#lucky ball and chain au

[thesmpisonfire]

Just found out about your lucky ball chain au, ngl I have no idea what is happening, but it's... interesting today the least(I'm obsessed)

I think more people should make Pac be a little freak too, he deserves it

HSJFJDN Okay quick explanation: its an au as if pac never escaped with mike and guaxinim and stayed with cell to escape with him later on with felps help, and so pac and cell became increasingly co dependent of each other to a toxic level

Cell went on his serial killer streak and roped Pac with him, so Pac gave his own twist to it and started brewing poison to kill and make up staged scenarios for the police to find (they're literally a criminal minds unsub couple)

The two are very lovey dovey with each other in their own twisted way, and Cell never stopped eating small bits from Pac

[qcellza]

Paccy from @thesmpisonfire's AU, Lucky Ball and Chain :3 (I LOVE YOU BTW <333)

[writingwisterias]

Now that my rights have been returned on tumblr, I’m gonna attempt to leave this request again since it deleted the last time.

I know you mentioned something in my inbox about needing more rock Leon appreciation. My mind instantly thought to rockstar!Leon. I know it’s a pretty popular AU, but I can’t help but think about him as some famous rockstar. The media labels him as some punk playboy who only cares about sex, fame, and rock n’ roll but in reality, no one knows that you’re standing in the front row of all his shows supporting him. Giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of Leon playing for me at all his shows AHHH.

Front Row View

Rockstar! Leon x AFAB!Reader

Words: 1.5K Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, Riding, the smut is only a small part at the end

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @g0thesqe! Hope you enjoy it, you should also check out the request they wrote of a Leon x goth reader here! My requests are still open! ~ Mads <3

Leon’s eyes scanned the faces that were close to the stage, trying to spot one familiar face that has engraved its way into his memory. His lungs burned as he held each high note, sweat dripping as the bright lights heated up the stage, his constant jumping around and running up and down the stage certainly didn't help. But the fans didn’t care, he's seen countless articles and posts of his appearance, all the dirty thoughts they write in the captions fueling his ego. Leon wasn’t looking at his fans though, they weren’t the opinion he wanted or craved at the end of each night. Leon’s grin grew when he finally spotted you, your body pressed against the rails at the front of the stage screaming the lyrics back to him with some group of girls you have found yourself with. It was something he admired, how you always insisted on being a part of his community enjoying his show with a new group of fans each night. He made his way over to where you were in the crowd, leaning over the edge to brush fingers with all of the fans. His heart fluttered when his fingers brushed yours, chuckling as he watched the girls surrounding you giggling as he winked and pointed at you before he ran towards the other side of the stage. You giggled with them, however unknown to them you were the lucky one he was leaving with at the end of the night, you screamed the lyrics at him each time he came back, heart swooning as you watched Leon run around doing what he loved. 

“Hey girls help me take this off” you chuckled to them, lifting up the back of your shirt for them to undo the clasp. They all giggled as they began to shield you from view as you slipped the bra off. It wasn’t uncommon for people to throw things on stage, but he would know who threw this one at him. It was the same one he removed the night before, one that has been thrown across his room many times. You balled it up in your fists waiting for him to eventually get close to where you were again. The girls supported you as you balanced on the barrier for extra reach waiting for the perfect moment to throw it on stage. It didn't take long for Leon to finally make his way over, screaming the last few notes of the night you threw it. The bra landed square against his chest, he caught it before it fell. A smirk appeared on his lips as he bought it closer to look at. He knew it was yours immediately. Leon winked at you again, swinging the item over his shoulder and dancing with it for the last song of the show like it was a trophy he had acquired. “My god you are so lucky! He noticed you” the girls giggled at you. You laughed with them as you all began to leave the stadium holding their hands forming a chain as you made your way to the exit. 

You pulled your jacket further around you, trying to hide your chest from the chill of the evening night.  You bounced on the balls of your feet waiting by the side of the road for the familiar sound of a motorbike, whilst checking your phone at the fans' opinions of the show. You looked through the photos and videos you took of Leon and the ones you took with the fans. You chuckled as all the videos came in of him catching your bra. You didn’t capture the encounter yourself but found it funny seeing all the different povs of the moment. The theories then came flooding in tumblr and twitter blogs posting about why he kept to one side of the stage so much for yet another show. You saw them try and piece together the number of nights during this tour he’s done it, the fans circling the area his fingers always pointed during certain songs. You could only imagine the number of articles joining in with the speculation their favorite lead singer was finally hitched. Leon had always kept you a secret from the world, you were his little secret only people close to him knew about you, even his band members all joined in the fun during the tour with the fans trying to figure it out. 

You smiled as you heard the familiar sound of his bike make its way down the street. You giggled at him as he flicked his visor up looking at you with an eyebrow raised. In his outstretched hand he held your bra. “Missing this, darling?” he chuckled, looking at where arms were tightly wrapped around your chest holding the jacket together. “Looks familiar” you teased as you walked over to him. He held out your helmet, helping you clasp it and shaking your head slightly as he made sure it was all safe. Leon relaxed into you as he felt your arms wrap around his waist, your red bra clasped tightly in your hands at his stomach. He kicked up his bike and sped off into the night, taking you home. 

Leon draped the blanket over the two of you, your weight pressed on his chest bringing him back down to earth after bouncing around the stage all night. “So what are they saying tonight? Have they caught on yet?” he said as he kissed the crown of your head. Leon flicked through whatever tv shows were on late, trying to find the perfect one to use as background noise as he soaked you in to help him relax. “A few are getting close. People are just mainly noticing you linger on one side of the stage again, trying to compare it on the other shows I’m there to see if there's any link. However I'm so hidden they don’t know why you are there” you said whilst scrolling through your feed, the sound of his music from all the fan videos were adding to the background noise. Leon chuckled. He’s never been more  thankful for you when you came into his life. You managed to drag him out of his drinking days and help him celebrate a good show in a way that wont kill his liver. “Maybe in the next album I’ll hide your name in there somewhere” 

You giggled putting your phone down on the coffee table in front of you. You tilted your head up and looked at his face, your fingers worked their way through his hair lightly tasseled from his bike helmet. “I love you, you were amazing tonight” you smiled at him. Leon's heart swelled in his chest at your praise, his hand cupped your cheek and brought you in for a passionate kiss. Your tongue slid across his lower lips begging for access which he granted. Leon’s hands found their place as your waist, sliding your shirt up over your head. “The bra took me by surprise tonight love” he said as he began to grope your breast, taking the nipple into his mouth greedily. “Got to keep you on your toes. You should have heard all the girls when you winked at me” you spoke, pressing your chest closer to him, a low whine leaving your lips at the pleasure he was working with his tongue. “Imagine if they found out about this” he joked as he kissed his way along to the other breast. You ground your hips against his clothed erection, speeding up as he suckled on your breast harder. You moved away lifting off him to remove your trousers, Leon eagerly worked on removing his own. He gave himself a few strokes as you climbed back over him. 

He sucked in a breath as he felt you sink down on his length, his hands gripped your hips. You slowly began to grind against him, enjoying how deep and full he was inside you, his trimmed pubes tickling against your clit. “At least I know I'm the only fan that gets to be filled like this by you” you moaned as you increased your pace, bracing your hands against his chest as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. “You’ll forever be the only one darling” he groaned, lifting his hips to meet your pace. He felt his balls tighten, pants and moans filling the room as you both finally fell into the bliss of each other's orgasms. You landed on his chest breathing deeply as his cock softened inside you. He pulled out of you, wrapping you up with the blanket and carrying you to the bathroom to begin his nightly routine of aftercare. He couldn't wait for the day he could announce you as his to the world, but for now he will enjoy his private little secret and watching you enjoy the night with an army of his fans. Singing his songs back at him.

[pugetprincess]

reposting because i completely forgot i wrote this during covid for a wip chain game (those were fun).

bridgerton au ginny & draco:  

“No one,” Malfoy drawled, “And I mean no one, would believe you and I are courting.”  

Ginny smiled.  “No one our age maybe, no, but the older warlocks breathing down my neck?  The matchmaking mamas chasing you around the ballrooms and dinner halls?  They will believe it.”  

Malfoy looked down his nose at her, drumming his fingers along his crossed arms in consideration.  

“Not to mention my Aunt Muriel.  She keeps pushing me to dance with you at every opportunity, even after I told her what a total prat you are,” she muttered.    

Malfoy sneered down his nose.  “Weasley, you should be so lucky that I’d deign to show any interest whatsoever in you.”  He narrowed his eyes, “And just to be clear, my mother forced me to dance with you at the Patil Ball.  I certainly didn’t want to.”  

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “Whatever, Malfoy.  Look, I think this would be a great opportunity for us to solve both our problems.  Are you in or are you out?”  

His eyes drilled into her.  “We would pretend to court?”  He took in the state of her with apparent distaste, lingering on her hem.  

Ginny looked down at her ruined dress robes, sighing.  They’d been so beautiful, not to mention expensive.  She flicked her wand to vanish the mud, but the rips in the acromantula silk were another matter.  

“Do you know any good mending spells?”  

With an all-suffering sigh, Malfoy brandished his wand at her and drawled, “Sericum instaurabo.”

The fine fibers instantly re-threaded and before Ginny’s eyes her robes were restored to as good as new.

“Oh,” she lightly ran her hands along the silky material and raised an eyebrow at him, “Thank you, Malfoy.”  

“Any witch of title would be familiar with that spell.  I don’t know how you’re getting away with fooling the ton, Weasley.”    He had the audacity to smirk at her.

She scoffed, “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Malfoy, just – “

“Just fool everyone into thinking we’re courting?”  

“Y-yes,” she glared, “Exactly.  I’ll finish my quidditch tryouts, you’ll escape the matchmakers for a season. It's a fair trade.”

Malfoy considered her a moment in silence.

Ginny swallowed.  He was going to refuse, of course he was.  And then he’d tell everyone that she suggested this sham just to embarrass her family.  Oh Merlin, what would Bill say when he heard?  Was Lady Whistledown delivered in France?  

This was an idiotic idea. How stupid could she be?  

Just as Ginny was about to back away and mutter 'forget it', Malfoy spoke before she could.  

“Let’s say I agree. What exactly do you have in mind?”

Ginny froze with surprise that he might actually consider agreeing. "Isn't courting fairly straightforward?"    "I need specifics, Weasley."

“Well," Ginny shrugged, "We’d likely need to be seen talking and dancing at a few events to convince people right? And you should send flowers, of course.”

“A few events and flowers…?”  Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her again, “Do you even know how titled witches and wizards court, Weasley?  Especially someone of my pedigree?”  

He took a step closer to her, indignant and offended, though about what she had no idea.  She stared up at him in surprise.  

“… no.”  She jutted her chin up at him, refusing to be condescended to. “And I don’t know what pedigree you mean.  We’re both purebloods.”  

“If I were really courting you,” Malfoy drawled deeply and shifted closer to her, “You’d be so overcome by my attentions that you wouldn’t last a week.”      

Ginny stared up at him in disbelief, turning slightly pink.  

“Or maybe I'd just send a singing cupid over to your house?  I seem to remember you having a liking for those back at school.”  

Ginny turned bright red, remembering with embarrassment the singing valentine she’d sent Harry in her first year.  

His smirk widened.  

Ginny scowled, “Forget it, Malfoy.” She turned away, marching swiftly back towards the manor and muttering insults about slimey ferrets under her breath.   

Quite suddenly her feet locked to the ground and the rest of her momentum continued forward. Her upper half swayed and she fell, her hands landed on the muddy ground to brace the rest of her.  

“Not so fast, Weasley. We weren’t done talking.”  

Bloody hell.  She was going to kill him, strangle him with her bare hands if need be!  She pushed herself upright again and twisted her shoulders around with a snarl.  

Malfoy stood behind her smirking, holding his wand aloft, looking very pleased with himself and on the verge of laughing.  

Before he could blink, however, Ginny whipped out her wand. "Expelliarmos!"  His wand tugged out of his grasp as he desperately tried to keep hold of it, but it yanked through his fingers and arched through the air in her direction.  

It didn’t come straight to her hand and when she tried to reach out for the catch, her feet still frozen to the ground, she toppled over again and landed sideways in the mud.  

Malfoy’s scowl morphed into a howl of laughter.  “Sweet Salazar, Weasley, are you sure it’s safe for you to be out in society?”  

The mud squelched around her hands and arms as she attempted to right herself again.  

“Keep laughing, Malfoy,” she snarled at him, “You won’t think it’s so funny once I’ve hexed you.  Do you also remember my preference for hexes?”

She cast the counter charm on her feet and rolled to her side, ready to cast the bat-bogey hex – only to find him quickly closing the distance between them.  She gasped as he dove at her.  

“Don’t you dare, Weasley,” he lunged, pink in the face and grabbing for her wand arm, “If you hex me, I swear to Salazar…”

She twisted away from him, tugging her arm out of his grip.  “What, afraid to fight me Malfoy?”  

He all but jumped on her wand, trying to hold her still, “Of course not.”  

With the weight of his chest pressing her to the ground, she tried casting a hex only to have him point her wand arm away, directing her spell in the opposite direction.  

They both watched as the yellow spell sparked across the garden lawn and hit a marble centaur statue.  The gleaming white rock was suddenly covered in angry green bogies, diving angrily at the eyes of the centaur, growing more frantic as they bounced away from the rock.  

Ginny snorted and leaned back against the mud, breathing heavily, gasping for air underneath Malfoy’s weight.  

At her snort, his angry gaze swung from the bogeys back to her face.  He looked royally pissed and Ginny couldn’t help the laughter that began bubbling out of her.  

“Don’t be a spoil sport Malfoy, you hexed me first.”

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // december 16 // prompt: eyes closed // words: 481 // frat boy james au: part 1 + part 2 + part 3

"You're staring," James says, voice somehow fond and smug at the same time.

If you could see him, you'd understand why Regulus was staring, even if he'll always deny it. James, cheeks flushed and nose red. A few stray snowflakes are caught in the mess of his hair, snapback long giney, but they melt rapidly with the temperature change in the cafe. James looks handsome like this. He always does, but well, Regulus can't tell him that, now can he?

"I'm literally not," he counters. "My eyes are closed."

James turns to face him, making direct eye contact. Regulus squeezes them shut so hard he sees stars for a moment.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Driving Home for Christmas plays faintly in the background as they make their way to their table. Theirs, as in, the same one they sit at every week for their study date. Emphasis on date rather than study, but it's the thought that counts (it really isn't).

"The house wants to do a Christmas event," James says once they've ordered their drinks. "Probably next weekend. I think the idea is to either collect money and donate it directly, or use it to buy gifts and then donate those."

"That sounds nice. Are you doing another kissing booth?" He hopes the question comes out neutral.

"Well, I'd need to ask you, wouldn't I? You're the old ball and chain now." He pauses when the waitress returns with their drinks. Flashes her a smile in thanks and eagerly curls his hands around the steaming mug. "Besides, I need to make sure we actually collect, since we don't have you to bankroll our entire charity project anymore."

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he sees the inside of his skull. James is so very lucky Regulus is love with him. "Are you ever going to let that go? You're almost worse than Barty at this point."

James tilts his head in consideration, ponders it for a moment or two. Then, "Probably not."

With a huff, Regulus reaches for his own mug of hot chocolate, but before he can grab it, a cold hand circles his wrist, tugging at him until he's facing James.

"What," Regulus mutters. James laughs, but it's a puff of air more than anything. He's about to say something, sorry or I love you or sweetheart, but stops when Regulus lifts his free hand.

He curls a finger under the thin gold chain James is wearing. Notices how goosebumps erupt on his neck when his cold fingers touch the skin there. A single tug on the chain and James sways forward, like how the tide follows the moon. Easy.

Regulus is about to tell him as much, but then James closes the distance between them. Cold chapped lips find his and Regulus feels warm all over. Doesn't even need to squeeze his eyes to see stars.

[withclawandvine]

GOT LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD — the wrong place at the right time

summary: Elain was supposed to be in paradise with her fiancè, not alone at an airport bar, held hostage by a storm. Lucien was only supposed to be in Las Vegas for a few days on business, before flying back home on the Vanserra jet. They weren’t supposed to meet, but fate is funny like that.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59610724/chapters/152036788

author’s note: happy @elucienweekofficial !!! i had SO MUCH FUN writing this one. it’s all a modern au, obviously, but the other prompts are woven in! i had every intention of posting a chapter per day(ish) this week, but i went to the george r.r. martin school of writing, so…. that didn’t happen lmao but here’s the first of the planned five parts to get the ball rolling !!

The moment the wheels of the 757 traveling south from San Francisco to Las Vegas touched down, the sky split open, unleashing a seasonal monsoon with wind speeds and torrential rainfall surpassing any other that year.

Most people would consider it a stroke of good luck — a small miracle, even — that plane hadn’t been struck from the sky by a bolt of lightning.

Elain Archeron knew better.

She knew this storm was just one more incident in the chain of mishaps shackled to this vacation.

First, there was Graysen unceremoniously breaking their engagement two months ago, leaving Elain with a voluminous white gown taking up all the room in her closet, a box of unaddressed invitations collecting dust, and a nonrefundable booking for an all-inclusive luxe resort in St. Barts — the Christmas gift Gray had insisted she take for herself and a friend, all with that heavy dose of that new money condescension he was so versed in.

If she’d been smart, Elain would have given the tickets to the retired couple next door, but instead, she’d called Feyre.

Her little sister had suffered her own heartbreak earlier in the year, and although she pretended to be over it, Elain knew she was still reeling. Tamlin would have never let Feyre leave the country without him. Or, more accurately, Tamlin wouldn’t have let Feyre leave the backyard without him.

So it felt exceptionally cruel when Ferye called, voice weak and miserable, to tell Elain she had food poisoning and wouldn’t be able to make the trip. Hell, she’d lamented. I’ll be lucky if I make it out of the bathroom anytime soon.

With her plane departing in a few hours, Elain knew her only choice was to either call the whole thing off, or go it alone.

She enjoyed solitude; she liked gardening alone, and was a lunchtime regular at the little cafe down the street. But in the weeks since moving out of Graysen’s townhouse, she’d been spending most of her time confined to her new apartment, and if it went on for much longer, she’d evolve into a Gothic heroine.

She knew she needed a change of scenery, lest she start clawing at the wallpaper.

A man taking a sharp corner without looking up from his phone narrowly avoided a head-on collision with Elain; instead, he clipped her suitcase, wrenching it from her hand. It clung to the stranger’s carryon for a few paces, then dropped to the floor.

Before it could get swept up by the chaotic and restless crowd, Elain snatched the handle of her suitcase and righted it. The bag wobbled, then settled crookedly to the right. Within seconds of realizing he small, black wheel on the ground near it did in fact belong to her luggage, someone’s foot sent it skittering over the tile.

Elain watched it pinball out of sight, unable to contain her sharp, deranged laugh.

Just like that, the trip had gone from unfortunate to downright cursed — that little wheel was no mere inconvenience. It was an omen, just as powerful as any broken mirror or bolt of lightning. Clearly, the universe was trying to tell her that a hurricane was foredoomed to materialize on the first day of her stay, and wash her away by the third. Or that the long-inactive volcano would spontaneously erupt. Perhaps the plane would evanesce into the Bermuda Triangle.

She should have stayed home. She wanted to go home. Spend the next ten days of her hard-won PTO rewatching Bridgerton. Make a batch of her famous death-by-chocolate brownies and an espresso martini. Get petty satisfaction out of knowing how much of Graysen’s money was being wasted.

But as it was, Elain wasn’t on her way to an island or her Bay Area apartment; there was only one place she could go right now.

She all but stomped, her suitcase limping awkwardly behind her, in the direction of the nearest bar.

Elain collapsed onto a barstool and ordered something sweet, tropical, and strong. The bartender looked annoyed by her lack of specificity, but had the good grace not to say anything about it as he shook up then presented her with a mango mojito with an extra shot of rum.

Elain closed her eyes and took a sip, imagining she was basking in the sun as the tide lapped at her brightly-pedicured toes.

Her conjured serenity dissipated when she felt someone settle into the stool beside her.

A man in a perfectly tailored suit flagged the bartender. It was the kind of suit that spoke of money and importance — the kind of suit that ordered top-shelf whiskey, neat.

So Elain couldn’t help but look to him in surprise when he said, “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

Sensing her attention, he turned his head to flash her an easy smile, shrugging as if to say What about it?

He was captivating; his sharp suit so at odds with his long hair, tied back in a way that was almost thoughtless. Artfully messy, with a few loose strands framing a face made up of pointed features that screamed mischief. A scar, now faint with age, was carved into the left side of his face from brow to jaw, pulling slightly at the corner of his mouth. That mouth — the only soft part of his face.

Elain watched him take a hearty drink of his cocktail.

“That’s fucking delightful.” He said this to Elain as if she’d been the one to make it for him, not just put the idea in his head by sipping on her own. To the bartender, he said, “We’ll need two more of these, please.”

She blinked at him. “We?”

“What?” His smile was a little lopsided and a lot teasing. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

When Elain gave the waiting bartender a thumbs-up, the man’s smile grew.

God, he needed to keep that thing in check.

He extended a hand. “I’m Lucien.”

She took it, letting his fingers engulf hers. “Elain.”

He repeated her name to himself softly and fondly, like they do in the movies.

“Well, Elain, where are you supposed to be right now? Assuming a bar in the Las Vegas airport wasn’t your final destination.”

Maybe it was that second mojito, but telling Lucien the story about Graysen dumping her within weeks of their big, romantic getaway, and months of their wedding was surprisingly easy.

“So yeah,” she shrugged, stirring the melting ice and crushed mint around the glass with her straw. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Lucien agreed, pushing a water she didn’t even notice him ordering at her.

“What about you? Were you in town for business or pleasure?”

“First it was business.” He flashed her a secretive smile, “Now it’s a pleasure.”

“Well, it must have been one nightmare of a business trip if this is your —”

Elain’s phone buzzed on the counter.

ATTN: Flight MAF608 LAS to MIA has been POSTPONED until 6:00 AM PST. For more information, reply HELP

Elain set her phone back down, then, without uttering a word, slid the water away, giving herself enough room to let her forehead fall to the countertop with a dull, defeated thud.

“Everything alright?”

She turned her head enough to look at Lucien with one eye. “I am going to die in this airport.”

He picked her phone up. “You’re going to die in the next…” he squinted at the screen, “ten hours?”

“If I’m lucky,” she grumbled, “it’ll be in the next two.”

Lucien’s laugh was rich and bright. Elain wanted to be annoyed at him for laughing at her misery, but the sound was so perfectly joyous, she could only manage a half-hearted pout.

“You’re laughing,” she said. “I’m going to spend the night on this barstool and you’re laughing.”

A prospect that still somehow seemed more dignified than calling Graysen to ask for money to cover a night in a hotel. The only reason she could go on this trip in the first place was because of his fancy tech job and guilty conscience.

“The business I was in town for,” Lucien said, making a show of snuffing out his laughter and becoming serious. “It was with a hotel on the Strip that my family does business with. I can make arrangements for you to stay there.”

Elain smiled, even as she shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but —”

“Please,” he insisted, sweeping up her tab with his own, and placing a black Amex on top. “It would be no trouble at all.”

[anechomirrored]

Prompt: "No, we're not doing that"

Fandom: Lethal Company AU

Rating: T

Warning: swearing, talk that implies impending death and murder.

You performed a scan on the junk infront of you. An estimated 537 credits. You needed 487 more.

Your broken helmet was the first thing to join the pile, the potted fern from Vow that was residing in it went as well.

20 credits.

467 more.

The decision to add V's latest project to the pile felt wrong. Especially with him sitting slumped against the wall to the left of the transporter.

You had discussed trying to sell the transporter, but Seven had quickly waved you and CB off. The damn things were delicate at best and if someone other than V went poking around inside it they'd be lucky if the core didn't blow the the entire ship up.

"mm, you know just what to say to make a gal feel safe, don't cha?" CB's smile was closer to a grimace.

Seven didn't answer, instead going to their personal locker and pulling out any odd and ends they had been keeping.

You and CB followed suit.

The posters on the walls were peeled back next. Some of them when scanned were worthless but with time ticking down and V still unconcious on the floor you weren't about to admit that to yourself and niether was anyone else.

"Sometimes the scans are wrong." Insisted CB, returning to rummage through her wall locker, "We could still get a few credits." She threw two pencils, a paperclip chain and her hairdryer on the pile.

"We are still two hundred and some short, Bea." Your eyes kept gravitating back to V's motionless form. Why didn't you head back sooner?

He didn't have to be down there, you all had more than enough before-

The familiar clink of CB's wind chime gave her pause, you watched her lift it out of the locker, staring at the many shapes. It was a collection of circuit bee combs. Sections of several nests pilfered from countless swarms of the horrifying little death bugs she was so damn fond of.

"I could always find more..." She told herself quietly.

It went on the pile.

130 credits.

You looked up to see Seven hovering by the controls. They had a chisle in their hand, something they'd found a few months back that was't worth cashing in. They made to raise it and then lowered it again. Their shoulder rigid.

You carefully approached them, seeing now that their other hand rested on the magic seven ball affixed to the ship's launch lever.

"You don't have to, Seven. We still have-"

"Even with this we won't have enough, Ducky." Seven's voice was low, eneven. It wasn't the way they should sound at all.

"Maybe they will let us make it up next run? Carry the difference-"

"They don't operate like that. Even five credits under will cost us our termination...I've seen it." Their voice was distant, regretful.

They gripped the chisle tight and jammed it under the decoration before prying it up.

"Would you use a shovel, X?" They asked and the use of your hired name felt final.

"What?" You stammered.

"If it was down to ten or so credits, would you-" they were cut off by the slam of CB's locker.

" Shut up! How could you ask Duck-"

"We aren't all getting out of the Bea!"

"No, we're not doing that! It's bullshit! We can find enough..." CB looked around wildly, eyes flashing, "What about the keys?"

"Already counted." Seven answered, tone flat.

"Well count them again, Captain!" CB spat the name with enough venom that Seven flinched,"or is the shovel strategy the real reason you outlived all your old crews?"

You Ran out of the ship after that, feet pounding the platform, the muted sound of Gordion's constant storms all around you. When your lungs burned you pushed further, until your hiccuping breaths made you lightheaded. At somepoint you slowed, chest heaving. Your head was a muddled mess of what ifs and problems too big to be solved.

When you next looked up from your boots you were standing infront of The Company Monster's counter. Someone, probably CB, had already started loading your slap dash attempt at meeting quota onto the counter.

The shutters were closed.

Carefully you pulled your name sake out of your pocket. The rubber duck made a short quack and you eyed the shutters.

Still nothing.

You squeezed it once and then a second and third time before the door popped open. The hair on the back of your neck prickled as you reached a hand up to hit you helmet's release.

The air here tasted just as you remembered it to. You shivered as the chill of the storm began setting in. Your hair dampening in seconds.

"Hey, It's ...It's Ducky..." You greeted, staring into that fathomless dark once more, "We uh, we didn't meet quota. We tried, we had it on the ship!" You had raised your voice but stopped short as the dark shimmered a warning humming in the space between it and the counter, "We...we lost it though." You finished softly.

"Ducky?" CB's voice was almost lost in the wind, you resisted the urge to look back at her.

"They are afraid and fighting. They...they don't deserve to die for this. CB, Seven and V...they saved my life so many times so," you took a step forward and then another, "if you could..."

"No! Stop!" CB shrieked, "Seven, let go!" Her voiced echoed off the walls and a distant roar answered somewhere beneath the oceans themselves.

You took another step. This was okay, if The Company's monster had truly spared you on purpose before then maybe it'd count you as a proper trade. Holding out the duck, you took one last breath and let it squeak.

The doorway erupted with writhing tentacles. All at once, the euclidian beast struck the ground on either side of you, causing you to jump in place, every instinct screaming at you to run. A third wrapped around the loot on the counter and violently dragged it into it's waiting void. Then a fourth shot straight towards you.

Silence.

It wasn't until your lungs protested that you opened your eyes and let out that last breath. The fourth was hovering in front of you, end dipped downwards, giving it an almost thoughtful look. The duck shook in your unsteady hands. From behind you there was nothing but the crash of waves and the low sound of the wind moving between the shipping containers and over the top of the ship.

The duck squeaked, bobbing gently as the eldritch appendage lowered to pat its head. In the same sharp intake of breath that alien arm then moved to repeat the action atop your own head.

Once, twice and then it retreated, the shutter snapping closed.

You fell to your knees as the distorted voice came over the speakers.

"We value your commitment"

You were distantly aware of the computer on the ship making that blessed ding, gloved hands grabbed your shoulders easing you the rest of the way to the ground and then you promptly passed out.

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 8 - Close Call▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ From the moment he saw you in the convenience store, he’d already labeled you as a major pain in the ass.

The way you stared back at him in disgust—the way everyone fucking stared at him—like he was some piece of garbage to be thrown out, made him want to strangle you until he saw the light leaving your eyes. 

You must’ve thought you were so fucking cool, talking back to him when you had no clue who he was or what he’s capable of.

Just another one of those irritating clueless fucking NPCs. ◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine

Chapter 8 - Close Call

Time is passing by, leaving you behind. 

You know that because you’ve been watching the changing colors seeping through the old glass panels of your dirty windows, dancing against your almost-white walls. 

Sometimes, the fog in your cerebrum would lift long enough for you to hear things like motorcycles racing down the empty streets. Or the neighbors arguing with each other, somewhere alongside the building.

You don’t remember when or how, but your head ended up hanging off of your bed and you’re now boring holes into the floor with those empty eyes of yours. Maybe you’re lucky enough to form a blood clot soon, have a stroke and finally get away from this shithole people call life. On better days you’d snort at the thought, but today is not one of those. 

Today, you feel empty.

Somewhere deep down, you think you feel hungry too. 

When did you eat last? 

You’ve been laying on your bed like this for hours, maybe even days, just wasting away, tuning in and out of thinking, occasionally interrupted by the sound of your friend trying to reach you, but you haven’t been reading the past few texts at all.

They have a key to your apartment, but they don’t use it in times like these. You’ve made a deal that as long as you sometimes reply, they won’t try to come and bother you. 

You need space. So much space. Space to pretend you don’t exist.

Last time you shut down like this was somewhere last year, after your ex—that ex—found out where you lived and showed up to ‘talk’. Talk with his fist against your face, when you told him, knife in your hand, to fucking dare get any closer. 

It was a good thing that Taylor has the sixth sense of a helicopter parent, otherwise you might have cut his throat open. He’d left after, but not before you told him that if he were to show again, you’d expose all the dirt you’ve had on him, even if it meant you’d rot in prison too. 

You should have known he’d try to get back at you somehow, probably happily selling the porn to Shigaraki first chance he got. 

But that was your fault and your fault only, wasn’t it? 

You chose to be with him. You chose to stay with him despite all the things he put you through. You could’ve just left, but you didn’t. There is always a choice, isn’t there? You always have a say in life. You could’ve said no, could’ve walked away from the monsters, could’ve killed yourself at least, but you didn’t. 

Your mother, your teachers, hell, even Shigaraki was dead on. You’re nothing but a series of failures, disguising yourself as something else, pretending you’re functional. You ruined everything. You always do.

It’s hard to breathe right now. 

You’d sunk yourself to the floor, curling up in a ball and screwing your overflowing eyes shut. You count to ten, you pick different garbage around your room to look at, but you still can’t breathe. The tightness of your throat doesn’t let up, but it’s better to feel suffocated than to hyperventilate until you pass out. So you crawl to the meds next to your bed and overdose on them if only a little bit. Enough to keep you sedated for the rest of the day.

It’s good that Taylor isn’t here to see you like this. They almost put you in the looney bin last year when they called the police and paramedics, thinking your corpse might have been rotting in your apartment. 

You got really mad at them, that you remember. The police dude wrote the both of you up for wasting his fucking time with ‘dramatics’, so your friend ended up getting a copy of your apartment key and a promise from you.

It makes you shake your head, thinking back on it. 

You’re leaning against the bed frame now, still on the floor, the empty stomach making the meds kick in faster than they should be. It feels nice to feel nothing. You hope you someday get to feel nothing forever. Maybe someday soon. 

You envy your friend. They aren’t as fucked up as you are. They don’t need to shut down. All they usually needed was drugs, parties and sloppy hook-ups, none of which would make you feel any better right now. None of which ever made you feel any better.

The back of your head hits the frame and you exhale deeply. It feels like your bones are creaking whenever you move. It’s hard to, but you should count your blessings and keep yourself grounded. 

Like how you didn’t get fired from your part-time yet, when you called your manager Gene and told him you didn’t know when you’d be able to come back. He’d told you to not worry about it, to take as many days off as you needed ‘kid’, and you figured it had to do with that glint of sadness he has in his eye, every time he looks at you. 

That kind of proves to you that not all people in the world were assholes. There are a few of them that still care about you, even if you could count the amount on your fingers.

Funnily enough, that’s what you do, high as you are right now. You raise your hand in front of your face, and you start literally counting on your fingers.

There’s Taylor—one finger down.

There’s your manager—second finger down.

There was that arcade nerd, the one you should quit worrying over at this point. You didn’t message him again despite telling him you would, and it still fucking bothers you for some reason. But he still counts as a positive, so you put another finger down. 

Would he be weirded out if you messaged him now? Maybe you could hit the arcade with him, someone outside your bubble and forget you were you for a second.

You’re staring at the ridges of your fingerprints when you realize you’d spaced out again. 

A distant ringtone brings you out of your daze, and you glance at your phone. You’d changed your number. Was that last week? How many days have passed already? Fuck if you remember. You should probably order take-out before you pass out again. Some good, greasy fast food, you think. Yeah, fast food sounded really damn good right now, fuck your savings. Dead people need no savings.

Why the fuck is your phone still ringing? Ring, ring, ring. It’s fucking annoying. Should you answer? You reach for it and look at the display. Another unknown number. Was it another creep? How did they find out? Your head hurts. Should you pick up?

Ah, fuck it. If it really is another creep angling for a hook-up, you might take them up on it. Shigaraki probably posted the rest of the videos on social media by now, maybe even made your address public. 

It’s okay, at least that’ll give you the final push to put an end to this miserable party of one. 

So you pick up the phone. “Hey,” the last person you wanted to hear from says quietly, swallowing some of the grit in his voice thickly. You frown, but you don’t reply. He clears his throat and tries you again, “I uhh—I… got this number from your friend.”

God, did he fucking threaten them? You should be getting mad, but the meds make you feel nothing.

“It’s been a while since you, uh…” You hear him curse under his breath as he trailed off, “It’s been two weeks. Your friend, uh… Taylor? They told me you’re not feeling well and—”

“What do you want from me?” you snap, hearing your voice sounding rougher than you remembered it to be. Prolonged dehydration, if you had to guess. You’d like to taunt him, to piss him off, but you didn’t have the energy. You couldn’t care less anyways. Nothing fucking matters.

After a moment of hesitation, Shigaraki replies, voice calm and low, “Come back to school.”

You snort, raising your phone to your face and almost end the call if not for the bright screen fucking blinding you for a second.

“I deleted them,” he says, attempting to keep you from hanging up. It works.

“Huh?”

“I removed the thread. After you left. It doesn’t exist anymore. Anywhere. At all.” Shigaraki sighs. “Told your friend first, but they said you haven't read their DMs yet.”

For a brief second, you think about it, realizing you’re supposed to feel what—relief? 

You still feel nothing.

“Okay. Why,” you say, not ask. 

You don’t understand. He wanted you to suffer, so why would he go through the trouble? You don’t understand, but thinking is really hard for you right now.

“I’ll… tell you when you come to school. Have you eaten yet?” 

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you heard concern in his voice. Thank god you know better.

It takes you a while to reply, but he doesn’t press you for some reason. He just waits.

“Why do you care?”

“So no, then. Do you…” Shigaraki trails off, hesitating, “Do you want to grab a bite with me? I’ll—I’ll pay.”

“Shigaraki.”

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck would I go anywhere with you?”

“Let me take you out once and you’ll find out,” he promises.

A promise you didn’t care for him to fulfill.

“We’re not friends,” you bite, huffing in disbelief. “We’re not even on friendly terms. I screwed you over and you got to ruin my life in return. The end,” you assert, going over the list with him, “How stupid do you think I am? Even if you got rid of the thread, everyone on campus fucking saw everything and at least a few saved it. The damage is—”

“Fucking done, I know, I…”

You roll your eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache to form, still waiting to hear whatever stupid bullshit excuse he had to say. But he only curses and sighs. 

Honestly, you get him. Somewhat. 

It’s not hard to figure out how someone ends up being as fucked up as he was, especially not when you come close to it. He’s damaged as hell, masking his insecurities as his confidence, whatever joke of a father he has, letting him come home with big patches of dark bruises and scars. 

You’re familiar with it and it makes sense for you, but he shouldn’t be. Rich people are weird, but they’re also cowards. They don’t stand out like he does, they mostly keep to themselves. 

Whatever family he has obviously doesn’t care about what he does, not enough to keep the dirt behind closed doors at least. And they should, because Shigaraki is as destructive as it gets. Either he was born a natural psychopath and his dad doesn’t fucking care about him or… he too is an insane piece of shit—

Fuck’s sake. Are you seriously rationalizing his behavior right now? God knows you didn’t go to fucking therapy, only for you to fall back into bad habits. He hurt you. He is the bad guy. What makes him different from your exes and other people that have abused you in the past? Nothing.

You can’t excuse his behavior just because you see some similarities between the two of you. You shouldn’t relate to him just because you’re pretty sure you would’ve ended up like him, but were lucky to know better. 

You know all that, but at the same time, haven’t you been through worse than what he's shown you so far? Would it be labeled as self-sabotaging if you tried to see what compelled him to change overnight? To get to know him for real this time?

Ahhh, this headache was really getting to you! Yeah that must be it, because why else would you shit on all the years you spent building your life up and heal, only to destroy it using five little words—ones you’ll probably spend the rest of your life regretting.

“Where… did you want to meet?”

Shigaraki’s ears perk up at that, phone slipping from his hand and crashing onto the floor. You hear muffled curses and a hasty reply, “Fuck, really?! You’ll come?”

It’s like you hit a reset button and he’s more or less back to that awkward gamer dude in your first CS class together. Or maybe you’re hardcore coping while you’re dizzy and numb. Self-sabotaging the way you would’ve if it was any other residual college creep you expected to call for a hook-up earlier. 

Yes, that’s it. He’s not special, you’re just really fucked up. Didn’t you always love the calm before the storm and the smell after the rain?

“Keep fucking asking and I might just change my mind. I’m gonna shower first and—oh,” is the last thing he hears before you trip and—thud—face plant. “Fuck,” you say softly, your eyes closing against your will. 

Okay, maybe taking too many pills on an empty stomach clearly wasn’t as smart as you thought it would be.

“Hey—okay?—llooo?” 

His panicked raspy voice is the last thing you hear before you’re completely out of it. 

You fucking hope it was for good this time.

────────

The first sign that you’re still unfortunately very much alive, is that you don’t feel anything like the promised nothingness or the forever inexistence you hoped to achieve after your oh-so-tragic passing. Where the fuck would they bury you, anyways? 

Instead, the first sound that your brain is able to register, is a loud pounding in the distance.

Followed by people yelling.

Feeling your mind slowly booting up, you attempt to get up. Instead of succeeding, you slip and fall again several times, groaning audibly at the weakness in your muscles. Around the third attempt of bruising your knees (and not in a good way), you finally get to your feet.

After that, you embark on your miserable trek, clutching your empty, hurting stomach and slowly making your way towards the source of the obnoxious pounding. It feels an awful lot like deja vu.

“Fuck off! This is your fucking fault—” is what you hear, immediately recognizing Taylor’s voice, arguing with…?

“Get off my fucking case! If you would’ve checked up on her, we wouldn’t even be here, you dumb—”

And of course, he’s here too. 

“Shut the fuck up, you creep! Don’t get me started, you crazy asshole! Do you even know what she went through, after you—”

“I have fucking neighbors too, you know?” 

Both of them stare at you as if you became the eighth wonder of the world overnight, prompting you to raise an eyebrow. 

“Well, you look like shit,” Shigaraki breaks the ice first. 

You and your friend look at him in disbelief. 

“What?” he mumbles, turning his head away, hand habitually reaching to scratch at his scarred neck. “It’s true.”

You roll your eyes at them, watching Taylor gearing up to reply to him, but you open the door for them to come in.

“Whatever. Just don’t talk shit about the mess,” you say, walking first and kicking random things out of your way. “I don’t have a couch, so find something to sit on, or don’t. I don’t really care.”

Immediately after finishing your sentence, you trip on something and see your life flash before your eyes. Shigaraki is quick enough to grab you by your waist, making you stiffen up and shoving him off as soon as your feet feel stabilized enough.

“Do not fucking touch me,” you hiss at him. He huffs, frowning right after.

Normally, you know he wouldn’t let that slide, but he’s definitely been acting weird lately. 

It doesn’t matter, because you don’t have willpower nor the energy to unpack his nice guy behavior from the past few interactions with him, no matter how much it gnaws at you.

Instead, you’re distracted by the sounds of Taylor knocking shit over, opening and closing what seems to be every single fucking drawer and cupboard of your two by two kitchen, trying to find something—anything—that was edible enough, presumably for you to eat.

“I’m fine. You really didn’t have to come over. Especially not you.” You glare at him and say it like you weren’t starving to death and ready to be put in a coffin if they hadn’t shown up.

“Like hell you are!” your friend replies sharply, not bothering to spare you a second glance in their quest of finding food.

So your eyes land on him again, noticing his head hanging low and the mop of white hair messily covering his face as he furiously scratches at his neck, almost drawing blood from the sensitive skin. You can’t see his expression and honestly you didn’t really care to. Is he acting this way because of the phone call?

“Yuck, stop that.” You swat his hand away harshly when you notice him breaking skin.

Shigaraki finally meets your eyes and you notice his dark eyebags. 

He looks far worse than he normally did, and that alone says something. Usually he’s so confident and full of himself, so much so, that him looking at you the way he does right now—uncertain and perhaps a little lost—looks incredibly out of place. 

What is making him so uneasy?

“What?” you spit, but he doesn’t reply. 

Instead, he grunts and looks away. The fuck is his problem?

“Okayyy! So!” Taylor makes their way over with a glass of water and hands it to you. “Yooou have absolutely fucking nothing to eat! Incredible news, I know.” They roll their eyes, placing their hands on their hips while you immediately start chugging the glass down. Was plain water always this fucking refreshing?

“Shigaraki. How about you be a big boy and go to the store while I help this bitch clean up? Nothing too heavy on the stomach, ‘cos she hasn’t eaten in a while. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You don’t know how you missed it but oh. Your friend is mad. Incredibly so. But that would come later, when you’re stable enough to take an honest-to-god beating from them. Right now, what they’re saying is absolutely mortifying to you.

“Wha—Why the fuck would I go?” Shigaraki snarls at Taylor, but is only met with a smug look.

“No because yeah, why the fuck should he?” You glare at him. “Fucking go home already.”

“You shut the fuck up, princess. No one asked you,” Taylor snaps at you and your eyes widen, but before you can say anything, they quickly reply to him, “And sure! I can go! Can you clean around, take her clothes off and help her take a fucking shower? Can’t you see she can barely fucking stand?”

“I’m not a fucking child!” you yell, but both of them ignore you. 

Shigaraki’s eyes widen and a bright red flush spreads on his pale features. 

Seriously?!

Taylor snorts. “That’s what I thought.” 

Both of them are fucking insane. Maybe you really did die and this is your hell.

First of all, is he seriously acting fucking flustered? He’s literally seen god knows how much disgusting footage of you either naked or fucking something. Not only that, but he also decided to post said footage online, for everyone to jerk off to. Is this the same fucking guy who pinned you to the wall in a public hallway, telling you how undeserving of his cock you were because you were a little mean to him?

That train of thought fills you with newfound anger, but before you could really kick him out of your house, Taylor fucking interrupts you again.

“I know I took you with me on a whim,” your friend begins, referring to the only black fucking sheep in the room, “But I really don’t trust leaving you with her while I run around, okay? And honestly, she’s also about to snap at me for showing you where she lives, so you better fuck off now while you can. That’s the least you can do for her after everything.”

Oh.

Oh, right.

“Taylor, seriously? What the fuck were you thinking?!” you can’t help but shout at them. You know your friend was careless, but letting Shigaraki personally stake-out your living environment was definitely pushing it.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait! I can explain!” were Taylor’s famous last words, as you deliriously started hauling any object or piece of trash you could at them.

Tomura glances at you a final time, before quietly slipping past the both of you and out of the noisy apartment. 

Your friend wasn’t lying to you, they really did take him on a whim. Not only that, but they had a whole ass mental breakdown when he texted them back about what happened.

He doesn’t really understand why they let him see you after all that he’s done, figuring they must either be really fucking dumb, or a horrible friend. 

Not that he’s about to complain, though. This is a golden opportunity for him to learn what makes you tick and how to break you just enough to build you up again for him. 

Without risking you killing yourself in the process.

It’s a point of concern he’d need to consider very carefully in the future, unlike today where he’d almost fucked up, underestimating just how fragile your will to live is. 

It’s fine, he tells himself as he’s walking down the stairs of your building. Hell make you fucking want to live. He’s gotten this far and besides, there’s never been an end boss he couldn’t conquer before. 

Little did you know, the past few weeks have been rough on him too. Not that you’d ever find out.

Or care.

───────

The bell rang and he was still standing in the hallway, back where you’d left him, looking off in the distance and hoping to materialize you again out of thin air, while students poured out of the classrooms. Was the hallway always this narrow?

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

His neck was unbearably itchy at the thought of you rejecting him again. At the thought of himself messing up. He never messes up. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

He shouldn’t care about you.

You were nothing to him before.

───────

From the moment he saw you in the convenience store, he’d already labeled you as a major pain in the ass.

The way you stared back at him in disgust—the way everyone fucking stared at him—like he was some piece of garbage to be thrown out, made him want to strangle you until he saw the light leaving your eyes. 

You must’ve thought you were so fucking cool, talking back to him when you had no clue who he was or what he’s capable of.

Just another one of those irritating clueless fucking NPCs.

Yet irritation turned to amusement, once you managed to fuck up in front of him, fumbling at your pockets in search for what was presumably your cash. Such a fucking mess that you were. 

He couldn’t help but giggle at your incompetence. Weren’t you bitching at him only moments ago? It was an incredible turn of events, one that was fitting, for an idiot like yourself. Did you need someone to save you? That’s alright, he could treat you this time. Tomura liked it when people owed him, after all. It allowed him to own them.

And he didn’t want to believe his luck when he immediately spotted you in class, the very next day, sitting in his favorite seat. Really, things couldn’t have been better set up for him. His favorite little bitch, going to the same university he did, sharing classes with him.

He couldn’t have found a more convenient toy to break if he tried.

“Yo, sponger.” Tomura grinned, feeling excitement growing inside of him.

Your brows pinched in surprise and then disbelief, fueling the thrill coursing through his veins. It was funny, he thought, seeing you getting all frustrated like this. By the look on your face, he’d bet a significant amount that you thought the store was the last you’d see of him. And doesn’t that fucking suck for you, to sit next to the guy that humiliated you, not even forty-eight hours ago? 

Fuck, he reveled in that expression.

He hasn’t been feeling this giddy in a decent while. Especially not lately, after he’d botched a few important missions that had been assigned to him. It bummed him the fuck out, but he managed to find the perfect outlet to recalibrate his temper. You.

“Why—” you started, and he inhaled softly, watching expectantly as you were visibly losing your mind over the encounter. “How did you even recognize me?”

Your irritated tone sounded so, so sweet to his ears. Not even the professor walking in could’ve held him back from messing with you. 

Tomura leaned into you, the subtle smell of your body wash entering his nose as he whispered, making you visibly shudder.

“I’d recognize an ugly fucking skank like you literally anywhere, idiot,” he said, wondering if it was enough to get a rise out of you. He hoped you’d bite back, so he could push, push, push. You were so much fun and he’s just met you! 

The jab must’ve done the trick, because you physically recoiled at his words. How far could he take it, he wondered. It’s been a while since he indulged in female attention since, generally speaking, women avoided him like the fucking plague. For reasons he wasn’t oblivious to. 

Tomura knew what he looked like, his status and horrible personality doing nothing to help him in that regard, save for a few crazies that got off on his violent nature, and the hookers Master occasionally booked, despite Tomura turning him down every time.

It made perfect sense to him, the way people were afraid. He’d been walking this earth causing as much damage as he could and wishing to decay every living breathing thing that crossed his way, that’s how much he fucking hated everything, everyone. And they too, hated him. Except, they hid it well most of the time, not wanting to become part of his famous track record, to give him a reason to retaliate.

But then—then there was you. You, who openly displayed your disgust, from the first fucking second he’d set his eyes on you. You who didn’t bother to fucking hide it, to cower, to walk on eggshells in order to not upset him or give him a reason to fuck with you. You who wore it on your sleeve, who wasn’t afraid to be found out, but instead made sure he’d heard you.

And boy did he hear you, crystal fucking clear.

In fact, here you fucking were, leaning into him, together with your smug-ass face, about to hit him with what he was sure to be the dumbest counter of the century, reaching your arm around his backrest and doing your fucking best to avoid all contact with him. 

He didn’t have time to think of ways to punish you, for treating him like he’s about to infect you with some deadly disease, because—

Because the warmth that radiated from your body—your nose almost touching his—the puff of air coming from your arrogance, landing on his skin—it all unexpectedly sent his brain into overdrive.

People never get close to him. He never lets anybody get close to him.

But you fucking dare to.

His breath hitched, chest filling with anticipation.

You had the nerve to fucking chuckle in his face, before saying the thing you thought would eat at him the most:

“Look dude,” you began and he watched as your smile turned vicious. You’re so close to his face, so close that he could just— “I’d hold up a mirror, so you can take a good fucking look at yourself, but you’d probably have to buy that for me too.”

Then you snorted and Tomura’s eyes widened, brows knitting together. He turns away, one hand habitually reaching his neck to scratch that newly formed itch.

He’d—He’d felt his chest tighten! Fuck! That was unexpected. You were so fucking cute. 

It takes him a fucking second to compose himself, since your bratty little comeback comment went straight to his cock. He’d need to adjust himself in just a second, head filling with ideas on how to deal with that and soon.

That means, if I play this right—

Tomura’s hand dropped from his neck, and he finally turned to you with a completely new gameplan in his mind.

“If you don’t kill the stupid goblin at the beginning of the stage, the final boss won’t carry your S-Grade,” he casually stated, pointing at your screen with his finger, doing air-circles around a section of the minimap on your screen.

“Huh?” 

He frowned. Were you fucking slow? 

He opted not to ask, giving you a pass because you are playing one of the best MMOs today—good pick by the way—and by extension making it fairly easy for him to find common ground with the one cocksleeve he actually wanted to fuck.

That thought surprised him too, but he couldn’t dwell on it much because he had to hurry and quickly get on your good side. Do all that before you found out who he really was and all the half-truths reach your ears, completely fucking obliterating his chances with someone he’s actually into for once.

You were looking at him all stupid and confused now. Tomura found it extremely endearing to witness.

“Tch. Your run, dumbass. You’ve prolly been grinding for hours, only getting it once or twice because you never think to kill the stupid goblin and only ever do it by accident.” He shrugged. “No one ever fuckin’ does, so they don’t find the pattern without looking up a guide.”

He fully expected you to tell him to fuck off—maybe even hoped it would happen—but instead you were surprisingly obedient, listening to his advice. The challenge you were facing had completely overwritten the fact that you didn’t even want him breathing the same air as you, merely seconds ago. Interesting.

So while you were busy trying out the suggested strategy, Tomura took his time to really observe you. He leaned in closer, testing the proximity limits, but either you had really shit self-preservation skills or you didn’t care, because he couldn’t believe how oblivious you suddenly became towards his presence.

Why act like you dislike him that much, then let him get this close to you? So close that he could easily inhale the nice scent of your shampoo and run his fingers through your hair. Grip it hard and make your pretty head bob up and down his—

“Ugh!” you groaned out loud, slamming your fist against your desk and making him stop in his tracks. Students sitting in the row before you glanced back, but you were too absorbed in the game to care.

Close. Too close.

His hand was hanging in the air, just behind your head and almost making contact with you. He quickly retracted it, going back to just observing you. One dirty look from him and the students flinched, opting to turn around before he got angry.

But Tomura was far from angry. 

Instead, he was struggling really hard to keep himself from spiraling down the rabbit hole of things he wanted to do to you. 

Dirty, downright fucking depraved shit that he’d only ever seen generic male protagonists in eroges do, after picking all the right dialogue options to get to the part where he stuffs his female interest full of his cock.

Depraved shit he’d admittedly never thought he’d ever want past the walls of his bedroom, where he’d occasionally spend his nights watching just enough unhinged pornography to calm himself down, hours after some stuck-up bitch walked by him with the tightest fucking skirt known to man.

It was new, this feeling of desire. 

Not desire for violence and torture. Not desire to gain more strength or power. 

The desire to have you. 

The seed had been planted somewhere along the way of meeting you for the first time and now that the roots run deep, he was starting to want to rise up to the challenge and get the nasty bitch sitting next to him to submit to him. 

How many silly pretend dates would it take you to let him drag you into his room? 

Tomura’s eyes landed on your neck. 

What would you sound like if he marked you—if he covered your body in so many bruises and hickeys, the whole damn world would know you were his? What was your favorite co-op game? Would you sit in his lap while the two of you would play together? Would he be able to get you to cockwarm him while you were playing? What was your favorite take-out dinner? Your movie? Did you also have a plethora of unpopular takes he could debate you on? Are you a virgin? Do you play other genres aside from MMOs? Could he get you to wear his hoodies too, maybe touch yourself, sweat a little and give them back to him? Let him fuck you stupid against his bed while wearing them? Would you take him like the obedient girl he knows you’ll learn to be?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d have to tame you somehow, but you’d understand, wouldn’t you? You would become his favorite little plaything. 

Tomura couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop his thoughts from spiraling out of control as his need to have you grew exponentially by the second, especially when his cock became so fucking hard, it was straining against the fabric of his jeans and beginning to hurt. 

If only he could skip the introductory phase and get to the fucking cutscene.

Fuck, he had to stop himself before he bent you over your desk and pounded your pussy for the whole lecture hall to see. So he took a mental step back and resolved to watch over your gameplay, impatient fingers twitching as he did.

And it wasn’t the degenerate thoughts he was harboring in his mind that shocked him, no. What really shocked him was the fact that… he kind of really enjoyed watching you play.

You weren’t as good as he was (he doubted you’d ever be), but you were decent. Better than Spinner, at least. The gear that your character was wearing was made up of only legendary sets, ones he’d even use himself—if only with a few modifications. That’s the kind of gear that you had to grind a long time for and be lucky for it to drop from bosses that only spawn once a month.

He briefly scratched at his neck and by the time you’d finished your second run, a really good idea formed inside his head.

“Told you so,” Tomura said. It made you scoff and roll your eyes, which in turn made him frown. 

It’s alright, he thought. You needed time. People often got annoyed with him when he was right. You’ll come around and even if you didn’t, you’d still be really fun to debate with, he could already tell. 

You looked so fuckable while pouting too. It made him want to see you cry.

“No need to get salty. Took me like a week to figure it out by myself and it drove me fucking insane too,” he mentioned, thinking back fondly to all the controllers he managed to break. Kurogiri advised him to stop creating unsightly holes in the walls of his room, but Tomura threatened to use his head next if he didn’t shut his fucking mouth. Good times. “And I’m pretty good at these types of tells in games y’know? But the design of this one made no fucking sense. What’s your IGN? I can add you and we can raid together.”

He drummed his fingers against your side of the desk, arm placed firmly against the surface as he waited for your reply. He didn’t catch on to the fact that it was him that pissed you off. Not the game itself. 

His plan was flawless. Partaking in one of his favorite hobbies and getting to know you better into you becoming the ultimate fucktoy pipeline, would be the absolute peak. He’d take it slow, for sure, eventually sweeping you off your feet, impressed by his abilities, knocking your pride down a peg or two. You’d fucking learn to like him too, he resolved.

He wasn’t all that bad if you left out… a lot of things.

“Sorry?” 

You fucking looked at him as if he grew another head and Tomura saw his vision of your future together beginning to crack.

What’s wrong? 

He felt his body starting to itch again. Why the fuck were you looking at him like that? You were supposed to want to get to know him too, weren’t you?

But the bell rang before he managed to say anything to you, too stunned to move a muscle, and you scurried off, his red eyes never leaving your figure until you were well out of his sight.

He was wrong about you. How? How could he be wrong? 

He’s never fucking wrong!

But he was. You were exactly like the rest of them.

Stupid bitch.

It was fine. He’d find a way to teach you a lesson. 

And soon.

───────

The store’s lights changed, compared to the first night he’d met you. 

Instead of the brightness that blinded him, there’s now a soft fluorescent glow, doing its best to light the small establishment up. The air here still smells like a blend of dirty mop water and tobacco smoke, all mixing into a disgusting but familiar musty scent.

Behind the counter isn’t the usual cashier, but an old lady who’s smoking inside the establishment. Tomura scoffs, figuring it must’ve been the owner, unable to otherwise explain the audacity.

He finds himself fidgeting while looking around the aisles with various food objects. Would instant noodles count as ‘not too heavy on your stomach’? He doesn’t know. After all, Tomura doesn’t often find himself having to care for anyone before. He always has Kurogiri to do that for him.

Shaking his head and scrunching his nose, Tomura keeps searching. It takes him about two minutes of googling whatever the fuck to even look for, and another three of pacing around the aisles, eyes lighting up the moment he finally spots the canned article in question.

It was one of your favorite comfort foods, not that he knew at the time.

[maximura]

Maybe Monster, Part 02

So this is the next chapter of that Gang AU I wrote in 2019 and thought was lost. I haven't made a nice post for it yet and it doesn't have a proper title because it's all still just drafts I'm trying to piece together. I kept calling it my "Maybe" story so now it'll just go by Maybe Monster. It will not make any sense unless you read Part 01.

Warnings: violence, mild swearing and typos. Words: About 7500k. Characters: Ateez and Seventeen.

****

Maybe Monster Part 02

6 months earlier. 

There was a 7-Eleven that once let San sleep out back without calling the cops. He had chased away a group of obnoxious teenagers trying to rob the place and the owner took enough pity on him to let him sleep in the small space where they usually unload all the deliveries. He got fed a few times a week, things that were perfectly fine but dented or unsold by the end of the day and would’ve ended up in the trash anyway. Not that it’s above him to dig through trash. As long as it’s still wrapped, it’s still good. 

It was going fine until the owner’s wife got wind of the whole situation and San had to move on from one 7-Eleven to another. The next one wasn’t so accommodating but at least he knew their routine and when all the food would be thrown out. If the cameras catch him digging through the trash like an overgrown raccoon, nobody calls him up on it. 

The men’s shelter was a few blocks away, it was always busy, always overrun and always so chaotic. But he hadn’t belonged there. He wasn’t a man who had fallen on hard times. He wasn’t a man who fell in with the wrong crowd. He was hardly a man at all. 

He had just turned eighteen, no longer a child of the state and therefore, completely invisible. The church refuge has been kind for awhile, until he was caught stealing food. It had only been a piece of bread but apparently you can only have it during business hours. He had aged out of their care by then anyhow, suddenly a threat to all the other children there by virtue of age. 

There was nowhere to go. Sometimes he lines up at the shelter and gets a hot meal and shower. Sometimes he shows up too late and they send him away with a sandwich if he’s lucky. Sometimes he sees the fights breaking out and just keeps walking. 

The best days are when it’s slow and there’s hot water left or the communal washing machines aren’t busy. Those days are rare. 

The worst days are always when it rains because there’s no way to escape the damp cold. 

The weather gets warmer now though and it’s easier to live and sleep under the stars without fear of double pneumonia. 

San considered himself lucky to find a low rooftop that hasn’t been occupied yet, there was a paint factory across the road and even though it had been shut down for months, there was always a faint smell of chemical lingering in the air. But now, as San lays there staring up at the dark skies, he doesn’t think about that. Instead he thinks about the mother who loved him before she died and the father who didn’t. 

They are both long gone now and he was left with nothing but scattered memories and his father’s debts. He was only sixteen then, with no real means to pay them off.

So bank took the family home. 

After that, he really had nothing at all. 

San sighs at the memory, it seems forever ago, but in reality, it’s been barely two years. Adjusting the balled up jacket under his neck he closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. 

He’s just about to drift off when there’s a quiet scuff of boots on pavement, the sound coming from somewhere below him. 

It’s followed by the rattle of a chain fence and then a tired ‘fuck!’. 

There shouldn’t be anyone around here. San staked the area out for weeks on end to make sure. The 7-Eleven nearby, with its persistent security cameras, deters most street sleepers and the dangerously lawless Docklands a few blocks away was always the more attractive option. 

San crawls towards the edge of the rooftop, slowly peering down into the alleyway below, careful to stay hidden in the shadows. 

There’s a figure clad in a dark green jacket and hat, standing in front of the fence that usually leads to the old paint factory. The whole time San has been sleeping across the street, he’s never seen anybody try to break in. The property hasn’t been opened in months so San has no idea why this stranger would want to get inside there now. Anything of value would’ve been taken long ago. 

The Stranger turns around a few time, surveying his surroundings, before disappearing into a patch of shadow. 

San almost loses sight of him but suddenly there’s a flash of blue flame and he watches with fascination as it cuts through the chained fence like a hot knife through butter. 

The Stranger slips through the newly form hole and gets about five steps before the alarms are tripped.  It’s loud and pervasive and invasive, causing San’s hands to fly to his ears in protest. 

The Stranger runs back out through the hole in the fence as police sirens wailed in the distance. The 7-Eleven worker must have called. 

San groans. 

Cops.

Great.

He rushes back to collect the few belongings he has, throwing them hurriedly into his blue backpack before climbing down the hidden back ladder. He’s half way down when he comes unexpectedly face to face with the Stranger trying to climb up. 

“Out of the way kid!”

“Don’t call me that!” San bristles in annoyance. 

“I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

“To the roof?” San snorts in disbelief. “Stupid way to get caught but whatever.” 

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just nudges past the stranger and slides the rest of the way down. Under the cover of darkness, he runs towards his other hiding spot; a literal hole in the wall on the side of another abandoned building. It used to be an old bakery with a small front room where they used to sell bread to the public. It’s dangerously run down, unsafe and always on the verge of collapse, that’s why nobody else hides there, not even the most desperate of street kids. 

Within two minutes of pushing into the old building, San hears footsteps approaching. 

It’s the Stranger, who flashes an unexpectedly bright smile at him as he shoves into the tiny space next to San. 

“Kinda small in here.”

San just stares at him. 

“I’m assuming the cops don’t check this place?”

San shakes his head.

“Okay, good.” The Stranger says, weirdly conversational. “You’re gonna be real quite right?”

San nods swiftly. 

“Great.” Another wide grin is flashed at him and San can’t remember a time when anyone smiled at him this much for no particular reason. 

So they both sit in the darkness, cramped and uncomfortably close. San doesn’t talk and thankfully the Stranger doesn’t either but San sees the way there’s a hand resting inside that green jacket. He sees the black outline of the gun. 

In the distance, police sirens come, bringing with them a swarm of crunchy footsteps and typical voices muttering too much of absolutely nothing. Cops all talk the same. They never know anything. 

It’s the criminal detectives and forensics team that everyone should worry about. 

After half an hour of intense noises, everything fades to quiet.

There’s nothing but dark stillness when they finally climb out into the alley way. 

The Stranger hums, surprised and pleased. 

“Huh, interesting. Well, thanks kid, seeya round.”

And then he’s gone. 

San’s had plenty of weird encounters in the wild but this must be in the top three for sure. 

He adjusts the straps of his backpack and treks to another hiding place in the city. 

****

“Well?” Seonghwa asks when Hongjoong climbs back into the Honda Civic. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Drive. Slowly.” Hongjoong says, stuffing his jacket and hat into a bag under his feet. “There might still be cops around.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Yeah no shit, I heard them. You tripped the security?”

“Yeah. Ground sensors.”

Seonghwa cruises the Honda calmly onto the main roads, resisting the temptation to speed away from the few stray cop cars still loitering around, especially the one that stops next to them at the red lights. 

“That’s interesting.”

“Definitely interesting.” Hongjoong agrees as he flips the old CD player on. It plays The Carpenters and Seonghwa grimaces at the way Hongjoong starts singing along to the strains of Superstar. 

The cop next to them rolls up his window with a disgusted groan and Seonghwa smiles inwardly when they turn off the main road to drive home. 

“That paint factory hasn’t done business for eight months. Big Red bought the company then deliberately ran it dead. Ground sensors are an expensive investment to protect a few ancient machines. Which means-“

“There’s something of worth there.” Hongjoong finishes. 

“Exactly.”

“We need another way in.”

“Obviously,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Did you seriously think you could just cut a hole in the fence and walk right in?”

Hongjoong laughs and turns to his work partner with a lopsided grin. “You know what? For like five seconds, yeah I did.”

“We can’t trip the ground sensors again. We’ll have to go really high-“

“-or really low.”

Seonghwa hums in agreement. “I’ll talk to Wonwoo about getting the underground plans.”

“Yunho can get them.”

“But then we’d have to tell him why we want them.” Seonghwa groans. “He’ll talk my ear off.”

“I’ll ask him. Don’t worry.”

“Hongjoong, I really think we need to keep this one between us.”

“You still sore after that fight you two had?” Hongjoong asks. “He doesn’t hate you. I think he likes you more than he likes me!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “You must be joking right? He’s always questioning everything I say. He only respects me because you and Seungcheol tell him to.”

Hongjoong just looks at Seonghwa like he’s grown antlers. 

“He questions all of us. It’s just what he does. We just don’t take it personally like you do. His eye for detail is why he’s a good point man and you know it.”

Seonghwa sighs now. “He wasn’t like this when we first found him.”

“Well he’s not sixteen anymore.” 

“He was easier as a sixteen year old.”

Hongjoong cackles loudly. “Are you serious? You were complaining about how clingy he was back then and now you’re complaining about how bitchy he is at twenty three. Just face it: our kid just grew up.”

“Our kid?” Seonghwa muses, “I think he’s your kid.”

“Only when he’s being a bitch to you.”

“Which is all the time.”

“Whatever. Leave it to me, I’ll get the plans. But first, can you detour around that corner?”

“To the spicy chicken place again? Thought you were carb cutting.”

“I’ve had an unsuccessful night, I think I deserve spicy chicken. My mental health needs it.”

“Okay enjoy your early cardiac disease.” Seonghwa teases but takes the detour as requested and then reminds Hongjoong not to forget his side order of Pad Thai. 

Back at Headquarters later, now fed and warm, Seungcheol grills them about the failed reconnaissance venture. 

“There's no visible security personnel front or back but a huge amount of ground sensors as soon as you step on the property.”

Seungcheol raises as eyebrow at that. “That’s interesting.”

Hongjoong nods. “There’s cameras around the entire perimeter and also almost 180 degrees of security camera coverage from the 7-Eleven across the street. It’s not even deserted. There’s a few street sleepers nearby. It‘ll be difficult to get in and out of without someone noticing.”

“Drop in from the air?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Distance between the rooftops is too far. Even for zip lines.”

“Underground?”

“Yeah, looks like that’s the only way in.”

Seungcheol nods slowly, chewing through the information. 

“Get the underground plans from Wonwoo. I want a team meeting and plan about this by the end of the week. Red can’t just take my shit without consequence. I want what’s in that building.”

Hongjoong nods, ignoring Seonghwa’s ‘I told you so’ smirk. 

“Which team? Soonyoung is in Japan with Jihoon. Jeonghan and Mingyu are still in China helping out Jun. Hansol is stuck in New York. Unless you want to call in Heeseung?"

Seungcheol shakes his head, “No, I want to keep this between the four of us. It’ll be too dangerous to manage if more people know.”

They’re dismissed with the wave of a whisky glass. 

“I’ll go talk to Wonwoo now.” Hongjoong says, as they exit the business floor of their Headquarters and head towards the living wing. 

“He hates you. I’ll go talk to him.”

“He hates everyone. It won’t matter who asks.”

“Fine.” Seonghwa relents.

They find Wonwoo in the kitchen, heating a glass of warm milk in the microwave. He nods a greeting before going back to peering at his rotating glass of milk. 

“Hey, you got a minute? We need-“

There’s a hand held out in their direction. It doesn’t lower until the microwave finishes and starts beeping its countdown. 

“Okay, so-“

The hand is held back up, silencing them again. 

They wait until the other man takes a sip of milk and sits down at the big wooden table like he runs this whole place. Which he kind of does. 

“Can we talk now?” Hongjoong asks. 

Wonwoo eyes the doorway. 

“I checked already.” Seonghwa says by way of answer. “Yunho is still out on mission. Jongho is asleep. Mingi is in the gym. And Mufasa is pacing around his office in his Armani suit.”

Wonwoo cracks a smile at that, finally nodding for them to talk. “Go on.”

“It’s about Red. He’s hiding material at the old paint factory on the edge of town. The only problem is the ground is bugged with sensors, there’s no air entry options and there’s street level cameras everywhere. We need underground plans by the end of the week. Seungcheol wants a meeting but just strictly the four of us.”

Wonwoo takes it all in, sipping his milk quietly, waiting for them to finish. 

“Okay.”

It’s all the older man says before shuffling to the sink to wash his glass and waving them goodnight. 

Hongjoong sits back in relief. “That went well? Maybe the milk was really good.”

“Maybe it’s laced with Xanax.”

“Or he suddenly developed a soft spot for us.”

They both look at each other with a grin. “Definitely the Xanax.”

****

There’s a red Honda Civic parked next to San’s hiding hole. He had a decent sleep and when he woke up, there it was, perfectly positioned for him to car jack. 

It’s a 2001 model at best. Not likely bugged with screeching alarms, judging by how ancient it looked, except for the tires. The tires and hub caps look strangely new. 

Stranger still, nobody has come to claim it in over two hours. 

Time is of the essence. Seize the day and all that Latin motivation. 

San has his father’s old crowbar and figures he can at least sell the shiny new hub caps for some money. It’d be nice to buy decent food again. 

He’s gotten two off when there’s a hand that closes around his shoulder. 

It startles him like an electric shock and his body reacts by spinning around to swing the crowbar at some unsuspecting ankles. 

But if he’s quick, the ankles are even quicker.

And now the ankles are laughing at him. 

By the time he’s standing up with the crowbar in front of his body like a weapon, he finally sees the Laughing Ankles. 

“Oh. It’s….you.”

“Hey kid.”

“I said don’t call me that!”

It’s late afternoon and San can finally see the other man’s face clearly now. 

He’s younger than expected, with dark dirty blonde hair and really straight teeth. He’s about Sans height but broader and built in ways San’s pathetic muscles could only dream about. 

Handsome, some part of his brain whispers, but he’ll pretend he didn’t hear that. 

“Stealing is a crime you know.” The Man says, leaning casually against the Honda with his hands in his pockets, as if he wasn’t even threatened by the feral creature holding a crowbar. 

“So is breaking and entering.” San counters, offended by the casual response. 

“I guess we’ll call it even then.”

San lowers his crowbar, staring slack mouthed. “You’re not gonna call the cops?”

The Man screws up his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” San breathes, relieved but feeling out of sorts. “Why not?”

“What’s the point?” The Man shrugs. “Unless you want to go to jail? Awful free meals, very permanent shelter? I mean, it’s a pretty cool deal except for the torture, stabbings and lack of freedom.”

San shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good here.”

“You live around these parts huh?” 

San pauses. “No, just visiting.”

Something about his answer makes the Man chuckle. 

“Okay, well I’m pretty hungry. You eaten lunch yet?”

San shakes his head again. He hasn’t had dinner or breakfast either. 

“Alright, put my hubs back on and I’ll buy you a hot dog.”

It’s the one thing San thanks his father for teaching him; how to hot wire and work cars apart before putting them back together again. There’s not exactly a lot of legal applications but for once, it proves helpful. 

“You a mechanic’s kid or something?” The Man asks, surprised at the speed and skill.

“Sort of.”

“Interesting.”

It’s the way the Man says it that has San on edge. His mind floods with images of being kidnapped and trafficked or turned into a drug mule. He’s seen it happen countless times before and would rather die than let that happen to him.

But he’s so tired of being hungry and vows to bail as soon as he’s eaten. 

They walk to the nearest 7-Eleven and he gets two hot dogs. Then a third, with cheese. It’s the best meal San’s had in months probably. He can’t even remember. 

He’s chugging a blue Gatorade when the Man gets a phone call that turns his bright face all stony and cold. It’s a short phone call with barely two words exchanged. 

“Gotta go. Stay out of trouble.” The Man says, walking away before hesitating and turning back round. “Don’t go near the abandoned paint factory tonight.”

And then he’s gone again, before San has even finished his Gatorade. 

It’s later, when he’s walking to the other end of the city, that San finds a folded twenty dollar note in his jacket pocket. 

Weird. 

****

Two days later, San’s curiosity gets the better of him and he’s back down near the paint factory again, taking care to stay hidden in shadow and well away from the front of the 7-Eleven. He knows there’s cameras. He saw the monitors that one time he went inside to contemplate buying some Skittles but not wanting to break his twenty dollar note, he stole a sandwich instead. 

Resting now, hidden in shadow on the landing beside a laundromat, he’s startled awake by a sudden burst of commotion and noise. There’s a mocking laugh followed by a flurry of angry shouting. 

Someone runs past him and rounds the corner to disappear into the shadows towards the old bakery. 

Before he can do the same, a hand yanks the back of San's jacket.

“Not so fast.”

Cops. 

Great.

“Where did he go?”

“Who?”

The hand shoves him against the dirty wall. “I don’t have time for this shit. He ran down this alley way, where did he go?”

San struggles against the heavy body caging him in but it’s futile. “I don’t know!”

He’s shoved hard against the jagged wall again, it grazes his cheek uncomfortably. 

“I think….he went behind the 7-Eleven…”

Another cop jogs up to them now, taking in the scene and pulling his partner back. 

“Don’t waste your time. It’s just a useless street kid.”

“He said he’s behind the 7-Eleven.”

“He’s probably lying, they all do that.”

There’s a loud crash coming from outside the alley way and the hand on San’s jacket leaves momentarily, only to shove him onto the ground as the cops run towards the new chaos.

It’s not until later, when the boots and voices and sirens have all faded away, that San quietly sneaks into the old bakery. 

“Oh it’s you, hey kid.”

It’s dark but the light gleams off the Man’s teeth and it reminds San of that book from school, the one with the smiling purple cat that was as helpful as it was a nuisance. 

“They gone?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure about that?”

San nods. “I checked.”

“What else did you see?”

“A lot of cops and a really big car.” San says. “Kinda weird.”

The Man looks at him sharply, the intensity piercing, even through the darkness. 

“How big?” 

It’s a strange question, San thinks. Why is the size of a car the most important question here. 

“Really big?” He replies lamely. 

“Big like a Bentley or big like a Maybach?”

“What’s a Maybach?”

There’s a pause and San thinks he’s annoyed the Man in some way, only for him to continue on in the same steady voice. 

“Was it a little bit bigger than my Civic? Or a lot bigger?”

And ah, those are some dimensions that San does understand. “A lot bigger.”

The Man nods then sits back against the wall in contemplation. There’s a sliver of light than shines across his face for a moment and San wonders who the person opposite him really is. What was he trying to steal? Who was after him? Besides cops and someone in a really big car. He can’t just be another Nobody. He must be a Somebody. 

“Come on, let’s go.”

San looks at the Man standing up now, confused by the invitation and even more confused that it’s extended to him.

“Go where?”

There’s a flash of hesitation, conflict, early regret maybe. San knows those looks well, he’s seen it on the faces of his parents and almost every adult in his life. They always leave but they never want to take him with them. 

“You hungry?”

He’s always hungry so he nods. 

“Then let’s get outta here.”

It’s an uncharacteristically cold night for June and San shivers as they walk, even though he’s wearing almost everything he owns. 

“Here.”

It’s a thick black Nike hoody. 

He must stare at it for an awkwardly long time because the Man rolls his eyes and shoves it against his chest. 

“You keep shivering, it’s giving me anxiety.” The Man says. “Just put it on, it’s just a hoody, not a bomb. God, you’re as paranoid as Seonghwa.”

“Who?”

“Ah, just a guy I know. Don’t repeat that name to anyone though, okay?”

San nods as they stop to let him put the hoody on under his jacket. 

It’s quiet for a moment before the Man talks again. 

“I’m serious about that. Keep his name out of your mouth. Things like that can get you killed out here.”

San looks across, panicked all the sudden, and wondering again, who the hell was walking beside him. Maybe this was the time to run off down one of those alley ways. 

The horror on his face must be obvious because The Man’s serious expression softens a little, not completely, but it’s less threatening. 

“I'm not here to kill you kid. Relax.”

San absolutely does not relax. 

“It’s just very important to me you understand what I’m saying right now. You’ve helped me out a few times now, so I’m going to go easy on you. I know you’re smart. I know you know these streets back to front. But I can and will find you if I need to. So if that name ever leaves your mouth and I get wind of it, I won’t be this nice. You got it?”

San nods like he’s never nodded before. His hunger long forgotten and even the promise of food doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Not from someone who might be a few breaths away from crazy.

He slows down and considers his options. He thinks about running again. There’s a patch of shadow up just ahead and he’s fast, he could make it... 

But they reach the familiar sight of the Honda Civic now and The Man motions for him to get in. He doesn't. He pauses, frozen with his fingers on the door handle. 

“If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now.” The Man says, as if reading his mind. 

They are probably words meant to comfort him but all they do is the exact opposite. 

San always trusts his gut, it’s never let him down, but right now it’s twisting uncomfortably in knots; unsure and uncertain. 

“Uh, I’m actually not that hungry.” He says. “I’ll just go if that’s okay.”

The Man just eye rolls condescendinly. 

It all feels so abnormal to San. Even for someone not fond of human interaction, the Man in front of him is behaving in ways that just don’t make sense. 

“Get in the car.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m good, I should be asleep…”

“Why? You got school tomorrow? A job you need to be at?”

It’s a low blow and they both know it. It turns San’s uneasy fear into an angry fire that’s ready to fight. If this is how he dies, then so be it. 

But before he can even spit out an insult the Man is looking at him with another one of those smiles. 

“What? You gonna fight me?”

“Maybe.”

“Listen kid, I got shit to do later tonight. I’m craving spicy chicken wings and a cold beer. If you want to fight me, can you at least wait until I’ve eaten?”

San doesn’t even know how to respond to that. 

“Get in. I’m not asking a third time.”

So San does.

“What’s in that backpack you carry around?” The Man asks him as they drive through the night streets. 

“My stuff.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Just…stuff.”

The Man sighs and it reminds San of his father for a moment, always disappointed and always making everyone feel like they did something wrong. 

“Just clothes and stuff from my mum.” San says, hoping the answers is enough. 

“Why aren’t you ever at that shelter on the other side of town? They have showers and let you sleep there for the night don’t they?”

San scoffs. “The showers are alright if you get there before everyone else and the volunteers are around. It’s not as nice as you think it is.”

“Why’s that?”

“People fight.” San says, looking out the window at the city skyline. “They take your stuff. Some people get…taken advantaged of. I’m not going there unless I need to clean up.”

There’s a weird look on the Man’s face as his eyes meet San’s. They both look away. 

“How do you eat?”

San moves uncomfortably in his seat. The unusual criminal beside him, and San is definitely sure he is a criminal by now, suddenly sounds like a social worker.  

He think he prefers the criminal. 

“Steal it. Or trash dive.”

“How long you been doing this for?”

This.

“Nearly two years.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither talking until they pull up at a small restaurant. 

The car doors are still locked. 

“I’m going to ask you something and I need you not to lie to me.”

“…okay?”

“You know about the gangs of this city don’t you?”

“Only some.” 

“You know what I am then?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well, nobody’s stupid enough to break into the paint factory. The only thing in there is probably illegal. I saw your gun before... and your clothes are too nice for someone who drives a stupid Honda Civic.”

It must the right thing to say because the Man laughs before turning serious. 

“You scared of me?”

San scoffs. “No.�� 

Yes. 

“Who do you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to anybody.”

“I told you not to lie.”

“I’m not!” San says. “I’m not in anyone’s gang.”

“So you’re telling me, that in the two years you’ve been out here on your own, nobody has ever tried to recruit you?”

“Of course they tried. I didn’t say it worked.”

“That sounds like bullshit.” The Man says. “Who tried?”

San’s anger rises again. “What’s it to you? Maybe I’m just good at hiding.”

“I’ll buy you chicken if you tell me how you’ve managed to stay alone and alive this whole time.”

“Ugh, fine!" San huffs, tired and irritated by all the questions. "Everyone’s scared of the paint factory and the big car that sometimes goes there. I figure the closer I am to the danger, the safer I’ll be. Well, it doesn’t really make sense but it's true.”

“So you're just really good at hiding all the time? I find that hard to believe. Someone is always watching.”

“How would you know anything about that?” San asks spitefully.

“Where do you think I came from?”

It’s a loaded response, hanging heavily between them in the car. 

“I....hide in places people don’t go or know about. In the daytime, I stay near the university so they think I’m a student. And when I can’t do that, I sit near the bus stops so people think I’m going somewhere.”

San hates himself for saying anything at all but his gut instincts aren’t blaring out warning sirens anymore, haven’t done for the last fifteen minutes, which is the most surprising fact of all. 

“Alright.” The Man says, unlocking the car doors and getting out. “Let’s eat before I have a hypo.”

San scrambles to follow him. 

“What’s a hypo?”

****

The Man gives him a job. 

He’s never had a real job before. Not that this is a real job at all but he gets paid actual money. It’s not much but to San, holding the notes in his hand, he might as well have won the lottery. 

All he has to do is watch the paint factory and report when the big cars, the Maybach, rolls by. 

The Man doesn’t give him his name. He doesn’t ask for San’s either. It’s strange feeling but then again, San hasn’t had anyone say his name in nearly a year. 

“Names are important on the street. It’s a myth that there’s no honour amongst thieves. Honour and respect is everything to these people.”

San nods, mentally taking notes. They’re working on the Civic because the transmission sounded strange down the highway. San knows a thing or two about engines and apparently, so does the Man.

“Don’t give anyone your real name. Don’t give anyone mine.”

“But I don’t know your name.” San points out. 

“It’s safer for you that way. You’ll earn it when the time comes.” 

Earn what? 

“Do you remember the name of my friend?”

“Yeah.”

Seonghwa. Of course San remembers. It’s a nice name. 

“There’s only two people you can trust with that name. Me and him. Maybe our boss.”

“Who’s that?”

The Man laughs. “You’re definitely not getting that one. But when you meet him, you’ll know. You ever seen a MMA fighter?”

“I think so? Like um, Conor McGregor?” San saw him once on TV, fighting until he was bloodied but victorious.

“Yeah, just picture that in a suit."

“Is he nice?”

The Man snorts. “He’s terrifying. But I guess he can be nice when he wants to be. Just don’t be a brat to him. I mean it.”

It’s not a comforting description. 

“What about your friend? Will I know him when I see him?”

A strange smile spreads across the Man’s face, one that's different to all his other smiles. “Yeah you’ll know him when you see him. He looks like his name. Like a tall model in the most expensive suit.”

“A what?” San doesn't know what to picture in his mind.

“Like those billboards in the city, the black and white perfume ads. That’s what he looks like.”

“Oh…okay.” San nods like he understands but he doesn't. Maybe he should go do some billboard research tonight because he really has no idea what a model killer supposed to look like.

“I want you to be smart and careful about who you trust. You shouldn't even trust me if your gut says otherwise, okay?”

“I can’t trust you?” 

“Not if you think it's wrong. I want you to learn to trust yourself first. It’s an important skill. But you’re already pretty good at it.” The Man says with a relieved sigh, finally finished with the car's wiring. “What does your gut say about me right now?”

“I don’t know.” San shifts uncomfortably, feeling put on the spot. “You’re…okay.”

“I’m okay?” The Man chuckles. “No, report it to me. Like a summary.”

And that just makes San sweat. 

“Well, you’re....not mean to me. You didn’t call the cops. You make sure I’m not in danger. But then you get yourself in danger, which is a kind of stupid. You buy me food and gave me a job. So I guess that makes you okay.”

“That’s a terrible summary of me.” The Man laughs. “But fine, I’ll allow it.”

San shrugs, cheeks blushing for some reason. 

“Oh! I forgot to give you this.”

It’s a card that says 24 hour gym.

San isn’t sure what to do with it, he turns it over in his hand, looking up expectantly for an explanation. 

“It’s a gym membership card. It gets you into Planet Health, that big building two blocks from here.”

“What do I do with it?”

“You go there?” The Man says laughing, “You never been to a gym before?”

San shakes his head. 

“Oh, well you don’t have to use all the equipment but they have showers and you can sleep there for a few hours. It’s better than the streets.”

San nods slowly as his finger traces over the name on the card.

“Who's Kim Juyeon?”

“That’s you. Well, it’s a fake name obviously. Don’t use your real name. Not in the field. Not at work.”

“Hotels and motels need ID. Gyms barely care. But pretend to use the treadmill or something when you go, otherwise it’s just going to look suspicious. You already know about blending in, just do that and you’ll be fine.”

San is still staring at the card. Then he stares at the man. Trying to figure out the maths and motive behind it all. 

“What?”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m employing you, I need you alive to do your job.” The Man says matter-of-factly. 

San nods. Of course. Of course. It’s part of the job because why would anyone just care about him for no reason.

But he doesn’t push his luck by asking more questions. Especially when the hot water pressure at the gym almost makes him cry. He spends twenty minutes in there, washing away years of street grime all at once, watching his old life swirl down the drain and finally emerging like a snake with new skin.

The gym machines are intimidating but he finds a treadmill the next day and walks very very slowly on it. It’s not so bad. 

He sleeps when he can, a few hours here and there. The job is mostly nocturnal so he occupies his daylight hours how he's always done.

The university term has started up again and in the late afternoon San makes his way down to it's big grassy courtyard. He watches other eighteen year olds with their book bags and nice clothes walking to classes and laughing with their friends. He doesn't even have any friends. It’s bittersweet if he’s being honest with himself and he tries not to resent the lives of other people. It doesn’t really work. 

The Man gave him a book to read, something about looking the part and getting some culture. The cover is old and worn and there’s a scrawled PSH on the first page. 

It’s a story of a boy shipwrecked at sea and San struggles through the first chapter, not particularly enjoying himself but he figures he was given this particular book for a reason, and he’ll finish it, even if it kills him. 

The sun is high and warm in the sky as San struggles through chapter two. And that’s when he sees him. 

Or to be more accurate: hears him. 

It’s a shrill cackling laughter, wheezy in parts, not dignified or pretty, but completely joyful. It’s the kind of laughter that could only comes from someone who doesn’t care what other people think of them. 

The sound belongs to a heartstoppingly handsome guy on his phone, talking and laughing animatedly about something to do with avocados, the movement scrunching up his face in a way that shouldn't be attractive at all but just is. His hair is dark and shaggy, half tied back messily, like he did it in a hurry, and he has a distinctly prominent nose that reminds San of someone he’s seen on TV once. 

San can’t look away. And doesn't.

He can’t remember the last time he saw someone so bright like that. He can't remember the last time he ever felt like the world spun around just one person. He wonders if any of this is normal.

The Man who employs him glints cold silver in the way a knife does but the one walking towards him now just shines warm and yellow like the sun. 

The Guy walks past now and heads inside the cafe that San's always been too afraid to go in. Partly because it’s crowded but mostly because they charge five whole dollars for just one small cup of coffee. 

He resigns himself to his coward's fate: parked on grass, reading a book he hates, watching for the guy who shines like the sun every Thursday and never having the guts to following him into the cafe.

Well, things could be worse. 

The courtyard gets busier as the university term progresses and it’s not until one day, when it’s about to rain, that San is finally forced to set foot inside the cafe. 

It’s busy. 

The crowd makes him anxious but he stutters his way through ordering a cup of Earl Grey tea, because it was the cheapest drink on the menu, and finds a poky little table in the corner to sit and wait for the skies to clear. 

He feels normal. Just for a moment. He could pretend to be another university student: he's Kim Juyeon, drinking a cup of tea in a cafe and reading a book about a shipwreck. Nobody would know he’s homeless and has no future. 

Once the rain stops, the crowds disperse quickly, the students probably rushing back to their classes, and with that, the charade is over. San goes back to being a nobody. 

He’s nursing the rest of his tea when there’s a peal of laughter, one that he’d recognise anywhere now. 

The Sun Guy bursts through the cafe doors, says sorry to everyone and no-one in particular, before making his way towards the counter. San watches him order a caramel latte and something called a chocolate eclair, whatever that is.

The Earl Grey in San's cup is gone now and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to buy another one just to keep sitting there. Are there cafe rules he doesn't know about? He'll need to ask the Man about this later.

But to be sure, to save himself the embarrassed of overstaying his welcome, he reluctantly gets up to leave and tries to discretely catch a glimpse of the Sun Guy on his way out.

It's near the exit when they suddenly lock eyes and San shrinks back like he's been hit with lightning. He has to look away quickly but in the process he nearly brains himself on the door frame and it takes him two attempts to open it before he’s successful. The last thing he remembers is a bright amused smile directed right at him. It might as well have been a shotgun and San has no idea how to respond to that so he doesn’t. 

“What’s with you?” The Man asks when they meet up that night. 

“Nothing.” San grumbles morosely. 

Nothing but total life ending humiliation in front of the most handsome guy on campus.

The Man asks for his report and there’s still no activity at the paint factory but two Maybachs drove past. Nobody got out but the 7-Eleven worker waved to one of the cars. 

"Interesting."

The Man drives him to the gym for his nightly shower, a privilege San still can’t get his head around, and gives him a crash course on gym equipment which he doesn't listen to.

It’s nearly Four PM the next day when San makes his way to the university again. It’s a Thursday, he’s figured out that the Sun Chocolate Guy must have a specific class in the afternoon on a Thursday. 

Sometimes they see each other. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes there’s people with the Guy. Sometimes he’s alone. None of it helps San get over his cowardice. He’s still resigned to just watch from afar, drinking his one cup of tea and reading a book he doesn't even like. 

He’s sitting by the cafe window one week, still cursing himself, when a cup rattles next to him, it's followed by the smell of chocolate. 

There's a presence next to him and with his heart thumping in his throat, San forces himself to look up slowly; his eyes trailing from the loose pants, to the slouchy White t-shirt half tucked in, to the soft light denim jacket. He swallows and steels himself as he reaches a veiny tanned neck, messy black hair and an amused smile. 

When their eyes meet, all he can think about is that he’s never actually had a crush on anyone until now. 

The Guy's lips are moving.

Wait.

"Um, can you repeat that? I missed it." San stammers, bright red and sweaty. 

The Guy smiles kindly. "I asked you if I could sit here?"

"Here?" San blinks at him incredulously. 

"Yeah? That okay?" 

"Oh, um, yeah. That's okay."

"Thanks."

The Guy sits down, taking a sip of coffee and small bite from his chocolate eclair with a satisfied hum. 

San just stares at him like the loser he knows he definitely is. 

"You stare a lot you know.” The Guy says as he observes him with a tilt of his head.

"Sorry." San blushes red again and diverts his gaze to the book the Guy is reading. There’s a lady with a sword on the cover; The Feminism of Joan Of Arc, it reads. 

"I didn't say it was all bad."

The Guy just keeps on reading and sipping his coffee so San figures he should do the same, except he can't even make sense of the words on the page.

“You know, we’re always here on the same days. I figure it's about time we met. Don't you?"

The Guy is still looking at his book but San isn’t sure if he's even reading it or not. 

"Why?"

"What do you mean "why"? Why not?"

"But you're...."

The Joan of Arc book is a snapped closed and those shiny eyes are suddenly on him. It's still feels like lightning. Like the first time it happened.

"I'm what?"

Way out of my league. 

"You look…busy.” San finishes lamely.

The Guy looks at him with a mix of amusement and condescension. 

"You're cute." 

"Huh?" He's staring again. 

"Those eyes are going to get you into trouble one day." The Guy says with a sad chuckle. "What's your name? You have a name right?"

"It's...Juyeon." San says hesitantly, the name sounding so unnatural in his mouth and even worse out loud.  

There's a hand extended across the table and he's suddenly shaking it. 

"I'm Wooyoung. Good to finally meet you."

San is busy cataloging the sensation of The Guy, Wooyoung's, hand when a phone goes off somewhere nearby.

He's still holding on awkwardly when there's a sharp squeeze and tug on his fingers. "Er? I think that's your phone."

Oh. 

The Man gave it to him and truthfully, San is struggling to get used to having one again.

He drops Wooyoung’s hand quickly and digs into his pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey Kiddo, need a favour. Where are you?"

"Out."

"Yeah where? I'll come get you."

“At the cafe."

"I'm 10 minutes away so be out front."

The phone call is short and San hangs up cursing life. The one day this happens and he's gets an actual call in. 

"You need to be somewhere?"

"Yeah. Sorry. It's….work."

"Why are you apologising?!" Wooyoung laughs. “It’s fine."

Reluctantly, San stands to gathers his jacket and brushes the crumbs on the table into his empty cup.

"I'm here every Thursday.” Wooyoung says, it’s quieter, almost shy, if San read that right. 

"I know." 

It escapes from San’s mouth before he can stop it. But instead of teasing him. Wooyoung says nothing. Just gives him a warm knowing smile. 

"Good. So I’ll see you next week?”

"Yeah…sure, Okay, um, I'm going to wait out front for my ride."

In his haste, he rushes out without his jacket and has to go back for it like an idiot. "Forgot this. Um, bye again."

"See you next week." Wooyoung says brightly with a wave.

When in gets in the car he lets out a groan. Why is he always such an idiot at the worst time. 

"What's wrong with you?" The Man asks, eye brow curious and concerned. It's nice that someone is concerned about him. He forgot what that felt like. 

“Nothing.”

“You made a friend?”

San whips his head across. “How do you know that?” He asks defensively.

“Because the cafe has windows?”

"I don't want to talk about it." San flushes and stares out the window. They let the topic go.

The drive to the old paint factory is quiet and they park two blocks away, walking the rest of the way through the back roads. 

“What are we doing here?”

“Just recon stuff, I need you to cover my back okay?”

“From what?” San replies in a panic. He isn’t ready to be promoted to a job like that. “Is someone coming after you?”

“Relax. Nobody is coming. We’re just going to do some walking and some measurements.”

He’s gives instructions to mark walls with glow-in-the dark stickers. And despite asking three times, he doesn’t get any explanations. 

“Geez, slow down. You’re going to choke on that hot dog.” The Man says later, when they're eating at a sleeping diner.

San slows his chewing but it feels like a waste of time. 

“I need to talk to you about something. And after I’m done, you’re not going to repeat it to anyone. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I need you to stay away from the paint factory for the next two weeks. No sneaking to look or anything. If you get caught, you don’t tell anybody you saw me or know me.”

San swallows the last of his hot dog and frowns deeply. This doesn’t good at all. This sounds final. Like another goodbye. 

“Don’t go looking for me.”

“But-“

“Don’t go looking for me.” The Man repeats again firmly. “If I need to find you, I’ll find you. There’s money in that locker at the gym. It’s yours. Use it.”

San’s mind is reeling now and it takes him agonising seconds to put it all together. 

The Man is leaving and it’s somewhere San can’t follow. Something will happen at the paint factory but he doesn’t know when. He’s going to be left alone again. 

“Geez, cheer up,” The Man says, as if he didn’t just drop a depressing bomb in San’s lap. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. You’ll be fine. You’ve survived for two years, just remember everything you’ve learned. And always trust your gut instincts okay? Even if it goes against what I said.”

San nods dutifully, unsure if he should be as sad as he feels. He doesn’t know anything personal about the man next to him but they've spent almost every day together. He doesn't want to admit he's attached to the routine but what else could he call it?

“Okay, I should go. Be good. Stay out of trouble. Remember what I said.”

There’s a squeeze on San’s shoulder and then he’s all alone again. 

****

The normally black night sky is lit up angry orange and smokey. Even a block away San can feel the intensity of it. 

It’s unreal. Like a scene from a horror movie that he can’t quite trick his mind into believing. 

The closer he runs towards the flames, the worse his gut feels. 

It’s the old paint factory. The entire property is on fire. Everything is engulfed in flames, there’s no sirens because the fire must have melted all the cameras and sensors. Across the street, the 7-Eleven is closed. It never closes. 

There’s a small section of side fence that hasn’t caught fire yet and San slips through it, pulling up his shirt to try and stop breathing in all the smoke. He runs to the nearest window where the light is still flickering but he can barely see anything and his eyes both water and burn. 

Then he sees him. The Man, crouched on the floor, next to what looks like a hole in the ground, stuffing files into his bag, seemingly unbothered by the flames creeping closer towards him. 

“What are you doing!! The whole place is on fire!!” San yells out, voice shaky with a fear he hasn't felt in a long time.

The Man whips his head up and San can only see his eyes flashing angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing here! Get out of here before they come!”

The Man forcibly pushes him back out the window with a strength that San didn’t know he had. When he reaches his hand back through the window, it’s gripped still.

“You are leaving right now!”

“But you’re going to die here!” San coughs, tears already tracking down his face. 

“Yeah that’s the point.” The Man says sadly. “Go. Go find him; Seonghwa. You can trust him but only him. Tell him what you saw.”

“But-“

“Just go. Do this for me.” 

The Man lets go of his arm and runs back through the burning building as San sees another group of men chasing him down the corridor. 

A wall collapses and San has to drag himself away. Every step full of dread and feeling wrong.

Climbing on a rooftop, numb and exhausted, all he can do is watch as the whole factory burns to the ground. The big Maybach cars speed off as the police and fire trucks converge on the area. 

And San waits. Half expecting a smiley face to pop up unexpectedly to scold him for crying over someone he barely knows. 

It’s not until nearly dawn, when there are only a handful of officers guarding the ashened property, that San gathers himself to go down there. 

But there’s nothing. 

Every building is flattened and destroyed. There’s no way anyone could’ve survived that. 

In the room where he last saw the Man, the hole in the floor has buried under mountains of debris.  

He knew. The Man knew this was coming. 

There’s quiet voices to his left. And that’s when he hears it. 

“Fuck, get him on the phone, I need to tell him.”

It’s a tall and broad man, imposing in both presence and stature, frowning at the burnt factory. There’s another standing beside him, dark and in glasses, who holds out a phone. 

“You alone? Line clean?”

“Kim’s missing.”

There’s a knowing tone to the way the man says it. A weary sadness. If he was the enemy, the response would’ve been different. 

San’s gut tells him that this must be the boss he was told about. 

He watches the two men for a few more minutes, quietly following them until they reach their car that’s parked a block away. 

It’s the one in glasses that sees him first. 

It all happens faster than San prepared for. The hands that grab him are strong and efficient. He’s shoved against the car in a headlock. 

“Talk.” The boss says, voice deep but calm. “You followed us a whole block.”

He’s bristling with an intensity that San hasn’t felt before. 

Terrifying.

Yes, this must the Boss. 

“I....want to talk...to Seonghwa.”

The man raises his eyebrow in shock and shares a troubled look with the other.

Then it all goes black. 

[probably-impossible]

Habeas Corpus

A snippet of a Lawyer AU for day 7 of @dollarstrilogyevent - justice.

Blondie heard the phone in the outer office ring and Maria's muffled voice say “Sentenza & Biondo, how can we help you?” It was quiet for a while, and then the phone on his own desk started to ring. He sighed and picked it up. 

Before he could get a word out, a voice on the other end said, in a heavy Mexican accent, “Are you Sentenza or Biondo?”

“Biondo.”

“Can you put Sentenza on? I heard he's better. No offense.”

“He's, uh… not with us anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“'S alright.” Blondie took a moment to wash down a propranolol with his watery coffee. “You want a consultation?”

“Nah, skip it. I'm at the police station right now. They're gonna arrest me for murder. But I didn't do it!”

“Sure,” Blondie muttered. He reached for a pen and notepad. “Name?”

“Tuco Benedicto Pacífico Juan María Ramirez."

“Right.” He scribbled down the first and last names and shrugged on his olive-green blazer, which he had forgotten to have dry-cleaned for the fourth week in a row. “Don't say anything. I'll be right there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only about twenty officers in the Betterville Police Department, and Blondie knew all of them. The one who met him at reception was named Wallace. He was the kind of cop who made the cameras in the interrogation rooms necessary. “You here for the Rat?” he asked.

“If the Rat's name is Ramirez, then yeah. Who's prosecuting?” 

“Mortimer.”

“Christ. You guys are taking this seriously.” 

“Murder's a serious crime.” Wallace led Blondie back to one of the little interview rooms and opened the door for him. “Your lawyer's here,” he said.

Tuco sat up from where he was slouched in a corner of the room. He was a shorter man dressed in a brown jacket, chinos, and flashy white pirarucu boots. He had gold rings on his fingers, a gold tooth, and a gold crucifix on a chain around his neck. “Hey,” he said to Wallace, “you got an ETA on that cheeseburger? I'm starving in here, man.”

“It's on its way.” Wallace motioned Blondie towards the table in the middle of the room. “Don't take too long, we want him booked tonight.”

“Yeah, alright.” Blondie sat down at the table and waited for Wallace to leave the room before turning to his new client. He opened his brown leather briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers and a pen. “Fee agreement,” he said. “Take a look, say if you want me to explain anything.”

Tuco nodded, took the papers, and signed the bottom one without reading a single word. “I don't know if you had a chance to look into my record,” he said. 

Blondie nodded. “It's pretty bad. You're not getting bail with those priors. Or a plea deal.” He put the fee agreement back in the briefcase and took out his notepad. “And Mortimer’s prosecuting. Likes to play hard ball and he's the best trial attorney in the state.”

“You fill me with confidence.” 

“Well, Sentenza was the best. I don’t like talkin’ as much as he did. But I'm smarter than he was. That's why I'm still here.”

Tuco drummed his fingers on the table. Despite the fact that he'd certainly been through the system before, he looked nervous. “I really didn't do it, you know.”

“Sure,” Blondie said. “But assuming you did—” 

Tuco slammed his hand on the table with a force that almost made Blondie jump. “I’m innocent this time,” he insisted, raising his voice. “And that's the truth! If you don't believe me how the hell is anybody else supposed to, huh?!”

Blondie raised his eyebrows. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Alright then,” he said. “Convince me first.”

Tuco growled. “Son of a whore… You're lucky the Rojos recommended you, otherwise I'd take my chances with the public defender.”

Ah. The Rojo cartel were Sentenza & Biondo's best customers. “This have anything to do with them?”

Tuco avoided his gaze. “Well, maybe. A little. I may or may not have been doing a favor for Ramon at the time.”

Blondie sighed, almost in relief. “If your interests end up going against theirs, ethics-wise I'd have to drop the representation. Best to play it safe. Hope you get a good public defender.” He started to put his notepad back in his briefcase.

“Shit! Wait!” Tuco reached across the table and grabbed Blondie by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly warm and firm. 

“Let go of me,” Blondie growled.

“No, you just listen to me for a minute,” Tuco said. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?! I called you because you're supposed to be the scummiest lawyer around!”

“Sure, but I don't think you're worth pissing off the Rojos.”

Tuco seemed to hesitate for a moment. “...Alright, well, I can make myself worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just shut up and listen.” Tuco's wide brown eyes had Blondie pinned to the spot. “The dead guy, Bill Carson. Ramon wanted him roughed up a little and I owed him a favor. So I followed him to the alley behind that strip club downtown, Mirage, I think. But when I found him, somebody else had already shot him. He was still alive, just barely. He gave me something.”

Blondie just glared at him silently.

“A key to a safety deposit box,” Tuco whispered. “With two million dollars inside. Clean cash. I managed to hide the key somewhere safe before they brought me in. I'll give you a cut of the money if you get me off.”

“Phrasing.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“What's the cut?”

“Twenty-five percent.”

“Fifty.”

“Fuck your mother too. Fine.” Tuco let go of his wrist finally and leaned backwards, scowling. “Well? Are you gonna be my lawyer or not?”

Blondie thought about it. Not for too long. A million dollars was a nice amount of money. And the firm had been in the red ever since Sentenza kicked the bucket. “Sure,” he said, and put the notepad back on the table. “For a million dollars plus my fee, I'll get you off all day long.”

[thesmpisonfire]

Hi I finished reading through all the lucky ball and chain au posts, so you have any hcs or anything related to that au? (Mainly pac centric ones)

Bestie i have a lot!

Under read more bc i dont want it getting too bit :P

It took a while for Pac actually feel as equal as Cell, in a way. During prison and for a small period after it, Pac just felt like a meal, like a pathetic little thing Cell liked to toy with. But at the same time he felt loved and cared and maybe that's what love was. A couple of months passed and Pac slowly grew comfortable to consciously relax around Cell and felt like actually a person again

Pac really took a while to also try anything science related for a while, since it reminded him of Mike and it hurt too much to deal with. Cell has to push Pac into making a simple poison for him so Pac could actually touch his old chemical abilities again and from there he didn't stop anymore

Cell is still the cook of the duo btw. Pac is good with being the mixologist and creating drinks for them while Cell cooks... Something (He warns when its human meat tho. Pac is not always up to it but he often steals a bite)

As Cell took Pac into helping him with more and more murders, Pac really got a taste for poisonings and staged crime scenes (I've told here before but i wanted to add it again <3). He's not a big of a fan that blood that isn't his or Cell's, but sometimes Cell quietly whispers him into doing so

He still has fucked up separation anxiety, constantly calling Cell when he's out just to be sure he's okay and nothing happened

The two got their own fucked up dynamic. Cell loves to take bites out of Pac so Pac has way more bite scars that he hides under his hoodie when outside but he shows off proudly when he's at home. And Pac loves to test whatever poison or drug he's trying to create on Cell. He slips into his drink while he has an antidote ready and let's Cell squirm a bit before saving him and getting a small little report on the effects

And that last point brings a very important thing: Trust. Pac regained all the trust he had lost and now he has even more from Cell. The prey and the monster trust each other with their lives and they both have such toxic codependency that separating them would actually be a catastrophe. Cell knows Pac will cure him, Pac knows Cell won't bite to kill. It's their way to say "I love you"

Pac learned how to do stick and poke tattoos! Felps taught him during one of his visits and now Pac had a smiley face on his wrist that looks like this C: with the mouth looking exactly like a C, and he convinced Cell to let him tattoo a pacman on his shoulder

Pac often sells drugs or creates a pop up tattoo studio when they need to stay in a city for too long and he wants to make some cash for himself. He's fairly good at it and Cell always looks like the trophy husband when this happens since he allows himself to lounge around and be pretty while Pac "works" (they don't even need the money)

Yes. Pac feels guilt. Always have and always will

[dramioneasks]

Valentine’s Day Fics (2023):

Not a Valentine's Date Night by WritexAboutxMe - E, one-shot - The one where Draco attends the Leaky Cauldron's Not a Valentine's Date Night event. His expectations are low until he sees Hermione Granger alone at the bar.

A secret lover in valentine day by Bettywounderland - G, WIP - For three years on Valentine's Day, a stranger sends to Hermione Granger lilies , an apology letter and gifts Hermion finally decides that she should know this secret admirer l, she didn’t expect that this person has secrets and feelings towards her and he is Draco Malfoy !!

Valentine's Day by That_One_Star - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy loves his girlfriend. Really that's what got him into this mess in the first place, but at least there's the fact that she loves him too.

Tainted Love by cleotheo - T, WIP - Ginny Weasley has been in love with Harry Potter for as long as she could remember. Taking desperate measures to grab Harry's attention, Ginny enacts a plan to get what she wants for Valentine's Day. However, when her plan goes awry and other people are dragged into her schemes it looks like Valentine's Day will be a one to remember for all the wrong reasons.

Lovers Rock by katwrites15 - M, 3 chapters - It had been years since Hermione had seen Malfoy. She had almost forgotten that he existed. Almost. Running into each other at a mutual friend's Valentine-themed birthday is the perfect place to catch up, right? AU, all the usuals in their mid-20s. Smut, with some plot. (cross publish on ao3)

Draco's Grand Romantic Gesture and a Chain of Calamitous Confusion by stacygenesis - M, one-shot - A Valentine's Day one-shot inspired by Taylor Swift's song, Mastermind, where everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Draco has planned a grand romantic gesture to tell Granger how he feels. Even with the help Theo Nott, and Theo's eager-to-help girlfriend, Luna—Draco could never have prepared for the chain of calamitous confusion that was about to ensue.

Valentines Chocolate and Silver Chains by 1Artic_arsenic - M, WIP - A ball is to be held in honor of the muggle holiday St. Valentines Day to promote unity for Hogwarts. Along with the ball students are also tasked with an assignment from the muggle studies professor. Regardless of house, all sixth and fifth years will be paired with one another and required to find the perfect gift for each other to be presented night of the St. Valentines day ball.

To Be Loved by uzumakibrat - G, WIP - it's the season of love. happy valentine's day. ♡a dramione valentine's day one shot pack because if I do anything, it's write sporadically and make it on brand with the season.

My Lady by katie-krum - M, one-shot - Valentine's Day Short story. Married Dramione

my body, my heart, my all by Arveldis - M, one-shot -  “You’re fortunate I even took a chance on you, you know,” Hermione said, licking chocolate from her fingers as she set the chocolate-dipped strawberries out to dry.It was her tradition each Valentine’s Day to remind Draco of how lucky he was. And he, to his credit, always happily indulged her.

stolen kisses by iam0kaywiththis - E, one-shot - Like a thief in the night he stowed away all evidence of her kisses. It was about time she gave some to him freely.

Magic On Valentine's Day by fiorentinasara - M, one-shot - This One shot participates in the Valentine's Day contest held by the telegram group Miraculous Fanfiction is an unpretentious story is about Draco and Hermione after the magical war

hypothetically, yes by eveningstruggle - E, WIP - “Malfoy.” She pushed her frames up higher on her face. “I’ve objectively analyzed the situation—“ “What situation?” “Our situation, and—“ “What is our situation?” “The state of our relationship.” “Which is what, exactly?” “—and I’ve determined that you and I should date.”OR: Hermione uses science to convince Draco Malfoy to date her. He's not interested.

The Perfect Match by slytherindiaries - M, 3 chapters - The Hogwarts event committee has created a compatibility quiz for Valentine's Day to find everyone their perfect match. What happens when, on paper, Hermione finds out her perfect match is none other than Draco Malfoy?

Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind (We'll find each other every time) by suspiciouslyblue - not rated, WIP - Draco Malfoy meets a peculiar girl on a spontaneous one-day trip to the beach on Valentine's Day. She hums a tune all too familiar.(OR Draco and Hermione had each other magically erased from their memory after their relationship went sour, but turns out they're meant to be together, or something)based on the movie of the same name

A Looney Bird Told Me by CarrieMaxwell - G, one-shot - A Boil & Bubble Valentine's Special

love in an elevator by riddikulus_puff - E, one-shot - A few weeks after their initial break up with each other, Hermione Granger bumps into Draco Malfoy and the love she still holds for him comes flooding back. Draco doesn't know how to approach things and invites Hermione to dinner to talk through everything. Over the fancy dinner, Draco explains that he wants to take Hermione to be his submissive mate, but he is willing to negotiate with her on her terms. Hermione states that she wants him not to inflict his dominant desires upon her, and he agrees. Eventually, they renewed their relationship and started having kinky sex with each other again.Inspired by the 2017 film, Fifty Shades Darker

Our Last Valentines Day by Ceilidhchaos - M, one-shot - Elderly and terminally ill Hermione Granger-Malfoy spends one last Valentines Day with her husband, Draco.

pick your poison by ellieauthor - E, one-shot - “I believe," he says, "that the handbook also requires a specific script be used when welcoming customers.”She turns, homicide in her manufactured smile, to face the customer on the other side of the counter. “Welcome to the Apothecary, the home of the magic latte. Pick your poison!”“Oh…” The boy looks perplexed. “A magic latte, I guess?”“We only have drip coffee.”“Then why would you offer a latte?”She runs a hand through her already ragged curls. “Because the campus administration has decided that the indignity of labor in the midst of a collapsing world is not enough humiliation on its own.”“What?”She grabs a cup, fills it, and then shoves it into his hands. “Because my boss is a giant dick. Have a magical day.”//or:A valentine's fic for anyone who's ever worked a shitty customer service job, had a shitty manager, or vibed a litttttttle too hard to lucy dacus.

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside

Chapter Eleven

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 4k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Additional Chapter Warning: Mentions of a spiked drink

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

Seongho pulled me along, approaching a door beautifully framed by neon signs, welcoming in those from the street. Music pounded from inside, the bass increasing as Seongho opened the door and stepped to the side, guiding me in first. I bounced on the balls of my feet as we patiently waited in line at back check, an itch in my bones to get out into the crowd. Seongho’s arms rubbed up and down my bare arms, trying to maintain heat in my now poorly dressed body.

Once our items were finally checked and taken care of, my feet quickly pulled me to the bar, beckoning over the bartender for my choice of poison for the night. The liquid burned as it traveled down my throat, the warmth spreading through my chest as I reached for my second, clinking it against Seongho’s as we continued our ingestion. His hand slipped within mine with a smile, slowly spinning me around before guiding me out to the crowded dance floor with him, my giggles quiet and muffled under the blasting of music.

My fingers tapped on the table before me, watching with a grin as Seongho found his next dance partner. After a while, I had slid from the crowd, needing a moment of rest before continuing. The club was crowded tonight, dancers shoulder to shoulder as they maneuvered around the dance floor. I glanced down at my watch and calculated just how much time we’ve already wasted here. I was honestly starting to get surprised that none of the boys had somehow located me and shown up already, maybe I was lucky and somehow got away with my little disappearing act.

Although I started to doubt that thought the moment a figure slid into the stool beside me, but as my eyes started to take in the person next to me, I quickly realized it was someone I was unfamiliar with. Dark hair slightly parted to the side, a black and white streaked jacket, and black turtleneck emphasized by a long silver chain. His features look like that of a painting, eloquently drawn with brush strokes so gentle and methodical. Damn, that is one beautiful human being.

“What’s someone like yourself doing here on the outside of the crowd by herself?” His smile was soft, his words slow and sultry, feeling like they were pulling me to him with an invisible rope. The air felt like a siren had been placed by my side and I was hopeless against his spell.

“Decided to slip out for a quick breather, was getting stuffy in there.” He grinned as he brought his glass to his lips, his eyes not breaking from my own. Jesus christ, how does someone this beautiful even exist?

“Are you here by yourself tonight?” I shook my head as my eyes met the crowd, scanning for Seongho among the sea of patrons.

“No, I’m here with a friend, but can’t really see where he’s gone off too…” I failed to spot my friend, he had fully vanished, probably dancing up on some random girl he had found.

“Well what a shame for him, but at least that means I get to enjoy your company.” I stared down at my glass, trying to hide the blush creeping up into my cheeks, unsure if the cause of the heat in my face was from the alcohol, or the nerves in my system from being in close proximity to someone so stunning. His words stayed smooth during our conversation, sentences feeling like butter as my legs were turning into puddles beneath me.

Our small talk rambled on, our topics flowing smoothly. But surely it was interrupted as his eyes steadied on something behind me as he spoke, stopping as he brought his glass up, freezing it at his lips before taking a sip. An arm snaked around my shoulders, a strong hand finding grip on my opposite shoulder.

“What a surprise to see you here tonight Seonghwa, can’t say I took you for the clubbing type.” Minho’s voice was sharp and cold, in stark contrast to the pleasurable conversation that had just been occurring. I shut my eyes in defeat. There he was.

“It’s not often I find myself craving it, but it still somehow manages to find me.” Seonghwa clicked his tongue in his cheek as he set his glass down, a smirk growing across his face. His eyes followed as Minho’s grip on my shoulder vanished as I brought my drink up to my lips, instead his hand plucked the glass from my hand, staring down Seonghwa as he pours the rest of the liquid into his mouth. Seonghwa’s head tilted slightly, following as Minho set the glass down on the table.

“But I think my time here might be through, was a pleasure to meet you y/n.” His smile toward me quickly faded as it morphed back into a smirk, his eyes returning to Minho’s in a sharp stare. “Have a good night, Minho.” And with that, he stood and vanished as quickly and silently as he arrived, leaving Minho and I alone at the table. He left a squeeze to my shoulder and he leaned down, lips beside my ear, sending chills down my spine as I could feel his breath tickle my skin.

“I doubt you’re stupid enough to think I wouldn’t find you sneaking off again.” I shrugged as I slipped my shoulder out of his grasp, not daring to look at him, instead finding interest in my now empty glass.

“Maybe I was wanting you to find me, honestly it took you longer than I expected.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, trying to hold a strong composure.

“Well good for you, and you’re lucky I showed up when I did, but now we need to get out of here.” I’m thrown off guard as he abruptly wrapped his hand around my bicep, pulling me from my seat and towards the door. I resisted as I struggled to keep in step beside him as he pushed the door open and led me outside. “Did you tell him your name?”

“I-What?” I blinked as we stopped in our tracks, surrounded in the cool night air sending goosebumps to my bare skin.

“Did you. Tell him. Your name.” Minho’s grip on me didn’t loosen as he stared me down, his eyes firm and not wavering. I stuttered as my brain processed his question, the moment of Seonghwa leaving replaying in my mind.

"was a pleasure to meet you, y/n.”

I slowly blinked as I looked away from Minho, trying to recount in our conversation if I had ever mentioned my name.

“That’s what I thought.” He took his hand from my arm, rubbing his face with it in frustration. “Here I thought I’d just be having to deal with you drunk tonight, but no, I stumble in on you giggling with Hongjoong’s second in command.” A clearing of a throat catches the two of us off guard, both heads snapping towards the door as Seongho approaches us.

“How many times am I going to have to walk up on a scene like this between the two of you?” Seongho was standing firm before Minho, his gaze pointed down to him, clearly ignoring me beside them. I placed my hand on Seongho’s chest, trying to lightly push him away.

“Seongho, please. I promise this isn’t what it looks like.” I looked up to him with pleading eyes, knowing how this situation might be viewed from an outsider.

“Oh really? Because both times now I’ve come up on him trying to shove you around, and I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of that.” I could tell Seongho had continued his drinking once we parted ways, myself having drastically slowed down on my intake much earlier in the night. I tried to put myself between the two men, hoping to keep them at distance from one another. “I don’t understand why he has to keep showing up like this.” Seongho’s eyes burned in Minho’s direction, I gripped his shirt, trying to keep him grounded and prevent escalation.

Minho started to squeeze his eyes shut, the absence of a snarky remark from him surprising me. I glanced behind me, Minho looking out of it as he attempted to blink it away. His eyes scanned for a place to sit, trying to pull himself to a bench on the side, collapsing into it. Rushing over to Minho, I grabbed his shoulders, trying to get him to make eye contact with me as his head slowly lulled.

“Minho-Minho, how you doing?” His words were slow, and melting into a slurred, indecipherable mess as he attempted to respond, struggling to keep his head up.

“The hell is wrong with him?” Seongho’s eyes darted between the two of us, unsure of how to process the abrupt turn of events.

“There must have been something in my drink...” Immediately any lingering effects of any alcohol left in my system evaporated as I tried to lightly slap his cheek before crouching next to him, slinging his arm over my shoulders. “Seongho come help me, we need to get him to the car.” I was thankful that Seongho complied and his anger quickly subsided, realizing the severity of the situation as he took Minho’s other side, lifting him to his feet and supporting the majority of his weight.

“Minho, I need to know where you parked the car.” Minho’s head fell forward as he tried to take a deep breath, barely slipping out the word right. I glanced up the road, quickly recognizing Minho’s car a few spots down. I nodded my head in that direction as the two of us started walking him towards it. I let Seongho take his weight as we reached the car, checking Minho’s pockets for the keys. Fumbling the fob, I attempted to unlock the car before opening the passenger door, guiding Minho into the seat. I ran my fingers through my hair as I tried to take a breath, attempting to plan how I was going to handle this. “Can you go get our stuff from bag check? I need to take him home, I’ll drop you off on the way.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Seongho placed a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to look at him with concern plastered on his face,

“I’m perfectly fine, I stopped drinking a while ago.”

Seongho hesitantly nodded as he quickly made his way back towards the club, leaving me with a soon to be unconscious Minho. I reached forward, helping him buckle his seatbelt before my hand rested on his cheek.

“You fucking idiot.” He apparently still had enough bandwidth to give me a scoff as his eyes rolled away from mine. I huffed as I shut the door, crossing around to the driver’s seat and sliding in. The car roared to life as I turned the key, leaning forward and settling my face in my cold hands.

Chan is gonna be so pissed.

Seongho quickly crawled into the back seat, dropping my bag beside him as he buckled in and shut the door, giving me a nod as I pulled the car out onto the street. My mind kept racing in the silence as I took each turn to Seongho’s apartment, his flat voice finally breaking me out of my train of thought.

“What was he talking about, Siu?” I met his eyes in the rearview for a moment, attempting to swallow the prominent lump in my throat as my words caught. I looked over to the now falling unconscious Minho, his head rested back on the seat as his chest rose and lowered with each slow breath.

“I-I can’t really explain right now.” I couldn’t pull myself to look back at him, but I could surely feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I pulled to the side outside of his apartment and put the car in park. My hands didn’t leave the steering wheel as I stared down into my lap, the tenseness of my muscles keeping me firm. We sat in silence as Seongho hesitated to exit the car, clearly not happy with the answer I gave him.

“I just need you to promise me that you’re safe.” I finally looked back up to him in the mirror with a silent nod. His lips pressed into a sharp line as he nodded back and pulled himself from the car. “Just let me know when you guys make it home alright, and keep me updated.”

“Thank you, Seongho. I will.” As his door shut behind him, I wasted no time speeding back to the house. I tried to keep Minho’s head upright every time it lulled to the side, glancing over to him every so often. The occasional streetlight illuminated the cab and Minho’s flushed features, my heart dropping into my stomach as I struggled to recount the correct direction back to the house, attempting to identify different familiar markers. Once I was sure I was on the right track, I pulled out my phone, typing a quick text to Seungmin.

We have a problem, I need you and Changbin’s help in the driveway in 10 minutes.

Shutting off the screen, I dropped my phone into the center console as I sped in the correct direction. I knew I was going to have to explain myself to Chan, and I was surely going to get in deep shit for this one. This has royally backfired and exploded in my face.

Whipping the car into the driveway, the headlights illuminated Seungmin and Changbin already standing by the garage door as I pulled the car to a stop in front of them, both with looks of concern plastered on their faces. I struggled out of my seat, leaning against the car behind the open door.

“Minho’s unconscious, we need to get him inside.” I choked out my words as I tried to finally calm myself, my rate of breathing causing me to go lightheaded.

“Jesus christ, y/n. What did you two get into?” Seungmin crossed to the car, opening the passenger door and beginning to check different vitals on Minho.

“I think Seonghwa put something in my drink, and Minho drank it.” Changbin and Seungmin’s head quickly snapped in my direction, Changbin encroaching closely on my space.

“Why were you with Seonghwa.” His voice was rough, his anger with me making me want to curl into a ball, my body retreating into itself as I pulled my arms across myself.

“Please, Changbin. It’s a long story, okay? I didn’t know who he was, now can we please just take care of Minho and handle this later?” Changbin glared me down with an angry deep breath before turning away and pulling Minho from the car and hauling him up towards the house.

“Bring him to the medical room, I’ll handle him from there.” Seungmin called out, turning back to me with drooping eyes. “I told you that you needed to be careful, where were you that Ateez showed up?”

“Listen, it was only Seonghwa. He came up to me at the club, I let my guard down like an idiot, okay?” I hugged my arms closer to me, my nails digging into my shoulder. This was all a bad idea, my impulses got the best of me, and just as I knew I would, I’m paying for it now.

“I promise you there was more than just Seonghwa in there somewhere.” He looked up towards the house as Changbin crossed the threshold, Minho in his arms. “Chan already knows something is up. I’ll take care of Minho, but you need to go explain this.” I bit the inside of my cheek as I weakly nodded, staring down at my feet as Seungmin stepped away.

I pulled my bag from the backseat, hurrying up the front steps and into the house. The three had already made it to the medical room by the time I reached inside, and I was quickly face to face with Chan in the entryway. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face in a stern look of irritation. Geez, it felt like I just came home to a disappointed dad.

“Com’on.” He turned up the stairs, leading us to his office as I tried to pull the hem of my dress down my legs. He firmly shut the door behind us as he crossed to his desk, pointing to a chair. “Sit. And explain to me where you were and why the hell one of my men just came home unconscious.” My feet kept me planted by the door, too scared to advance before Chan looked up to me after sitting. If looks could kill, I swear a million daggers would have just shot through my chest and declared me dead on arrival. “Now.” His voice was stern, his hands clenching into fists atop his desk. I slowly made my way to the chair before him, sitting and sinking down into my body.

“Seongho and I just wanted to go to the club for a night… So I asked Yunho-”

“Yunho?” Chan quickly cut me off, I had yet to experience this level of anger from him, and it felt like I could feel the heat radiating off of him from across the desk. The dark aura swirling around the air above his head starting to envelop me.

“Yunho… Jiho’s driver…” I slowly looked up to him in confusion as to why the name only caused further irritation.

“Oh y/n, he’s not your family driver. At least not from what I’ve last heard.” Chan rubbed his temples, I swore I could feel the heat from his anger radiating off of him.

“Don’t tell me he’s with Ateez too…” My voice was almost a whisper, already scared that I might know the answer.

“Too?” Chan’s face paled as he looked at me with large eyes, my face scrunching with nervousness.

“Seonghwa…I think he slipped something into my drink…but Minho drank it instead of me.”

“Fucking idiot.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he settled his face in his hand, eyes squeezing shut. He stood from his seat, crossing to the window and rubbing his face as he stared out amongst the trees. Chan ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself before continuing. “I need you to tell me everything. From the moment you left Jiho’s. Because he was real confused on the phone when I told him you hadn’t come home.” He slowly turned to me as I stayed silent, feeling like a dog with its tail caught between its legs.

“I-I told Yunho to drop me in Itaewon… I was at the club with Seongho but split from him for a bit. Seonghwa approached me, although he never told me his name. Minho showed up and took my drink from my hand before I could even drink it, then Seonghwa almost immediately dipped.”

“Fuck.” Chan paced around the room, making me only feel smaller as he towered over me. “Y/n, you can’t keep sneaking off like this. Don’t you understand the situation right now?” My breath caught in my throat, keep sneaking off? Did he know?

“I-” My eyes grew in shock, quickly trying to come up with an excuse for myself.

“Yes, I’m fully aware of the night you took the car. I had every intention to let it slide, but I don’t think you understand the severity of what happened tonight.”

“It’s not like I poured my drink down his throat!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about y/n. You were in the car with an Ateez member, then another just so happens to also show up at the club and start casually talking you up the moment you’re alone, and potentially try to drug you?” He crossed back to his desk, leaning on his hands, the look of daggers returning. “Not to mention the fact that Yunho has possibly infiltrated with your brother as his driver? They’re trying to get close to the two of you.” The side of his flat hand hit onto his desk with his last words, forcing emphasis. “You aren’t to leave the house without one of us with you, okay?” Chan’s finger pointed sharply in my direction, I couldn’t speak but gave a quickened nod back in his direction, trying to avoid his eye contact. I couldn’t deny the possibility of his progression of events, everything feeling like it was falling into place next to each other. Chan sighed as he dropped his head, a sigh of exhaustion falling over him.

“You had me scared shitless, y/n.” His voice immediately dropped, much quieter as it fell downward. Chan collapsed into his seat again and rested his forehead in his palm, shoulders dropping. “Just please go to sleep, we can handle this in the morning.” He shooed me off with his other hand, head raising to now rest his chin in his hand and stare out the windows again. The lump in my throat made breathing difficult, stunned into silence as I rose and quietly left.

As I opened the door, I was met with Changbin leaning against the wall with arms crossed, slipping into the room as I exited and shutting the door behind him.

I stood there for a moment, analyzing every event that happened tonight, mind too awake for any chance of sleep. I started down the quiet corridor, opting to pass my bedroom door and head downstairs. The house felt eerily quiet compared to everything that occurred. Time had moved at such a fast pace I hadn’t processed one thing before another piled on top of it, and now I walked through what felt like time frozen in space.

As I neared the medical room, I stopped, glancing in the cracked door. Seungmin had already left Minho unattended, the lights turned dim as he lay in the bed asleep. I slipped in quietly, slowly closing the door behind me, and dragging a seat up next to the bed. I sat, hugging my knee up to my chest and resting my chin on it. At least he seemed peaceful, no snide remarks, no glares, no digs. I quietly scoffed in amusement with a small smile.

“You were supposed to come find me and relax with me for a night, not go and get yourself drugged, dumbass.” I looked down, placing my forehead on my knee. “This was not how tonight was supposed to go.”

“Aww, she wanted to spend time with me.” Minho’s voice was hoarse, very quiet and almost unnoticeable. My head snapped up to him, his eyes still closed and appearing asleep before his head rolled to my side, eyes slowly opening with his signature smirk. “How cute.”

“What the fuck, Minho!?” My foot drops to the floor, taken aback by his conscious state.

“Seungmin is good at what he does, Dear.” He faced the ceiling as he let his eyes close again, the smirk still plastered on his face until speaking again. “And remember, that drink was initially for you.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t have to go and drink it dumbass!” I leaned forward, punching his arm as he softly chuckled, immediately relaxing after the amount of the energy a single chuckle took from him. I scoffed, going to leave the room in a huff, stopping at the door and turning back to the snide man on the bed. “And stop calling me Dear damnit!”

Next Chapter

[world-of-horrors-au]

Pruning Roses - Chapter 3

[Set in the post-apocalyptic/dystopian Horrors AU, see pinned post on this blog for more information]

Temporarily locked in a large closet, Briar is left alone, only visited by the Chaser, Kate, to give her food. Sleep seems to be her only escape - at least, until Toby comes to wake her up for a 'chat'...

CW: Discussion of drugged food, physical abuse [beatings, cigarette burns], hurt/no comfort/whump

Notes: Toby's a dick in this AU. Everyone is, really, but Toby is the worst of them

The door opened. Briar’s head jerked up.

She’d lost track of time. Maybe she’d even fallen asleep. There was no time in this closet, only a silent darkness, low scrapings in the wall and loud, distant laughter. Maybe this was punishment enough, trapped like an animal until her thoughts drove her insane.

Behind the figure was darkness, allowing Briar to see the woman without pain. The proxy, Kate, stared back at Briar, and it was impossible to tell if the dark circles under her eyes were natural or some kind of paint. Her hoodie was different, not like Jeff’s infamous one now, but one that zipped up. Still white, though, and left open, revealing a pastel blue shirt that said ‘invincible’ in all caps. Briar’s eyes fell to the woman’s hands, and the item she held.

Without a word, Kate tossed the plastic bag, bearing the name of a long vanished grocery store chain, into Briar’s lap. Briar looked into it. Her stomach rumbled. Food, still warm, in little plastic baggies.

“Eat all of it,” Kate said, and her voice held no emotion. 

Briar looked up at her. Her mouth was watering, but her mind worried.

“What is it drugged with?”

Kate placed a hand on one hip. “Weakeners,” she said. “So you can’t fight back or break out of here until we’re done with you.”

A shiver went up Briar’s spine. “How do you know they work?”

“They worked on your boss Jeff,” Kate said. “And you’re a younger Horror than he was when we caught him.”

Swallowing, Briar looked down at the bag and its contents. Her stomach ached, like it did when she was a refugee during the War. She’d never wanted to feel that way again.

“If you don’t eat willingly,” Kate said, “I’m allowed to do whatever I want to make you.” She tilted her head back, her eyes cold. “What’s it gonna be?”

Briar exhaled. She looked at the bag, and ate. Wherever the drugs were in the food, whether in the sandwich or the fries, or in the bottle of water, she didn't taste anything. Actually, she barely tasted the food at all. 

When she finished, Kate pushed away from where she leaned against the door.

"Don't bother throwing it back up once I leave. The drugs work fast and we won't feed you again if you do. Leave the bag on the floor, we'll pick it up after we move you."

Kate turned away, only to look over her shoulder.

"You're lucky Hoodie gave you to Masky," she said with a grim smile. "If it were me, I'd spend tonight seeing all the colors that pretty face of yours can turn."

The door shut, and the lock clicked. Briar listened to the footsteps until they faded away. She looked down at the bag in her lap and picked it up. Squashing it into a ball, she threw it as hard as she could into the wall across from her. It was better than nothing.

Briar pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The darkness suffocated, she closed her eyes so she didn't have to see it. She let out a shaky exhale.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

If the guys were okay, would they come rescue her? If they were free, and intact, would they track her down? Would they find out who took her? Would they even be able to find this manor to take her back? Briar set her teeth. There was no telling how long the Proxies would keep her here. What if they never let her go?

She shivered. Her clothes weren't meant for temperatures like in this manor. She was dressed for summer nights spent around campfires, listening to insects and the laughter of loved ones. She didn't even have a jacket. If she asked for a jacket, would they have enough pity on her to give her one? Or was this just another form of torture?

Stop thinking, she told herself. Worrying won't save your life. You've been cold and hungry and desperate before. You can handle this.

I can handle this, she thought.

Pulling her arms into her short-sleeved shirt, she wrapped them around herself like she did as a teen. The rags smelled like dog as she laid down on them but they were still softer than leaves and grass. Closing her eyes to the darkness around her, Briar counted backwards from 100, picturing the shape of each number in her mind. Sleep didn't come easily, but it did eventually come.

Something cold wrapped around her wrists. A soft click reached her ears. Briar grunted, a similar chill wrapping around her heart as she awoke. Handcuffs, she thought. Her blurry eyes looked between her wrists, the door left half open, and the vague, crouching human shape in between her and the door.

Someone chuckled. Briar snapped awake. Toby.

"Morning," he said, and in the darkness she saw the smile on his face. "Did I wake you? Course I did. I thought you'd wake up when I opened the door, but you were sleeping pretty hard. Guess you haven't developed your war instincts yet."

He reached out a hand. Briar winced back, cringing as he patted her head.

"You'll be sleeping even better once Masky gets done with you," Toby said. "If I let him."

What was that supposed to mean? She really didn't want to find out.

"Wh… why are you here?" She whispered.

"What a good question!" Toby said with false approval. "Didn't say you could speak, though, but whatever. I'll let it go this time."

Toby reached into his pocket. Briar braced. Instead of a weapon, he pulled out a single cigarette and an old pewter lighter. He placed the cigarette between his teeth, and lit the end. Toby took a deep breath, and coughed, hard. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth as he coughed, Briar's eyes widening with alarm. After a deep breath, he laughed.

"He's gonna kill me when he finds out I took one of his cigs," Toby said. "Fucking whatever though. He owes me."

He shifted his legs, sitting cross legged on the floor. Toby tilted his head, and looked down at her. Briar swallowed

"I came because I wanted to see what Jeff sees in you," he said. "You know you're not the first Horror he's trained, right?"

Briar nodded. His lips curled up

"So he talked about me? That's good. I hope he's said nice things about me."

The man took another drag of the cigarette.

"I bet it's nice having a girl around, for Jeff and his gang. I haven't seen a girl Horror in… ages. A different perspective, a different hole…" 

Toby lifted his head up and exhaled the smoke into the air. Briar's eyes watered at the smell.

"But let's be real here, Briar," he said. "There's no contest. Between you and me, I'm the better one. The better hunter, the better forager, the better lover. He's too stubborn to see it."

Sucking in a breath, Briar pressed back into the wall. No conversation that started like this was going to end well for her. 

Leaning back on one hand, Toby sighed and took another breath on the stick. "He's so damn proud. He doesn't know it but he is. It gets in the way of everything. If he'd stop fighting God, everything would go great, for all of us. But he won't let go. He thinks he can fight God and win." He laughed lightly. "I used to find that arrogance attractive, but now, I just want to lock him up somewhere until he sees the light."

He looked down at her. "You get me, right?"

Briar shook her head. They'd told her Toby was insane but she never thought this was how it showed.

Toby rolled his eyes. "Kids. Can't expect too much out of you. You're, what, not even two years old yet? Pathetic." He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette onto the floor. "If Horrors weren't sterile you'd have a use, but right now? No way. It would be better in the long run for Jeff to kill you."

Tears formed in her eyes. Briar grit her teeth against them and looked away. Jeff would never…

"He doesn't need another useless mouth to feed. You're two years old and you're a complete unknown. No track record, no enemies, no urban legends about you. Have you even killed ten humans? Five? Get real. When I was your age, I'd killed fifty. Well, give or take. Who was counting?"

"I'm not useless," Briar said, looking up at Toby. "Just because I don't have a reputation doesn't mean-"

His hand whipped out. Briar cried out in pain as his hand slapped her cheek. Her head hit the floor, sending more pain through her skull, and she bit down a desperate sob.

"Did I fucking tell you to talk?" Toby said. She heard him take another drag on the cigarette. "Anyway, like I was saying: people like you are better as compost. You'd grow great roses."

Briar closed her eyes. Maybe she could just shut him out…

"But I'm not allowed to kill you," Toby said. Briar's eyes opened. "Nobody is. God wants you left alive."

She looked back at him, hoping her eyes would say enough. The Slenderman wanted her alive? Why?

"I don't get it either." Toby tapped out the ashes again. "Far as Hoodie can tell, you're a part of some big plan. Or maybe he's gonna turn you into a proxy later." He shrugged. "Who knows?"

Her, a proxy? She shuddered.

Toby laughed. "Yeah, I hope not! That's gonna make all of this-" he waved the hand holding the cigarette around. "Really awkward, eh?"

He looked down at her, his smile turning into a predator's grin.

"Really, really awkward."

His hand snatched out again, digging into her hair and yanking her head back. Briar cried out, twisting. The rags she laid on curled into knots under her, and the slick floor didn't give her any help. She looked up at him, at his sharp smile, and her eyes widened. He was bringing the cigarette towards her face.

"No-" Briar said.

"Shut up," he said.

The cigarette was still red on the end, heat burning through it. Oh god, she thought. He's trying to put it out in my eye. Briar squeezed her eyes closed, jerking her head as much as she could. She felt the heat of it just under her eye and twisted her head up-

She screamed.

Toby twisted the cigarette into her cheek, putting it out on her skin. He pulled the butt away but she couldn't see what he did with it. Tears streamed down her face, hot liquid burning the singed flesh under her right eye. She sobbed. It hurt.

"Aww, I missed," Toby said. "That would've made you a lot more interesting as a person."

He dropped her hair and she hit the floor. Briar tried to swallow her cries. It hurt. It hurt worse than any burn she'd ever gotten. Worse than any stabbing she'd ever received. It hurt. It hurt.

"Oh, whatever," Toby said. "Not like I'm here trying to improve you anyway."

The punch rattled her teeth, pain shooting through her jaw. Briar opened her eyes. She thought, if I were human that would've killed me. It was the only thought she had before another punch followed.

Blood spilled from her nose, coating Toby's bare hands. He laughed and the sound pressed against the walls of her skull. Another punch, pain spilling through her upper chest. She gasped for air but it was too late, the next punch hit her lungs. Briar sucked in as much air as she could, and began to scream.

He didn't tell her to stop. If anything it felt like her screams encouraged him. The bruises formed moments after his fists landed. Her gut, her chest, her face, her neck. Briar screamed through the pain. She raised her cuffed hands to protect her face but he yanked them down, bruises forming under his fingers, and punched her nose until she heard the crunch. Pain merged with her mind until there was nothing left. Until there was nothing but her screams and the muted crack and crunch of breaking bones.

He's going to kill me, she thought, but she knew it was worse than that. He wouldn't disobey the Slenderman. He was getting her warmed up for the rest of her stay.

Her throat gave up. Briar slumped onto the ground. Through the darkness she saw Toby raise his fist again.

Another hand caught it.

"Toby! What the fuck are you doing?!"

Her head was full of blood, but she recognized the voice. Briar watched, gasping for air as the second person threw Toby back away from her.

"Oh. Hey Masky," Toby said, impossibly calm. "You're back early."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Masky shouted. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Don't be so pissy," Toby said. "I wasn't gonna kill her. I was just having some fun. What, don't you like your meat tenderized? She'll probably be healed up in a week and it'll be like nothing happened."

"You bastard," Masky hissed. "You waited until I was gone to break in here. You wanted me away so you could fuck her up, and for what?"

Toby didn't answer. Briar looked at the ceiling.

"For what Toby?" Masky shouted. There was still no reply. "... Are you jealous?"

"Fuck you!" Toby shouted, anger in his voice. "Fine. Fine. I'll take my cuffs and get out of here. But you should know better than to get attached. We're not keeping her."

"I don't want her as a pet anyway," Masky snapped.

Toby grumbled something, but she heard him stand up. Briar closed her eyes and lay limp. His fingers were sticky with blood from her nose, but they forced the cuffs off anyway. Toby made a sound like he was going to say something to her, but he seemed to change his mind. 

Briar opened her eyes and looked up as he walked away. Toby vanished through the door, but Masky lingered. She couldn't see his eyes through the mask even without the tears still falling from her eyes. For a moment, she almost thought Masky was going to say something. But he shook his head and closed the door behind him.

In the darkness, alone, Briar closed her eyes again. She sobbed. Oh god, it hurt it hurt it hurt. The pain burned through her, throbbing and aching and swelling. There wasn't a single part of her that didn't hurt, even her legs.

The tears came again, flowing fresh down her face. Briar tried to pull her limbs into her body, but doing that just made it all hurt worse.

"Eyeless," she whispered. "Jeff. Guys. Help me."

I miss you, she thought. I miss you all so much. I wish you could hear me.

But no one could hear her. No one but her.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Love Grows (demon!Bucky and pre-serum!Steve omegaverse au)

10

HALFWAY THROUGH Symbol of Courage, Hodge came home. Not for long though. He rushed in, gave Steve a kiss to the top of his head, and then left for 12A. Claiming that he was going to talk business with Bucky and Daniel. With Bucky, because of the alpha's connections. With Daniel, because of the man's late father and the stories of the influential people he had known.

Huffing, Steve shoved himself further into the armchair. Sure, he knew that getting buddy-buddy with the neighbors could potentially help boost Hodge's career. But couldn't he have waited? Couldn't he have spent some time talking with Steve? A funny story about his acting coach, Michael Joseph Duffy aka MJD aka Duff? Or a story about how ridiculous another actor was during auditions? Anything?

Sighing at his own jealousies, Steve tried to get back into reading. It was a decent first draft. Good characters. Good story. Hodge would fit the Brett Hendrick character perfectly. All American Grade A Beefcake. Pinnacle of non-toxic alphaninity. Yeah, Hodge was perfect for that. Even if he was a beta.

He'd need a little help in the sass department, sure, but he could work on that. Steve knew that Hodge could do anything that he put his mind to, even – no, especially – when Hodge didn't think so himself.

Just as Steve was getting back into the script, there was a knock at the door. Heart racing from the horrible fate of the beloved character, Jimmy, Steve's brows furrowed, but he still got up to get the door. Surprisingly enough, it was Peggy and another older woman, petite, frail, and smiling, with a gaudy, silver floral brooch pinned to the shoulder of her yellow polka dot dress.

"Hi, dear," Peggy smiled, "We're not bothering you, are we?"

"Of course, not," Steve said, opening the door to welcome the two older women into his home. Pressing his lips together to suppress his disgust at the scent that the women brought with them. The same scent that came from Sharon's good luck charm.

"This is my dear friend, Angie Martinelli, who lives on six. Angie, this is Arnold's nephew's husband, Steve."

"Welcome to Stark Tower!"

"Thank you," Steve smiled, closing the door. Then, his brain caught up with the women and he asked, "Martinelli? As in Angela Martinelli? White Christmas in Vermont, Angela Martinelli?"

"The very same," she smiled, and Steve was starstruck.

"Ms. Martinelli, it's an honor," Steve started, taking her offered hand in his. Gushing, "My mom and I watch your holiday movies every winter, and would marathon Dear Betty almost every morning."

"Well, bless you," Angie giggled, giving Steve's hand a squeeze.

Wait until mom hears of this!

As the two women made their way down the hallway to the living room, they kept commenting about how beautiful the apartment was. Steve couldn't take any credit for the interior design though, Uncle Arnie had some decent taste. All he and Hodge had done was move their stuff into the lavish space.

Reaching the living room, both women sat down on the velvet navy-blue sofa. Both women had brought identical sewing bags and started opening them and took out their current projects. Crocheting for Angie and darning for Peggy. Clearly, settling down for a long evening of needlework and conversation.

"Oh, before I forget," Peggy said, reaching into her bag to pull out a small box. "This is for you. From Daniel and me."

"For me?" Steve asked, brows furrowing once more.

"It's just a little present is all," Peggy smiled, dismissing Steve's concern and puzzlement. "For moving in and for being so thoughtful."

"That's very kind of you," Steve said, taking a seat in the plaid armchair. Opening the little wrapped box, he froze. There, Sharon's silver filigree ball-charm and its clustered together chain. Sharon's not-so-lucky good luck charm. The smell hit him again, stronger, and made Steve rear back.

"It's really very old," Peggy continued, as though Steve wasn't refraining from pinching his nose at the scent of the translucent-bluish spongy substance. "Over three hundred years old."

"It's lovely," he said, gaze glued to it as he debated whether he should tell her that Sharon had already showed it off and told him the exact same thing.

But he didn't want to upset the older omega. She had, after all, been very kind. And Sharon was her niece, her daughter-surrogate, who she lost.

"The inside is called terrigen, it's a root," Peggy said. "It's good luck."

Not for Sharon, Steve thought. Instead of speaking the words out loud though, he tried to give the necklace back, "It's lovely, but I can't accept such a –"

"You already have," Peggy insisted, not looking up at Steve as she darned a brown sock. "Put it on."

Angie assured, "You'll get used to the smell before you know it."

"Go on," Peggy said.

"Well, thank you," Steve smiled and hesitantly, reluctantly, put the chain over his head, tucking the charm into the collar of his shirt. It was cold for a moment against his skin and he told himself that he'd take it off once the two women left.

"Is that the script?" Peggy asked, gesturing to the ottoman and the thick stack of papers fastened together.

Angie perked at that, asking Steve, "Are you a writer."

"No," Steve said while Peggy added, "He's an artist. Hodge says that he's very talented."

"Your children must be very creative," Angie smiled, not knowing how much that comment alone broke his heart.

Lifting the script so he could keep reading, he corrected, "We don't have children."

"Soon, I'm sure," Angie encouraged, and Steve hoped it would be. From her lips to God's ears.

As the night continued, Steve found himself content. With the two women making small talk and telling stories while Steve sat, listening and reading. Surprisingly, it was a pleasant evening. Time even got away from them.

At around eleven, Hodge came home. He said hello to the women and bent so he could kiss Steve's cheek. Only then did the women realize how late it was and pack up their things to leave.

"Come and visit me anytime you want, I'm 6C," Angie smiled, following Peggy out of the apartment.

Once he and Hodge were alone, Steve asked, "So, ya gonna be a big movie star now or what?"

"Yup." Hodge weakly joked, "Gonna get my Hollywood Star tomorrow."

Steve chuckled, stretched, and then stood from the chair. Gesturing towards the script, "If it helps, Bucky's friend wrote one hell of a script. And I know that you'll make the perfect lead."

"Let's keep our fingers crossed."

Following Hodge into their bedroom, Steve changed out of his clothes. The necklace hung low, stretching down his naked sternum. Just looking down at it made him feel icky. Almost like he had taken it off of Sharon's corpse himself.

"What's that?" Hodge asked, climbing into bed in only his boxer briefs.

"A present. It was Sharon's. The police must've, I don't know, given it back or somethin'."

"She probably wasn't even wearing it."

Lifting the chain off over his head, he held it out in front of him, looking at the charm. It really was beautiful, but it wasn't his. Not really. Plus, it still reeked.

"Aren't you going to wear it?" Hodge asked.

"It smells," Steve complained. "There's stuff in it. A root. Rotten food smells better."

"Oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad," Hodge chuckled.

Steve carried it over and shoved it in his husband's face so the beta could get a nice, big whiff. Nonplussed, Hodge shrugged, "It's not that bad."

Rolling his eyes, Steve carried the necklace into the bathroom. Opening the vanity drawer, he placed it inside. While Steve closed the door, Hodge stood in the doorway, "If you took it, you should wear it."

"If you took it, you should wear it," Steve mocked, leaving the bathroom. Stretching up on his tiptoes, Steve kissed his stubbly cheek.

Somewhere throughout the night, Steve awoke and found Hodge sitting beside the open window, smoking in the dark. Brows furrowed, Steve glanced at the alarm clock and then back to his husband. The beta had quit smoking over two years ago.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hodge assured, putting the cigarette out. "Insomnia, probably. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep."

Figuring that he was nervous about auditions and upset with the stories about old-time stars and their fame, Steve climbed out of bed. Wrapping his arms around the muscular blond, he tried to comfort his husband the best he could. "I love you. Not just for your immense talent, but for you. For who you are. And who you are is a good man."

When that didn't seem to help any, Steve told him that he didn't need to worry.

"About what?"

"About anything."

"Alright," Hodge weakly smiled, "I won't."

"You're the greatest," Steve kissed the top of his head. "Y'know? You are. And it's all going to come out right. You're gonna have to learn karate or somethin' to get through the mob of fans. And let's not even talk about what you'd have to do to get rid of the paps."

That small, sad smile remained on his face as he looked down at his lap.

"Any day now," Steve insisted. "Something big. Something worthy of you."

Hodge nodded, not arguing. Encouraging Steve, "Go back to sleep, honey."

"Wake me if you can't sleep."

"Sure."

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

The screenplay that Steve reads is an early version of the "Captain America: The First Avenger" screenplay. I only changed the character's names with aliases used either in the MCU or in the comic books. I hope you're doing well wherever you are! Much love and appreciation Minnie ❤❤❤

[aroace-number-eight]

DUDE WAIT OKAY GOT A BUNCH MORE IDEAS HANG ON

So the premise of this is basically a self indulgent AU where Five travels the world and gets to do what he wants since he now has all this freedom to go wherever he wants, and maybe going back to North America where he settles down last after he's satisfied (or if he feels he should get back to being responsible as a Garde since as much as Rey gave him problems, maybe he feels like he should honor his request, like maybe during his journey he laments on all the memories with Rey before the island and starts to have some fondness since he's no longer in a stressful situation where he's frustrated and angry so often)

Maybe he saves up some money from his earliest pick pocketing ventures and reads up at the bookstore during his free time. He looks at travel magazines and history books on places all around the world, he reads comics and stories to fuel his imagination and gets super interested in the kinds of tales that exist, and finds a bunch of informational stuff that will help him get by. He also learns how to convert the gems in his Chest into currency discreetly, which should last him throughout his trip

Then when he's good and prepared, he sets off for his first destination (whichever place you decided he should go to first), and from there on it's a bunch of mini adventures!!! He explores cities and towns and meets new people, he tries his best to get around the language barrier (or maybe he carries a language book with him), he has a lot of fun finding wonders wherever

You can make each chapter be a different adventure. Few chapters in this country or city, one chapter for that. Five exploring different place, having shenanigans, trying out his Legacies, building up his communication skills since it has been SO long since he last met another person, so many things he can do

He meets a lot of people!! Some of them are nice!! Some of them are not as nice!! Some try to swindle him because he's carrying around a big Chest that sounds like it's got treasure inside! Some people think he's a lost child and ask him where his family is! And Five puts his lying and hiding skills to the test every now and then. Some part of him wishes he still had a family, that he still had Rey. Maybe Rey would approve of him. He's doing his best to stay hidden, and he's always training his Legacies

Maybe he develops some hobbies! Maybe he gets souvenirs from the places he's been to, just like the rubber ball he got from a carnival back when he was island hopping with Rey! Gets a key chain, or collects currency from around the world, or some stamps!

Maybe he tries out a bunch of street food wherever they're available! Gets a taste of foods he's never hand before, prepared in ways that kind of remind him of Rey's cooking. Sees if he can cook simplified versions of them with ingredients he sneaks away, or forages from plants he's able to identify. Some taste good! Some taste really really bad

Maybe he takes more scenic adventures! Takes the train to different places instead of flying there, because there's something enjoyable about relaxing in a train cart and looking out the window. He can fall asleep or take pictures or scribble out the scenery with scrap paper and pencil, without worrying about falling out of the sky. He notices how extremely crowded subways are, and only takes them if he feels he really needs to

Maybe he attends local concerts and theater shows! Gets really lucky and is able to find an open venue with free admission. Or listens to someone busking on the street, or someone dancing to music on the street! He wants to save a lot of his money for traveling and leisure, but he can offer the occasional bill if he wants. And the theaters shows get really fun! Some are plays based on Shakespeare, or other playwrights he's read of. Some are original shows! Some are improv, and might get volunteers from the audience!

Maybe he spends a day or two between trips just to collect himself and have a slow day. Get his thoughts in order and plan what's next. Maybe he does a little training with his Legacies, finding a secluded spot to practice. It's not as easy as the island he lived in, but he's good at hiding, so he makes do. Seeing how fast he can fly, how strong his telekinesis is, seeing if he can work up his physical strength and endurance the way Rey always made him do. He already walks all over the place, so running gets easier with time.

Maybe he thinks about the other Garde, what they're doing. Maybe they still have their Cepans, or maybe they don't. Maybe they're living super cool lives training like Garde. Maybe they're looking for him.

Maybe he gets spotted by a Loric or a Mog. Maybe Crayton spots him. Maybe a Mogadorian scout finds him, and Five quickly abandons his travel plans and escapes elsewhere. He's not sure if they know he can fly or not, so he plans his escapes to make sure they lose him about halfway through

A bunch of ideas, maybe some of these will be helpful!!! This kind of extends WAY beyond a simple self indulgent fic and puts a bunch of plot points and such to connect different locations, but it was a lot of fun to think of these ideas and maybe they'll inspire some ideas for you?? I'm really excited to see how your fic comes about!!

Okay but imagine if Five traveled around the world instead of staying in Miami... this idea has been stuck in my head for weeks but wow I didn't have any time to actually do something ab it

Now I'm thinking about making a fanfic that continues from when Five lands in Miami. He'll leave America and go to Europe or smth

This will be very self indulgent and probably out of character I'm sorry ab that

I don't even know where to send him. I'm thinking about Portugal first and then he'll travel around the whole world

Another thing, I have no idea if this will connect to the main story or if I'll just write until I'm out of ideas. And I have no idea how I'm gonna get his other Legacy into this. I guess flying is enough for travelling around the world

Please give me some ideas ab where to send him