#i think his glock is heavier than he is

[notaboypossiblyagenius]

when i say i don’t like rossi and suddenly im the number 1 public enemy.

[tb-gerschutz]

Chapter Four

Word Count: 6,540

Trigger Warning(s): language, graphic depictions of violence

Summary: "Rocky" and Whiskey get more info about Balor's plans and barely escape with their lives.

**********

It didn't take long for Whiskey and I to get to Yekaterinburg, but it felt like forever to me. Maybe because I had a possible fracture in my ankle, and it hurts like a bitch. I'm not sure. All I know is two things.

One, that I was fucked if I dare to wait to get this ankle fixed up, and

Two, that Whiskey and I were finally seeing each other in a new light.

Once we arrived at the base, both of us had to come up with a genius plan to get inside. What that plan was, I didn't know. Mainly because I wasn't familiar with this base and its inner workings, nor was I familiar with any tactics that would get us successfully snuck inside. Whiskey, however, was excellent in that field. He knew almost every trick in the book, which worked to our advantage. And it was to Balor's disadvantage.

"So how do we get in?" I questioned.

Whiskey pondered for about a minute, stroking his jawline with his hand. "We can either hop in shipping containers and be stowaways until we get inside, or we can sneak into the back of one of these trucks and attack them as we go in."

"I think the shipping containers are a good idea. Less of a risk for us."

While the soldiers' attention was diverted, Whiskey and I managed to hop into an open crate and shut the lid on top of us. None of the soldiers found out about us, which was good. Our plan was going smoothly so far.

In the tiny and dark place, I soon became claustrophobic. It didn't help that I could barely see Whiskey, so panic set in. It was so cramped inside that crate that Whiskey and I could feel each other's hot breaths. We were practically playing a much tinier, much crazier version of Twister in that crate because we could barely move. We were practically sitting as close as we could, sometimes even resting our legs and arms on top of each other. Our faces were inches away from one another. One sudden jerk, and our lips could accidentally—but, in our case, deliberately—lock. I wouldn't complain if it happened, but I doubt it'd actually happen the way I'd think.

"As soon as this thing gets dropped off, we jump out with our weapons drawn, just in case they're right there waiting for us," Whiskey whispered.

"You sure my glocks are gonna be powerful enough?"

"Of course they'll be enough. We just need weapons that'll scare 'em," he whispered back.

The crate jolted around for a bit before Whiskey and I heard some commotion outside of the crate. It was soldiers carrying said container to a certain place in the agency.

"This bitch is heavy," one of them said in a thick Russian accent.

"Don't be such a pussy, Karamazov," the other argued back. "It ain't much heavier than what we usually deal with."

Whiskey and I kept our mouths shut, making damn sure that we didn't make any sudden noise that might tip the enemies off. One syllable that slipped from our tongues, and we were suddenly on a long, winding path toward "Fuckedville". Luckily, we were safe after the enemies set us down in the base and walked away. Slowly and cautiously, Whiskey and I lifted the lid to the container and slowly rose up, our weapons drawn and loaded. I had both glocks in my hand, while Whiskey had one hand on his pistol and another on his whip.

"Boy, was that a tight pinch," I remarked.

"Trust me, sugar. That was nothin'. I've been in much tighter places than this," Whiskey commented. "Figuratively and literally."

Though I couldn't believe Whiskey when he said that, I had bigger things to worry about. Getting more information about this antidote and what it does. How does it hurt people? Well, hopefully, I can get that answer relatively soon before more people die at the hands of Satan himself. And by Satan, I mean...Balor.

I mean it literally when Balor is known as "Satan". In the Hellhound Corps, a division of the bigger and powerful Rings of Hellfire empire, everyone is named after a different name associated with Hell. The name of Satan went to Balor because he was big, all-powerful, and maliciously ruthless and homicidal. Some of his henchmen were named after hellhounds and their name variations, and the more higher-up associates had the privilege of getting the nicknames that were considered variants of the "Satan" moniker.

But they had to earn their fixed Satan nicknames.

According to Balor's complex and evil guidelines, it all depended on how many you kill and how loyal you are to him.

The more you kill, the more loyal you are to me. And the more loyal you are to me, the higher in the ranks you climb, Balor's words echoed.

God, those words sent chills down my spine. So much so that it made me shudder. No, Rocky. Don't stray. You must stay focused. You must. Stay. Focused.

Whiskey and I hopped out of the shipping container and ventured off to more unknown territory. Our weapons were still drawn, just in case any enemy soldiers discovered us. Our goal...to get to a file room and find something that remotely said something about this antidote. I was willing to look for anything, really. Anything at all will do.

"Okay, sugar. Let's start rummaging and see what we can find," Whiskey said as soon as we got to the file room.

And I was off with a bang, scouring through the alphabetically organized files with disoriented effort. As soon as I didn't find a file that didn't contain what I wanted, I tossed it. Let's hope that Balor blames the mess on his colleagues and not me. However, my wait was not long. As soon as I found a file that remotely contained the words Oracle, global genocide, large-scale weapons, and antidotes, I kept them, stuffing them in the waistband of my pants until I could reach my backpack.

"Really? The waistband of your pants?" Whiskey commented.

I gave him a glare of disgust. "You try finding a better place when you don't have a backpack on you."

I looked around for an item that would hopefully hold these files easily. "Isn't there like a satchel or somethin' I can stuff this in?"

Whiskey didn't even rummage through the mess for twenty seconds before he found a black satchel made of leather. "How about this black leather one?"

"That'll do," I said, grabbing it from his hand and starting to stuff the retrieved files in.

After I stuffed the last file in the satchel, I heard a series of voices emerge from outside in the hallway. Footsteps came closer to Whiskey and I's location by the minute, which gave me a new sense of panic.

"Someone's coming," I said.

Whiskey started to internally panic as he looked for a secret floor hatch to hide in. "Quick! Get in here."

After he propped the door open, I hopped in, being careful not to fracture my ankle more than it already was. Whiskey then hopped in and shut the door on top of us, making sure that it was tightly shut and nobody saw the hatch door cracked. The door to the file room opened, and Balor and some of his henchmen entered, seeing the huge mess that I mainly created.

"Who did this?" Balor asked angrily in Russian. "Get someone in here to clean this up!"

One of the henchmen went off to fetch a lower-level henchman to clean up the mess. It gave Balor and two of his henchmen to pace the room, ultimately giving me and Whiskey the information we needed about The Oracle. Me and Whiskey watched through the cracks above us in the floor as Balor unknowingly gave away his secrets.

"Is everything prepared for the Masquerade Ball tonight?" he asked.

"It sure is, boss," one of the henchmen responded.

"Good. I don't want any of those Kingsman agents coming after me. This is a huge affair, and if they come and storm the Bastille, then we lose a lot of money and benefactors."

Everything fell silent, and Whiskey and I made sure that we didn't make a sound. Not even a sound of us breathing heavily.

"I wonder what the other one might think of this plan of ours," Balor pondered.

"The other one, sir?"

"Of course," Balor simply said.

I gave Whiskey a confused glance only for a brief time. "The other one? What could he mean by th–"

Whiskey cupped his hand over my mouth and prevented me from speaking any more, while from above, Balor stopped and looked around for the noise that came from my whispers. I hope that he doesn't find Whiskey and myself here in this secret hatch.

"Did you hear that?" he asked his henchmen.

Still keeping his hand over my mouth, Whiskey stayed silent. Dead silent. That way, he and I weren't discovered. This went on for only a few minutes, despite it feeling like forever. After a while, Balor and his men gave up and exited the room, giving me and Whiskey time to get out and escape. Whiskey removed his hand from over top of my mouth and popped open the hatch.

"Is the coast clear?" I asked as Whiskey struggled to get up out of the hatch.

"I can't tell, sugar. It's gonna be a bitch to get out of here," Whiskey responded, trying to jump up and out of the hatch to no avail.

I knelt down and cupped my hands, placing them out as an offer for Whiskey. "Here. I'll give ya a boost."

"You sure?"

"Of course I am. I'll give ya a boost, and then, you can hoist me out," I said confidently.

Whiskey placed his foot into my hands, and I boosted him up. After he escaped out of the hatch, Whiskey turned to me and grabbed my hand. Using everything in his physical power, he hoisted me up to the ground floor. I hobbled toward Whiskey, still dealing with the fractured ankle of mine.

"Are you sure you're okay, sugar? You're hobblin' quite a bit," he said, becoming concerned with my safety.

"Trust me, Whiskey. I'll be fine 'til we get outta the woods here."

As soon as Whiskey and I stepped into the hallway of the facility, an alarm started to blare loudly throughout the building. It definitely threw a wrench into our plan.

"Oh, fuck me!" I screamed.

Whiskey tried to open his mouth, but I managed to catch what he was saying. "Don't even say a word. I know what you're gonna say, and it ain't gonna happen now."

We were frozen with fear as Balor and his men kept getting closer to us. As each second went by, they were closer. I then got a brilliant but stupid idea that I hoped would work. "Hey, Whiskey."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You know how to operate aircraft?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I've only ever operated the Silver Pony, but I guess the aircraft here aren't too complicated to figure out."

"More experience than I have," I said to myself, then turning to Whiskey. "Get me an aircraft and get it ready to get us the hell outta here."

"Got it," he said. "What are you going to do?"

I cracked my knuckles and popped my severely broken ankle back into place again. I was preparing for a fight. A fight that I'd definitely win. Thanks, confidence.

"I'm gonna fight 'em off and buy ya some time."

"Rocky, this is no time to be playin' Charlie Horse with these guys. You have a broken fuckin' ankle," Whiskey sternly warned.

I gave him a cocky, crooked smile. "Trust me. I'll catch up. Just get a chopper or somethin' ready for us."

He sighed as he dashed off. "If you say so, sugar."

Whiskey dashed off to the hangar to find an aircraft to hijack, while I stayed in the hallway to fight off Balor and his men. Sure, the pain in my ankle was God awful, but adrenaline had given me enough cocky confidence to fight these terrorists off. One by one, I fought off the henchmen, burying my fists into their skulls and making sure they were knocked unconscious. If not, dead. Taking them down took a lot less time than I thought it would, and it gave me more time to escape and try to meet up with Whiskey again.

As I rounded the corner to get to an exit, I came face-to-face with him. Balor himself. He had short, jet-black hair and a black mustache. Perfect for that presumably black, stone-cold soul of his. But what stood out to me most other than his dabber sense of fashion was his eyes. His brownish-black eyes. They were soulless, cold...I looked at them, and deep down inside Balor, I saw nothing. He was a soulless, cruel, and horrible man. No wonder he dabbles in murder almost every other day. He doesn't feel pain. Rather, he inflicted it, only because he enjoys seeing other people suffer in front of his very own eyes. He was a monster, and I knew it.

We stood only about ten feet away from each other, staring each other down and not moving an inch. I intended on standing my ground against this asshole terrorist, while he probably was thinking the same thing about me. He wasn't going to budge for a rebellious agent like me. He's too powerful and smart to do so.

"Neither of us are budgin', eh?"

"I intend on sneaking in for the kill once you're vulnerable, Agent" Balor sneered evilly.

"I have to warn ya. I'm not that easy to beat down," I said, holding my arms out to my sides and pretty much inviting Balor to come at me. "Come on. Why don't ya give it your best shot, asshole?"

Balor took off the jacket of his tuxedo, then rolled up the sleeves on his black, button-down shirt. After he cracked his knuckles, he lunged at me and tried to grab my throat. I avoided it rather quickly, and the fight was on. We only grappled with each other, so no punches were landed, despite the both of us throwing plenty to count. Every time he tried to go for my throat, I'd grab his wrist and throw it to the side, causing him to flip at least once in the air and falling onto his tailbone. He kept getting up, despite the brutal beatings I gave him. After a long while of battling with him, I ended up kicking him in his knee, even though it hurt my already fractured ankle a lot more.

It did give me time to escape, however.

I wasn't as fast as I usually was, but I managed to keep a ten-second head start ahead of Balor all the way to the hangar. There was Whiskey, who was lowering a whole-ass helicopter to be only a few feet off the ground. I had no time to react as Balor kept getting closer to riding my ass, so I hopped into the chopper and laid on the ground there, catching my breath. Whiskey did the rest by flying the chopper away from the base. Far away to hopefully a safe place.

"You good back there, sugar?" he asked from the cockpit.

"I'm fine," I answered back. "Just had to catch my breath.

I hobbled to the passenger seat in the cockpit, and Whiskey took one glance at me before focusing on the sky ahead.

"Once we land, can you please go get that ankle checked out before you hurt yourself more than you already did?"

"Yeah. It wouldn't hurt to have someone look at it," I said.

At that moment, I had to finally accept the fact that I was hurting. If I didn't get help soon, I'll be fucked. At least it made it all better when an image of Balor's face flashed into my head. He was pissed. A homicidal kind of pissed. He was mad that he didn't get what he wanted: to capture me and Whiskey and kill us. I'm relieved to say that it won't be happening to us.

* * * * * * * * * *

Whiskey landed the chopper at a secret facility in Samara, Russia after a while. After successfully landing the aircraft on the landing pad, he immediately and gently scooped me up into his buff arms, carrying me so that I didn't have to put any more weight on my severely damaged ankle. My heart was pounding hard. So hard that I could feel the heartbeat in my throat. Despite me trying to keep my feelings of Whiskey hidden from the public eye, there's always one anomaly that drags them back up to stay afloat.

"Welcome, Agents. I'm Director Daria Volkova. I'm the head of the Samara facility, a part of several that belong to the Romanov Agency," the woman said.

Whiskey nodded and smiled, having his hands completely compromised because of me. "Nice to meet ya, Director. Sorry about the unexpected welcome from the United States, but it was a bit of an emergency."

"What seems to be the issue?"

"Well, Agent Blackjack here seems to have a fractured ankle, and we want to get it checked out before we get back into action," Whiskey explained.

"It's broken pretty badly. I'm afraid if I try to pop it back into place again, the bone will eventually poke out of the skin," I added.

The director led us inside the facility. "Don't worry. We'll get you a doctor to check you out. Right this way."

Whiskey carried me into the facility, where we were soon led into a medical room that was a lot fancier and bigger than I've ever seen before. Then again, I hadn't been in a hospital or anything remotely close since my youngest brother Shane's birth, so it's been a couple years.

"You doing good, sugar?"

"Surprisingly, I am," I responded, "considering the circumstances and all."

"Considering," Whiskey said.

The doctor then walked in and immediately took notice of me and Whiskey. The only thing that stood out about him was that he was young and had a chiseled jawline similar to Balor's. He had the same jet-black hair and facial hair like Balor, but the doctor had caramel, brown eyes and a nice smile. No doubt that I trusted this doctor more than I did the monster known as Balor Devlin.

"Hi, agents. I'm Doctor Aliev. I'm the head doctor here at this branch of the Romanov Agency," he introduced in a decently thick Russian accent. "You two don't look like you're from around here."

"We're from the United States," Whiskey remarked. "We work for the Statesman."

The doctor glanced up and down at Whiskey and I, allowing his face to light up with joy and relief.

"Ah, the Statesman. We've always had a good relationship with them. They treat us well, we treat them well. It's a mutual alliance in a way."

I shrugged. "Any chance you're in the fight against Balor Devlin?"

"No. Not at all. We're here to remain neutral and keep track of the threat. If he attacks us, then we fight back," the doctor explained. "We're just trying to keep out of this fight as much as possible."

Dr. Aliev looked at the chart on his clipboard and got back to business. "So what can I do for you two? I can't imagine this is just a normal check-up."

"Well, Doc, I definitely have a fractured ankle," I remarked. "It's so bad that I'm afraid if I pop it back into place again, the bone is gonna protrude out of the skin."

"What were you doing when the ankle fractured?"

"We were retreating back to a wood cabin Agent Whiskey and I considered a temporary sanctuary," I explained. "We were trying to find out more about Balor Devlin's weapon, and a second wave of Balor's soldiers found us. Whiskey and I retreated to regroup and come up with a new plan."

"Can you put weight on your ankle at all?" the doctor asked.

"I used to be able to," I explained. "Only a little bit after the initial injury happened."

Whiskey decided to chime in. "We were inside the cabin catching our breaths, and I asked her if she could put weight on it. She stood up and tried to, but she almost immediately collapsed."

"So we're looking at a possibly severe ankle break here," Dr. Aliev concluded, writing down some notes. "We'll get some x-rays on your ankle and see how severe of a break this is and how long you'll need to be out of action."

"I hope it ain't long," I chirped.

I got wheeled off to get the x-ray on my ankle, and Whiskey was right there at my side. I was more than okay with it. He gave me a sense of trust and security, making sure I was protected and safe at all times. He didn't have to go out of his way to protect me. He did it entirely out of voluntary obligation, which I appreciate.

"Alright, Agent. I just need you to stay still while the x-ray gets a picture of your ankle," Dr. Aliev said, fixing the x-ray's position to be more toward my ankle.

I tried to relax and stay still, but I guess the nerves got the best of me. Luckily, Whiskey noticed my nervousness and grabbed my hand, stroking it with the pad of his thumb. He was gentle with it, which made me fall for him all over again.

That's the thing with Whiskey. Just when I've already fallen for him, he gives me another good reason to fall in love all over again. He makes damn sure that you're constantly swooning over him...and I was no exception.

"Alright. Great job, Agent. We'll get the x-ray developed and let you know of the results relatively soon hopefully," the doctor said.

"Thank you, Doc," I said, as the doctor exited the room after wheeling me back to where I was staying.

The doctor leaving was actually good for Whiskey and I. It gave us time to talk about the next phase of this mission. This broken ankle of mine is only a minor setback, and we needed something new just in case everything goes off the rails from here.

"What now?" I questioned.

"We're in a waitin' game, sugar," Whiskey answered, sighing at the unfortunate circumstances that took place. "It's hard to tell how long we have to wait before we can go back out into the field."

"I hope it isn't too long. I'd feel guilty if I'm restricted to bedrest, while you're off fightin' against an asshole like Balor."

Whiskey tightened his grasp on my hand, letting me know that he was serious. "Rocky, I'd much rather have you stay out of action and stay safe than to have you go out there and get even more hurt than you already are. It pains me to see you hurt. Every time you're broken down, I get struck down to your level. I don't want to be so broken that even you can't repair me back to normal."

He paused for a moment to gather his trembling breath. "That's why I can't see you gettin' hurt. I meant what I said back there when I said that I see my high school sweetheart in you. Every time—every time I look at you, I see her. And I can't go through that pain again when I lose you. That's why I'm keepin' you safe, sugar. I don't want to lose you. I'd never forgive myself if you die under my watchful eye. I could never live with that, just like I can't live without you being in my life."

"You're sayin' that I'm important to you?"

"Of course you are," he said. "Even though we're not exactly lovers according to the public eye, I still consider you an essential part in my life. You're the only person that's made me smile and genuinely happy ever since my sweetheart died. That's sayin' somethin'. There aren't many people in this world that make me as happy as you do."

I smiled, but only smiled enough to not show my teeth. I ran my tongue along the inside of my mouth, smirking while doing so. I kept this feeling of desire for Whiskey bottled up and didn't let it erupt out of me.

"How long have you been waitin' to say that?" I asked as I bit the inside of my cheek.

Whiskey kept staring deep into my eyes, seeing straight through my fragile soul. "Too damn long."

After a bit, the doctor walked back in, pinning the pictures from the x-ray up on a light-up mirror. Now, the moment of truth was about to arrive. Was it bad? Was it good? A lot of questions ran through my head faster than a cheetah on crack, and it made me internally panic.

"Okay, Agent. Here's what we got," Dr. Aliev started, pointing at different parts of my ankle. "Here is your tibia, and here is your fibula. Over here is where our issue is. We're looking at a lateral malleolus fracture here, which is a fracture in the bone outside of the ankle joint. In your case, this is one of the less severe ones. Although, these types of injuries can put you out for a long time."

"How long, Doc? Give it to me straight. Don't sugarcoat anythin' for me," I said.

The doctor took a look at his charts, then back to me and Whiskey. "Judging by the break and the risk of any infection spreading, I'd say about six weeks at least."

I sat up quickly, which caused Whiskey to let go of my hand. My blood was coursing madly through my body, which typically happens either when I get an adrenaline rush or I'm about to go off on a crazy tangent.

"You gotta be shittin' me, Doc. Six weeks!?" I exclaimed. "We don't have six weeks!"

Whiskey tried—and failed—to calm me down. "Rocky, calm down. It's just—"

"Don't start with me. I'm about to go on a tangent," I interrupted.

I gathered my breath and started to give my version of a good explanation. I had to be out in the field and help Whiskey take down Balor. "I've worked too damn hard to get to this point. If I'm not out there helping Whiskey crack some ass, Balor's gonna have a heyday with all these innocent people. He'll kill anyone and anything in his path, which means he gets closer to turning Earth into a black, smokin' ball of ash. Only then will he have accomplished his convoluted, downright tyrannical goal of global genocide. So if I'm not out there almost immediately with Whiskey here, you and the entire rest of the world are fucked."

The doctor's face turned into one of shock, mainly because he didn't expect that reaction to come out of me. He still wanted to help me, even though it was against his better judgment to let me wander around free without following the correct recovery guidelines.

"I can give you some painkillers and a splint after we're done with the initial correction of the bone," he said.

"Well, how are we gonna do that? I don't want to pop it back into place again."

"You won't have to," the doctor said. "This is going to require immediate surgery. After that, I'll give you painkillers and an ankle splint so you and Agent Whiskey will be on your way."

I was gobsmacked. Surgery? It has to be that bad in order for me to get surgery. Then again, I need it desperately. If I don't have it, then I put my body at risk for infection, and that would be a whole 'nother problem on top of everything.

"Surgery? What kind of surgery?"

"We'll go in, put some pins in your ankle to straighten out the bone and make sure it's aligned with the rest of your body again. Then, after you wake up, I'll put on a stabilizing ankle splint and prescribe you some painkillers," Dr. Aliev explained. "That's the best thing I can do for you, even though it's against my normal medical judgment."

"Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it," I said. "Really, I do."

"It's the least I can do for you two."

The doctor then left the room to prepare the operating room for surgery. Almost immediately, I started to panic. So bad that it felt like I was having a panic attack, despite me not knowing for sure if I have a panic attack disorder. My heart once again was pounding rapidly, I was shaking, and my throat tightened up, making me short of breath and hard to breathe. Beads of sweat formed rapidly on my forehead, and I had to constantly wipe them off with my sleeve. Whiskey, who was still right there at my bedside, noticed this and immediately showed his concern.

"You okay, sugar? You're sweatin' like a whore in church," he said.

I tried to speak, but the words kept getting caught up in my tightening throat. "I—I can't—I can't breathe, Whiskey. I'm panicking over this surgery, and I can't fuckin' breathe."

There goes Whiskey again with the firm grasp of my hand. Again, he was serious. "Look at me, sugar. Look. At. Me."

He placed his thumb and index finger under my chin and lifted my face up so I could look at him dead straight through his eyes. The familiar feeling of horniness and desire for Whiskey rose through my body again, but my panic attack symptoms destroyed them almost immediately. I was definitely thirsty for him. At least that's what one part of me said. The other part was panicking wildly over surgery. Something I've never undergone in my life.

"Deep breaths, Rocky. Deep breaths, like these," he said, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly.

I followed suit, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. By the minute, my heart rate went back down to normal, and I was no longer sweating profusely. Whiskey calmed me down and made me secure once again. I was finally safe in my own skin again, thanks to him. I'm not sure if he had any experience in dealing with panic attacks, but he helped me through this apparent one of mine. That's for sure.

"That's it," he said. "That's it, sugar."

As I let out a sharp exhale from my breath, I finally calmed down enough to have my nerves stagnant enough to clearly think and process what was about to come.

"Sorry about that, Whiskey. I just never had to undergo surgery before," I finally said.

"Don't you ever be sorry for somethin' like that," he responded. "It's somethin' you've never experienced before. You have every right to be scared and panic over it. But no matter what happens, sugar, I'll be here. I'll be here to settle your nerves and make sure you're comfortable. No matter what goes on, sugar, I'll be here. And I don't ever intend on leavin'."

I gave Whiskey a crooked smile, being satisfied with his response to my apology. I was more than satisfied, as a matter-of-fact. Then again, anything Whiskey does makes me more than satisfied. In fact, it makes me more attracted to him than ever before.

"You're just trying to say anything that makes me fall in love with ya."

Whiskey raised one of his eyebrows, which—in turn—caused one corner of his mouth to point up as well. It was crooked. That damn crooked smile that makes my insides flutter.

"Of course I am. Why? Got a problem with that?"

I scoffed. "Why would I have a problem with that? I'm in love with ya, Whiskey, and that ain't ever gonna change."

Whiskey gave me a confused glance, prompting me to elaborate on what I just said:

"I meant what I said back there in the woods. I do love you, Whiskey, and I'll always love ya. I first met you in person, and my world—my world turned on its head. And I mean that in the best way possible. I thought it was a mistake when I fell in love with you, but now, I realize that it was the best thing that could've happened to me. You—you, Whiskey—were the best accident that could've ever entered my life."

He was speechless. The words that he tried to say didn't escape off his tongue. Did I finally fluster the cowboy? Did I finally rope him into being madly in love with me? Despite me seemingly knowing everything about Whiskey, the fact on whether or not I finally roped him under my spell eluded me constantly.

"And I meant it when I aggressively kissed ya back there," he responded.

After he said that, Dr. Aliev walked back into the room, telling me that it was time. "Alright, Agent. It's time."

Whiskey and I exchanged a glance, and I gave a nod to the doctor to tell him that I was ready to be wheeled into the operating room. As Whiskey kept a firm hold of my hand while I was getting wheeled in, the doctor took notice of him and tried to follow typical protocol.

"It's okay. He can stay with me up until the operating room," I said, assuring the doctor that it was okay for Whiskey to be at my bedside.

I continued to be wheeled toward the operating room, while Whiskey remained latched onto my hand, not wanting to let go. The doctor stopped me right before the doors to the operating room, and he turned to me with serious yet sympathetic eyes.

"Are you ready, Agent?"

I gave Whiskey a glance—a glance that was highlighted by terrified and tearful eyes—right away. Not lifting his gaze off me, Whiskey brought my hand close to him, kissing it softly. I could feel his hot breath blow onto the skin of my hand, which made me think that he was tempted to do it again. He did not want to let go of me because, as I could assume from earlier conversations, he didn't want to go through the heartbreak of losing the love of his life again. For him, letting go of me was like letting go of my memory for what could be the first and last time. He never wanted to forget me, and I don't believe he has any intention of doing so. Not now. Not ever.

"Yeah. Let's get this done and over with, Doc," I nodded.

Before I was wheeled in, Whiskey leaned in close to me and gave me a soft, drawn-out kiss at the top of my head. I exhaled a shaky breath, knowing that once I was wheeled in there, I might not come back out. But I decided to bury that fear and keep optimism in the palm of my hand...because I knew Whiskey would want me to.

"I love you more than anything, Whiskey. I love you too damn much to ever forget you," I said through tearful eyes, "and I wanted you to know that just in case I don't come back out."

Whiskey started to tear up as well, but he wasn't crying like I was. He was a lot stronger than I was on an emotional level. "Don't say shit like that, sugar. You're a tough, headstrong individual with a bright light that shines everywhere you go...and I just happened to be one of those people who got drawn closer to that light. I know you're gonna make it out of there alive. I just know it. And when you come back out, I'll be waitin'. I'll be waitin' right here for you."

I finally got wheeled into the operating room, as Whiskey and I's hands slowly drifted apart. As his hand left mine, I could still feel his touch on my fingertips, and it comforted me a little to know that Whiskey's spirit would be there for me while I have surgery.

"I love you!" Whiskey shouted to me just before the doors shut.

Almost immediately after I got wheeled in and set underneath that burning white light, the doctor gently plunged the syringe into the outside of my shoulder and started to count down from one-hundred. Every time the number got smaller, I'd slowly drift off from reality. Everything around me slowly went black, as I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, deep sleep. However, the memory of Whiskey still danced around in my head, making me drift into that sleep happier than ever...

* * * * * * * * * *

I was still groggy by the time I woke up from the anesthesia, which meant that I could hear about half the words the doctor said to Whiskey after the surgery ended. Still, I kept my eyes shut because I was still tired as fuck and tried to sleep it off, but that would take a while for me to do.

"So how is she, Doc?" Whiskey asked.

"The surgery went very well," Dr. Aliev responded hopefully, "and I have great reason to believe that she'll make a full recovery relatively soon."

"So she's alive?"

"Of course. She's in her room, sleeping off the anesthesia as we speak," the doctor answered. "I always had hope that she'd survive. Judging by her personality, she's a tough old girl."

"She sure is," Whiskey said, then thinking about me. "So can I see her?"

The doctor started to lead Whiskey back to the room. "Of course."

Meanwhile, I laid in the room, slowly waking up and slipping back into the real world. Everything was fuzzy, as I looked around the room to find something that would bring me comfort. After a while, I looked slightly to my left to find Whiskey, who was sitting there holding onto my hand tighter than ever, his coarse skin gracing my gentle hand.

"Whiskey?" I softly whimpered.

He lifted his head suddenly and saw me giving him the same crooked smile that he always gives me. His gorgeous, glistening brown eyes locked with mine, and everything seemed right in that moment.

"Hey, sugar," he smirked. "How ya doin'?"

I chuckled. "Doin' as good as a limp dick in a whorehouse."

"There she is," he said, letting out a soft chuckle. "My girl's back."

I gave him a confused look. He never called me "his girl" in all the time we've been stuck together. He always called me sugar, Rocky, or Blackjack. So this might just show that we're moving forward with this relationship, which is what the hopeless romantic part of me always wanted.

"I never left," I simply said with confidence.

I took Whiskey's hand and kissed it gently, just like he did before I went under the knife. Everything was right at this moment, with me and Whiskey finally united after my surgery. The only other person I loved—other than those in my immediate family—was at my side, which is what I wanted. What I dreamed of. There was only one thing that comforted me during this painful, long recovery of mine. And that was me finding solace in the one person I trusted.

Whiskey. 

[reallyromealone]

Mikey Sano x male reader

Warnings: pet names (daddy, baby boy), degrading, rough sex

"P-please I'm begging you!" The poor grunt practically begged as he tried to kneel on the floor and looking at Mikey with a pleading look to spare his life as a glock was pressed between his eyes, hands broken and body battered while Mikey just looked indifferent "maybe if you hadn't tried to take what was mine this wouldn't be an issue" his voice cold and callous before pulling the trigger and staring at the spot where the mans head was before turning and leaving the torture chambers below the Botan Headquaters.

You see that grunt decided to try and get handsy with the Bonten leader's husband, being new and not actually knowing his boss even had a lover and just mistook the sweet looking man for some whore Sanzu could have called.

Mistakes like that are unforgivable.

No one was allowed to touch Mikey's doll without dire consequences and that low level grunt proved to be a good example for anyone to think twice before even looking at his beloved (Name).

(Name) sat on the leather couch in Mikeys office, dress shirt hanging loosely over his form, black lace male panties covering his lower half and a pretty collar wrapped around his neck with Mikes initials hanging as a gold charm with diamonds embedded into it, shaking slightly at the unwanted touch that happened only an hour earlier.

Sanzu had collected the young man from the penthouse per Mikeys request and some new grunt made the mistake of grabbing his ass as he seen a few members do with prostitutes who would come in regularly for Sanzu and Ran.

The room was deathly silent.

No remorse for the grunt as he was dragged away from the grunt as Sanzu took the other to the bosses office.

Mikey opened the door and smiled softly as he locked eyes with his pretty husband who shot up from the couch once the door clicked shut and hugged him closely, Mikey frowning when he felt him shake but could understand, it was surprising.

"Hey pretty boy, don't worry daddy handled the pest who thought he could touch you" Mikeys voice smooth as he cupped the others cheek, staring at him with his empty coal eyes, but the soft expression showed that he wasnt mad...well not at (Name).

Gently Mikey kissed his beloveds soft lips, enjoying the soft gasp as Mikey moved the hand that was placed on his lower back to grope the others soft plump ass.

No matter how times he played with his lovers body over the years he still reacted like a blushing virgin.

God he loved it.

"Daddy~" (Name) moaned out when Mikey moved his hand to tug at the others panties before ripping them off, and moved the two towards the couch and before (Name) could even process anything he was straddling the other.

Mikey pulled (Name) back to his hungry mouth, heavier than before with a need that sent sparks into (Name)s hardening cock as he opened his mouth to allow his daddy to reclaim his territory, both hands now on the boys ass, squeezing and bouncing his cheeks as if they were toys before spreading his cheeks and (Name) couldn't help but moan into the kiss as he felt the cool air from the air conditioner touch his hole.

Mikey was the first to pull away, pushing (Name) down and the other got the hint fast before getting on his knees, staring at his Daddy softly as the other unbuttoned his pants and released his throbbing cock, slapping (Name)s face with it "Make daddy cum and I will fuck that pretty little ass of yours" Mikeys voice deep and god did it do things to (Name).

Kissing the tip, (Name) tucked his thumb in his fist and squeezed, turning his gag reflex off before deep throating the other in one go, nose touching Mikey's groomed pubes as he forced himself to breath as best as he could with a 8 inch girthy cock stuffed down is throat and following his cheeks before bobbing.

Glancing up he looked into the others eyes, barely noticing the phone recording him as he continued his work, hands moved the others thighs to steady himself.

"So pretty sucking my cock like the little cock slut, cant wait till I fuck you stupid can you?" Mikey grunted out as he tangled his hand into the other's hair, pushing his cock in deeper before without warning, cumming down his little boy's throat.

Mikey's cock slid out of (Name)s mouth still semi hard as (Name) collected his breathing and showed his Daddy his mouth, all of his mum swallowed like the good boy he is.

"Such a good boy, swallowing daddies cum" petting (name)s hair before having (Name) go and bend over the heavy wooden desk, swatting his pump ass as be bent over, presenting his pink little ass that was begging to be filled.

"Always so good for daddy...my sweet boy" another swat at his ass cheek as (Name) let out a choked gasp at the cool sensation of lube dripping between his crack, where Mikey got it was a mystery (Name) didn't dwell on as a finger pressed into him and began thrusting.

"No matter how many times we do this you feel like a virgin!" He began thrusting his finger in and out before adding another and eventually another, before having three thick fingers stretching his abused hole.

"D-daddy~ 'nna cum!" (Name) slurred already fucked out as another slap to the ass shook his body.

"You can cum on this cock" Mikey grunted before violently ripping out his fingers and shoving his cock in with another slap to (Name)s reddened cheek and grinning when the other came loudly, white spurting out on the front of the deep mahogany desk and marble floor as Mikey began violently thrusting into (Name) and began using him as a cock sleeve.

"Daddy~Daddy~Daddy~" was all (Name) could manage to say as the grip on his hip began bruising, already feeling another orgasm build as Mikey let up on his ass cheeks and pulled (Name) back by the hair and harshly kissed him, teeth clanking as (Name) sucked on his daddies tongue, Mikey tasting him self on the others mouth as he continued to fuck his lover stupid, grinning as (Name)s tongue hung out of his kiss swollen mouth and eyes beginning to cross.

"God baby I love fucking you stupid, such a filthy cock slut for me" his harsh words made (Name) tighten around his leaking cock and slammed his hips hard, loads of semen pouring into the boys abused hole, forcing a second orgasm out of his lover.

Pulling out, he looked at (Name) who was dazed and fucked out before lifting the fucked out boy into the couch and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you daddy..." (name) managed to slur out as his delicate hands moved to stroke his cum filled belly with satisfaction.

"Rest now, because daddy is going to ruin your poor hole after he finished meeting" tucking his cock into his pants, he left his fucked out boy on the couch for him to come back to.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 5)

Summary: The reader has finally hired a replacement manager and after a dinner with her family, she and Jensen confront some underlying feelings...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Square: Free Space

Word Count: 3,200ish

Warnings: mature (language, smut (m/f))

A/N: Enjoy!

A/N #2: Written for @spnkinkbingo​

_________

You stretched as you woke the next morning, getting ready for the day of entertaining your family. You bumped into Jensen in the kitchen, a pair of jeans and a simple black henley on him. You smiled but he frowned and you instantly made a face.

“Y/N, don’t turn off your phone ever. It’s a rule, remember?” he said before returning to slurping up his cereal.

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot,” you said.

“Please try not to do it again,” he said. He finished with his bowl and you took the cereal from nearby, pouring yourself some. “Are you deciding on a new manager today?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of that David guy?”

“The british one?”

“No, that was the Mark one. He was scottish I think. I’m not positive,” you said.

“Is David the one that had that intern? The little guy?” he asked.

“Alex? No, he was his just his driver. It doesn’t matter. I was thinking of David. What do you think?”

“Why does it matter what I think?”

“You did full background checks on all of these guys,” you said. “Who do you trust?”

“Honestly?” he asked. “I like Jake.”

“The young one?”

“He lacks the experience of the others but I don’t see him screwing you over. He was a navy cadet in college. Had to drop out due to a knee injury. Him I trust. Not that I don’t the others but I got a good feeling from the kid.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” you said. He stood and you grabbed the milk, Jensen wiping off his mouth. “Have fun with your sister.”

“She’s got a work thing at the moment but hopefully she wraps up soon and I can take her out for some fun for a bit. I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

“Later, Jay,” you said, getting a wave from him as he walked out. You poured the milk into your bowl and took out your phone, dialing and hearing a ring tone a few times.

“Hello?” the other end answered.

“Hi, Jake? This is Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you were still interested in the manager position? If you are, you are in for a fun first day with that restaurant photo.”

“Mmm. Smells great in here,” hummed Jensen when he walked into the kitchen that evening. Your mom smiled and immediately rushed over, Jensen tensing up as she gave him a hug.

“Mom. Don’t bug Jensen,” you said.

“It’s alright,” he said, noticing your brothers were nowhere to be found. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Oh his arms are even bigger than you said! He’s handsome too,” she said. You rolled your eyes as you worked over the pot at the stove, Chuck turning around beside you and chuckling. “Jensen, this is my husband, Chuck.”

“Nice to meet you sir,” said Jensen, holding out a hand.

“You know everything about us already, don’t you,” he said as he shook it.

“Pretty much,” said Jensen. “Y/N’s safety is important and knowing about her family is part of that.”

“Well we certainly feel a lot better with her hiring someone. We’ve never been fans of her living alone,” he said.

“Y/N is quite capable. I’m just here to stop those situations from ever happening,” said Jensen.

“You will be joining us to eat, won’t you? Y/N and Chuck are making us dinner,” said your mom.

“That’s very kind of you mam but-”

“I insist,” she said.

“Just let it go Jensen,” you said. “This’ll be done soon if you want to tell the guys.”

Your parents headed outside, Jensen taking up Chuck’s spot beside you and stirring the cooked vegetables in the pan.

“None of them have any idea about the fake kidnapping or anything else, do they.”

“Nope. Nothing besides what happened last night. Michael and Nick know about the manager thing but that’s it. I’d prefer to keep it that way,” you said. The timer went off and Jensen got it, pushing some of the food around with a wooden spoon.

“They won’t hear anything from me,” he said. “Smells delicious.”

“Thanks. How’d it go with your sister?” 

“Good. I need to discuss something with you later after your family is gone for the night.”

“Everything alright?” you asked. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, the back door opening. “Let’s dig in while it’s hot.”

“Jensen,” you said, finding him out by the pool that night, his feet soaking in the water. “My folks and the wonder twins are gone for the night.”

“Wonder twins,” he chuckled. “They act differently when your parents are around.”

“You picked up on that huh.”

“It’s pretty obvious,” he said. You sat beside him and stuck your feet in, Jensen leaning back on his palms. 

“What’s going on big guy?”

“Are you asking as my boss or my friend?”

“Friend,” you said, bumping his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“My sister wasn’t too happy to see big brother on the news nearly getting shot at. She asked me to consider a different line of work,” he said.

“Oh,” you said.

“Yeah. I’m not quitting, just so you know. A random guy running from the cops doesn’t scare me. Only reason I was on the news was cause of you,” he said.

“There’s a but in there somewhere though.”

“No, not really,” he said. “Just wanted to talk to you about it.”

“So there’s no problem.”

“I like when there’s no problems,” he chuckled. “My job is a lot easier when it’s simple like that.”

“You still have your gun on you.”

“Precaution,” he said. He sat up and took it out from behind his back. “You ever shoot one?”

“Pretend but real no, I haven’t. Can I hold it?” you asked. He set it in your hands, watching you look it over for a moment.

“You’ve had gun training,” he said.

“First season went through a lot of that stuff on the show. We get refreshers,” you said. “Colt?”

“Yes it is,” he said. “You use a glock on your show I believe.” 

Your head popped up and he laughed.

“Yes, even I do occasionally watch TV. Nice gun safety. You never leave your finger on the trigger.”

“Not supposed to, even with a fake gun they taught us,” you said. You lifted it up and held it out, finding it to be heavier than the one you were used to. “I like the grip.”

“You’d probably like a smaller Colt, fit your hands better,” he said. You handed it back to him and he tucked it away. “You see where the safety was on it?”

“Yeah?” you said. He reached behind himself and took your hand, guiding it to the back holster. 

“If I can’t use this, grips on the right side. Take it out, flick off the safety, point and squeeze. It’s that simple.”

“I sincerely hope I never have to put that into practice,” you said as he dropped your hand. Your finger brushed against his back, Jensen frozen solid before you pulled away.

“Any day I don’t have to touch it is a good one,” he said, your hand settling back in your lap. “That...tickled was all.”

“Green beans and tickling. You got some funny forms of kryptonite, Ackles,” you said. 

“Beats actual kryptonite,” he said. “Been awhile since I’ve been tickled.”

“I bet you like it. Being able to feel vulnerable and safe with someone.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Your feet kicked in the water, a smile growing on your face. He bumped your shoulder and your turned your head. He looked different, a softness about him. 

“Are you happy?” you asked. 

“What?”

“Are you happy? I...I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose this job over other things in life, like a relationship. You can have both, Jensen.”

“I’m lost.”

“I’m just saying...you can have a girlfriend and be my bodyguard. You don’t have to pick one or the other.”

“Girls get jealous,” he said. “In my experience. The hours are crap. The inconsistent schedule. I’m too…”

“Too what?”

“Last girlfriend I had...I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” He rubbed the back of his neck and you lightly nudged his foot in the water. “She thought I was too broken for a normal relationship.”

“What?”

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” he mumbled. He started to stand but you grabbed his arm, Jensen sighing and turning to you. “What? I think she might have had a point.”

“I think that was horrible of her to say and I’m sorry she never saw the real you cause him? He is so not broken.”

“You have this perfect image of me. Strong and capable. Dominant. Alpha. In charge, gives no fucks. That’s the bodyguard. That’s not me.”

“I know. I know Jensen likes being tickled,” you said. He rolled his eyes but you caught his chin, Jensen swallowing. “I know he likes the touch of soft fleece and expensive navy boxer briefs. I know he likes classic rock and sleeping in and likes two cream, one sugar in his coffee. I know he talks to his parents every Thursday night for at least an hour. I know he’s quiet around people he doesn’t know and I know he opens up when he’s well and truly comfortable with someone. I know he’s kind and I know he has nightmares sometimes. I know he can play the piano and guitar and he sings in the shower when he’s happy and he checks on me at night and puts my blankets back on me and doesn’t say a word about it, even when I thought he hated me.”

“You pay attention to me,” he said quietly. “Even though you don’t like me around.”

“I don’t like the bodyguard. He’s okay sometimes but a bit much all the time. But Jensen...him I like. I like him alot.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. What’s been done to me.”

“You’re not broken, Jensen. I’m never going to believe that so don’t even try.”

He put a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in close, so close you could feel his breath�� on your face. 

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m screwed up. We’re not supposed to be friends. Don’t you understand that?” he said. Your nose pressed against his, green eyes locked on yours.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” you said. “What do you want?”

“I can’t have what I want,” he breathed out.

“You might be wrong about that. Actually, I’m positive you are,” you said, his hand sliding up a few inches into your hair. “Stop being scared and just tell me what you want.”

He leaned in the last inch between you, gentle lips connecting with yours. He didn’t move for a few seconds, eyes opening when he inched away just slightly. You stared at him and you saw him get the message, another kiss landing on your lips, his free hand sliding around your back. Your arms went over his shoulders, Jensen leaving kitten kisses on you before connecting roughly, giving your whole body a squeeze.

“Bedroom,” you breathed out. He moved back long enough to take his feet out of the water. He hoisted you up and carried you inside, your arms and legs wrapped around him as you returned to kissing him. There was a light scratch from the stubble on his jaw and you tugged on his bottom lip, Jensen pausing as he tried to shut the door behind him with one hand. 

You took the opportunity to tease him, kissing under his jaw while he got the back door shut and locked, his hand slapping the alarm system and the little ping saying it was armed. He arched his neck back and spun around, pushing you up against the wall. You squeezed him tighter, getting gentle bites along your collar bone.

He tore the two of you away and rushed you upstairs, stepping up onto your bed and walking forward on his knees until he could lower you down to your back. His eyes looked darker but playful as he moved up and leaned over you.

“Condom?” he asked.

“I’m on medication,” you said. “You clean?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Same.”

“Good cause I really don’t think I can wait any longer to do this,” he said. He tore off his shirt and you immediately shot your hands up to his chest, running your fingers down it. 

“You’re so damn hot,” you said. He rolled off the bed and dropped his pants, giving you time to get your shirt off. By the time your head wasn’t covered, you had a perfect view of his ass, creamy and perky. Your bra went off quickly, Jensen turning around and making you pause.

“What?” he asked, glancing down at himself and then you.

“Lucky me,” you said. He smirked and you kicked off your shorts and underwear, Jensen crawling back on the bed and hovering over you. You kissed him and he planted his forearm by your head, his other hand trailing down to your breast. He kneaded the flesh gently, swiping a thumb over the bud and getting a tiny gasp out of you. He teased the same nipple with light touches and twists before working the other one over.

By the time his hand made its way between your folds you were soaking wet already.

“How do you want it?” he murmured against your lips, circling your clit lightly with his thumb.

“Want what?” you asked, arching your hips up into his touch.

“Slow. Fast. What do you like?” he asked, kissing your jaw as your breath hitched. 

“Show me how you’ve imagined this going,” you said. He smiled and you felt the head of his cock brush you folds. He teased the head against your clit a few times before you reached down and were guiding him into your hole.

He was a smidge thicker than you were expecting and his length was perfect, solid, long but not too much. He surprised you by wrapping his arms around you pulling you to sit up on his lap, your legs hanging around his waist. He thrust his hips up and you bit your bottom lip, landing back down on him. He moved again and hit your g-spot, your jaw dropping.

“That’s the spot,” he murmured, kissing you as he started a slow and steady rhythm. You hung on for the ride, his hands on your thighs, thick cock pumping into you over and over and over again. You’d been able to play on your own and hit that spot but never with a guy, never had that low pressure simmering in your core.

God it was going to fucking destroy you when it hit.

You couldn’t wait.

You smiled as your nerves tingled, Jensen kissing you all over, his grip strong but everything else soft and gentle. His hair started to dampen with sweat and and you felt a layer cover your body, the steady pace getting you both closer. 

He was nipping at your shoulder when you rolled your hips, Jensen grunting lowly and burying his face in your neck. That was a sound you could definitely do with more of and you did the motion again, Jensen pushing you onto his cock this time. You both moaned, Jensen’s slow pace picking up just a hair.

You were rolling your hips when his tip pounded inside of you and the low pressure started to explode inside you. You gasped and weren’t even sure what the hell kind of sound you’d made, suddenly aware of hot wetness filling you up. Jensen tensed up and slowly started to stop moving, your breath finally coming back to you as he stilled. He dropped his forehead on your shoulder and panted, your hands running up and down his back, playing with his hair some.

You giggled, Jensen letting out one himself and you swore your heart couldn’t have melted any faster. You picked your head up as he did, giving him a long kiss. He rested his forehead on your own, a smile dancing across his face.

“That was the best sex of my fucking life,” you said. He smiled hard and lowered you back down to the bed, holding up a finger. He pulled out and took a few shaky steps before going into your bathroom. He returned with a washcloth, wiping you clean. He tossed it back in the bathroom before he bent down to his pants. You frowned, Jensen looking back as he unclipped his holster from his belt. He walked it over to the unused nightstand and set it on top before he slid next to you. You pushed the covers back and slid under the sheet together, Jensen rolling you close to him and up against his chest.

“I don’t hookup,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. You shut your eyes and burrowed in a bit closer, Jensen pulling you to use his chest as a pillow. “I really liked that. It was fun.”

“We should do it again sometime,” he said. He turned his head and you smiled, Jensen moving a stray piece of hair away from your cheek. 

“I would be much safer if you slept close by, wouldn’t I?” you asked coyly, Jensen already seeing through it.

“Oh yes, much safer.”

“Maybe you should sleep in here from now on...for safety.”

“In the name of safety, for sure,” he said, kissing your temple. “Real talk for a second. If this is just a hookup for you can you let me now over-”

You put a hand over his mouth and stared at him, slowly moving it away and giving him a kiss.

“I like you, Jensen. I really like you.”

He smiled and took your hand, laying it over his chest so you were holding him.

“Goodnight,” you said, kissing his shoulder.

“Night, Y/N,” he said, lightly dancing his fingers over your hip. “Sleep good.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

[winterscaptain]

marksmanship.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thank @quillvine for kicking my ass into gear on this one. for the record, i took artistic liberties with the differences between the beretta and the glock - nothing too crazy, but they aren’t that different in real life. (yes, hello, i live in the united states of embarrassment and i’m sorry). the first two lines of dialogue come from ncis episode 1x09 and were the original inspiration for this fic. lemme know what you think and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

words: 1.1k warnings; guns (handguns, sniper rifles), firing on human-shaped paper targets on a controlled range, questionable teaching practices, Sniper Hotch™

summary: “you know how you smoke out a sniper? you send a guy out in the open, and you see if he gets shot. they thought that one up at west point” - samuel fuller. au!april 2013

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You watch him tape your phone to the target brace, dangling right over the hostage outline. 

“Damn it, Aaron. I need that.”

He puts his headphones on and kisses your cheek, lining himself up behind you. His lips rise to your ear and you suppress a shudder. “Then don’t shoot it.”

You adjust your grip on your new Glock, not entirely accustomed to the bigger weapon. Aaron’s weight against your back and his hands on your hips doesn’t help, either. He’s always distracting, but with a firearm in your hands, there’s a little more thrill to it, a little more benign danger. 

It’s exciting. 

This wouldn’t be nearly as fun with Derek. 

You take a shot, immediately letting all your breath out in a sharp exhale when you miss entirely.

“That’s okay. It leans left. Now you know.” 

You nod and roll your shoulders out again, staring down the sight. 

This time, you remember everything you’ve learned, taking a deep breath and firing on empty lungs. You barely blink, but still miss just outside the outline of the unsub. 

Aaron kisses the curve of your neck where it meets your shoulder. “Three more, then notes.” 

To his credit, he doesn’t move, only supporting your body as you get used to the slightly heavier weapon. There’s less recoil than your old Beretta, but the excuse is always welcome. 

You fire off three more shots in quick succession, one hitting inside the lines, right at the top of the head. 

Placing the gun on the felt pad Aaron lent you, the barrel facing down-range, you press the button to bring your target toward you so you can evaluate it. Because you’re the only two in the range, you remove your hearing protection and so does he, saving you the effort of shouting. 

Aaron reaches past you, pointing at the paper, completely ignoring your phone still dangling by the tape. “The Glock releases faster than your Beretta, and will pack more of a punch,” he says. “You don’t have to cheat high because your rounds won’t arc down as much at the higher velocity.” 

You look at your groupings, finding they were almost exactly where you aimed them, instead of the centimeter below, like you expected. “Makes sense. What else?” 

“Like I said first, it cheats left. You’ll have to compensate by about an inch to get it where you want to go.” 

You snort. “So what you’re saying is, if I want a perfect shot I have to aim right at my phone.” 

When he doesn’t say anything, you look over your shoulder. He’s grinning. 

You roll your eyes and put your headphones back on, grumbling something that sounds like “fuckhead,” but Aaron isn’t sure. 

He stands back a little ways, confident that you’ve got the hang of the disparities in physics, with his headphones on and arms crossed. You roll the target out to seven yards (the average distance to an assailant) and take a deep breath. 

Thank God you backed that phone up before you left this morning. 

You fire off three shots, Aaron’s voice echoing in your head. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through. 

Front sight trigger press follow through

Frontsighttriggerpressfollowthrough

You set the gun down and pick up the scope from his disassembled sniper rifle - another item on Aaron’s to-do list for you today - and look at the target. 

With a sigh of relief, you see that your phone is intact and you’ve got a nice, tight grouping on the unsub. 

You hear Aaron’s small round of applause before you remove your ear protection, and turn around to acknowledge the praise with a gracious tip of your head. “Not so bad?” 

He shakes his head. “Not so bad.” He sniffs, holding the scope between two fingers - it’s huge, but he makes it look easily manageable. 

Nice. 

“Now - long-distance marksmanship will definitely take us the rest of the afternoon.” 

You let your head fall with a defeated groan. “We’ve been here since nine and it’s nearly one, Aaron. Can’t we do this… any other time?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “The range is deserted. Would you prefer an audience?” 

Your mouth twists. “No.” 

+++

You shove your earplugs in your ears and fold your arms right where Aaron’s shoulders flatten, resting your chin over your hands. You’re laid out entirely flat over him, lined up as best you can for posture and angle. 

He’ll take a few shots after he shows you how to adjust for wind, distance, obstacles, all of it. 

“The scope will take you where you need to go - you just have to get the reading right.”

Aaron settles his cheek against the stock of the gun, staring down the scope with his left eye. “So,” he says, his voice clouded by concentration, “we’re going about three thousand yards today. What you’ll want to do for a distance like that, with the wind as it is today from the southeast…”

How does he know that? 

You look up, trying to look at the clouds or the trees or something.

He rolls his shoulder, knocking you a little off-balance. “Hey. Focus. I’ll show you.” 

You settle back against him, very much liking his method of teaching, and listen as he walks you through all the knobs and levers and hinges on the scope. 

“...And then,” he presses his cheek against the stock again, making sure his shoulder is flush, too, “you fire.”

He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment when all the air is gone, and fires. 

There’s a decent amount of recoil as he takes the shot and you can feel the muscles in his back ripple under you as he absorbs the energy. 

“We won't be able to see it well until we drive out to the target - it’s nearly two miles away - but you can see a decent amount through the scope.” 

You kiss the back of his neck. “Very nice.” 

The pull of his cheek is visible from where you are, but you can’t completely see his smile. “Thank you.” 

+++

By the time you get back Aaron’s car outside the BAU offices, you’re entirely beat. Your shoulders ache, your nose is full of dry dirt and gunpowder, your fingers are stiff, and you’ll need to ice your hips and knees when you get home. 

Aaron makes it look easy, but keeping your heels flat in sniper prone for two hours is awful. 

“Remind me why I went to you for marksmanship training, again?” 

He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it. “Because I’m the best.” 

+++

tagging:  @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @prentisswrites @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-marcus-moreno @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reidsmismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @luciilferss @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @the-falling-in-the-danger @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @vagabond-ing @triangularroses @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[iknewyoudunderstand]

Aaron woke up to a clattering in the kitchen. His brain caught up with his body when he was crouched at the gun safe tucked away next to his bureau, his sleep-addled fingers somehow maneuvering the combination lock—ten, oh-seven, thirty-four. Spencer had complimented him on it when figuring it out had taken him longer than ten seconds, because while using his son’s birthday was expected, what wasn’t was the division of his favorite album’s release date, and that would prevent potential attackers from— 

Spencer. Where was Spencer?

Glock in hand, finally, Aaron spun around but the bed was empty and the bathroom dark. Spencer’s revolver was still in the safe, and try as he might but Aaron just couldn’t remember if he had fallen asleep before Spencer had come upstairs or not. Spencer was a much heavier sleeper than he was, and if there was someone in the house and Spencer was downstairs…

On silent feet, Aaron crept through the upstairs, clearing each room. He didn’t have a flashlight on him, so he was forced to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, to keep his back to the wall, and to keep his finger on the trigger just in case someone jumped out at him from behind a door or a chest of drawers. His room, Jack’s unoccupied room, the upstairs bathroom… as he came down the stairs he noticed that there was a light coming from the kitchen.

He lifted his gun again and turned the corner to see Spencer, leaning against the counter with a jar of baby food in his hand and a spoon in his mouth.

“What the fuck?” Aaron asked. Spencer jumped at the sight of the gun, and Aaron clicked the safety back on. “What are you doing?”

“An experiment,” he said around the spoon.

Aaron suddenly felt very tired. He glanced at the digital clock on the oven. 3:23 AM. “Why?”

“Um.” Spencer set the jar of baby food down on the counter, and then the spoon. “Necessity?”

“Spencer.”

“I was hungry,” Spencer said. “And it was too late to make something.”

“Spencer.”

“So I had to go looking in the cabinets.”

“Not in the pantry?”

“As a result, I found the baby food.”

“It’s been there for at least a year. Did you check if it was expired?”

“My hypothesis was in regards to whether or not expired baby food was still going to be good.”

Aaron sighed. “And?”

“My conclusion is that it is palatable, but probably not something I should incorporate into my regular diet.”

“You mean you won’t be replacing your diet of coffee and saltine crackers with pureed peas and carrots?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Spencer cracked a grin and the sight of it dissolved all of his building exasperation. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He moved closer to Spencer and set his gun on the counter. “But you could’ve just told me you were going to make something. You know I don’t mind.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?” Spencer shrugged. “Spencer, you live here. I told you when you moved in that I wasn’t going to try and change your habits; they’re not disruptive.”

“They’re decidedly disruptive, Aaron. They’re the definition of disruptive,” Spencer said.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

“It will probably happen again.” Aaron reached out and grabbed one of Spencer’s hands so he’d stop wringing them. Gently, because he knew Spencer was still getting used to casual displays of affection, he lifted his knuckles to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss across them. Spencer lit up red. “But it’s okay. We’re FBI agents. At least one of us has to be the light sleeper.”

He snorted. “It doesn’t help that I’m an insomniac.”

“Life goes on.” Aaron fought a yawn. “I’m going back to bed, okay? Just make something if you’re hungry; you can throw away all that baby food when you’re done with your ‘experiment.’” He made air quotes around the word.

“It’s science, Aaron,” Spencer said. “I know you don’t understand it because you don’t have a doctorate in chemistry—“

“You are so lucky I love you,” Aaron said with a scoff. He looked down to grab his gun, and when he looked back up, Spencer was frozen completely, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembling a bit. He looked like someone had just told him his dog died.

Or, his brain that was still heavy with sleep supplied, like someone had told him they loved him for the first time.

“Sorry,” Aaron said quickly. “I didn’t mean… well, yes, I meant it, but I didn’t mean to say it now… honestly, I was hoping for a situation that was more romantic—“

“I’m sorry, this isn’t the romantic occasion you were looking for?” Spencer joked, a little bit of color coming back to his face. Spencer away from work was a smart-mouthed son of a bitch, and Aaron recognized it as a sort of defense mechanism—a sense of normalcy.

“Not really.” He returned Spencer’s wry smile with a dimple-bearing grin and received a light shove on the shoulder for his troubles, and a muttered ‘jerk.’

Aaron knew they weren’t going to talk about it. There wasn’t going to be a conversation about the logistics of a romantic connection between a superior and a subordinate, because they were already in too deep for a 3 AM feelings powwow to make any difference. They lived in the same house, they slept in the same bed. The only thing missing was the verbal affirmation, the thing that would tell the other, yes, I am in it for the long run.

He supposed neither of them had been looking for a promise because promises eventually got broken. Aaron learned that with Haley, and he didn’t want Spencer to have to learn it first hand—but he knew anyway because no matter how they got into this job, into this field, there was always trauma in the background. Neither of them wanted to get hurt or hurt the other, so the nonverbal agreement had been formed. Maybe if they didn’t say it out loud, the eventual dissolution wouldn’t hurt as much.

And Aaron had just ruined all that because he was caught off guard. It was uncharacteristic as it got—he was Aaron Hotchner, he was never caught off guard—but the easiest way to ruin something was by sticking your own foot in it.

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, looking like he’d just heard Aaron’s entire thought process out loud. Or he had probably had the same one. “I mean… you mean it, right?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “I do.”

Spencer stepped in close and caught his lips in a kiss, and it was relatively romantic for all of five seconds, especially in the way that his long fingers caught the skin in between his boxer briefs and his worn academy t-shirt that had become his pajamas, but then the taste made Aaron recoil.

“How did you palate that?” he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “All that sugar in your coffee is ruining your taste buds.”

“Maybe.” But Spencer was laughing, even as he stuck the spoon in the sink and dropped the baby food in the trash—thank God, Aaron didn’t know if he wanted that disgusting stuff in his house anymore. He’d call Jack in the morning and apologize for making him eat that liquid garbage. “You should go back to bed.”

“You should come with me.”

“I need to finish what I was doing,” he said with a sigh. “This professor is killing me with these papers.”

“He most likely knows that you’re smarter than him and feels intimidated, so he’s lashing out at you,” Aaron said, feigning wiseness. “Probably had some sort of complex when he was a kid.”

“Oedipus,” Spencer said. “You’re lucky you don’t have to sit through his lectures. I thought I was done with Freud when I finished my BA…”

“And that’s my cue to go to bed before I have to listen to another rant.”

“They’re well deserved.”

“Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night, Aaron,” Spencer said, and Aaron turned to leave the kitchen.

He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination when he heard a soft, “I love you, too,” but he didn’t want to check. Life with Spencer Reid was wonderful, and incredible, and all the other adjectives this crazy relationship between them deserved, but it was fragile. They both were.

Besides, he didn’t need to hear those words, because they only encouraged him—and he didn’t need to be thinking about a recreation of this scene in a world where life was more stable, and society was more accepting, and there was another child in his life and Spencer had another opportunity to eat baby food, even though the whole thought made his heart slam against his ribcage and a grin break out across his face.

They had work in the morning, and he didn’t need to be up all night dreaming about the future, because he was perfectly content to just let it come.

[btsmosphere]

Crossfire | KTH

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Moodboard Masterlist

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 3.5k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: swearing, violence, kidnapping/being restrained (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: so things heat up a bit in this chapter... I hope you guys enjoy the faster pace, it felt right to me but there are more scene cuts etc so I hope it works :) and huge thank you again to everyone reblogging my work! I see you and it really helps me out xx

Taehyung wondered if you noticed.

He knew you were often asleep long after he left, but he wondered if you remembered the times he had woken up with an arm over you, or when you had both moved closer in the night, or the way he would let his sleepy eyes wander your face before he decided to face the world.

Or maybe it was all lost in the haze of sleep for you, belonging only under the covers and in the dark.

He wondered if you ever heard his singing again. Whenever he sang in the mornings, though he had always enjoyed doing it for himself, he thought of you. He hoped you were listening.

After the excitement of hitting the jackpot with Soonjae, you spent your days with Tae’s books again. You had served your purpose, assured by him that they didn’t need more than one inner member for the time being. You doubted you would have found anything on the last member of the list, ‘Jintao’, anyway.

Days and books passed. So did nights with Tae.

It became clear to you that his way of expressing himself was quite physical. Though you enjoyed his touch, and initiated it yourself, you knew that to him, it was just the way he was with friends. Nothing more.

But it didn’t matter to you, as you enjoyed yourself in his company anyway.

Another meeting was called. This time it was much more fruitful, and a date was set. Since the last one, members they had already gathered from Shinhyuk’s gang had been able to pass on information to root out more members, and so on.

As Jin confirmed that Soonjae had successfully been bought out with a healthy mix of blackmail and promises of freedom, you glowed. The boys weren’t shy to thank you as well, even though they had doubted you at first.

Jungkook had found out about a deal Shinhyuk himself would be present at, though Jungkook was not required. And they were using the shop Shinhyuk had gained after his earlier attack, so he would be in the middle of their territory and at their mercy.

This was their chance to turn the tables on their enemy.

The idea was to capture Shinhyuk at the deal, and with him gone, the rest of the gang would be ready to fall apart. Their allies could move in, easily taking the area Shinhyuk had dominated for so long.

During the subsequent movie night, you and Tae shared a private toast with plastic cups of coke. To your hard work, though you insisted he share some of the credit.

As you chucked away the litter in the kitchen that night, out of breath after just a minute, you rediscovered your pack of red pills. You certainly hadn’t been taking them consistently.

That night, the rare occasion came when you could not get to sleep. Lying in the dark, you gazed over at Tae, just a lump under the duvet as he slept. You had shared in the excitement and hopefulness with the others earlier, but now you couldn’t help thinking-

What would happen when it was all over?

If they succeeded, and you could go back home, what would happen to you?

Last time you had interacted with Tae, and it certainly couldn’t be classed as more than that, you had gone straight back to normal afterwards. He had been charming, and of course he was attractive, but it had been easy for you to stay away, knowing his friends and their reputation.

Or at least you thought you had known.

Now you had met them all, shared takeaways and movie nights, and you and Tae had shared far more. You couldn’t forget about it. You wouldn’t want to.

“Are you excited?”

Pressing your lips into a smile, you gave Taehyung a nod. Not the most enthusiastic of responses.

Today was the day.

That evening, if everything went according to plan, Shinhyuk would lose everything, and you would be free. You could see your dad again. Go back to your place.

It wasn’t that you weren’t excited, but the excitement was swamped by everything else you were feeling.

“Hey, it’s gonna be ok,” Taehyung took your silence as denial and shuffled closer to you where you were reading a book against the headboard, eventually laying his head on your shoulder. And though it thrilled you, you stiffened. Trying your hardest not to react, you stared down at your book without absorbing any words.

Tae had opted to stay home from college today, even though the raid was to be in the evening.

Together you had made a ‘fancy’ lunch of pancakes, watched a short film and now you were anticipating the hour when he would have to go. Today had felt too full of goodbyes. You knew, however, that there was still one more to come, when he would leave to fight once and for all.

“You’ll get to go back home!” he attempted again to lighten the mood, but his words only made your heart heavier.

Sighing, you put your book aside, tilting your head to lean on top of his.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I see my dad.”

“Trust me, you’ll be happy when you see him again.”

“You’re right,” you sighed again, “I just… he got us into this whole mess – not that I don’t understand why.”

Taehyung considered you for a second.

“Not everything was his fault. He just did it because he loves you. He wants the best for you.”

“Why are you right about everything?” you laughed, making your shoulders shake and dislodging Tae’s head from its spot.

Sitting up fully again, he shoved your shoulder gently in retaliation. There he stayed, face slightly obscured as he sat forward while you rested back.

After a moment of silence, his impatient hands flipped his phone over.

“The others are setting off,” he informed you. You had learned that the eldest four were going to lie in wait, Taehyung and Jimin going in later as backup. Jungkook was at one of Shinhyuk’s other bases, known simply as ‘angel’, out of suspicion’s reach.

Taehyung didn’t have long.

“Do you think…” he started, voice low and quiet, “do you ever think that even though everything that happened, with your dad, though it was messed up… maybe something good came out of it?”

You stared at the back of his head.

“I wouldn’t have met all of you guys otherwise,” you admitted, “it’s been fun with you.”

Nodding, Taehyung finally turned, positioning himself in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you saw him look down, taking a deep breath.

“You know, when we had that project together, it was never more than a crush,” his eyes came to meet yours and your heart thudded in your chest. He was so close to you, watching you intently, “but, Y/N, I really like you. And it’s not good, what happened, but I’m glad you came to my door that night. And I know I’m going to miss you after all this so I had to say something, maybe I’m crazy but-“

“You’re not crazy,” you finally found your voice after staring in awe at the boy, at the words coming out of his mouth, “I-I feel the same. I want this to be all over with Shinhyuk, but I don’t want to stop seeing you. I don’t want to go.”

You were sure the look in his eyes was mirrored in your own.

Shakily, he exhaled.

The two of you were so close now, the air around you static, holding its breath as you leaned forwards, closing the distance.

Until your lips met, you hadn’t known how much you wanted it. Taehyung’s hand came up to cup your jaw softly, the other travelling to your waist as you savoured the kiss, blissfully sweet but filled with longing.

Chasing more bliss, you tilted your head, transforming the kiss from something gentle to something more, and all too soon it was over, leaving you both panting, foreheads resting together, breathless smiles on your faces. Returning the gaze from Tae’s dark eyes, you looked back with just as much awe.

His eyes dropped once more to your lips. Your own parted in anticipation as you watched him dart his tongue out subconsciously.

Then his phone buzzed.

You both hesitated, but pulled back. Today of all days, you were aware the messages would be important. As he reached across the bed for the phone, his hand enveloped yours, happy now he could finally hold it when he wanted.

The screen lit up, showing only two words from Jungkook.

Code Black

One of Hoseok’s hands rested on the wheel. The car was engulfed in shadow, the four boys silent as they watched their target across the street.

Before, it had looked unassuming, just another local business in the row of shops crammed together. Now, the sign had been ripped down, leaving a gap in the otherwise continuous row of neon and paint that made up the front of other businesses. Both front windows were shattered, painting spiderwebs over the black canvas of the dark interior.

Tonight the road wasn’t busy. It was easy to spot as the car pulled up outside, two men in suits leaving it and entering the shop.

“They’re early,” Jin muttered, but they prepared anyway.

The deal would be over quickly, Shinhyuk just coming to pick up and inspect his new haul of weapons.

Sticking to the shadows, Yoongi led the way, easily blending in with the streets in his slouchy black clothes. Hoseok tapped his foot as he watched his friends leave one by one.

The men inside jumped when Yoongi threw the door open, holding his glock confidently in front of him. Namjoon and Jin flanked him, pulling out their guns as well, leaving the two men outnumbered, one behind the counter of the shop where the package was due to be, the other’s hand flying instantly to the holster on his belt.

For a moment, the only sound was a car starting up outside.

Then the second man turned around, gun raised, and fired. Yoongi ducked, running forward at a crouch as the glass door behind him shattered, two more shots going off as the other suited man fired and Namjoon retaliated.

Another shot flew past his shoulder as Yoongi dived over the counter, tackling his opponent, quickly handing him a fist to the face, hand fisting his collar.

From the other side of the shop came the grunting of the others as Namjoon and Jin took the first man down. In the struggle, he started yelling.

“Backup! Backup!”

Jin ripped an earpiece from the man’s ear, tossing it across the room.

Once they had both of them under control, Jin pressing the face of the man that had shouted into a table, arm in a lock behind his back, Yoongi pinning the other down with his gun lying uselessly in the middle of the shop floor, Namjoon strode to the counter.

“Where is Shinhyuk?” he demanded, looking between both men, neither of which were the intended target.

Not a word came in reply.

Maintaining his composure while the other two looked between each other in panic, Namjoon reached across the counter to lift up the large duffel bag that lay there. He frowned.

Placing it on the top, it made no sound, and pulling open the zip revealed the bag to be full of rolled up newspapers.

“What is this?” Namjoon’s fury bled through his words as he rummaged in the bag, coming up empty handed. A few balls of newspaper rolled onto the floor, but no one else dared move.

Looking at the man below him, Yoongi found he looked as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

“Where are the weapons?” he shook the guy, glaring at him until a reply left his lips.

“I-I don’t know, Shin said we had to come and pick them up-”

The buzzing of a phone sounded, and Namjoon pulled his out.

Code Black

He whirled around, but no one was to be seen outside. Only their own car.

Jin stepped back, releasing his captive.

“What is it?” he asked Namjoon.

“Jungkook. It’s a trap,” the blond ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the space in panic. They were in a dead end.

Yoongi was standing too now, and followed his leader in a heartbeat when he moved to the door.

“Where the fuck’s our car?” one of the men spoke behind them.

“’E’s left us,” the other responded in shock, “no one’s coming.”

Turning, Yoongi found them both standing, lost, staring at the empty road outside and the fake bag of ammo.

“You should get out of here,” he warned, stepping into the night.

“Bring him in.”

Shinhyuk had turned off his screen the moment he saw bangtan approaching the shop. He had sent disposable men; whatever happened to them now didn’t concern him. Catching the rat did.

Now, he strolled into the room where Jungkook was held.

“Well played, Jeon,” he snarled, “Very subtle.”

The boy glared back at him with ice in his eyes.

“I know you stole the file,” he continued, then to the guards flanking him, “search him.”

Struggling against his bonds didn’t help, but Shinhyuk’s smirking face had riled Jungkook up enough that he didn’t care about the metal digging into his skin. He didn’t know where his friends were. He had only had time to send out that one message as the guards had come barging in to get him.

At least he could take pride in the amount it had taken to get him under control. There were several nursing wounds upstairs as they spoke.

As rough hands patted at him, pulling his clothes and making their way into his pockets, Shinhyuk kept talking.

“I had my suspicions, Jeon. You proved them today. You were the only one I told about the deal, the perfect opportunity for bangtan to try and make a move, but it was just a fairy tale,” his lips curled up into a wolfish smile, “there were never any weapons. There was never any deal.”

He looked on, chuckling, as the search concluded, but the result pulled the smile right of his face.

“No file?” Jungkook took his turn to smirk.

“I know you’re the rat, boy,” Shinhyuk advanced, pushing his face right into Jungkook’s space, “but if you aren’t, how will your pretty friends know where to find you?”

Jungkook’s blood ran cold.

He was the bait.

Shinhyuk’s laughter rang out through the room, haunting him even after the man had slammed the door behind him, leaving Jungkook struggling against his bonds alone in the cell.

“Code black – Jungkook’s been found out,” Namjoon began addressing the tense boys gathered in his front room.

“They’re holding him at angel,” Taehyung added. He clutched his phone with white knuckles, having just been using it to speak to the leader of that specific base, the first rival that had defected to their side.

“Right, we can easily get in there and get him back,” Jin spoke remarkably calmly.

“Not so easy, actually,” Tae’s voice was dark, “Shinhyuk’s there too now. He’s waiting for us to come in.”

Every one of them was sitting forward in their seats, wracking their brains for a next move after they had been played and taken off-guard. Jimin lowered his head, running both hands through his hair.

“What if we turn up in one of Shinhyuk’s cars?” Hoseok suggested, “we can call on some of the drivers.”

“You’re right,” Namjoon nodded, “we still have the element of surprise on our side. He doesn’t know we’ve infiltrated him.”

“But let’s just get in, get Jungkook, and go,” Jimin said.

“Right,” Namjoon agreed, “today doesn’t have to be our victory anymore. Let’s just get Jungkook back and safely.”

Together, they stood, filing out of the room in silence.

You couldn’t stop reliving your kiss with Taehyung all evening. He had been gone a while, leaving in seconds after he checked his phone, hurriedly telling you something had come up.

Worried though you were, you knew all you could do was wait. It wasn’t easy trying to stay patient after you and Taehyung had finally confessed to each other, and you wanted nothing more than to continue where you left off.

Equally, your mind wouldn’t stop running through all the worst case scenarios. How would you know if something bad happened to him?

Trying your best to preoccupy yourself, you read for a bit longer, pushing away the nerves over what could be happening out there right now. Every time your mind drifted from the page in front of you, you told yourself there was nothing you could do. The plan was a good one, and now all the boys had to do was pull it off.

Somehow that didn’t help.

As darkness fell, you quietly made your way downstairs, closing the curtains while staying out of sight. You didn’t even turn the living room light on.

Already you were a little out of breath, so you stopped and rested on the arm of the sofa.

That was when someone knocked on the door.

Turning towards the sound, you started walking, but stopped yourself only feet away from the front door. Tae’s friends sometimes knocked, but they all had their own key too.

A second knock sounded, louder this time.

Frozen on the spot, you debated with yourself. Who on earth could it be? Maybe something had happened to Tae, and they were here to tell you…

The banging resumed, this time with a shout.

“Y/N?”

You gasped. That wasn’t one of the boys, but it sounded a lot like-

“Jake?” you muttered under your breath, approaching the door to look through the peephole.

Sure enough, there was your college friend on the step. He was looking down at something you couldn’t see, but it was him alright.

Cautiously, you lifted your hand to the catch and opened the door a crack.

“Jake?”

His hands flew behind his back, making you frown at him.

“Y/N…” he pushed at the door, which you let fall open just a little bit more, “I can’t believe I’ve found you, it’s all gonna be okay, yeah? We’ve been looking for you for so long…”

“Oh, Jake, I’m sorry…” you shuffled in the doorway. He was standing close to you, eager to be let in, but you stood your ground, “I couldn’t get in touch, but I promise I’m fine I just-“

“Y/N, you aren’t thinking straight,” he pushed forward again.

This time you weren’t strong enough to stop the door opening. You stepped hurriedly away from him as he crossed the threshold. You wanted to sit down again, but you didn’t feel comfortable with Jake in the house.

“We were so worried at college Y/N, and so is your dad” he begged, holding his hands out, “let’s just get you home, okay?”

Frowning back at him, you didn’t move, so after a second he walked closer instead, driving you further down the hallway.

“Jake, please leave,” you told him.

What he was saying didn’t make sense. Your dad was under Shinhyuk now, your college friends couldn’t have possibly contacted him-

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” he said.

But you knew your ‘home’ wasn’t safe anymore. Your eyes darted to the open door behind him, wondering if you could run. Then you saw something.

Two long metal pins were jammed into the lock at the front of the house. He had been trying to break in.

All you knew when you started running was that you weren’t going with Jake. Rushing through the kitchen door and slamming it hard in his face, you dashed out of the side door, straight onto a small alley between two houses. Not letting your feet stop, you ran as fast as you could, away from the main street and further into unfamiliar paths.

Behind you, the door slammed as Jake gave chase, but instead of calling out to you, he shouted, “this way!”

Then more footsteps joined him.

Blood whooshed through your ears, chest constricting after only a couple of corners, but your pursuers gave no sign of letting up. The stab wound seared in your side, and for a moment your vision went white. It was only a split second, but you knew you were in trouble.

Not now, not now…

You willed your legs to keep going. You had to get away.

Then the bang of a gunshot deafened your ears and you ducked blindly, stumbling forwards before picking up the pace again.

One more shot hit the wall by your ear, making you flinch away.

Sparks were filling your vision, and you could barely breathe, but you pushed yourself, knowing danger lay behind. Your eyes screwed shut against the pain as you forced yourself to run, when a bang sounded, followed by a new, burning pain slicing through your shoulder.

You were unconscious before you hit the asphalt.

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[jaderabbitt]

Delphinus (1/?)

howdy y’all. I wrote this chapter of garbo instead of doing my university work. didn’t exactly like how it came out/where it went so it might be going in the “dead idea; don’t continue” pile unless people like it enough. so like it or i pull out the glock.

warnings: none? unless angst triggers you (promise it wont be the whole story tho)

This was it. This was where you died.

As you lie in a back alley in a pool of your own blood, you stared up at the night sky. Remembering all of the memories you made under this same Egyptian sky, you couldn’t help but find your comrades in the stars.

You would’ve giggled thinking about Iggy on his hind legs, begging for coffee gum, as Lupus, if you could move a muscle. The tales of Ophiuchus, the man holding the snake, reminded you of Joseph and his Hermit Purple. You thought of Auriga, and its translation to “charioteer”, which made you sigh a little deeper than your body would’ve wanted. Wincing, you thought of Aquila, the eagle, and visioned it to be Magician’s Red. You spotted Orion’s belt, and remembered what Kakyoin had told you about the brightest constellation in the sky.

“Since it’s located on the celestial equator, Orion can be seen throughout the world. Neat, right, (Y/N)?”

You wouldn’t dare forget Delphinus. It brought as much of a smile as you could handle to your face, faintly recalling the ever so subtle change in Jotaro’s face when you had mentioned that there was a dolphin constellation.

Previously uninterested, Jotaro had his interest piqued, and was staring at you now as you described the tale of the constellation Delphinus.

“According to Greek mythology, Delphinus the dolphin was Poseidon’s messenger to a nymph he wanted to marry. Delphinus was the only one to get the nymph to accept, so Poseidon memorialized him among the stars. It’s my favorite constellation!”

Jotaro hummed in acknowledgement, shifting against the desert rock you two had settled by as to not disturb the other sleeping Crusaders, Taking the last huff of his cigarette, he snuffed it out on the ground. Looking back to you, he couldn’t help but gaze at your awed face. You had been shocked to see that all the stars were visible in the desert, where there was no light pollution. He could see you imprinting them all to memory as you smiled brightly.

Little did you know, you were his favorite star.

As you looked back at him, you noted the small crack in his normally stoic facade, and that was the miniscule curve upwards of his lips. You wrote it off as simply his interest in marine life, as you gathered from his choice of leisure reading.

You still committed the image to memory, just like the stars you loved.

You were harshly brought back to reality as you spit up blood, coughing wildly even though it hurt to move. Your stand, Seven Wonders, lay parallel to you, slowly dimming in visibility as your mental fortitude began to diminish. You fondly remembered how you named it.

“If I live to see the...Seven Wonders...I’ll make a path to the rainbow’s end..” you sung to yourself, washing the dishes and having your stand dry them after a long night of cooking for one. The radio was on the counter a bit ways away from the both of you, playing Seven Wonders by Fleetwood Mac, one of the chart hits from the summer of ‘87. As you looked over to the unnamed prismatic being by your side, you decided that it was time to give it a name.

Your eyelids felt heavier and heavier, coercing you to close them, but you knew what that would entail. As you struggled to keep your eyes open, you blurrily made out the figure of a woman in white. She seemed to have her head wrapped in a white scarf, and the rest of her attire consisted of a modest wrap-around white dress. She appeared to be walking closer, in slow motion. 

Perhaps the most clear minded thought you had in the past few minutes was that God was a woman, she was Muslim, and that those two things made a lot of sense. You could faintly hear her calling out to you, but you couldn’t discern what it was that she was saying. You supposed that this was the end, and finally allowed your eyes to close.

What you didn’t expect was to wake up.

On someone’s couch.

Was that a Cabbage Patch doll? It was kinda creepy.

No, bad. Focus.

You deduced that you were in someone’s home, most likely still in Cairo, judging by the buildings in the window you were facing. You were clearly bandaged, as your chest was constricted by some sort of binding, as well as your legs. Your left arm was against your chest in some sort of makeshift sling. As you tried to call out for whoever it was that was clearly taking care of you, your throat decided otherwise. You were thrown into a coughing fit, clearly from disuse. In doing so, you accomplished your goal anyways, as your coughs seemed to alert whoever was in the rest of the apartment? House?

You heard the patter of light steps coming near you, but what you hadn’t expected was big, curious, brown eyes staring into yours. A child.

Who barraged you with more questions than you could answer yourself.

“You’re awake! Finally! It’s been days! What’s your name? Where did you come from? How did you get hurt? Are you an American? Umi told me stories of America!”

All you could do was give an exasperated sigh, and point to your throat, while dryly saying, “W..ate..r..” 

The little girl seemed to get what you were saying, and you could almost visibly see the exclamation mark above her head.

“Oh, do you want water? I can get you water!” she said, about to run off, before she walked into something soft with an “oof!”, looking up to see her mother with a glass of water.

“Umi, the foreigner is awake! Can they play with me ye-” her mother cut her off by giving her a delicate command in a language you didn’t recognize, and the little girl pouted before going somewhere out of your current range of vision. The older lady held the glass of water to your lips, and you gratefully gulped it down like it was ambrosia. 

A thick, but calming, accented voice broke the silence. “What is your name, habibi?” the woman asked softly, sitting cross-legged by your face to meet it. You gave her your name, and she nodded before giving you a once-over, making sure blood hadn’t peaked through the new bandages she had given you earlier in the day,

“What happened to you? If you don’t remember, do not strain yourself.” she assured you, but you were just trying to come up with a story that didn’t involve vampires or strange manifestations of mental strength.

“I...got into an accident. Dragged myself into the alley.” you offered, though you weren’t confident that she bought the excuse. “My friends...Has anyone been looking for me? I came with a group..” you asked, looking around to see if any sign of them was present.

The look on the woman’s face told you what you needed to know.

“Do you have anyone I can call? A parent or guardian?” she asked, looking at you with such pity that made you almost angry.

“No. I have no family.” you answered bitterly, holding back your tongue as you regretted using such a sharp tone with someone who helped you out of the goodness of their heart.

“That is alright. You are more than welcome to stay with me and Jamila.”

[redbirdbella]

@clintasha-week  Advent calendar Day 9 - Emotions 

Very angsty. CW - guns, illusions to suicide, Avengers Assemble canon character death, drug use, talk of mind control. (If there's any more please tell me but those are the ones i can see.)

It takes Natasha 45 minutes to decide Clint's been alone long enough.

It takes two weeks for her to find him.

Phil's funeral had been tough on everyone, her archer especially. He'd been a broken man, tears staining his cheeks as he carried the casket. Natasha to his left, holding his hand as she helps bear the weight.

Barton, Romanoff, Rogers, Hill, Fury and May carrying the weight of a brother, a comrade and a true patriot July 1964 til May 2012 (or at least that's what the grave will say).

She gives him space, room to grieve, to bury his head into his hands and weep until shes worried he'll shrivel up. Like he'll faint from dehydration like when he was hungover that one time in Vegas. Happier times. Hill supplies the tissues and Steve the rousing speech. It's tasteful, Phil would appreciate it. But there's no flowers to hide the casket, just his stupid Captain America trading cards on, the ones that make Natasha's heartbreak.

Clint asks for space. After it's all over, once the coffins gone behind the red velvet curtains and the music plays. She agrees, resigned to him running. She can play the game. Follow where he leads.

Two weeks. Two damn weeks it takes. Europe, the Americas, Africa. She even checks in with Barney. The infamous Hawkeye is gone with the wind.

She goes on a whim. On a shadow of a memory of Tokyo. Of him stitching her up. Of safety and warm alcohol. A disconnected safehouse. Off the grid. Shelter, nothing more.

It's not there, replaced by a luxury high-rise. Last few units remaining the realtor declares. Great, he'll be near the top then.

She hacks the database. It's easy enough. Flat 804.

It's quiet. Eerily so, and she prays to whatever deity will listen to not have another funeral so soon.

She knocks hard, demanding a reply, but she's no surprised when no one answers.

Simple locks make simple work, the door creaking open in spite of her pleas for quiet.

He's up and in the doorway. He's armed, fingers gripping to his old Glock. Simple, effective but not if he looks so indecisive. Like its somehow difficult choosing between the intruder and himself.

"Clint" She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth letting his stubble scratch against her, "It's ok. Just me."

"Tasha" he breathes, taking her head into his hands. She holds them, noticing the way they shake, the way it makes it easy to dispossess him. Too easy. She notices the razor burn on his cheeks like he'd tried, tried to find himself amongst the rubble, "He's- I'm- I've fought so hard Tasha"

"I know, you've been so brave, but you don't have to be. I'm here, together yeah?"

He nods, letting her push her way into the apartment. The way she moves past the bottle piles and cracked walls with an effortless grace ignoring the smell of BO and alcohol. The lingering stench of rock bottom.

"Let's get you clean huh?"

He nods leading her to the bathroom. The flat has a bath graciously untouched and running hot water that leaves Natasha whispering a silent thank you to the powers that be.

She's well packed, well versed in Clint and all his emergencies. Magnesium enriched Epsom salts with lavender and chamomile, to soothe his sores and the anxious energy in his muscles. Clint recognises the box and nods reluctantly.

"Want to put some in?"

He doesn't, but he doesn't stop her adding a healthy amount. He strips down without her request, he isn't scared of being naked. Not with her. She's seen worse. She's seen the bodies on the floor, even helped organise the men that had taken Phil away, leaving the red smudge that seemed to imprint into his mind.

"Hey" She whispers kindly as if the past didn't hang so heavy between them "the water should be warm enough now. Go on, it won't bite"

He nods and steps in, if only to see her smile his last connection to humanity reflected back to him.

"Should we lay down?" She asks but she's already slowly lowering herself letting her arm dangle into the water.

He follows her. A little less steady but it's a start. She kisses his head, "Whatever you're on its strong"

Clint shrugs. Not strong enough.

"How long?"

"How long?" Natasha echos "long enough that I've missed you"

"No, how long in here?"

"Until I say so"

There's no quip just a nod and Natasha's heart breaks just a little more. She clings to the outside of the bath under his watchful gaze, humming songs she remembers from better times. Before gods and monsters and mayhem.

It takes a while for the salts to work their magic, making his limbs grow heavier, back to his control. The bath should be cool, if Natasha hadn't constantly refilled bringing it back to a good temperature. The one that melts the trickster god's ice.

"There, I've got something to get you dry" She whispers when he stands, requesting to be let out. She'd got it at the airport, so it's still fluffy with its new novel smell. He wraps it around his waist and she throws his clothes into the water left in the tub. Cleaning the air of the smell and giving him no choice but to choose the fresh clothes she's brought. He agrees to the pants, black with a purple stripe out the outside leg, the pair he always wore for long nights in.

"That's better" Natasha praises, directing him to the toilet, seat down, "you tried to shave-"

"I look like him" oh the original him. Barton Snr. The only man she hated more than Loki.

"I only see my partner" she whispers pressing another kiss to his cheek, "let me show you-"

She brings out a kit. A long-forgotten kit, one that only comes out for him. Her Barbers kit from her time attending to the soldiers. It's not the same, her tools had been blunted through use but the idea is still there. Buried deep through countless repetition.

Clints not like the soldiers. Even now he fidgets putting himself at her mercy. It's a long process, a Turkish shave, but each time it's worth it for the way he smiles, blushing under her tender touches. It's different this time, there's no more smiles but he shuts his eyes letting himself be pampered.

"There." She whispers placing a mirror into his hands once the act is done "There you are. Back again"

He nods, avoiding the man that glances back at him and she places her hands against the back of his neck.

"You cant ever ask for space again"

He nods.

"Not until I say so"

He nods. He's taken something, something strong. Detoxing will be a bitch but that was tomorrows battle.

"Bed?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't object either just leads her there as if she just wanted to see it. To check for proof of its existence.

There's no more fresh sheets, but the spare bedrooms untouched. Natasha's doubt's he'd left the living room much, not in this state.

He lays on the bed and waits for her to follow. Then he surrounds her, hands desperate to touch, to reassure his trembling grip on reality.

"I'm here. I'm here" she soothes

"You've been here before" he counters.

"Not like tonight"

He's quiet until he can't contain anymore "They took my mind"

"And I took it back"

"I killed him.

"Loki killed him. You were with me"

He nods, "You would have saved him."

"I made my choice"

"It wasn't your choice to make!"

They settle into the silence that follows. She doesn't expect an apology, she doesn't need one. She knew what it was like for someone to take your brain and play.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know you? That I wouldn't come looking" She whispers "I fought a god for you."

"And do you like your prize?"

"Now you sound like him"

"Cause he's still in there! I'd blow a hole in my head to let him out! to make it stop!"

"Don't- I need you" She's not beyond pleading, not for Clint.

He's quiet, until the tears come. They burn his freshly shaved skin so she stems them, blotting them out with her fingers.

"I'm here, it's ok" she's writing cheques she can't cash, making promises she can't keep "It can stop now, let me take it from here"

She offers out her arms as he'd done all those years before. His arms were bigger. It wasn't such a tight fit but her skills lay elsewhere. She lets her hands creep down his bareback. Recalling every last detail she can remember about her massage class back in Russia, when they'd promised her only gentle hands could wiggle out secrets. Before they corrected the lie.

He startles as she begins, if the sobs that shudder against her shoulder are any indication.

She shhs him, cradling him like a child

"It's just me"

She draws circles against his back, letting him strain away when she touches somewhere tender.

"Please, please don't fight me like you do him"

She lets her own tears slip away as he surrenders to her touch, feeling each muscle relax against her.

Until he surrenders to the deep sleep that pulls him under.

There's no more need to fight, for she grants him rest.

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 7

Your blissful moments don’t last long.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

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Okay, so this is a mafia AU. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language, emotional breakdown. Lots of mentions of guns and knives and different ways to attack in this one.

————————————————————————–

You woke up the next morning, stretching as you turned to the smile, immediately smiling when you saw Jiyong cuddled close to you. He looked so peaceful when he slept. No harshness as a mafia boss, no coldness, no anger. In that moment, there was nothing dangerous about him. You could only remember how gentle he was with your aftercare from the previous night. You sat up a little, taking the opportunity to study his face when it was peaceful. You traced the outline of his jaw with your little finger and then you moved on the tiny mole he had near his right eye. You smiled when you gently touched it. You gently traced your finger over his lips, thinking about his beautiful smile. Your fingers made their way to the tattoo, tracing around the wings. You had just moved on to his numerous ear piercings when he gently caught your hand and kissed it. 

“Good morning love.” 

God, you loved that raspy morning voice of his. And you loved that you were the only one who got to hear him like that. You smiled back at him.

 “Good morning Jiyong.” 

He smiled at you sleepily, and he pulled you into his arms, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair. You smiled against his chest. 

“Don’t you have work Jiyong?”

 “Not until this evening.” 

Your smile widened, happy at the time you would get with him. He pulled away a little, pausing to kiss your forehead.

 “That’s better. I can see your face now.” 

He gently moved the hair from your face. You had a blush on your face when you said,

 “So, last night was…” 

Jiyong grinned when he saw the blush. Smirking, he prompted you.

 “Last night was what Y/N?” 

You turned even redder, but persevered anyway.

 “Last night was wonderful. It wasn’t like anything that I’ve done before.” 

Jiyong’s smirk melted into an adorably shy smile. 

“Me too. I don’t usually let people into my room, and it was more intimate than anything I’ve done before.”

 You leaned forward and kissed his nose, smiling at the way his nose scrunched up. Looking a little nervous, Jiyong continued. 

“Baby, you’re not afraid of me anymore, are you?” 

You paused and held his face.

 “Ji, I’m not going to lie to you, because you’re someone important to me, okay?”

 He nodded.

 “Ji, you abducted me. Of course I was scared at first. You ordered Daesung to beat me up and torture me.” 

He winced a little at your words. 

“But then, you changed. You started helping me out a little, and you started to care, in your own small ways. That gave me hope, because I’ve always liked and admired you. I started to care about you too. But then, just as we were getting closer, and I was starting to trust you because you said you’d keep me safe, you shot me in the arm. Luckily, it wasn’t fatal and it healed pretty quickly, but more than the pain of the wound, it was your face when you shot me that scared me. Jiyong, you had no care in your eyes. It made me think that maybe he never cared. Maybe it was all a clever ploy. Maybe he was just looking for a quick fuck.” 

He flinched when you said that. 

“It scared me that you could just shoot me like that. But after I got injured, you were there. You think I didn’t know that you were waiting behind that door in case I needed any help? I knew that you were always there, and I saw your eyes when I flinched away from you. Those aren’t the eyes of someone who doesn’t care. But you are still a ruthless mafia boss who I’ve seen kill so many times. So, yeah Jiyong, I am a little scared of you, but only when we’re not alone. If it’s just us, then I’m not scared of you.” 

He smiled. It was a small smile, still a little sad about you being afraid of him. 

“Okay sweetheart. I’m glad you were honest with me, but I’m not going to lie. The fact that you’re still scared of me hurts, but I promise that I will change that. I will never be the ruthless mafia boss around you.” 

He took your hand and kissed it, pulling you a little closer. The two of you just stayed like that for a while, happily snuggled against each other.

“Jiyong?”

 “Yes, my love?” 

You were still mumbling into his chest. 

“What happened with EXO?” 

He sat up and sighed, playing with your hair as you snuggled up to him.

 “Well, sweetheart, we’re in a sort of cold war, waiting for someone to make a move first.” 

His grip around you tightened a little.

 “They’ve vowed to take you back. And we vowed not to let them.” 

You had no idea what to say to that. You just responded with a small,

 “Oh.”

 He absentmindedly nodded, playing with your hair, distracted, thinking back to the meeting and Jongin’s smug face when he said he’d take you back. God, he wanted to slam his face into the table then. But all his violent thoughts were chased away when he felt you tracing his name on his chest. He had never felt so much warmth and love for anyone before you. He leaned down and pulled you into a kiss, soft and gentle, savouring the moment. You also closed your eyes and enjoyed it, loving every second. You opened your eyes after, beaming up at him when he kissed your forehead and said,

 “Hey, so we have some work and I want to spend some time with you. Do you want to make it a date?” 

You just nodded, your grin growing wider.

One hour later, you were at a gun range. You looked around, and incredulously, you asked, 

“Seriously? This is where you brought me on a date?” 

He grinned rather sheepishly. 

“I know this isn’t the ideal date, but you need to learn how to use a gun. You’ll need it now.” 

You shook your head, unable to help the small smile that came onto your face, thinking about how this was so intrinsically like Jiyong. The two of you out on the protective gear and then, Jiyong got serious. He moved closer to you and said, 

“Okay Y/N, this gun is a Glock 17. And this is how you hold it.” 

He let you stand, gently moving behind you and correcting your posture. 

“Move your arm a little higher Y/N. Yeah, that’s it.”

 He then moved over to his space. 

“Watch me carefully, okay?” 

And he stood back, aimed and shot. It was a perfect shot, hitting its target on the first try. You could see how hard he was concentrating when he shot. You gulped and you too got ready to aim.

 “Don’t be afraid of the recoil baby, and be prepared for the noise.” 

You braced yourself and shot. No warning was enough for how scary it was to shoot a gun. Your entire arms pulled back, and the sound made you jump. You shot had landed a little away from the target, but it wasn’t too far away. Jiyong smiled.

 “Good job. That was pretty good for a first try.” 

You gave him a small smile. 

“We’re going to be here until I manage to hit the bullseye, aren’t we?”

 Without batting an eyelid, he said,

 “Of course we are. And when we get back, I’m going to teach you how to use a knife.”

He kept his word. The first thing he did when you got back was lay out a tray of knives in front of you and let you pick one. You looked at him like he was insane. 

“Isn’t a gun enough Ji?”

 He shook his head. 

“No, love. See, you can’t really hide a gun very well. There’s only so much you can do there. But with a knife, there are plenty of places you can hide it. I usually strap it to my thigh, but you can also strap it around your waist or under your sleeve if that makes you feel better. But you should know, your thighs are the best place to hide a knife. No one is going to be able to feel it there. And also, you like knives better.” 

You just glared at him. 

“Jiyong…”

 He smiled and slowly took your hand.

 “I know this sucks, my love, but you need to know this. You need to be able to defend yourself.” 

Pulling you closer because of your disgruntled expression, he said, 

“See, each knife is different. Each knife is beautiful. Look at them. So sleek, so sharp, so deadly, so elegant. It’s really beautiful to look at them. Everyone will have a different level of comfort with them. I prefer heavier knives, but I know Hanbin only carries around a small, sharp one. It’s better for a surprise. It all depends on what you find fits best. Just give it a try.” 

And he took your hand and placed it on one of the knives in the tray. You let his hands guide yours over the blades, stopping to feel them. He kept staring at your face, trying to gauge your reactions to the knives, but you didn’t particularly like any of them. That is, until you felt the last knife. It was the prettiest of them all. Sleek, small, dangerous. It was a 7-inch-long blade, with a curved edge, black wooden handle and a beautiful leather sheath. It felt right. It wasn’t too heavy and neither was it too light. It fit your hand perfectly, and you were comfortable with it. You slowly picked it up and twirled it around, fascinated by the way the light bounced off it. Jiyong let out a low whistle. 

“You have a good eye for knives, love. It’s the perfect size for your build and it’s the most dangerous out of the ones here.”

 He took it out of your hand, and said, 

“See, using this knife in pretty much any way will cause damage, but if you need to fatally injure someone,” 

He reached out and drew a horizontal line in the air with it.

 “Do that to someone across their stomach. There is no way they’ll be able to survive with that.” 

You just stared at him in a mixture of horror and fascination, scared by how casually he was talking about it, but fascinated by the way the knife did that.

 “If you stab into their spinal cord, it’ll damage the nerves and most likely, they’ll experience some sort of paralysis. If you just want to injure enough to escape, try the thigh.” 

He held your hand over the knife and slowly showed you how to do the different manoeuvres. He left you to practice those and came back with a knife holder for your thigh and a gun holder. 

“I’m going to leave this here. Take these with you whenever you go out of this room.” 

He leaned down to kiss your forehead.

 “I have to go do some work now. Stay here love. Hanbin will come with your stuff to keep you company in a bit.” 

You pouted a little, but you let him go. You needed to get the complete picture of what was happening and you knew Jiyong wouldn’t tell you. You knew that the fight had stopped being about you and had become more about the gangs.

 Hanbin came in a little while later, lugging two gigantic suitcases with him. 

“Here you go. I don’t know why you have so many things, but anyway, I got as many of them as I could.” 

You jumped up and hugged him. You hadn’t seen him in a while. He grinned as he hugged you back. 

“You missed me?”

 “Yes, yes I did.” 

You stepped back and looked at him, anxiously searching him for any signs of injury. 

“You’re okay right? I heard you met with Jongin.”

 He sighed.

 “Y/N, why is he so hell bent on taking you back?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Right now, EXO is on a mission to get you to their headquarters. Jongin genuinely wants you there, and some of the others also want you there as Jongin’s supposed girlfriend, but the others just want you there to prove a point, because they know that you’re with hyung now.” 

You felt a little guilty. All of this was happening because of you. Hesitating a little, you asked,

 “Hanbin, what have both the gangs done so far?” 

He tilted his head, thinking. 

“Well, I’m not too involved in that aspect of things, but I know we’ve drastically increased our presence in our areas, and so have they. Daesung hyung, Mino hyung and Youngbae hyung are super busy with that.” 

You were scared to hear the answer for your next question, but you knew you had to know. 

“Hanbin, has anyone died because of this?” 

His eyes softened. He ruffled your hair. 

“Listen to me Y/N. Yes, around 5 people have died on both sides, but you have to believe me when I say that it isn’t your fault. I know you. I know you’re blaming yourself. But listen. We’re the ones who abducted you. None of this would have happened if we hadn’t. Also, you met hyung. That’s a good thing. EXO is just using you as an excuse to make this a big deal. It’s not your fault. And you can go back to your normal life after all of this is over. You may have to carry around weapons and you may have one of us tailing you, but it will end. And I know hyung will win this one too. He always has.” 

You blinked away a few tears and squeezed Hanbin’s hand. 

“Now come on Y/N. I discovered a new Netflix series that you will love. And we need to watch it together!” 

You let him drag you over to the tv, grateful you had a friend like him.

 A month later, and things were just as bad between the two gangs. You practiced with your gun and your knife daily, and you had gotten quite good at it, but you never got to show Jiyong. Only Hanbin knew, because Hanbin was the only person you saw often. You barely got any time with Jiyong. Every few days, you would wake up in the middle of the night and see him fast asleep beside you, but he was always gone before you woke up. He was just too busy making sure things were going according to plan. You were lonely and you missed him, but you never complained, knowing he had to do his work first. There were lives at stake. One night, you were sitting alone in the room, eating dinner as usual, when Jiyong walked in. It was the first time in the past month that you had seen him awake. He looked exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open, but he smiled at you. He sat down on the bed and opened his arms wide. You slowly slid into them, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of his arms. You really had missed that. He nuzzled his head into your neck. 

“I missed you, my love.” 

You kissed the top of his head.

 “So did I, Jiyong.” 

He looked up and smiled. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been spending much time with you. Things have just been so busy.” 

You cut him off by planting a soft kiss on his lips.

 “I know Ji. Don’t worry about it.” 

He stroked your hair in awe and said, 

“God, what have I done to deserve you?” 

You didn’t respond, just kissing him again. He pulled you down, into bed. He pulled you close and shut his eyes.

 “Let’s just be like this for a while.”

 You hummed your approval against his chest, already snuggling up to him. The two of you had just been lying down on the bed, gently nuzzling into each other, or stroking each other’s hair, when Youngbae burst into the room. Both of you lumped up. Jiyong looked very annoyed. 

“Youngbae, I’ve told you a 1000 times not to enter my room without my permission.” 

Youngbae didn’t even bother answering that. He looked at Jiyong, and then at you, panicky. Jiyong didn’t notice his expression, but you did. Your heart sank. You knew something had gone seriously wrong. 

“Jiyong, EXO… they-they’ve gotten Hanbin.”

[corpse--diem]

Point of No Return | Marley & Erin

TIMING: The night after Tommy’s death. PARTIES: @detectivedreameater & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Marley needs to see for herself that Tommy’s gone and the two leave with a souvenir for Roy.  CONTENT WARNINGS: Bear decapitation 

Marley pulled the car up onto the side of the road near the trailhead and was reminded of the last time she’d been out here. It was for a much more pleasant reason, but tonight, she was here to put to rest something that still burned in her chest. To make sure, to see for herself, that he was dead. Hands gripped the steering wheel knuckle white, even after the car was shut off and the head beams stopped illuminating the trees in front of them. Eyes glowing in the dark of the car, she looked over at Erin. They’d started this together, they would end this together. Whatever they found out in the forest, it was going to put them one step closer to taking Roy down. “If for some reason my source lied and he’s still alive, you have to run,” she said firmly, hands still on the wheel, “okay?”

There was an excitement buzzing under Erin’s skin, warm and familiar. The kind that made it hard to sit still too long, especially in the thick of the uncomfortable silence she found herself currently drenched in. There was no doubt that this wasn’t easy for Marley. This was supposed to be her win. But a win was a win, and lately they were hard to come by. The scales had just shifted favorably in their direction and Roy’s best man was down for the count. Couldn’t they just celebrate that? Peering into the darkness, she glanced over at Marley when her voice cut the silence. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” Paused with her hand on the door handle when she noticed how tightly Marley still gripped the steering wheel. “You ready for this?” She asked, her voice softer now.

Somehow, the softness in Erin’s voice made Marley’s hands grip tighter. “Of course I am,” she said quickly, pulling her hands from the wheel and kicking her door open. The car dinged to remind her the keys were still in and she yanked them out. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She shut her door and went around to the trunk. Dug out her backpack and slid it on. She was leaving here with a trophy, and not even Erin was going to stop her this time. When she came around to Erin’s side, she looked her square in the eyes. “Let’s go,” was all she said, before brushing by her and heading out into the thickets. She glanced down at her gps, guiding them to the same spot she’d given Kaden. Her other hand resting gently on her glock.

Shut down in two seconds flat. Erin didn’t know why she was surprised but her eyes still rolled hard at Marley’s immediate dismissal. Figures. “You’re right. Dumb question,” she said, following after her. Stuck close beside her as they walked, briefly wondering why they had decided traipsing through the woods to find a corpse at night was a good idea. Felt like the beginning of a horror movie. She should’ve been screaming at herself from the comfort of her couch right about now instead of actually living it, but the excitement and adrenaline of confirming Tommy’s death was too tempting to turn down. “So,” she said suddenly, glancing up at Marley. “Say we find him. What then? Gonna mount his head in your living room?” Her lips curved up in a smile. But as she sidestepped a particularly large root, her shoe sunk shallowly into the mud beneath it, coming back up a murky, dark muddy red. She stopped completely, grabbing Marley’s arm, splotches of the same color marking a trail that extended past the immediate thicket. “Shit--” she swallowed, murmuring as she wiped her shoe on a patch of dry grass, trying not to think about whose blood was caked on there. “Something tells me we close,” she grumbled.

“No,” Marley said in a low voice, “I’m going to cut his head off and deliver it to Roy.” She hefted her pack, striding forward easily. Night was her home. She felt free at nighttime. Free of worry, free of pain, free of everything. Nothing could touch her unless she wanted it to. Marley walked right through the puddles of blood, not even stopping when Erin grabbed her arm, only slowing. She pulled her arm through Erin’s grasp by letting herself become momentarily intangible, turning to glance back at her. “Is it the puddles of blood that gave it away?” she asked, raising a brow. “Don’t stop now, we’re almost there.” She could feel her skin vibrating. Blood was a good sign. The idea of Tommy being dead hadn’t really settled into her-- it sounded fake, like a dream, but it became more real by the seconds. And then she saw it, left in the middle of a small clearing to rot-- his body. Brown fur matted with blood and mud and leaves, bullet holes riddling his body. A stab to the gut. She remembered the two shots she’d gotten off on him and she felt herself craving to have a gun in her hand right now. To blow his face off, too. She approached slowly, before reaching a boot out to prod the body. “He’s dead,” she announced, turning to look at Erin finally. “They did it.”

Erin wasn’t thinking when she grabbed Marley’s arm. Just a reactionary movement, an instinct, and her hand dropped when her body became incorporeal. The remark following earned her another eye roll. Christ. It was hard to tell if it was regular Marley sarcasm or if her words had more of a sting because of her annoyance with Erin. Either way, hadn’t they decided to knock this shit off? Act civilized so they could the job done? Setting her jaw tightly, she decided saying nothing was the best option and followed behind. Fuck. And there he was. Probably the first time she’d ever set eyes on the bugbear in person and it was like this. Wasn’t far off from how she met most people, though, she supposed. “This is him? You’re sure?” She asked, her eyes turned upwards slowly to Marley, then back to the biggest damn bear she’d ever seen in her life. Marley would know. Of course she would know. This was the closest thing she’d get to closure. Without thinking, she pulled a knife from her hip, one of the biggest ones she could find in Nic’s arsenal treasure trove. Wasn’t about to come out here unprepared herself, not if there was any chance they’d killed the wrong bear. She turned the hilt towards Marley, offering it up. “Think this’ll work?” She asked, raising a brow at the bear.

“Yes,” Marley said, a bit of bite to her voice as she stared the bear in the face, “I’m sure.” She’d recognize him anywhere, bear or not. She’d never forget the look in his eyes as he swiped claws across her face. As he lumbered over her, ready to crush her to death. Marley blinked away from the memories and when she looked over at Erin, there was a knife being handed to her. She’d brought her own knife, of course, but she understood this was more than just a knife. It was a gesture. So she took it, handle cool in her hand, before turning back to the bear. “You might wanna stand back,” she said, going over to the head and grabbing his ear, yanking the head back to expose his neck. “This is gonna get messy.” Without waiting, she jabbed the knife in and started slitting down his throat, from the ear to his chin. Grunted with the effort, satisfied with the feeling of flesh parting so easily under the blade. The slick noise made her chest feel tight, and even if he was already dead, it was a feeling she wouldn’t soon forget. When she was done cutting, she turned to look back at Erin, hands coated in coagulated blood. “Gonna need your help this time,” she said, grabbing hold of one side of his head, “just pull, and twist. On three.”

Erin raised a brow at Marley’s warning. After spending months knee deep in supernatural creatures guts, she felt pretty confident she could handle it. “Oh. Sure. Love to,” she murmured, crinkling her nose as she leaned down, grabbing tufts of fur. Tried hard not to think about the face on the wall in the warehouse--Tommy’s human face--as she readied herself. Human, bear, whatever form he took, it helped to remember he was a murderer who'd nearly killed her best friend. On three, she pulled and twisted as instructed and with some effort, the head finally popped off. She fell back onto the ground, the head landing in her lap. Even unattached, it was heavier than it looked. “Ugh,” she groaned, annoyance in her voice as the mess of the separation soaked through her clothes. She lifted it up, holding it out to her. “Your trophy, m’lady. Get it the hell off of me.”

The crunch and the snap didn’t feel as satisfying, but then again, Marley had never been one for true gore, despite her nature. She preferred psychological horror, but she’d make an exception for Tommy. Erin tumbled backwards, as did the head, and Marley stumbled off to the side, wiping her hands on her pants before looking down at her. “It’s not a trophy,” she said, kneeling next to Erin instead of taking the head, and opening up the pack she’d brought. She pulled out the plastic evidence bags she’d brought-- the largest they had-- and opened it. “Here,” she said, “set in.” Held it open for Erin, then sealed the bag up when it was secure. She stood, hefting it up. “It’s a warning,” she finished finally, looking around the bag to Erin. “Shall we go back?”

Erin hauled herself up, dusting off the dirt on the back of her legs, though there wasn’t much to be done about her clothes at this point. She wiped red hands on the dry parts, watching her seal the head up in a bag. Nodded slowly but her feet didn’t move, carefully, finally considering the consequences that would come from not only this, but from dumping the head tactlessly somewhere for Roy to find. They had the knife, they had all the information they needed to make the killing blow. “I’m happy you got this. I am. And I’m sorry you didn’t get to do it yourself,” Erin started, her eyes falling to the rest of the bear carcass at their feet. It was hitting her, now of all times, that this was almost over. Roy’s strongest man was dead. His army was effectively dismantled. His stronghold over the town was just an illusion, and any power he had left was the kind that could only be bought or sold. She bit her lip and set her jaw, trying to picture it--an end to this. It felt like she’d been fighting for years, not months. “But--shit. This is it. Point of no return.” She cast a long look over at Marley, never more thankful that she was still standing right in front of her. That she hadn’t gone and done this herself. That she’d stuck by her side every step of the way even when Erin had made it difficult. She nodded once. “Thank you.” It felt wholly insufficient but for now, she hoped it was enough.

Marley was working on strapping the head to her bag so she didn’t have to carry it in her hands the entire way back. The less fingerprints she left, the better. Erin’s voice cut through the quiet clearing and Marley glanced up at her. Without her glasses on, the dull glow of her eyes reflected lightly on Erin’s clothes, almost hiding the red stains of blood now on her jacket, her pants. Marley stood up slowly, wiping her own hands off. “It was never about killing him,” she said quietly, “he took something from me and I wanted it back. He took--” she paused. She hated admitting things, admitting her weaknesses, but Erin was the one person on this Earth that she felt safe sharing them with. She cleared her throat, looking away when she found her gaze too hard to hold. “Fear was my thing. In those moments, where I thought I was going to die-- I was afraid. He made me feel afraid.” She paused, looked down at the severed head. Drew in a breath, picked up her pack, and turned to head back out of the trees. “Turns out, being afraid isn’t a weakness.” And with that, she started the trek back.

Erin listened quietly, genuinely trying to understand. Marley’s eyes fell harmlessly on her as she spoke, and it’d been some time since Erin had truly been unnerved by them. Didn’t mean she had forgotten the power that lay dormant there. Power, fear, that had brought her to her knees. “It’s a weakness until you realize it doesn’t have to be,” Erin nodded, following slowly behind. They both understood that lesson well, though, didn’t they? She had to wonder though, after all was said and done-- “How does it feel?” She asked, blurting out the words. After all the time and energy she’d spent going after Roy, plotting and scheming and fantasizing about bringing the man to his end, she wouldn’t truly know how the chips would fall when it was said and done. They weren’t done, but for all intents and purposes, Marley and Tommy’s feud had come to an end. “Now that he’s gone, he’s dead--how do you feel?”

How did she feel? Marley didn’t actually know. She hadn’t taken them time to figure out what it meant that Tommy was dead, even after getting the message. Maybe she hadn’t believed it, or maybe she hadn’t let herself believe it until she found the body herself. Sometimes it felt like it was too good to be true. Even if she’d been imaging his death since the first swipe of his claw-- no, since before that. Since the first drop of a hint that he knew who she was. Each passing day had only intensified that desire, until she’d looked at herself in the mirror one day and realized that death wasn’t actually what she wanted from Tommy. She had wanted to know what his fear felt like, what it tasted like, because he got to taste hers. He got to feed on hers. And now he was dead, she’d never actually get what she wanted from him. To look him in the eyes and watch him beg for his life in fear. And so, she had no feelings about him being dead. Without pausing her strides, she simply said, “Better,” and kept going, the sound of the plastic back crunching against her backpack with each step.

[chubbletea]

The Spirit Board

A horror story about Amanda's and Serina's experience with an ouija board.

August 12th, 7:38 p.m.

Twelve hours before launch.

Amanda had opened a box from the storage, and she found a wooden board with a triangle-like wooden shaped thing with a hole near the tip, and it had a "Yes" and a "No" and all of the letters of the alphabet. It also had numbers in this order; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0

Amanda immediately recognized it. It was an ouija board. She had always wanted one of those, but her father, Reginald, never let her get one because he had Phasmophobia. Amanda's best friend, Serina, had also wanted an ouija board. But she had never gotten one either. But, why was there an ouija board here? Were her fathers trying to hide it from her? Well, it was no longer hidden. Amanda had found it.

Amanda quickly grabbed the wooden board and swiftly dashed to her part of the living quarters, and hid the board. She had to tell Serina about it so they could play with it in secret.

"Serina!" Amanda called after finding her in the cafeteria.

Serina turned. "Amanda! Hey! What do you need?"

"Come here for a second." Amanda beckoned.

Serina swung herself over the side of the seat, and approached her best friend. Serina had strawberry blonde hair and a light blue-minty green ombre colored top hat, along with a pink ribbon and bow going across the brim. Amanda had long red-brown hair that was held up in a ponytail, and she wore a cream colored top hat with smoky gray fingerless gloves.

"What?" Serina asked in a hushed voice.

"So, I was looking through boxes in the storage, and I found an ouija board. I hid it in my room, so nobody knows about it yet. I was thinking, do you want to get up in the middle of the night and play with it?" Amanda explained excitedly.

"Oh! So it was being hidden from you?" Serina asked. "Yeah! Sounds fun, what time?"

"One a.m. sound good?" Amanda suggested.

"Sounds like a plan." Serina nodded. "Where?"

"I was thinking in the portrait hall? Since that's the place which would probably have the most spirits." Amanda told her thinking.

"Yeah! I like that." Serina nodded in agreement. "I have candles."

"Awesome! It will probably keep the ghosts happy. I have a lighter."

"Perfect. I can't wait!"

Five hours later, August 13th, 12:40 a.m.

Seven hours until launch.

Amanda set her phone down, and got herself back into her normal clothes, trying to keep her movements swift and silent. She grabbed her lighter and the hidden ouija board.

She creeped out of her room, and quickly got out of the living quarters without being seen.

She made it to the cafeteria successfully without being spotted.

She made herself and Serina some coffee to help them stay awake. She put sugar and cream in Serina's, and Amanda just had black coffee, because she really liked bitter things.

She walked over to the portrait hall and set the two cups full of hot liquid on the table, taking a sip of her own coffee. It was hot and bitter, just the way she liked it.

Ten minutes later, 12:55 a.m.

Serina had arrived with the candles. "Hey." She quietly greeted.

"Hi." Amanda greeted back, also trying to keep her voice hushed. "I got us some coffee to help us stay awake. Your's is right there." She pointed to her friend's coffee.

"That's thoughtful of you." Serina said, taking a small drink of her coffee.

"Thanks." Amanda nodded. "Here, place the candles on each corner of the ouija board and I'll light them. Then we can start."

Serina placed the candles on each corner, and Amanda whipped out her lighter. She flicked it on as the bright scarlet-golden flame sparked to life. She touched it to the wick of the candles, and they were lit.

Amanda flicked off her lighter and placed it on the edge of the table. "This is gonna be spooky, but I'm excited."

"I agree." Serina nodded. "Well? Let's start."

"Okay." Amanda took a deep breath. "Is there a spirit here?"

They waited for a response.

...

The triangle at the top of the board moved to the left. 'Yes'

Amanda and Serina jumped in startlement and excitement.

"Oh my gosh, that's so cool! I knew ghosts were real!" Amanda kept her voice hushed, yet got excited.

"What's your name?" Serina asked. "I'm Serina, and this is Amanda."

' '

The board didn't do anything.

"I don't think their gonna respo-" Amanda began when the triangle began to move again.

'S-I-R-W-I-L-F-O-R-D-4' The ouija board spelt out.

"Woah!" Amanda still managed to keep her voice silent. "My dad told me about Wilford before."

"Former Toppat leader, right?" Serina asked another question.

'Yes' The wooden board answered.

"Will you hurt us?" Amanda was trying to keep herself and Serina safe.

'P-R-O-B-A-B-L-Y-N-O-T'

"Thank god." Serina sighed in relief.

"How did you die?" Amanda was probably going to pester him with questions like a teenage fangirl.

Hey, she and Serina are both teenagers.

'M-U-R-D-E-R'

Amanda and Serina got less excited.

"That's kinda dark." Serina commented. "Wasn't he a good leader?"

"Yeah, I think that's what I was told." Amanda nodded. "He was probably killed for the position."

"Who killed you?" Serina was curious.

' '

"Are they still alive?"

' '

Serina was silent, and she glanced at Amanda, whom was drinking some of her coffee.

"That's kinda scary... He didn't answer." Serina grabbed her coffee as Amanda set her's down.

The candles flickered out.

"Oh gosh, I'm getting scared." Serina said as Amanda set down her cup of coffee and used her lighter to re-light the candles.

"Yeah, that's kinda creepy." Amanda agreed, placing her lighter back down.

"Wilford, you still there?" Amanda changed the subject.

'No'

"Oh, cool! New spirit!" Serina was interested. "What are your preferred pronouns?"

'H-E'

"Alright then."

"What's your name?" Serina went back to pestering the spirits with questions.

'T-E-R-R-E-N-C-E'

Amanda glanced at all of the portraits. "Terrence Suave?"

'Yes'

"Isn't he the leader who was super reckless and only cared for himself? The one who hurt my dad? Both of them?" Amanda asked. "I haven't met him, but I don't like him."

"Are you going to hurt us?" Serina asked with hesitance.

...

' '

Amanda and Serina exchanged glances.

"That's not a good sign." Amanda commented.

Serina took a drink of her coffee, then placed it back down on the table. "I hope he doesn't hurt us."

"Me neither." Amanda looked back at the ouija board. "How did you die?"

'O-V-E-R-T-H-R-O-W-N'

"I should've guessed that." Amanda told herself.

"Where are you?" Serina then asked.

' '

'N-E-A-R'

"Amanda, I'm scared." Serina took a step closer to her friend.

"Me too."

Something creaked.

Amanda jumped in startlement and looked around cautiously. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea..."

"Should I go get dad?" Serina gazed up at Amanda.

"No, they would be furious." Amanda shook her head, reaching for her almost empty cup of coffee.

The two girls heard footsteps.

"I don't like this..." Serina whispered.

Amanda blew out the candles and set down her cup of coffee. "Quick, hide. Under the table."

They crawled and hid under the table, and sat silently, terrified.

The footsteps came to an end, and there was a sound which sounded like a door closing.

It was silent for a few more moments.

"I think we're safe." Amanda whispered. She crawled out from under the table and snatched her lighter, flicking it on and observing the room. "Yeah, we're good." She turned and lit the candles.

Serina emerged from under the table and faced the ouija board again. "Was that you?"

'Yes'

Amanda and Serina exchanged glances again.

"Change of subject, uh... Who killed you?" Amanda asked.

'R-E-G-I-N-A-L-D'

"Dad killed you?"

'Yes'

"You kind of deserved it after what I heard you did. I heard you're transphobic." Amanda scoffed.

The candles lights flickered out.

Amanda sighed and reached for her lighter again, while Serina was looking around nervously.

They heard what sounded like an adult male heavily breathing.

"What is that!?" Serina asked.

"I don't know, under the table again!"

They slipped themselves under the table, in the darkness.

The breathing got a bit heavier, and Amanda flicked on her lighter, looking around.

"Amandaaa, I don't like this..." Serina sounded terrified. "Should we go back to bed?"

"No, the spirit would follow us, and we'd be in huge trouble. All of us, most likely. Dad killed Terrence! What do you think he'd do to him!?" Amanda didn't wait for Serina to answer. "He'd hurt or even kill him! There's no way I'm letting a spirit kill dad!"

"Fair point." Serina admit.

The heavy breathing stopped, and there was another creak.

Amanda and Serina didn't dare to move for a few moments.

"I think we're okay." Amanda pulled herself out from under the table, Serina following behind her.

Amanda lit the candles again and set her lighter down.

"Don't hurt us. Or anyone. We don't want to be guilty for any deaths." Amanda begged. "Please."

' '

"Are you just trying to scare us? Or are you going to do something?"

'M-A-Y-B-E'

"That doesn't help!"

Serina finished a long sip of her coffee. "Well... Are there any other spirits here other than you and Wilford?"

'Yes'

"Okay... Who?"

'R-E-Y-N-A-L-D-O' 'R-A-N-D-Y' 'J-A-Q-U-E-S'

"I knew the portrait hall would be crowded with the leaders spirits." Amanda confidently told her best friend.

"Yeah, that's most likely." Serina nodded. "But do you think we should do this in the airship? We might get different spirits."

"Yeah." Amanda told Serina. "But that's gonna be tricky since we'll be in space."

"Yeah, true." Serina nodded. "We might have use Supreme Dominance ourselves."

There were more footsteps.

Something moaned.

Amanda drew her glock and pointed it at the direction it came from. "Who's there!?"

No response.

...

"Show yourself!"

...

Amanda lowered her gun. "Huh." She hooked it back onto her belt and turned back to the ouija board.

"Was that you?" Amanda asked.

'No'

"... Okay." Amanda was hesitant.

Serina glanced at her, the back at the ouija board.

"Has there been any female leaders before?" She asked a random question.

'No'

"Oh." Serina glanced at Amanda. "You'll most likely be the first, Amanda. I'm sure you'll be a great leader, too."

Amanda didn't want to be the next leader. "Thanks." She said sheepishly.

"Well... What other creepy stuff do you think is gonna happen?" Serina asked.

The ouija board started to move out of the corner of their eyes.

'W-E-W-I-L-L-M-E-E-T'

"What!?" Serina gasped.

The candles flickered out, and there were more footsteps.

Amanda drew her gun and reached for her lighter. She lit the candles again.

The two girls ducked under the table again. The candles were extinguished yet again.

"Oh my god, we're gonna die..." Serina whispered.

"No, we're not." Amanda reassured. "Their spirits, they can't hurt us. They don't have physical forms. They can only scare us."

Serina didn't respond.

"Serina?"

"Yeah? I'm here."

"Oh, okay. You had me worried for a second."

"..."

They eagerly waited for something to happen, or get the all clear sign.

The footsteps got louder, until they stopped. And then there was the heavy breathing again.

"I don't like this..." Amanda whispered.

"Me neither, I'm horrified."

"I'm gonna have nightmares for the next three weeks..."

They stayed silent, and the breathing got louder.

"You're hearing this, right?" Amanda wanted to confirm.

"Yes." Serina replied. "It's creepy."

Amanda sighed. "I'm sorry, Serina. We shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have suggested it. I should've just left the ouija board alone where I found it."

"No, you had no idea this would happen." Serina shook her head. "And neither did I. If I knew, I wouldn't have agreed to it."

"... Right."

"..."

"COPPERBOTTOM. SVENSSON." Something with a very intimidating voice spoke.

Amanda and Serina jumped in startlement, and Amanda flicked her lighter on.

There was a pitch black humanoid shape with what looked like it had a top hat on, and it had white glowing eyes. It had freaky long shaped hands, and it reached for Amanda.

They two girls let out a blood curling shriek just before they went unconscious.

(Thanks to my friend Rin for making the lineart! I did the coloring and shading.)

(Please reblog if you enjoyed! They help us writers as much as they do artists!)

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 38

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

“How much do you think Kyle knows?” Esme asks, several hours later as she stands at the end of their bed with Addie in her arms. Her body sways from side to side; the movement solely to calm her shaky nerves baby, the baby already fast asleep. Her voice is low; eager to keep any eavesdroppers -especially little ones- from hearing their conversation.

“Might not know anything,” Tyler replies, as he slips into a pair of cargo pants, tending to the zipper and button.

“What’s the chances of that?  Considering all the time he’s been spending over there, getting to know her. In the biblical sense.”

“How long were you able to hide what you did for a living from your family?”

“That’s a valid point. But I didn’t live under the same roof as them. And Kyle’s been over there every day for a week and a half; we barely see him. Can you be with someone THAT much and still be totally oblivious?”

“Maybe she’s really good at her job and knows how to keep things on the down low. She fooled us, didn’t she?”

“I’d just like to take this opportunity to swallow my pride and admit that you were right all along. You didn’t trust her from day one. “

“You called me paranoid and overprotective,” he reminds her.

“Usually that’s all it is,” she reasons. “You can be VERY paranoid and overprotective. I thought you didn’t want some strange all up in your personal space. You don’t like people disturbing your happy place.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t think there was something...off...about her.”

Esme shrugs. “I thought maybe she was just eccentric and outgoing. Friendly.”

“Overly friendly. Like she was trying too hard.”

“Well you ARE a tough nut to crack. I guess it is sort of strange that  she seemed so hell bent on being friends with you; you’re not exactly the warmest and most welcoming person. And the whole thing wanting to touch you all the time,” she frowns. “I mean, I can’t exactly blame her for wanting to. I’d want to feel you up too. But she was so...I don’t know...insistent.”

“And you encouraged it. That night she had dinner here.”

“I was joking around and you were a really good sport about it. I just thought she was being goofy and totally harmless. And I was right there. It’s not like she was being sneaky about it.”

“Like when she came over here and I was alone and she started making comments about my dick?”

“It’s a very nice dick,” she playfully comments. “Guess she just knows a good thing when she sees it.”

“It was weird. Normally I don’t  mind being checked out, but that was fucked up.”

“Maybe she wanted to bang you and see if you lived up to your man whore reputation,” Esme teases, and he gives a small laugh and snags a belt from the closet; slipping it through the loops on his pants. “I don’t blame her for being thirsty. I’ve been thirsty for seven years and I feel no shame for that.”

“Yeah, but I like when it comes from you. Other people? Not as much. And she’s a little…”

“Overbearing?”

“That works.”

“I don’t understand how he didn’t hear or say anything,” she muses, watching her husband as he finishes dressing. Shrugging into a short sleeved button down; olive green and fitting ‘just right’ across that broad chest and shoulders and snug around the biceps.  

He’s changed a lot in seven years; physically speaking. Heavier and wider, stronger and more powerful, a touch more gray scattered throughout his hair and in his beard. More tattoos and scars that are still healing; injuries he’d sustained at Michael McMann’s home in Ireland. But the most drastic difference -despite the horrors and struggles with PTSD and everything that comes with it- are with his personality. The edge is still there. The grittiness and the toughness that comes with years of serving in the military and then as a ‘gun for hire’; the often haunted look in his eyes, caused by the things he’s seen and heard and had been forced to do to stay alive. It had taken years for all those walls to come tumbling down; a full time job even after they’d gotten married and having Millie AND the twins.

It had been a struggle for him; opening up to someone, trusting them, allowing himself to have those softer and vulnerable moments. He’d grown up with an abusive father and went straight into the SASR after graduating high school; had a wife that cheated on him regularly, had a child diagnosed with a terminal illness, then made the unfortunate -and entirely selfish- decision to abandon him while he was dying.  But little by little the cracks in that hardened exterior began to spread and grow wider.  He began laughing and smiling more easily; genuine smiles that would light up his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes. Letting go of the constant need to be the strong and stoic one; afraid that too much emotion and showing -and receiving- too much affection made him ‘soft’. Weak.

Slowly he’d come around; his children managing to strip away at the last of the layers that he found it so hard to get rid of. They’d  always been there. The empathy.  The compassion. A heart ten times bigger than his body. Just needing to be reminding that it was okay to expose those sides of himself; to allow himself to feel.

To be human.

“It would be hard don’t you think?” she continues, as she places Addie in her bassinet.  “Keeping that kind of secret when you’re under the same roof?”

We’ve kept a lot of secret things from each other,” Tyler points out.

“That’s different. We have a past and a lot of bad things happened in it. Anything we’ve held back from one another, has been done with good intentions. She’s just over there doing her thing and spying on us and having her colleagues over. She’s probably just been using him to get close to us. Or to find things out about us. Kyle isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and he wouldn’t twice about it if she started asking him things. If she’s that sneaky…”

“Maybe what’s going on between them is legit. Maybe the dick’s that good.”

Esme grimaces. “Ewww. That is my brother. Let’s not talk about that. He probably could have given you a run for your money during your days as a whore.”

“I was not THAT bad.”

“Bullshit you weren’t! I bet half those scars on your back aren’t even from the job. I bet they’re left behind from some stripper with those tacky long nails that are like daggers.”

He grins, then leans it to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “She was a Sunday school teacher, actually.”

“Yeah, and I bet now she can’t even walk into a church without bursting into flames because of how badly you corrupted her with your filthy ways. I was an innocent, good girl until I met you. And now look.”

“You may have only been with two other guys before me, but there was nothing innocent about you.  What went on those days? Even just that first day? Good girl, my ass.”

“I can’t help it that the voice and the accent brought out the nympho in me,” she says, and directs a swat to his ass before he heads around to his side of the bed. Watching as he removes the Glock remover and its holster from the lock box in the nightstand; slipping the latter onto his right hip before covering it with the bottom of his shirt.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Tyler reasons, when he catches her observing with wide eyes.

“And if all else fails, she probably has a garden rake you can borrow and kill someone with.”

He smirks.  “It’s not too far-fetched to think maybe things between your brother and Salena are the real deal. What would she have to gain by banging him just to get to us?”

“Orgasms? Hopefully.”

“It makes no sense that she’d do that.  Hook up with him to get to us. That’s way too much work.”

“None of this makes any sense,” she grumbles, and then sheds her housecoat in favour of pulling on  a simple white and yellow striped Maxi dress over her bra and panties.

Tyler doesn’t argue with that.

“Okay, so we’ve established that it is possible Kyle knows nothing. But explain this to me: why would Mahajan give us Ovi if his intention all along was to come after you? Wouldn’t that just put Ovi in harm's way all over again? And why would he wait this long for revenge? The kid’s been with us for six years now.”

“I dunno, babe. He’s got his reasons I guess.”

“It’s been seven years since Dhaka. If he held a grudge against anyone, it would have been Saju. For not taking you out.”

“But he’s dead and I’m still here. So…”

“That line of thinking makes no sense,” she argues. “Why would he wait all this time to exact revenge?”

“Probably to catch me off guard.”

“Hmm...I guess…”

“Or maybe he was waiting until I had a lot to lose. So it would make a bigger impact.”

“That’s just fucked,” Esme declares. “And if that’s the way he thinks, he’s an even bigger monster than I thought. Waiting until a man has a family?”

“More lives destroyed that way,” Tyler reasons.

“That’s messed up.”

“You what kind of people these are. You’ve worked closer with them than I have. You were the one that would go in and make nice with them and get them to trust so you could get the info guys like me needed. You can’t tell me you didn’t hear and some fucked up shit.”

“Of course I did.  But this is different. This is personal. We aren’t talking about random strangers we’ve been hired to help. We’re talking about OUR family. You’re not just some guy off the street that I barely know. You’re my husband. And those are my kids downstairs and…”

“Nothing’s going to happen to the kids. Or you.”

She scowls. “I noticed you didn’t put yourself in there.”

“I gotta do what I gotta do, yeah? Keep you and the kids safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Well it matters to me if you’re still breathing at the end of it. And can we not think all doom and gloom? If Salena is telling the truth...if she is who she says she is and she’s working for Neysa and her ‘people’ are keeping an eye on things...maybe things won’t escalate. Maybe it will just be all idle threats and nothing will come of them.”

“You really want to just sit back and hope nothing happens?”

“What else can do?”

He takes a seat at the end of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his knee and the small of his back. “I can eliminate the threat.”

“You said yourself that you can’t just walk into the prison and shoot him in the head. And it’s the people he has doing his bidding  that we have to worry about.”

“So I stop them before they can cause issues.”

Esme frowns. “You’re talking about tracking them down  first? Before they can even get this far?”

“Take them right out of the game before it even starts.”

“That’s a little risky don’t you think? How would you even know who  these people are? I doubt Mahajan is going to willingly give you their names.”

“There’s ways of finding out.”

“How?” she asks, and leans back against the dresser across from her.

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Oh hell no!” Esme objects. “I am not getting involved in this.”

“You already ARE involved in this.”

“I am NOT  going to Mumbai to talk to Mahajan.  There is no way I’d be able to get information out of him. Why the hell would he tell me anything? If he really IS after you, he’s going to tell your wife who’s working for him.”

“I wouldn’t let you go there anyway. But you know people. You still have contacts in the game. Probably some that are in India right now.”

“People that I haven’t talked to in years,” she reminds him. “I can’t just call them up and ask them for help. It isn’t the same kind of relationship you have with your contacts. They’re glad to hear from you’; they’re happy you’re even still alive. Mine are hoping I’m dead. That’s a lot of burnt bridges, Tyler. And some of them? Going to them for help would only make things worse.”

“So you give me their names and numbers. I’ll talk to them.”

“And that would be better, how? I lied to them years ago and now I turn around and give their info to a mercenary? You can see why that would be problematic, right?”

“Then just give me their names and I’ll find their numbers another way. I don’t even need to bring you into it. They don’t need to know how I found them.”

“They’d figure it out.”

“Well we need to figure out who these people are. The ones working for Mahajan. Before shit does hit the fan.”

“WE don’t need to do anything,” she informs him. “Let Salena and her people take care of it. It’s what they’ve been doing, right? Keeping an eye on things?”

“I’m not going to trust complete strangers with your life. Or our kids’ lives. I’m just not.”

“So you’re just going to find out who these people are and hunt them down one by one?”

“If I have to.”

“Tyler...no...just no. How is that even an option?”

“It’s the ONLY option.”

“The hell it is! Salena and her people are already on this!”

“And I already said I don’t trust them. Not with you, not with my kids. I trust myself. And a couple other people. That’s it. And I’m not going to just sit back and and wait for things to go to shit. I need to stop it before it happens.”

“You don’t know that anything is going to happen.”

“I’d rather not take the chance that it will.”

Sighing heavily, she crosses her arms over her chest.

“You trust me?” Tyler asks.

“Of course I trust you. You're the only person I do trust. But I also love you and I don’t want to just send you out there to  get killed. These are bad people. Extremely bad people.”

“I’m not some rookie going in blind,” he reminds her. “This is what I do. It’s who I am.”

“No. It’s part of who you are. There’s a difference.”

“And right now, I need to be that ‘part’. I need to be the old Tyler. And I need you to be okay with that. I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing it because I have to. You’re my wife. Those are my kids. And without any of you, I’m nothing. Which is why I need you to let me do this.”

Another sigh. Heavier this time. Resigned. “Can we at least give it two weeks? For the kids? Because we’re going away next week and then it’s Millie’s birthday shortly after. And we can not take that away from her. She’s a little girl. And she’s so happy and so excited and it’s going to break her heart enough when you leave and I’d rather her not find out until AFTER her party. Can you do that at least?”

He nods. “But if anything happens…”

“If anything happens then you go and take care of it. But for now can we just act like nothing’s going on? For them? Because they're kids and they don’t need to worry and stress over adult things. Can we just pretend around them that everything’s fine? Because it’s going to be hard enough when you leave without the anticipation of it hanging over their heads. Please? Can we do that?”

“Of course baby.”

He reaches out and takes hold of one of her hands, gently tugging her into him, placing her between his legs. And he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist and then wraps both arms around her waist; pulling her tight against him, forehead resting against her chest. Eyes closing as he feels her hands on him. First in his hair. Fingers combing through it before her nails lightly scratch against the nape of his neck, then the tips running softly over the outer edges of his ears.  And when her palms come to rest against his cheeks, he looks up at her, attempting a reassuring smile when he finds those huge dark eyes filled with tears.

She’s silent as he watches her. Fingertips travelling over the older scars that mar his face; the one across the bridge of his nose, then the left side of his forehead, followed by the one alongside his left. Then she moves to the one that he’d sustained during the incident at Michael McMann’s house. Starting at the top of his right eyebrow;  spreading up onto his forehead and disappearing -for several inches-  into his scalp.

She kisses him. So soft and sweet sweet...the tenderness and the love so evident...that it takes his breath away and nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“I can’t lose you,” her voice is just above a whisper. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

She manages a small smile and places a kiss on his brow. And he tightens his hold on her; falling backwards onto the bed and tucking her securely into his chest; one hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. Feeling her body trembling against him and the tears that dampen the front of his shirt.

****

She plays the part of a perfect hostess; bringing out carafes of coffee and tea and a jug of ice water, along with plates of various small desserts and finger foods.  Tyler had noticed the drastic change in her the moment she’d answered the door. Her usual flowing and brightly colored sundresses or tropical themed shorts and band t-shirts replaced with well tailored dress slacks and a crisp white blouse; her usual bare footed approach abandoned in favour of a pair of black heels. But her personality change is the most baffling.  No longer loud and boisterous and bordering on obnoxious, instead both soft AND well spoken. Now that  the truth is out -or at least part of it - she no longer has put on the front of the affable, annoying, and overly friendly new neighbour. Now she’s professional and courteous. Polite. And almost too apologetic. A continuous string of “I’m sorry” and “I wish things hadn’t come out this way”  as she led them out onto the back deck. Telling them help themselves to food and drink before disappearing back into the house.

“Is it just me or did things just go from weird to really fucking weird?” Esme whispers to him as they sit side by side; their knees touching and his hand on the small of her back.

It’s comforting. The simple brush of his body against hers and his familiar scent; filling her with a sense of security and effectively calming her nerves.  He won’t leave her side now, making sure she’s always close enough to touch, never out ear shot and certainly not out of eyesight. His protective nature kicked in high gear.  And for good reason.

“It’s not just you.”

“It’s like we’re living in the Twilight Zone,” she mutters, and then issues a long, shaky sigh.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, as he rubs the small of her back. “Everything’s going to be fine. The worst could have happened already. If she was working for the other side, she would have had guys here to ambush us the second we walked in.”

“How do you know they’re not hiding inside for the perfect moment?”

“Not a rookie, remember? You have to trust me,” he  presses a kiss to the side of her head. . “Just trust me.”

She manages a small smile and leans into him. A hand resting on his thigh   and his lips lingering against her temple; hand slipping off her hip and up onto her side, rubbing comfortingly. Selfishly he enjoys having this role in her life: the fierce and loyal protector. It’s an ego boost knowing that she has that much faith and trust in him.  And he knows he’s more than capable of living up to her expectations; confident in his strength, skills, and abilities.

“I promise none of it has been tampered with,” Salena comments upon her return, noticing that their cups remain empty and the food hasn’t been disturbed.  “As I said earlier, I’m not here to hurt either of you. Or your children.”

“So why are you here?” Esme asks, her hand slipping from Tyler’s thigh as he moves beside her; pouring himself a coffee and her a tea. “And why the big production? Why show up out of the blue and act as if you wanted to be friends? You could have  just been honest right off the hop. You think it would have bothered either of us? This isn’t the first time someone has threatened us in the past seven years.”

“I know it isn’t. I know everything there is to know about the two of you. About everything that went down in Dhaka; start to finish. And I know about your little return there. About Mumbai and Ireland and New Zealand. Information is easy to get when you know the right people.”

“And when you’re willing to pay big for it,” Tyler adds. “Something tells me Nik Khan helped you out quite a bit.”

“Nik and I have a very good working relationship, “ Salena admits, and Esme gives a derisive snort. “I don’t approve of her transgressions. Or attempts at them. But as far as business goes, she’s one the best there is. And we trust her completely.”

“Who is we?” Tyler inquires. “And who are you? Why don’t we just cut the shit and get down to it. You wanted us here to talk, so talk.”

“My name...my REAL name...is Allison Rav.”

“Rav?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “You’re related to Saju? How?”

“Related by marriage only. My husband...ex husband, I should say...is Saju’s youngest brother. Former special services as well. We parted on good terms and have remained friends. And business partners. After Saju died...correction, after he was murdered...Anil left the military and started things up; in Saju’s memory. A way of both honoring him and avenging him. This…” she lifts up one of the plates of food and removes a file folder -one of many- from underneath. “...is everything there is to know about it. About us. About who we are and what we do.”

She offers the file to Tyler and he accepts it; dropping it into the empty chair beside him.

“Are you a mercenary?” Esme asks, her body and nerves starting to relax; comforted by the mention of Saju’s name and the woman’s connection to him.

“Far from it,” Allison gives a dry laugh. “None of our people are. We strictly provide security. We’re trained to assess potential threats and stop them before they happen. But we do seek out mercenaries; when things because too volatile and need...permanent...results.”

“When you want guys like me to go in and put our asses on the line and get blood on our hands.” Tyler smirks.

“Our area of expertise and concern is providing support to those being harassed and threatened by the Mahajans and the Amir Asifs of the world. And there’s a lot of them. So when Neysa contacted us and said that she was receiving threats of bodily harm and death against her and her son, we didn’t hesitate to help. We have her and Aarav in hiding. A safe house just outside of Mumbai.”

“You really think that’s smart?” he asks. “Being that close to Mahajan and his people? Doesn’t leave much room for error. Why not move them somewhere further away? Other side of the world if you had to. Doesn’t make sense for them to be that close.”

“It’s what she requested; to be close to home. We move them when...and if...we have to. We ended up here..I ended up here...when Neysa ‘disappeared’ and Mahajan’s people lost track of her. That’s when he changed his game plan, so to speak. His first thought was that she came here. What better place to hide them with someone who could protect her and Aarav if need be? The person who worked with Saju to get Ovi out of Dhaka alive. What a turn of events THAT was. He was supposed to eliminate you and in the end you worked together. Not what Mahajan expected.”

Tyler gives a tense smile. “How about we NOT talk about Dhaka.”

“Fair enough,” Allison agrees, and pours herself a cup of coffee. “When he thought she’d come here, we were ready. We already had eyes and ears on the situation. He hadn’t sent anyone here or sent out any official threats, but we knew it was going to happen. So we acted first and got here as soon as we could. But things ARE picking up. He is escalating things. This is a man hell bent on revenge and will stop at nothing to get it.  You both know what these kinds of people are like. They don’t care if there’s a woman and children involved. They’ll be their first targets to get to who they really want.”

Esme issues a heavy, shaky sigh and Tyler gives her a small, reassuring smile; arm wrapping around her, palm softly and comfortingly rubbing her shoulder.  “It’s been seven years,” she says. “Why now? Why wait all this time? And why Tyler? Mahajan gave us his son. So Ovi could be safe and have a normal life. A real family. Why would he let us have him if this was his plan all along?”

“There’s two reasons,” Allison replies. “The first is that Saju failed his mission. Yes, he helped get Ovi out of Dhaka. But he didn’t eliminate everyone standing in his way. He wasn’t supposed to leave anyone alive. You two survived. And I understand why he didn’t kill you; he would never harm a woman in that way. I’m sure he looked at you and thought of Neysa and realized he couldn’t go through with it. But you…” she looks at Tyler. “...you put up one hell of a fight. He didn’t expect that.”

“What’s the second thing?” Tyler asks.

“Did Ovi tell either of you that his father has been in contact with him? On a regular basis?”

Tyler frowns. “What?”

“Even behind bars, Mahajan still holds a lot of influence and power in the drug world. He has a lot of money stashed away in several offshore accounts. Enormous amounts of money. He needs someone to run the business now that it’s booming again. And what better person to be his successor than his only son? But that kid is tough. Resilient. He isn’t giving in. He wants nothing to do with that kind of life and isn’t afraid to tell his father that. Which naturally has enraged Mahajan. He’s taken it as a sign of disrespect. Dishonour. And he’s not going to let that slide. He feels the only thing standing in Ovi’s way...preventing him from doing it...is the two of you. But especially you.” she nods in Tyler’s direction.  “He thinks Ovi is completely under your influence and is only saying no because of you.”

“I’m starting to finally see why he wants into the game so badly.” Tyler says to Esme. “It isn’t about the actual job or the money. It’s about being able to protect himself. And us if he has to.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to tell us,” she laments. “Or why he gave us such bullshit excuses. Because he knew he’d have to tell us that he’s been speaking to his father.”

Tyler nods.

“Mahajan wants the obstacle removed,” Allison continues. “He really just wants Tyler out of the picture; he’s the biggest hurdle and true threat. And it would be a way of righting Saju’s wrongs. That’s why we’re here. To prevent any of that from happening. We’re here to protect you. Not hurt you.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting my own family,” Tyler informs her. “I don’t trust just anyone with this. And I’m especially not going to trust you. You could have just told us all of this right from the beginning. Not put on some big, ridiculous show.”

“Neysa asked us to keep this quiet. She didn’t  want to scare either of you. Or your kids. And now that you’re getting back into the mercenary business, there’s an even bigger target on your back. Mahajan sees that as a direct threat.”

“He can take it whatever fucking way he wants. I don’t care if you and your people stay on the sidelines or keep in the background. But I’ll protect my own family. I’m more than capable of doing it and I know my wife and my kids trust me. They know I’ll keep them safe. Better than any of your people can.”

“He’s right,” Esme speaks up. “There’s no else I trust with my life. With my kids’ lives. And we’ve got people working for us that can always lend a hand if they need to. We don’t need perfect strangers fucking things up.”

“We’re highly trained,” Allison argues. “We’re more than capable of...”

“Tyler can do it. And that’s who I WANT doing it. I don’t care how highly trained you or your people are. No one can protect us the way he can. No one. And if that pisses you off and you pull your people out of here…”

“We’re not going anywhere. Neysa wants us here and this is where we’re saying.”

“I want to talk to your ex husband,” Tyler says. “There’s information I need. About who is working for Mahajan. Who these people are he has after us.”

“Anil expected you’d want to speak to him. That you would  have a lot of questions for him. All his contact information is in the first folder I gave you. There…” she pulls the other files from under the plate of food. “...are your files. Everything we have on the two of you. There’s also  a file about Dhaka and everything that went down there. And one with copies of all the threats that have been made so far. To Neysa and to you. I trust this information will be in good hands?”

Tyler nods and accepts the folders, placing them with the initial one she’d given him.

“We kept this secret because  that’s what Neysa wanted,” Allison explains. “She didn’t want to alarm anyone. So I HAD to put on a good show. I had to get myself into your life. I had to get close to all of you and get you to open up to me and tell me things. And I know that you know what that’s like, Esme. Having to lie to people; fool them. Having to trick them into giving you what you want.”

“And my brother?” she asks. “What about him? You used him to get to us? He broke up his engagement for you. And all along you were just using him? Why did you have to stoop THAT low?”

“We do what we have to to get what we want. Kyle has no clue about any of this. I’d like to keep it that way. Because he’s a good guy and there’s feelings...legitimate feelings...involved now. On both sides. It started out as part of the job, but it’s become more. So much more.”

“Yeah…” Esme smirks. “...sure it has. Can we go now?” she addresses Tyler. “I really want to go. I’ve heard enough and I just want to get the hell out of here.  I just want to go home.”

“We can go,” he confirms, and then gathers the folders off the chair and stands up. “I don’t want any of your people near my house,” he informs Allison. “I don’t want them watching me or my wife or my kids. Especially my kids. You tell them to back off. That I’m more than capable of protecting my own. Because if they get in the way and totally fuck things up? If that happens? You’ll end up a few employees short because I won’t hesitate taking them out too.”

Allison nods in confirmation, then stands as well. “We’ll continue to keep an eye on things. Just as Neysa asked. And if you need our help…”

A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he lays a protective hand on the small of his wife’s back. “I won’t.”

[bluboothalassophile]

Damned Prince Of Gotham

Hello,

Due to the requests for Athanasia, Damian, Jason bonding I have been spurred into showing the first chapter of Damned Prince of Gotham.

When forces at play behind the scenes rear their ugly heads, of course they come in the form of Jason’s past. And of fucking course it won’t just stay in the closet with the rest of his fucking skeletons.

Ghosts Amongst the Living...

It was just after Thanksgiving, he had managed to survive PT, and no longer needed the fucking cane. Though Alfred had been kind enough to find him a cool cane with a sword in it. And the bigger bonus, he no longer needed his leg brace.

That was what brought him here.

It was the first time since her funeral he had come here. It was nice, quaint, peaceful, everything Gotham couldn’t be. Her grave marker was simple, how she’d have wanted it.

Rachel Roth, Beloved Daughter, Fearless Sister, Loyalist of Friends.

Slowly he crouched down, the flowers in his hand felt heavier. He saw that Ivy had planted a beautiful set of flowers here, something rare, and the gravesite was cared for. His leg was throbbing in protest, but he didn’t care about that, feeling the Pit burn through him in an attempt to heal him.

“Hey, been a while, little bird,” he whispered looking around the graveyard. “I’ll be honest, not really my scene, but you know me, going to go out in a blaze of glory, getting cremated the second time around but maybe they’ll lay those ashes here. You’d like it. It’s still, almost eerie, but in a peaceful sort of way.

“I survived Joker, killed the fucker. B’s pissed about that, but it helps Alina sleep at night. You know, Alina, B’s bastard daughter, she’s a sweetheart, her mom tried to keep her out of the Bat bullshit, which is fair. Her mom’s dead, OD on Joker gas, Cat and B took Alina in.

“Kori was murdered, it’s fucked up Dick. He’s got Jake, but it’s really fucked him up, Rae. He won’t even look at Jake, or Mar'i, and honestly, none of us know what to do. I didn’t think he was a drinker, I never thought that would be his poison, but he is, and god knows what else he’s doing, he’s not good Rae. And if you’re in touch with Kori I ask you to send her his way. I know it’s not fair, you’re at peace and all, but anything helps.

“Other than that, not a whole hell of a lot is happening here with us living folks. I miss you,” he said as he stared around them. “I miss you Rae. It’s nice, Roy, Biz, Kyle and Arty, they try. Never had friends who were so stubborn to cling on, but they just aren’t you. They aren’t you. And it’s not fucking fair you got to die and left me here,” he snapped. “I can’t even be mad at you about that because we were saving Mar'i, but goddamn it, it’s not fucking fair. Damn demon.

“And it’s really not fair I miss you; you were a pain in my ass. Don’t get me wrong, you were the Queen, but life was so much easier before you went about dragging me back to the land of the living. Now I can’t escape my siblings, and I watched the entire series of Game of Thrones. I blame you for that,” he warned her. “It was great, I started the books, but then I saw the last season, and Thank God you’re dead Rae, because it was awful. I don’t even get where the writers took that, it wasn’t good at all, and it… death is a mercy to watching that. And yes, I binged with the Replacement, Steph and Cass; in my defense I was on pain killers and on bed rest.

“I saw an advertisement for a Netflix show, looks very promising and interesting, but after Game of Thrones I hesitate to watch the genre. I think I should just stick to Jack Ryan; I binged that with the kiddies. Violet little blood suckers the lot of them. I mean seriously, Terry and Helena somehow talked me into letting them watch Bosch, Jack Ryan and Law & Order and shit like that with me, and B caught us, suffice to say we were all grounded, but then we did again. Being stuck in a bed sucks Rae.”

There was a snap which had his head snapping up, and he saw her duck behind a headstone.

“And also, little bird, they won’t leave me alone, I feel like a duck with a trail of ducklings. Over here Alina,” he called out. The small girl stepped out; he smiled a bit at her as he rolled to his feet. His leg screamed in protest. “Come meet little bird,” he said.

“I…I don’t want to intrude,” she said.

“You’re already here pipsqueak, might as well say hi to the reason we escaped the Joker,” he said and offered the twelve-year-old his hand. Alina hesitated but she darted up and accept it. “Alina this is Raven. Rae this is my newest of siblings,” he said.

“Hi,” Alina said softly. She was so shy and gentle, he wondered how the hell she could be B’s, but she was a Bat, he remembered that with how she had poisoned Joker. “You talk to her?”

“All the time. It’s a one-sided conversation, isn’t too different from when she was here.” True he and Rae bantered, and could have conversations, but for shit like this, she’d just let him talk. “She’s my best friend, Alina. I’ll always talk to her.”

“I talk to my mom,” Alina admitted. “And Mar'i talks to Kori. Is it normal?”

“Normal?” he snorted. “Is it normal, Rae? No, probably not, not to this degree, but Alina, we’re Bats, normal flew out the window. And you’ll find that as life goes on, there’s people you’ll want in your life and they’re the people you want to talk to. And Raven was my person, I’ll never stop wanting to talk to her.”

“You seem sure about that,” Alina said.

“Yeah, I am sure of it,” he smiled tightly. “I’ll see you around little bird.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Alina said to the grave. Jason offered Alina his hand again and they carefully navigated their way to where he had his car.

“How’d you get here?” he asked.

“Uber.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

She sat there in her warehouse typing code, as she studied the research of her current contract. It was about an AI program called Brainiac, she was employed with retrieving and destroying. Her cropped hair was ruffled in the slight breeze of her drafty hide out. She had settled in Stockholm off the grid from her grandfather’s grasp since Jason had helped her escape the League. She went by Lisbeth Head, it was a safe alias, one she created because of her favorite books, and because it was safe.

She had gone to Europe rather than America, it would be easier to hide if she was not worried about Bats noticing her. True she kept her identity to herself, and the only two who had met her didn’t know who she truly was.

She had altered her appearance since her escape, true she had drawn inspiration from her favorite books, the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but initially it was because she was young and the impression it had hit her with was inescapable. Now it was because this look was the one she found worked for her. She looked intimidating without attracting too much attention and in many places she blended in. Short cropped hair, and piercings did so much to hide her, and the tattoos were a bonus; Ra’s had never come looking for her though.

Still, her vigilance was high.

One of her alarms sounded which had her looking over at her security monitors. Tearing her attention away from her work she studied her empty security monitors for the threat, slowly pulling away from her chess game with c4ff1n4t3dR3 as her hand picked up her glock. Eyes scanning over her monitor she tensed when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up which had her turning around as she turned off the power of her hide out and secured her workstation before exiting the area.

“You got comfortable,” a voice sneered, and she kept closer to the shadows.

“Been a long while Athanasia, or is it Lisbeth now?” he demanded.

She slid low, keeping silent.

“Mmm, still not talkative, thought that’d change,” he grumbled. Her heart was slamming mercilessly in her ribs as she scanned her warehouse for him. “Still doesn’t fucking matter,” he growled, she shot up where his voice had come over her and stood, spinning as she shot at him, moving back, grabbing a knife.

“Still have that hair trigger, babe!” he jeered, she was prepared.

She stood there in the dim light filtering into her apartment.

“Fuck you’re hot, but I’m here on business,” he snarled, she didn’t see him but she felt the hit on the back of her head which had her world disappearing as she crumpled to the ground. “Not fucking pleasure.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

He walked past his downed slave and straight to her work station. Breaking into it would’ve been tricky but the Light had seen to it he’d have the needed Skeleton Key. He didn’t spare Athanasia a glance, he had always had her as his shadow and companion until she took his eye in her escape from the League of Assassins. That fucking slave had interfered, and Grant remembered seeing red until he was down in the sand and about to be killed by the SOB. Of course no one killed that slave, and no one chased his slave, Athanasia, no one cared about them. They were slaves. Defective to begin with.

Still, he was pissed that she had run and hidden herself from him.

Athanasia had been his favorite pleasure slave, she always was a bitch to put up a fight.

No matter, he walked into her little room and saw her computers, working quickly he went for what he had been ordered to get. The program AI, he was aware he was stealing it from the theif who had stolen it from New Krypton. The Light wanted assassins and to do that his employer had to gain their favor before his rivals’ could make their moves. The League of Assassins wasn’t what it used to be, fracturing drastically with the death of Ra’s al Ghul.

The different fractions followed the different children of Ra’s.

“Is it done yet?” an impatient graveled voice demanded over the intercom.

“Almost,” he said.

“Hurry up.”

“Patience, Demon’s Thumb,” he warned.

“Father has no more patience,” she snapped.

“I got it, and extra information.”

“Destroy everything that remains, and dispose of the Failure.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

He lay alone in his bed in his warehouse, a huge bed and he couldn’t fucking sleep. He couldn’t even close his eyes.

Jason no longer had nightmares about his coffin or his death, or anything in his past, but he always saw them. He’d see her falling, her golden hair everywhere as the blood splattered from the impacts of the shots while she fell back and he struggled to get to her. Then he’d feel something colliding in him, larger and harder than a bullet, as a force moved him aside and he’d twist around in time to see Raven, her black hair flowing and her four eyes open to focus on saving, her soul was already attacking an armada and he saw the knife hit the side of her ribs, shoving her off her course, knocking her down as her body rolled from the impact, and he’d see Ryand’r there.

He couldn’t sleep.

All that blood, she was so small, she rarely bled, and there was so much blood. He could see them both, as one, Isobel and Raven, laying there, in near identical positions, their hands curled, and their hair fanned around them as they both lay there in a pool of blood, and he couldn’t sense their lives.

In the dreams Raven and Isobel were one in the same, some twisted mix of both them laying there, showing him the price of his failure.

He couldn’t sleep.

Sleep, Raven’s voice whispered in his ear, he could swear she was right there as he gave in and closed his eyes.

[banesbottombitch]

Word Count: +4.3k

Pairing: Jerome Valeska/Reader

Synopsis: Bullock!Reader and Jerome spend a moment together in the shower, only to later reflect that things are coming to a close faster than they anticipated or cared to admit.

Warnings/Tags: Implied Smut, Mild Angst, unspoken mutual pining. Takes place before Jerome’s initial murders. Oneshot.

---

You stood in silence, a hardened cascade falling on the redhead while Jerome hovered under the spray of the shower, and watched his freckled back ripple with the scorching stream of water as you lathered your hair with conditioner. It smelled too sweet for the moment, the steam making orange peel and lemongrass overpowering as you wrung nimble fingers through sopping locks, and gave a hum of contentment.

Jerome seemed to pay no mind, eyes closed while facing the stream, rolling his neck this way and that to warm himself until he turned slowly, rubbing a wet hand over his nose and mouth, finally opening a pair of startling hazel green eyes.

“You need a hand?” He mused, reaching out and pulling you to him with surprising tenderness, trading places so you could take a turn back under the water.

You wondered how long the peace would last, the spell of a domestic moment between another, a pause between witty banter and sly knowing smiles. For now, you tried to take it all in, to remember relaxed shoulders and heavy lidded, almost pleasantly tired, gazes. 

Content. That's what you both were. Finally content.

Without hesitation Jerome’s hands found your tresses, threading practiced fingers through the locks and pulling the tangles apart skillfully. The water was just a tad too hot for your tastes, but you had no room to object, watching - mesmerized- at how the redhead worked his digits through your hair with more or less a touch of adoration to his ministrations as the conditioner slowly rinsed down the drain.

It countered his earlier ones, where his grip had pried at the very hair he held then and left budding bruises along your wrists and thighs, your hips just as tender as what was between your legs thanks to something that could only be called an insatiable hunger which lurked under the surface of a boyishly charming face and wicked grin.

Even now, hidden under a mask of warm satisfaction thanks to a hot shower and quiet words, you saw the stir of something wild in him. It was there when he moved hair from your shoulder and drug his nails across your scalp, and remained still even when you shut your eyes and stilled yourself for the kiss he bent to give you.

Like everything about Jerome, it was suffocating, but you fell into it easily, pushing against his lips and letting him part them when you snaked a arm under his own and over his shoulder to anchor him there, skin to skin. Heart hammering against her chest, it was a hummingbirds pace rivaling against a steady one that burned through his own, meeting your multiple flutters with deep rhythmic beats- the pauses between his ebbing into the way he moved his mouth against yours- slow, purposeful and in control.

The spray disappeared from your shoulders, Jerome unknowingly stumbling back, an iron grip sliding from your hips and up your waist, dulled nails dragging streaks over already pink-tinged skin from the heat of the shower- and just like that, something that had been reserved and soft, became something carnal and starved.

He bumped against the tiles, nearly slipping in the tub as his legs tangled together with yours, but he kept his balance and so kept yours as well.

Between the kisses, the pants of breath that reeked of desire, and wandering hands that could find no purchase in places that could humble either of them, you found yourself falling. 

Falling into Jerome, the way his skin mirrored the burn of the searing shower’s stream, falling into the hands that held you desperately like you were something he would never tire of and would hold to him until his last breath, his teeth clinking against yours as you wounded your arms back, reaching to cradle his jaw and keeping him in place.

It was then, with the two clutching each other while wading in the fog of the bathroom, that you knew you were sinking. As Jerome kissed harder, murmuring across slowly bruising lips that you were gorgeous, that he was lucky to have scored you, it left you to drift further into a pit that deepened the further you went.

You loved him.

So, so, so much.

And maybe you had loved him since they first locked eyes all those years before. When no words had even been spoken yet, when Harvey had still ushered you to and from the tents. You had barely begun high school, Jerome had just found the right recipe to just how many cigarettes he could steal from Lila’s purse without her noticing.

But maybe it was after that too. When Harvey’s promises to take you to the circus fell short and you had to ride that ferry yourself, windblown hair accentuating an impish grin that glittered under the lights of hay covered paths. It was back then that Jerome even really noticed the frequent visitor, his eyes following you as you snuck between the tents and he rubbed at a split lip courtesy of his mother.

There were so many ways it could have started, from the off handed gazes that met, a shared grin when the actors bursted into fights behind the scenes that you shouldn’t have ever seen - but hey, if you picked up a bucket and kept your head down, no one was the wiser in that line of work - and even when you first spoke to each other.

It could have been the first autumn you convinced him to sneak off from the lot and follow your lead into the center of the skyline he had spent over a decade watching glow from hazy sunrises and sunsets, never allowed to escape the circus and run off into the city before he had a guide on hand.

But really, for you, it was in that shower. Holding him, kissing him, forgetting that you would have been alone that night if he hadn’t stolen away like thief in the night to your home.

You felt wanted, dare you say loved; even when he pulled back and spun around with you, a hand twisting and turning knobs to that you were finally under the stilling silence of a shared moment.

Dazed, both panting and watching each others expression, there was a thrill in the air that could have been chased down and swallowed by either if you were brave enough, hungry enough.

Instead however, Jerome cocked his head to the side and gave you a smug look, like the cat who finally caught that god awful canary, speaking with something you could have compared to a purr.

“Your old man’s gonna give you a hell of a lecture over your next water bill, yeah?” 

You couldn’t help the snort of a laugh that came from his comment, smoothing the edges of his wet hair that rested on the nape of his neck.

“He’ll just think I’m taking too many baths again,” you said, parting from him even when he gave a hint of resistance to draw the curtain that served as a barrier between you and the outside world. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” He repeated idly, the mirror hung directly across from them allowing you to see how his eyes found you instantly as soon as your back was turned and you stepped out, dampening the mat below your feet. But they shot up as quickly as that had fallen and he cleared his throat, the magic of the moment lost for Jerome as you tossed him a fresh towel from the linen closet you had walked to, wrapping one around yourself as well. “What’d I have to worry about if he came home now, anyway? A gun to the junk?”

Your nose wrinkled at the suggestion, knowing that as much as you would like to argue that wouldn't be the case, that Harvey Bullock was a stand up and respected member of the GCPD, that he was still a father of a girl edging into womanhood and thus; overprotective at the end of the day.

“Probably just a couple of threats of putting a fake bounty on your head and a show of cocking the handle of his glock to spook you, I’d imagine.”

Jerome rubbed his face and hair dry, peeking those brilliant hazel eyes out from under the plush fabric to grin and dust it over his shoulders, then coming to stand on the mat and resting a knowing look on you once you flicked the switch on for the bathroom fan and it whirred to life.

“Mmm, say ‘cock’ again, Sweets. You know it gets me going.”

“You’re a pig, Valeska.”

“Says the pig’s daughter.” He countered expertly, giving a decently convincing pig’s snort to go along with the sentiment, shimming the towel over his waist before pinching it at his hip.

Despite yourself, you gave him the benefit of a small laugh, feeling that familiar warmth surge through your chest and expand as you breezed by him, opening the bathroom door and passing past the short break from the bathroom and your room- Harvey’s bedroom door still ajar just a bit further down the hall and the apartment still sitting idle, ensuring that you and Jerome were still alone with only your shared company to keep.

Heavier footsteps followed behind you, the prickle of Jerome’s eyes on you even once they stepped into your room, the sheets still rolled and bunched up as they had left them, a ring of blankets and pillows spilling onto the floor from where they had been kicked or thrown in the midst of two eager teens and a bed to fill.

In the huddle of blankets and loose sheets, you found a shirt, its burnt orange and russet brown color popping against maroon and white, and Jerome caught it absently as he took in the room once more, as he had when first arriving a few hours before.

What he saw, you imagined, was something worn and loved. Posters aged over time were tacked up from years before, with old bands you hadn’t spent a minute listening too in ages but you couldn't be bothered to take down, a mismatched set of furniture pushed against the walls made of warm wood tones and scratched to all hell. What wasn’t scratched was scribbled on or chipped away at thanks to knives that were hidden in various spots of the room, always poised and ready for you to stumble upon like a low grade easter egg hunt when you felt like it.

The vanity was a mess, pictures taped to the mirror, the counter scattered with makeup that was new and just opened mixed with expired eyeliner pencils and lipsticks in golden tubes you had never even used. There was a bottle, yellowed from smoke and age, with just the scarcest spritz left in it, holding perfume that should have been thrown away long before Jerome and you had even met. But that was a story for another time, when Jerome wasn’t standing in the middle of your childhood bedroom with just a towel between you and another visit to pound town if you could work up the nerve to propose it.

But alas, Jerome scooped up a rolled pair of jeans, whipping his towel to rest back on his shoulders, and tugged them up. His underwear apparently not a god damn priority.

“What’s that?” He nodded, jumping and pulling at the belt loops of his pants until they hung properly on his hips, his curiosity locked on a fat glass jar sitting atop your dresser, the record player beside it still spinning without purpose as an album waited to be replayed as it had been when Jerome suggested you needed some sort of background noise to properly fuck to. It was nearly full of strips of paper, ticket stubs, and folded fliers, hardly a few inches left for the contents to breathe.

A tad embarrassed, but covering it up with an offhanded shrug, you strode to the jar, tugging open a dresser drawer and stacking a set of sweat pants on your arm, leaving you to regard the mystery item with some pause before sighing.

“Stuff, y’know. Stuff I collect.” You replied loftily, shutting and opening various drawers until you had a full wardrobe in your arms. “Nothing all that cool.”

“Wow, you’re really gonna score that oscar, Babe.” Jerome’s snarky jab came, and before you could shoot one back, he was behind you and plucking the jar off the dresser, the hurried shuffle that ensued to steal it back making him almost cackle while he held it high above the two of you, easily dwarfing the your much shorter self by doing so.

“Give it back, asshole!”

Jerome unscrewed the lid, standing on his tiptoes as you resorted to trying to hop up, failing in doing so as you clutched the towel to your chest.

“Jerome! Seriously! Boundaries!”

“Jerome! Seriously! Boundaries!” He mocked like a child, giving a down right dramatic roll of his eyes and side stepping you like you were nothing, leaving you to stew in a rage that met your cheeks and sent them to a proper shade of red.

The first thing he found was a folded paper, one he unfurled without a care, scanning it with unabashed wonder. Behind him, you muttered under your breath, resorting to shedding the towel and jerk the cami top you had chosen over head, tugging on underwear and sweatpants in record time as Jerome continued to dig, fascinated by what he was finding.

It was, to him, surely overly sentimental.

Fliers from Haly’s Circus, dating back to when even he couldn't remember, were stuffed into the jar like some sort of obsession you had quietly been putting gas to a flame over for near a decade and a half. There were rolled pieces of paper that had Paul Cicero's chicken scratch on them, the poetic words of a con man oddly comforting to even him despite the fact he knew they were all purebred lies.

Pictures, riddled with careful and precise folds, showed a man he had seen time and again on your arm way back in the day, when he had only just began to register you in his minds eye. That same gruff looking face and set of hard eyes somewhat softened while standing with a much smaller and less womanly girl in each shot that was taken. He smiled at her, returning her impish little grins with a father’s adoration.

They were taken by the ferry docks, on the vessel itself, and all about the circus. Shots Jerome found familiar he could place without any effort, living vicariously for a brief moment through your memories as he was whisked away through a childhood he had never been given the chance to have. The girl with that signature grin grew up in the photos, a tiny little thing holding an officer's hand taken from the aspect of an on looker, the photos at first posed from a distance until very suddenly, they were up close and oddly taken. The angles were off, a child’s artistic eye shown with every blurry snap of Harvey Bullock’s scruffy chin going missing in a wad of baby pink cotton candy shoved his way or the odd wide shot of a circus tent and nothing else.

The photos of you were taken with care, fumbly a tad, but still snapped with intent to keep a memory instead of a questionable snap to hang in the back of a photo album and be forgotten. You were always smiling, eyes lit up and excitement palpable through just an adoring gaze, posing with acrobats Jerome had known since he was a toddler and even the ringleader, Haly, himself. As you got older, the photos were some of the same thing, an arm around the hips, then the waist, and finally the shoulders once you could reach them of people Jerome had come to loathe well before the either of you had shared words.

He was almost humbled in that moment, curling the jar to his bare chest as you stood behind him, fidgeting uncomfortably in the sudden silence, finding it hard to settle on a real emotion that could explain how it felt to know that a place that he had wanted to burn down since adolescence was clearly your happy place.

He struggled to find a witty word, falling flat very suddenly when he opened the final photo he could get his hands on, a rigidness finding itself in you just behind him.

“That's enough, Jerome.”

And so it was.

He didn’t hesitate to let you snatch the photo from his hand, and even resisted putting up a further fight for the jar itself. You hurried to stuff the photos back into the jar, screwing the top back on and dropping it on the dresser with a heavy hand, spinning on bare heels and rubbing the towel in hand against your slowly drying locks.

“You done being a fucking snoop?” You asked with a clipped tone, digging daggers into freckled skin as Jerome served you a blase sort of look, running a hand through his own damp strands.

“Who’s the lady in that last pic?”

Huffing and snagging Jerome’s shirt from his grip, you smacked the top to his chest with flared nostrils.

“Get dressed.”

“Touchy subject?” He quipped, taking the shirt with a hint of a smirk now, knowing he was prying.

“Put your shirt on, dude. I wanna smoke and you’ll catch a fucking cold if you don’t put an extra layer on and hide your weird nips.” You shot back, stepping over discarding pillows to the vanity and snatching up a packet of cigarettes, the lighter across your room and sitting on a window riddled with cracked and peeling paint.

You crossed the space, tugging one out while Jerome finally relented and threw on his shirt, and finally he felt it warranted to follow along the path through the landmines of the mess they had made together.

“They aren't that weird,” He objected light heartedly, coming behind you once more and watching as you jerked open the window and ducked out, setting bare feet on the icy steel of the fire escape just beyond the glass, a hand swiping the lone lighter and giving Jerome no choice but to follow you out for a smoke break himself. “Are they?”

“Not as weird as they could be for a dude who grew up in a circus, I guess.” 

Jerome shot her an amused glance, shuddering when his warm skin met the cool grating and fumbling with the new sensation, hitching himself on the fencing of the fire escape to leave it behind him.

You tucked the cigarette between parted lips, hovering the lighter close and hitching it to life, inhaling steadily until the end glew red hot, knocking the lighter back into dormancy as you took a long drag and watched out past Jerome, to the small sliver of Gotham’s skyline that could been seen from the perch of the Bullock’s apartment.

He preferred you like this, in your own element. Under the too bright lights of the circus you sometimes seemed ingenuine, too dazzled by the foreign world around you that Jerome had long ago seen as a land fit for rose tinted glasses, something to yearn for, but never actually acquire. There were bigger and better things than the circus, that much he knew now.

But under the cool bedroom lighting that shimmered through a window with warbled and old glass, with the shadow of a night sky and Gotham’s street lamps filtering through the slices of the city they could see, you seemed real.

You had pretty eyes, similar to the woman’s he had seen in the photo he figured he’d leave unspoken of after you had ignored his prompting in the first place, but they fit you in his opinion.

It was weird to him, to have to add another face to his register of the Circus. No one else had mattered really before you. There were faces that had faded with time, Uncle Zach’s becoming a blurred mess of a pale bearded face with gingery brown hair, and the various men who had strode in and out of his and his mother’s trailer since he was small joined Zach’s own in irrelevance.

He figured it came with the territory of shacking up, to do the bare minimum like remember the face of the girl he was fucking, but at the same time it felt like something more.

You turned those eyes to him, and he noticed how they seemed to be worn with patience and glittering with a fondness he didn’t feel like he deserved to have then and there, a soft look he couldn't help but want to squirm under.

“What’re you thinking about, Jerkwad?” You offered the cigarette to him, stepping closer and nearly giving him every reason in the book to vault over the fence and take off running.

He couldn't put it into appropriate words, but the way you held yourself, how you weren’t on guard in his presence, and smiled so endearingly at him turned his stomach- but not in the traditional sense of feeling sick, rather that he liked the attention and it was unheard of until that very fucking moment.

Jerome took the cigarette, pressing it to his lips and averting his eyes from your own. They still weighed on him, waiting for an answer that he didn’t feel like giving you.

But he did anyway.

“Just wondering how pissed Ma’s gonna be when I get back home smelling like a chick.” He said with the edge of a grin, but his heart wasn't in it, and it fell quickly. He masked the uncertainty with a stoic look to the skyline, releasing deep plumes of smoke that rose in curled spirals above them. They tasted like you, a spice heavy in a too-sweet mouth he had looked forward to savoring the entire year leading up to Haly’s stop in Gotham.

He had never liked clove cigarettes before, they were too much, too feminine and packed with odd flavor… But they were so oddly you that he had never found himself objecting to a smoke even up to that point.

“I told you to use dad’s shampoo, but whatever, at least you smell nice.” You hung the towel over your shoulders, crossing arms that had risen with goosebumps as you sought his eyes. Jerome didn’t turn to look though, so you settled for tracing the outline of his jaw, the high slant of his nose and the constellations of freckles over his now solemn expression.

There was something hanging in the air, and it wasn’t the sweet smelling smoke, or the stars scaling across the inky abyss that hovered over Gotham’s smog.

It was almost November.

Haly’s circus would hitch up and run out of town before the sun inched over the sky on the first of the month, and they wouldn't be back until September, of next year.

Nearly a whole year would go by, and despite the modern conveniences provided in the times, you knew just as much as Jerome did that he didn’t have a phone to pick up at a moments notice, and writing letters wasn’t the style of the era or relevant if he was skipping around the country and working to the bone day and night.

Where would he be a year from now? Who would he be? A year changes a lot in a person, no matter the circumstances.

No matter to connection, as unspoken as it was.

Even Jerome found that he was humoring the thoughts, taking hits off the cigarette that was meant to be shared, the redhead staring out numbly.

You came to lean beside him, eyes darting across his face, memorizing it now. Who was to say Jerome would even be with Haly’s circus this next time around? He would have passed nineteen, he was an adult already at eighteen, and there had never been a secret between them that he wasn’t particularly fond of his ‘family’. Jerome could easily hop off the wagon and fly solo for the first time, leaving you behind in Gotham while he was halfway across the states.

Even then, would you even have the time to visit next year? Did you have the right to be upset if that happened?

Inside your room there was a fat stack of textbooks, your freshman year at Gotham University already piling homework into your lap as the weeks drug on. Projects on top of more projects, the essays lining up to wring your neck and choke the life out of you as you invested endless time and effort into a personal passion of Criminology.

You wanted to be a detective, like Harvey. Maybe join the FBI once you came of age, you figured that would make your old man proud.

You were already begging Harvey to let you start an internship at the station, pushing papers and getting coffee just to get a peek of the action.

The circus, suddenly, proved to be a far off venture. A childhood hub of safety and memories you held dear, not a present, or future, reality.

The both of you watched the city, unable to bring the words to utterance, either afraid of the truth or just plainly ignoring it because they didn’t want to kill that fraction of time you had left together. Even Jerome, as reserved as he was then, knew the seconds were ticking by.

It was at that moment, before he could question it, that he turned to you, breathing the last drag he dared to take, ducking his head down and pushing past the cloud of smoke that had been made, giving you what you both, knowingly, assumed to be your last kiss.

It wasn’t rough and demanding, or soft and loving.

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t even breath taking.

The kiss, simply, was a goodbye.

He didn’t part for a fraction of a second too long, leaving you both to brush noses and open your eyes, pulling away without that wildness in Jerome’s gaze, or fondness in yours.

Together, you sank. Neither willing to pull the other up.

[slavicviking]

26 for the writing prompt? :D

I hope you enjoy!

“The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.” from this.

Ffnet version          ao3 version

Engagedin a dangerous kind of business

The dress was too long.

She had filed a complaint toher boss but what she was met with in response was a slap on a back and a condensinglaugh. Lesson learned - apparently being attractive meant more than beingeffective because there was no way in the world she would be able to throw adecent kick in a dress as long as this one.

She huffed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror wall.

“It’s almost time, Astrid,” Hiccup announced as he entered the room. Hefixed his cuffs absently, mind miles away as it always was at moments likethese. His left hand dove into the expensive jacket’s pocket and he fished outa small box, handing it to her with a strained smile.

The ring was…okay, nothing too attention-grabbing, nor tacky-looking.

Enough for them to sell the lie.

“M’lady?” Hiccup inquired as he raised his arm, his smile more genuinethis time. Astrid felt herself relaxing as she hooked their arms together. As planned,there was a black limousine waiting for them outside, their usual driver,Snotlout, already waiting for them to get in. As they sat down, her hand wentto fix her hair, noting that at a certain angle her earpiece remained visible.

Gods, this plan was destined to fail. Not that anyone wanted to listento her. Except for one person.

“You look, eh, you look beautiful,” Hiccup’s nervous voice sounded toher left and she allowed herself to smile, just a little. There was somethingheart-warming in the fact that she was not the only one that had their doubtswhen it came to their mission; she knew he had her back, he always did.  

Having been thoroughly checked at the entrance, they entered the GreatHall hand in hand, immediately blown away by the richness of the room – thediamond chandeliers, marble floors and highest-quality furniture, where asingle piece was worth more than her monthly wage. The dance floor in themiddle was filled with couples dancing a waltz as Johann Strauss II’s ‘WienerBlut’ filled the enormous Hall.

“Care for a dance?” Hiccup quirked an eyebrow her way.

“You know I don’t dance,” she answered with half-hearted shake of herhead though her lips stretched into a tired smile.

“I know Astrid Hofferson does not,” he laughed quietly when she hushedhim. “but perhaps Lady Fowler does?”

“Fine then,” she pulled on his hand, “Mr. Danaher. I suppose a dance it is.”

Hiccup grinned cheekily at her as she tugged him by the sleeve towardsthe dancefloor. They swerved across it with surprising grace and finesse as thefinest Vienna orchestra played their soft tunes in the background. The secretjoy of doing something as simple as dancing was brutally interrupted when, fromthe corner of her eye, she saw her target. She had gone through Castel’s fileand it had been long since she had felt so disgruntled, so disgusted whiledoing so. She would have taken him down if it were up to her but it was not thefocus of her mission here and she was not going to be the one to go againsttheir boss’s wishes.

The task was simple; make sure Hiccup had enough time to do what he wassupposed to – hack into the system, destroy Castel from the inside.

She was a distraction, as much as she did not like it.

Once the piece finished, Astrid felt Hiccup’s arms around her loosen andshe knew it was time to do what they came here to do. She saw Castel meetingher eye for a split moment, a strange expression gracing his quite handsomeface. He was young, so terrifyingly young – his gentle manner did not match thebrutal reports, it was almost too easy to doubt.

She made sure Castel was occupied before pulling Hiccup away from thedancefloor. He noticed the man, their target, and frowned. Castel being here,so close, was not part of the plan, but perhaps they could use it to theiradvantage.

“I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back soon,” he squeezed her hand ashe said it, a signal between them both. She used it to hug him shortly.

“Be careful,” she quickly whispered.

“Aren’t I always?” Hiccup mustered a smile she knew was just a cover-upfor how nervous he was, understandably so; Hiccup was never supposed to haveleft his office back at their base. But he did, and she would what she could tokeep him safe. Her heart jolted sharply in her chest as she saw him leave.

He would be safe, there was no other way.

Astrid took her place by one of the tables, beautifully set up and almostbuckling under all the exquisite foods placed on top. She took a moment toremind herself of Castel’s file, thinking of a good way to approach anddistract him. Her stomach twisted as she thought of the folder, swollen withabuse, violence and manipulation. A glass of surely very expensive red wine temptedher from across the table.

“Lady Fowler, is it?” A voice cut through her thoughts like awell-sharpened knife. Castel appeared to her right, his hands in the pants’pockets.

“Yes?” she inquired with a slight nod of her head, surprised that he wasthe one to approach her. It wasn’t right. She quickly stood up, fixing thefolds on her dress. “Is there something I can help you with, Sir?”

“I wanted to ask if you have seen the art exhibition yet?” he didn’tlook at her as he spoke. There was some roughness, some rawness hidden underthe perfect smile, perfect hair and perfect clothes. She swallowed.

“Oh, I fear I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” Astrid shruggedhalf-heartedly, her eyes shifting towards the direction in which Hiccup left.He caught that and she cursed inwardly.

“Let me show you then,” Castel held out his arm for her, a charmingsmile accompanying his gentleman-like manners.

“I should wait for my fiancé-“

“Mr. Bailey here will inform him to join us,” he quickly jumped in witha nonchalant wave of his hand. Mr. Bailey, a man that had to be in his oldfifties at the least, smiled warmly her way. His gentle blue eyes and longblond moustache fancily done gave away a trustworthy impression. He lookedalmost…familiar, or so it seemed to her. “Now, if I may-?”

She linked her arm with his, keeping as much distance between them aspossible. It was awkward, painfully so, but she was not willing to disrespecther personal space any more than she had done already this evening.

The art gallery, as it turned out, was truly a sight to behold.Awe-inspiring baroque and romantic paintings graced walls on both sides of thecorridor. She and Castel walked down the red carpet that her legs sunk intowith each step, with the man himself presenting each landscape and portrait witha detailed and personalized description. Her eyelids felt heavier as moreinformation was shared and the hall didn’t seem to get any shorter, quite theopposite really.

Art was never her domain; it was Hiccup’s more than anyone else’s out ofpeople she knew.

Gods, she hoped he was safe. She remained unsettled as the earpiece keptsilent on his end.

It was then that she realized – the Hall was empty. Gone were the lonecouples wondering around and young artists fawning over the masterpieces fromcenturies ago. A shiver ran down her back as she realized how dangerous of asituation she was currently in.

Castel released her arm and she knew.As he threw a fist her way, she was ready and blocked it with her forearm, herother hand going to unsheathe a small knife. She choked as Castel managed tograb her by the throat and press against the wall, in-between two paintings.She hid her hand grasping the knife under her back – a foolish and amateurmistake on his part.

He pressed his forearm onto her neck and she gasped for air.

“You think you had me fooled?” he hissed, his irritation growing by thesecond. Astrid saw an insane glint in his eyes.

“The diamond in your engagement ring is fake,” he sneered as he roughlypulled off the piece of cheap jewelry, thrusting it down the hall. It rolleddown on the floor, falling into a small ventilation opening. Astrid used the briefmoment of distraction as she bit into his arm, hard.

Castel ripped his arm away and clutched it, with a low growl under his breath.Taking the brief moment of distraction to her advantage, she cut through theside of her dress with the knife and threw a kick into his stomach. The manstumbled backwards. She pressed the earpiece into her ear.

“Hiccup, it’s over, get out of there – now!” she quickly said as she felt herself being thrown sideways. Witha groan, Astrid tried to throw a punch his way but he caught her fist andtwisted her arm, her back now pressed tightly against his front. She elbowedhim in the stomach, setting herself free.

Until she heard a clung of a gun.

She turned around slowly to see him point it her way, his face radiatingfrom insane rage and glistening with sweat. He wouldn’t fire. He wouldn’t darewith so many people in the room right next to them, not with so many witnesses.

He loaded the gun.

She felt a beat of sweat roll down her forehead as she cursed herselffor not taking her glock pre-emptively. Her boss had forbid her from doing so,but she should have anyway.

“Astrid? Where are you?” Hiccup’s nasally voice sounded in her ear. Hewas safe, he had to be, right?

“Go without me,” she whispered back as the gun stared at her from acrossthe corridor, framed with a confident smirk on Castel’s face.

“Astrid, what-?” she heard his confusion and panic as she turned off theearpiece. It’s me and you, Castel.

“You think I won’t shoot you?” his voice quivered, his shaky fingerghosting over the trigger. No, she had no doubt that she would. Her eyes roamedover the room in a weak attempt to find a way out. She saw a bulky shadow andher heart stopped.

“I wouldnae do that if I were ye.”

She released a shaky breath as Castel lowered the gun. Mr. Bailey pressedhis own glock to the young man’s skull.

“This is the FBI,” the man said through gritted teeth. Castel, all of asudden, appeared stupidly vulnerable as he dropped his gun and fell to hisknees, his arms falling limp by his sides.

“You betrayed me, Mr. Bailey,” he murmured surprised with a child-likeinnocence to it, and she found it hard to believe it was the same guy that wasready to blast her brains out just a minute ago. “You betrayed me.”

He kept repeating that as Mr. Bailey handcuffed him and as he waspositioned safely by the wall, his gun out of his reach.

“Gobber,” the older man informed as he went in to shake hands with her.Noting Astrid’s obvious hesitation, he fished out an ID. “I worked undercoverfer Castel fer a year now.”

“No such information was forwarded-“

“Those muttonheads are as organized as-“ Gobber waved his hand as shelooked at him skeptically. “Never mind. Point is, I was informed, agent Hofferson.”

She heard sirens outside. Her heart leapt and she jumped to reach thedoors to the Great Hall. People must have been evacuated as the ballroomremained empty, untouched food filling the tables still. She saw Hiccup, safe,talking to their boss by the main entrance, worry prominent on his face. Theireyes met. It took all her will power to not ran his way. But he was safe. Shesmiled, adrenaline wearing off.  

“Good thing it was a fake one,” Astrid huffed, taking out a small velvetbox from her safe in their office. She unlocked the lid and took out a smallsilver ring before sliding it onto one of her fingers. Hiccup barked a short laugh.

“Gods, I don’t know what I would have done,” he shook his head. “I can’tafford another one.”

She snorted, a lazy smile making its way on her face.

“Well, it’s more about the person than the ring, don’t you think?” sheinquired teasingly as she leaned forward to peck him on the lips.

“True,” her fiancé agreed thoughtfully. With a smile of his own, hehanded her his arm, for the second time this evening. “Ready to go home, LadyHofferson?”

Her laugh was truly something that could brighten up anyone’s day, hisespecially.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Mr. Haddock.”

 The End

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