#hiding the name for their dignity still but oh my god fuck around find out. not everything is about your show

[cozylittleartblog]

you guys know the 1920s and 30s existed before v*vziepop right

[gentlemen-of-lies]

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 1

British towns have weird names (Or last time I stay in a London hostel)

(Next chapter) (Prologue)

————

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The café was further than Curt had originally thought, and getting lost down the maze of roads and blocks of flats didn’t help him with time keeping. He was already running late after spending twenty minutes- not getting dressed like he was supposed to- but instead fuming over the fact that he’d forgotten half of his clothes at home. All he had were a pair of trousers and thankfully a new pair of underwear. But other than that and his coat, he had to wear what he had on last night, and it was starting to feel like cardboard.

Needless to say, he failed in his attempt at not looking a mess. He was unshaven and all he could do with his dishevelled hair was try and flatten it down with the palm of his hand. He was chewing on a mint as he raced into the café, out of breath, ten minutes late, and stinking of whiskey.

He spent a few seconds pulling himself together before scanning the room, ignoring the looks he was getting from customers. He had to figure out which one of these people were his new partner. He did a mental count. Four customers, one waiter and a person behind the counter. Six possible people. One of the customers had a child. So it was most likely five possible people. That wasn’t too difficult.

“I hear the weather in Teignmouth is particularly bad,” he greeted the guy behind the counter, in a British accent that he’d been instructed to use, but which he’d completely forgotten about until now- once again hoping that Cynthia didn’t find out. He thought his accent was pretty good, he had to be good as a spy of course, but he still received a slightly confused stare. And no reply. Or at least, not the reply Curt needed. So it wasn’t the bartender.

“Right...” was all the man had to say. Curt put his mind at ease by immediately changing the subject and ordering a coffee. The man raised his eyebrows, nodded and turned to where the coffee beans were kept. Curt resumed his search, and his eyes landed on a man sitting in the far corner of the restaurant.

A young looking man, perhaps around his age. Dark hair, brown cap over his eyes. Certainly very secretive looking. Curt decided he was his best option, hoping his decision was right; he could get away with a slightly eccentric opening statement to the bartender, but not to a complete stranger. As if he needed to lose his dignity any more today.

He tried to smarten himself up as much as possible, so even if he had got the wrong person, he hopefully wouldn’t look too ridiculous. Curt cleared his throat just before he reached the man, and once again put on his mock accent.

“I hear the weather in Teignmouth is particularly bad.”

“To travel there you’d have to be mad.” Curt breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. He sat down opposite from the man, just as the waiter came over to give Curt his coffee. Curt gave a swift thank you, and turned back to the man, still hiding underneath his cap.

“So... you’re who I’m teaming up with?” Asked Curt, a little awkwardly. It wasn’t like him to lack any sort of confidence, but the man sitting across from him was clearly much more together than he was.

“Unfortunately,” replied the man, revealing a very low voice. “For me,” he added. At Curt’s silence he raised his cap above his eyes and leant his crossed arms on the table, his face nearing Curt’s. “I take it you’re a newbie and, judging by your appearance and the whiff of booze that met everyone’s poor noses as soon as you entered the shop, you’re not a very good one.” Curt was defiant.

“I had a rough night,” he explained. “The flight over was long and the accommodation sucks. Doesn’t make me bad at my job.”

“No, what makes you bad at your job is doing so little research that you can’t even pronounce the name of the place you were given in your secret code.” He sat back again in his chair, arms still crossed. His eyes were bright, smug. Cocky. Curt already hated him.

“You mean Tane-mouth?”

“No, I mean Tin-muth, my dear.” He gave a slight chuckle, laughing at Curt’s stupidity it seemed. “First rule of England,” the man continued. “Don’t trust the signposts. Chances are you’ll pronounce them wrong.” He held his hand out. “Perhaps a proper greeting is in order,” he said. “Owen Carvour. MI6.” Curt reluctantly took his hand, tightening his grip as if to assert some kind of dominance after having his last remaining dignity stripped away in a matter of seconds.

“Curt,” he replied. “Curt Mega.” Owen snorted.

“God, how American.” Curt sipped his coffee, if only to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. “Well, enough of the chit chat, Curt Mega. We have work to do.” Owen stood up, and put a few coins on the table.

“Where are you going?” Asked Curt, his coffee cup still almost full.

“We are going someplace more private,” replied Owen. “Or did you forget that we’re part of the secret service?” Curt took one more gulp of coffee, drinking down as much as he could- burning his mouth in the process- and stood up to follow Owen.

“Your place or mine?” Owen said, and Curt couldn’t work out if it was rhetorical or not.

“Yours?” Owen looked him up and down.

“Better not. People know me. We’ll go back to yours.” It was Curt’s turn to scoff.

“If you say so, but fair warning. The place is a dump.”

“So is everything around here, we were in a war after all.”

“So were we.”

“Oh hardly. You came in forty five minutes before the war ended.” Owen opened the café door with a clink of the bell, and the two stepped out into the grey street, weak sunlight barely piercing through the sides of the surrounding buildings.

They barely talked on the way back to Curt’s hostel; Owen didn’t seem to mind. Curt was apparently so beneath him that ignoring him was as easy as ignoring a flea. Curt on the other hand was suddenly very aware of his movements, how his arms were swinging, how many steps he was taking. He didn’t want to walk faster than Owen, nor did he want to walk slower. But the middle ground meant that he inadvertently fell into step with his new partner, which just felt embarrassing. As if he was copying him or something.

God, Curt, what’s wrong with you? He was supposed to be leading Owen, but it was as if Owen was leading him. He didn’t like this imbalance of power one bit, so he reluctantly sped up his walk to ensure that he was in front of Owen, and not the other way around.

Bill looked at the two suspiciously when they finally returned, a clear question of ‘who’s this bloke?’ playing on his lips. Curt declined to explain himself; simply nodded in greeting and allowed Owen to follow him to his room.

“You know you’re supposed to tell the man that I’m a colleague from work, or here for a game of poker,” informed Owen, a low voice in Curt’s ear. “Saying nothing will make him suspicious-”

“Are you going to criticise everything I do?” Replied Curt, his voice louder and more abrupt as he became more and more irritated at Owen.

“If it fucks up our job, then yes. How are you supposed to learn otherwise?” He was so full of himself, and how? He barely looked older than Curt himself, he couldn’t have been in the force for that much longer. How was he so confident?

If Curt wasn’t such a proud man, he’d probably be able to admit that he was jealous in a way. Jealous that someone in the same position as him was so much better at their job. Cynthia would love Owen, and they didn’t even work for the same government.

But Curt was a proud man. So he settled for viewing Owen as nothing more than an arrogant bastard. And by now they had reached room 17, the worst room in London. Curt brought his key out and unlocked the door, pushing his weight against it since the door itself barely fit in its own frame.

“Huh. Quaint,” was Owen’s observation of the room. Sarcastic of course, but it could have been worse. The room was an absolute mess, every piece of furniture was rotten or broken, the wallpaper was damp, the curtains were covered in mould, and not even Curt could deny that the smell was overpowering, like a drunkard’s basket of dirty laundry. It wasn’t pleasant.

“Perhaps we should have gone back to mine after all.”

“I’m sorry about the smell, nothing works here and half of my stuff is back in America.”

“A spy without a change of clothes? You really are bad at this aren’t you? I’ll have to lend you some of mine.” Curt blinked at him.

“Really?” Owen raised a confirmatory eyebrow. “That’s a bit... personal isn’t it?”

“Bloody hell, Curt, there’s nothing personal about our job. If it makes you any more professional, which clearly is a tall order, then I have no choice.”

“Fine...” Curt replied through gritted teeth. “Thank you for the offer.” He sat down on the chair near the bathroom, the only piece of stable furniture in the room. As much as he didn’t want Owen sitting on his bed, with any luck the frame would break and Owen would finally have a taste of losing one’s own dignity. But alas, Owen declined sitting down altogether, and simply leant against the window frame.

“I won’t go through everything,” Owen began. “We’ll start afresh tomorrow. You need time to get to grips with the case. You do know what the case is don’t you?” Curt nodded, trying to remember what Cynthia had told him. Something about a mole in MI6 feeding information to the Russians. He didn’t know why he was involved though. Surely this was enough for the British secret service to handle.

“I have the necessary files inside my jacket. I’ll give them to you to peruse,” he pulled out a light brown folder from his jacket, and placed it on the tabletop beside him. “Try not to lose them.” Curt rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to lose them.” He wasn’t that incompetent.

“If you say so. Read them over tonight, and we can report back tomorrow. The files contain a list of suspects. Do try and memorise them.” Curt reached over and picked up the file, opening it up and scanning the first page absent-mindedly. All he managed to take in were the photos of people’s faces, not yet bothering to even read their names.

“Where are we meeting tomorrow?” He asked, looking up from the file.

“Down by the station. It’s not far from here, but I’ve slipped a map into the file for you.” Curt turned the page, and as expected, a small, square map was slotted into the fold, with what was presumably the station circled in red pen. “We’ll meet outside, and maybe take a little wander. Better to talk on the move, but I suspect you already know that.” His tone of voice suggested a conviction that Curt did not, in fact, know that. Curt decided that a response wasn’t worth his time.

“Right. I’ll read the files.” Curt stood up, the chair creaking as he did so. Perhaps it wasn’t as stable as he first thought. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Take a shower. I’m not working with someone who smells like the inside of a pub.” And with that, Owen went to leave. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow, old man.”

“Ten it is.” The door closed, catching on the frame, so Curt had to push it in fully once Owen had left. He sat back on his bed, the mattress sagging at an alarming rate. He was sure he could feel the floor underneath. He lay on his back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He wanted a drink, but he thought against it. He was determined to prove that Owen bastard wrong. Show him- and Cynthia- that he wasn’t the idiot, drunken agent they though he was.

He was Agent Curt Mega. The greatest spy to ever live.

[transbuckaroo]

pain, applause

hello. my name is andrew, and i wrote a short lambden fic a few days ago. this will be based on the “following the thread” quest from “the witcher 3: wild hunt” developed by cd projekt red. the characters are based on dev patel as sir gawain in the 2021 film “the green knight” as directed by david lowery, and paul bullion in the upcoming 2021 seaon 2 of “the witcher” as directed by stephen surjik. i haven’t written very much these past two or three years, but i am proud of this finished product. please keep any comments/criticisms kind. thank you, enjoy!

_________

The moment Aiden realized how well and truly fucked him and Baby Steadfast were, he was already surrounded on all sides. He could sense them. His medallion hummed gently against his chest with the signal of danger with every step he took. If he could get out of this clearing, he thought, just into the tree line to stay hidden. It wasn’t far; he could make it, just keep going. The Cat kept his hand at the ready to make quick work of grabbing his battle axe and kept his breaths even as he walked. Aiden knew what was waiting for him. It seemed the fox did as well. Always intuitive, the little one.

Jad Karadin came out of the trees in front of him like a shadow from an alley, looming and dagger drawn in his right hand. Aiden slowed his pace, too exposed, ears picking up the slide of multiple steel swords off to the left. Then two figures emerged from behind Jad, appearing as if they had come directly from within his body. Lund first, after came Hammond. Baby laid back his ears flat, centering himself lower to the ground in a defensive position. He placed himself between the three and Aiden as he went.

There was no running from them. These people were never meant to be his enemies; Jad was supposed to be his brother especially. If anyone here was supposed to be on his side more than anyone, it was Jad. An elder Cat, someone Aiden was supposed to be able to look up to as a mentor. Jad had broken the mold. Had children, a wife, a life away from being a Witcher. Beyond it. He had proof that there was more.

These things didn’t matter anymore. Whoever Jad Karadin was supposed to be was pointless now. Because he was an evil man today. He and whoever else followed him here.

Aiden drew his axe, pulling a deep and centering breath as he went. There were more of this group, hiding somewhere in the thick of trees, awaiting their moment. This was only to end one of two ways. There would be no other option besides these. For a split second, Aiden found himself missing the presence of a certain Wolf over his right shoulder.

Lambert. Lambert wouldn’t let him get hurt. He would protect Aiden here and now, and the Cat wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, Lambert would have already drawn his sword and made a calculated advancement on their enemy. He would have won, too, because Aiden has never seen him fail a task when he gets that crease between his brows as they furrow in his determination. Lambert, with his fiery curls and attitude to match. Lambert, with his impossible wit and unrelenting promises made to Aiden that have never broken. Lambert, the little brother of Kaer Morhen, baby of the lot of them.

Lambert, who Aiden swore to see back in the valley in Kaedwen where the Buina and Gwenllech rivers part in Daevon so them and Baby Steadfast could finally make the trek up to Kaer Morhen together.

The heat in between Aiden’s shoulder blades told him he wasn’t going to make it up to the keep this year.

“Aiden,” Jad spoke, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger. Aiden snapped back into focus. He didn’t even dare to blink. “You know why I’ve come?”

“I didn’t kill the Duke’s daughter. I couldn’t save her. I tried.” The contract Aiden had held just months ago in the start of spring. A young girl, cursed, incurable despite the Duke’s pleads and Aiden’s best attempts to reverse it. She had succumbed to her circumstances. Aiden was paid for his efforts, bowed his head with sorrow as the Duke grieved, and went on his way.

“I’ve come to hear otherwise. You’ve botched it, boy. People are angry with the results of your work and lack thereof. You fucked up, and you’ve not shite to say for it.”

“I didn’t botch anything, I did my job. Not everyone gets a happy ending, Karadin. You’re a Cat. A Witcher. You should know.”

To be completely honest, Aiden hadn’t a goddamnable clue how he was going to get through this. Maybe he could take them. Most rivals don’t tend to waste time talking through events, let alone listen to their target. This time, maybe this time, Aiden could walk away with a mere banishment from the city. Possibly, hopefully, he could meet Lambert in time in the valley.

“You’re right,” said Jad, some semblance of resignation on his face. It wasn’t real, his tone sounded fabricated. “Aiden. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

The arrow came right in that moment, whizzing through the air and lodging itself into the ground by Aiden’s left foot. He startled, stepped back, whipping his head around to try and follow its trajectory. Someone was up high. Someone was in the trees. Jad brought a sniper with him. Of course he did. Oh, of course that motherfucker did. This horrid, abomination of a man. The tree line was too dense, impossible to know where in the leaves the arrow came from where Aiden was standing in the field. He had only tried to look for a moment though before the sound of running footsteps came too close for comfort. And fuck, he could only gain so much momentum with his axe from this angle but he had to try.

Aiden spun back around on his heel, hands braced on either end of the hilt of his axe, prioritizing blocking the blow and creating distance before landing a strike of his own. Jad was successfully pushed back at the chest. Sent fumbling backwards to regain his footing. He growled in anger at the same time Aiden swung at his accompanying attackers, just barely missing them with the blade of his weapon. Steel struck and sounded a metal clang through the clearing. Aiden grunted with the effort of three-and-a-sniper against one, swinging his axe to catch a sword under the head and vaulting his enemy away. Distance was vital, energy was crucial to use sparingly.

“Baby!” He shouted towards his fox, whom of which was bee-lining for the trees where the arrow had come. “No! Run home! Home! Go home!”

It was something they’d agreed upon once. Home. They knew what home was, who home was. Where home was. The valley. Lambert. The point they meet and part at every year, the small town the Wolves have passed through many times in prior years. It was an easy place to go. That was where they found home, him and Baby. Lambert was home. Baby Steadfast knew this command well and clear as day. Go home. Go find Lambert; he’ll know what it means for the fox to show up without the company of his Cat Witcher. He’ll spring into action.

All it took was one incorrect turn, expose just a little too much of something or other, at just the right moment. It wasn’t because he’d called out to Baby; he knew how to give direction without faltering in his task. It was fucked luck. Terrible, awful, shit luck. All he did was avoid another two arrows in the ground, one grazing his cloak as it went.

Jad caught him in his right side with his dagger, blade plunging in deep and ripping a pained and surprised shout from Aiden’s throat. All the way in and right back out. Aiden staggered, snarled, and lunged at the man in front of him. Jad was a monster on this day, and Witchers know damn well to dispose of those. His side was on fire. The younger Cat swung, but Jad ducked underneath the blade. As Aiden turned with the momentum, one of the others kicked a boot into his chest and sent him backwards into Karadin’s grasp. The dagger entered the same area as before as Jad grappled an arm around Aiden’s throat. He was stuck. He was bleeding horribly. Baby Steadfast had gone to get Lambert. There was no way they would find one another in time.

With a strong shove from the man behind him, the dagger dislodged, and in the same moment whoever was at his left ripped his axe out of his hands. Aiden tried to spin around to face them as he propelled forward, but only managed to end up on his back on the grass. It was still cold with morning dew. Aiden could see the fog of his breath as he fell.

And in the most startling of realizations as Jad came to kneel over him, Aiden realized he was going to die. Without Baby. Without his dignity. Without Lambert. Without telling Lambert how much he truly and purely loved him.

He thought he had more time. Had it all planned out. They would meet in three weeks hence, and the night before they would make the ascent to the keep for the winter, Aiden would tell Lambert that he loved him in their room. This incredible, selfless, beautiful Wolf. Part of him even believed Lambert might say it back. He would feel the same. They were just like comfortable lovers already, what with the way they shared beds and blankets and curled up in the night to sleep, the way they helped wash and put up one another’s hair, cooked for each other, looked out for each other, lost all sense of personal space with each other. Melitele, the two of them even refused to separate their bedrolls while they camped out during their travels. They called each other “pup” and “kitten” respectively, dressed wounds, mended clothes and armor, cleaned weapons, hunted together, laughed and smiled and hugged and shared stories. Oh, Lambert was beautiful. Of course Aiden was in love with him. To expect anything else were a fool’s game.

“Oh, kitty cat,” he heard from above, and focused his eyes on Jad. The coldness of his gaze, so detached and unaffected. The only indication he’d ever been in a fight at all was the way his chest pulled bigger breaths than before. “Don’t go and cry now, will ye? This is just the natural order of things.”

Oh, Gods above, Aiden was crying. Silent little tears slipping free from the corners of his eyes, sliding down into his hair that lay fanned out in the grass below. Without dignity indeed. Wounds screaming in white-hot pain, vision blurring with tears that he could not control, heart aching, voice beyond him.

“Please,” the younger Cat spoke in a soft, quivering voice. He blinked hard once, twice, willing the tears away. They did not relent.

“Please.” He was being mocked. Then someone spat from out of his sight right into his hair. It smelled of salmon and tobacco. This time Jad’s dagger entered slowly, and new hot tears fell from Aiden’s eyes with the hurt of it, hand coming to grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to stop him. It did nothing. If anything it encouraged the man.

Aiden couldn’t grant him the final victory of looking away from Karadin’s eyes. Even as the blade ripped out of his body once more. Karadin spoke again. “You beg me to spare your life. Your pathetic little life. Insignificant, worthless, liar’s life. You were never going to change; your batch was doomed from the start. Your death is hardly any repayment, but it is the best we can do to provide peace and closure for the Duke and his people. A life for a life. It is but the way of the world, Aiden. Certainly you understand.”

Oh, he understood. A life for a life was the most polite way to speak of revenge. Talk of debts and dues, exchanges of wins and losses. A life for a life meant a day of reckoning to come. Lambert, kind as Aiden ever saw him, would cash this in as quickly and mercilessly as he could. He was coming no matter what. If he was unable to save Aiden now, he as sure as all things was going to tear apart whoever hurt him. What a gorgeous soul he was.

The fourth and final stab, a telling sign of Karadin’s assassinations. Aiden couldn’t fight it this time. A cluster of wounds just under the right side of someone’s ribs, always in four, always fatal. Aiden choked out a cry of searing agony, feeling the blade twist inside of him with force, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw so tightly he should have broken a few teeth. It twisted again as it was taken out, and all Aiden could do was let the fat tears roll as it happened. He felt Jad grab his medallion from under his shirt and opened his eyes as it was ripped off his neck and placed into a pouch at Karadin’s hip. Proof of death. The easiest form of it, but still worth enough to get paid. Hired by anyone associated closely with a Duke, Jad was sure to be rewarded handsomely for his work.

“Now,” spoke Jad. Aiden’s eyes were starting to get heavy, chest heaving, vision spotting behind the blur of tears. “You’ll be gone in moments, boy. A few minutes and this will be over. The pain will dull just prior, don’t fret. I will not seek out your fox nor that Wolf you travel with, but should they come I will be ready. Goodnight, Aiden. Sleep well.”

Then Jad started to walk away. Hammond and Lund went with him. Aiden could only lay there in the grass, sending his apologies to Baby and Lambert skyward and hope they would understand. He never meant for this to happen. If there hadn’t been that damned sniper, then maybe he could have taken them. But there was no time to dwell now. Darkness crept in, and Aiden’s breathing slowed, and it went dark once and for all as he bled out. He had failed. He was sorry. He could only imagine how horrifically pathetic he appeared. Perhaps he could be forgiven in time by his fox and his Wolf for never coming home.

In some months, when the snow lay thick on the ground, white and untouched blanketing where grass once resided, there would be the choking gasp of a man within the Brokilon Forest. Waking from a healing sleep induced by an old magic, cast by resident Dryads within the cover of trees that towered above. Known by many as the forest of death, breathing life back into someone who simply had not been due to die.

“Sir Witcher Aiden,” said a calming voice, a person standing kindly to the side. Her palm lay gently at the crown of his head, soothing. “We welcome you back to the living world. It has been some time.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch31: We Fight

Summary: As Bucky comes round he reveals some shocking news to Steve, Katie and Sam which leaves the Captain with no alternative but to take the fight to Siberia in an attempt to prevent the mysterious Doctor from unleashing more Winter Soldiers. But that isn’t the only bombshell he drops and Katie is left grappling internally as she comes to terms with the news.

The 4 rogue operatives enlist the help of some familiar faces, but encounter their old friends who are charged with their own mission- to apprehend Steve’s team. The Avengers are pitted into a Civil War, and the gulf between Steve and Tony grows even wider.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut! (NSFW, Under 18s) Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Wonderful edits again from @angrybirdcr​

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 30

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“It’s strange,” Katie looked over to where Steve was stood next to her, his arms folded. “It’s like he just flipped a switch turning him right back into the Winter Soldier.”

“HYDRA perfected mind control.” Steve sighed as he looked at Bucky who was restrained, his metal arm locked in a vice in the middle of the warehouse.

“Question is, who the hell is he gonna be when he wakes up?” Sam asked, hands in his pockets.

At that point Bucky groaned and all three of them turned their heads to look at him.

“Looks like we’re about to find out” Katie muttered, as the two men instantly closed ranks on either side of her, automatically adopting more defensive stances.

"Steve?” Bucky questioned in a hoarse voice, wincing a little as he tried to straighten up from the stiff sitting position he’d been slumped in. Everything hurt.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked suspiciously and Bucky glanced at him, blinking slowly.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah.” He said slowly. Then he realised that anyone could know that so he searched for a fact he knew would be more personal, and then laughed a little at the memory “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Then Bucky’s eyes turned to Katie and he smiled softly at his friend’s wife. “You had lilies as your wedding flowers. Lilies were Steve’s ma’s favourite. You looked beautiful by the way.” “How do you…” she frowned, before her mouth dropped open and her and Steve exchanged astounded glances.

“You were there?” Steve looked at him.

Bucky smiled again. “Couldn’t miss your punk ass getting married.”

Steve raised a brow, and his face relaxed, “You can’t read about all that in a museum.” He said lightly.

“Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam asked, sceptically.

“What did I do?” Bucky interrupted picking up on Sam’s anger easily.

“Enough.” Katie answered flatly.

Bucky sighed, breathing out in horror and disbelief, “Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything Hydra put inside me is still there. All he had to do is say the god damn words.” He muttered miserably.

“Who was he?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know.” Bucky admitted shrugging as best he could.

“People are dead.” Steve continued in a no nonsense tone. “The bombing. The set up. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. You need to do better than ‘I don’t know’.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, clearly trying to remember.

“He wanted to know about Siberia.” He recalled after a short pause. “Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Katie asked, frowning, and Bucky paused.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.” He answered darkly.

“There’s more of you,” Katie blurted out and Bucky nodded glumly. “How many?”

“Five.” He confessed.

Katie looked at Steve who sighed, before looking at Sam and nodding. Sam moved to undo the clamp from Bucky’s metal arm where the pieces of the vice fell to the floor with a clang. The soldier nodded his thanks, shifting his body to a more comfortable position resting both arms on his knees. Katie stepped forward and handed him a bottle of water, before squeezing his shoulder. He smiled and twisted off the top, taking a large gulp as Steve continued.

“How? How did they make more?”

Bucky looked at Steve sadly before he turned to Katie. “Your dad.” He said gently, before he continued “He managed to back engineer the serum or at least a version of it.”

“So that’s why they were killed.” Katie whispered, looking at Steve. “HYDRA couldn’t steal it from under his nose, it would have been too obvious so they set up the crash and-”

She trailed off as a movement in her peripheral caught her attention. She turned slowly to Bucky who had shifted a little, almost drawing in on himself and she watched him until, after a moment or so, he raised his head to meet her gaze, his eyes full of tears and remorse.

Katie felt herself grow cold as realisation flooded her stomach. “It was you, wasn’t it?” She stated rather than asked, swallowing thickly.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky sniffed gently, eyes cast to the floor.

Steve let out a soft groan as Katie scrunched her eyes shut taking a deep breath, turning away from Bucky. Steve stepped toward her but she shook her head, stopping him as she took a step away, swallowing, trying to remain logical.

It wasn’t Bucky, it was the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t Bucky, it was the Winter Soldier…

“So you got the serum.” Steve spoke softly, his hands dropping to his belt as he turned from Katie to his friend “Then what?”

“Four men and a woman from were taken for transformation. They formed the most elite death squad in the world.” Bucky answered quietly. This was amongst the last things he ever wanted to talk about but he knew he had to. "More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

“They all turned out like you?” Sam asked curiously with a hint of sarcasm.

“Worse.” Bucky answered flatly.

“The doctor.” Steve asked next, as Katie turned around, her teary eyes focussing back on Bucky, her expression unreadable. “He could control them?”

Bucky glanced at Katie, then Steve before lowering his head, saying softly. “Enough.”

“He said he wanted to see an empire fall.” Katie cleared her throat as she repeated what the doctor had said.

“With these guys he can do it.” Bucky warned softly “They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, they can infiltrate,assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night and you’d never see them coming.”

Katie pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up as Sam walked closer to her and Steve, speaking lowly.

“This would’ve been a lot easier a week ago.” He sighed.

“If we call Tony-” Steve began in the same hushed tone.

“He won’t believe us.” Katie cut in. “He’s blinded by all this at the moment, and even if he did-“

"Who knows if the Accords will let him.” Sam finished with a straight look.

“We’re on our own.” Steve pointed out the obvious.

Sam nodded then paused before saying slowly. “Maybe not.” Katie looked at him in a mix of surprise and expectancy, and he shrugged. “I know a guy.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Remember that dude that broke our perimeter a few weeks back?” Sam looked at her.

“Ant Man?” she frowned.

Sam nodded. “Worth a shot.”

“We also all know a girl.” Steve suggested. He didn’t need to explain he was talking about Wanda.

“But how we gonna do this?” Sam frowned “We can’t just fly back and go on a recruitment drive?”

“No, but,” Katie spoke as a sudden thought hit her, smiling at the two men who turned to face her. She looked at Steve and locked eyes with him. “There is someone that can.”  

*****

After retrieving their gear from Sharon, with many thanks, they headed to a motel for the night. It was old, non-descript, but decent enough for a night’s rest, and more important was far enough away from the CIA base, and within reasonable distance of the airport which was their rendezvous point for tomorrow. If she was honest, Katie was just pleased to be getting away Bucky. She understood, and could reason with herself that Bucky wasn’t in control when he was the Winter Soldier but knowing that he’d killed her parents was a hard thing to simply push out of her mind. And more so because she should have suspected the moment she’d found out they were killed. Who else would HYDRA have sent to do it?

As soon as her and Steve got to their room, she’d withdrawn and retreated to the bathroom. Steve had respected her request that he leave her alone. She’d gently kissed his cheek, her way of assuring him that he wasn’t the issue and then shut the door behind her. She took her time, gathering her emotions, wiping her eyes before she leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She glanced at the mirror, taking in how tired she looked. Her fingers gently traced the scar to the corner of her mouth, and the other one which trailed her left temple and the tears sprung into her eyes. She knew as well as anyone what being stripped of your dignity, being tortured by HYDRA was like.

Fuck, Bucky deserved her sympathy, not her hate.

But Tony….he didn’t even know her parents had been murdered. If he found out about this, then here was no way on Earth he would be as understanding as she was. No way.

What a mess.

Wiping her face with a towel, she took a deep breath and then headed back into the main room. Steve, who was sat on the bed, looked up at her and flashed her a soft smile.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Not really.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about the fact your best friend killed my parents?”

Steve sighed and looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“No I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you.” She sighed, stepping into the space between his legs where he was perched on the edge of the bed. Steve looked up as his hands slid up the outside of her thighs and gently stopped on her hips. “Not like you did it is it?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry about it.” He shrugged, squeezing her hips. “Sorry it happened, sorry that you found out like this, sorry about this whole damned situation.”

“Did you suspect?” She asked softly. “That he might have done it?”

Steve took a deep breath. Unlike Katie, he wasn’t surprised that Bucky had been the one to execute her parents. He’d pieced it together a while ago. Bucky was HYDRA’s number One asset, it made sense that they would send him in for such an important assassination. Still, the fact Katie had managed to remain civil and friendly to Bucky was a temperament to how strong she was. Faced with the same knowledge, Steve wasn’t sure he’d have the ability to do the same.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered honestly. “Since the time we learned it was HYDRA who killed your parents.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” He blinked and she took a deep breath.

“Suppose not.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He hung his head. “I really am. I never thought in a million years we’d be here like this.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a mess isn’t it?”

“One way of putting it.” Steve let out a soft chuckle and gently moved his hands so they were round her back, pulling her closer to him. Her hands strayed to his hair as she ran her fingers through it. He smelt like the water of the river that had dried into his blonde spikes and clothes. Before she could tell him to go shower, they heard a noise from the room next door which Bucky and Sam were sharing. As they listened, it became apparent the two men were in the middle of some kind of heated argument.

“They’ll be best friends by morning.” Steve arched his eyebrow.

“You think?”

“No.” He shook his head and Katie laughed again, her hands continuing to brush through his hair.

“Why did you get all pissy before because I was impressed with how Bucky got that bike?” She asked, her hand stopping, before it moved gently down the back of his neck.

Steve dropped his head forward, where it rest just below the line of her breasts as he let out a noise that was half way between a groan and a laugh. “I did not get pissy.”

“Yes, you did” She pulled gently on his hair, tipping his head back so he was looking up at her. In a flash Steve used his arms that were round her waist, and she let out a small shriek as he quickly whipped her round so she was let on the bed underneath him.

“Alright, so maybe just a little. You forget I know what he’s like. And you’re mine.” Steve looked at her as she reached up to brush his hair back slightly. He was still covered in dirt from the day’s activities and once more she got a whiff of dirty river water.

“You need to take a shower.”

“Oh, that’s me?” Steve teased, giving a sniff, and she scoffed, hitting him on his chest.

“Yes, you stink.”

Steve chuckled and gave her a quick kiss before he moved and stood up, heading into the bathroom. Katie watched him go, his broad shoulders rippling through the back of his shirt, and the more she watched, the more she was reminded of him emerging from a lift shaft, grubbily, and wrestling with a helicopter with his bare arms.  

It was totally inappropriate, all things considered. But right there and then, she didn’t give a shit. Whilst she was here, in this room, with him, she could lose herself, pretend that nothing else bar them existed.

Steve had barely reached over to turn on the shower before he heard Katie enter the room behind him. He spun to face her, and no sooner had he done so, her hand was behind his neck and she pulled his face down to her, pressing her lips to his. Steve grinned into the kiss as his wife went to work on removing his dirty clothes, as he did the same for her, kneeling down to pull her jeans and underwear all the way down her legs. His eyes scanned her naked body, taking in the various bruises she’d sustained, a particularly nasty on along her right ribcage. He gently kissed her skin, taking care not to place too much pressure where she was hurt, all the time her hands tangling in his hair before he rose to his feet, gently taking her face in his hands and kissed her as he manoeuvred her into the shower.

Neither of them paid the least bit of attention to actually getting cleaned up, instead they kissed and held each other under the spray of the water, tongues dancing together, hands sliding along slippery skin, squeezing and kneading where they saw fit. Eventually the teasing touches weren’t enough and Katie’s hands dropped down in between them to stroke him. Steve let out a choked hiss at her touch, he was more than ready, solid as a rock. Spinning her round so her back was to the wall, one hand lifted her leg and hooked it over his arm and he pushed inside of her, making her groan loudly.

“Oh God, Sweetheart…” Steve breathed out shakily against her lips, hand grasping on the steamy shower wall as he began pumping in and out. He felt her sliding a little, her foot struggling for grip on the slippy bath tub so he lifted her easily onto his hips so that she could wrap her other leg around him and her arms around his neck. She kissed, bit, sucked at any of the skin on his shoulder she could get to, lips skirting over the various bruises that she knew would be faded in a day or so, while he buried his face in her neck, his mouth gently sucking on that spot that drove her mad, as he continued to rut upwards, slowing his trusts and concentrating on driving deeper, harder. At the change of pace, Katie let out a groan and dropped her head back against the tiles.  

"Stevie.” She moaned and he slid a hand around into her hair to keep her eyes locked on his.

He wanted to see her, needed to see her.

“You feel so good.” He muttered, groaning as she pushed downwards with her hips, taking him as deep as he could go. “I love you so fucking much.”

"I love you too.” She whimpered, her green eyes shone as he looked straight into them, the pair of them continuing to pant and moan and Steve shuddered as he felt her tighten around him, a sign she was close.

“You’re mine.” He demanded hoarsely into her ear, his thrusts speeding up again. “Say it, please, say it.”

Katie knew where his dumb little insecurity was coming from, and it wasn’t simply about Bucky’s bike trick. He was worried, worried that this whole situation was going to tear them apart because they both understood that a big enough quake could shake even the strongest foundations. But she wasn’t going to let that happen. They’d made vows, promised to love each other for the rest of their lives, and she wasn’t about to let this come between them. She couldn’t.

“TIl the end of the line.” She managed to stutter, her eyes boring deep into his ocean blues which were blown with desire as his hips began to falter their rhythm. “I’ll always be yours, Stevie.”

“Oh, Doll.” His voice was choked as he whispered into her ear and with that she was gone and Steve began to lose his battle against his self-control, shuddering hard as his abs tightened. Her heat gripped him as she groaned loudly, her orgasm leaving her utterly wrecked. He came with a cry of her name, and his thrusts slowed before he stopped, and buried his face into the crook of her neck, his body supporting her against the wall. After a moment he gently moved his head to offer her a kiss, this one soft, as she smiled at him, that satiated, satisfied smile only he ever got to see.

“We’ll be okay.” She whispered again, feeling the need to reassure him.

He kissed her again before setting her gently on her feet. She leaned into his hold as his arms gently wrapped around her. “I know.” He sighed softly, kissing her head. “I know.”

***** Dressing the next day in the same dirty clothes they had discarded the night before grossed Katie out, but to her surprise, Steve not so much. He informed her that he’d often worn the same clothes for days on end when in operations during the war, and she took the opportunity to tease him a great deal, asking him how on earth they managed as many stealth missions as they did when HYDRA could have smelt them coming a mile off.

It was good natured banter, Steve was happy to entertain it, but the moment they all climbed into the stolen, no, borrowed, car to head to the airport parking garage where it was agreed that they’d meet up with the rest of the team, the mood grew sombre once more as the realisation of what they were about to do descended on them.

Steve parked the car a few spaces down from the non-descript van that their man had described and as they climbed out two familiar faces exited the van.

“Hey Nova.” Clint beamed and Katie threw herself at him, Steve smiling at the reunion between the friends. Clint chuckled, lifting her up slightly into his arms before he set her down and she stepped back to look at him.

“Man it’s good to see you!” She smiled. “It’s been far too long! How are the kids, and Laura?”

“Ah, they’re great!” he beamed “Cooper’s starting sixth grade this time round, Lila is giving me back chat at every opportunity and Nathaniel’s walking now.”

Katie smiled releasing him from her hold and as he walked over to greet Steve. She then turned to Wanda wrapping her up in a warm hug.

“You alright?” She pulled back slightly to look the younger woman in the eye. “We’d never have left you if we’d known it would turn out like this, I’m so sorry.”

Wanda merely shrugged as Katie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“You know I wouldn’t have called if I had any other choice.” Steve looked at Clint as he shook his hand.

“Hey man, you’re doing me a favour. Besides,” Clint answered lightly shrugging, before he turned serious as he added nodding over his shoulder slightly, “I owe a debt.” Steve nodded gratefully, looking over at Wanda, Katie’s arm still round her, “Thanks for having my back.”

“It was time to get off my ass.” Wanda answered casually, sharing a meaningful look with Clint.

“How about our new recruit?” Katie nodded towards the van.

“He’s rarin’ to go.” Clint answered moving back over to the van to grab the door handle. “I had to put a little coffee in him, but,” he slid open the van’s side door hard, startling the occupant who was led across the middle seat causing him to give a sudden start, blinking. “He should be good.” Clint finished.

The brown-haired man groaned as he rolled out of his seat stepping down from the van while complaining to Clint. “What timezone is this?”

“Come on.” Clint answered, urging the man to get up, “Come on.” He repeated pushing him towards Steve. Scott stumbled a little before his mouth fell open and he blinked at the super-soldier a few times to make sure that what he was seeing was real. Katie grinned as she stood to the side, watching as he continued to stare at Steve in amazement.

Finally Scott closed his gaping mouth, then opened it up only enough to breathe out. “Captain America.”

“Mr. Lang.” Steve professionally offered his hand to the other man, which he took without hesitation.

“It’s an honour.” Scott answered, as he shook Steve’s hand enthusiastically which continued for quite some time. “I’m shaking your hand too long.”

Steve smiled a little in amusement as Scott finally let go of his hand, but continued staring at Steve in awe, “Wow. This is awesome.”

He turned back to Clint, pointing at Steve. “Captain America,” his words trailed off and his jaw dropped yet again when he caught sight of Katie and Wanda. Katie raised her eyebrows slightly as he looked her up and down

“Hey! Mrs America, again!” He grinned lamely and she smiled at him before catching Clint’s eye as he smirked at her, mouthing Mrs America…whilst saluting. She flipped him off as the Archer laughed.

“I know you too,” Scott pointed to Wanda, “You’re great.” He added making her smile.

Lang turned back around to Steve and reached out and grabbed both his shoulders and felt the muscles there

“Jeez.” He muttered before letting go. Even Steve couldn’t stop the small smile forming on his face as he glanced back at Sam and Bucky who were both watching the exchange stony faced. “Look, I wanted to say. I know you know a lot of super people, so, thanks for thinking of me.” Scott looked to Steve’s side and spotted Sam. His face faltered a little, clearly remembering the last time they encountered one another. “Hey, man.” Scott greeted pointing at him.

“What’s up tic-tac?” Sam replied flatly nodding to him in greeting.

“Good to see you, uh…” Scott answered hesitantly then looked a bit sheepish as he went on, looking from me to Sam “Look. You guys…what happened last time was-”

“It was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again.” Sam cut him off with a chuckle and a shrug.

“Did they tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asked Scott steering the conversation back towards the matter at hand.

“Something about some psycho assassins.” Scott answered unsurely having obviously gotten the abridged version from Clint.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Katie mumbled to Wanda getting a smile out of the younger girl before looking at Scott.

“We’re outside the law on this one.” Steve warned. “So, if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.”

“Yeah, well,” Scott muttered with a light shrug, “what else is new?”

“We should get moving.” Bucky suddenly chimed in from his spot where he had remained silent on the other side of the bug keeping himself separated from everyone else.

“I got a chopper lined up.” Clint informed them standing from where he had been seated just inside the van.

Steve nodded, and opened his mouth to say something but suddenly, an alarm began to blare, and an intercom began to speak in rapid German.

"They’re evacuating the airport.” Bucky informed as the rest of them glanced around uneasily.

“Tony.” Katie sighed when Steve caught her eye.

“Tony… Tony Stark?” Scott repeated in shock.

Steve didn’t answer as he looked round issuing a simple instruction. “Suit up.” Once they were all ready, Katie back in her cat-suit as Clint hadn’t been able to override the system to get her Nova suit, she turned to Steve and looked at him.

“There is one plus to Tony being here. He’ll have brought a Quinjet. That can get us to Siberia faster than any chopper.”

"She’s right,” Clint chimed in with a nod as he flexed his bow, “But Stark’s not stupid he knows that’ll be the first place we’ll go.”

“He’ll be waiting for us.” Sam concluded “And we don’t know who he’s brought with him”

“No, but I can make a fairly educated guess.” Clint crossed his arms.

Steve had been listening to their points intently and nodded a plan formulating in his head. “Alright. Listen up, here’s how we play this…” He explained and gave everyone their positions and they all nodded, except Katie, who shook her head when he told her to stick with Bucky and Sam.

“I’m going to talk to Tony.”

Steve frowned and looked at her. “I think he’s past reasoning with, Sweetheart, and besides, I don’t want you ending up in a position where you have to…” Steve trailed off before sighing unable to bring himself to finish the sentence, adding feebly instead. “He’s your brother.”

“Exactly.” Katie said softly, fully understanding what Steve was saying. If this ended in a fight, he didn’t want her feeling like she had to choose between them. Which was why she had to try to talk Tony round, “If I can’t get through to him, no one will. Let me try, please. ”

Steve looked at her. Whilst he knew that there was no point trying to talk to Tony, he knew that from her point of view she had to try. So with that in mind he nodded. “Alright.”

Once everyone was in position, Steve and Katie strode slowly towards the airport landing area, hidden in the shadows for now, until they spotted the helicopter that Clint had mentioned sitting out in the open just waiting for them. They both broke out into a run, leaving the cover of the airport, Steve keeping pace with Katie, but they were stopped short immediately as a small gadget hit the chopper’s wings, sending up an electric current short-circuiting the entire helicopter.

Just as they had predicted.

They both stopped as Tony flew down towards them, Rhodey by his side before they landed between them and the now useless helicopter.

"Wow.” Tony said sarcastically. “It’s so weird how you run into people at the airport.” His helmet slid back, revealing a black eye which he’d probably received from Bucky at the CIA base, turning to his best friend as he asked lightly. “Isn’t it weird?”

“Definitely weird.” Rhodey replied.

“Hear us out, Tony.” Katie stepped forward.“That doctor, the psychiatrist, he’s behind all of this.”

Steve tensed slightly as someone else landed gently to his side. He turned to see a very familiar black covered figure.

“Captain.” King T'Challa greeted politely. “Mrs Rogers”

“Your highness.” Steve returned in kind nodding. Katie did the same.

“Anyway.” Tony cut in, and Steve turned his attention back to him. “Ross gave me thirty six hours to bring you in. That was twenty four hours ago. Can you help your brother out?”

“Fuck Ross!” Katie shook her head, “Tony, you’re after the wrong guy.”

Tony’s expression hardened. “Your judgment is askew.” He accused quietly looking at her, he then turned to Steve. “Your war buddy killed innocent people yesterday-”

“And there are five more super soldiers just like him.” Steve tried to get Tony to understand.

“That’s a far bigger threat that we’re trying to stop.” Katie pressed

“We can’t let the doctor find them first, Tony.” Steve finished with a sigh “We can’t.”

“Steve, Nova…”

Steve and Katie both stiffened as they heard a familiar woman’s voice. Steve knew he should have expected that Natasha would be here as well, but still, hearing her made his gut twist a little. They both turned to face her, Katie’s eyes narrowing slightly.

“You know, what’s about to happen.” Nat warned with her eyes trained steadily on Steve, then she levelled a look at Katie. “Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?”

Katie turned back to Tony, shaking her head. “You’re not going to listen to us at all, are you?”

“I’ll do you a deal, come in and then I’ll listen” He offered

“It will be too late by then!” Katie’s voice growing urgent “This isn’t about the damned accords or Ross or anything else now. If he gets to those other soldiers first then…”

“Look, I’m tired of listening to your supposition.” Tony’s eyes were cold “So stand down and get out of the way.”

Katie felt her jaw drop slightly before she composed herself, and stared back at him. He was past all reasoning with, Steve had been right.

“No.” She shook her head slightly.

“I mean it Katie, get out of-”

“You forget, I’m a Stark as well.” She interrupted with a hiss. “And I can be equally as obnoxious, pig headed and stubborn as you so no. I won’t move.”

“All right, I’ve run out of patience.” Tony snapped. “Underoos!”

Steve frowned at the seemingly random call, before blinking in shock as something whipped through the air and caught his shield, pulling it out of his grip. At the same time as the shield was pulled up, something came down to bind his wrists together, and then Katie’s. They both glanced down in surprise at the sticky, web-like material before they looked at each other and then both lifted their heads back up to see the figure that had stolen Steve’s shield landing crouched on a nearby truck. He was dressed in a red and blue suit, and Katie recognised him as the enhanced being that had been taking the world by storm recently on the internet.

“Nice job, kid.” Tony called approvingly as Steve and Katie continued to somewhat gawk as the kid and Tony exchanged banter before he looked at Steve and gave him a shy salute

“Cap. Captain.” Steve nodded at him, the amusement of the situation rising on his face despite the circumstances. “Big fan, I’m Spider-Man.”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted again, looking frustrated, “we’ll talk about it later. Just…good job.” He finished with a sigh.

“You’ve been busy.” Steve commented not bothering to hide his amusement.

“And you’ve been a complete idiot.” Tony snapped the anger in his voice evident  “Dragging in Clint. “

“We didn’t drag in anyone-“ Katie started

'Rescuing Wanda’ from a place she doesn’t even want to leave. A safe place. I’m trying to keep-” “Did you even ask her if she wanted to be there before you locked her up?” Katie cut him off.

Tony glared at his sister, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

All traces of humour from the situation evaporated as Steve answered steadily, unable to bite back the dig that had been bubbling away at him for ages. “You did that when you signed.”

Tony’s eyes turned cold, "Alright, we’re done.” He said quietly before raising his voice sharply once again.  "You’re gonna turn Barnes over and you’re gonna come with us. Now! Because it’s us!“ He tossed his hands wildly indicating to his team. "Or a squad of J-SOC, guys with no compunction about being impolite.”

Katie said nothing, instead she moved so that she was stood slightly in front of Steve and levelled her brother with a look. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Well then, I guess you’ve made your choice.” Tony shot back, somewhat childishly.

“For fucks sake Tony!” She exclaimed as she looked skywards with a groan. “This isn’t about choices, it’s about stopping a bunch of soldiers far more dangerous than anyone can comprehend…”

“We found it.” Sam’s voice rang in their ears as Katie continued to hold eye contact with Tony, watching him intently as she waited for the right moment. “The quinjet’s in hanger five, north runway.”

Quickly Katie and Steve both held their bound hands high above their heads, catching Tony by surprise, as an arrow came flying from out of nowhere and cut through Steve’s bonds, then Katie’s,  in single swoop without a problem.

And then it was game on. Lang managed to get Steve his shield back and the two groups began to tussle slightly- one team’s intention focussed solely on getting to the jet and the other’s focussed solely on stopping them.

And they were so close to getting there too. There had been no casualties, neither side fighting to hurt the other, but as Katie and Steve regrouped with Wanda, Scott, Clint, Sam and Bucky, and sprinted across the tarmac, they were all forced to come to a quick stop as a laser fired on the floor right before them.

“Captain Rogers.” Vision called as he began to float down in front of them. “I know you believe what you’re doing is right.”

Steve tensed as his group stood in a loose line on either side of him, staring at Vision. The android was joined by Tony and Natasha, and then Rhodey and T'Challa, and finally Spider-Man as they all stood still on the other side of the jagged line Vision’s beam had created.

“But, for the collective good,” Vision finished as he landed, “you must surrender now.”

“What do we do Cap?” Sam was the one to ask breaking the silence, only it wasn’t Steve that answered, it was Katie.

“We fight.” She answered simply, swallowing, her eyes fixed on her brother.

Steve glanced down at her, he really didn’t want to do this, but he knew there was no choice. They had to get to those soldiers. His hand briefly entwined round hers and she looked at him, giving him a short nod, before he let go and the pair of them started to walk forward, the rest of their team following as they picked up the pace and broke into a run.

 Tony and Steve were the first to collide, Tony brining down his metal encased fist onto Steve’s shield which he brought up just in time to deflect the hit. Natasha and Ant-Man went at it for the second time, whilst King T'Challa had eyes for no one else but Bucky pouncing on him immediately and tackling him down to the ground.

Katie felt something hit her back and turned, just in time for her to be launched off the floor and sent flying across the tarmac as Spiderman had caught her in his webbing, dragging her out of the fray.

“Man.” She mumbled, getting up “I hate spiders”

“Heads up!” Clint shouted and Katie ducked as he fired an arrow up at Spiderman, who dodged it easily once more. “This kid is startin’ to piss me off.” Clint muttered, aiming another arrow. This one cut right through the webbing Spider Man had been using to propel himself around and he fell to the floor, a loud crash as he collided with one of the upturned cars.

Clint jogged off towards where he had fallen, and behind Katie something exploded sending her flying into the air, fast and then she began to fall, hard. She braced herself for the impact, as the ground rose to meet her, this was going to hurt. Suddenly a metal arm curved round her waist and Bucky turned them both in mid-air, before crashing into a pile of crates. He took the brunt of the impact, Katie landing on him, back to his chest. She moved to stand up and spotted that T’Challa was leaping through the air but Sam swooped in using both feet to kick him back before flying back up into the sky.

“You alright?” Bucky asked as he got up.

“Yeah, I had a soft landing.” She smiled. “Thanks Buck.”

He gave her a quick nod before he dodged off to his left again, and it was then that Katie saw in the space he had left to her left a flash of red-hair making a sprint to the hangar.

“Damned it Nat.”  Katie mumbled as she set off at after her.

Steve found a slight reprieve in the fight and ended up pressed against the side of a set of the airport steps, looking at Bucky who was a few feet away from him.

“We got to go.” Bucky spoke earnestly “That guy’s probably in Siberia by now.”

“We’ve gotta draw out the fliers.” Steve replied, looking up before he glanced back at Bucky “I’ll take Vision, you get to the jet.”

“No, you get to the jet, I’ll take Vision.” Sam countered over the coms “The rest aren’t getting out of here.”

"As much as I hate to admit it,” Clint chimed in, “if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.”

“Clint’s right, this isn’t the real fight, Steve.”  Katie shot urgently, sounding a little out of breath. Instinctively, Steve glanced around for his wife, but couldn’t see her. With a bit of luck she’d found somewhere to hide. He hated this, hated that she was fighting her brother. Hell, he hated that he was fighting her brother, or any of the other Avengers for that matter. But they HAD to get to Siberia. Nothing else mattered but stopping those soldiers being unleashed.

“Alright, Sam, what’s the plan?” Steve asking, looking up.

“We need a diversion. Something big.“

"I got something kind of big,” Scott joined in suddenly. “But I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half, don’t come back for me.”

“He’s tearing himself in half?” Bucky frowned as he looked at Steve who shrugged.

“You’re sure about this, Scott?” Steve asked.

“I do it all the time. I mean once, in a lab. And I passed out.” Scott confirmed doing absolutely nothing to ease the Captain’s worries.

And then suddenly Steve felt something huge behind him and he spun round, stopping momentarily, his mouth dropping open. Scott had appeared out of nowhere, only now he was at least a hundred feet tall and he grabbed Rhodes in mid-air as the War Machine flew by after Sam.  

“I guess that’s the signal.” Steve looked at Bucky.

“Way to go, tic-tac!” Sam chuckled while Scott laughed.

Across the field, Katie reached the hangar and stepped inside, looking around. It was silent.

“I know you’re here Nat. I saw you come in.” With that Nat stepped out from the shadows at the side of the jet and Katie sighed. “Just listen to me. Please.” 

“I never thought Steve would let you all fight us like this.” The red head looked at her. “Not for him.”

“It’s not like that. Tony is wrong.”

“I’ve seen first-hand what the Winter Soldier can do.” And with that Nat aimed a blow at Katie. She dodged it and grabbed Natasha’s arm, using it to flip her over her head. Nat landed on her feet behind Katie, who spun round in time to see her discharge a stinger at her which she narrowly managed to avoid.

The two friends then began to fight. They grappled, dodged, punched, kicked and then by some fluke of fortune, Katie managed to get behind Natasha, wrapping her in a headlock, forearm over her throat.

“I taught you well, too well it seems.” Natasha chuckled and Katie tightened her hold a little.

“Just listen!” She pleaded “The Winter Soldier is every bit as dangerous as you say…”

“Then why are you defending him!?” Natasha yelled, twisting from underneath Katie and pinning her arm up behind her back before kicking her hard, sending her flying forward and to the floor.

“I’m not, I’m defending Bucky, but that isn’t what this is about!” Katie shook her head, as she lay on the floor. “It’s about stopping them!”

“Stopping who- what do you mean them?” Natasha asked, momentarily faltering.

“There are more.” Katie looked at her, earnestly “More Winter Soldiers. At least five.”

“I don’t believe you.”  Nat shook her head, eyes wide.

“Oh come on Nat, look at what it’s caused, why would I lie?” Katie groaned. “Bucky was framed by the Doctor that the UN let in to question him. He needed Bucky to tell him where he could find the others. And now he knows where they are, he has the power to control them. We have to stop him.”

Suddenly there was a loud crash, something had hit the metal tower outside the hangar. Nat turned towards it which was all the distraction Katie needed. She jumped up, and aimed a kick at Natasha’s right knee causing her to stumble forward. At that point Steve and Bucky burst into the hangar, and could do nothing but watch as Natasha spun round, right leg raised but Katie was ready. She grabbed Nat’s foot stopping her, so Natasha then pushed off with her left, swinging it at Katie’s head. But Katie had seen that move thousands of times and was ready. She ducked down and used the foot she had hold of to flip Nat back over. As Nat landed on her feet, Katie leapt into the air and used every inch of momentum she could muster to aim a hard double kick into Nat’s chest which sent her crashing into side of the jet. Katie landed on her back, slightly winded.

“Impressive.” Bucky had a smirk on his face as they crossed towards the women and Steve glared at him, causing Bucky to frown. “What?” “Nothing.” Steve replied, gruffly, not wanting to voice the fact that his mind had, once again, taken him back to being a jealous little punk at the most inopportune moments it could ever have chosen. He strode forward, offering his wife a hand as he pulled her up.

“You ok?”  He asked, his hand falling to the side of her neck tenderly. Katie nodded, before she spotted Natasha in the corner of her eye scrambling to her feet, arm raised, stinger aimed.

“Damned it Nat!”  Katie yelled, looking at her, pleading with her eyes. “Just trust us on this one, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop are you?”

“You know I can’t Nat.”  Steve shook his head..

“I’m gonna regret this.”

She fired a stinger, but not at any of them. Instead it sailed over Katie’s shoulder causing them to spin round and see T’Challa stumbling over.

“Go.” Nat instructed, not looking at them.

Steve glanced around at Bucky, then to Katie and opened his mouth to tell Katie to stay where she was but she cut him off before he could even start. With a shake of her head she looked at him. “I’m not staying here.”

“She’s right.” Nat shot another stinger. “If she does she’s going to jail, you need to go now.”

Steve didn’t argue again, they were going to need all the help they could get, but he wasn’t completely happy about Katie facing off against another five Super Soldiers without her suit. But he’d worry about that when they got there, hopefully he could convince her to stay on the jet.

Without so much as a glance back, they ran up the ramp onto the jet and soon they were airborne and after a tense chase involving Rhodey, Vision and Sam, they were clear, and cruising their way to Siberia.

******

Tony had made a mistake. He knew that as soon as FRIDAY had patched through the update from the Berlin police. Barnes had been telling the truth. Which meant that his sister and brother-in-law were now about to face off with five super assassins. And the thought terrified him, not so much for the two super soldier, but for Kiddo, especially she had no suit.

He had to try and make this right.

Once the helicopter was landed, he climbed out, the rough sea wind whipping his suit jacket up slightly as Ross walked out to meet him.

“So?” Tony looked at him, shifting to try and make himself a little more comfortable, the sling on his arm was already pissing him off. “Did you get the files? Let’s re-route the satellites, and start face scanning for this Zemo guy.”

“You seriously think I’m gonna listen to you after that fiasco in Leipzig?” Ross shook his head as he looked at Tony. “You’re luck you’re not in one of these cells.” He added, making Tony raise his eyebrow. He stayed quiet and followed Ross into the depth of the prison. Ross stopped outside a door which was flanked by two guards, before he turned to face him. “Now, let me make one thing clear, Stark. You’re only here because I need you to find out where Rogers has gone. And I don’t give a shit that your sister is with him.” Tony took a deep breath and held Ross’ gaze as the man continued. “But I know that you will, so it’s in your interest to find out and tell us.”

“And then what?”

“Well I got a cell waiting for them too.” Ross shrugged. “Although we might be able to come to some arrangement if they sign the Accords.”

Tony bit back the snort that was threatening to erupt from his throat, as he knew there was more chance of hell freezing over. But, instead, he took a deep breath and nodded.

“I want to know where they are too. I couldn’t give a shit about Rogers or Barnes, but Kiddo….” He trailed off and shrugged.

Ross eyed him suspiciously, before he nodded to the guards who moved to key in the code at the side of the room. “Oh, and just so you don’t get any funny ideas, I’ll be watching and listening.”

Tony saluted him, causing Ross to give a roll of his eyes before he turned and left. Tony watched him go before he nodded to the guard and entered the room, letting out sigh as he looked at each of the cells that lined the round walls. As he glanced up at the cameras, taking in their location, a slow clapping echoed across the room.

“The futurist ladies and gentlemen.” Clint called loudly and Tony turned towards the archer.  Clint didn’t even look at him as he continued sarcastically, “The futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

“Give me a break, Barton.” Tony stood in front of Clint’s cell, staring at him “I had no idea they’d put you in here.”

Clint’s spat on the floor "Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but, not some super max floating ocean pokey.” Tony shook his head. “You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…” He trailed off.

“Criminals?” Clint bit out as he stood and faced Tony. “Criminals, Tony. I think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right? It ain’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda. Yet here we are.”

“'Cause you broke the law.”

Clint snorted turning away from the bars, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.” Tony pressed, even as Clint turned to walk around his small cell while muttering “Blah, blah, blah.”

“You read it,” Tony went on speaking. “You broke it.”

“Blah blah blah.” Clint continued to mutter as he turned his back on Tony

“Alright, you’re a grown up.” Tony bit back. “You’ve got a wife and kids. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?”

Clint’s shoulders tensed in anger and he stood up but Tony had already left continuing down the cells, “You better watch your back with this guy.” He slammed his hands on the plexiglass covering the front of his cell as he shouted angrily “There’s a chance is he’s going to break it.”

Tony’s jaw ticked as he shot a glare back but he carried on walking past Scott Lang’s cell.

“Hank Pym always said you never can trust a Stark.”

“Who are you?” Tony shrugged as he continued.

“Come on, man.” Scott sighed

“How’s Rhodes?” Sam asked when Tony stopped in front of his cell, not turning around from where he was facing towards the back.

“We’re flying him to Columbia Medical tomorrow.” Tony replied. “So, fingers crossed. What do you need? They feed you yet?”

Sam turned to him revealing his black eye. “You’re the good cop now?” He asked, smirking sarcastically

“I’m just a guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

“Yeah well you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

“I figured as much.” Tony mumbled as he lifted his wrist in front of his sling and pressed a button on his watch. Sam arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“Oh, I just knocked the 'A’ out of their 'AV’.” He looked at Sam. “We got about thirty seconds before they realise it’s not their equipment.”

Sam glanced up at the camera before Tony spoke again, pressing another button on his watch flashing him her an image of the dead psychiatrist lying in a bathtub,

“Just look…because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly I made a mistake. I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.” Sam muttered

“Look, Cap is definitely off the reservation and he’s about to face off against fuck knows what with my sister by his side. They’re gonna need all the help they can get.” Tony sighed “I messed up alright, I can fix this if you just-”

“Okay.” Sam sighed, “I’ll tell you, but you have to go alone, and as a friend.”

"Easy.” Tony shrugged and Sam quickly gave him the location.

With a nod, Tony headed to the room of the door, banged on it, and it swung open and he strode purposefully back towards his chopper.

“Stark, did they give you anything on Rogers?” Ross followed him.

“Nope, told me to go to hell.” Tony climbed casually into his helicopter as he added, “I’m going back to the compound instead. But, you can call me anytime. I’ll put you on hold, I like to watch the light blink.”

As soon as the prison was out of sight, Tony removed the brace off his arm and loosened his tie and then, with a short moment to contemplate what was about to happen, he took a deep breath and pressed a button on the helicopter controls, laying back as the seat collapsed beneath him while the Iron Man suit unfolded itself and attached onto him.

Chapter 32 Part 1

**Original Posting**

[choco-felix]

morning love ☆ ♡ bestfriend!jisung | 1.7k words

The coolness of the shower water chilled you deep inside, but you continued to let it fall against your skin; you were trying to pull yourself back into reality after waking up half naked beside your best friend, but, it wasn’t quite working. You sighed as you finally heated up the water, your shivering ceasing as you reached over to grab what you presumed was Jisung’s body wash. You let your hand graze over the front of the bottle before opening it, letting yourself take in the familiar scent of the liquid as you squeezed out a respectable amount.

You weren’t sure if your brain was working, but you couldn’t seem to remember anything about the night before other than...showing up at the club alongside Hyunjin, who had given you a soft smile and had left you by yourself at the bar. Everything after that was a completely blur until your eyes opened up under the soft sheets of Jisung’s bed and you had nearly screamed.

With a deep breath, you made your way back to his bedroom, having thrown on one of his t-shirts that was left inside of the bathroom (and of which looked clean). You were mentally preparing yourself to talk to him, about what might have or might have not happened the night before, but just as you entered the room, it was empty. “Is that my shirt?”

You whirled around to the sound of his voice, your eyes falling upon him scanning you from top to bottom, before raising his head to meet your gaze. “Um, yeah, it is...sorry, I should’ve asked—” You felt self-conscious at that point, suddenly aware even though it wasn’t the first time you had worn any of his clothes. “I just couldn’t find mine...”

Jisung shook his head immediately, “No! No, it’s fine. You don’t have to ask, I don’t mind. Uh, so, I made breakfast? Yeah, no, I made breakfast so, if you wanna...?” He trailed off, gesturing towards the kitchen; his eyes grazed past your bare legs as you walked off, his cheeks flaring up from the exposure as he looked away.

You had to say that breakfast with your best friend had never felt so awkward before, the two of you only stealing glances at each other every now and then while slowly eating the pancakes that he had cooked. They were—surprisingly good, considering his cooking skills had increased greatly since you had started teaching him. Just as you finished, you stood up to discard of your plate when Jisung swept by you, taking the dish from your hand instead.

You followed by as you watched him wash the dishes, your eyes moving from his hands and then trailing up his bare arms, stopping at the ends of his sleeveless shirt. Pursing your lips, you let yourself go for a few seconds, your mouth nearly watering over the sight of his hands. Your thoughts wandered, never leaving his hands while you imagined them moving up your thighs, stopping between the flesh near your core and inching his fingers just a little closer to where you needed to feel him before slipping them—

“—Y/N?” You snapped out of your daze, realizing that he was now standing in front of you with a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay? Do you feel alright or do you want a painkiller...or something? You don’t look like you have that bad of a hangover.” Jisung raised one of his hands to run through his hair, and you focused on it almost immediately that it made you embarrassed at how easily you were getting turned on by your best friend. The rings on a few of his fingers made you gulp, making him perk up. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, ‘m fine!” You answered a little too enthusiastically, not being able to rip your gaze away from those hands of his (had you not noticed them earlier?) until he sensed your look, making you glance away. “Um, yeah so I just wanted to ask—what happened? Like, yesterday?” What happened that I ended up in my underwear and in your bed at the same time?

“So Hyunjin got you drunk, like always,” he chuckled softly at the memory of your swaying figure, clinging onto him like a koala as you whined that your feet hurt. “And you insisted I take you to my place, so here we are!” He wasn’t quite sure if he should elaborate on what had happened after that, so he left it there, giving you a large gummy smile and moving to walk away.

“Wait! I mean, what happened after we got here?” You heard your own voice trailing off along with your self-confidence, and your grip that you had fastened on his arm slowly releasing as well. He seemed to get what you were going at, moving back in front of you.

“Well,” Jisung’s fingers drummed the granite counter, sending spontaneous shivers down your spine for some odd reason. “You said that you were—tired, so I brought you to my room but uh, I wasn’t planning on staying there! You kinda said I could stay there with you, so...” He looked back up at you after the words were said, but you still hadn’t gotten everything from him; there was something that you knew he was hiding. “...that’s about it.”

“Then w-why did I—” you weren’t sure how to word the phrase—wake up naked in your bed? “Uh, I wasn’t wearing any clothes though?”

“Oh,” he let out a laugh, startling you when he leaned sideways. “Right—so you pinned me down on my own bed and kept telling me to call you princess. But my best part was when you complained it was too hot and took your dress off, right on top of me, actually. Pretty shameless.” You buried your face into your hands, feeling your face growing an honest burn as he continued. “I thought I was gonna have to wrestle you to sleep or something, but you passed out like a second after that.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled into your skin, shaking your head repeatedly. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, that was probably traumatizing.” So, good job Y/N, you did well. Stripped in front of your best friend this time, what’s next? Getting naked in front of him?

“It was a pretty enjoyable view,” he said without hesitation, making your heart skip a beat when you peeked at him through your hands. He was now wearing a custom smirk, one that grew wider into a true smile. “A gorgeous girl was sitting atop of me, practically yanking a tight dress off her equally gorgeous body; how could that be traumatizing? It was heaven.” Your mouth fell open at his words, your eyes going wide as you realized he was getting awfully close to you, now making sure his face was inches in front of your own. “Wanna send me to heaven again?”

“W-What is that supposed to mean?” You knew exactly what that meant, especially when he brought his hands up to your face, wriggling his fingers in front of your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I know you have a thing for my hands,” Jisung chirped, one of his hands resting against your hot cheek for a second before he giggled. “Are you nervous? Don’t be nervous, it’s just me.” His fingers grazed past the softness of your lips, swiping across the bottom for a second before they moved past your parted lips, slipping into your mouth. “Suck on them, pretty girl.”

You obeyed, watching him carefully as you swiped your tongue over his flesh, a low sound coming from your throat as they inched further back into your mouth. “Yeah? You like that?” He pulled them out, admiring the way your saliva coated his flesh so perfectly. “You wanna ride them?”

Pursing your lips, you nodded eagerly, no longer caring about any dignity around your friend. Jisung chuckled at your response, “Or do you want me to fuck you with them?” His question was low, the earlier thoughts of yours being thrown out of the window to his blatant suggestion.

“Yes,” you got out, your thighs involuntarily rubbing against each other at the thought of seeing his fingers disappear into your hole. He groaned out at your response, pressing his lips to yours without warning. You slowed him down with a hand to his chest, molding your mouth against his own the way you had wished to do for so long. His hands wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter before pulling away to wriggle a hand between your knees, parting your legs apart.

With a push to your (his) shirt, he had his fingers hooked onto your panties already, pulling you back into reality as you stopped him with a hand over his own. He looked back up at you, a mask of concern falling over the primary lust. “We don’t have to do this,” he said slowly. “Do you want me to stop?”

With another gulp, you shook your head. “No, I just had to—think for a moment.” He nodded knowingly, tapping softly at your hips to get you to lift them, and then slid your laced panties far down your legs, leaving them discarded on the floor. You let out a sound that was an awkward squawk, almost, shutting your legs in an attempt to cover yourself. Now, you just felt stupid, going back and forth from yeses and noes.

“Let me see how beautiful you are, princess,” Jisung tried at his words, feeling you loosen up to the pet name almost without a second thought. He spread your legs as wide as they allowed, running his hands and up down your thighs as he drank in the sight of your already dripping pussy. “You’re making a mess in my kitchen. Already so wet...from these things?” He wiggled his fingers in front of you again, liking your eye widening reaction. “Well, don’t you worry, I’ll put them to good use too.”

Just as his hands trailed up your thighs, massaging the soft flesh, you couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing. “Stop,” he removed his hands immediately, looking up at you. “Can we...not do this here?”

“Then my bed it is,” he said without hesitation, pulling you into his grasp and getting ready to give you the time of your life.

[rudysrings]

Happier - JJ x reader

Just a lil songifc based on Ed Sheeran’s Happier

Summary: JJ didn’t mean for things to end the way they did between you two. If he’s being honest, he didn’t mean for things to end at all. He can’t help the longing when he sees you’ve moved on. At the same time, he can’t deny that you look better, happier.

Warnings: I’m such a sucker for angst jiokdfnijhwuerfhi I’m sorry…

Walking down 29th and Park I saw you in another's arms Only a month we've been apart You look happier, you do

The HMS Pogue was docked and JJ walked towards the Wreck, where his friends were waiting. It had been a long day of surfing, fishing, and drinking and he was just about ready to collapse after some good food.

He flicked his lighter, tossing it around in his hands as he walked up the street. He stopped short when he caught sight of a ghost. He swallowed tightly, trying to push down the feeling of his stomach rising to his throat at the sight of you. Of course, that was just his luck. The moment he managed to get you off his mind through pure exhaustion and hunger, he had to see you. The part that made him want to yak the empty contents of his stomach, however, was seeing you tucked into the arms of a guy. He was tall. Taller than JJ, maybe. He was blonde and smoking a joint.

He smiled inwardly. Guess you had a type, after all.

He didn’t want to admit it, but you looked more content, your shoulders relaxed, your hair down and a slow, unhurried pace in your step.

Taking in a shaky breath, JJ shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and continued walking.

Saw you walk inside a bar He said something to make you laugh I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours Yeah, you look happier, you do

Imagine his surprise when he saw the guy you were with open the door to the Wreck, gesturing overtly for you to enter before him, even bowing theatrically. You giggled, but obliged, walking through.

JJ wrinkled his nose, deciding that the guy’s name must have been Kyle. He just looked it. Kyle. God damn it, Kyle, why’d you have to steal my girl?

What he did next made JJ shake in his boots. Kyle followed you inside, his hands reaching for your hips as he ducked into your neck, whispering something in your ear.

JJ swallowed thickly, raising his hand to slightly rub his chest through the cotton of his shirt, feeling an uncomfortable stinging sensation in his heart. It didn’t stop the ache.

You laughed and JJ felt like he was back at the bar where you sang gigs here and there, your laughter as you interacted with the audience his favorite filler. Your laughter was always generous. You were never shy to smile at a passerby or chuckle at his lame innuendos. And whenever you did completely let out that contagious, musical laugh of yours, bubbling up and out of your mouth like it was meant to be freed, JJ knew that he’d do anything to keep you just like that. Happy. The kind of candid happy that you rarely saw in anyone older than 10. That was his favorite thing about you, JJ decided, how you were still a child in the ways that mattered.

The part that killed him, however, was he couldn’t remember when you’d last smiled at him that big, the way you were smiling at fucking Kyle.

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain't nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal, baby If you're moving on with someone new

JJ quickly tugged his hair, scrunching his face in anger before relaxing, walking through the doors behind you. Cool as a cucumber. Sure.

He made sure not to look at you, trying to swallow the memory of the last time you had talked to him.

You weren’t one for yelling. It wasn’t in your nature. Maybe it was because of your family life which molded you into someone who couldn’t stand to yell, maybe it was that it not only hurt the other person but you as well.

That’s why it shook him so much when you yelled at him. JJ knew he hadn’t been doing right by you. He knew he had been reckless. He knew he wasn’t there when you needed him the most. He knew he was hurting you. What he didn’t know, was that while he was losing his mind trying to make his way back to you, you were giving up the fight.

“I can’t do this anymore, JJ!” You screamed, pushing at his shoulders.

“Why not? Because I can’t always be there? Because I like a little adventure in my life?” He glared at you, not able to stop the words he would regret saying. “You know my life style, Y/N! I can’t be your little bitch for the rest of my life. I want to live! If you won’t let me do that then…”

You leaned in, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Then? Then what, JJ? You’ll find someone else who will?”

“—wha—”

“Then I’ll find someone else who’ll be my little bitch. It’s better than having a self-destructive asshole for a boyfriend.”

JJ saw the instant regret in your eyes, but your pride had taken enough of a beating from his words for you to apologize. You approached him carefully. “Are you saying…are you saying this is it?” He asked, terrified now.

You smiled sadly. “It doesn’t look like we have another choice.”

“We always have a choice!” He refused.

You nodded. “Right, and you never chose me.”

All he remembered after that were his tears and mumbled apologies, his pleas to the air as you had already said goodbye and left. Left him.

'Cause baby you look happier, you do My friends told me one day I'll feel it too And until then I'll smile to hide the truth But I know I was happier with you

JJ found the rest of the pogues at their usual table in the back and they greeted him heartily, John B slapping his back playfully as he sat down.

“You leave anything for me or has everything been shoved into your maw already?” JJ asked with a fake smile on his face.

Kiara handed him some food and he thanked her, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it, instead pulling out a joint, hoping he could then blame the redness in his eyes on the weed.

Pope slapped it out of his hand, scolding him. “Bro, you know you can’t do that in here.”

JJ’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Pope with absolute surrender, a pleading look on his face as he asked quietly, “Please, man. I just—” His eyes flicked over to where you were sat with Kyle, trying to braid his hair.

The pogues turned to JJ’s line of sight, seeing you and understanding completely.

“Oh,” Pope said simply.

John B ruffled JJ’s hair, trying to comfort him in the few ways he knew how. “Hey, man. You’re better off without her, alright?”

Kiara scoffed at that, probably knowing as much as JJ did that you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

Pope squeezed JJ’s shoulder. “You’ll find someone who makes you happy.”

JJ shrugged, nodding and giving his friends a tight smile. “Yeah, you’re right.” His lies tasted bitter in his mouth for the first time. It felt wrong to even say that he could be happy without you when he knew that he had never been happier than when he was with you.

Sat in the corner of the room Everything's reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier Aren't you?

The rest of the pogues had left for a late night surf, JJ giving the excuse that he was exhausted and would meet them at the Chateau later.

They left reluctantly, knowing JJ was bound to torture himself some more by watching you and your new boyfriend Kyle, which ironically enough, was apparently his name. Kiara had confirmed.

JJ had an empty beer bottle in his hand, rolling the neck of it between his fingers every now and then, putting it to his lips just to have something to do as he lost himself in the memories.

You hated this beer. It was always too watery, you had said.

I know that there's others that deserve you But my darling, I am still in love with you

JJ saw Kyle take care of you, wrap his jacket around your arms, press a kiss to your forehead as you smiled.

Maybe Kyle was good for you. JJ had never deserved you anyways. When Kyle leaned down to kiss you carefully, JJ was glad that he was sat in the corner of the room, out of sight from the two of you because he couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eyes, his hand coming up against his mouth as he tried to physically force the whimper down his throat. He finally tore his eyes away from the two of you, not sure if he could take the sight of you two macking on each other right there in front of him.

He quickly flicked away his tears with his fingers. Fuck, he was still so in love with you. The feeling hadn’t dimmed after a month and he didn’t think it was going to dim in another month, in another year, maybe never in this life.

JJ smashed the bottle against the trash can as he threw it out, the violent action only releasing some of his aggression.

He pulled his lighter out again, looking back up to see you staring right at him, probably startled by the sound of the bottle breaking.

I knew one day you'd fall for someone new But if he breaks your heart like lovers do Just know that I'll be waiting here for you

A soft expression settled over your face. You looked guilty…and sad. JJ didn’t want to dwell on the thought too much, because false hope would most definitely destroy him. But the look in your eyes reminded JJ that he would always wait for you. There was never going to be anyone else; that, he was sure of.

He watched as you pushed Kyle away, saying something harsh to him. Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. You stood up and walked away from Kyle, towards JJ.

JJ straightened, trying to discreetly make sure there weren’t any more tears on his face. That was the last thing he needed, the last piece of his dignity. Not only was he watching you with your new guy while all alone, but he was crying? Just perfect.

You stopped just a few feet shy of him, crossing your arms over your chest, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

The look in your eyes gave him hope, hope he tried so hard to stomp out. “Hey,” You said.

After hearing your voice after so long, watching his name roll sweetly off of your lips, JJ didn’t trust his own voice, simply raising his eyebrows in greeting.

You played with one of the many bracelets on you wrist, a habit you had picked up from him, actually. You bit your lip, before saying. “I miss you, J.”

And JJ thought he could finally breathe again.

[impossible-rat-babies]

our reflections 

wayhaven chronicles | nb!detective x mason | 3.1k words | hurt/comfort | cw: blood & violence | mostly under the cut!

read on ao3

--

Feet stumbling over each other, Pollux’s shoulder slams into the door and he curses loudly. Pain radiates down his arm and into his ribs, scattering across his shoulder blades and ending at the headache welling across his scalp. Breath catching, pain making his diaphragm stutter but he knows this well. Pause, close his eyes, lean against the door, and take a few deep breaths to ease the tightness.

He licks his lips, freshly wet with new blood sliding from his nostrils and he winces; he hopes it isn’t broken, goddamn it. He doesn’t fancy a trip to Doctor Turner this late and end up scolded like he’s fifteen again and got into yet another fight after school. Or worse, getting carted off to the Agency so he can get scolded like he’s just a child who can’t take care of himself. Not to mention everyone would hover and Rebecca would throw a fit over what happened and he’s not at all in the right mind to deal with her right now.

He yanks his keys out of the door lock despite the pain spiking through his hands and wrists and he dumps them on his little console table. He flexes his hands, clenching them into fists and relaxing them. His usual joints pop and crackle, but none of his fingers feel broken or dislocated. The scabs across his knuckles flex and crack, new blood seeping through along with fresh pain to batter against his senses.

He gently kicks the door shut and leans against the table, closing his eyes once more. The pain is still fresh in his shoulders and down across his ribs and he reaches under his cardigan and he feels across his torso. Pressing against the bones and there’s no sharpness, just the familiar ache of bruises. Not cracked thankfully. Still, it hurts like hell and he sucks in a sharp breath that burns his nose. He wipes away the hot fresh blood on his sleeve, looking down at the dark streak staining the fabric.

There’s blood that isn’t his own splattered across his shirt, staining under his nails, in the cracks of his callouses. Thought it would be worse, all things considered. 

Sure, he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him, but he’s been through worse and still come back swinging. There’ll be new dents in his car come the morning and maybe some blood to wash off when he clambers out of bed, but that’s for tomorrow Pollux to worry about. Today Pollux would be more than happy to sleep for the next week and a half and ignore everything else outside of his apartment. 

Maybe he will.

He wrangles himself out of his cardigan, shaking his arm from the offending sleeve and it lands on the floor in a heap that he kicks to the side. Works his shoes off too, abandoning them, shuffling past the tiny entryway and into his living room. Groping blindly through the dark for his bedroom door, he wishes he’d left a lamp on.

“Pollux?”

A voice in the dark and he turns sharply, panic seizing his chest, eyes searching through the dark. His hands clench into tight fists that break the fresh scabs, heart racing in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s just me...”

Soothing—familiarity in that deep voice, recognition in his scrambled brain. A sharp sudden light from a lamp clicking on and Pollux winces, holding up his hand to block it.

“Fucking hell,” he peers out from behind the bright light and Mason is standing there, the butt of a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Should’ve said something sooner, you asshole...” He huffs, voice hoarse and he clears his throat. There’s the taste of blood on the back of his tongue and he swallows.

“Don’t blame me. I just got down from the roof when you hobbled in.”

Mason snips and Pollux snorts despite the pain. In the dim yellow light he spots the balcony door still open, curtains fluttering in the dull breeze. Of course he used the fire escape instead of the normal people stairs up to the roof.

“Wait, you were hiding around my apartment building?” Pollux asks, rattling his brain for whomever is supposed to be on watch with him tonight and he could’ve sworn they were past this shit. At least Pollux thought since he’d been extraordinarily clear with Ava how he felt on the matter. Quite loud about it too if his memory served right.

Pleas on deaf ears he supposes.

“Better question,” Mason counters, making his way through his living room and closer to him. “You look like utter shit.”

If Pollux didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a biting edge of concern to his tone, grey eyes flickering in the dull light reflected off the wall.

“Thanks asshole. Flattery will get you everywhere.” Pollux bites back, lips curling back.

“Why?”

First instinct catches Pollux, lying before he can think not to.

“It’s nothing—“ he quickly shuts his mouth, biting his tongue.

That doesn’t work anymore—not with Mason, not with any of them. They all read him like a book, know his littlest tells for his lies and Pollux hates it--that hate sitting in his stomach, frustration in his curled fists. He’s invested what little dignity the years haven’t stripped from him in his lies and even still, unit bravo spare him no expense.

“I handled it, it’s not as bad as it looks. I’m fine...” Pollux looks away, finding a nice dark corner to stare into. Saying it’s fine is just another way to lie, but he’s past semantics.

“What happened, Pollux?” Mason presses and Pollux shrugs through the pain, crossing his arms over his chest, burying his bruised and bloodied hands in his armpits.

“There’s nothing to say! Nothing happened, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, what happened, Pollux?”

Pollux licks the backside of his teeth, frustration building like nervous energy in his legs and hands, the little voice in the back of his mind growing louder. Mason steps closer and Pollux pulls back against the wall, pulling his arms in tighter.

(Take one more step, just one more)

“Trappers, okay?” Pollux admits. “They jumped me in the parking lot of the station near my car. Three of four of them--didn’t get a good look.”

The dark corner is his friend, keeping his eyes off of Mason but he still hears the sharp intake of his breath, feels his eyes on him.

(Stop looking at me like that)

“Pollux, you--” Mason cuts himself off, growling low in the back of his throat. “You didn’t think to call us? To call me?”

“No, sorry I was more concerned about getting out of there than sticking around for a stupid phone call.” Pollux spits back, meeting Mason’s glare with one of his own.

“Were you going to call when you got back here? What were you gonna go do?”

“What did it look like I was doing, asshole? I was gonna go to my bathroom and make sure my nose isn’t fucking broken!”

Mason pinches the bridge of his nose and Pollux holds his meager ground, hands stuffed in his armpits clenching down hard.

“And after that?”

“Jesus christ, I was gonna go to sleep! Or I dunno, eat a bowl of cereal and smoke a fucking cigarette!” Pollux spits, grinding his teeth. “I don’t need to tell you all every bit of my life! I can take care of this myself! I don’t need help all the time, I’m not just some stupid human who needs his hand held and told ‘oh boohoo are you okay honey’ whenever things go wrong!”

Pollux mocks, more words bubbling up in his throat but they get clogged on his tongue, too many to say. Maybe they’re excuses, or lies and he wants to say them—wants to take the worst of them and smash them together into the worst he can think of and then shove it in Mason’s face. Make him take a step back, or maybe leave because he can never just ask. He’s asked too many times, begged people over the phone and no one ever listens--like screaming through a glass window.

Talk is cheap and hands say more than their fair share.

“....fucking hopeless.” Mason grumbles to himself and Pollux bunches his fingers tightly in his shirt.

“If you’re gonna talk then shit say it to my face, Mason.” Pollux spits his name and he knows he’s playing chicken with a speeding car—sooner or later he’s going to get hit. 

Mason turns on him, anger drawing his lips into a snarl and frustration tensing his shoulders,

(take one more step, I swear to god) 

“I said...” He starts slow, meeting his grey eyes and there’s a vicious storm in that grey, “you’re fuckin’ hopeless, Pollux.”

“Good.”

Pollux grinds out, voice low. There’s a hundred meanings in that four letter word, all of them stuffed in the five feet between them and Pollux is daring Mason to ask, eyes measuring. Like stepping out into traffic and watching for the inevitable crash in slow motion, breath stalled in aching lungs and his pounding head. 

Expectations falling flat when Mason just breathes hard, fixing him with a stare that says too much.

Speaking has a nasty habit of making things feel too real and Pollux already feels too real right now. His shirt is scratchy against his arms, sweat dried on the back of his neck and he wants to scratch, to rip and pull at his cuticles. Needs to grab his hair and yank, yank, yank—

Tackled from behind, slammed into his car.  Pinned to the door, arms yanked behind his back. Handful of his hair, slamming his head against the bonnet of the car. Once, twice—

kick back hard against the knee, only way out. Bones breaking under his foot, feeling the knee bow back and further back still.

Good.

Trapper screamed, an ear splitting scream. A punch hitting his cheek, head reeling and he hits the hood. World spinning, vomit rising in his mouth, grabbing the Trapper’s shirt. Slam his head into the hood of the car. Once, twice, three times quick with all his strength, metal buckling and crumbling, blood splattering. Trapper falls limp to the ground in a way that can’t be faked.

Blows and blocks stuttering in his head, the fighting caught between too slow and too fast, frames stuttering by.

Turn just in time to avoid the flash of something in another hand, something shining in the orange street light.

Can’t get stabbed, just need to grab the knife. Blinking, blinking, blinking and blinking again.

(grab the knife)

Overhead light swinging wildly, shadows and light making the bars of the cage dance against the walls. Tackled to the ground, foul smelling water soaking in his clothes, wetting his shaved head. Snarling, nails drawing bloodied lines across the face, fingers scrambling for the eyes. Get the eyes, the softest part. Grab and yank, dig his fingers into the supple and squishy—get the eyes, get the eyes--

(Grab the knife, grab the knife, grab the knife, grab)

“Pollux?”

He nearly jumps out of skin, quickly looking up at Mason and he blinks once, and once more.  Mason’s looking at him over his shoulder, phone is pressed to his ear. He wears worry convincingly enough.

“We need to get you back to the agency to take care of this...”

Pollux frantically shakes his head, staring down at the ground as it spins.

“I told you I’m not going. I can take care of it.” He argues, his tongue like a heavy dead fish between his lips, flopping in the sun.

He’s too raw for this right now, the living room too dark, the singular light tearing into his head like a migraine. And the memories too close. He smells the dried blood already caked to the inside of his nose, legs jittery and he needs to go. The living room is both too tight and too much space.

“It’s not asking, it’s Ava ordering.“

“No. Tell Ava to go shove her orders up her fucking ass, I’m not going whether she likes it or not.” He’s trembling, heart racing in his ears.“Whether you like it or not.” 

Pollux looks up at him and Mason’s eyes narrow. Phone still in his hand, call still going and Pollux barely hears Ava demanding to know what’s going on. 

Tough shit, she’ll have to wait.

Mason looks away first and Pollux takes the chance, ducking inside his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Mason’s voice muffled through the door and he picks his way to the bathroom. Slams that door shut too, hoping that it makes even Ava wince through the phone. 

He flips the bathroom light on, wincing as his headache spikes, the dull off white light coloring his tiles a soothing beige. There’s no shadows here, but still he yanks open the shower curtain to make sure before he digs for the first aid kit under the sink.

He doesn’t know if Mason sticks around as he gets to work, stripping off his clothes. They’re splattered and soaked with blood, the fabric stiff and smelling sharp of iron and he heaps them in the bathtub to deal with later.

The standing mirror is both a blessing and a curse, his nakedness painted clearly in the harsh light. His ribs are already turning sickly pale and tinged with purple, the first signs of the rioting of bruising come the morning. There’s other spots littered across his body, a nice purple tinge from the base of his skull to his shoulder blades.

He sinks to the bathroom rug, the tile still leeching the heat of his narrow body away. He takes in the worst of the damage painting his face, examining the curves and plains decorated with bloodied contusions and more sickly grey skin.

There’s a brief flash to countless other bathrooms, some with off green buzzing lights and dirty concrete floors smelling of gasoline and urine. Others with a kaleidoscope of colors and bass thumping so loud it shook the mirrors; all only a distant thrumming, too busy caught up feeling like he was in nothing but a warm bathtub.

He blinks and it’s gone. Sighing out of the corner of his mouth, he fishes his crumpled cigarette carton from out of his pants, shaking one out.

--

It’s a long while before he opens the bathroom door, busted lip stitched up, contusions covered with bandages and butterfly closures clinging to his cheekbone. The pain is dull, water still clinging to the glass and pain medication discarded on the tile counter.

It’s not dark with the blinds open, the moon nearly full and casting long lines that tinge the bedroom with navy blue.

Miraculously, Mason’s there.

Sitting in his laundry chair, hands clasped between his legs, grey eyes traveling up to find his eyes. Ava must’ve told him to stay, or Pollux vainly thinks he wanted to stay.

He takes careful steps through his bedroom until he’s standing in front of him, Mason’s gaze following him the full way--examining. 

There’s a storm raging in his eyes, lips pulled to a thin line and hands clasped tight. It’s not easy to pin point the lines and looks of distress in Mason’s face, but Pollux has poked enough buttons time and time again to know where his face creases.

“Mason?” Pollux murmurs, his name almost a jumble of letters and he creeps closer. Close enough that Mason tentatively reaches out--hesitating for a breath--before he relents and gently pulls him in. Arms wrapping around Pollux’s waist, face pressing against his bare stomach.

Pollux curls his fingers into Mason’s hair, running his fingers across his scalp in long steady soothing motions. He’s quiet as he clings, fingers smoothing down the vertebra of his spine, fingertips skipping over each bone. Pollux leans against him, resting his head in his hair, taking in the heady scent of freshly smoked cigarettes and warm incense. 

(What home smells like, Pollux can’t help but think.)

“I’m sorry...” Pollux mumbles and the silence carries on, Mason unsurprisingly quiet.

He’s got every right to be angry at him, to be frustrated because Pollux knows he does this every time. Like how a cowering dog backed into a corner only knows how to bite the hand that reaches out.

He only knows the push, not the pull--the biting. Tending his broken skin alone and his broken mind in garish bathroom lights or with doctors staring him down from across coffee tables littered with magazines.

He should know better by now, but it always easier said than done. Hands held out in help curl to fists or flatten to slaps far too easily. The words are the worst, spitting and angry and it’s easier to say the worst of others first. Poke at their pain so they don’t uncover his.

Pollux is just catching the shoe before it drops.

“Just...don’t. Not again sweetheart, please.” Mason speaks, pulling his face away and he stares up at Pollux. Face drawn tight and Pollux brushes a stray hair from off of Mason’s cheek, fingers gliding down to his jawline and Mason’s fingers find his, cupping his hand. Turning his palm to press a kiss there. More following, finding his wrist, looping scars reminding him of zip ties and metal chairs and he smothers those thoughts, finding Mason’s grey eyes to get lost in instead.

“I’ll try.” Pollux whispers and that’s all he has to offer, but Mason takes it with a soft nod. 

He takes all he has to offer, all he’s willing to give and never asking for more. Taking the steps along with him, waiting for him to find his words, a piecemeal affection assembled in the broken paths along the way--a puzzle with all the edges sanded off, but still trying to put it all back together.

“Are you going to stay?” Pollux asks, voice no louder than a murmur, cupping Mason’s face in both of his hands, thumb stroking the corner of his lip, the stubble he finds there.

“Yeah...I’m staying.” He whispers back. 

It all goes unsaid, arms gingerly wrapping around Pollux, picking him up as he stands. Still unsaid as they both climb into bed, Pollux’s fingers finding the hem of Mason’s shirt and he coaxes it off, lips meeting for just a moment. A taste of words unspoken in the millimeters between them, in the negative spaces as Mason wraps his arms around him, skin against skin.

Pollux’s hand finds his, spreading his fingers out in a fan, moonlight setting Mason’s freckles to glow and Pollux’s scars to narrow lines like shooting stars painted across knuckles. The birth of the universe written from palm to palm and Mason closes his fingers around his, drawing him back in. Pulling him back to earth, back to his apartment, back to his bed. Back to words unspoken and grey eyes meet, still thick with apologies and Mason closes his opened lips with a kiss.

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (3/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | AO3 | 5.8k words

A/N: So I’m not entirely sure what my posting schedule will be like but it’s looking like every 8 days. This chapter is a ton of CS goodness that I hope you like! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​ for her amazing art (LOOK AT THIS NEW PIECE OMG); and to @kmomof4​​ and @cssns​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

sorrynotsorry for the Hamilton references; I couldn’t resist

I know they’re not actually singing but the movie is still awesome

part three—tonight, tonight; it all began tonight

Emma couldn’t help it; she was entranced. After so many years thinking she’d merely dreamed of their existence, to suddenly see those blue eyes—and the handsome face they belonged to—it kind of made the world seem to slow. The music, the moving bodies between them—it all seemed to hit some sort of decrescendo, and she found her feet moving toward him without her telling them to.

His gaze hadn’t left hers since they locked eyes, and it was almost as if the crowd was parting around them, leaving a clear path for her to finally meet the man who’d haunted her peripheral vision the last 15 years.

Then, suddenly, he was there in front of her. She breathed; she could smell him—something warm and spicy and vaguely like rum and leather—but there was no heat radiating from him like a human would have. Despite that, there was a solidness to him that proved he wasn’t a hallucination.

“You’re real,” she breathed.

“Aye,” he said in an accented voice. “You’re still here.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” she answered, slightly confused but more enamored than anything. 

“I’m glad,” he said, then reached for her hand. She continued to stare, entranced, as he brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. If her stomach was still capable, it would have flipped. Part of her wondered if he’d walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel, but the odds of him being that old (or older) were significant.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting,” he continued.

“I’m patient.”

“So am I.”

Without further ado, he stepped into her space; normally, she would have moved the opposite direction, but not tonight. Whatever that feeling was she’d gotten earlier—a warning, a sign, an omen—this was what it was bracing her for; she knew it.

(Apparently, she could be a hopeless romantic when she really wanted to be. Suck on that, Snow.)

He wrapped his free arm around her and she felt hers slip up to his (firm) shoulder, like some long-lost muscle memory was taking over. Then he took a step, and she followed. Then another, and another, until they were dancing in their own little circle in the middle of everyone.

“What is this?” she asked, the haze of her shock finally clearing a bit.

“It’s called a waltz,” he answered matter-of-factly. “And the only rule is: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Innuendo was dripping off that statement, and Emma decided she wouldn’t mind figuring out what else he knew how to do—at some point, at least; not here, not with all these people around. 

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you out of the corner of my eyes for years,” she confessed as they continued to step and sway. 

“I wish I could say you have, but I’ve been abroad the past several; there’s no way I would let a woman as lovely as you pass me by without giving her my full and prompt attention.”

She smiled; god, how long had it been since someone genuinely flirted with her? Someone who wasn’t looking for just a one-night fling. (Her sense for these things had only gotten sharper over the years—he was genuinely interested in her, she could tell. And the feeling was mutual.)

“It was you, right?” she asked, moving in a bit closer. “From the night I turned?”

Before he could answer, though, a firm hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away and rudely tugging her back into reality—David.

“Dad, what the hell?” she complained as he moved in front of her, almost like he was shielding her.

“Get back, Emma; he’s not safe,” David commanded, not taking his eyes off of—shit, Emma didn’t even know his name yet. But he too was surrounded by a couple other vampires, and Graham quickly joined the fray.

“He’s with Aurum,” Snow whispered in her ear, suddenly appearing at her side. “And Regina is here with him.”

Oh, shit—Regina was the one who turned her parents. Which meant she could control them, if she was so inclined; just another reminder of how lucky Emma was that her sire was gone. 

“We need to go—now,” Snow hissed, grabbed Emma’s arm, and started to pull her from the crowd.

“Dad!” Emma shouted, because it looked like he was confronting one of the Aurum guys. She knew he could hear her, but he was locked in a tense conversation, albeit brief; she couldn’t hear their exchange over the thumping dance music, but it was obvious from their body language that the tone was tense. She and Snow were nearly out the back door before he and Graham caught up to them and Snow finally loosened her grip on Emma’s arm.

Emma shook off her mother and peered through the door before it mechanically shut behind them. She got one last look of those too-blue eyes, still staring at her from across the bar, before the door closed.

Just her luck: the first time a guy actually gets her attention in at least 25 years, he’s completely unavailable to her due to some stupid ancient rivalry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Killian raged as he was unceremoniously pulled away from Emma and out of a fog of enchantment—by Robin, of all people. 

“Saving your skin,” Robin answered sharply. “She’s with Coroza.”

Fucking hell—he’d completely forgotten who he’d left her with. Bloody stupid ageless feud. But sure enough, when he looked back, he saw she was still with the Nolans. At the very least, his instincts there had been good. 

She was being dragged away by Snow, but David and another guy—Gary? no, Graham—hung back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” David barked angrily.

“I could ask the same of you,” Robin snarled back, showing his descended fangs and approaching David. “Should have known this club would be trash.”

“Then maybe you should get back to your side of the border and leave us be.”

“Or maybe you should find another feeding ground altogether; I’m sure the fare in New Jersey is cheap enough for your palate.”

“That’s enough. This ends tonight,” David spat. Killian was pretty sure David didn’t have the authority to proclaim that, but he didn’t know the hierarchy in Coroza (and certainly wasn’t up to date on it) well enough to call his bluff.

“Fine,” Robin snarled. “Meet me at Granny’s tonight, 3:00. We’ll set the terms there.”

“Fine.” David turned and left with no further comment; Graham was quick to follow, but leveled a withering glare at Killian first that, if he wasn’t mistaken, was tinged with jealousy.

Whatever. Killian looked past both of them, through the back door of the establishment—where he caught one last glimpse of green eyes and blonde hair before the door closed. He prayed that wasn’t a metaphor.

Robin was quick to usher them all out, and Killian followed, not wanting to make a scene. But he quickly wracked his brain for his old recollection of addresses, and just had to hope the Nolans had the same habit towards moving (or rather, not) that the majority of vampires held. 

That was not the last time he saw Emma—he was going to be sure of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma was mature enough to admit that by the time they got home, she was sulking; that teenager feeling she had earlier was definitely still relevant. Her dad and Graham were talking strategy, it sounded like, and her mom was trying to comfort her, it seemed—though over what, she wasn’t sure.

Finally, they reached the townhouse; the boys disappeared to the downstairs office while Emma and Snow headed to the little-used kitchen. At least there was a bottle of black-market blood vodka in the fridge; Emma needed something to take the edge off, her drinking plans being interrupted.

She poured a shot for both her and Snow and quickly downed it. Snow, though, looked at hers a bit pensively. 

“I’m sorry your night out got ruined.”

“It’s fine; it happens,” Emma shrugged off. “I’ve got plenty more to come.”

“I know, but...god, I hate it when they show up like that.”

Emma didn’t let her mom see her roll her eyes; again, she didn’t give two shits about the rivalry—it was the way it seemed to bring out the worst in people that she had issue with. That was what ruined the night; not the mere presence of someone she was supposed to hate.

(Someone whose name she still didn’t know and was most likely the reason she’d been reunited with her parents in the first place—but that wasn’t something she was going to bring up right now.)

“Well, did you at least have fun with Graham?” Snow asked, happy to change the subject. Emma was less receptive.

“I barely even talked to him,” she scoffed.

“I wish you would. He’s a great guy.”

Emma didn’t hide her exasperation this time. “Yeah, he is—as a friend. I just...don’t like him like that.”

“Emma,” her mom sighed, then stepped close enough to wrap her in a hug. “That wall around your heart...it may keep out pain, but it can also keep out love. I just don’t want that for you.”

Emma’s mind immediately jumped to blue eyes and the sense of being drawn in by some unseen force. “I know, Mom, but—you’ve gotta let me do it on my own,” she said, rubbing Snow’s arm.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed.

Emma gave a loving pat on Snow’s bicep, but then pried herself out of her mom’s embrace. “I’m going back up to the roof; I’ll be down later.”

“Alright; be safe.”

Emma chuckled; she was far more dangerous than any other predator out there. But she promised she would and headed up the stairs.

The sounds and smells of the city enveloped her again as she exited on the roof, hints of stars twinkling past the light pollution. It was a balmy and clear enough night that she’d probably consider staying up here for the rest of it, but for now, she was content to sit on the ledge overlooking the alley behind the building. It wasn’t particularly picturesque, but every now and then, a person would stumble through and Emma would feel a bit less alone in the world. 

Despite the family she’d found, being a vampire—and only truly walking the world during the dark—was far more isolating than she’d ever imagined.

Movement in the alley caught her attention; something was sliding through the shadows. It was usually just a stray cat, but this figure was much larger; despite her enhanced vision, it was too far away to make out until it came into the small bit of light that came from the streetlamp a quarter of a block down.

And then she gasped: it was him. Even in the faint light, she could see the sharp blue of his eyes—and they were staring right at her. 

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?” he said softly, loud enough for her to hear clearly but not for the average human. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

If she could blush, she’d be blushing. 

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,” he continued, moving closer to the building and carefully stepping onto the fire escape’s ladder. “Who is already sick and pale with grief.”

“Don’t tell me you’re so old that you actually knew Shakespeare,” she teased; she’d heard rumors that there were a few around here who did, though (including someone in charge of Shakespeare in the Park).

“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head.” He carefully continued the recitation as he climbed gracefully and almost silently. 

“Wait—watch out for the—!” she whisper-yelled—but it was too late. He wasn’t looking where he was reaching and grabbed for the loose rung three from the top with his left—hook? She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed the prosthesis in the bar, but steel met rusty iron, which immediately gave way, leaving him dangling from his right hand. She hopped off her perch, saying “Shit—let me help!”

He chuckled; a low rumble that went straight to her core. “I’m fine, love; I’ve got this.”

And in a move that had no business being either physically possible or as ridiculously hot as it was, he somehow vaulted himself onto the roof with only his right arm.

She just gaped and blinked, her jaw literally dropping, as he landed in front of her with bent knees and then rose to his full height. He smirked, revealing a dimple in his scruff that was far too adorable for the far-from-innocent expression.

“How are you even real?” she blurted out.

“Well, many years ago, I was born, and then—”

“No, no, no,” she cut off; of course he was a smartass. “I know you’re real—I can feel it, felt it—but like...it’s like you walked out of the pages of some fairy tale,” she stammered.

His smirk fell a bit. “If I did, it certainly wasn’t a happy one—perhaps the Grimms’ version?” he posited, stepping toward her.

“Our lives certainly are as graphic as one,” she agreed. 

“I’d say,” he added, then waved his hook for emphasis. Oh god—he’d definitely know better than she would, clearly. She was totally messing this up, wasn’t she? 

“Sorry; I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he waved off. “I know you didn’t.” There was no resentment in his voice; he meant it. In a city full of pissed-off assholes, it was nice to find one who wasn’t easily offended. 

For a long moment then, silence fell over them (as much as anything could be silent in the city) but it wasn’t awkward; his eyes flitted over her as if he was studying her, so she tried to do the same, but had a hard time getting past the bit of chest hair revealed by the open buttons at the collar of his dress shirt. But then she could tell he was smirking again, which made her realize she was staring. 

She averted her gaze to a cracked concrete tile she’d been meaning to fix for...at least 10 years. “Um, sorry about earlier—in the bar, what happened; my dad, he can get—”

“It’s fine, love; my friends are the same,” he interrupted. “Frankly, I'd forgotten the rivalry was still a thing.”

“Oh shit—are you going to be in trouble for being here?”

“Not if I’m not caught,” he shrugged off. “'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

She smiled at how smooth he pulled that off. “Except I don’t even know your name,” she tossed back. 

“Oh, bloody—” he cursed to himself, running his hand through his dark hair, then straightened back up. “Killian Jones,” he said, adding in a slight bow, “at your service, ma’am.”

God, even his name sounded too fancy to be real. Although, there was probably something equally fantastical about hers. “Emma Swan,” she replied.

“I know.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You do?”

“To answer your question from earlier—if you’re referring to the night that Walsh Baum died after turning his last girlfriend, then yes, that was me who found you.” So she was right—she knew she was, deep in her gut, but to have confirmation was nice. “I’d been sent to follow you to make sure that didn’t happen. But obviously, I wasn’t successful there.”

She tilted her head, assessing the way he was decidedly not meeting her eyes on that last part. “That’s not the whole truth, is it?” Her ability to sense a lie, particularly in humans but also in other vampires, was a well-honed tool. 

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?” he rebuffed, still focusing on his hook instead of her. 

“When I need to be.” She didn’t feel like she was in any danger; but her curiosity demanded to know. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he said quietly. “But I couldn’t.”

Well. That was not what she expected.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian’s memory hadn’t failed him; the Nolans still lived in the same quaint little Hell’s Kitchen home. The view from the alley across the street was little changed in the last 15 years; just different cars parked on the street; different adverts glued to the utility poles.

He made his way to the alley alongside the building, clinging to the shadows to avoid being seen; he was very good at that. But then a golden spotlight drew his attention: Emma, perched on the edge of the roof, looking fully ethereal in the glow of the yellow streetlight.

And, well, his more theatrical side took over from there. (Yes, it was completely showing off by using only one arm to leap onto the roof, but he hadn’t gotten this far without knowing how to impress a lass.)

He was a little surprised at how well Emma was able to read him; but it was a firm reminder that despite his tracking her (and subsequent years of daydreaming), and despite their intense moment earlier, he really didn’t know her. 

Oh, but he wished to. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he reluctantly revealed. “But I couldn’t.”

Her green gaze had already turned suspicious, and with that statement, he could almost see the physical walls going up behind them.

“So, what, you’re here to finish the job?” she accused.

“No,” he vehemently assured her. “I had no desire to kill you then, and even less now.” 

Her features softened, but only slighting. “Should I be worried about someone else coming after me?”

“As far as Aurum knows, you’re already dead. If they knew you weren’t, let's just say neither of us would be here to have this conversation.”

The tiniest sparkle of amusement ticked at the corner of her mouth. “I mean, technically I am dead,” she joked. “But...why didn’t you?”

That same familiar expression was in her face as he saw it 15 years ago. “You had that look in your eyes—the one you get when you’ve been left alone. And I...I know what that’s like, and I didn’t think you deserved to die like that.”

He hadn’t intended to make things so heavy, but he also knew he couldn’t withhold the truth. Although he was surprised at how easily he told her; it had taken nearly a decade to reveal anything of his past to Robin, and yet something told him he’d be spilling his full backstory to Emma over the course of the night. 

On her end, she seemed to be slightly overwhelmed by the statement; her eyes had gone wide and she was taking unnecessarily deep breaths (unnecessary in that she needn’t take any at all). “Thank you,” she said resolutely, and he could hear the weight in her simple words. 

Even after two and a half centuries, he still hadn’t learned to accept gratitude, so he just nodded and ducked his head a bit, trying to hide the blush that wasn’t there. “I can’t say it was entirely selfless,” he continued in an attempt to shrug it off. “There’s something to be said about finding a way to disobey the man who’s controlled you for the last 200-plus years.”

“Yeah, but sending me to the other side?”

He had to roll his eyes. “I hardly care about some petty, pointless rivalry that’s stretched through the centuries. While I may be under the thumb of Aurum, I don’t give two whits about sides.”

“Thank God someone else doesn’t,” she blurted out. “Like, I get why my parents do—Regina is the one that turned them, and not gonna lie, that is a bit of a sore spot for me—but that’s a personal issue. No reason to join a gang.”

He chuckled a bit at her simple but rational logic. “Aye; I’m likewise not much a fan of Cora—she killed my love, many years ago—but I only hold that against her; not the rest of her coven.” To this day, he still didn’t know if Cora had singled Milah out because of her connection with him, or her connection with Gold; either way, she had been murdered, and there was naught he could do.

“Eesh, that sucks.”

“Aye, it did.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

“I was angry for a very long time, but the pain dissipated over the years—and I’ve had many of them. Plus,” he added, stepping towards her, “I found someone else has caught my attention recently.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, even though she seemed to know the answer, and smiled. “Who?”

“Well, you see, there's been this fierce blonde running through my dreams the last 15 years or so, and now that I’ve properly met her, I must say—she fascinates me.”

“What a coincidence; you fascinate her, too.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah, and she’s been seeing your blue eyes out of the corner of hers for years now.”

She had moved into his space on that last statement, and the air between them was full of a static tension Killian had never felt before, as if it was drawing them together. This wasn’t the same as what had happened in the club—this was electric, begging for release, and—

—And suddenly his lips were on hers, or perhaps the other way around, but it didn’t really bloody matter because she was soft and warm under him, against him, pressed tight against his body and he knew—he didn’t know how, but he knew—he’d never kiss another pair of lips again.

O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Holy shit—Killian could kiss. 

Emma wasn’t entirely sure who initiated it; just that she couldn’t resist it (him) anymore without touching him. It was like the opposite ends of a magnet being drawn together: inevitable and forceful. 

(Which, given the whole rival teams thing, was probably appropriate.)

Emotionally, her walls weren’t entirely down—they didn’t fall that easily, not anymore, if ever—but she could tell they weren’t going to last, and not just because of his make out skills. She’d known him all of ten minutes and already he understood her better than anyone ever had—more than Neal, more than Walsh, more than her parents even. 

That said: his scruff left a delicious burn on her lips and she could taste the blood rum he’d had earlier, sweet and spiced and so like him and she wanted to get drunk on it (especially since her shot at actual inebriation for the evening had gone out the window).

And the one nice thing about making out when you were technically undead: you didn’t have to come up for air. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, ready to settle in for a while, pressing her entire body against his (and liking what she felt). A rush of arousal washed over her and—

—And her fangs dropped down of their own accord. What the fuck? That had never happened.

She pulled back when they did, instinctively not wanting to hurt him (though logically, she doubted she could). “Sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “That’s never happened before.”

Killian let his forehead rest against hers. “I thought that was the guy’s line?”

She chuckled and lightly slapped his shoulder, then shifted her weight back a bit, trying to put some space between them—and the evidence of his own arousal, which was doing nothing to tamp hers down. 

Honestly, she was kind of embarrassed; she felt like some horny teenager losing her cool in the presence of an elder statesman. She’d had a few one-night stands since she turned, but nothing serious—and never felt anything as intense as what she felt right now, and they’d barely even touched. It was kind of overwhelming; not in a bad way, just not in a way she was ready to address just yet—at least, not seriously.

“You kiss pretty good for someone old enough to be my great-great-grandfather,” she teased, a smile playing at her lips while her hands, which had somehow ended up on his shoulders, pressed against the preternaturally firm muscles below them.

“There should probably be a few more greats in there,” he quipped back, his hand squeezing her hip and the brace of his prosthesis pressing against her other side.

“Oh really? Just when were you born?”

“The Ninth of April in the Year of Our Lord 1750,” he answered rather officially.

Emma whistled. “Damn. Good thing I like older men. How old were you when you were turned?”

“31.”

“Okay, still older.”

“It’s good to know that’s your entire criteria in seeking a partner.”

She snorted, but only to cover up the way she instinctively balked at his choice of words; she couldn’t deny that it was headed that way, though. Even if it had barely been an hour since their first exchange, it felt like forever ago—or maybe it was just because she’d been unconsciously chasing him for her entire afterlife.

Still—it felt like the world was starting to spin, and she needed it to slow down. She grabbed his hand and stepped away, but tugged him along with her. “Come here; I want to show you something.”

He followed without hesitation as she led him to her tent, but hesitated when she tried to drag him down onto the cushions. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d hate to intrude on what’s clearly something of a sanctuary,” he explained, nodding at her modest fortress. 

“You’re not; I’m inviting you in.” She hoped he understood the double meaning there. 

An adorably shy smile took over and he followed, falling gracefully to her left onto the mound of pillows. She reached to her other side and fiddled with some cords, and suddenly, light filled her makeshift tent as power flowed to the twinkle lights she’d rigged up along the crude wooden framing.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Killian gushed—genuinely, not placatingly—as he stared around.

“It’s better if you lay down,” she told him, then let herself fall back against the cushions; he followed suit.

“I wasn’t talking about the tent but I do agree—I can think of any number of enjoyable activities that involve a woman on her back.”

“You’re just full of one-liners, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had quite some time to accrue them.” 

“Fair.”

A thick sheet of clear vinyl formed most of the top of the tent; if she spent time up here during the day, she’d have stuck with something opaque, but given that she never used it when the sun was most at risk of frying her, it was perfect for dark, wet nights. “I love to come out here when it’s raining,” she explained, “and watch and hear it coming down above me. I could almost fall asleep.” You know, if that was a thing she could still do.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring up, a wistful smile on his face. “Aye, I can only imagine; I used to love the sound of it falling on the deck when I was in lower quarters.”

“What, were you a pirate?”

“Eventually, yes; but prior to that, served in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

“Which ‘his majesty’ was that?” 

“King George the Third.”

“Wait, like, Hamilton King George?” 

“One and the same.”

“Shit, you are old.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I dunno; street cred?”

He chuckled. “That’s the farthest thing from my mind.”

Now her curiosity was piqued. “So, did you fight in the Revolution?”

“Aye, though we didn’t exactly call it that on our side.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

“No, but I did find my sympathies changing sides while stationed here.”

“What, liked it so much you decided to stay?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘decided,’ exactly,” he countered, then turned his head to look at her. Even with the change in angle, it was easy to see that his previous cockiness had given way to trepidation. “Is this where we divulge our tragic backstories?”

She grabbed his hand. “It can be, if you want.”

“Okay.” 

It almost seemed like historical fiction, the tale he told her: born in a poor fishing village, losing his mother when he was young and his father leaving them later, joining the Navy with his brother to get out of a terrible situation, being sent to America to fight the ‘rebels’, falling in love with a woman he met in a tavern in Boston, losing his brother and his hand in battle, and then all hell breaking loose. 

“Milah was nursing me back to help when, lo and behold, her husband located us. Gold.”

“No,” Emma gasped. 

“Aye. He was...less than pleased, as you can imagine, but she managed to talk him down. But we were out on the town some weeks later when Cora cornered us and murdered her. At that point, I had little to live for, and despite my injury, volunteered for the next battle; how my officer accepted me, I’ll never understand.”

“What battle was that?”

“Yorktown.”

“1781,” she automatically finished; she and her mom really listened to the Hamilton soundtrack way too much.

Thankfully, he laughed. “Yeah, that was the year. That was also where I was turned.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s still my favorite song.”

He went on to explain how he was a bit too close to cannon fire from a Continental Navy ship, delivering a fatal blow to his chest that sent him overboard. If the internal bleeding hadn’t gotten him, he’d have likely drowned—except Gold was waiting nearby. “He’s never told me why he was there—if it was the general chaos or me explicitly—but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Killian was dragged through the brackish waters of Chesapeake Bay by Gold to the rough shore of a then-unpopulated island and turned; he wasn’t lucid enough to protest (to even notice who his would-be savior was) until it was too late. “My first meal was another soldier who’d washed ashore,” he admitted.

If she could still cry, she’d be wiping tears from her face. Holy shit—what a traumatic way to be turned—to even live. “God, I’m so sorry,” she told him, and squeezed his hand.

He shrugged. “It is what it is; ancient history now. I’m having a hard time complaining if that was what it took to bring me to you.”

Emma had to avert her gaze at that; he was not only telling the truth, he was wearing his damn heart on his sleeve, and it was intense. “Please, you hardly know if I’m worth that yet.”

“Emma,” he said softly, then gently turned her face back to him with his hook. “I’ve met thousands of people over the past two and a half centuries, and not one has made the impression you did in a fraction of the time. I feel...I feel like even if you were following me the last several years, I was chasing you my whole life.”

She needlessly swallowed; it was funny how physical reactions lingered even when they no longer served a purpose. But that was what she did when she was overwhelmed in life, and she was extra-whelmed now. 

Especially because, “I feel that way, too.” It was only a whisper but somehow the loudest thing she’d ever said.

Slowly, reverently, he pressed his lips against hers; she was still reeling emotionally, but his kiss was a welcome balm to her aching mind (or something vaguely poetic like that; she was too focused on how good it felt to come up with a good analogy). He deepened the kiss a bit and pulled her closer, but it wasn’t heated, just—she hated to say this so soon—loving.

It didn’t last long until he broke it, but he stayed close, his arms around her. “And you? I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

“Not much to tell,” she shrugged. “Not as exciting as yours, at least.” She explained what happened with her parents and growing up in the foster system; her first love, her stint in jail, and the baby she gave up; and a brief summary of the years in between her release from jail and that night in Walsh’s apartment.

“Wait—so the Nolans are actually your parents? They birthed you?”

“Yup. I guess I should be thanking you for that, too.”

“No, love—that’s my pleasure. I mean, I had no idea, but I’m glad you were reunited. I had no idea their history with Regina.”

“It is what it is, but we’re making the best of it. Although I definitely feel like a teenager sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” he chuckled. “And look at you now—hiding a boy from them and everything.”

She laughed, but it turned into a groan. “Ugh. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

“Don’t think of it, then. We have all the time in the world to figure that out.”

Just then, Killian’s phone started vibrated, making them both jump; a perfect reminder that things were not as simple as either of them would like.

“That’ll be Robin,” he muttered, then dug the device from his pocket and began replying to the message he’d received. “Shoot; I have to be at Granny’s in 10 minutes.”

“Can’t you do something to convince them to call this off?” she wondered. “We can’t be the only ones to think this is a petty feud.”

“I can certainly try; but we know how hot the tempers of our kind can run.” It was true; it sometimes felt like emotion had replaced bodily functions. Instead of her heart beating, she filled that void with pure emotion.

“I know, I know; but—try?”

“I will.”

They spent a few more minutes in the tent making out (and maybe a bit of dry humping, but Emma was cautious to not let it go too far lest her fangs make another unexpected appearance), and then stole any number of kisses as they made their way back across the roof to the fire escape.

“I hope it’s always this hard to say goodbye to you,” he murmured between a few last pecks.

“Then let’s not—how about ‘see you later’?” she proposed.

“When?”

“Granny’s, at dusk; I’m working tomorrow and I usually stop there to eat beforehand.”

“It’s a date.”

She grinned and gave him one final kiss, before he made a careful climb back down.

When he was firmly on the ground, he looked up and said quietly, “Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you.”

“Good,” was her simple reply, and he disappeared into the night.

(Something else was on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t ready to say it yet. However, it wouldn’t be much longer until she admitted it to both herself and him: she loved him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​​ @xpumpkindumplingx​​ @shipsxahoy​​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​​ @mryddinwilt​​ @cocohook38​​ @annytecture​​ @shireness-says​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ @wingedlioness​​ @word-bug​​ @distant-rose​​ @wellhellotragic​​ @welllpthisishappening​​ @let-it-raines​​ @pirateherokillian​​ @bleebug​​ @its-imperator-furiosa​​ @fergus80​​ @killianmesmalls​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @ineffablecolors​​ @laschatzi​​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​​ @nfbagelperson​​ @stubblesandwich​​​ @lenfaz​​ @phiralovesloki​​ @athenascarlet​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​ @snowbellewells​​ @idristardis​​ @scientificapricot​​ @searchingwardrobes​​ @donteattheappleshook​​ @lfh1226-linda​

[ryttu3k]

Finishing up SoNY, ‘bad’ end and final thoughts!

But first, the early game over.

Wow, she just gets shot. Not even slurped? That’s rude as hell XD;;

And on to the ‘bad’ end!

Beginning is much the same, ofc.

“You’re too in love with weaving a good story and establishing a seductive narrative to let facts get in the way.” Foreshadowing for the ‘good’ end, maybe?

God that Embrace scene gives me literal goosebumps.

Alright! Last time I did Danse Macabre and Retributive Justice, let’s try The Risks of Swiping Right!

lmao god I’d eat this guy too. Back to the ghost club! That legitimately is a really neat scene. ...Ooh yes so that’s where the girl was from.

Panhard just lowkey dying at the mental image of Katherine Weise in a fast food restaurant is so good.

The sweet scene between Julia and Dakota hits a bit different after the ‘good’ end XD;;

Went to the park, reminisced, and helped out the guy. That was sweet ;_; High-humanity Julia, this time!

‘Fairy God Mother?’ is great but ‘Vin Diesel?’ is objectively the funnier response.

“Shining even more brightly than usual, Aisling.” Samira got a cru-ush~

Poor Julie. It’s probably been tough without Sophie around :(

Huh. Interestingly, refusing to lie to Mia results in Julia actually feeling genuine loyalty to the Cammies (for now, at least).

Believing Agathon is still alive = more optimistic = different dialogue! See, this is how you make choices have consequences, game!

Oooh boy time to meet Adelaide XD;;

“She uncrosses her legs in a strangely seductive motion. In her mind’s eye, it probably looked like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but in reality, it had all the grace of a tracksuit Slav squatting.” *snickering*

Fight me, Adelaide >:(

‘sup Nastya. Went with the slightly less disruptive routine here XD Huh, she’s an aspiring DJ! Julia is deeply confused as to how being a DJ and being head of security works together.

lmao Julia referring to Hope as a girlboss. That phrase has lost all meaning to me...

The conversation between Julia and Father Leonard is still really interesting. Man, you know who I want Julia to talk to? Anatole. Interesting insights into balancing being queer Catholic vampires there for sure.

lmao oh my god I want to fight this street reporter.

‘I can almost feel my brain losing its wrinkles.’ *snort*

Yeaghhhh the Abyss bit is still so creepy...

Oops. Being honest regarding Tamika and Torque’s relationships gets a fail :(

Oh, or not XD That works! Also, uh, apparently the giant albino ghoul alligator is real, according to New York by Night. He’s Calebros’ pet.

“Because I think I have a pretty good nose for people’s auras. And when I take a good look at you... ...somehow, I have a feeling you’re a surprisingly decent person. Whatever way of unlife you choose, I hope you don’t change it. And that you remember my advice.” :)

“I know.” Oof.

“Hi.” “WAAAH!” lmao sorry Princess XD;; Just trying to imagine Qadir’s face as he tells Julia to find a 1990 glass statue of Scrooge McDuck... dying...

Oh she’s so a Toreador XD Low art options are a fantasy book, an anime DVD, or a video game... those can all be arty, though! And went with the anime DVD called ‘Ririsu no Daibouken’... that translates to ‘Adventures of Lilith’. How on the nose XD “The cover says ‘Lilith’s Carnal Carnival’.” Oh. Yeah, that’d do it XD

“This 90s original video anime presents us with a tale of five big-bosomed samurai warriors travelling through America in search of General Hastavista, The Incubus King. Don’t let all the titillation misguide you: the main draws here are peerless direction, a nearly avant-garde editing rhythm and dialogue that coyly comments on traditional gender roles in anime. Once you see the animation in the final battle, you’ll understand why it never fails to set a sakuga fan’s heart ablaze!”

She’s my new favourite.

“So can I know your name now?”

“Hmmm... Let me think...

No. <3″

I need to stress that the heart appears in the dialogue box. Like. The actual less-than-three heart.

Didn’t investigate the rat this time, so Qadir did and I die. “Glad you’re alright, little guy.” Qadir...

Still not over the drunk blood doll rats.

Kaiser’s still a goddamn creep and this time Julia is not going too far. She still has her humanity, dammit. Final set of traits:

Loyal to the end

Glass half-full

Not into a bad cop schtick

Honesty is the best policy

No more human, still humane

Onwards to the ‘bad’ end! Oops, and Dakota still did the Single White Female thing XD;;

Man I’m still really curious who the ‘good friend’ is!!

Okay! Time for end game!!

So that’s the good friend, huh? “Let me phrase it differently, then. You’re not Ecaterina the Wise, the Agitator of Prague, a Brujah elder causing turbulences all over the world... are you?”

Mention of Christof! Mention of Christof doing shady shit :| Poor Hana.

“An immigrant from Eastern Europe comes to New York City, takes the position she always expected to find herself in, is molded into someone who is no longer herself.”

Julia and Dakota representing Carthage is kind of neat.

I want to say the mention of St Jude is a reference, but I’m not sure what to XD;; Is that from Redemption? Christof could have been the one to tell Hana that.

“Like a two-person human centipede loop or something. An Ouroburos? Or an, uhh, Mobius strip?” No, that’s the other traditionally Sabbat clan XD

That‘s. That’s a hell of a reconciliation XD “Yeah, let’s give it a try. By the way I’m on the run for my unlife, want to go to California and try to find utopia?”

Julia, wear a fucking mask XD

“Hey.”

“Yeah?“

“Do you love me?”

“... Of course I do. For now, at least.”

I still don’t know if I love her. Or even if I can love anyone, for that matter. I’m a fucking monster, after all. I don’t even know if we’ll exist next month. The prospects are not looking good. But although I can’t see myself in the rearview mirror right now...

...I will remember this image of us leaving the city, somewhat melancholic, and somewhat hopeful, forever. And maybe the meaning of this image will be clarified with time. Or maybe I will just force a more positive description on it, and that is what I’ll believe.

No matter what happens... even if oceans of blood lie before us, I will make this a cherished memory.

Whatever possible salvation still remains for me... ...it probably lies in the eyes of another.

Oh dang I have chills.

So the ‘bad’ ending is about the subverted compromise. Julia resigns herself to letting the compromise about the truth of Callihan’s death go ahead. ‘Catherine’ is a walking compromise to hide the Ecaterina’s real deeds. But while Hana is still stuck in her role for now, Julia refuses to accept the compromise she’s made, both the one relating to the investigation and the compromise she made of her own views and morals. It might blow up in her face, yeah. But damn, she’s going to try.

So, final thoughts! For the sake of completion, this is what I said about Coteries:

And of course this is the part where the game all falls apart :-\

Just… god. This is probably the biggest problem with CoNY, and the reason I didn’t bother getting it until it was like… 60% off. The bulk of the game is great - the writing is intriguing, the design is stunning. But the choices themselves are so limited it’s barely worth even getting it at 60% off!

You have three choices of characters, with their own opening chapters and own individual scenes with their touchstones. You have four choices of coterie members, and three sidequests. You can probably get in at least three full story arcs and a sidequest or two, but you’re only ever limited to two of your coterie members showing up at the not-yet-endgame.

So let’s say you decide to play all three protags, which, indeed, is encouraged (there’s an achievement for it). You are going to repeat coterie arcs and side quests, because there simply aren’t enough for three unique playthroughs.

And then you get to the end and literally everything is scripted. You get attacked by the SI. You get rescued by your two coterie members (and then never see them again, despite the game being called Coteries of New York). You meet Torque, you escape the SI, Sophie reveals her plan to Torque, you go to Ellis Island, Adelaide kills Sophie (and despite the fact that you’re given multiple options there, none of them work), Arturo does his spiel, end of game. You don’t even get to choose between ending up blood bound or going “no fuck you” and at least dying with a bit of dignity!

I just. I really want to like it, and there genuinely is a lot there to like! But uuuugh the ending. Like damn at least give the poor protag the option to choose what happens to them!

Anyway. Not sure what’s next. To get all the achievements, you have to finish with all three protags, so that’s three full runs and a lot of repetitiveness (compare to, say, Bloodlines or Night Road. I have eighty-five hours on Night Road and there’s still stuff I haven’t seen!), so I can’t even just… rush it through up to the meeting with the touchstones on the third play. Nope. Gotta finish it :-\

Final rating: 6/10

8/10 characters, 9/10 atmosphere, 8/10 story aside from ending, 3/10 story ending, 2/10 replayability. Final consensus: get it on major sale if you can, otherwise, you might as well just watch an LP. I might do that instead of doing a third run, although I at least want to do a second.

I ended up revising that 6/10 to 5.5/10 after finishing all runs and getting the achievements just out of how goddamn repetitive it was. So, how does Shadows measure up?

Absolutely continued with all the things I enjoyed about CoNY (characters, atmosphere, and writing), and of the bits I hated (cookie cutter protagonists, lack of real choice, repetitiveness, the godawful ending), every single part has been completely improved.

Instead of three fledglings so similar they even have the same internal thoughts, we have Julia, who’s got such a distinct voice that she becomes the most memorable game protag I’ve seen in years, and I’m including non-VtM games in this. This is absolutely her game, and it’s just... absolutely fascinating to read and watch.

Related - actual real choices. There are five key choices that determine the ending, and every single one has actual consequence in-game. You get different dialogue. Different introspection. Different philosophies. And this carries across - if Julia believes Agathon is alive, she’s more optimistic about her relationship with Dakota, too. And of course, both endings are completely distinct and incredibly written - the ‘good’ ending where Julia gives in to her most Lasombra instincts, plays the game, wins it, gets power and respect at the expense of her humanity and avoiding all those wraiths... or the ‘bad’ ending when she listens to her morals, reconciles with Dakota, and leaves for California, uncertain, but hopeful.

Not a lot of repetitiveness. Yes, by design, you’ll probably do two playthroughs. The main plot is much the same, but there are enough options there to get multiple dialogue options and stuff. And for the little sidequests, you can actually get all in with just the two playthroughs, only repeating like... two, I think. Still, I wasn’t feeling actively bored like I was midway through my second run of CoNY!

Loved seeing more in-depth backstory and development for the coterie members. Agathon’s section was particularly fascinating, literally getting into his head.

And just. Atmosphere and music is so, so good.

Final rating: 9/10. Thank you, Draw Distance, you hit it out of the park.

[sora-writes-things]

Protection

IDV AU Oneshot (Body Guard AU)

Content Warnings: Mainly just cursing. A bit of blood, but it’s brief and isn’t much to worry about. Barely worth mentioning, actually.

Enjoy!

———————————————————————

Luca was... A very strange person, to put it lightly.

He was a pretty nice guy, but he just had a lot of little quirks about him that honestly made Aesop question things a little bit.

Yeah, the guy was a really smart inventor, and he was really good with technology and stuff, but god was he crazy as hell sometimes. He’d go from calmly talking about a machine he’s working on, to all of a sudden standing up defiantly on the work table and challenging God to a sword duel or something.

Moments like that led Aesop to thinking that maybe this “Luca Balsa” guy didn’t actually need his help. That he didn’t really need his protection, but he just wanted it to say he had it.

In fact, Aesop wasn’t even sure that anybody was actually going to try to hurt him. Was he well-known enough to have assassins after him? Were there people who legitimately wanted him dead? Sure, Luca was quite a bastard at times, but to assume that someone would get that pissed off at something he’d said was a bit of a stretch...

...Or so it seemed.

“C’mon Acey! Come sit next to me!” A smug smile spread across the inventor’s face as he patted the seat next to him. “You know you want to~”

Aesop sighed, crossing his arms and sitting in the chair next to his client. “Please stop calling me ‘Acey’... Makes me think it’s a nickname for a dog or something.”

“Whoops, my bad. I’ll shorten it to Ace then.”

Aesop rolled his eyes, but allowed a light smile to appear on his face for a brief instant. Luca was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he really was a great guy to be around. Chaotic, for sure, but wonderfully enthusiastic nonetheless.

“Oh uh... Unless you don’t... like that nickname?”

Aesop snapped out of his thoughts at the slightly hesitant question. “Uhh... Ace is fine. I don’t really mind.”

Luca smiled. “Let’s just enjoy the show. Tracy said it was pretty good.” He leaned over towards Aesop a little bit, which caused him to flinch slightly.

The young body guard lifted a hand to his face, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing ever so slightly. Dammit. This was not what he was supposed to be doing. He was meant to be on the lookout for threats, not sitting here cuddling with his client.

...Although... It was pretty nice to relax for a bit with someone else in his company.

“...You know I’m here to protect you, right?”

“I know!” Luca snuggled up closer to Aesop. “But you still make a really good pillow.”

The silver-haired body guard was silent for a moment. “Fuck, why am I soft now?” He murmured under his breath finally, his voice barely audible.

“What was that?” Luca asked, turning his head and looking up at his guard.

Aesop turned his head away, his face turning bright red. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

He looked out over the sea of people below their parlor seats, scanning them and trying to scope out which ones might cause trouble. He didn’t see anyone suspicious... Hopefully it stayed that way. He really didn’t want to have to make things ugly if he could avoid it.

Luca took ahold of Aesop’s arm and held it close, cuddling it like he would a beloved stuffed animal... Which only made the body guard even more distracted.

Part of him wanted to tell him to back off. He was being a huge distraction, and it was his own life that was at risk here.

...But Aesop couldn’t force himself to do it. It felt so nice... Having someone leaning into him, trusting him with all his heart, and feeling safe under his protection... It was a feeling Aesop hadn’t felt with anyone else before.

He was brought out of his thoughts as the theater lights went out, and a spotlight turned on, following a beautiful female actress in a flowing, near-white dress that was lined with light pink fur as she walked onto the stage, making a few opening statements before she exited the stage, getting ready for the performance.

Aesop was turning his head to look down at Luca when something caught his attention.

Past the curtain behind him, he could see a dark silhouette of a hooded figure... slowly lifting up what looked like some type of a rifle.

Aesop felt his heart begin to race as he immediately picked up on the threat, abruptly pulling away from Luca’s gentle grasp as he shot up out of his chair, drawing a gleaming, silver dagger out of a holster in his pocket.

Luca sat upright, tilting his head to the side as Aesop made a mad dash out of the parlor room without saying a word.

The silver-haired body guard wasted no time in throwing himself at the hooded to-be killer, holding his dagger up to the man’s neck while trying to wrestle the rifle from his hands.

A gleam of determination appeared in the assassin’s ice-blue eyes as he twisted his body around, grabbing ahold of Aesop’s hand and pinning the blade against the young man’s own neck, using his rifle to keep him restrained against his body.

Fuck, this guy was tough.

“Get out of the way, kid. I’ve got work to do here,” the assassin hissed, an almost regretful tone in his voice.

Aesop went still for a brief instant before he suddenly lashed out, making a noise that resembled a growl as he kicked backwards against the assassin’s legs, causing him to stagger back and let him go.

He quickly tore the dagger out of the assassin’s hand and, acting on instincts alone, slashed at the hooded man’s arm, causing him to cry out in a mix of pain and alarm as he was forced to drop his rifle.

While he was distracted, Aesop slammed his body weight into him and pressed him against the wall, making him unable to move.

He looked down at the sleeve of his jacket, which was stained red with blood, and he clicked his tongue a few times, as if he were disappointed. “Damn... What a shame.”

He looked the assassin in the eyes, his expression completely deadpan. “You got blood on my favorite jacket.”

The attacker swallowed hard, a slight glint of fear in his icy-blue eyes.

“Now talk. Who are you, who sent you, and why is Mr. Balsa your target?” Aesop demanded, the somewhat light-hearted gleam in his eyes vanishing.

“Naib Subedar. That’s my name.” He huffed, as if worn out by the struggle. “I was just sent by some dude on the streets. Don’t know his name. I didn’t care enough to find it out.”

“Strange thing for a hired assassin to say,” Aesop growled.

“I swear, it’s the truth. I very rarely find out my clients’ names. I only do this to make money. It’s nothing personal towards him.” Naib said defensively. “The guy offered me a really good price. I had to take it. Luca Balsa isn’t worth as much as that bounty is.”

For some strange reason, Aesop found himself overcome with rage at the statement. He suddenly slammed his hands against Naib’s shoulders in his anger, causing him to flinch.

“Don’t you dare talk about my client that way. He’s worth everything in the world, and if you could even start to consider otherwise, your heart is as cold and ruthless as-“ He cut himself off, realizing where his thoughts were going.

No. He’d never give that bastard that kind of credit. Saying that would make him seem like a better person, and he certainly didn’t deserve that.

Aesop shook his head. “You get my point.” He felt his face beginning to burn as he began to realize what he’d said about Luca. He sighed, turning his head away and loosening his grip on Naib’s shoulder.

The assassin gave him a look of confusion, and opened his mouth to ask a question, but was quickly silenced.

“Get out of here. Leave, and never, ever try to hurt Mr. Balsa again. If you do...” Aesop looked at the assassin with a look that was as cold as ice. “I won’t just let you go with nothing more than a slit wrist and a bruised sense of dignity. You won’t be getting away with life still in your body. Understand?”

Naib scrambled back frantically, nodding his head before snagging his rifle off of the ground and beelining out of the theater, not even casting a second glance back at the young body guard.

Aesop watched him go, his hand slowly rising to his neck, where he felt a small bead of blood touch the tip of his finger.

Oh... So the guy actually did manage to land a scratch.

He drew back his hand and stared at the small drop of blood, completely unfazed by it. It was only a small cut. It would heal.

For now... He needed to go back to the one he was meant to protect. He could deal with his injury later. Luca needed him to make sure he was safe.

He turned back towards the parlor room and slipped in silently past the curtains, just as Lady Bella began to sing from the center of the stage.

Luca glanced over his shoulder, his gaze lighting up at the sight of his body guard. “Ace! You’re just in time! The play is starting!”

The silver-haired guard gave a soft smile as he sat down next to his client and allowed him to lean into him, as he had before.

They watched as the woman in the flowing white dress danced across the stage, her melodious voice echoing throughout the theater alongside the sounds of instruments playing in the background.

‘Who am I? A dream, or a lie? Living on the praises, lifted me high.’

Aesop felt Luca’s hand slowly crept into the palm of his own; an action which would have normally made the young man slightly uncomfortable, but provided him a sense of security for once.

‘Bella Donna! Bella Donna! Who can hear the “Tick Tock”, hiding in the crystalline.’

A smile drifted across his face and, for once, he didn’t try to hide it. He instead, chose to embrace it.

This was his purpose. To make the one he served feel as safe as he could. And if he felt safe enough to lean into his embrace without hesitation?

He was doing his job flawlessly.

[johobi]

When You Least Expect It | 12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, angsty-angst, dramaTIC ANGST, anxiety, depression, fear of going mad. i swear it’s not all that bad though!!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: thanks, as ever, for all your encouragement, love and patience. i truly treasure you.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation. 

"Need to get my⁠—mmm⁠—keys."

Taehyung's argument was solid, but your lip-lock took precedence. "Nuh-uh," you murmured to his saliva-slick lips, eager to taste from them again. "Do it blind."

Your lover fished futilely for his keys, eyes closed for kissing. His body angled away when you only wanted it flush. Selfishly you clung to him, arms fast around his neck, compelling him closer. Oh, but you needed more. Needed his touch. It was painfully absent. Taehyung’s long-fingered hands trawled the depths of his pockets when they should have been defiling you. 

He snorted through the meagre space between your faces. "I can't find⁠—mmgh⁠—find them."

"Here," you offered in devilish whisper, plunging a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Shamelessly grasping a little too close to his left-leaning dick.

"Ah⁠—"

Your fingertips grazed metal. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It will be." 

It was your turn to scoff. Right into his hot, nasty mouth.

Despite Taehyung's ineptitude at locating his own keys, it was spellcraft how easily he unlocked the door, with his back to it and his tongue thrust far past your lips. As the lock gave way, you threw yourself into his freshly-freed arms, urging he embrace your touch-starved body. But Taehyung was already around you, on you, fondling the breadth of your thinly-clothed ass. He broke away to whine:  “God, you drive me crazy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

You stumbled into his apartment as a mass of roving hands. "You’re gonna get it again, noona," Taehyung hummed around your earlobe. Tugged it between his teeth. Whispered obscenities while his hard cock pressed close. “You feel that, babe? You want it?”

Breath tumbled out. “Y-Ye⁠s—”

"It certainly sounds like she does," a wicked voice sang. It was high-pitched and heavy on the dialect and its source unmistakeable. You wished you were mistaken. "Whatever it is. I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's⁠—"

The two of you repelled like magnets. 

"Oh, fuck. Jimin, why are you still here?" Taehyung made no attempt to smother his exasperation. His erection, on the other hand, he smothered actively, obscuring it with the hem of his shirt..

"Good night without me?" the redhead side-stepped. Consistent with his character, the conversation became depraved, and all about him. You found yourself on the receiving end of an unwelcome eyebrow waggle. "I was only one phone call away."

Taehyung's hand flew to his face. Dragged down his features. "I told you I didn't know when I'd be back. If at all. Couldn't you have gone home, dude? What did you even do all night?"

As Jimin dithered and whined, you surveyed the damage the bachelor had inflicted upon Taehyung's usually immaculate apartment. Takeout trays, beer bottles and indiscernible spills surrounded the little imp. Insult to injury was his occupation of your beloved red slanket. It coupled his hair so garishly he resembled something of an angry pimple. You glared at Jimin from behind his 5'11" handler.

"I thought you were coming back!" Jimin finally exasperated. His wrists emerged from the slanket-holes when he gestured to his nest of trash. "I had to eat twice the amount of food. And I got drunk alone. You know how sad that is?"

"Got a glimpse of your future, did you, Jimin?" The snicker that shot from you almost took the contents of your nostrils with it. To say you were a little sniffly this morning was to minimise it. It took all your nasal strength to prevent a flood. Probably all that rain yesterday. 

No, don't think about yesterday.

Luckily, your dignity remained intact for discard another day. Jimin's however, had long been abandoned. Tact, too. "So—" He watched, beady-eyed, as you busied yourself in the undoing of his mess. When you reached for a pizza box: "You guys having an affair? Or is this some kinda friends-with-benefits deal?" The slanket rode up his offensively nude thighs as he leaned toward your stooping form. "Any chance of making this a three-person thing? Or four, if that Jungkook guy is still in the picture."

  It was like an icicle through your poor, hollowed heart. You froze, bent at the hinges, pizza grease becoming palm sweat. "W-What?"

  “Actually, was he even real? I never saw him.”

  Was he even real?

  Taehyung was quick. Was there in a second, striding to your side, affixing a hand to your lower back. His fingertips, too, were quick. Quick to find that sliver of exposed skin where your jeans and shirt met. To give you the warmth of reassurance that came only with his touch. "Jesus, Jimin. I know this is your shtick, but no-one's in the mood for your bullshit today. Just go home dude, I'll text you later."

  An expression you'd never encountered warped Jimin's delicate features. Hurt. "What the fuck?" he grumbled, complying despite his injured feelings. Coming to a stand, he stuffed himself into his night-before skinny jeans, plump lips pursed. "What got into you? She peg you or something?" Jimin’s hmphs continued, punctuating his impromptu Get Ready With Me throughout. Without the care it warranted, he slung off the slanket and began turning out the couch.

  “Very funny. What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Taehyung offered, placidity masking his vexation incredibly well. Antagonising Jimin would only prolong his being there, after all, and the scenario was already unbearably awkward. Especially now, when he was flaunting a good inch of his ass-crack in the hunt for some misplaced possession. 

  "My wallet. Y’know, the pot leaf one. Where did I put the damn thing?"

  In that gaping crevice, maybe? It wasn’t aloud. 

  "Okay, look⁠—" Taehyung, too, looked to have had his fill of his friend's butt-cleft. "I'll bring your wallet 'round your place later. You got your phone and keys, yeah?" The outline in the redhead's jeans confirmed it. "Go home, sleep off the rest of the booze, we'll talk this evening."

  Despite his grievances, Jimin suddenly brightened. He never was one to hold a grudge. He was a Pisces, after all. "You're gonna come over? Cool! I'll get more beer in." The fact he'd consumed a dozen only two hours prior didn’t appear to deter him. "You coming, ____? We gonna have another game of Never Have I Ever?"

  The sincere sparkle of his eyes threw you a little. "Uh, I don't think so. Not today. Sorry, Jimin. Next time, okay? I've got some things to sort out later. Plus, I think I’m getting sick." A sniffle for illustration.

  "That's cool." He hummed, shrugged on his signature varsity jacket. The world would burn before he conceded college was over. "See you later, Tae. Happy smashing," was his parting comment as he sashayed out the door, mildly uncoordinated. Taehyung was charitable enough to relieve his friend of the quandry of closing it.

  And when it was closed, your lover turned back. Had a pensive purse to his lips. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

  "Don’t apologise, I’m the one that disrupted your plans in the first place, Tae. But yeah, I’m good." 

  Taehyung couldn’t see the extent of that untruth. Not when you averted your eyes so swiftly. Pinned them to your busy hands as you continued to collect up Jimin's litter. Why had it been so easy for him to speak his name? Like it was nothing but breath? Just two syllables, plucked from an alphabet of indifference?

  When it was sand and salt on open sores?

  When it was woe so heavy it rasped the soul?

  "Alright." It wasn't, but what mattered was that Taehyung knew it. Knew it, and didn't pursue it. Instead, he fluffed a trashbag for you in which to deposit your greasy collection. "He's always like this. A mangy raccoon."  The comparison hit humorously enough to curtail your anguish. Momentarily, at least. A genuine laugh came from you. At that, Taehyung looked up. Caught your smile. "He's always like this. Always leaves me to clean up. His metaphorical and literal messes."

  Trash collected, you straightened. Inelegantly, and with a groan. You'd have to scrape together the pennies for some sweet chiropractic adjustment. "Yeah? That doesn't surprise me," you smirk, prodding at the knots in the small of your back. "All I know is he's a gross, unashamed pervert that could be a good guy if he grew up a little. You haven't really told me too much about him. I guess you'll—" the reality of your and Taehyung's changed relationship hit you, then. It had transfigured into something far more intense. Far more beautiful. Potentially volatile.  "—you'll have to tell me more. About him. Your other friends I don't see much. And about you, stuff I didn't get to know until we—well. You know."

  Taehyung's head came to a tilt. His downy locks strayed into his eyes, softening them into a squint. "It's weird, isn't it? Being like this. Good weird—" he added with haste. Had he been suddenly struck by the revelation, too? Your two combined brain cells continued to surf one wavelength. It was uncanny. "You're standing there, I'm standing here. We look the same. But it's all different. I look at you different." A contemplative pause. The trash-bag knocked noisily at his knees as he rocked. "And all I know is I want to learn about you. Again. Inside and out."

  "Yeah. I'd like that very much. I'm hardly a treasure trove of alluring secrets, but I'm sure I have a wild story or two from my college years. Ugh—" The ache that'd been no more than a dull tapping at your skull suddenly came to the fore. Your head throbbed like a blunt force concussion.

  "You okay?" The trashbag left Taehyung's hands and crumpled to the floor. You felt them on you shortly after, palpating your oddly sensitive forearms. "What's up?"

  "Headache. Think I was bent over for too long, or something." But then came a torrent of sneezing. And it was also then that Taehyung's proximity was suddenly, intolerably stifling. "Ugh. Maybe not. I’m definitely getting sick. Sick-sick."

  A satiny palm left your shoulder and found your forehead. Your vantage saw only Taehyung's mouth. It opened into an O. "Oh, shit. Yeah, you're burning up, noona. We should get you into bed."

  "No, no. That won't be necessary." You waved away his clammied hand and instead peeled off your - his - jacket. The last thing you wanted, on a day as emotionally strenuous as this one, was to find yourself physically compromised, too. "I'll be okay. I just need to cool down a bit. It's probably just a cold, and I can soldier through those. Uh—I'm a little hungry, though?"

  "Aha! Want some French toast or something?" Taehyung leapt at the opportunity to tend to you. Like Yoongi, you shied away from showing weakness and instead showed a reluctance to lean on others. It must’ve been frustrating for Taehyung, an unashamed empath who wanted nothing more than to accompany and comfort you during your times of adversity. But he understood that it could not be the case with you. That less was more. That the key to helping you was when you asked for it. Yes, even when it was something so small as the common cold.

  And when it wasn’t just the sniffles, but world-ending woe, Taehyung embraced your diversions from the difficult topics. Didn’t push it. Best friends never pushed. Yes, he was still your best friend. Something more, now, too, but forever your gentlest, most attuned of friends. "Don’t you like French toast? I could make something else?" He prompted, peering into your faraway face with those precious eyes of his.

  "You can make French toast?"

  "Of course I can. I can make you anything, within reason. I've been practicing. Takeout's giving me a belly." In illustration, Taehyung molded his hands to his mildly rounded flesh. Strained it out further, like an expecting mother.

  "I like your little belly." Your hands fell to his, pressing his stomach back to flat.

  "Yeah?" An errant quirk of his eyebrow. "It likes you, too."

  You smiled so, so wide. And then you became certain:

  Last night had been the right decision. One made in a swell of volatile emotion, yes. But this day - this moment - in which it was still possible to smile, proved that. Taehyung conjured it to your face with so little effort. It took so little effort to be with him. To just be. 

  And that was indeed a feat. 

  Because inside your mind, there was no reprieve. Barbed words and self-abuse clattered about your brain, painting you unworthy of Jungkook. Worse yet; deserving of his treatment. 

Every second since your waking hour you’d been assailed by volleys of it. But your self-loathing didn’t end its assault there. In your darkest seconds, it even dared to suggest that you proclaimed your love for Taehyung too hastily. 

  That you instead yearned for that other man.

  By some mercy, you were already adept in handling intrusive thoughts. Because that was all they were: Intrusive. Unwelcome and unwanted. There could be no truth to the doubt or longing. 

Not when your new horizon stood before you, a sunshine smile dawning across his cheeks. Taehyung. The once boy, now man, you'd forever coveted.

  He was yours. Your desperate words a night ago sealed it.

  Puzzlement mingled adorably with Taehyung's bright features. "Babe?"

  Yeah. It was the right choice.

  "Sorry, Tae." In spite of your climbing fever, you intertwined your idling fingers. Looked down at the union with a contented smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit. I didn't want to go back to my apartment yet." The reason why remained unspoken. "I know I can't avoid it forever, but for a little while at least, I just wanna not think."

  Soft, familiar lips were on your forehead. Spoke against the skin. "You stay here as long as you need. My apartment and I are at your disposal." It was Taehyung's turn to loose himself from your febrile embrace. Your perspiration lacquered his fingers. "We're getting you some painkillers for that fever, at the very least. You don't have to stay in bed, but I want you on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you while I do some marking."

  "Okay, dad."

  Taehyung’s tongue danced over the tips of his teeth. "That's daddy to you, noona. Get those damp clothes off and get some of my pyjamas on, there's a set on the bed."

  ----

  Your sentencing to the sofa had initially been met with resistance. Especially when Taehyung hovered, ever-watching, an eye on his papers and the other on your recalcitrant form. Your every attempt at productivity - even a surreptitious attempt to fold his laundry - had been met with soft but stern eyes and an escort back to your cologne-saturated prison. Jimin's stank had ingratiated itself with the fibres of Taehyung's cushions. No amount of deodorizer could reduce its cling. It did nothing but intensify the thudding behind your eyes.

  And at first, you attributed your worsening nausea to that silly little redhead. But the lightheadedness followed swiftly after, and then the chills, and then that horrid, off feeling encroached, like your soul lagged behind every of your body's movements.

  In the end, you begged for the bed. Taehyung's memory foam mattress and sweet-smelling pillows. Only, the sweet made you sick, and the memory foam only exacerbated all your indistinct aches. By early afternoon, despite his dutiful nursing of you, you tapped out of your brave-facing. Practically begged him to return you to your apartment, where all your remedies resided. 

  If there was something that united the men of your world, it was their haphazard approach to health crises. Taehyung possessed a pitiful two (2) painkillers. The nasty, round, chalky type that got you gagging. Expiry date: Last year. No hot water bottle, no frozen goods to improvise a cold compress. When questioned about his unreadiness in the face of illness, his reasoning was ridiculous. Sound, but ridiculous. 'I never get sick, so I don't need it.’ The painkillers were Jimin’s.

  Hoseok and Yoongi were much the same. The former would simply turn up on your doorstep and check-in to your veritable inpatient clinic and expect private-tier care. For the latter, you'd have to make a house visit, because he never got sick, and he didn't need you fussing over him so. And yet he was the one that fell ill the most. The one that needed the most tender of care.

  Sigh.

  Today, you required it. And that was how you now found yourself back home, a day earlier than you would have preferred. You tottered out of Taehyung's car in your royal red slanket, pyjama pants dragging on wet asphalt. It took what waning stamina you possessed to gaze upward at the same balconies Jungkook strode yesterday. It was like looking on an untouched crime scene; as gloomily lit and ominous as it had been then.

  Taehyung came to your side, and then a little in front, surveying that same sight. "Looks like he's gone, noona."

  The relief that surged was medicine in itself. "Thank God. Let's go in, quickly." Your teeth chattered animatedly during the climb, even though you burned like the sun incarnate. Taehyung's arm was fast about your waist, steadying you on each of your Everestian steps. Collapse felt close at times, but when your vision began to fail it was the image of Jungkook's guilt-ridden face that rallied you onward. To fall, here, was to expose yourself to the risk of seeing it again.

  And that could not happen.

  "Do you have the keys—"

  "Got 'em." Taehyung was ahead of you in every sense. With the dexterity he was inhibited from displaying earlier, he had your door open before you could reach him. "In you go, babe."

  "Thanks." You loped past, unsteady. Unready to climb the flight of stairs immediately within. "Why do I have a maisonette?" The question was to no-one, or God. 

  Taehyung answered anyway. “Because you’re a woman of discerning taste.” Large hands found your blanketed backside, lending you their support. “Plus, when the bedroom’s upstairs, the neighbours can’t hear.” 

  “A valid point,” you ceded, beginning your ascent. Even with Taehyung - quite literally - bringing up the rear, your legs felt like those of an unpractised infant. It was astonishing just how quickly the virus had incapacitated you.

  Still. The higher you climbed, the handsier Taehyung became. He stole squeezes of your rump with every step. Said it was incentive to keep going.

  Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

  After much of his unscrupulous groping, the laughter finally broke free. "Oh my God, you're being so shameless right now." Another shaky step. "I wish I had a stairmaster."

  He wasn't done being outrageous. "Sit back and I'll stairmaster you all the way up, babe."

  The giggling became painful. Welcome, but painful. "Stop."

  At the top of the staircase, you stopped to compose your failing limbs. It was alarming just how vital you'd been this morning. This afternoon, you felt one laboured breath from death. "One sec."

  "I knew this was a bad idea. You shouldn't be going anywhere in your condition." His two, warm hands stabilised you from the back, preventing an inevitable tumble. "I coulda just bought more painkillers and whatever else you needed."

  "It's alright, Tae. I had to come back at some point soon, anyway. My keys for the cafe are here and I'm opening tomorrow." Blotting the sweat from your brow, you advanced on unstable legs to the sofa and immediately crumpled onto its familiar comfort. "Plus, when I'm sick, I like to be sick at home."

  "I don't think you'll be going into work tomorrow." By the time it took you to maneuver yourself onto your stomach, Taehyung was stood over you, hands emphatically on hips. "Look at you. Can't even get comfortable without exhausting yourself."

  "I don't wanna let Hoseok down." Nor did you want to enlighten him to your current romantic quandry, though. Ugh. "But I do feel terrible. If I’m no better later, I might text him."

  "Wow, I thought for sure it would take far more convincing than that," Taehyung snickered, eyes round with mock shock. He'd accumulated a number of dirty dishes from your coffee table in his hands. "Glad you're prepared to rest. Stay there and let me get whatever it is you need. I'll clean your place up a little as well, so don't stress about it."

  "No—Tae—"

  "Hush. Get the pyjama bottoms off, too, they're wet on the bottom."

  You'd been shouldering so much discomfort that your freezing wet ankles had eluded you. A glance down. "Oh. Yeah. I don't know if I can, though." You flopped your feeble arms. "Too far to reach." Plus, Taehyung could undress you now. To disrobe in any other way was to squander the opportunity.

  His mouth curved villainously. "Okay." Clap. "Let's see if I can do this in one swift move. Like a magician pulling a table cloth."

  Before his proposition had entirely processed, he pinched the hems of your sodden pyjama bottoms and snatched them from your legs. "Wh—"

  "Open sesame!"

  Wheezy giggling filled the air. "Oh, it hurts to laugh. Fuck." Being semi-naked and comically incapacitated only heightened the hilarity. Taehyung straddled your legs, twirling the wet pants in triumph— "Oww. Oh my God, stop, I can’t—” More rasping laughter. “What even goes on in your head? Also, magicians don't shout open sesame when they do that shit."

  "I do. That's why other magicians suck. They say the wrong words." He spoke it like he believed it, and for a moment he was again the boy from childhood, proclaiming the weirdest - but sincerest - of things. And now he was your loveable oddball. "Daddy's gonna get you some dry ones."

  And there was the gross-ass man he'd grown into.

  Nevermind.

  "Okay, you're taking that in a direction I don't want to go in, Tae," you protested, flimsily, through persistent laughs. With a half-hearted kick, you nudged him toward your bedroom. "Hurry up, my ass is getting cold."

  “A cold ass will do you good,” was his nonsensical retort. He wriggled out of his own, damp jeans as he went, gifting you the sight of his luscious ass in curve-hugging cotton. 

  You were appallingly close to catcalling take the boxers off too!, but in your current state you could barely lift a pinky, let alone give him the vigorous fucking he deserved.

  ---

  A little channel-hopping later, Taehyung returned. Armed, coincidentally, with your favourite flannel bottoms. Yes, it was likely just coincidence, but the romantic in you posited destiny. "Legs up," he commanded. You did try, but the attempt was laughable. Taehyung's sigh hit the back of your thighs. "Listen here, lazy," he crooned, turning your body with the care one would an undercooked omelette. Pyjama pants in hand, he glowered down at your defiant face, brandishing them like a threat. "You gonna co-operate?"

  "Nope." You turned your attention to the TV to stifle further laughter. Why you were hindering his attempts to help with your misbehaviour was anyone's guess. There was something irresistible about making trouble for him, though. Probably because Taehyung, too, was an unrepenting rascal.

  "Okay then," was his equivocal response. You scrutinised him through narrowed eyes, waiting on his next, underhanded move.

  Which was to tickle your feet. Underhanded indeed.

  "Oh, God, no!" you yelped, cried, rasped for breath. Flailed your legs like a fawn on skates.

  "Thought you couldn't move, huh? Huh?" Taehyung caught your ankles amidst their thrashing and pulled them through freshly-laundered flannel.

  Once the pyjamas reached your knees, you relented in your nonsense and shot him a buoyant smile. "Thanks."

  "Hips up."

  This time, you were obedient.

  And Taehyung was thankful. A fine smile shone back at you as he settled the waistband around your hips. Your smile, however, drifted. Awe replaced it as you stole glances at his beautifully-hewn features. He truly was sublime. The bridge of his nose was high and strong, its tip hosting the most precious of moles. Beneath his bottom lip there was another. These little details, of course, hadn’t escaped you before, but it was something to see them so close now. With time, you would kiss each and every of his chaotically placed moles. 

  When you recalled your gaze upward, Taehyung was watching you. The chocolate of his eyes was molten with feeling. Love and warmth irradiated him. "Can't believe you're mine now."

  It was crucial that you kiss him.

  You moved to do so. His lips were only a breath away. But then—

  Three, distinct knocks.

  You traded looks. Yours, petrified. His, outraged.

  "Wait—"

  But Taehyung's weight had already left you. An intimidating energy lingered in his wake as he strode toward the staircase, fists clenched. "I'll get that."

  "Tae, no—"

  The difficulty with which it took you to extricate yourself from your slanket was all the more frustrating for the urgency of the situation. You staggered, almost toppled, to catch him, but he'd already descended the steps by the time you reached the top. Damn those lovely, long legs of his. All you could do now was brace yourself on either bannister to prevent a gruesome fall. Because no amount of honeyed pleading was going to stop him. You peered, lightly nauseous, down the expanse of stair as Taehyung slung open the door.

  It came as no surprise that it was Jungkook stood there, his doe-eyes wide.

  It eviscerated your guts, nonetheless, to see him.

  “Noona!”

  At first, he lit up in elation. Perhaps he thought the door-answerer to be you. When Taehyung’s identity became clear, however, that elation morphed. First, to shock. Your long-legged lover wasn’t wearing pants, after all. But when Jungkook spied you at the back all shy, sadness again descended upon him. It was a sadistic hope that your sickly appearance intensified that upset. That it fueled his guilt for having decimated you. With every, shredded fibre of your being, you wished Jungkook hurt.

  “Thank you for answering the door,” he began with an earnest bow, as though he didn’t know just how much you abhorred him. “H—”

  "I answered the door. What do you want?" Taehyung straddled the doorframe, asserting his dominance over the territory. Jungkook's every attempt to look past him was foiled. The lissom man angled himself obstructively, and yet you sought Jungkook's face, too. Wanted to glimpse the heartbreaker for yourself, like he was some loathsome thing of legend. Like it was hard to believe you'd looked into that face just yesterday and seen the world. "Don't you ever give up?" he added, his patience sounding pencil-thin.

  After several, weighty seconds of silence, Jungkook eventually acknowledged Taehyung's existence. Addressed him earnestly. "I know I'm not welcome here. I just want a couple of minutes with ____ to explain what she saw—" A derisive snort threatened to cut him off, so he continued hastily, and louder— "—Not for my benefit. For hers. I don't want her to—to—" Choked with frustration, Jungkook thrust himself into your sightline. Implored you with large, gleaming eyes. "I don't want you to blame yourself in any way."

  You despised how pregnable you were under his gaze. Like imminent, avoidable death, it became impossible to look away. The void called. There, in his desolate eyes. He wanted you to join him. 

  No, Jungkook didn’t need you anymore. What he wanted was absolution. At great personal cost to you. But whatever he wished, no matter how detrimental, you would likely grant. 

  Because as much as you hated him, you loved him.

  “I—”

  But you loved Taehyung, too.

  “____?” And he was there, soft voice enticing you back toward the light. Back toward his pretty face and tender-hearted intentions. There was no hurt to be had with Taehyung.

  "I don't,” you spat, clear-minded once more. “I don’t blame myself, Jungkook. Only you.” 

  But you did blame yourself. Every second since, in fact. 

  Too fat, too boring, too ugly, too old, too much baggage—

  It mustn't have been too convincing an outburst. Jungkook's mouth remained a thin, grim line. And those fucking eyes of his were so fucking ridiculously big and sad and—fuck!

  It was all too much.

  Mercifully, Taehyung was composed enough to mediate. You, however, were on the brink of emotional - and physical - collapse. "You heard her." Again, he filled out the doorframe. Stood provocatively close to the man in front. "You fucked up majorly. Actually—" Taehyung leaned in. His baritone dived lower. "You're lucky we're not alone right now."

  Jungkook did not recoil an inch. Neither did he square up, though. He just stood, toe-to-toe with Taehyung, receiving the vitriol.

  "You've imparted your message. You’re too late. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Are you finally going to go?"

  At that, something bubbled within Jungkook. It shook his frame, balled his fists. Blinking came more rapidly. And then— "I know all that, dude. Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I appreciate what you’re doing, and that you’re protecting her, but I just—I need to talk to noona—to ___ a little longer. Privately. I just need a little more time. Please. Let me get the words out."

  Taehyung bore impossibly close. "You don't need more time."

  Jungkook’s mouth opened, combatively downturned. But whatever he meant to launch next was stymied when you took one, noodly step down the stairs. Taehyung turned toward the movement, and Jungkook peered past. It was then that he clocked just how arduous it was for you to move. “Noona? Are you okay?”

  Dizzyness crowded your peripheral vision. But Jungkook was front and centre, and so painfully clear, that the influenza quietened. "I don't want to see you, Jungkook. I’m pretty sure I got that across yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? What if I don’t even want to hear your damn sob story?"

  He fell mute when your words reached him. Like he could scarcely believe you'd deigned him worthy of directly addressing. Palms pressed together and with his mouth agape, he looked the picture of a supplicant.

  But he was unworthy.

  No, I am.

  You hung your head again. It was strenuous on your neck; weighing like a cannonball. "I don't want to stand here all day, Jungkook. Fucking say something. Why did you come here if—"

  "Because I love you!” he gasped. “I love you, and—"

  "Bullshit you do!"

  It came from Taehyung, not you. He'd turned back, teeth bared, no longer saying but growling. There he was. Your guard dog. The leash was straining. "You don't love someone and hide a fucking fiancee, you piece of shit." Jungkook flinched at Taehyung's ferocity, but remained stalwart on his spot. Curled his lip instead. "You blew it. Now go."

  Jungkook shook his head suddenly, violently. Flung rain from his hair and onto the walls. "This has nothing to do with you!" The bridge of his nose scrunched tight and bared not bunny teeth, but fangs.

  Taehyung swatted away the finger poised aggressively at his chest. Stepped closer, but didn't stop. No, he bumped him back toward the threshold with his chest. "It does now. Read between the lines, dumbass."

  Jungkook was ineffably innocent. “What do you mean?” He stared into Taehyung’s narrowed eyes to glean more meaning. 

  And then he gulped.

  Jungkook’s gaze flickered to Taehyung’s immodestly nude legs, and clarity began to dawn. It astounded you how little reaction Taehyung’s state of undress had initially garnered from Jungkook. But now he was giving the situation its due attention.

  A few, unmoving moments later, he gulped again. Harder this time, like something tangibly obstructed his speech. “N-Noona?” It was a mere rasp.

  When Jungkook looked back, eyes glossy with devastation, your heart tore again. Right along its freshly-stitched seams. You tried desperately to avert your gaze, but the void shimmering back at you was dense. His voice reached for you again. "____?" 

  Your name, alien in tone, was what finally closed your eyes. Fresh tears ran down established tracks. You turned away, grip on the bannisters dubious.

  "You and—him?" Jungkook gasped, so quietly, so pained, it was like agonal breath.

  You crumpled as if stomped on. Your chest was ablaze, and you wanted so desperately to clutch at it. To smother it. To cradle your torso as it caved once more. But you were too impaired to move. Instead, you stood there, frozen and hunched, crying uglier than you could remember ever letting anyone see. Staring at your toes as the carpet caught your tears. 

  But why? You should be overjoyed to shatter him as he had you.

  "Get it? Now go." Taehyung sighed, all the fight siphoning from him. He backed up from Jungkook and went monotone. "You've upset ___. Again. This is your last warning. Get going."

  Predictably, Jungkook didn't budge. In the ensuing silence, however, he didn't plead his case as he once would have done. No, something about him was changed. An aggrieved aura hugged him, expanded, until— "Last warning? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes, once brimming with tears, now seared with a fury. Even Taehyung looked taken aback. The outburst came sharp despite its gentle source. Again, Jungkook thrust forward an accusing finger. "Don't pretend you're better than me. You're selfish. I knew you couldn't wait to get your dick in her. I knew it ever since we saw you at the movies and you looked so fucking jealous—"

  The gasp that exited you was so heavy with outrage it almost took you with it. You gripped the bannisters tighter, wobbled down two further steps. You had to de-escalate this. Somehow. "Jungkook!"

  He granted you a brief, guilt-ridden side-glance before once again affixing his target with a glare. "You were just waiting for your moment, weren't you? Didn't want her 'til I had her. Couldn't bear the thought of your closest friend not being one of your conquests."

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  You didn't make it in time. Not before Taehyung wound back his elbow and snapped it forward, a hard, coiled fist on its end. It landed, brutal and blunt, on Jungkook's jaw. A dull, fleshy thud resounded, but to you it was like a gunshot. And so was the way his head and body whipped away, spiralling until his knees buffered his fall.

  "Oh my G—Jungkook!"

  The younger man, crouched away as he was, breathed deep, coppery air. Smeared his mouth along his sleeve, leaving red where it touched. And then, standing, he glared hatred at Taehyung. His shoulders shuddered with untethered anger. "You—"

  "It's more than that for me. I can't say the same for you," Taehyung cut in, surveying his reddened knuckles. He flexed his fingers for feeling. "Fucking cheater."

  Distracted, Taehyung was unprepared for the solid hunk of human that caught him around his midsection. Jungkook tackled him without caution, throwing his entire, intimidating mass into Taehyung's lankier frame. The two surged into the ground, clawing and grappling at the other's limbs, eyes wild, lips stretched back from teeth.

  "Stop!"

  "Oh my God, stop it!"

  Neither listened. They were feral. Both heard only the rush of blood.

  Knowing you must intervene, you manipulated your ragdollish limbs into descending the last half dozen steps. It was then, after an elongated struggle, Jungkook clambered atop Taehyung and fisted the collar of his shirt, glaring daggers enough to maim him.

  “You’re so fucking smug—”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who fucked up!” Taehyung crowed from beneath, maniacal. He taunted Jungkook with an angular grin, like he wasn’t the one at disadvantage. 

  “Shut up!”

  Once your feet met ground, you crumbled to your knees, Taehyung's head of hair between them. The sneer he brandished fell when he caught sight of your sweat-soaked face. Pitifully you pressed against Jungkook's shoulders, dissuading him from further violence. You felt like a toreador pushing on 1800lbs of charging bull. Jungkook didn't even so much as register your attempts until you wheezed out, "P-Please stop."

  He did. He went rigid, in fact. Trembled, when he became aware of your touch. His rage evaporated and the boy that sat there was no longer a bull but a meek little kit. Trepidation rolled from Jungkook in waves, and he would not meet your eyes.  

  Why? 

  Was he now repulsed by you? 

  How could he judge you for your indiscretion when he—he—! 

  No. It wasn't an indiscretion. What you did with Taehyung held no moral ambiguity. 

  It occurred to you, then, that the pair of you hadn't been so close since the last time you were intimate. And happy. Though damp, Jungkook's familiar, and once comforting scent, brushed your nostrils. Perhaps your proximity was what flustered him.

  When he finally met your gaze, you knew it to be true. He didn't look upon you with the anger nor revulsion you expected. Not anything obvious, anyway. Instead it was the wide-eyed wonder from your first date. The shyness. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to revisit it. 

But then his brows drooped low in remorse. "Noona," he called to you like you were far away. Pined for you. Taehyung's shirt fell from his clutches, and you found his hands on your elbows instead, propping up your drooping form.

  Feverish before, you were positively boiling now. To have his gentle palms on you again, no matter the circumstance, was a threat to your hastily-cobbled retreat. His fingertips told you, as they caressed your inner elbow, that any other man's hands would never do. And yet - you squirmed feebly, recalling it - those hands had been on, been in some other woman's body. And that would never do. "Don't touch me, J-Jungkook. Not with those hands."

  But it was his hands that stirred your heart into uproar. 

  No. It was simply the flu. Nothing more. It influenced your body in the oddest ways. 

  And there was someone that had pumped your blood for far longer.

  You cast your eyes to where Taehyung lay, honey hair a halo about his head and eyes only for you. Love bloomed fiercely in the bowels of your heart. “You really don’t look very good.” He made to push Jungkook off, but the younger man was already up on his knees, scanning your wan complexion. 

  "Are you burning up?" Jungkook murmured, his lips a line of concern. "You feel hot." Again he clasped your elbows, testing along their length for temperature. When he reached your upper arms, he was bold enough to advance on your neck, thumbs either side the line of your jaw. To your great shame, though you attributed it in most part to the fever, you enjoyed Jungkook's handling. "Your glands are out. And—" he pressed a cool, clammy palm to your clammier forehead. Spellbound, your eyes closed. "Yeah, you're even hotter up here, noona."

  "No shit, dumbass," Taehyung growled from above. When you opened your eyes, he was no longer supine but towering over the two of you, fingers twitching by his sides. You foresaw Jungkook's imminent scalping if you weren't quick to intervene. "You chased her into torrential rain. She's sick, asshole, and it's your fault."

  But there was no need to intervene. Jungkook didn't anger again. Nor did he stare down the man spitting insults. His focus remained fixed on you. On the damage he'd done. The deadened, bloodshot eyes, the pallid skin, the absence of joy. Of understanding. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could think to say? Again?

  Desperate, you implored him for more with forlorn eyes. Begged him for sense. Practically mouthed the word please. It would be nothing you wanted to hear, but perhaps hearing it could bring closure. Some semblance of peace, eventually, in some far-off year. 

  Jungkook stared back, ruminating, and you knew there was no sense to be found. None that you wanted, anyway. Jungkook was a liar, an adulterer, a manipulator—

  "Alright, you said sorry again. Time to go." Taehyung hauled him up by his underarms and, hopefully, away from you forever. It was a credit to him for tolerating Jungkook’s presence for so long. Especially when all he did was regurgitate the same, tired shit. "Don't come here again, or I'll call the cops," he snarled to Jungkook's ear, spittle flying. With a grip on the scruff of Jungkook's jacket, he whirled him toward the door.

  "She's not my fiancee!"

  Taehyung paused. As did you, in your agonised ascent into standing.

  "She's not my fiancee," Jungkook repeated over his shoulder, looking for you over his gathering jacket. "I wanted to talk to you about it calmly, and in private. It's not simple, and it’s hard to believe."

  "Don't lie to me n-now, Jungkook." The finger with which you jabbed at him, trembled. "I asked you that. You said she was."

  Taehyung's expression darkened by the second. It would devolve into another brawl at this rate, and you didn't want that. Not because you didn't want to see Jungkook get served, but because you didn't want him in your presence another gut-wrenching moment.

  Brazenly, Jungkook yanked himself from Taehyung's grip and turned, palms up and pacifying. He inched back toward the door; a gesture of his intent to finally leave. "Look. It's because technically she is, but it's not real—I'm going, asshole!—" Jungkook waved his arms demonstratively at the nearing door. Having appeased Taehyung, he pinned you again with fervent eyes. "What you saw wasn't the truth. If you won't hear me out entirely, at least hear that.”

  “No-one believes you. Everything you say is a fucking contradiction.” Taehyung was red and riled again. 

  Jungkook ignored him, his time short. “I won't text you anymore, I won't come here anymore. What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I know that. I should never have lied. But—" The lamp outside illuminated his bedraggled hair. The tip of his nose when he turned. "You know my number if you do want to hear me out. I'll be around for a bit longer.”

  A bit longer?

  You granted him the minutest of nods.

  It was enough. Nodding back, Jungkook turned on his heel and flew around the corner. And though he was gone, his silhouette stayed seared into your retinas, haunting your every blink. It was only when Taehyung replaced him in the doorway that Jungkook faded. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you back on the sofa.” 

  Wow, he was tall.

Oh.

  Somehow, you were on the floor again. You squinted up at him with sore, watering eyes, overwhelmed by it all. You reached for him like an infant would its parent, too vulnerable to move, and too stupid to know better. “Okay.”

  "It’s been a shitty day, but I’m gonna try and make it better. Why don’t we have a Netflix nostalgiafest?" Taehyung cooed into your sodden hair, no minding the sweat. He wound your arms around his neck, legs about his waist and chauffered you up the stairs, grunting by the step. Exaggerating the effort by comedic amounts in order to provoke you.

  “Sure.”

  But you were far, far away. Hidden behind your glazed eyes, the encounter replayed on loop. Lingered on Jungkook's Disney eyes and big buck teeth. The ones you loved back when he deserved to be loved. The nonsense he spouted toward the end was of particular interest in your mental re-runs, even though it should have immediately been dismissed.

  'What you saw wasn't the truth.'

  But neither was his relationship with you. Not when he kept such weighty secrets as sport.

  'I'll be around for a bit longer.'

  And that? Another of his manipulative tactics? Was he really leaving, or merely dangling the threat of it?

  But why would it be a threat? You wanted nothing more than him to be gone.

  Oh, it was all so bad. Everything was bad. Everything was too much, and, oh, even being in your body was too much, let alone your mind. You were drowning in affliction. Assailed from all sides with nothing for defense.

  "Babe."

  All went black, and then you opened your eyes. Taehyung stood over you, mouth downturned. Cotton caressed your naked skin, and you knew these were your sheets. This was your bed. Your lover had stripped you of your oppressive pyjamas. You stared at the mole on his nose, the one under his bottom lip. One, two. You could count to two.

  "Are you doing okay? Your fever really spiked there. Should I call a doctor?"

  “No, no.”

  Perhaps you'd simply hallucinated the entire encounter. Perhaps it was your mind's exercise in catharsis. Or perhaps Jungkook had never existed to begin with, and his betrayal was the product of a detailed fever dream. Taehyung was real, though, and here he was still. Your forever best friend. Your secret love. You had not yet confessed your love to this real Taehyung. But now you were awake, you would seize the chance. Because if there was one thing your prolonged nightmare had taught you, it was that you should have just done it to begin with. On the porch those years ago, when the stars weighed heavy over his head and dared you to kiss him.

  "I love you," you rasped, sounding like Death's next call.

  And just like it should have happened then, Taehyung lowered his face to yours. "I love you too, noona," he murmured through a joyous smile, brushing together your noses first, lips second. "But it's time for your next dose of painkillers. We gotta get this in you ‘cause your fever’s really mounting. Pretty sure you’ve been hallucinating. It’s worrying me. I’m this close—” he pinched together his fingers— “to calling a doctor. I don't think that asshole turning up did you much good."

  Brainless, you repeated. "No doctor. Asshole?"

  "Yeah, Jungkook." A tray of painkillers dangled from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth while he poured water. "Lying douchebag. Who, by the way, will not be working at the school anymore. Not if I have something to say about it."

  The words went in, but floated right back out. The ceiling swirled.

  "Oh." He was real. 

  Of course, you knew that. Even in the murk of fever it was apparent. Still, it’d been nice to pretend for a while.

  The sound of preparation ceased and the mattress dipped. Taehyung extended your next dose and a glass of water to you. His expression was no longer so sunny, but clouded with disquiet. "Talk to me, ____. I know you're sick, but that's not all that's going on in that muddled head of yours. It might help to talk. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to be afraid. Just try it."

  It was a credit to your weakened state that you were so loose-lipped. You downed the pills and curled around Taehyung's seated position, molding to his lap. "I'm just—I don't know." Your cheek was hot against his thigh. His Calvin Klein waistband stared back at you. "I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm so, so sad. It's unbearable. I can't handle much as it is. It doesn't take a lot to drag me down, but this, this—" Tears welled. Taehyung's slender fingers were there to catch them. "This feels almost too much. Even with you here. It's like I'm locked in a mental prison."

  "I know, babe," he whispered, stroking your face free of limpid hair. "It's gonna take a while to feel better, like it does with any big change. What he did to you was villain material. Of course you're going to be devastated." For once, you listened. "You don't owe him forgiveness, though he tried his damned best to get it. For his own selfish satisfaction, I'm sure. And you don't owe him anything else, either, not even the thoughts in your brain. Though I know that's gonna take a while, too. I'm sure it's all you can think about." You nodded, snuffled into your blanket until it was wet. A sob felt ripe for eruption. "The flu won't make things easier, either. You're not losing your mind. You just need rest. And when you're not resting, distraction. I'm on hand for the latter." All that he said was all that you craved to hear. A tremulous smile - of relief, of gratitude - wobbled into place. Taehyung must have seen. "That's it, babe. It won't always be this bad, okay?"

  You nodded, marring his exemplary thighs with a variety of unpleasant excretions. "Ugh. Sorry." You’d been intimate just one day with Taehyung and you were already establishing yourself as a repellent bog monster. Usually that happens at least 3 years in.

  Taehyung merely chuckled. Kept the tissue box out of reach when you moved for it, thinking himself funny. It was only upon your panicked pleas of oh my god, snot’s gonna go in my mouth, that he finally indulged you. By wiping your nose for you, cooing all the while. "That better, little baby?"

  Your face spelt vexation. But inwardly, yes, yes, it was better.

  Taehyung made you so.

-

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

[kca1516]

Summary:

Draco and Y/N are rivals...until they are most certainly not.

~~~~

This is a oneshot (with potential to be expanded on) where the reader and Draco are enemies through their years in Hogwarts. One day Draco's insult goes too far, and the reader starts avoiding him. Outraged and jealous, Draco tracks her down and forces her to tell him what's wrong.

She finds out not everything is as it seems.

(Gryffindor!reader)

Warnings: Smut, light dom/sub, dom!Draco, angst with a happy ending, slight dub-con (at one point the reader tries to escape from where draco has her pinned, this leads into the smut but the smut is consensual) also this was edited quickly so mistakes will pop up hear and there

This fic can also be found in full on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475127

Hope you enjoy the Final Part!

A crisp hint of mint fanned along your face as he held you down. He had removed the hand cupping your lips when he had grabbed for your arms, but you were still left speechless. 

“Answer me, flower,” Malfoy demanded, body all but covering your own. 

You had no wiggle room to escape, or turn the tables on him. Though you tentatively tested for slack, you already knew he would never make it that easy for you. 

Your brain was already running wild with ways to throw his plot back in his face.

Oh, how you had missed this. 

In just a week you had managed to forget the precise way Draco Malfoy made your blood boil for a fight, needy to spit in his face and tear him down to nothing. You had been longing to fall into this role, craving what you had gone too long without.  

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” you sniped, knowing it would only make him stir crazy.

Avoiding his question, and talking back? You were in for a show, but now way in hell would you have ever let him get answers from you so easily. 

“Taking to hiding in darkened corridors isn't your style. How you do love an audience.”

He shoved your wrists down on the wall again, sending a jolt through your body. Hatred bubbled like tar within your veins.

“You don’t want to play games with me right now, flower,” he snarled, “maybe if you had bothered to so much as glance at me this week I wouldn’t have been pushed to such drastic measures.”

Maybe for the first time ever, Draco was mad at you. Truly mad at you. 

Good.

Even from the first fight between the two of you there had always been an element of enjoyment you’d both deny, but this was different. This was the collision you had both been waiting for, and exhilaration lit your nerve endings.

“Answer the damn question, what the hell has been up with you.”

You answered with enough cheek that you knew would spur on the clouds gathering in his stormy eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I am terribly flattered you were so bothered by my presence...or lack thereof.”

You glowed with satisfaction, knowing you had caught him. On one hand, he’d have to admit that he had been keeping tabs on you this week in order to get answers. On the other he could save his dignity and brush you off, but he’d have to let you and your well guarded secrets go. 

You should have known Draco would always be ready with a third option. 

Eager to take the power back, you quickly found one of his hands wrapped precariously around your neck. With his newfound leverage, he tipped back your head so it scrapped against the stone’s behind you. Your breath hitched as a fire erupted low in your abdomen. 

Long, spider web fingers splayed possessively along your skin. The light pressure trying to convince you that you had no control in this situation. 

He would get what he wanted one way or another. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to be that upset about it. 

Even though your right arm was free now, you knew better than to take it from where Draco had left it. Though you made sure he knew he hadn’t won yet.  

“Pinning me down isn’t going to make me magically know what you’re throwing a bitch fit over,” you pointed out.

You could have sworn you saw the beginnings of a smile because of it, but any hint of laughter quickly turned back into a scowl. That worried you. He really wasn’t going to let this go until he had answers, and you didn’t know if you could stomach giving in.

“Pinning you down might not stop you from lying, flower, but it does make you quiver. That might just make it worth it.”

Your jaw dropped just enough to let him know he had caught you off guard. As much as you didn’t want it to, your heart beat wildly against your chest. Hard enough that you wouldn’t be surprised if Draco felt it, too. 

A mirroring pulse drummed up somewhere else as well, you firmly ignored it. 

“I-I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you managed to say, though you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. 

You were going to stick to your story until you couldn’t anymore

That’s what snapped Draco back into his rampage, and you almost felt sorry for it. 

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” he said, a growl to his words, “how about the fact that you’ve been avoiding me for a week? Or when every time I call your name you disappear? How about the fact that when I was finally able to track you down you were all but snogging Potter in the library? Tell me one more time that you don’t know what I’m talking about, Y/N, and we are going to have a serious problem.”

Despite Draco having just admitted to being jealous over seeing you with Harry, ammunition you could have so easily used to get yourself out of this interaction, that wasn’t what stuck in your mind.

No, you were too busy mulling over the fact that he had just called you by your first name.

You didn’t think you had heard him, seriously, call you by your first name since your first year together. 

It was always flower. 

Goddamn flower in his attempt to knock you down with the ridiculous pet name. 

Where once you had made the mistake of letting on that it bothered you, now you had grown used to it. 

It had become almost comforting hearing him spit the title like a curse. It had become ridiculously enticing the way it dripped from his tongue so naturally. You would even admit to dreams where he had whispered the name in your ear while he explored your body.

So when he shouted your first name, it slammed you back down into reality. A reality where you were hurt, and wounded, and the truth was he didn’t care at all. His pet had stopped playing with him, and he had come to find out why. That was all this was.

You viscously cut away the longing that had sprouted inside of you like poisonous weeds, and closed yourself off from Draco. The gentle circles his thumb was making against your jawline came to a sickening halt. 

You knew he could tell that something had changed.

“No,” he said, almost to himself, “stop it. You’ve never run from me before.”

If you bothered to notice, you might have heard the pleading desperation in his voice, but you were oblivious to the true meanings of his words. Rightfully, you were too blinded by the persona he had adopted well enough to fool even you. You saw nothing but a self centered, egotistical bastard with nothing but ice lining his bones.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” you sneered, “fuck you, let me go.”

You began struggling against his grip, despite knowing you wouldn’t get far. Nonetheless, you brought your hand down banging it against his chest in hopes to push him away. You didn’t know if you could bear letting him see you crack and fissure. 

Draco wasn’t going to let you go anywhere. He quickly recaptured your wayward wrist, and pushed his hips forward to keep you from bucking. Whatever vulnerability he might have shown you before was gone.

A wicked chuckle fell from his lips. A shiver trailed down your spine.

“Did you really think that would work, flower?” he said, “God, I’ve let you get away with too much; you think you can bite back at me like that? Remember that day in the hall, when you thought it would be wise to threaten me. You pushed your wand against my throat.”

You shivered, falling still as you remembered. It had been the memory you had been fixated on all damn week. 

He took your silence as answer. 

“It would have been so easy to grab your wrist and twist, unarming you without even using a spell. I wanted to pull you in so your back was to me, and lift up your skirt so I could paint your ass red. Then once I had you crying I’d give it to you good. The way you’ve been begging me to give you for years.”

Your breath hitched. 

All those times the two of you had cursed, and screamed, and bantered with each other. You realized now more than ever that it had always only been foreplay.

You had never actually thought it would lead anywhere. For the first time, he was bringing into light the unspoken truth between the two if you. 

You both knew that should you give into it, nothing would ever be the same.

A week ago you would have given in like you craved to now. A week ago you would have eagerly let him paint bruises on your skin. A week ago you would have never looked back.

We are a different breed.

You couldn’t unhear it. 

You were not his toy to play with and then discard once he made a fool out of you. 

His forehead was resting on the side of your head as he breathed promises of release, of relief, in your ear. 

But you weren’t done yet.

“Sure I wouldn’t be too disgusting to you,” you spit out cold and detached, “are you sure you’d be able to stomach having someone like me? Someone who’s barely more than dirt when compared to the all mighty, pureblood, you?” 

You felt him freeze against you, and any hope you had of this being real crumbled. A cold, detached laugh fell from your lips, though you couldn’t feel yourself release it. Tears burned in your eyes, and this time you weren’t strong enough to resist them. 

“That’s what I thought,” you murmured, unafraid to catch his eye now that he had broken your heart, “let go of me, Malfoy. I am not your animal.”

Draco didn’t move, you weren’t sure that he could. 

He could only stare at you, watching you shatter as if he was seeing you for the first time. Like he had finally found the final piece that completed the puzzle.

You started fighting his hold as a sob escaped you. You hated that even now you didn’t feel panic rise in you, even like this you trusted him. You struggled, and tried to kick and bite at him, but he just stood there pinning you. He was barely moved by your efforts as he let you wear yourself out. 

Finally, with a frustrated cry you stopped. You dropped your head, defeated and unable to stop the river clawing its way into your splotchy cheeks. Humiliation, that’s what it was.

“There you go, flower,” Draco said, oddly gently, “let it out, I’m here Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you all but hissed.

One of his hands reached down to firmly grip your chin. Draco jerked your face upwards so you couldn’t escape his gaze as he stripped you of your defenses until you were left bare. 

“You know better than to speak to me like that, flower,” he said, “I’ll let it slide only this once, but I mean it when I say I’m done letting you get away with the disrespect.”

To your surprise, your tears became sluggish until they came to a halt. You felt more focused than you had in days. Is this what happened when you finally let yourself give in? 

“Now,” he said, gentler, “I need you to know this, Y/N, you were never supposed to hear what I said to Blaise that day. Just not for the reason you’ve concluded, though I can’t blame you for coming to the conclusion you did.  Hearing him-”

Draco all but snarled.

“-hearing him talk about you like that makes my blood boil. Same way it kills me to see you and Potter cozying up in the library or at dinner or-”

“What’s your point,” you cut in, voice soft and hoarse from crying.

But a sliver of defiance, the thing that had drawn Draco to you in the first place, crept in.

Draco shot you a promising smirk.

“I had to shut him up,” he continued regardless, “I’m not proud of this, but I said the first thing that I knew would put an end to the topic. I’m not saying it was right, but it’s the truth. If you really think I view you as nothing more than an animal, a pet to parade around, you’re wrong. You’re mine Y/N. You’ve been mine since the first time I lay eyes on you, and I am very possessive of what belongs to me.”

You wanted to believe him.

You wanted to believe him so bad. 

He was confirming every secret thought you’d had concerning the Slytherin. You were his, he was yours. That’s how it had been for so long. Now you had forgotten what it was like to pretend any differently. 

But the spit of his insult didn’t leave you so easily, not when you had obsessed about it for a week. The balm of his promises could only do so much. You had to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Why should I believe you,” you said simply.

 Draco dragged his touch down your arms until he was cupping your face, knowing you weren’t going anywhere, not now. He rested his forehead on yours, gently brushing the tips of your noses together. 

“Let me show you that I never meant a word of I said that day. You’re mine, Y/N.”

Your gaze traveled past the slope of his nose to his lips whispering sweet words that warped your brain, and pulled you deeper into fantasy the two of you were living now.

You knew what he was insinuating.

 For once, you didn’t care. You didn’t care if he was lying, or if he would drop you tomorrow. Thunder rumbled outside, and if this was the only time you could have him, you couldn’t pass up this chance to make him yours. 

You pushed forward, giving your answer with a brush of your lips against his. It wasn’t a real kiss, more like a preview, but it unleashed a tidal wave you wanted to drown in.

Draco growled as you pulled back before he delved in any deeper. 

“I can’t be gentle with you, flower,” he said, “tease me and I’ll tear you apart. Make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Now it was your turn to smirk. You’d had just about enough of him thinking you were completely helpless, and at his mercy. He had control only if you gave it to him.

“After all this time, and you still believe that I want it gentle?” you whispered against his cheek, breathing him in with a hunger that matched the swell of his pupils. 

You hated him.

You still didn’t know if he was telling the truth in concern to the Blaise situation, but the need inside you had grown too strong.

“I’m going to ruin you, flower.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

The words had barely fallen before his lips crashed into yours, and by then none of it mattered. It didn’t matter if he was lying, or if you hated each other, or that you hadn’t talked in a week. Not when he was licking wide strips into your mouth and possessively biting at your lips. 

Draco’s hands dug into the flesh of your hips, and you knew that there would be bruises by the morning. They were only a preliminary of the ones he had promised to write into your skin, but you knew those would have to be saved for a later date. For now you were content to devour each other as your worlds aligned perfectly.   

He untucked your shirt from your skirt, and trailed his hands to the underside of your breasts. You whined softly, making it very clear that you wanted his hands to continue their ascent. However, Draco didn’t plan to give you everything you wanted, even if this was his way of apologizing.

He hummed against your lips.

“Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you?”

You nipped at his kiss swollen lips, now a deep pink. 

“Did you forget who's apologizing right now?” you replied.

A sudden moan of pleasure-pain fell from your lips as Draco effortlessly slipped his hand under your bra cup and ruthlessly pinched your nipple.

“Oh that is beautiful, flower,” he said, all too smug as he rendered you speechless, “I’ve been wanting to put you in your place for so long.”

“Draco,” you moaned as the pressure never gave up, and he started in on the other one. Your hands gripped at his arms to steady yourself, even as you pushed your chest into his touch despite the zipline of electricity that heated your core. 

“Shhh, there you are,” he said gently removing his hands, “but you aren’t wrong. I did promise you an apology, and I plan to follow through.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Draco Malfoy slipped down to his knees before you. 

Your cheeks heated as you realized what he was about to do.

You greedily took in the sight before you. 

Draco was stunning. 

The smell of rain and static swept the hallway, ruffling his hair as a flash of light illuminated his sharpened smirk. 

Draco slowly rolled up the sleeves of his black button down, revealing the veins that danced and entwined up his arms. 

“I always knew you’d get on your knees for me one day,” you quipped, trying to seem unaffected. 

Neither of you were fooled.

You were met with a sharp sting as Draco’s open hand came down hard on the inside of your bare thigh. You bit your lip to hold in the moan, though no one would have been able to hear it over the pounding of the rain that had just begun.

“Watch your cheek,” he said, grounded in reality while you felt like you were floating even though he had barely touched you yet.

“Yes, Draco,” you said, breathy and hazy.

His hands came to squeeze at your thighs before going higher, and hooking in the waistband of your underwear. You imagine they would be meeting the floor soon enough.

“Good girl,” he said and ripped the fabric in two.

You felt a gush of slick coat the beginnings of your thighs as a soft moan left your lips. No one you had been with before had ever taken so much control with you. You were coming to find that it might have been why those relationships didn’t last. 

“You like that flower? Like being my good girl?”

His thumb came to rest on your clit. He began to make slow, tortuous circles with the pad of his thumb while one of his fingers came to tease at the beginnings of your entrance. 

“Fuck, Y/N, your soaked. I guess that answers my question.”

You were barely able to hear him with the way you were working so hard to keep your noises to yourself. 

You were in a public hallway afterall. Abandoned or not, anyone could come walking along and stumble upon them if they weren’t careful. 

Your silence was not what Draco wanted. 

Suddenly, his touch was completely gone from your person. You couldn’t hold in the gasp at the loss of touch.

“No,” you pleaded, legs shaking from the pleasure taken away from you.

You didn't care that it only fed into Draco’s superiority complex; you needed him back on you now.

“So needy, flower, you’re so goddamn needy, but I did make you a promise. I’m going to eat you out until my face is glistening, and you’re going to put your hands in my hair. If I don’t think you’re being loud enough I’m going to stop for thirty seconds, and we’re going to start over again. Got it?”

Your knees almost buckled, and you would have fallen if he wasn’t already balancing you. 

“But there could be people-”

“Let them hear. Let them know just how good I’m taking care of what’s mine.”

One of his hands wrapped itself around your knee, and true to his word he hiked it up to his shoulder. Using one hand to balance your hip, and the other to help elevate your leg, he looked up at you. Despite your position there was no second guessing exactly who was in control.

“Are you going to be loud for me? Are you going to be my good girl?”

As if in answer your hands found their way into his hair, sorting your fingers through each strand.

Thunder rattled the castle.

“Yes,” you said meekly.

“Yes, what?” he urged, biting at your inner thigh until you knew he must have broken skin. You keened high and loud in the back of your throat.

“Y-yes, Draco,” you moaned as he licked the bruise.

“One day I’m going to leave my mark on every inch of your skin.”

Without any more hesitation he pulled your hips closer to his mouth and delved in. Your breath escaped you accompanied by a high whine in your throat as his lips closed around your clit. He played with the nub before opening his mouth wider so his tongue slithered down to your opening.   

“Fuck, Draco,” you all but screamed. 

He didn’t waste time, thrusting his tongue deep inside you. He caressed your walls as if to gather up every last drop hidden inside of you.

He pulled his tongue out right as you began to thrust your hips into his mouth. 

You whined momentarily at the loss before you realized he had removed one of his hands from your waist. Two of his fingers probed gently at your hole before thrusting in hard. It didn’t take him long to curl the pads of his fingers so they brushed the spot inside of you that made you wail. 

“My good girl,” he said as he emerged from underneath your skirt, his face dripping, “my flower.”

“More, Draco please,” you cried over and over with every thrust of his fingers.

“Who am I to deny you,” he said, and dove back in.

Now each thrust of his fingers was met with him tonguing your clit. His teeth scraped the knot of nerves every so often to make you tighten the hold you had in his hair.   

The tightening in your gut began to build with every sloppy thrust of his fingers.

“I’m close-so close,” you all but sobbed, “Please-just a little bit-”

Draco added a third finger. Your walls stretched to a new limit, as his tongue continued to play with your clit. 

You thrust down hard, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

With a flash of lightning you cried your final release.  

You exploded onto Draco’s fingers and tongue as he worked you over, making sure not to take out his fingers until your walls spasmed with oversensitivity.

Gently he removed the stimulation.

He was all too composed for your liking. Not when you looked the way you did with your hair knotted, your clothes a rumpled mess, and your knees about to give out on you. 

“Finally found the perfect way to get you to agree with me,” Draco said as he licked your slick off of his fingers.

Proving his point, you didn’t have the energy to fight back.

“Draco,” you said, as your knees finally gave out.

Right before your ass would have hit the ground, and probably broke your tailbone, a body was there to steady your own. Draco brought you down slowly, and situated you so you were leaning against his chest while he leaned against the wall. 

“There you are, flower. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said gently, kissing the side of your head.

You couldn’t help but lean into it, even as your doubts began to trickle back in.  

“Draco,” you said, making your tongue work even though it felt sluggish in your mouth, “tell me this was real, even if it’s a lie.”

A hand came to wrap around your throat, giving you something real to latch onto as you came down from your high. His hand turned your head so you could see him.

“This was real, flower. Now that I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go. This is only the beginning. Rest now, the storm has only just begun.”

His arms came to wrap around you, and even though the two of you were seated on the cold ground, you felt warm and alive. 

You kissed the underside of his jaw as the rain poured from the sky outside.

The End

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Full Moon Dance

Word Count: 3300+ (chapter 2, final) (chapter 1) [AO3 link]

Genre: Humor/Romance

Characters: Raven Branwen, Summer Rose, Qrow Branwen, Taiyang Xiao Long, Ozpin, Kite Branwen (OC, mentioned)

Pairing: Raven Branwen/Summer Rose

Summary: Misunderstanding what "taking a partner" is supposed to entail, Raven asks Summer to the Vytal Festival Dance.She did not expect that to become a gateway to facing her changing feelings for her teammates and her place at Beacon.

~0~

“I don’t want to hide. I want to slow dance with you again. I want to dance with you forever.”

Sarah Black

~0~

At this point, Raven couldn’t remember what it was like to feel relaxed at all. She should have known that the last two weeks had been too good to be true. 

With the limited funds that they had, Summer had led her on a search through Vale’s wide selection of clothing stores to find the perfect party outfits. While she had been exhausted by the end of it, she had to admit that she was still surprised both by how comfortable her dress was and how Summer had managed to pick something for her that matched her style so perfectly.

Still, it was Summer’s choice that she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of: a soft and shimmery silver dress, that matched her eyes and fell just below her knees. Even more than that, she enjoyed the sight of her partner admiring it on herself in the mirror. She nodded along as if she’d never heard it before every time Summer remarked, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this pretty in my life.”

None of them had volunteered to manage any part of the dance, which was a plus in Raven’s book, so all the four of them had to do was look forward to it. She had to admit, Tai didn’t look half bad in his deep gold suit, though it had originally belonged to his father and was a little too big for him. Watching Qrow nearly choke himself on his new tie — part of an outfit similar to her own, though the black of his suit was softer and its red accents brighter — more than once while getting accustomed to it was pretty funny.

When they arrived, Tai’s arm thrown over Qrow’s shoulders and Summer gripping Raven’s hand, the hall was already crowded and noisy, the party in full swing. Whoever had decorated had gone a little overboard on what she could only assume was a starry sky theme: hundreds of holographic paper stars hung on strings all around the room, reflecting the multicolored lights roving everywhere. It did cast a nice rainbow onto Summer’s dress when it wasn’t momentarily blinding her.

As for the music, she was pretty sure she’d already heard most of these songs in the department store changing rooms, but everybody seemed to be liking them well enough. The dance floor was getting fairly packed, but Raven could still see some spots that would accommodate her and Summer. As such, she had expected that to be their first stop.

Instead, while Tai was coaxing Qrow and his sudden case of cold feet out of the corner, she allowed Summer to lead her as she flitted around the room, chatting with and introducing her partner to all the students she’d met from the other Academies. She was taking the whole fostering friendships theme of the Vytal Festival very seriously, and while Raven was only marginally friendly with any of them, she didn’t mind both scoping out their tournament competition and watching Summer be so damn personable.

After a short while, she’d been left to take a break at a table as Summer went to grab them both snacks and fruit punch, and hadn’t minded that either. There were still plenty of people on the dance floor, momentarily sacrificing dignity in the name of fun, that she was content to watch in the meantime. Even her brother was allowing his partner to tug him closer to the spotlight, on the sidelines watching Tai demonstrate the moves of an energetic dance she didn’t recognize.

Maybe this wasn’t the fanciest get-together in the world, but it was nice, legitimately nice. Much better than any night spent by a bonfire in the middle of Anima, drinking moonshine in the dirt with the children of people Kite wanted to make nice with, that was for sure.

And she was going to strangle whatever little spanner in the works had cut it short by spiking the punch and not informing Summer.

The timing had been all wrong, that’s what it was. If she or Qrow had tasted it first, they not only would have noticed the sharp bitter streak, but would have been able to stay on their feet after drinking it. The stuff Kite brewed in the tub behind her tent was stronger than whatever had been dumped in the punch bowl...but only slightly. Tai would have been rocked pretty hard, but she felt sure he wouldn’t have been put out of commission by it, especially if he had only taken one gulp.

But poor Summer was not only a hundred pounds soaking wet, but was so fond of sweet things that she’d chugged an entire solo cup of punch before realizing something wasn’t quite right about its contents. 

When Summer had come loping up to her empty-handed and grabbed her arm, Raven had assumed for a second that she had forgone refreshments and was suddenly very excited to finally take her to dance. Instead...

“Heyyyy, Raven? Where’re we going?” Summer nearly tripped over her own feet, thumping against Raven’s shoulder. “And where’re my shoes?”

Raven, holding Summer’s wrist in one hand and her heels in the other, grit her teeth as she peered around the corner of the second-year dorm building. “Don’t worry about it, and back to our room.”

“But wha...what about the boys?” 

“Don’t worry. They’ll be fine until we get back.”

Once they had all realized the situation, there had been a brief, fiercely whispered discussion about who should be the one to stealth-mission Summer safely back to their dorm room before their chaperoning professors noticed. Qrow and his Semblance had been put out of the running immediately; they didn’t need any more bad luck befalling them on the way. Tai had first offered to go with them, to negate Qrow’s Semblance, and then alone, as he was the one that most of the faculty liked best. 

However, as it was Raven’s arm that Summer was clinging to so steadfastly, and refusing to be detached from, it was quickly decided that it had to be her. So while Tai and Qrow distracted the chaperoning professors, off she had gone, her slurring and swaying partner in tow.

“Oh. Will we be back soon? An’ hey, are you spinning? I’m spinning. Are we gonna dance soon? You can spin me around too if you want, I’d loooove that!”

She should have known Summer would be a chatty drunk, as well as the lightest lightweight she had ever met. 

“Shh, relax,” Raven muttered as she darted them across the small lawn and up to the front door. Locked. Of course. And their keys were back at the dance hall.

She pulled a bobby pin from her hair (thankfully, Summer didn’t notice the partial spoiling of all her taming and styling efforts) and went quickly to work on the lock; Kite preferred brute forcing her way into places, but she had bothered to teach her twins at least some finesse. 

“Just...be quiet for a minute, okay?”

“Surrrrrre...”

In the dark, it was harder to pick the lock, but not much harder. Ignoring Summer swinging her arm back and forth, Raven eased the door open a crack and peeked in. The ground floor seemed as devoid of professors, security, or other students as the grounds themselves.

“Perfect.” Raven pulled her inside and started for the stairs with perhaps more vigor than her partner was ready for. “Let’s go!”

“Ohh-ohhh!”

“Shh!”

The stairs themselves were...trickier. Why, oh, why did they have to live on the third floor?

“Come on, Summer!” She wasn’t sure how to hiss at someone encouragingly, but she gave it her best try. “You can do it. You do it every day!”

“Well, it’s not every day!” Summer whined. She might as well have still been wearing her heels, the way she was stumbling around on the steps. “They’re way too long!”

“They’re not—” 

She broke off in a frustrated huff, and spent the next several minutes attempting to coax Summer up the stairs, and thinking that it would probably be easier to teach a puppy how stairs worked. Around the middle, she glanced up at the second flight of stairs behind them, and the third flight behind that, and finally decided—

“Fuck it!”

Summer’s eyes went huge as Raven grabbed her and hauled her upward, maneuvering her onto her back. “Raven, my heeeeead! I don’t wanna spin anymore!”

“Your head is fine, relax. Keep your arms around my neck, and you can rest it on my shoulder.” Raven refrained from wincing when Summer obeyed a little too quickly, and jammed her bony chin directly where Raven’s neck met her shoulder. “Just don’t throw up on me.”

Summer scoffed, and Raven couldn’t be sure whether she was nuzzling her neck on purpose. “‘Course I won’t. I’m not drunk.”

“Of course not, my mistake,” said Raven, rolling her eyes, as she boosted Summer up into full piggyback position. “Now hold on.”

At least there was one silver lining to Summer being so small: Raven’s footsteps didn’t fall any heavier on the hard tile steps, even while carrying her. There was no one in the stairwell, and with most everyone at the dance, she was really hoping there wouldn’t be anyone there when they reached their floor. 

(Of course, she doubted whether there was any Beacon student who would snitch on her, not if they knew what was good for them, but better safe than sorry.)

As such, the only other sound in the place was Summer’s perpetual chattering, now directly in her ear. 

“Gods, you’re so warm,” she was saying now, rubbing her face against her hair. Yeah, definitely on purpose. “And your hair is so soft. ‘S like lying on a blanket instead of a hay bale. I did ssssuch a good job...”

“Yes, you did,” replied Raven flatly. Having reached their stop on the stairwell, she dropped Summer’s shoes and shifted her partner slightly so she could have a free hand to open the door. “Very good.”

Luckily, Summer didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, being jostled. “Yeah. You’re the best. You’re suuuuuch a good partner. I’m so glad I didn’t actually break your spine when I landed on you. You remember that?”

Raven snorted. She doubted she could ever forget their first encounter in the Emerald Forest. “Sure I do. My back still hurts when it rains.”

Summer scrunched up her face and made a scandalized noise, rubbing her face against Raven’s like a cat. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

“Yeah, I know,” muttered Raven, edging them through the door and creeping onto the floor. Their dorm wasn’t in this hall, but it wasn’t too far off either. “Come on, home stretch.”

“I’ll never let anything hurt you, either,” Summer went on, and Raven could feel her smiling against her neck. “Anything tries to, I’ll make it explode.”

“Yep. Definitely.”

“It’s my secret, you know? I’ll tell you all about it one day. But I don’t want it to change anything.”

“It won’t, I’m sure,” Raven said, nodding along to her rambling, while her eyes flicked around for any signs that they weren’t alone. 

“Ahhh...actually, might change a lot. Y-You know something? I wish I didn’t even have them.”

Raven didn’t stop walking, but there was a heavy enough undertone of distress in Summer’s voice that she turned to look at her. “Have what?”

Summer stared back at her, silver eyes huge and blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if I should tell you.”

Raven blinked back. Well. Hadn’t she just been thinking about this? Here was the perfect chance to set that precedent, of not digging too deeply into secrets that any teammates might be hiding. 

“...That’s okay, Summer. I don’t mind that you didn’t say anything, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I—”

“Pardon me?”

Raven jumped badly, and spun around so fast it was a wonder that Summer wasn’t flung clean off her back. (A small part of her almost wanted to do it anyway and get rid of the evidence.)

If it were anyone else, she would have been set to snarl and threaten. But she would recognize that soft, measured tone anywhere, so what blurted out of her mouth was a cracked, “Hello?!”

Ozpin tilted his head slightly, regarding the two of them with curiosity and more than a little concern. “Miss Branwen, Miss Rose. Are you two all right?”

Less than ten years her senior, the headmaster’s youth and mild demeanor put many people at ease. It just made Raven want to put up her guard around him even more, especially now that it was time to lie her ass off to him.

“Yes, Summer just twisted her ankle while we were dancing, so I figured I’d take her back to our room to rest.”

The confusion on Summer’s face was almost comical. “We were dancing?”

Raven fought a fleeting but powerful urge to headbutt her. “Tai and Qrow let the other professors know. We’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Right now the other professors are dealing with several other...incapacitated students at the moment,” Ozpin informed her, leaning on his cane, and Raven couldn’t decide whether his expression was genuinely or deceptively friendly. “Would you know anything about that?”

“No,” said Raven, perhaps a little too quickly, trying her best to look puzzled and innocent. As if she wasn’t a dogged but terrible liar. As if Summer’s Aura wouldn’t have immediately healed a sprain. As if the acrid scents of fruit punch and cheap spirits weren’t radiating off of her. 

As if Summer herself wasn’t being entirely unhelpful. “Ohhh! Hi, Professor!”

Ozpin smiled. “Hello, Miss Rose. How are you feeling?”

“Much better!” Summer knocked her head affectionately against Raven’s, her arms twisting tighter around her neck. “Raven’s the best partner ever!”

“I see that. Well, if you’re uncomfortable walking, then it’s no wonder you left these behind.” He handed Raven the pair of Summer’s heels that she had forgotten in the stairwell. “Get some rest, I expect to see you both in full fighting form on Monday.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” was all Raven could say through her shock. They’d just been caught red-handed breaking at least five school rules at once, and he was just...letting them? “Uh...thanks?”

Summer waved vigorously at his retreating back, nearly falling off of Raven. “Bye, Professor!”

“Ugh, Summer, stay still!”

The last leg of their trip was short and thankfully uneventful. Raven didn’t bother turning on the light; she just heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed and she and Summer finally collapsed onto her bed. She kicked off her own shoes and made sure that Summer was lying properly on her side: at least there was one advantage to helping Kite deal with completely soused tribe members after successful raids.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

Summer mumbled contentedly, nuzzling the pillow. “A little spinny.”

“You think you might get sick?”

“Nope. You make me feel better.” Summer’s eyes were gleaming, but their lids were drooping. “I think I’m gonna sleep. I’m sorry, but...I don’t think I can dance with you after all.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind just lying around here with you.”

“Suuure...y-you really are the best...part...”

Before she could manage the second syllable, she had fallen sound asleep. Raven didn’t think being touched would wake her up, but still she undid her braids as gently as possible. She had no interest in returning to the dance without her partner, and save for sending a quick text to Qrow confirming that they were back in their room, she didn’t think any more about it. 

The best thing to do would be to take Summer’s example and call it a night. But even after taking her hair down and changing into an old shirt and shorts, and lying down next to Summer — had to keep an eye on her until she’d slept it off, after all — she felt wide awake, and couldn’t seem to look away from her face.

(It wasn’t even that late, but it looked like it was still going to be one of Those Nights where her thoughts got the better of her.)

Summer looked peaceful. She looked...beautiful, there was no other word for it. And she trusted Raven, in a way that Raven hadn’t thought possible after less than two years of knowing somebody. It wasn’t a new realization, but it was one that made her feel strange and unsteady inside if she gave it enough time to set in. 

She didn’t know for sure what she was supposed to call such a feeling, though the word vulnerable floated menacingly through her head. And speaking of unwelcome guests there...

She’s going to be easy prey when you’re finally done with this place, purred Kite’s smug voice in her thoughts. When she looks at you, sometimes you think she can see right through you, and maybe she can, but she won’t raise her blade to you until it’s too late for her.

Raven reached out and gently brushed a loose lock of Summer’s hair out of her face. She was a loyal warrior; she listened to her leader without contradiction...even if she felt no compulsion at all to obey. 

Yeah, you see? She’s already baring her throat to you. She’s throwing her life away just like every other dumb kid in that place. Might as well be to you. 

Even so, for once in her life, she wished that she would just be quiet. That everything would just stop, if only for a little while, so she could feel right staying where she was. It was comfortable here, it was soft and warm here. Summer was here. It felt as natural as her own heartbeat for Summer to be here.

She realized that she didn’t know what she would do if her partner were gone, that she emphatically did not want to leave her side. The realization did not come sweetly, or stunningly; it was a quick, icy shock to her system, like the sudden awareness that you were not alone in the forest, and something was about to pounce on your back.

Whatever that something might be, now wasn’t the time to think too deeply about it, Raven decided. Trying to focus on the better, simpler things, it would be easier to doze off. She only registered that she had done exactly that when the door opened again, her eyes flew open, and the room was even darker around them.

“Holy shit,” said Qrow’s silhouette in the doorway. “I didn’t think it’d be that much like it is at home!”

“Shut up,” Raven hissed, indicating Summer. “She’s sleeping!”

“Sorry, sorry...” both boys mumbled as they slipped inside, carrying trace scents of alcohol and sweat with them. She could hear more tired footsteps in the hall outside as Qrow stage-whispered, “But yeah, you guys got out at just the right time. I think like ten people got suspended.”

Tai made a piteous noise as he poked at an unfortunately large stain on the suit jacket slung over his arm. Raven couldn’t see it terribly well from here, but she figured ‘somebody else’s drying vomit’ wasn’t too bad a guess. “My dad’s suit...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Raven sighed. “We’ll teach you how to wash it out in the morning. Did you guys have fun anyway?”

Tai and Qrow paused in removing their respective hair tie and regular tie to glance at each other, and after a second, smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good. So go to sleep and tell us about it in the morning.” 

Raven started to sink back onto the bed, and realized that Summer had snuggled closer to her in their sleep. Carefully and with some awkwardness, she laid back down beside her, so close now that she could feel her body heat. 

Qrow smirked. “How have you two been doing?”

“Fine.” She glared at him over Summer’s head. “Just fine. Go to bed.”

“Sure, sure...”

Before long, Qrow was face down on his pillow and Tai was snoring peacefully. Raven was the last to fall back asleep, with Summer’s soft breathing in her ears, and their hands brushing together on top of the covers.

~0~

The next morning she was the last to wake up as well, and did so to the powerful aroma of bacon and eggs. Summer presented the dish to her with a noticeable blush and a sheepish smile on her face.

“You know, you didn’t have to do this,” said Raven through a crunchy strip of bacon, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “I know you must be hungover as hell.”

Summer rubbed the back of her head. “I drank a lot of water, so I’m feeling a bit better. And everything that happened last night is really fuzzy, but I knew I had to thank you for it.”

“Mm-hm. And have you learned your lesson about making sure you know what you’re actually drinking?”

“Absolutely.” She held her hand up in a ‘scout’s honor’ pose. “I swear, I will never be betrayed by fruit punch again.”

Raven nodded solemnly. “Excellent.”

Classes didn’t start back up again until Monday, so today was their day of rest. The majority of it was spent lazing around their room, filling each other in on what they’d done last night. (Qrow and Tai high-fived so exuberantly at Raven’s recount that anyone would think they had been the ones that Ozpin had let get away clean.) 

Raven had no reason to expect that anything more would happen this weekend. But then, just as it was starting to get dark, Summer took her hand and led her up to the roof of the building. 

“Uh, Summer? Not that I doubt your good intentions, but what are we doing here?” 

Summer turned around with a grin, keeping a gentle but firm grip on her hand. The rising moon behind her head was golden and full. “I did promise you a dance, didn’t I? I thought I’d fulfill that promise the best way I know how.”

“...Under the moonlight, is that right?” Raven squeezed her hand, unable to keep a small smile of her own off her face. “And I suppose you’ll be taking the lead?”

“I am your leader, after all. Now let me see...Dad always used to start like...”

Summer adjusted her feet, and Raven did her best to match her. Her right hand released Raven’s and rested on her left shoulder, and her left hand quickly replaced it. 

“Put your left hand on my shoulder. Just like that. We’ve got to keep our elbows up like...yeah, perfect. If I’m remembering it right, there’s only six steps to this, so it should be easy. It’s...”

She stepped forward, and Raven stepped back. She stepped to the side, and Raven followed. Their movements were awkward, unsteady, certainly unpracticed. But they were managing perfectly well, as used to one another as they were, and that was a win in Raven’s book. 

Summer’s grin broadened when they completed a full rotation without stepping on each other’s feet. “See, we did it!” 

“All right, so we’re ready for the advanced steps now, right?”

Summer giggled, and started to guide her into another turn, her cloak swishing minutely with the movement. “Let’s just stick with this for now.”

Raven was perfectly content with this. Maybe it had been for the best that their time at the dance had been interrupted. The distant chirping of night birds, the soft click of their boots on the rooftop, the sound of Summer’s voice instructing and encouraging her...she couldn’t think of any music or any place that she would like better.

Without thinking, she tightened her grip, and Summer, as if reading her mind, pulled her in closer. Her partner filled the entirety of her vision, and in her face, her hair, the moonlight glowed.

[angelic-holland]

TMO Epilogue

“Love, that is the only thing that can occupy and fill eternity. In the infinite, the inexhaustible is requisite.” - Victor Hugo

Warnings: fluff and mild angst

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: You and Tom attempt to navigate your shocking revelation. 

A/N: wowie! thank you all for the love and interest in this series! I’ll be posting the alternate epilogue soon but I hope you all enjoy this one <3

The Birth

“Good job, love, keep pushing, oh my god, okay, I think I see the head,” Tom says, pulling away from your hand.

You let out a shrill cry, pushing with all of your strength, “you think?”

You start to panic, feeling overwhelmed as your body feels like it’s getting torn up from the inside out.

“That’s it love! You got it! He’s, oh my god, he’s here,” Tom shouts, looking up at you with wide eyes as you finally push your baby out, small cries filling your guest bedroom. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh, your head falling back onto the pillow and your eyes closing shut as Tom cuts the umbilical cord, swaddling your child in a blanket as he continues to cry.

“He looks just like you,” Tom says as your knees fall shut and Tom brings the baby over to you.

You force your eyes back open, smiling as Tom sits next to you, holding your kid in his arms.

“Tom, oh god we don’t even have a name for him yet,” you whine as you take him into your arms, a part of you, 50% of your DNA, a beautiful child that is yours, yet you haven’t even come up with a name for him yet. Your mind starts to race with intruding thoughts, that you’re going to be a bad mother. That going through with the pregnancy was a horrible idea. Even your mother probably had a name for you before she gave birth to you.

“It’s okay, he won’t even remember today, what do you think we should name him?” Tom asks, slowly wiping your forehead with a towel. 

“Trevor,” you reply. The name comes out of nowhere, you aren’t even sure you said it until Tom repeats the name twice.

“The name we came up with when we first met,” Tom smiles, “it’s perfect.”

“Hi Trevor, I’m your mommy, and this is your daddy, and we love you so much my sweet boy,” you smile, feeling tears well in your eyes.

You finally felt like you things were falling into place, even though you had worries, that you might fall into the same rut your mother fell into, that Tom is 10 times the man your father is, and he would be there for you in a way your father never was. 

Looking down at Trevor with Tom’s arm around your shoulder, you feel like your life is just beginning. 

***

9 Months Old

Tom and you are sitting on opposite ends of the living room, you with Trevor’s soft blue blanket, Tom holding onto Trevor as his legs begin to kick up.

You’ve been waiting for this day for a month or so, Trevor’s first steps. 

“Come on Trev, you got this,” you praise, watching as Trevor gets solid footing on one foot, his hands reaching out in front of him to pick himself up.

“Should I let go? I don’t want him to fall on his face,” Tom worries, his eyebrows turning in.

You nod, “doing so great sweetie,” you praise Trevor, “come to mommy!” 

Tom let’s go of Trevor, letting him begin to walk on his own.

“Mom-ma!” Trevor shouts, feet padding along the carpet, hands reaching out toward you.

The space is small and Trevor gets to you in no time, both of you falling into a fit of giggles as he crawls into your lap, tugging at your shirt.

“Do you want to try walking over to daddy now?” you laugh, helping Trevor stand up again.

“Dadda!” Trevor shouts, clapping his hands together as he begins to walk toward Tom.

You both watch in glee as Trevor continues to walk across the room toward Tom, clapping happily when he got to him and Tom snugly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest.

“Next step, swimming,” Tom chuckles, both of you grinning as Trevor gets up and starts moving around the living room again. 

“If the ocean tide doesn’t wash us all away by then,” you murmur, knowing Tom nor Trevor can hear you. You say it in a joking tone, but you can’t help but feel the smallest part of yourself wonder how life would be different if it was actually Tom that you killed. 

***

3 Years Old

“What are we supposed to do, Tom? We’re wanted by the FBI,” you say with a low voice, trying not to wake up Trevor. 

He’s sleeping soundly with his blanket curled in his fist, the first day on his big kid bed, one that’s still low on the ground but with only a bed rail instead of four sides like his old crib.

“You’re the one who tried to kill me!” Tom shouts as you shut Trevor’s door quietly, scolding Tom for being so loud.

“Why do you think I tried to, Tom?!” You shout back, stalking down the hallway toward your bedroom.

“I don’t know,” Tom groans, his hand running across his face in frustration as you sit on the bed and he follows.

“I knew something was wrong the moment we got back to Idaho. It wasn’t confirmed until I booked a room at the hotel across from my place and I saw the agents setting up shop in my house.”

“So you should have told me! We could have run away together!” 

“Why are we talking about this now?” You grumble, turning away from him.

“Because this is the first time we have had a chance to talk, to really talk since Trevor was born. And every time, every single time I attempt to talk to you about it, you ignore me, you change the subject.”

“Why do you think I change the subject Tom?” you cry, feeling his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you tight into his chest as you sob.

“Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to-,”

“You tried to kill me first. You think I- you think I didn’t stay up night after night trying to come up with some way to keep you safe, make sure you didn’t suffer that didn’t end with me killing you?”

“I never meant to hurt you, y/n, to try to kill you. That day, you have to understand, it was the worst day of my life.”

“It wasn’t by chance, you know, loving you,” you reply, turning your head to kiss Tom’s cheek, “it was both the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“What do you mean?”Tom asks, furrowing his eyebrows as you turn in his lap, resting your head against his chest so you can feel the rise and fall of his heartbeat. 

“Do you think I-, when I met you, I knew I shouldn’t have done anything. I know I shouldn’t have let myself get caught up in any feelings. I fucking knew this but I chose to fall for you anyway,” 

“Why would you chose to fall for me of all people?” Tom asks, feeling himself fumble with the idea of all the reasons why you should love someone else.

“You- you treated me not like I was some fragile broken girl, not like I needed to be fixed or put in place. You treated me, you still treat me with respect and dignity and that’s all I’ve ever asked for.”

“That’s just being a decent human…” Tom trails off.

���Shhh, ‘m not finished!” You kiss his nose as he falls back against the bed and takes you with him, “and the way you talked to Harry, about Harry, I know we’re both bad people and have done horrible, inexcusable things no matter the reasons we try to dig up, but the way you talked to him, I was sure that you’re not just a decent human, you’re an amazing one.”

“You don’t need to boost my ego, it’s just, I thought that we had things figured out, in the lake on the way back from Boston. I thought that no matter what happened when we got back from there, we would be together.”

“The FBI, I knew they were onto us after the fire… But when I talked to Jake one day, in this small coffee shop bakery thing, this guy was looking at us, I knew he knew exactly who we were. I was honestly surprised we lasted so long before they tracked us down completely. Before they found our places and were going to arrest us.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Tom pleads, cupping your cheeks and rubbing his nose against yours, a small gesture he does to calm himself down from time to time. 

“For my entire life I was never able to trust anyone. I was always alone in this world. Alone when my parents treated me as a burden, alone when I got caught up with Jake and that mess. When I met you, for the first time in my life I wasn’t alone.”

“Y/N, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because! For the first time I wasn’t alone. Do you know how fucking terrifying that was for me? My entire life I went thinking I was always going to be alone, that I’d never be able to find someone who loved me, who I could love back. And you come along and change my entire mindset.”

“I did that?”

You swallow thickly and nod, “you did that. God, Tom, I love you so much I was terrified by it.”

“I love you,” Tom replies, “I love you, I love you.”

You smile softly at Tom’s repetition, knowing it makes him feel safe, makes him feel whole, and in return, it makes you feel safe.

“But you aren’t terrified by it anymore?” Tom asks, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes.

“No, it’s… It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me… Other than Trevor,” you pick your head up to listen to the gentle snores of your child as Tom grins.

“When do you think it’s too early to teach him how to swim?” Tom chuckles, holding you tight to his chest as you begin to fall asleep.

“The water right outside our back door probably means we should teach him now,” you mumble sleepily.

“Now?” Tom says, the skin of his knuckles brushing up and down your back, “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Shhh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, “we need to get him swim trunks.”

“How about Scooby doo ones?”

***

6 Years Old

The best part about going into hiding as a fugitive, nobody was looking for a mom with a child. Trevor was the best thing that has ever happened to you. He looked so much like Tom when he was born, it was insane. He had his eyes, his nose, his uniquely large ears. When he was born, in the bathtub of the house you bought, Tom cradled him in his arms and neither of you really thought of names before that moment. The moment when you rested your head on Tom’s shoulder and he held your child in his arms for the first time. The name came to you easily, as you remembered the first few days you and Tom spent together. You remembered Tom’s smooth midwestern accent, his alias. 

“Trevor,” you whisper, one hand cupping the back of your baby’s head as he cooed.

“Trevor, Trevor Samuel Johnston, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Tom says later that night as you fall asleep to the sound of ocean waves.

“Sounds perfect.” 

You bought this place after you found out the FBI was tracking you and Tom. Inconspicuous, creaking blue shutters and an eggshell colored exterior, a porch with a rocking chair. It was tucked away amongst other houses that all looked the same but slightly unique in the small village in the Marshall Islands. Nobody questioned the three of you, one small happy family starting their life here.

Tom is out grocery shopping while Trevor does his morning newspaper run, ending back up at your house. 

You press the cool glass of the pressed flower into your palm as you wait for Trevor to come riding back down the cobblestone path. 

“Mom! What kinda flower is that?” Trevor shouts, waving at you as he tosses his bike to the side. 

He holds out his hands and you let him cup the flower in his hand for a moment. He took in the dark purple that curled along the curve of each petal, the pinkish red as it neared the core, turning to a light greenish yellow.

“It’s called a black hollyhock.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It’s about taking a situation in which you feel powerless, and letting the energy of the flower transform you.”

“It’s pretty,” he smiles, handing it back to you.

“Come on in, let’s get you something to cool down, how was the newspaper run today?” you press the cool glass into your palm, flipping it over a few times.

“It was good, can I have an ice pop?” He asks excitedly as you run your hands through his curly brown hair.

That was something you missed about Tom, ever since that night he kept his head shaved. He was gorgeous either way, but you understood why he needed to keep his head shaved.

It helped him feel safe, your names were still on the FBI’s most wanted list, any second they could show up at your doorstep, arresting both you and Tom. 

So if Tom wanted to shave his hair, hell, you’d let him shave it.

“Of course, what kind?” you ask, following Trevor into the house.

“Blue raspberry! Duh! Our favorite!” Trevor laughs, holding his arms up when you reach the kitchen counter. 

You lift him up, nodding, “our favorite.”

His legs swing out in front of him as you search the freezer for two ice pops, tearing both of them open for the two of you.

“Cheers!” Trevor laughs, tapping his ice pop against yours.

“Cheers,” you laugh along, finding comfort in the blue food dye that stains both of your lips as you wait for Tom to come home.

***

8 Years Old

“What’s all this?” You giggle, squeezing Tom’s hand as he pushes open the sliding back door of your house.

“A date,” Tom says, picking up the picnic basket from the porch after he dragged you outside.

“But Trevor-,”

“Trevor is asleep, plus, I got the baby monitor out of the attic and if anything happens, if he wakes up,” he shakes the picnic basket, indicating that the other part of the baby monitor is inside of it.

“Date night,” you grin.

“Been wanting to do this for years,” Tom chuckles, guiding you down to your private beachfront, “so, I’ve got sparkling cider,” he says, pulling out a big beach towel, the one you always lay on while Tom and Trevor swim.

You take a seat next to Tom, shrugging off your cover up and tightening your bikini top. 

“My favorite,” you smile, and it’s genuine. You didn’t keep alcohol in the house, it was a small argument and an issue after Trevor was first born, but you knew what Tom needed. He needed a place where he didn’t have to think of alcohol and the thing that took his family away from him. You could give him that, god, if there was one thing you could give Tom, it would be a safe space.

Tom pours both of you a glass, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“What’s this?” you ask, peeking at the fruit tucked away next to the baby monitor.

“Papaya,” Tom smiles, “your high school, uh, was it English?”

“History teacher.”

“History teacher said this place has the best papayas, ‘fraid we’ve been running around like crazy trying to start a life here for us, to make us as inconspicuous as possible, that we never got the chance to have the one thing that made you buy this home in the first place.”

“Thank you,” you mumble as Tom starts to cut open the papaya.

He feeds you the first piece, raising an eyebrow as your eyes crinkle and your face scrunches up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Tom asks, sitting up and bringing you with him.

“Mrs. Meade was so wrong about papaya being good,” you shake your head, placing the fruit down.

“No way,” Tom grabs a piece, wanting to try it for himself.

When he swallows his piece he coughs, clutching his chest as you rub his back.

“Told ya.”

“Mhm,” Tom groans, pulling you up.

“Where’re we going?” You ask, turning back to the baby monitor, “Trevor is-,”

“Trevor is fine,” Tom assures you, squeezing your hand three times.

“One second,” you say, breaking away from him and grabbing your glass, finishing off the sparkling cider.

“What’s that for?” Tom asks, pulling off his T-shirt and throwing it back on the towel.

“Papaya was incredibly disappointing,” you laugh, handing him his glass so he can wash away the taste as well.

You don’t shiver as you step into the water, it’s warm and inviting as Tom follows you out.

“I’ll never get over how great this ocean is,” you laugh, splashing around at the very clear water as Tom pulls you into his arms.

“It is pretty great huh?” Tom rubs his nose against yours, letting you rest your forehead against his shoulder as he holds you tightly to him, drifting further out to sea.

“How’d you know?” You murmur, “how’d you always know?”

“I know you better than you know yourself,” Tom replies, he knows what you’re talking about, neither of you need to voice it, “you’re the one person I know more than myself. You let me know you more than I know myself. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” 

You’re grateful for him, for always being one step ahead of you, for choosing to be by your side after everything that’s happened. 

Tom pulls you in for a papaya and sparkling cider flavored kiss, something you haven’t stopped thinking about since the cold lake in Utah almost nine years ago. You’re grateful that the rather repugnant fruit taste is almost disappeared from your taste buds.

“I love you,” he murmurs, keeping his lips against yours.

“I love you,” you reply, holding him tight in the warm water, the moonlight rippling off the waves.

“I love you,” Tom repeats, pulling you tight into his arms like he wishes he did that night almost nine years ago. Both of you wonder what your life would be like if he kept you safe all that time ago instead of pushing you away. But looking back on it, with one happy, healthy boy and the love of your life you wouldn’t have changed any of the moments leading up to get you to where you are right now. 

***

Taglist:  @gioandreolli   @honeymoonparker @itsjusttor @averyfosterthoughts @worldoftom @angelhaz11 @rebekkah4766  @murdermornings

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 30

Wound Reveal + Ignoring an Injury→ part 1; part 2; part 3

Whumptober Masterlist | 30/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hiding Medical Issues × Stabbing × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Hurt/Comfort 

It’s a full Anderson house. Well, it will be in about ten minutes or so. And ‘house’ isn’t quite right, given they aren’t indoors and even if they were it’s certainly not a house, but that’s how the saying goes so he’ll say it. 

It’s a joint task force between the DPD Android Crimes Division, so that’s Dad Anderson and Big Bro Anderson onsite, and SWAT Unit 32 so he’s onsite, Middle Bro Anderson, and now the mission is wrapping up, CSI will be onsite soon, so that’s Baby Bro Anderson. Four Andersons. They’re just missing Dog Anderson.

“Where the fuck are they, it’s so fuckin’ cold I want to go home and pass out on my bed.” Detective Reed grumbles. Ah yes. There've been killings involving both androids and humans, so DPD Homicide squad are here meaning Detective Gavin Reed is here and Caleb’s patience is wearing thinner by the second.

“Icy conditions are making it hard for CSI to navigate their vans safely.” He informs him because if he doesn’t the man will continue complaining and he may outright murder him. “High body count means they need to bring multiple vehicles.”

“And all their fancy tech, right?” Reed groans. “God we’ll be here all night.”

“No fancy tech.” Caleb shrugs. “Just one RK900.”

“You’re here already.” He gestures vaguely at him. “Why don’t you go put that mouth of yours to use and save us some time?”

Rayner looks about ready to leap at Reed on his behalf which is touching, and of course their Captain is within earshot, a crease marring that handsome brow. Not to worry. Humans have instincts, have automatic reactions to certain situations. Like being handed something out of the blue. 

“Sure. Here, hold this for a second?” Human vs 200lbs custom EMP resistant ballistics shield. Gavin meets ground. Rayner snortlaughs and their unwavering Captain, his captain o captain, wavers just a smidge, the corners of his mouth twitching up briefly.

“Oh, sorry Detective Reed.” Caleb reaches down to grab the shield, human still attached by way of instinctual pincer grasp, and returns both into an upright position. “Anyway though I too am an RK900, I do not have the proper qualifications to perform forensic investigations at crime scenes even if they are raids. Rest assured dear Frederick will get to work as soon as he arrives.”  

“You little shit!” The human shrieks, voice an octave higher in outrage and Caleb steps away from him in favour of crossing the distance and nudging Connor with his elbow playfully.

“Hey.”

“I see you’ve had enough of Detective Reed for tonight.” Connor quips sagely and Caleb shrugs. 

“Can’t believe you put up with him for so long.”

“Not by choice. Can’t exactly murder a fellow detective and keep my job at the same time.” Connor grins, and he laughs at the cheeky expression on his brother’s face. “It’s not so bad now we’re in different divisions. We overlap sometimes, but not all the time so the urge to murder is lesser now.” 

“What do you make of all this?” Changing the subject, he tips his head in the direction of the semi-finished apartment complex, the base of operations for an elaborate crime syndicate that saw both android and human lives cut down for the sake of seizing power in the black market organ trade. 

The raid had been a dangerous one, and though they didn’t suffer any casualties, a third of the team took severe hits and will need weeks of recovery time. The very nature of the building meant they couldn’t ambush them and having the separate floors meant the element of surprise was lost. 

“I think our baby brother has a lot of work ahead of him.” Connor smirks before shaking his head, sighing tiredly. “As do Hank and I. There’s a lot of criminals to question. Reed’s team will handle the human criminals and his interrogation tactic is-”

“Bad, barely competent cop with anger management issues?” 

“-sorely lacking in finesse, but we’ll go with that.” Connor looks him over, reaching out to thumb away a smudge of grime from his cheek. “At least you get to go home soon.”

“Soon-ish.” Caleb corrects, making a face. “Waiting for the last party to secure their floor before the Captain can declare the entire site is secure.” 

“Still, you’ll be out of here long before dad and I can leave. And poor Freddie will be here long after we leave.”

“Gotta have an Anderson onsite.” Caleb laughs, leaning in to bump his brow against his brother’s fondly. “Okay. I better get going. I’ll see you on Saturday at our place?”

“I’ll bring the drinks.” Connor vows, waving as his brother takes his leave.

* 

Watching Caleb return to his team, Connor idly watches their group dynamic and marvels at how his brother is the furthest thing from the cold, unfeeling killing machine CyberLife intended to release for the sole purpose of crushing the deviant revolution. 

They didn’t count on the revolution succeeding. They didn’t count on having their arm twisted by the Kamskis, nor the mounting pressure placed on them by the public after public opinion soared in favour of the deviants given Joss Douglas’ live coverage of the Jericho Four’s final stand. Which meant they offered the RK900 to the DPD as an olive branch, smiling through gritted teeth as Connor deviated him on the spot and it wasn’t a killing machine being activated, it was a young brother who would become Caleb Anderson not long after. 

It was a far harder road for their youngest brother, Caleb’s twin, Freddie. Over eight months, while Caleb had his family, had his team, had a growing relationship, Freddie had been treated as a piece of equipment by Special Agent Richard Perkins and his FBI SWAT team. He’s only now just coming into his own, finding his place in the Forensics team and settling into the Anderson family. 

The CSI vans begin to pull up to the scene and soon the last Anderson brother is onsite. Freddie gives him a small wave and Connor finds himself smiling as he waves in return.

“Hello Connor.”

“Hello Freddie.” He greets, smile growing warmer as the other RK900 offers a grin he most certainly learned from Caleb. “You’re going to be very busy tonight unfortunately.”

“That’s alright. It is my job and I like doing it.” His brother reassures, eyes roving over the SWAT team at the entrance of the building. Caleb spots them and waves enthusiastically, and Connor laughs as Freddie returns it with the same enthusiasm. “The site has been declared secure, so they’ll be heading back to the station.” He relays what must be the short conversation they just shared. “And that means it is time for me to start working.”

“And time for dad and I to start processing criminals.” He sighs heavily. “Well Freddie, I’ll see you back at home. Hopefully sooner rather than later.” He adds, looping an arm around his brother’s waist and pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Okay Connor.” Freddie mumbles into his shoulder. “Say hello to dad for me?”

“Of course.”

* 

It is a drastic change to go from the team storming the site to the team that arrives well after the action is over. He much prefers the latter to the former. He’s grown accustomed to the stillness, to the attention to detail this job requires rather than the chaos of raids, the incessant hail of bullets under Special Agent Perkins’ leadership. Or lack thereof. Caleb’s memories showed Captain Allen prefers a vastly, drastically different mode of leadership that sees him guiding a tight-knit team and playing to both individual and collective strengths. 

Special Agent Perkins barely remembered the names of his own Agents, let alone cared enough to give Freddie one. It’s something he’s had to learn from his brothers; what transpired at his time with the FBI was not normal, it was cruel. His cruelty still lingers like bruises on human skin that take much longer to fade than for the injury to heal. But Freddie is learning, and though he has a long way to go at least he has family now and he has the Anderson name and he has the name Frederick which he chose all by himself. 

The semi-finished apartment complex is the site of a massacre. Even before the raid, it seems the syndicate were trying to cut their losses and decided it was much easier to kill the workers, and thus prevent them from being questioned by the police. Even before the raid, even before the execution of the workers, the complex was already filled with bodies upon bodies; missing humans and missing androids, kidnapped and killed, then harvested for organs or biocomponents. Even if Freddie weren’t an RK900, he’d still be able to smell the dizzying scent of human blood, of android thirium, and of hospital grade disinfectants. 

There’s too many bodies to be housed at the lab morgue so many will have to be diverted to the hospital morgues until they can process them. There’s no mystery to be solved here; it’s very clear how these victims died. The task at hand is processing each and every one so they can be identified and released for their kin to claim. 

Freddie works at a steady pace, his superior commanding him to start at the top floor and work downwards. Most of the cleanup will need to be concentrated in the basement level where the workers were executed, but on the other hand the team will not need his input since the deaths are straightforward. The greatest task will be in trying to identify the parts and matching them to the bodies, ensuring the families will be able to claim their loved ones as whole as possible, and failing that, he will try his best to ensure there’s at least a name, a serial number, so they may be buried with or installed into memorial walls with dignity. 

He takes the elevator and several body bags, and begins the task of retrieving corpses. Police auxiliary units patrol the now quiet floors when not too long ago SWAT Unit 32 would’ve been sweeping through. Arrests have been made, but the ratio of arrests vs corpses is highly skewed. No matter. He has faith in his brothers, in his father, and yes perhaps even Detective Reed. 

The thing about android corpses versus human corpses is that it’s very easy to determine whether a human is dead or alive. For androids, there’s a certain nuance to determining whether an android is still active or deactivated. And the thing is, humans are still learning how to determine between those two. The android in question, splayed in a broken sprawl, riddled with bullets, is not actually deactivated. 

Freddie learns as such, when he is crouched beside the human corpse adjacent to it, because the android sputters to life and the knife in its hand plunges right into his leg. His RK900 programming kicks in and he whirls around, grabbing the android’s wrist and using his other hand to yank the knife from his thigh. Too late does he see the gun in its other hand and it fires at his chest, narrowly missing both his hearts. Tossing the knife aside, he grabs the gun before the android can fire again, twisting so he breaks both wrists before thrusting a hand forward to yank the android’s pump regulator out. They collapse like a cut puppet, jerking and seizing for a few moments before falling still and now Freddie knows they are truly dead.

Police units rush into the room and he reassures them all is well, the android is properly deactivated. He has the pump regulator of the android to prove it. Swatting away the damage notifications to his thigh and chest, he continues with the long, laborious task of finding, bagging and logging each corpse. The thirium loss is steady but not fatal, so he keeps his head down and continues working. 

He has completed missions in far worse conditions, and his brothers and father have both worked so very hard tonight that he feels he cannot let them down by allowing such pathetic injuries to hinder him. He is an RK900. In the FBI SWAT unit he was to keep going until he physically shut down, and he reasons that the same level of dedication is required of him here too. It is only fair, to give as much as they expect and he is far from shutting down over such trivial hindrances. 

It is nearing midnight by the time everything is loaded up and ready to head back to the lab, and he can sense the immense fatigue laying heavy like a blanket over his human colleagues. There is still so much work to do.

“No.” Lenore says firmly, and he tips his head slightly in confusion. “You’re going to say ‘I can get a head start on these while you all go home to rest’ and the answer is no, Freddie, you absolutely are not going to do that.”

“But I-” 

“No.” She repeats, firmer still. “We’re going to run the stuff that needs hours to process, you’re going to just put ID tags on the bodies and then everything goes into the freezers for tomorrow.”

There’s no room for argument, even if he does think he can accomplish much more but it would require him to stay there by himself and they never seem to want to allow him to do that. He is both grateful and confused. “...Understood.”

“Good.” 

* 

By the time Dr Olive declares everything is now at the mercy of the lab equipment and can wait until later, it is nearly two in the morning. Which is fine, since Freddie changed out of his damaged uniform upon arrival and applied dermal nano patches to cover the wounds to stem the bleeding. It could wait until he got home and had access to the first aid kit in the bathroom, since he was needed here at the lab to do actual work and not waste time tinkering on such small matters. 

He hangs up his lab coat, thumb brushing over the embroidered ‘Dr. F. Anderson’ and finding himself smiling, as he does each time, because that is his name and it’s all his and no one else’s.

The lights are out, as expected, their father having gone to bed long ago but Connor is waiting there on the couch. He smiles brightly, standing and crossing the distance to envelope him in a hug. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you until much later, actually.” Connor admits, and Freddie clings for a moment longer because it is a luxury he can afford.

“We processed what we could and are letting the machines run some tests until we come back later. The humans need their rest.”

“They do indeed.” His brother laughs. “Do you want to continue watching the space documentary we started?”

“Yes please.” Freddie nods. “Let me just change into pyjamas.”

He goes to the bathroom, pyjamas draped over one arm which he neatly hangs on the towel rack while he fetches the first aid kit. The nano patches have kept the bleeding at bay though he now has some mild internal bleeding since the blood had nowhere else to go. Negligible. He props his foot up on the bathtub so he can properly assess his thigh, peeling away the patch and beginning to gently ease the damaged wires together again at their rightful place. He’s just about done when Connor appears in the doorway.

“Freddie?”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t realise I was taking so long. I will not be much longer, though you can start without me and I can catch up.” He smiles reassuringly, but Connor only looks at him in distress.

“You’re hurt, how did this happen?” Connor comes to his side, peering at the wound before his eyes widen as he spots the larger one on his chest. “You were shot?”

“One of the androids was not actually deceased and managed to injure me before I deactivated him properly.” He holds out his hand to share the memory, and Connor’s distress only increases.

“Freddie why didn’t you tell anyone?” There’s something desperate in his tone, and he really doesn’t like it. It makes him feel like he’s done something wrong.

“I-I was, and still am fully functioning. It was not impor-”

“Of course it was! Of course it is! Anytime you’re hurt, it’s important!” Connor’s LED spins red and Freddie steps back, feeling his own stress levels rise. He’s done something wrong, he has, and it’s made Connor upset. “Freddie- Freddie, no, don’t- I’m not- I’m not angry with you, I’m just- you’re important, you know this, right? You’re important to me. To Caleb. To dad. To your whole forensics team who care so very much about you. When you’re hurt, that’s bad. That’s- that’s not something you brush aside until you’re alone. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

His brother is upset and he thinks he understands now, and it’s because he loves him in a way no one at the FBI loved him, and when he’s hurt it upsets Connor because Connor doesn’t want him to be hurt. It’s a revelation to him, and it must show on his face because Connor draws him close and hugs him again, mindful of the chest wound as he presses closely. 

“Okay, Connor.” He murmurs into his brother’s shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric. “I’ll ask for help next time it happens.” 

Connor inspects his chest wound, LED still red as he shakes his head. “We can’t repair this one, not even together. It would require-”

“I’ve repaired gunshot wounds by myself before.” Freddie blinks, tipping his head slightly. “I was only repaired by the technician if I lost consciousness from multiple injuries.”

He’s done it again. He’s said something wrong, only now he recognises it’s not wrong so much as distressing because it’s something bad, and he has lived his life believing bad things were normal things and is now trying to unlearn such beliefs. 

“I can do it,” Freddie says slowly, “but I would appreciate it very much if you could help me, please? I can instruct you how. It will be easier with someone helping me.”

* 

It is easier, and faster too, to have someone helping with the repair process. Everything has been set back in its right place, and his self-repair program will kick in and mend the rest. He drinks two full bottles of thirium to replace his bloodloss and by then it doesn’t seem like Connor is interested in watching the documentary at all. 

He is staring anxiously at the door, and Freddie doesn’t know why because it is nearing three in the morning now and no one else should be coming. But someone does come, in fact, because the door is unlocked by the only other person who should have a key and there’s Caleb with a worried look on his face, and Freddie realises Connor must have been talking to him the whole time, keeping him updated with what was happening.

“They said the top floor was clear.” Caleb looks pained. “They said it was clear. That’s why David said the site was secure.”

“Your colleagues who cleared the floor are human.” Freddie points out, as Caleb rushes to him and gathers him up into a tight hug. “They did not realise one of the androids was still active.”

“That’s on us, Freddie.”

“It’s not.” He says, trying to be as stern as possible. “And it’s fine. I handled it.”

“You didn’t, you just kept going until you got home and tried to fix everything yourself!” Caleb is scolding him, but he’s doing it in his Caleb way where his voice is mad but his eyes are worried. Freddie feels a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury.

“I’m trying to learn that when things hurt, I need to ask for help.” He confesses quietly. “I wasn’t allowed to ask for help back then. I either fixed it myself, or I had to be incapacitated, before I was given help.”

“I’ll kill him.” Caleb vows, slight static in his voice as he holds him close. “I’ll do it slowly, so he suffers.”

“Just…” Freddie presses his lips into a tight line, trying to find the right words. “Just help me learn how to undo all he did, please?”

“Of course.” His twin presses a kiss to his temple and finally he feels his stress levels begin to drop. “Of course we will, Freddie.”

*~* 

Hank’s not sure if Freddie even came home last night, what with the huge mess forensics were left with after they went back to the station to start processing all the arrests. He expects to see Connor pottering around, making tearium for himself and a coffee for him. Kitchen is empty at this hour. Huh. Curiously padding into the living room he finds that empty too, and so he wanders back down the hallway and to Connor’s room. The door is slightly ajar, most likely left open for Sumo. He finds not one, not two, but three androids still fast asleep, with the Saint Bernard sprawled at the end of the bed.

Leaning against the doorway, Hank just watches them for a few moments, heart squeezing at the sight of Freddie in the middle bracketed by his brothers who each have an arm tucked around him protectively. 

Fishing out his phone from his pocket, he snaps a quick photo and quietly retreats back to the kitchen. No harm in letting them sleep in a little longer, they all could use the extra rest.

[colbybrocksmolder]

Can You Keep Up? - Colby Brock x Reader (curvy)

“Sam!” Colby whisper yelled. “I swear to god there is someone upstairs.”

Looking at the camera, Sam silently pondered their best move. “Well, lets hide for a few and we’ll see if we hear anything else. We’ll be back in a few minutes guys.” He then shut the camera off.

“Over here”. Colby led Sam to a dark corner of the abandoned building. “I don’t hear anything, but I swear I’ve seen a flashlight like 3 times.” Colby explained to Sam.

“Maybe it’s just another kid like us. We run into other explorers all the time.” Sam replied.

The duo waited it out. After not seeing or hearing anyone for about 10 minutes, they turned the camera back on.

“We’re going to try to get to the roof to place our sticker. We’re just going to try to be extra quiet just in case we run into someone.” Colby said, passing the camera back to Sam.

They made it to the top floor, circling the different rooms trying to find a way to the roof.

“See that.” Colby pointed towards a collapsed staircase. “Guys I don’t think we’re going to make it to the roof.”

“Is there no other way up?” Sam asked, shining his flashlight around.

“I mean, it looks like we can climb those bricks, but then we’d have to jump all the way to that platform.” Colby replied, his tongue sticking out of his mouth and a look of concentration on his face.

“You’re the ninja.” Sam laughed.

“Fuck it. I’ll try.” Colby said, taking off his backpack and making sure his shoes were tied tight. “If I make it you can chuck me our stuff and try to climb up.”

On his first attempt, Colby mis-stepped and skinned his shin, landing back on the concrete ground. “Oh fuck me, that hurt.” He yelled, his leg stinging too much for him to stay quiet.

“Hello?” the boys heard a girl call out. “I’m carrying protection. You don’t want to mess with me.”

“I fucking told you there was someone else here!” Colby whisper yelled. He looked down and realized his hand and shin were covered in blood.

“Hello?” Sam called out. “We aren’t here to hurt anyone. We’re just filming a YouTube video.”

“Deadass?” The girl chuckled.

“I swear on my life.” Colby called back out, laughing at her odd response. “You don’t happen to have a band-aid or something do you?”

Hearing Colby mention a band-aid, Sam looked down finally seeing Colby’s injury. “Oh shit, are you okay dude?”

The girl looked down, the two guys unaware they were being watched. *They look harmless* she thought. *Cute even.* She jumped down from the platform Colby had been trying to get to, scaring the shit out of both of them.

“Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Colby half shouted, leaning back against the wall and placing his hand over his heart. Hearing her laugh, he looked her up and down. She was a curvy girl, that’s for sure. Cute style. *How the fuck did she make it up there?* Colby thought, his pride slightly wounded. She had on black skinny jeans and a baggy black tank top with holes in it. Underneath you could see what looked like a black sports bra. A few tattoos sprawled across her skin.

“By the looks of the bloody hand print you just left on your shirt, I don’t think a band-aid would help you much.” The girl said, concern on her face. Colby realized he had been staring at her and blushed. “What happened?” She asked, kneeling down by Colby and opening her bag.

“He was trying to jump to the platform you just effortlessly jumped off of.” Sam snarked, still filming. Showing the platform with the flashlight.

“Hey!” Colby laughed. “It was my first try. I would have made it up there.”

“I’m sure you would have, stud.” She laughed. “Can I take a look?”

“Pet names already, baby? You can look at anything you want.” Colby tried to say in a sexy voice, but he hissed when she tried pulling his jeans to the side to see the wound.

“Is this what he does when he’s in pain or is he like this all the time?” she looked at the camera laughing and then at Sam.

“It’s probably a mix of both, honestly.” Sam laughed. “I’m Sam.” He introduced himself.

“My name is y/n.” she replied. “What’s yours?” She asked, looking at the injured boy. *Cute. Definitely cute.* she thought.

“Colby.” He replied. “Y/n, I’d shake your hand, but as you can see.” He waved his bloody hand in the air.

“Well Colby, how do you feel about me cutting the hole in your jeans bigger?” She asked. “You already ripped through a little when you fell.”

“No way! These are the jeans I wore to our first bando!” Colby replied.

“Then your options are to continue bleeding until you possibly pass out or take them off.” She laughed, opening the first aid kit she always kept in her bag.

“Trying to get me naked?” Colby smirked.

“Nah, I tend to go for dudes who can keep up with me.” y/n stared into his blue eyes with a smirk on her face.

Sam laughed, turning the camera on himself. “I’d normally say that Colby has the upper hand in any flirting situation, but I think he’s met his match.”

“Brother! Why are you filming me losing my dignity!” Colby laughed, trying to shimmy out of his jeans. “I could keep up with you. Patch me up and I’ll prove it.” He cockily said, finally getting his jeans over the gash in his leg. Adrenaline was coursing through him, so even though he was in pain, he felt like he had a lot of energy.

“Okay, pumpkin. I’ll even give you a head start.” Y/n joked. “This is going to sting a little bit.” She said, spraying some rubbing alcohol on the wound so she could wipe it clean.

“Fuck, shit, damnit, balls, fuuuuuuck.” Colby said, swearing as quietly as he could.

“I’m sorry.” She replied, giving him a sympathetic look. “Good news, you didn’t go down to the bone. Bad news, you’re going to need stitches.” She reached into the first aid kit, grabbing some butterfly bandages.

“How did you even cut yourself that bad?” Sam asked, dragging the flashlight along the wall looking for where Colby busted his shin. “Oh shit!” he said, walking towards a piece of metal sticking out of the wall. “Your blood is all over this.”

“Jeez, babe.” Y/n said, looking up at the metal bracket hanging out of the wall. “No wonder it went right through your jeans.”

“I..I didn’t even see it.” Colby replied. His mouth had gone dry the second Y/n used another pet name so he kind of stuttered before regaining his composure. “Fuck, that hurts.” Colby shot his hand out, gripping her shoulder.

“I know it sucks, but if it starts to heal open you’ll have a big nasty scar and they may not give you the stitches you need. It’ll take twice as long to heal.” She reassured him. “Why don’t you talk. It’ll distract you.” y/n suggested.

“What should I talk about?” Colby grimaced as she pinched the wound together to add another butterfly bandage.

“Tell me about yourself.” y/n replied.

Sam put the camera on the ledge to continue recording the scene in front of him and sat down next to Colby’s leg to shine his flashlight on the wound so y/n could see better.

“I don’t know what to say.” Colby replied. He realized he had been squeezing her shoulder and quickly retracted his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt me or anything.” Y/n said in a soothing voice. “Tell me about why you make YouTube videos.” She continued.

“Sam and I were really bored with ‘normal’ life bullshit.” Colby said, using air quotes. “We knew there was something more out there for us.” He hissed, feeling y/n pinch another section of the wound. “And we wanted to help people.” He continued. “I mean, I know you probably don’t believe it, but the sexy specimen before you used to be a lost, insecure, nobody.” He laughed.

Sam chuckled watching Colby ramble.

“Colby, nobody is a nobody.” y/n said, looking up at him. “And it doesn’t matter how sexy you are, everyone is insecure.” Letting her gaze linger a few seconds longer than she intended, she looked back down and continued patching up his leg. *Way to make things serious for no reason y/n! He’s going to think you’re a freak* she internally kicked herself.

“You’re right.” Colby’s voice caught in his throat. “I felt like a nobody. Sam and I found each other and suddenly, I wasn’t so lost anymore. Together we kind of made this goal…this plan to be something bigger than what we were. Once we realized that a lot of our fears and hang-ups were just in our heads, we wanted to help other people get out of that place.” He hissed in pain when she got to a slightly worse part of the gash.

“Two more butterfly bandages and I’ll wrap up your leg. You’re almost there.” y/n reassured him, smiling up at him. “It’s cool that you guys wanted to help people. Kids need someone to look up to that they can relate to.”

“It’s crazy. We’re friends now with some of the people we looked up to.” Colby laughed. “We were 100% balls deep committed to our plan, but we never thought we’d make it as far as we have.”

“So, I take it you guys are pretty big on YouTube?” She asked, finishing up the bandaging by wrapping his leg in an ace bandage to keep the smaller bandages in place.

“We do alright.” Colby smirked at her.

“I meant to ask earlier, but are you okay if we post this on our channel?” Sam asked, walking back to the camera.

“Sure thing.” She replied, “You can put your pants back on now, Colby.”

He laughed. “I kind of forgot I wasn’t wearing any.” She helped him stand so he could carefully slip them over the bandages. “It already feels better.” He said, kind of swaying on his feet. “Fuck, I feel dizzy.”

“You lost quite a bit of blood there, cutie. Let’s not have you fall and hurt yourself again.” She said, putting her backpack on and throwing his arm over her shoulder. “Did you guys drive here?”

“No, we ordered an uber.” Sam said, slinging on his own backpack and grabbing his phone to order another car.

“Well this one needs to go to the emergency room, so why don’t I drive you guys there?” she offered. Colby was leaning quite a bit of his weight on her now that the adrenaline had left his system.

“If you don’t mind, that would literally be perfect.” Sam replied, turning his flashlight towards the direction they needed to walk to get out. “Are you sure you’ve got him?” he asked.

“I’ve got him. Don’t worry.” Y/n looked over at Colby and realized he was staring directly back at her.

“She’s got me, alright.” Colby half slurred, smiling.

The three of them slowly and safely made their way back down to the bottom level. They walked the long way around the field so that Colby didn’t chance tripping over holes in the dirt and grass.

“Let’s get you laid down in the back, Colby.” Y/n said, hitting the unlock button on her car’s key fob.

“Don’t make me sit alone.” Colby said, getting into the back-seat ass first so he didn’t hit his leg.

“Oh, come on, now. You were so cocky upstairs.” Y/n laughed. “Surely you can sit by yourself for 30 minutes while we get you to the hospital. You need the room to keep your leg elevated.”

“I wasn’t being cocky, I was being brave.” Colby said, sticking his bottom lip out and crossing his arms.

“Well keep it up, brave boy. I promise I’ll sit with you in the waiting room.” She said, pushing his hair out of the way and leaning down to kiss his forehead. *Y/n don’t fall for this boy.* she thought to herself.

Once they got to the emergency room, Y/n walked Colby in while Sam parked the car. When Sam walked into the waiting room, he took the clipboard from Y/n and started filling out Colby’s information for him.

“I don’t feel good.” Colby said, leaning his head on Y/n shoulder.

“Sam said you haven’t eaten anything today and you just had a massive adrenaline rush. You’re probably going to feel crappy for a bit.” She replied, putting her arm around him to give him some comfort. “They’ll take you back soon, though. There aren’t many people in here.”

Less than 15 minutes later, Colby’s name was called, and he was taken back to his own private room. “Can my friends come in here when I’m getting stitches?” Colby asked, panicking a bit.

The nurse answered, “You can have one person in here while the doctor is patching you up. After that you can have up to 3. Would you like me to go get someone from the waiting room?”

Colby immediately answered, “Her name is Y/n.”

When the nurse walked out into the waiting room, she called out for y/n. When she explained that Colby could only have one visitor for the next hour or so and that he’d be in the hospital for a minimum of 24 hours, Sam asked to borrow the car. “We were planning on posting this video tomorrow and my laptop is at the apartment. Do you mind if I run and grab it?”

“Not at all! Make sure to grab Some clothes for both of you. And a coffee for me if you don’t mind.” y/n replied, handing him some cash.

“Dude, I’ll buy you all the coffee you want, but keep your money. You’ve helped us so much.” Sam pushed her hand holding the money back towards her. “I’ll grab some food too.”

When Y/n followed the nurse into Colby’s room, his face lit up. “You stayed” he said, reaching out for her hand.

“Of course I stayed. How are you doing, brave boy?” she chuckled, looking at the iv in his other hand.

“Not so brave at the moment. I fucking hate hospitals.” Colby said, visibly uncomfortable. “Was Sam mad I wanted you to come back for the stitches?”

“Not at all” she laughed. “He was relieved. He took my car to go grab some stuff from your apartment.”

“Oh, thank God.” He said, releasing her hand to text Sam something. *I want him to get her one of my hoodies* he thought. Adding phone chargers to the list of shit he text Sam to grab. “They said I have to stay a full 24 hours so they can give me antibiotics and a tetanus shot” Colby said, reaching for y/n hand again.

She pulled a chair up to the hospital bed and grabbed Colby’s hand. “That’s good, though. They’ll be able to make sure you don’t get sick.”

It felt like forever before the doctor walked in and introduced himself. “I hear you have a pretty bad gash.” He said, gently unwrapping the ace bandage from Colby’s leg.

Colby winced, so Y/n answered. “Yeah, we were all on a hike and he fell. Caught his leg on a piece of metal.” Colby squeezed her hand in thanks.

“Oh, boy. You really cut yourself good, there.” The doctor said, leaning down to examine the wound. “Who bandaged this?” he asked, probing the little strip bandages.

“I did.” y/n replied. “I didn’t want it to stay dirty or start to heal open before we could get here.”

“Did you sterilize it?” he asked, looking impressed at her handiwork.

“I flooded the whole wound with rubbing alcohol and used sterile gauze to clean it out.”

“It stung like a bitch.” Colby laughed.

She started to get nervous. “Did I do it wrong?”

“On the contrary. I don’t think I’m going to remove the butterfly bandages or give him stitches. At this point it would reopen the wound and I think it’s better off healing how it is.” He removed his glasses and stood straight up. “We’ll keep an eye on it while he’s here, but Mr. Brock, I think you’re in good hands with this one.”

Colby squeezed her hand and looked over at her. “I think so too.”

The doctor replaced the outer bandages and Informed Colby his other friend could join him whenever. Colby text Sam what room he was in and soon enough, Sam walked in with a much larger backpack on, food in one hand, and a drink carrier in the other.

“How did the stitches go?” Sam asked, handing out the food and pulling out the laptop and phone chargers.

“I didn’t actually end up needing any. Y/n did such a good job, he didn’t want to redo it.” Colby answered, biting into the burger Sam had handed him. “God, this tastes so good. I was starving, brother.”

“You were also suffering from blood loss, so that burger should make you feel a lot better.” Y/n laughed, throwing a few fries in her mouth.

“I feel better already just knowing I don’t have to get stitches.” He replied, inhaling more of his burger.

It was quiet in the room for about a half hour as everyone ate and let the stress of the night slowly pass over them.

“We never filmed an outro!” Sam said, pulling out his headphones and grabbing his camera. “Lets stand on either side of Colby’s bed and do it.” Sam started setting the camera up on the tripod.

“I don’t need to be in it, I can film it for you.” Y/n said, standing up from her chair by Colby.

Colby grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “You’re definitely going to be in it.” He said, smiling up at her.

“Fine, but only because you’ve been a brave boy.” She laughed, messing up Colby’s hair. She stood on one side of the bed while Sam took his place on the other.

“I SURVIVED!” Colby half yelled, clearing his throat and fixing his messed up hair. I’m not quite sure when Sam stopped filming, so I don’t know where you saw us last, but tonight has definitely been an adventure.”

“You’ve got that right. Colby not only lost his dignity, but we made a new friend!” Sam said, gesturing to Y/n.

“And I’ve apparently found two amateurs who need some lessons in climbing” Y/n laughed.

“Hey! I’m hurt! You’re both supposed to be nice to me!” Colby fake pouted.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. These two are awesome. I can’t wait to find their channel and subscribe WHICH IS WHAT YOU GUYS SHOULD DO!” Y/n said, pointing at the camera.

“She’s a natural” Sam laughed. “How about this. If this video gets 100K likes, Y/n will go back to that bando with us and teach Colby how to get on the roof.” Sam said, looking hopefully at Y/n.

“Oh, teach COLBY, huh?” Colby snarked at Sam. “You don’t know how to, either! She’ll teach BOTH of us how to get on the roof.”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” Y/n said, laughing at Colby. “And of course, I’d love to go back.”

They ended the outro after explaining again that Colby was fine and that he’d be able to go home tomorrow night.

After they talked for a bit more, Sam had his headphones in editing and Colby saw y/n gathering her things. “Are you leaving me?” he asked, a sad look on his face.

“I assumed you’d want to get some rest.” She answered, walking to the side of his hospital bed and grabbing his hand. “Sam has my number so we can definitely get you guys that second video.”

“But what if I don’t want you to go?” he stuck his bottom lip out and stared up at her with his big blue eyes.

“You need rest, Colby.” y/n said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “So do I, actually. I practically carried your ass down 5 flights of stairs.” She laughed.

Laughing, Colby scooted away from the side of the bed Y/n was standing by. “I see a perfectly good bed right here.”

“If you think my thicc ass self is going to fit in that little sliver of bed, you may have hit your head when you hurt your leg.” y/n said covering her mouth because she laughed so loud.

“yyyyy/nnnnn” Colby dragged out your name whining but also laughing. “I’m hurt. I need cuddles. I even had Sam bring you my favorite hoodie so you’d be comfy.” He finished scooting over so you’d have a little more room.

“Oh, fine. You big baby.” Y/n gave in. Plugging her phone in to charge, she grabbed the hoodie and slipped it on. She slipped off her vans and gently crawled into the hospital bed with Colby. “If we get in trouble for this, you’re taking the blame.”

“Fine with me.” Colby said, pulling y/n towards him so that she half laid across his chest. “Put your leg over here.” He said, waiting for her to throw her leg over his uninjured one.

“I don’t want to hurt your other leg.” She said, hesitating.

“You won’t. Just cuddle with me, damnit.” He chuckled, pulling y/n tighter to him.

After a few minutes of giggles and getting comfortable, Colby broke the silence.

“I never said thank you.” He said, thinking back to the events that had taken place. “Tonight could have gone so wrong for so many reasons.” He shuttered imagining that someone dangerous could have found them while he was injured, or he could have passed out leaving Sam to panic alone.

Y/n felt Colby shake and looked up at him. “Don’t worry about it. Things happen for a reason. You’re safe and I’ve got 2 great new friends.” Y/n studied the look on Colby’s face. He looked sad almost.

“No, I need to properly thank you.” He looked down at her, running his hand over her hair. “You don’t know how often Sam and I run in to people that just don’t care. You corrected me earlier tonight. You said that nobody is a nobody and that everyone has insecurities.” Colby paused, sighing. He stared at the ceiling. “I may have felt like a lost, insecure nobody when I was a kid, but honestly LA and fame and followers…It makes me way more insecure than I ever felt as a kid. Sam and I have very few real friends out here. We’re constantly making “friends” that just want something from us. And tonight, you risked your own safety to help us. You didn’t know if we would hurt you. You didn’t know we were famous. You helped us without expecting anything in return. I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Looking up at Colby, y/n saw that he was still staring up at the ceiling. She felt sad for him. “Colby.” Y/n said, reaching up to pull his gaze down to hers. “You know you deserve good things, right? You may live in a fake ass city, but I’m willing to bet that the people who meet you…even the ones that want to use you for fame, are better people because they met you. I’m very grateful I chose tonight to go to that abandoned building.”

“The doctor gave me pain meds, so if you’re mad at me for this you can blame the meds.” Colby said before leaning down and pressing his lips to y/n’s. “I’m very grateful you chose tonight to go to that bando, too.” Colby stared down at her for a few seconds before leaning back and pulling her tighter to his side. “Let’s get some rest, babe.”

Y/n could feel her lips tingle as she buried her face in Colby’s chest. She wanted to say something back, but she felt like she would ruin the moment.

Soon the both of them drifted off, exhausted from the crazy night they shared. Sam had stayed up sitting at the counter editing, consuming copious amounts of caffeine and trying to finish the video on time. It was almost 3AM when Colby had been taken to his room at the hospital and it was now almost 8am. When he decided he needed to stretch his legs, he took his headphones out and turned towards the other two. He hadn’t even realized Y/n had crawled into bed with Colby. As he gazed over their intertwined bodies, he couldn’t help but smile. Colby had text him a few times about y/n as the night had played out and Sam could tell that he really liked her. Sam grabbed his phone and snapped a few pictures of them. He took a short walk through the hospital hallways to stretch his legs and went back to finish the video.

A short while later, a nurse came in to check on Colby.

“Aren’t they cute” She said, looking to Sam.

“They aren’t going to get in trouble, are they?” he asked, ready to wake them up.

“No, no, sugar. Don’t worry. The doctor won’t be back in here to check on him until around noon because you guys came in so late. I’m just going to write down his numbers and replace his IV bag and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam had finished editing the video and was using his wifi hotspot to upload it to YouTube. Y/n had given Sam her Instagram handle when he asked her what link she wanted in the video description. Waiting for the video to finish uploading, Sam went to follow her on Insta.

“Holy shit” he said, scrolling through her pictures. He realized he was already following her and that she had almost 3 million followers. Y/n’s Instagram didn’t have a single photo of herself. In fact, no one knew what she actually looked like or that it was a her. It was filled with beautiful graffiti art that she painted over bad or harmful graffiti. She would post before and after photos. She covered up racial or homophobic slurs, bad words, hateful phrases…And what she left were beautiful murals that rebelled against those slurs.

The post she had made right before meeting Sam and Colby was 2 photos from the building they had just been in. A before picture of graffiti someone had left saying “I’m worthless.” And an after picture of a mural she had painted. It was big and bright. It was of 2 people embracing each other with the words “You are worth the world” written above and below them, framing the art.

Sam liked the photo and scrolled back to the newest photo she had posted. It was a screenshot of something she had written in the notes app on her phone. It said, “I met 2 amazing people tonight.” The description under the photo read “You’re finally going to find out who I am. Make sure to Subscribe to Sam and Colby to catch the big reveal.”  

Sam laughed and pulled up a new post. He picked one of the photos he had taken of Y/n and Colby cuddled together in the hospital bed and wrote out his caption. “Sometimes when you least expect it, the best people walk into your life. New video up in 10! Make sure you don’t miss it! (ps, Colby is alive and safe. Please don’t freak out because of the hospital room. Watch the new video for the full story!)

Sam changed the video from unlisted to public and hit save. He tweeted out a few things from his twitter and the duo twitter. He uploaded the thumbnail to his Instagram story, and laid across the chairs that were in the room. He turned his phone on silent and fell asleep.

Colby woke up a bit later to the Doctor messing with his bandage. “Sorry to wake you.” The doctor quietly said.

Colby rubbed his eyes, squinting from the bright lights. “It’s okay. Do I have to wake her up or can I let her sleep?” he asked, looking down at Y/n. She was still tucked into his side, her hair flung wildly across her face and his chest.  

“You don’t have to wake her.” The doctor chuckled. “It sounds like you guys had a long night. The nurse said your friend there didn’t go to sleep until a little over an hour ago” He added, pointing at Sam.

“He must have been up editing.” Colby answered.

“Are you in much pain?” The doc asked, wrapping Colby’s leg back up.

“My leg is throbbing.” He answered honestly.

“I figured your pain meds had worn off.” The doctor said, getting ready to leave. “I’ll send the nurse in with some more and then you should get some more rest.”

“Thank you.” Colby answered, grabbing his phone and waiting for the nurse.

He opened Instagram and scrolled through his feed. He stopped at Sam’s post. He liked the photo and then read the caption. He noticed that Sam had tagged Y/n so he clicked on her profile. He was met with the same shock Sam was. “I already followed you and I had no idea.” He said, looking down at the sleeping figure beside him in awe. Hers was one of his favorite Instagram accounts. She brought so much beauty into the world.

He clicked on the story feature on his own profile. Holding his phone out far enough to get both y/n and himself in the frame, he started talking. “Hey guys, I’m sure that by now a lot of you have already watched the video. I haven’t had a chance to watch the footage because I’ve been in the hospital sleeping” he laughed, his eyes dropping down to Y/n. “I’m alive and fine, but last night was crazy. So, make sure you swipe up and watch it. I hope this beautiful girl is going to be in many more videos with us, so make sure you follow her, as well. I think many of you will be surprised to find you already follow her. I sure was.” He ended the story, added a filter, added the link, and sent it to his profile.

The nurse walked in and handed Colby some pain meds to swallow with a cup of water.

He thanked her and laid back in his bed. While he waited for them to kick in, he thought about how crazy the last 12 hours have been.

He grabbed his phone one more time, opening up the twitter app. He decided to take what Sam had written and tweet it out. With a spin.

“LA may be a fake ass city, but sometimes when you least expect it, the best people walk into your life.”

He closed his phone, brushed the hair out of Y/n’s face, pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and fell asleep.