, eyes searching for any sign of injury. “Are you okay?”

“Steve, I’m fine. I promise. Why are you so worried?”

“You called me on the burner.”

Oops. You’d totally forgotten about that. You smiled sheepishly, “About that...“

“Y/N—“ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for your explanation.

“I’m sorry! You were gone, and I missed you. Then, I remembered I had a way of contacting you.”

“It’s for emergencies only.” He scolded you.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I missed you a lot, and your birthday is coming up, and—“

“My birthday?”

You looked behind you at the bags you’d dropped on the ground. Steve followed your line of sight before spotting something that had fallen out. He stepped away from you to pick it up and inspected it carefully. His head dropped and hung between his shoulders, a quiet laugh spilling from his lips. “Captain America balloons?”

“And other non-Captain America stuff.” You added defensively. “Not the cake though. That’s got Cap all over it.”

“You got a cake?”

You gasped, “The cake!”

You ran to the bags and fished out the one carrying the small circular cake, frowning when you found it. The cake was still in one piece, but the frosting was ruined, mushed against the top of the container. “Shit! Ugh, none of this is going how I planned.”

You couldn’t see beyond the messed up cake, but Steve’s eyes had the softest look. “You had a plan?”

“I was going to have a little party. Blow up balloons, light some candles, have cake. And I was going to send you pictures so you knew I remembered and that I wished you here with me and,” You looked back up at him and saw the gentle look in his eyes, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He smiled, “No reason. You know my birthday is tomorrow, right?”

“I didn’t know what time zone you were in.”

He let out a laugh and slid his arms around your waist. He kissed you so gently, more so than he ever had before. There was no lust behind the kiss. No promise of anything more than his tongue sweeping across yours as he pulled you closer still. Nothing but care, adoration, and a little four letter word that neither of you dared to say. 

When you pulled away for air, you rested your cheek on his shoulder, peering up at him as you wondered how he stumbled into your life. “What was that for?”

“For the party.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your curls. “C’mon. These balloons won’t blow themselves up.”

---

Since that last visit, Steve had made it a point to visit you more frequently. Every two months, at midnight on the dot, Steve was at your window with his duffel bag, a small smile on his face. It was working well for you both, and his variation in changing locations kept the feds and Tony off his trail. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

It was your birthday the next time you saw Steve, but it wasn’t exactly planned — at least not on your end. Bucky was flying the quinjet over the city, dropping Steve off so he could surprise you for your birthday. Then, Steve spotted a squadron of black vans. They didn’t seem to be following the jet, which was good, but they were following a route that Steve was all too familiar with.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“They’re going to Y/N’s place.”

“What? How did the feds figure that one out?”

Just then, an object shot across the sky above them. It didn’t detect the jet thanks to Vision’s modifications, but they could very clearly see who it was. Steve glared at the hot rod red and gold suit as it flew further away from them. “The feds didn’t.”

You were lounging in bed, enjoying your day off from work when you heard a knock on your window. Your brow scrunched as you wondered why Steve would be here. Sure, it was your birthday, but he was scheduled for a mission today. Then you realized, he must’ve been lying so he could surprise you for your birthday. With a smile on your lips, you slipped out of bed and walked down the hall, prepared to give Steve the biggest hug you could muster.

Then the smile dropped. Because it wasn’t Steve outside your window.

It was Tony Stark.

He was in a suit, in typical Tony Stark fashion, the Iron Man suit keeping itself suspended just behind the rails of your fire escape. He knocked on the glass once more with a slightly facetious smile on his face. You walked up to the window and unlocked it, pushing it up for him. “Was there a reason you couldn’t use the front door?” You asked.

“Tony Stark, nice to meet you.” When you stepped back, he swung one leg over the window sill, then the other, stepping in and giving the room a once over. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“No. I’ve only ever seen you on television.”

“Does the camera add ten pounds?”

“It does something.”

“You flatter me.”

“I don’t.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, amusement tugging at the side of his lips as he picked up a picture that sat on your mantle. “You sure hold a lot of animosity for someone you’ve never met.”

“I can’t imagine you haven’t experienced worse.” You took the frame from him as you replied.

“Aren’t you wondering how I knew to come here?” He asked. “How I knew to knock on your window? How I knew you’d answer?”

You stood silent, glaring at him.

“Really? You’re gonna make me do the whole monologue thing?” He asked, only to be met with more silence. He huffed dramatically, “Fine. I’ve been trying to track him for a long time now, Y/N. I’ve tried the internet, tracking the quinjet, cell towers. Cell towers were a big one. But I also know Steve isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t risk calling anyone while on the run, especially not on the fancy new phones we have today.”

“Is this going somewhere?” You watched as he paced around the room, trying to keep your heart steady. You still had no idea where this was leading, but you were sure he was going to tell you. 

“So I figured, maybe he’d buy a burner. And lo and behold, he did. Janky flip phone, real two thousand five looking. But he paid good money to have GPS and the tracking number erased, so cell towers were useless. Until you.”

You knew he was baiting you into giving Steve up, into admitting that you knew Steve personally. Although you would never tell him about Steve, you were on edge as you thought about the many ways you could have left him vulnerable. Still, even as a thousand scenarios played out in your head, deep down, you knew that you hadn’t been anything less than discreet. The only way they could have known is—

“You had me tailed.”

“And you were a hard one to tail, I will say. You were very careful.” He admitted. “But that’s not how I learned about you.”

You watched as Tony fished through his pants pocket before pulling out a flimsy sheet of film, burnt around the edges. Something Tony had found in the aftermath of one of Steve’s crazy intel missions in a hole-in-the-ground government facility. He walked up to the table that stood between you both and slid it across to you. As your eyes widened in surprise, Tony knew he had you. It was a picture of you and Steve, taken on a polaroid he’d brought a few visits before.

A flip of the latch and he was in for the rest of the week.

You squealed as he lifted you off your feet, spinning you around. When he finally set you down, you pulled him in for a kiss, slow with the promise of something more. He chuckled lowly as he pulled away only for you to whine. “I wanna show you something.”

“Show me later.”

You swatted his hands, urging him to drop the duffel bag he’d been carrying, and led his arms around your waist. One long and very tempting kiss later, he was pulling away again. “Y/N.”

“I’m busy. Giving you my best work here.” You pressed wet kisses down his neck. Then, you settled on the spot just below his ear, always guaranteed to make him lose his mind. He had to fight the urge to throw you over his shoulder and take you to the bedroom, his hands clutching tight to your hips. Then, he pushed you back to an arm’s length and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’m gonna show you one thing, and then, I promise, I am all yours.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest with a pout. “Fine. But this better be good, Steven.”

You watched as he quickly slid off a backpack that you’d only then noticed. Digging around the inside, his eyes lit up when he finally found what he was looking for. He dropped the backpack and showed you what was in his hands.

“A camera?”

“A polaroid.” He added excitedly.

“Babe, that’s a little old school. Even for you.” You chuckled.

“This is a newer model, thank you very much.” He said, shaking the small black camera for emphasis. “I thought about a digital camera, but that’s the issue. They’re digital. If someone got their hands on the SD card, they could connect you to me.”

“I don’t care, Steve.”

“I do.” He took a step closer. He cupped your cheek with one hand and caressed his thumb across it lovingly. “If I ever get caught, I don’t want them to find out you were helping me. You’d go to prison.”

It was at that moment that you came to a scary realization. You didn’t care if you went to jail because you’d be doing it for Steve, for what you believed was the greater good. That was when you knew you loved him. Neither of you had told each other, but the sentiment could be felt every time you saw each other. It was the spark between your fingers when you held hands. The way he’d twist your hair for you when you were too sleepy to do it yourself. The way you’d scrub blood off his body when his visit happened to coincide with a mission gone bad. 

You both knew, but it was impossible to say.

“So,” You changed the subject. “You bought a polaroid instead.”

“That way, no one will know except you and me.”

“Our secret.” You nodded, your smile finally matching his. You grabbed his arm and pulled it up in the air as you positioned the camera where you wanted to be.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert in photography?” He joked.

“Shut up and take the picture.”

Tony’s eyes softened as you picked up the photo and relived a memory that he’d never be able to understand. He couldn’t say it didn’t hurt — hunting the man he once considered to be one of his best friends. His heart hurt as he watched you swallow down your tears and refuse to cry in front of him. He didn’t want to be the one to bring Steve in. Still, he had to be.

“Where is he, Y/N?”

“Screw you.”

“Just tell me where he is, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

You opened the drawer to the table and fished out the lighter you’d bought for Steve’s birthday party. You held the polaroid to the flame and watched as the picture burned to ash, gently tossing it in the waste bin. “You have no physical proof that I know Steve Rogers.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my house. Now.”

Tony looked at you, defeated and heartbroken at the same time. He acquiesced, stepping back out the window while telling his agents to meet at the rendezvous point. When he stepped back into the Iron Man suit, he gave you a nod. Even behind his mask, you could tell he had a backup plan.

Once he was out of sight, you remembered the emergency plan that Steve had drilled into you once it was clear you were getting serious. Pack a bag, get some cash, and leave town. “He’ll find me.” You kept repeating to yourself as you stuffed your clothes into a spare duffle bag.

When you were done, you picked up the burner and called Steve, sighing when it went straight to voicemail. “Hey babe, it’s me.” You cringed at your shaky voice. “It’s an emergency this time. Tony Stark just showed up at my house. He knows about us. I’ve packed a bag, and I’m getting ready to go. I don’t know where. But you’ll find me. Right?” You shook your head, pushing away any bad thoughts. “Okay. Don’t come to my place, alright? Someone’s probably watching. Just find me.”

Just as you hung up, there was a knock on your window. Worried it was Stark or one of his men, you ran to the closet and picked up your shotgun. Then the window slid open.

Shit, you thought, I forgot the latch.

You inched down the hallway, taking deep breaths as you held the gun steady. Suddenly, someone stepped out, your finger pulled the trigger. Your brow furrowed, though, as the sound was contained in the palm of the man’s hand, light splintering off of it. “Bucky?”

“You must be Y/N.” He smiled kindly. “Steve sent me. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, alright?”

Meanwhile, Tony flew across the city to the rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse on the Upper East Side. He’d gotten confirmation from his agents just a minute ago that they’d arrived and were waiting for him on the scene, yet when he got there, nobody was to be found. He stepped carefully around the back of one of the black vans, finding one of the agents passed out beside it. “FRIDAY, scan the warehouse for heat signatures.”

“There’s no need.”

When Tony rounded the vehicle, he saw Steve standing across the room. He looked different — a full beard, longer hair, a new black tactical suit that Tony was sure he didn’t design — and yet, he still looked the same. A glimmer in his eyes that Tony once mistook for self-righteousness. He now knew that was just Steve’s determination. “This is a pretty stupid plan, Steve.”

“It would be if it was a plan.” Steve shrugged. “I’m winging it.”

“That’s an even worse plan.”

“Something tells me I’ll be fine.”

“You know I can’t let you walk out of here.”

“You never let me do anything. I’m only here to warn you.”

Tony’s head drooped as he let out a low chuckle. “This is about the girl. You do know her.”

“Stay away from her, Tony.” Steve snapped. “I mean it.”

“You think I’d hurt her?”

“Of course not. But I don’t put you above turning her in.”

“She aided and abetted a fugitive.”

“I’m not having this argument with you. I know you just came from her house. From here on out, stay away from her. This is your only warning.”

Tony was thankful that his mask could not emote as surprise overtook his face. This wasn’t one of Steve’s idle threats that would amount to nothing like when the Avengers were first formed. Tony knew he was serious because he recognized Steve’s expression. It’s the same one Tony got when anyone dared to threaten Pepper.

It was hard admitting that he understood where Steve was coming from. But he did.

“And what if I don’t?” Tony asked, just to gauge his response.

Steve discreetly let out a breath of relief as he heard Bucky confirm that you were safe on comms. Looking back at Tony, his expression was a mixture of darkness and regret. “I’m not sure either of us wants to find out.”

Then, there was a flash of light that all but blinded Tony. When his eyesight returned to normal, Steve was gone.

In the wind once more.

---

Screw him.

After Tony found out who you were, Steve had taken to a safe house — a cabin in upstate Pennsylvania. It had been another favor from T’Challa. The king bought it under an alias and allowed you to stay in it until it was safe for you to go back to New York.

And to be honest, you couldn’t say you didn’t like it. It was kind of a neighborhood, multiple cabins built around one large lake. None of your neighbors actually lived there; they were more like vacation homes. Still, over the few years, you got to know them. It was nice, having that small sense of normalcy. 

Not to mention, it was much easier for Steve to visit this way. He’d come in the back entrance from the woods and stay a week or two, maybe more if he didn’t have any upcoming missions. In fact, it almost became like Steve’s home, too. When he wasn’t on a mission or in Wakanda, he was with you. And though Steve was always the first to say he no longer craved the normalcy of family, he couldn’t deny that being there, with you, was like a dream. A dream that was so close but still unattainable.

He was reminded of that when aliens invaded Earth. For the second time.

He up and left in a hurry one day, rushing out an explanation about how aliens were after Vision for some unknown reason. Still, he assured you that he’d come back, and you nodded sending him on his way with a quick kiss of his lips. It wasn’t unlike any of his other missions.

The difference this time was that he didn’t come back. At least, not for a year. Then, he was at your door again. No warning. No call. No cuts or bruises. Just him in the navy blue combat suit, silver star viciously ripped out. Thick beard, pink lips, and a look in his eyes that could kill. That is, if you didn’t know him. But you did know him. More than he’d like to admit.

So yeah, screw him.

How dare he just show up at your door without so much as a call. Steve had never gone that long without not seeing you, not speaking to you. You thought you meant at least that much to him. Even so, when you saw his face, you couldn’t help but want to be back in your old, beat-up apartment, eating junk and talking about shit that eventually wouldn’t matter until the sun rose.

Your first thought, though, was to slap him. So you did.

He’d seen it coming. He watched your small, soft hand that he’d held in his one too many times rise toward his cheek. He knew he could’ve stopped you. His instincts told him to stop you. But part of him knew he deserved it. He’d become the hero everyone needed, but in return he was no longer satisfied with the man he saw in the mirror.

He was a shell. Smiling for his friends when needed, saving the city, country, world when needed. Or trying to save the world. But inside he barely felt anything.

One of the few things he did feel for stood right in front of him. That’s why he let you slap him.

You knew the hit would barely phase him. He was a super soldier after all. The only thing he could feel was relief. Relief in knowing that you were here, in the flesh. Relieved knowing that the woman he adored hadn’t vanished into thin air. So he crashed his lips against yours in a passionate embrace. 

Surprised didn’t begin to explain how you felt. Still, you could hardly complain when Steve’s lips were moving so tenderly against your own after so much time apart. You were still angry — how could you not be? — but you still worried for him. It all seemed to be happening too fast. From what you saw on the televised memorials, he’d lost half his team, his best friend. You were starting to wonder if he should do this so soon.

You were finally given an opportunity to breathe when Steve started to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. One of his hands slid down your body and grabbed onto your thigh, hooking it around his waist. “Steve.” You called.

He hummed, finding and nipping at the spot on your neck that made you gasp. 

“Steve.”

His grip only tightened, pulling you as close as he could. 

This time, you spoke more firmly, pushing his head away, “Steve.”

He looked at you, his breaths coming out in huffs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You admitted as you caught your breath. “Are you sure you—“

“I need to feel something.” He said quietly. He seemed almost ashamed as he spoke. “I wanna be sad. I wanna be angry. God, I want to be angry. I'd at least have something fueling me. But I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t feel anything. I feel empty. Every time I close my eyes, I see Bucky turning to dust. Or Vision’s head caved in. Sam’s gone, Wanda’s gone. I just, I need to feel something, anything. Please.”

The look in his eyes was one you’d never seen from him before. Distraught, hopelessness was only a start. In the year he’d been gone, you had no idea what he’d been through. And, to some extent, you know how he felt. You saw some of your own friends and family on the memorial reels. You’d cried yourself to sleep more than once, wondering if you’d ever see them again. You knew that as bad as you felt, Steve probably felt worse because in his mind, it was his job to save them.

And he couldn’t. Didn’t.

So you pulled him closer and pressed your lips to his. Walked him back toward the bedroom. You took care of him, made him feel, even if only for a moment, when he was completely and utterly numb. And you laid with him afterward until you both fell asleep, no idea what the morning would bring for you.

You’d find out that the morning would not be much kinder. When you woke up, Steve was slipping his combat suit back on. He cursed softly when he realized you were awake, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Right.” You huffed, your voice still groggy-sounding. “You just meant to leave before we could talk about what the hell happened last night.”

He sighed, “Y/N—”

“So this is what you do now? Show up and leave when it’s convenient for you?”

“Y/N, I’ve always been honest with you. You know that—”

“That you’re a fugitive? Half the fucking universe is gone, Steve. They’re not worried about you anymore.” You scoffed, sitting up and clutching the sheets to your bare chest. “You know what? For the first time, I thought I could be selfish, that you could be selfish.”

“I can’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He tried to veer away from the conversation as he glanced around the room and muttered to himself. “Where the fuck are my boots?”

“You’d saved so many people. So many lives kept safe because of you. And when you made one mistake in the eyes of the law, a whole lot of them turned on you. And you’d think that, of all things, would make you want to be selfish, just once.”

“I can’t afford to be selfish.” He replied. “People need me.”

“I need you, Steve.” Your voice was so quiet, so vulnerable, that it made him freeze. In all the years he’d known you, he’d never once heard you sound so helpless. Child-like, almost. “You were gone. For a year.”

“I know.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He came around to sit next to you, a comforting hand on your thigh as you leaned back on the headboard. “I’m sorry.”

“I had to watch my neighbors disappear into thin air. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, and for the first time in my life, I was terrified. Terrified because I didn’t know if I was next.”

“Y/N…”

“Then I saw the memorials. I lost my best friend, too. Heather.” You told him, a tear finally falling from your eye. “My aunt, two cousins, my nephew. They’re all gone.”

“I did everything I could.” Steve said, trying but failing to hold in his own tears.

“I know you did. That was not your fault. I know you would’ve given your life for the world.” Your brow furrowed as you looked over at him. You placed your hand over his, squeezing reassuringly. “That’s not why I’m upset with you. You didn’t come back to me, Steve. I knew you were okay, they said so on the news. I kept waiting and waiting, and you never came.”

“I couldn’t.” He wiped the tears from his face. Then, he abruptly stood from the bed. “I shouldn’t have come back here.”

“Steve—”

“It’s only hurting both of us to be here.” He quickly found his boots and slipped them on.

“Steve, stop it!” You slipped out of bed and grabbed your robe.

“Y/N, you don’t get it! I can’t do what I have to — I can’t be Captain America — if I’m always thinking about you!”

“Then tell me you don’t love me.”

His lips parted in shock as he tilted his head, eyes giving you a sad look. “That’s not fair.”

“Just tell me. That way, all this, this bullshit, will make sense.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like we’ve said it to each other anyway.”

“Stop, Y/N.” He shook his head and walked out of the bedroom, toward the back door. You were quick to follow him, staying on his heels.

“Say it.”

“Don’t.”

“Say you don’t love me, Steve.”

“Goddamn it, you know I love you, Y/N!” He snapped, turning to face you. “I love you, alright?”

Everything about that moment was the portrait of juxtaposition. He’d just snapped at you, sure, but he also just said the three little words that you’d both been tiptoeing around for years. He finally professed his love to you, but his eyes were filled with sadness, with regret. Steve may have been the hero, but the way he was looking at you made it clear that he was the one who needed saving. Not that he’d ever let you.

And to think it was him who initially sought to be a part of your life.

“Then, why are you leaving?” You asked, tears still falling from your eyes.

“I can’t be Captain America and the man who loves you, and I do love you. So much.” He stepped closer, ignoring his own tears. He placed his warm hands on your cheeks and pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours. “Because if it ever comes down to everyone or you? I’m choosing you.”

You wished the moment could have been more tender. But your heart broke at the thought because looking in his eyes, you knew it was true. You grabbed his wrists tight, afraid to let go. “So this is it?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a bittersweet kiss. You could taste both your tears on your lips, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else in the whole world mattered except for the feeling of his lips on yours because this would be the last time you ever felt it. You prayed to whoever was listening that you’d never forget the feeling. His soft lips nudging yours apart, the heaviness of his hands on your face. You hoped you never forgot what it was like to feel him, his weight, his heat, his joy, his sadness. Everything about him, you hoped it would be ingrained in your mind because even though it had only been a few years since you met, you couldn’t imagine life without him anymore.

When he pulled away, it felt too soon. He looked at you one more time, his eyes puffy and red. He memorized your eyes and your lips, the contrast of your brown skin against his pale hands. He slid his hands down your neck, to your shoulders, then your forearms, finally willing himself to step back. He looked like he wanted to say something, and you hoped that he would. But nothing came out.

With one last glance, Steve was out your back door.

In the wind. For good.

[shardminds]

silver for monsters (1/?)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: e for extra (in later chapters) wc: almost 5k ish

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow. 

also available on ao3! ♠

it's my cssns submission!

firstly, a thank you to the wonderful mods for organising and facilitating the event! where would we be without you? and also the cssns discord — you lovely humans are just fantastic.

secondly, i owe my wonderful partner-in-crime, beta and artist (this fic has art, people! coming soon!) my life. she deserves more than i could ever give her. love you, salem! give killy a cuddle from me!

now, a note about the fic. this is a witcher au, using inspiration from the witcher games, books and TV show. i have pulled inspiration from all 3. just a fair warning, considering the nature of the witcher universe, there will be gratuitous violence in some scenes. i will be adding characters and tags as they appear in the work to abstain from spoilers but i will let you know in advance that there is no major character death.

happy reading!

“Fuck!”

The cockatrice rears up, flapping its enormous wings and lunging straight for him, talons poised for attack. At full height, it’s almost three times his size—an intimidating sight, but not an unfamiliar one. Killian dodges at the last second, rolling beneath the dirt-encrusted claws and narrowly avoiding the beak that follows to impale him. If he hadn’t thrown out his palm to cast Quen in time, he’d have been thrown across the sewer, probably landing in one of the many questionable pools littering the place. The beast rights itself, elongating its sinuous throat to prepare for its next attack but Killian is faster, springing to action in its short reprieve. His blade strikes true, the sharpened silver slicing from neck to navel through leathery flesh. A choked shriek pierces the cavernous echo around them but it does nothing to hinder his attack. Killian twists his weapon deeper, severing the thick sinew in its throat with a precision only gained from decades of practice.

The draconid oil he’d prepared had done well to weaken the monster, each touch of his sword against tough hide was met with a harrowing screech, each one emanating from its maw with a sickening gurgle as Killian’s coated sword seared its innards. Good. At least the ergot seeds used in its creation hadn’t gone to waste. The common weeds don’t grow this far east of Misthaven.

One final twist is all it takes, tearing out the creature’s windpipe in all its bloody glory, falling to the filth below, darkening the murk beneath its claws. It shudders, struggling for breath, but continues to advance. The guttural gurgle of its demise falling hollow in the dank expanse. Power simmers in Killian’s fingertips as he throws out his palm to cast Aard, shunting the beast backwards and knocking it off balance.

With a heavy thud, the cockatrice falls—

Right into a puddle of shit.

“Oh, that’s bloody lovely.” He grits out, wiping the sludge from where it splattered on his trousers. He’d been planning to start the ride back west, to the familiar place he was reluctant to call anything but that. He’d been planning to take rest between contracts, among the hamlets of Velen, stopping only to deliver the head of the beast and collect his bounty before taking to the path at full speed.

Now he’d have to fork out for an inn.

And a stable.

And a drink.

Bloody lovely, indeed.

Slipping the dagger from his boot to take his trophy—evidence of a job well done—Killian kneels next to the beast’s shredded neck and begins to cut. It takes a couple of minutes, the toughened hide of the beast proving more difficult than expected, but Killian manages to decapitate the thing without too much protest. Despite being smothered in excrement, both human and ornithosaur in origin, Killian wraps up the head in a linen sheet he’d acquired from the last inn he’d visited, slinging the thing over his shoulder to attach to Smee’s saddlebag for the ride into town. It’s hefty, already seeping dark ichor through the fabric, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Nothing he hasn’t handled a thousand times before.

Shit-stained or not, there’s little people love more than dead monsters.

In his periphery, there’s a shimmer of something long and thin and sharp beneath the ooze of the dead heap.

Feathers. Golden Feathers.

They’d sell for a fair price at any market but, with a wry smile, someone else comes to Killian’s mind. He plucks the protruding tail feathers with a delicate hand and slides them in his scabbard for later. Robin will be pleased.

Smee lingers by the sewer’s decaying entrance, chomping on the greenery of a shallow blackberry thicket without care. Seeing him brings ease to Killian’s bones. The walk to Camelot would be a lot more arduous without him. The dimming sunlight brings out the russet in his hide and he snorts as if to acknowledge the presence of his master. Smee has seen him through so much, his steed for over a decade now, and even as a colt he had stayed true to his commands. He rears his head, giving a soft huff in greeting as Killian reaches out to rub his muscular neck.

“Hello to you too, lad.” He soothes, securing the trophy with thick leather straps to Smee’s saddlebags. It thuds against his hind leg as he shifts to accommodate for the extra weight but Killian talks him through it. “You can rest tonight. We deserve it.”

Smee, ever the conversationalist, responds with a snort. Something Killian would translate as about damn time.

The hunt for the cockatrice had taken longer than he'd anticipated, the cursed beast leading them astray for days before finally returning to roost in the sewers of all places. The sorcerer in these parts—Merlin, he’d said his name was—had informed him it would. They’d sent hunters, knights, even mages to deal with their pest, but none had returned; either fleeing from the beast or succumbing to it.

With the head of the monster firmly attached, Killian steps up into the stirrup and mounts his steed, heels tapping against his belly to spur him forward, back towards the city. With a reluctant snort and a slow start, Smee carries both the Witcher and his cargo to their destination.

It’s long past nightfall by the time they reach the oaken gates and marble paved roads leading to Camelot. It’s a damn sight better than the gravel paths back in Misthaven. The approach to the city is announced with sconces attached to grand flags bearing the sigil of the king, inlaid with gold detailing. A gaudy display of wealth if ever there was one.

Up ahead, before the city entrance, Killian can just about make out the silhouette of a man in robes of purple and gold. Power radiates off him and it trembles in the wolf head pendant resting atop Killian’s chest, even from over 100 yards away. Smee trots closer, almost lazy in his approach. He doesn’t halt until they’re stood before the man who greets them warmly, with a kind face and a gentle smile. Merlin, the sorcerer.

Killian doesn’t trust it.

“I see you’ve dealt with the beast, my friend.” Merlin starts.

“I see you don’t intend to let me in.”

The sorcerer nods at the assumption, as if reluctant to do so and holds out the pouch of coin. Killian lets it thud into his palm. It weighs about right so he doesn’t bother to question it before tucking the payment into Smee’s saddlebag. It’s more than any common contract would afford him.

“The King has requested—”

“The King can go fuck himself.” With a flick of his knife, Killian cuts free his cargo, letting the head of the beast slip to the floor. It cracks on impact, spilling the crimson gore inside, smelling only of death and decay. Iron and rot. Merlin doesn’t recoil, instead choosing to step around and inspect the shattered mass. Mages like him, in positions of power beside volatile Kings, tend to be more accustomed to such displays.

If the stories of King Arthur’s conquests are true, it’s no surprise.

“With your reputation, Witcher,” He starts, prodding the bloodied heap with his foot. It lols to the side, mottled beak clacking against the path. “Do you really think Arthur would take such a risk?”

Killian could not give less of a shit about the opinion of Kings. Especially not ones of lands that dictated their monarchy based on whoever could yank a sword from the sodden shit coated earth. If that were the universal basis for royalty, he’d be King three times over. Merlin waves his hand over the mess of brains and bone, vanishing the mound into nothing and leaving only pristine stone behind. Smee stiffens, sensing the otherness of the man so close to his rear.

With unnatural grace, Merlin steps back to his place between them and the gate, unwavering in his resolution.

“Rumours of the Golden Bride have spread further than you think.”

Of course. Ravens travel faster than horses these days. What happened back in Kovir—

People tend to trust Kings over Mutants, no matter the truth. Killian grunts, the only sign of the tension in his bones in the way he grips the worn leather reins, knuckles taught and surely white beneath his gloves.

“Next time,” He grunts, not flinching at the mention of his past. “Pay upfront. Spare me the journey back.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but it’s too late. With probably more force than necessary, Killian kicks Smee into action, turning him to ride away from the white brick barrier that separates him from a good night's sleep before the sorcerer can protest. His work here is done. His contract ended. If they won’t let him into the city, he has no reason to stay. Bath and a bed be damned.

There’s nothing for him here.

They ride onwards.

Killian slows his steed to a gentle trot as soon as they cross the border into Temeria, a silent apology in the calm stroke of his palm behind Smee’s ears.

Moonlight bathes the vast fields of wheat in an ethereal glow. Nekkers peer through the tall sheaves to watch him pass, following him as far as they dare. His medallion thrums with their proximity, the pendant rattling against his mail. If it were any other day, he’d have torn through the harvest, taking down the bastards with broad swoops of his blade. Not today, though. The cockatrice had drained more from him than he initially thought. There’d been no time to brew potions to remedy his weariness, and his supply of dwarven spirit was alarmingly low. The next apothecary along the path would take a beating from his coin purse, that much is certain.

Midnight comes and goes before the path widens into the well trodden roads of more populated areas and more hours pass before they even stumble across an inn shrouded in forest. It’s decrepit and musky, but an inn all the same. It’ll have to do. Killian can tell by the bray of his travelling companion that he won’t last until the next one. There’s water and hay in the mossy overhang out front, its ancient wood almost rotted through but still secure enough to attach Smee’s reins to the post. An old silver mare secured closest to the inn takes one sniff at Killian and sneezes.

“That bad?”

Smee nudges him in response. That bad.

The inside of the inn is as ancient and forgotten as the exterior; thick stone walls, cobwebbed beams, a bar made of mottled oak with ring stains of old ale covering its surface. Upon Killian’s entry, the landlord nods, his pallid skin as thin as paper. The sickness he holds will kill him, it lingers in the shadows beneath his eyes and the pale flesh of his gums as he smiles, with too much joviality.

“Room for the night, is it?”

He will not see the summer.

Killian drops fifteen crowns on the bar, watching the old man’s eyes widen at their shine. “Along with a bath and a bottle of your strongest.”

“Right away, my friend!” He shuffles along, reaching for a slender greying glass bottle that he places on the bar top, before disappearing altogether. The other bar patrons stay quiet, lulled to the edge of listless sleep by the fire crackling in the hearth and the ale in their bellies—gwent games unfinished, tankards half full. Not wanting to follow their lead in sleeping on the hard benches, Killian waits at the bar. He takes a swig, letting the liquid coat his throat in its familiar fire. There are better ways to cope. There are better ways to fend off the dark that threatens to swallow him whole but nothing works quite as well as the burn alcohol leaves behind. Well, usually that’s the case.

Minutes pass and his thoughts, however reluctantly, stray back to Merlin’s earlier words.

The Golden Bride.

Killian had killed her. Killed her, raped her, tortured her, ate her liver, stole the unborn child from her stomach as a payment to the eternally damned gods of old, used her blood for his mutations—the stories change depending on where you are. Nilfgaardians prefer the gory stuff whereas, up in Kovir, they favour the lighter tales. She was their Queen, after all.

The one he couldn’t save.

Each burning gulp helps less and less.

When the dying barkeep waves him over, brandishing a rusted key and an armful of tattered blankets, the burn has gone and only Killian’s thoughts remain.

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow.

The room is barely bigger than a broom closet and the old man has the courtesy to look ashamed of his meagre offerings. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, a bed is a bed. Along the way, Killian has learnt not to make attachments to the materialistic.

In the centre of the narrow room, manoeuvred between the end of the dusty four-poster bed and the fireplace, stands a solid wooden bath. The water, lukewarm to the touch and stagnant, comes to life with a flick of his palm and a whisper of “Igni”. Killian doesn’t even bother to be neat, letting his weapons, armour, potions, and coin fall to what little floor space there is available before letting himself sink naked into the warmth. The agitated boil helps to shift the stubborn muck customary of weeks on the path.

How long had it been since his last? A few days, maybe? A week? He’d taken a brief dip in the river just outside Camelot before embarking on his quest— had it really been that long? No wonder the mare had turned her nose up. No wonder Merlin had regarded him with such polite distance.

He’d been wandering around smelling like a Necrophage’s anal gland and no one had bothered to tell him. Not that anyone could tell him. That’s the thing with always being on the path—the only things to talk to are your horse or your hunt.

Monsters aren’t always the best conversationalists.

The waters lap away the aches set deep in his bones, settling each worn muscle with its tender embrace. It’s a luxury he can nary afford, but it’s worth it when he can. When he exits, smelling of old soap and lavender, there is only black silt left behind. A dark mirror on the liquid’s surface. He won’t be able to use it again. He takes his underclothes to the small basin by the bedside to soak instead, too tired to even consider spending any more time away from the clutches of sleep.

For the first time in a long time, he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. The exhaustion of the weeks passed weighing his bones like lead, as if they’d sink straight through the mattress and into the nether below. He wishes they would.

“Killian.”

He jerks awake—no, not awake. Further into the embrace of a dream. Oppressive darkness and silence surround him, his keenest senses rendered useless in their wake. Beneath him, a plush leather armchair. It’s painfully familiar. Precious, somewhat. Worn and comfortable and moulded to him as if he’d spent a century sat only here. This dreamscape. This void.

Oneiromancy. Perfect.

“Killian.”

A woman’s voice— her voice.

“Emma.”

“And I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She smiles, suddenly appearing in his lap, hips straddling his thighs as if it hadn’t been almost five years since they’d last parted. Five long, arduous years.

“Impossible, love. You’re not so easy to forget.” Killian can feel the steady beat of her heart as his hands take her waist. Soft, so soft.

And centuries old.

“You never thought to stop by on your travels then?”

“The path is—”

“Don’t lecture me. I know,” Pouting, she brings her arms around Killian’s neck. The thin swath of lace she’s wearing does nothing to hide her figure but its intricacies marr the details he wants very much to focus on; the blush of her breasts, the swell of her arse, what lies between those slender legs. Each time he tries to take her in, see past the veil of fabric, it shifts, obscuring his gaze once more. Fucking magic. “But I have missed you terribly.”

“Emma Swan, legendary sorceress and advisor to the throne of Misthaven, missing but a lowly Witcher?” The pale expanse of her neck calls for his kiss, so close and yet so far. “People will talk.”

With a violet flash, Emma winks. “Noise complaints, hopefully.”

His eyes slip shut, trying to maintain what little composure he has left. As disconcerting as dream magic is, he doesn’t want the spell to end. The feel of her so close is maddening. Waking to an empty bed will be torture.

Words he can’t possibly say nor mean jump to his throat, aching to be whispered against her mouth, passed to her tongue by his own as they had longed to so many times in the past. They burn.

“Come see me.”

“Emma—”

“I need you. I can’t tell you why—not here—but I need you.” There’s a silent plea hidden in her words, behind the typical bravado she always favours. He almost doesn’t catch it. She adjusts herself slightly, sitting back on his knees and letting her hands reverently trace the scars across his shoulders and chest. Ones she’s seen before and ones she hasn’t, long healed but still raw to her touch. It’s been too long. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it takes every modicum of restraint he has not to kiss her there and then. “Come to King David’s court in Misthaven. There’s a tourney one week from now.”

“I’m sensing I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. It’s in your best interests to make the right one.”

Killian sighs, letting his palms slide from her middle to her thighs, taking in the phantom warmth he’s missed so greatly. Emma Swan is an enigma. She’s centuries of power wrapped in mystery and untold sorrows and it lingers beneath her skin. She’s the first kiss of morning sun, the dark chill of winter, the wild lilacs that grow along the dirt roads of Misthaven. She’s true love’s first kiss and the denial of destiny. She’s nothing and everything, the beginning and the end.

And, occasionally, his.

“One week?” He muses, hyper focused on the way her nails feel against his skin, as if she were there, as if it were real. Her eyes, green as woodland moss, captivate him in the way they always used to, but they’re not the same. A mere mimicry. Beneath his fingers, the dream begins to fall away.

There’s no depth, just a glimmer of magic below the surface.

Everything’s hollow and when he finally presses his lips to her fading visage, all he tastes is ash, dirt and the absence of all things.

“One week.”

It echoes around the cramped room, a whisper in the darkness not yet reached by morning’s soft first touches. A reminder.

Killian almost missed it. Misthaven. It’s rolling hills and wildflower meadows, deep green forests free of ill fated fiends. Well, mostly free—wraiths and rotfiends are everywhere these days, especially after the war. If they weren’t, he’d be out of a job.

In the five days on the path, across the forgotten poppy-filled battlefields and open plains of Temeria, Killian didn’t encounter much trouble. The first two days were monotonous, non-stop riding through the day and night, brief pauses for food, water and rest.

The day after that saw a kikimora rear its ugly maw as Smee cantered past its roadside hovel, swiping out with its blade-like limbs in an attempt to take out the horse’s legs — it took three swipes of his blade to take it down, the starving queen letting out a defeated whine as glinting silver pierced through her armour and into her brain. Killian left a bomb in his wake, making sure none of her spawn would see the light of day.

Day four drove him closer to the ruins of Vizima, it’s grand stone walls now bleak and crumbled. Killian had been around when it fell, only a few years beneath his belt on the path as the Nilfgaardians withdrew their tyranny. They razed the city, with fire and blood, so that the North would remember what the clutches of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The self-proclaimed white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies sputtered and faded just like everyone else on this mortal coil. The flames had kept him warm one night, decades ago, as the fallen city smouldered.

Misthaven greets the horizon on day five. It’s unperturbed woodland gracing his path with an archway formed of two entwined enchanted oaks, their magic forms the base of the wards that surround the city and the sheer power of it is a familiar thrum of energy that has his medallion singing as Smee trots over the border. In the thick bramble bushes beside the sheltered road, fairies shield themselves from view, their sugar plum scent hangs on the air as heavy as horse shit. There’s something he hasn’t missed. After half a mile or so, the rattle of his medallion becomes barely noticeable, a gentle simmer rather than a raucous boil.

Instead of taking the northern road at Lake Nostos towards the bustling city and the castle of King David, they turn to the east, along a too familiar, although far less trodden, path.

Smee huffs at his choices, resisting the tug of his reins.

Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

The Rabbit Hole is, in Killian’s eyes, better than most. Being just outside the city, tucked up against the eastern entrance’s vine smothered portcullis, not many people stumble through its doors by accident. However, with its vast stone hearth, sturdy oak beams and a half decent cellar, the place could weather the harshest Skellige storm with nary but a draught. Ale, food, music and good company. It’s… nice, for lack of a better word.

And, despite the nature of his work, it’s somewhere Killian keeps coming back to. Regardless of the years between his visits.

Smee, ever the dramatic, saunters over to the water-filled trough cemented to the tavern's stable, eagerly eyeing up the hay-filled feedbag beside it. At least, he’ll get a chance to rest as Killian gets his own fill. Haphazardly, he knots Smee’s reins to the hitching post, leaving just enough slack for him to be able to reach his amenities and socialise with the unsaddled gelding tied up on the other side of the post.

Killian pulls his coin purse from his steed’s saddlebags, knowing full well he’ll spend it one way or another. The door swings open before he can even tap the shit off his boots.

“You took your time, Captain.” Will Scarlet, with his signature troublesome smirk, is upon him in an instant, arms thrown around Killian’s shoulders, squeezing tightly as his skinny arms allow. He’d never been one for heavy lifting, more interested in wielding a lyre than a sword, and it shows in the way he greets his old friend as if it hasn’t been almost five years since Killian left him in Toussaint in the bed of a baroness whose husband had not been best pleased to find him there. The stench of Mahakaman mead on the bard’s breath permeates the air. The half-decade has barely touched him.

It hasn’t touched Killian either but, then again, mutations will do that to a man.

“Is that what they’re calling me now?”

Will peels himself away, stumbling back into the oak door frame that knocks the air right out of him with an oof. His brow furrows ever so slightly and someone from the other side of the dimly lit pub chortles at his discomfort. Will throws an obscene gesture his way before coming to Killian’s side instead.

“Just roll with it mate, you wouldn’t like the alternative.”

Killian shrugs. Murderer, Mutant, Devil— “I have been called worse.”

The bard nods in agreement, letting Killian step over the threshold and into the dark innards of the inn. They both have. Back when they travelled together, there was nary a day that insults weren’t hurled their way. Killian never had the chance to apologise back then, and it doesn’t seem right to bring it up now.

Will looks… happy.

“Anyway,” He starts, falling back on his chipper tone and catching Killian off guard as he hops over the bar top with ease, grabbing a tankard on his way. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

“I’m not too sure of that myself.”

Will places the tankard before him, full of a sweet smelling dark ale. “No contract?”

Killian knocks back the mug in one, letting the slightly soured brew flavour his tongue. It’s better than the pig swill he’s settled for along the Path. Then again, Will always was one with good taste; always the finest inns, the grandest company, lining his pockets with the gold of diplomats and dukes alike. Despite all that, The Rabbit Hole suits him, dust and dirt be damned. He hum’s, considering how to answer, before settling for the simplest one. “No.”

“No valiant quest?”

Killian shrugs.

“Ah,” Eyeing him knowingly while taking a sip from his own cup with a smug smile, Will hums. They’ve known each other long enough now for him to be able to read between the lines. “A summons then.”

“Can’t I just stop by and visit an old friend?”

“Theoretically, yes. But that’s not in your nature is it, mate.” There’s a pause. Someone laughs from the other side of the room, lit only by a handful of candles to fend off the dark even in the daylight. Will doesn’t even blink, drumming out a rhythm on the countertop, wearing an ever present smile. “Especially knowing that there’s a certain sorceress within the city walls.”

Killian had no idea what he was here for, not really. One dream and he’d come running like a well trained dog, a pet. He can’t even feel shame about it. Emma could’ve asked him to pick daisies in the grand gardens of King David and he’d have come running, a prisoner to his emotions. His mutations should have rid him of them decades ago and yet—

He lets himself be seen, letting his posture slip to a slouch. The ride was harder on him than he’d anticipated and his limbs call for sleep, the ache of it weighing him down. Will is, above all else, his oldest friend. If he can trust anyone, it's him.

“What’s going on, Killian?”

Lilac and gooseberries, touched with cinnamon and the undeniable scar of power. It singes the air with its grace and sets Killian’s medallion ablaze with activity before he can even register the draught behind him hadn’t come from the door. Will looks up, eyes rapidly widening in a mix of familiarity and surprise, but Killian doesn’t have to. He knows. She must have sensed him when he passed the kingdom's wards, followed the sing of his own power to find him, greet him.

Killian turns and lets a smirk tug at his lips as silence hangs like a criminal, the whole inn rendered mute by her entrance. In awe. In fear.

Emma.

Time hasn’t dared touch her. It hasn’t in aeons. In the years Killian has known her, she has always looked this radiant. Hair curled loosely over her shoulders and a dress of lace laid over silk, bright and beautiful and absolutely incredible. An aura of light surrounds her, bringing illumination to the dim room. From her very core, she is beautiful.

Killian has missed her.

She smiles, knowingly.

"I haven't told him yet."

[hollyxqx]

chained  //  yoongi  //  02

↪ PAIRING: Min Yoongi/Reader ↪ SUMMARY: Min Yoongi, a demon, has been ordered to protect you as punishment for his crimes; no matter what…and he’s not happy about it. ↪ WORD COUNT: 5k

↪ WARNINGS: general violence | rough sex | dark themes | more filthy demon sex

a/n: i’m sorry this took forever to get published. believe it or not it actually went through three re-writes, which is why i’ve added a third chapter. if you’re a little confused/surprised by this part don’t worry, all will be revealed :D  ALSO, I don’t know if anyone noticed but this story is heavily inspired by the show A Korean Odyessy, which I def recommend! thanks for being so patient and I hope everyone enjoys this part!

ONE | TWO | THREE

The next day when you awoke the first thing you felt was pain.

Not only had Yoongi really pounded you he'd bit your neck also. It seared with pain and you felt stiff as you rolled over. It had felt good at the time but you were suffering now. Your body ached.

You stood, slowly, your muscles screaming at you and started to dress. The words Yoongi spoke about your outfit the night before ringing in your head.  The mirror on your nightstand revealed a freshly healed, painstakingly obvious set of teeth prints on your jugular. Already there was some dark purple, almost black bruises forming. You slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and made your way to your living room. Yoongi lay on your sofa, an arm slung across his face covering his eyes. You wondered if he was sleeping.

"Y/N." He slowly sat up, wincing a little. Definitely not sleeping, then.

"You're still here." You said, feeling a little awkward seeing as you literally had sex only a few hours ago.

"Something is wrong." You froze a few feet away from the sofa. He turned to look at you and his eyes were back to that fiery hazel colour you recognised.

"What's going on?"

"You're in pain and it's causing me pain." He held in a groan, face screwing up as he spoke. You noted the tattoo around his neck that was peeking out of the collar of his shirt looked as if it was glowing. Did it do that before? You swore it didn't.

"Didn't that happen before?" You asked uncertainly.

"Yes. But now it's tenfold. I can feel...everything."

You walked over to where he sat, keeping yourself a few feet away. For some reason you didn't want to get too close to him but you weren't sure why, something instinctual flaring up within you. "I'm not sure I understand. You're saying it's suddenly worse?"

"Yes." He looked distressed. Upon closer inspection he looked like he was sweating. "I can practically hear your thoughts y/n. That's definitely fucking new."

"You can hear my thoughts?" You repeated, astonished. It felt almost as if he was playing some ridiculous joke on you.

"I phrased that wrong." He shook his head. "Not literally, it's more like an instinct. It always was but it's so intense I can't even really feel what I'm feeling."

"Is this because we...we, uh, had sex?" You really didn't want to discuss this with him after yesterday, intent on just moving on like it never happened but you hadn't expected to see him like this.

"Don't flatter yourself, human." He scoffed. You instantly felt as if you were a few inches tall, ego thoroughly bruised. "It's because I ingested your blood. Human blood doesn't normally do this to me, I think it's - clashing, with the binding spell."

"Will it pass over time? You won't be like this forever right?" You asked curiously.

"I have no idea. This is new."

You thought for a moment about what to do. Yoongi had helped you out so much you only wanted to return the favour. However you knew nothing about his world, the rules that he was bound to or why you were even involved in the first place. So you took a shot. "Would it help if you left? You don't have to stay with me."

"I tried, y/n." He said. The hurt that you felt about him trying to skip out on you was palpable. "My skin burned more intensely with each step I got away from you. Even just you being in my proximity now has made a difference. It's not hurting so much anymore."

"Oh."

You were dumbfounded. None of this made any sense to you. Unconsciously you fiddle with the sleeves of your hoodie. What was going to happen now? What if this was permanent? You had to go to work at some point, it's not as if Yoongi could accompany you. How would you even begin to explain that?

"How is your neck? I can feel you're hurting. I did some damage huh?" His eyes flashed with something dark, intense and stormy. Instantly flashbacks of his body melding with yours burned in your mind's eye.

"It's sore." You admitted, absent-mindedly touching at it.

"I can help." He suggested.

"How?"

"Come here and take that hoodie off." He commanded. You didn't move at first, weary of what exactly his intentions were. Nearly an entire minute passed (which felt like an eternity when no one is doing anything) before Yoongi huffed and bridged the gap himself, yanking at the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it up and over your head.

You were left in your nightshirt from earlier and you were still braless. To say the least, you felt exposed. "What are you doing?" You asked as he tugged the neckline of your shirt to reveal you neck fully. His palm hovered over your injury but did not make contact. After a few moments a warm sensation surged through you, as if someone was pouring warm water on your neck. The feeling took over your entire insides, all the way to your finger tips and toes.

"That should help." He murmured.

Immediately your hand went to your neck. The skin felt tender but the scab of his teeth indentation was gone. You walked over to the small mirror that hung on the wall to see for yourself. The injury was gone, your flesh tickled pink from whatever magic he had used.

"Woah," You breathed. "Freaky. What else can you do?" You muttered, more so to yourself than anything.

"More than you'd be able to comprehend." He smirked meeting your gaze in the mirror.

"Well, either way - thanks." You told him. You turned around and reached for the clothing you'd just removed suddenly feeling vulnerable once more. Yoongi's hand darted out to your wrist ceasing your movements. Confusion washed over your features as gave him a questioning look. "What - "

"This is awful." He muttered. "I have this ridiculous desire to be close to you now."

"Oh, um..." You trailed off, unsure of where to even begin in response to that.

"My brain is just screaming at me to throw you on the couch and take you again, just like I did last night."

The blush that crept up your cheeks was instantaneous at his words. "Won't that make whatever is happening to you now worse?" You ask uncertainly.

"Honestly the urge to have you is kind of clouding my rationale here. I don't care if it does. I'll risk it." He drew you close to his lean body, pressing himself against you. You were almost in a trance as you went, unable to look away. "You smell like me." He hummed. His face was so close you felt his hot breath against your lips.

"Like you?"

"Like mine."

In a flash his lips are on yours and his hands on your waist. The kiss is hungry, perhaps even hungrier than the night before. He walked you backward until your body collided with the wall behind you, rattling a picture frame that hung there. Yoongi hiked up one of your thighs, wrapping it around his hip, pressing his visible hardness into you. Both of you let out audible groans of need.

"You really want to do this here?" You manage to get out inbetween kisses. "You know humans fuck in a bed right?"

He let out a breathless laugh at your joke. "We can do that later too if you want. Right now, I'm having you here."

Yoongi doesn't even wait to completely undress you, opting to shove your shirt up to your collarbones and your pants down. Your hands slid along the hardness of his chest, down his stomach and to the hem of his shirt, hinting at him to remove it. He doesn't think twice about it, tearing the garment off at lightning speed.

Now that he's bare you can see more of the tattoos around his neck. For a moment it distracts you but you're brought hurtling back to reality when he roughly pushed his cock into you, barely giving you any warning. "Fuck," You involuntarily gasped at the sensation. It was bordering on painful, given how hard he'd fucked you just a few hours ago.

"Shit, I didn't mean to hurt you." He stilled inside you as he gripped your legs that were round his waist.

"It didn't hurt." You lied.

"Y/n, I felt it. Don't bullshit me." He reprimanded. You wiggled a little, having now adjusted to his size. His cock twitched impatiently within you. "Better." He murmured, kissing you.

He began to push in and out of you, going at an uncharacteristically slow pace, watching your face carefully for reaction. His mouth was slack and he had that look in his eyes again; the one where he looked at you as if you were his favourite meal and he hadn't eaten in years.

"Feels good," You whisper, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. "Keep going."

Yoongi pounded into you harder as you requested. You were crushed between his burning hot skin and the wall, but it wasn't a bad feeling. You felt protected. "Shit, you like this." He growled as his hips slapped against the backs of your thighs. The pleasure you were feeling radiated throughout him as well. "You like it rough huh?"

"I guess." You squeaked, barely able to manage a coherent thought and throwing your head back. It hit the wall with a dull thud. "Fuck - Yoongi." You moaned.

"I can feel how much you're enjoying my dick in you." He chuckled, nosing at your neck. You tensed, concerned he might bite you but as if he could read your mind he said, "Don't worry babe, I'm not going to feed on you. This time."

He pushed harder into you, moving your body higher up the wall. The new angle was glorious and you felt yourself getting very close to coming. The animalistic noises that fell from his mouth only turned you on more, the fact that he was eager to the point of letting go like that for you - for your body - was thrilling.

"I'm gonna cum, Yoongi!" You cried out as you felt yourself squeeze his cock, another intense orgasm courtesy of the demon fucking you. He was relentless, barely in control. You stared at him as he devoured you, noting how his eyes had gone back to that firey shade once more. You don't recall anyone ever having this much desire for you. It was overwhelming.

When he came a few brutal thrusts later he buried his face in your neck, practically growling your name into your skin. It was only when the high started to wear off you became aware of the vice grip he had on your thighs. There would no doubt be bruises there later.

"This feels too good with you." He groaned as he lifted his head up. You expected him to put you down but he surprised you with a gentle kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to what had just transpired. "I don't normally finish that fast." He laughed.

"Sure," You replied sarcastically along with a laugh of your own. "Put me down, I need to shower."

He slowly pulled his cock out of you and set you on the ground, smirking when you stumbled a little. "I can join you if you want."

***

Later that same day (after another two rounds of sex) Yoongi lay awake as you napped peacefully beside him. You were curled on your side with one hand under your head, thin sheet draped over your naked torso. You looked serene. He could feel it in his chest that you were content and as much as it pained him to admit it, that made him pleased.

He wondered what was so special about you. Why were you so unique that the universe had granted you blood that made him crazy? Without even having to test the theory he knew other demon's would want you too. Frankly, he was concerned none of them had ever gotten to you before.

They definitely wouldn't now he was here. He'd make sure of that.

You stirred beside him, unconsciously reaching for him in your sleep. Your hand made contact with his bare chest. He placed his hand atop of yours securing it there, even some amount of skin to skin contact felt good. He had anticipated this new strong connection to weaken over the last few hours but it hadn't. Yoongi was concerned. That was not normal.

As much as he knew he should have never fed on you, the last few hours of pleasure made him realise he would do it all over again if given the chance. He'd never felt that good before. It was intoxicating and he worried he'd never find the willpower to stop. He was supposed to be a protector, not your lover.

Who would have thought that a human would be Min Yoongi's downfall, he ridiculed to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Not him.

***

Eventually you had to leave. You had human responsibilities, Yoongi was more than aware of. Not that it made him any less grumpy at the prospect of the physical pain that would come without you. He had no choice other than to grin and bear it.

For some reason, alcohol helped the pain. Yoongi had found some in your kitchen cupboards. He had known that it worked for humans, so he was pleasantly surprised when it worked for the agony the spell was bringing him. Any relief, however temporary was welcome at this point.

While you were at work his plan was to feed. Having fed on you twice now he didn't want to risk a third time. It was clear to him that it took a lot out of you by the way your energy levels dipped. You seemed lethargic as you readied yourself that morning. Not only would it be unwise to drink from you, it would be downright idiotic.

Unfortunately, he was hungry, which meant venturing out into the world.

His time on Earth thus far he had fed hundreds of times, usually opting for some scumbag human that deserved to die or at least suffer, as if he was some kind of chaotic vigilante. He was very much looking forward to the thrill of a fresh kill as he made his way out onto the streets.

It would be considerably more difficult to attack in the daylight, but he was a seasoned hunter. The ability of super human strength didn't hurt either.

Yoongi staked out one of his 'regular' haunts. A cafe a few miles from your apartment that teetered on the bad side of town. He would people watch for a while until he saw his target. It didn't take long for him to find exactly what he was looking for. It took even less time to drag the unsuspecting victim around the back of some industrial buildings where he could rip their throat out in peace.

He threw the lifeless body of his victim to the ground with little regard when he had finished eating, feeling much more like himself. Spending so much time around you lately had disconnected him slightly from his true sense of self, something he hadn't noticed until now. He dragged the body behind a dumpster. When he had successfully hidden the corpse he turned round to face something he hadn't encountered yet on earth.

Another demon.

"Min Yoongi, as I live and breathe."

He recognised him instantly. The scar's on his face and hands, messy black hair and hooded eyes. Taehyung was rather infamous back in his world. Notoriously reckless, ruthless, with a  don't-give-a-fuck-attitude to boot. Yoongi thought he was an annoying little shit who caused more trouble than he was worth.

The first time their paths had crossed was when Taehyung antagonised a group of much older, much more powerful demons, almost getting himself obliterated in the process. Yoongi had reluctantly saved his life. Yoongi had also regretted it ever since.

"Why are you here on earth?" Yoongi practically growled, using the sleeve of his forearm to swipe at the wet blood staining his lips and chin. He spat some excess onto the floor.

"Checking up on you, brother." Taehying grinned lopsidedly, dark hair flopping in his eyes. His arms folded across his chest and all Yoongi could think about was wiping the smug smile off of his face. No doubt the younger demon was loving the fact that Yoongi had been exiled.

"No need, brother." He sneered, mocking the supposedly friendly term.

"Are you sure? How's that human of yours?" Taehyung's head cocked to one side. "Dead yet?"

"If she was, you would have gotten word already." His eyes narrowed. "What do you really want Taehyung?"

"Maybe I've got a message. Or maybe.... I just wanna mess with you." He laughed.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and made to push past him but not without giving him such a rough shoulder barge that Taehyung stumbled. "Fuck off." He muttered as he walked away.

"You're in trouble, Yoongi!" Taehyung called after him. Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He hissed over his shoulder only partially looking at the other man. His fists balled at his sides.

"You think I can't smell that human stench on you? You've been a naughty boy Min Yoongi."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He lied. Did he really smell like humans? Perhaps it had been the months he's spent on Earth, but the way Taehyung was speaking sounded like insinuated something else.

"Intercourse," Taehyung snickered, putting on a posh voice. "Is not allowed with humans. You know that."

Yoongi was well aware of that. However given his banishment he didn't think the rules of the underworld were applicable to him anymore. How can you be punished for breaking the rules of a world you were no longer part of?

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You're supposed to protect that human." Taehyung began. "It's dangerous for you to be in a relationship with her. You don't know what will happen."

"I'm not in a relationship with her."

"Whatever it is you're doing with her is not right. You're not supposed to be so involved." He stressed. "You fed off her."

"What? How - "

"I can sense it, you're not you. The smell, your eyes, everything. I'm telling you this is dangerous. Stop it and do what you're supposed to be doing."

"Or what?" Yoongi huffed with a mocking laugh. "I'll get exiled, again?"

"I don't know...but I do know, this is going to end badly, brother."

Yoongi stalked off without another word, cursing Taehyung under his breath for the rest of the afternoon.

***

When you returned from work you’d expected Yoongi to be there, but to your slight disappointment he was not. He wasn't your pet, it would be beyond absurd to expect him to hang around for you, no matter how bizarre the nature of your relationship was. This was the first time you'd been apart since everything happened. It's entirely possible the last few days could have been some insane dream.

You considered yourself practical, logical and realistic. Yet everything Yoongi had told you, shown you had you completely doubting your entire belief system. Magic wasn't real - yet you'd seen it (or what you considered it to be). Demons weren't real - yet, again, you'd witnessed it with your own eyes.

The majority of your day you had been unable to focus properly, head spinning with all these revelations. Your work had definitely suffered as a result, thankfully the man you were an assistant to was far too busy to notice anything. You'd have to get a grip soon before did.

You went about your usual post work routine, making dinner, talking to friends and unwinding with some Netflix. The later it got into the evening you quickly realised Yoongi probably wasn't going to be making an appearance. Recalling how he mentioned being away from you caused him pain you hoped he was alright.

Unless he'd somehow found a cure, maybe. Then he didn't need to come back. The thought shouldn't make you feel as empty as it did. Even though he repeatedly referred to himself as the bad guy, he felt like some guardian angel to you and you were thankful for that.

The best you could do for now was to distract yourself and hope he'd show up soon.

*** Several days later you screamed out loud when you'd entered your bedroom to find Yoongi there, sitting on your bed, arms behind his head as he sat against the headboard. There'd been no word, no appearance, nothing, from him at all. Total radio silence.

You were used to these sporadic meetings but it still was jarring. "You scared me!" You exclaimed. Much to your chagrin he just laughed.

"I enjoy the element of surprise." He said with a grin. You remained in the doorway with a frown. "Miss me?"

"No." It was only a half truth. What you felt was a mixture of curiosity and a need to feel wanted again.

"Are you sure about that?" He cocked a brow at you with a smirk. "You forget how in tune I am with your feelings now."

You groaned internally. In all honesty that fact had slipped your mind in the absence of his company. You pondered if that meant that you could never lie about your feelings to him again. The thought made you vulnerable. "Is it...bad? Like the last time you were here?"

"Yes." He answered bluntly. "It doesn't hurt as much when I'm away from you though."

"Oh. Good." You're not exactly sure how to respond to that. All of this was new to you.

"I missed you." He says as he shifted to sit at the edge of the bed, eyes on you the entire time.

"That's a lie."

"Well, kind of." He said slyly. "It's the spell. It keeps bringing me back here."

"Maybe you should have stayed away." You shot with a glare. Being reminded that he's literally forced to be around you when you actually enjoy it of your own free will bites a little.

"I didn't want to."

"But you just said - "

"Come here." It's not a question but a command. You found yourself padding over to him, feeling like a scolded child. He pulls you between his legs, arms securing you in place on your waist. His hands push your shirt up where his lips trail over your stomach. "Want you." He mumbled. You tried your best not to react.

You're reminded with how strong he is when he literally picked you up and placed you on your back against the mattress. Yoongi kneeled over you and attempted to remove your shirt completely but you didn't comply. "Don't fight me." He cooed, squeezing your sides. "I can feel you want it too."

"You don't want to be here."

"Y/N, if I didn't want to be here I wouldn't." He kissed you as his hands traced your body. "It would be hard, but I could really stay away. If I wanted to."

The shirt came off along with his own and you were slightly annoyed at yourself for giving in so easily. "You fucked me and then disappeared Yoongi, it doesn't work like that." You managed to get out as you tried not to get too lost in the sensation of his body on yours.

"There's a lot you don't understand." He murmured, sliding your skirt off. "I had a warning. I stayed away to see if it made a difference. It didn't."

You had no idea what the hell that meant but it was quickly forgotten when your panties came off. It was ridiculous how pliant you were for him. You restraint had lasted all of a few minutes.

"I've never done this before," He chuckled as his face settled between your legs. "I've always wanted to. My kind just...don't."

"What are you - ohhh." He cut you off when his mouth connected to your center. You almost wanted to laugh at the fact that he was an absolute beginner. It seemed such a stark contrast to his snarky, cocky personality how could it not be laughable?

Except the more his wet tongue moved between your lower lips the more pleasurable it felt. You weren't sure if you'd actually be able to cum from it but god, did it feel nice. "It's really useful being able to feel what feels good to you." He flashed you a wicked look as he paused momentarily. "Good?"

"Good." You breathed.

He continued, learning as he went. It only got better the longer he licked and sucked and before long your back was arched, a hand tangled in his hair. He grunted when you tugged a little too hard. "Use your fingers Yoongi, please." You whined.

Moments later two fingers pushed their way into your entrance and you let out a loud. He lifted his head up to watch your reaction as he went. "Tastes fucking great." He said, a tongue swiping out to lick his bottom lip. "I don't know what I like more, this or your blood."

You had no time to give him a response, a breathy gasp fell from you when his lips touched you again. You were wrong before, you were going to cum from this. Yoongi's tongue flicked faster in sync with his fingers and you came hard, unable to even voice it to him. When he pulled away, he was grinning smugly, proud.

It was the first time since you began fucking that he'd actually done something that was solely unselfish, for your pleasure only. Maybe it marked a shift in your dynamic, you didn't know. Whatever it was - you liked it.

*** You fucked until you were sore, letting him feed off of you as much as he wanted as he came inside you. It all became a blur at some point. When you finally couldn't take anymore, he backed away easily, a blooddrunk smile playing on his lips.

"Are you staying or leaving?" You asked, as you laid next to him in your bed, both of you twisted in the now ruined sheets. "I'm not going to beg you this time."

"I'm too fucked to do anything right now. I'm staying. Whether you want it or not." He rolled on his side so you were facing. "I'm sorry you're sore."

"It's worth it." You gave him a half smile. "Can I ask you something?"

Yoongi's eyes were already lidded with sleep, blinking slower and slower. Maybe in this relaxed stated he'd be a little more honest with you. "Ok." He mumbled.

"Why me?"

His eyes blinked open. "Why you what?"

"Why were you assigned, or punished - whatever - to me?" You said quickly. "I'm literally nobody. How could any one of your...people, care about me?"

Yoongi let out a long breath. A hand reached for your waist underneath the sheets and tugged you closer. Your legs were touching. "I don't know. That's the truth. All i was told is that you were important for our future."

"What?" You almost laughed, the idea sounded so absurd. "Me? What do I do? Fly in like superman and save you all?"

"Maybe." He smirked. "Really, I don't know. I wondered myself, too. I was really surprised when I saw you."

"Could be my magic blood." You joked. This time there was no humour on his face.

"It might be. So you better be careful, I know what you're like."

"I'm always careful." Yoongi gave you a pointed look, remembering the time you deliberately put yourself in danger. "Okay, I'm mostly careful."

"Sure." He rolled his eyes.

"You never told me what you did to end up here." You felt brave after the first question and dared to risk another.

"All you need to know is I'm a fucking saint compared to how I was back home." He yawned.

Something touched you about the way he referred to whatever kind of underworld he was from as 'home'. Not once did it ever occur to you that that's how he would view it. To you it seemed so far fetched it couldn't possibly exist. To Yoongi it was home. A home he wasn't ever allowed to return to.

"Why?"

"I don't know what you're asking, human." He was falling asleep again.

"Why were you so bad? You seem pretty good to me." You whispered. His breathing got heavier and heavier as you waited for an answer. Before you knew it, Yoongi was fast asleep.

***

Unlike his surprise visit from Taehyung, Yoongi had some warning about Seokjin's arrival. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and a chill ran down his spine. His eyes shot open. Every sense was on high alert. You were fast asleep and he did his best to get away without waking you. He wanted Seokjin nowhere near you.

Yoongi ended up scrambling down the fire escape after hastily throwing on some clothes. However he never made it far. Seokjin appeared in the parking lot as if from thin air. "Get back here." He called lowly. Yoongi knew better than to disobey. He froze.

"What now?" Yoongi grumbled, meeting the older man's eyes.

"You didn't fucking listen to Taehyung!" Seokjin bellowed, voice like thunder. "Now I've been sent here to make sure you hear the message loud and clear."

"And what message is that?" He quipped before he could stop himself. It only served to enrage Seokjin more.

"Keep your dick and mouth off that human. Don't go anywhere near her. You don't have to watch her anymore. You're relieved of your duties."

Yoongi could only stand there dumbfounded and watch as Seokjin waved a hand, the tattooed spells that bound him to you slowly disappeared as if they never existed in the first place. He was beyond confused. "Am I coming back?"

Seokjin let out a mocking laugh. "You were exiled brother. That means forever."

"Why doesn't she need protected anymore?"

"You don't need to know. You've been ordered." Seokjin backhanded Yoongi so hard across the face that he fell down from the force. "Do as you're told."

masterlist

[mego42]

1x07 Discussion Questions

My b! My b! I usually try to do these when the episode is fresh but instead I went to sleep, I am at peace with my priorities, tbh. As always, many thanks to @pynkhues​ for her time and energy putting these together and shout out to @foxmagpie​ for the assist. 

1. What was your favourite scene of the episode? Tell us why!

Lot of contenders, tbh. I really love the scene with Mary Pat when she puts together the (extremely transparent) bullshit that is the whole secret shopper scheme (I mean come on y’all, did you even try????), I love Ruby and Stan’s date (high five to Stan for coming through with my parks & rec reference, it’s nice to know there is one (1) man I can count on). The Annie and Greg bit is REALLY SWEET LEAVE ME ALONE. The god tier brio content, specifically The Grab Heard Round The World My Living Room and the Give Me A Name bit. Some classic Rio nonsense (do you think if we asked him to point to an egg he’d point to an apple?) Tyler and his “reeeeeeally fill out the surveys?” was, obvs, the best moment on the entire show. Anyway, one of those for sure.

2. Was there any scene that missed the mark for you? And if so, how?

The Boomer setting up Annie stuff always falls flat to me and idk exactly why? Like, individual pieces of it are great, Mae does EXCELLENT work post police station and when getting arrested in the first place but ultimately I find it fairly forgettable in the grand scheme of things.

3. Let’s talk about the secret shopper scheme! What do you think were the strengths of it? The flaws? Do you think it had longterm potential? Or was it always going to crash and burn?

I said this during the rewatch but I straight up blocked out the fact that all of the shoppers are hitting the same store on the same day (waving around upwards of $5k in cash???? no less???????) because my brain cannot comprehend how three women we’re supposed to believe are reasonably intelligent didn’t realize this was the stupidest, most transparently obvious, most short-sighted scheme in the entire world. 

I struggled with the sustainability of it a bit when I thought they were spreading their efforts around (they roped in A Lot of people, there are only so many Costcos in the Detroit metro area and waving around that much cash and then returning it all, again for cash, is uh, already p memorable) but I could deal with it when I thought they were spreading it around. Short-sighted, immediate solutions are a cornerstone of Beth’s brand, after all, but all of them at the same store at the same day???? Too much. I cannot. 

4. The girls spent their money in very different ways! Ruby on romancing Stan, Annie on clothes for her son, and Beth on jewellery for herself. What do you think this tells us about them and their arcs? Particularly coming off the back of Ruby’s conflict with Stan, Ben’s issues at school with clothes, and Beth leaving Rio her pearls?

Love these connects. The show’s got a pretty clearly defined and consistent visual/character motifs (this may or may not be the word I’m looking for, shut up) when it comes to depicting the girls priorities and motivations. You also see it reflected and reinforced with their repeated coping mechanisms throughout the show. Whenever bad stuff happens, Ruby goes home to Stan, Annie crawls into bed with Ben and we usually close with Beth either alone (ouch david) or connecting with Rio in some way (exhibit a: the aforementioned pearls). 

In all of the instances it comes back to the heart of their priorities:

Stan is Ruby’s number one, (which isn’t to say her kids aren’t a part of that, I think Stan is both himself in this sense while also representing her whole Hill family unit—TV is all about visual shorthand kids—but also it serves to illustrate that Ruby has something Beth and Annie do not: a true partner). 

Ben is at the root of everything Annie does, she makes choices based on not only his. well-being, but how he sees her and he has the most influence over how she sees herself and what actions she takes as a result of that.

Beth, on the other hand, is at a contrasting point. She’s done the devoted partner and mother thing (lowkey implied by the little bits and pieces we get of her and Annie’s childhoods to some degree more or less for her entire life) and is now putting herself first, her needs, her wants. Which isn’t to say she doesn’t give a fuck about her family, she waits until she’s got a fat stack of cash and they’re taken care of before splurging on a thing, but as a symbol I think the necklace pretty clearly illuminates that for whatever Beth tells herself, she’s building an empire for herself, bc she wants it, needing it is secondary.

5. Eddie’s arrest is arguably what sets us on a collision course with the finale! Do you think Eddie was loyal to Rio until the end? How much do you think he told Turner? And what sort of loyalty do you think Rio inspires in his boys? And why doesn’t it translate with the girls?

OF COURSE EDDIE WAS LOYAL TO THE END HE HAS CLEARLY DEMONSTRATED HE HAS SOME KIND OF CODE OF HONOR HOW DARE YOU SLANDER MY BOY LIKE THAT.

Tbh idk how to answer the loyalty question without more information from canon because the gang and how they operate, how they all came together, etc is pretty well shrouded in not-central-narrative-focus, though I think it’s been implied somewhat heavily that what’s going on with the girls is not standard operating procedure.

My personal headcanon for Eddie is tied up in my personal backstory for Rio and Mick that I started for my (lmao first) Mick POV fic. I gave Rio and Mick a friends since we were kids backstory and decided Eddie was a kid in their neighborhood, slightly younger then them, and always looked up to them/followed them around/thought they were cool. He ultimately got involved in crime because they did and they looked out for him and brought him up with them (which, you know, makes how it all turns out that much more tragic). Obvs, this is all just me and my tendency to imprint on random side characters and give them backstories. Let me live.

6. This episode introduces us to Mary Pat, who’s probably one of this show’s most complicated antagonists! What do you think of her generally? And could you have predicted her arc with Boomer and Turner?

I love her and I’m done lying to myself about it.

LISTEN, first off, Allison Tolman is great. Her line delivery is fantastic, she has a knack for subtly adding SO MUCH to every scene she’s in and uses her face and inflection and pauses exquisitely. Top notch comedic timing. Truly a gem.

Second, on a character level, the lady is in a bad spot and the girls basically gift-wrapped the circumstances and handed them to her like here is a present!!!!!!!!!!!! What was a struggling girl to do besides accept what was offered to her??????!!!!!!???

7. This episode features a very pivotal scene in terms of the Beth, Ruby and Annie dynamic. What starts as tension between Annie and Beth quickly pivots when Ruby criticises Beth and Annie leaps to her sister’s defence. What do you think this tells us about the dynamic between the girls as pairs and as a trio?

I am so!!!! curious!!!!!!! about the backstory that exists in the writers’ heads for Ruby and Annie (all three of them, really, but the bff and little sister having an independent friendship is of particular interest to me bc it isn’t something you, or I guess I, run into a lot) and how much of it was defined at this point vs how much it’s evolved/fluctuated as the show goes on. This fight pretty clearly illuminated that when it really comes down to it, it’s Beth and Annie vs Ruby which a) breaks my heart and b) isn’t totally a dynamic I think the show ultimately stuck with? Or maybe intentionally fluctuates? Idk this is a half-baked thought. Ask again later. 

8. Greg is the one who kisses Annie! Who do you think left who in that relationship, and/or what were the biggest issues in that relationship?

I feel like there’s pretty much no way Annie wasn’t the one that called things off with Greg. Not just because of how it plays out this time but because he’s got a kind of persistent yet also go with the flow attitude that makes me think he would absorb a lot in the name of making it work whereas Annie seems to have a pretty established history of cutting her losses and bailing when she hits her limit. Based on how fond they are of each other and how much affection they clearly still hold, I tend to assume they just grew apart as they grew up which makes it almost more complicated and tragic because it leaves all of the good stuff and just mixes it with the knowledge that it wasn’t enough. 

9. What did you think of Ruby’s sauce story? And what do you think it meant as a turning point for her arc?

I HATE THIS STORY SO MUCH USED BAND AIDS ARE GROSS ENOUGH ON THEIR OWN WITHOUT MIXING IN FOOD SERVICE AND MONTHS, MONTHS, OF MARINATION. I REFUSE TO TALK ABOUT IT. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.

10. Knowing that Beth, Ruby and Annie’s system of paying Mary Pat off doesn’t work, do you think there was a way they could’ve handled her on their own that would’ve worked? Or do you think Rio’s intimidation (and potential murder) tactic was the only way out?

Idk maybe I’m just cynical, but I take trust no bitch to heart, they pretty well screwed themselves into a corner by being idiots.