#maybe I sound facile or plain ignorant

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

I'm compelled to present a couple of points:

First, I work at the Kingpin of Corporate Greed (Walmart) and they are now driving profits by cutting their available manhours down drastically. So those who still shop there, be prepared for even less help than you've seen in the past year. Lines will be long & longer, staff won't be well trained in any particular area because they are spread too thin to learn about the products in order to answer customers questions/needs, and customers are getting incredibly short-tempered (because they haven't caught onto Corporate protecting their own salaries & bonuses by heaping too much work onto too little workers; get used to it, friends, because it's the new, permanent normal). The phones go unanswered much of the time--but if you do manage to get through, don't rely on whomever picked up to give you a correct answer. Walmart made money hand over fist during the lockdowns, and they will do whatever they can to keep their coffers overflowing, while touting their own awesomeness for paying more than minimum wage--so that newbies will start at nearly the same wage as associates who've been there a decade or more.

Second, I was conducting a wire transfer for a regular customer the other day; he was sending money to a cousin in British Columbia, trying to help the cuz & family out. He told me gasoline there is the equivalent of $10/gallon--and that people literally are having problems affording food. Are the oil companies using current events to goose their profits? I dunno, as certainly other economic factors and geo-political problems play into it. But in the end, I firmly believe that any capitalism that is not tied to a good moral code--say, something like greed is not good, and let's stop only looking out for ourselves--will always end up this way.

This greedy system is headed for a big fall, and it's always we little guys that get crushed in the process.

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: You have some kind of nightmare and Bucky wakes you up but he’s still a prick and you have a fight.

Warnings: Flashback, mention of experiments, hydra facility, creepy stuff and I probably forgot something so forgive me. -> 18+ !!

Other: English isn’t my fist language so I apologize for eventual mistakes.

-> Masterlist

-> Part three ; Part five

-> Nonie (04)

A little you was sitting in the corner of your room. The place you called home was clean and sterile, empty of any unnecessary comforts - not that you knew what the word truly meant. The only source of light was coming from the single light bulb hung from the ceiling, and your bed - big enough to at least fit you - was pushed against a wall, it’s thin mattress covered in white sheets.

The walls were bare; you were not given anything normal kids your age had to at least make it seem more than just a prison. It was naked of any type of decoration, no pictures or paintings… just plain grey. And you loved it.

One day, your usual routine was changed. Up until then you had been alone, the only people you talked to were the scientists and Mrs White who came in to see how you were doing and tell you all about the process they were making thanks to you. But that day, you remember the sound of that huge, scratched iron door open and an Hydra agent escorting a girl into the room.

Not a word was exchanged before you and the new person were left alone. To be honest, you were curious but also confused - why did they brought her in all of a sudden? Was she another special girl? Were you not good enough anymore? You didn’t like that idea.

You watched as she went to sit on the other corner of the room, her head low, and you spent the whole day listening to her sobbing. Why was she crying, you did not know. How could she cry when she was in the safest place on earth?

Ungrateful. And she was evidently older than you, maybe sixteen or even seventeen - she should have understood her worth already at that age.

In the days that followed, you learned absolutely nothing about her. She never spoke and she spent most of her time confined to her side of the room - she wasn’t even given a mattress, and she did nothing to let you know if perhaps she was tired of sleeping on the floor. All you heard were her hums at night, melodies you didn’t know.

But for some reason, you liked having her there.

Eventually, days turned into weeks and your curiosity towards her only grew and it almost became an obsession - you wanted to get her to talk but never succeeded. Each day, like a clockwork, the girl was escorted out of the room by Hydra agents and each day, when she would return, her demeanor grew more unsettling.

“And so today Mrs White gave me a candy. She said I deserved it after I found where those criminals were hiding.” You said, hopping onto your bed as you stared at her - she was finally given one too, and now she did nothing rather than lay on it as days passed by. “Did she ever give you a candy? The one that looks like a bear - have you ever seen a bear?”

At your questions, all you could hear was nothing except her breathing. There wasn’t even a window in there. “Oh, yeah. You don’t talk. Mrs White says that when people ignore you, they are being extremely dis- dispec - I don’t remember the word she used. But it’s not nice!”

Nothing. She didn’t even blink, sometimes you had to walk over there to check if she was still breathing. “Whatever.” You sighed. “I’ll bring you a candy next time I’m done with a successful mission. Maybe you’ll talk to me. Or I can steal one - maybe I could. I don’t know. What do you think? Do you want a candy?”

Silence.

“Alright. Then I’ll bring you one.” You smiled at her. “But you need to tell me your name, I can’t keep referring to you as the ‘new girl’, it’s been… I don’t know. But surely more than a day!”

The girl stayed silent. Her eyes fixated on the ceiling.

“Mrs White says my blood is fundamental for whatever they’re working on, you know? We’re here to save the world.” You continued. “She said there are some people who don’t want that, like Natasha Romanoff. The prodigy of the Red Room, have you ever met her? She came here a few years ago and taught me how to shoot properly. And now, turns out that she’s been corrupted.” You sighed “You’re a great listener, at least.” You turned around, giving your back to her. Maybe she just didn’t like you.

Still, no response. Not even a hum of acknowledgement.

Your frustration mounted with each passing day, your attempts to communicate with her were always ignored and you were met with nothing but silence.

“Is there something wrong, kid?” One of Hydra’s agents, Ezra you had learnt, asked you one day as he was escorting you back to your room after another evening of restless training. You had to be at your best, they said, all the time.

“No.” You sighed, as your body felt like burning - that day they had gone heavy on you, but you managed well. You were the only survivor, as per usual. “When can I go outside? I want to help on the field.”

“Soon enough, kid. We have a problem in stars and stripes to take care of. Mrs White believes you can do it.”

You felt a sense of pride in you at his words. That man, they called him Captain America, was a heavy problem for the world. He was the one who kept ruining any attempt to make the world a better place, always stepping in to cause chaos. He needed to be eliminated and you wished it would be you to do so, after all you had the skills to do it.

“Then I won’t disappoint her.”

Once you got back to your room with the biggest grin ever, you saw Nonie - as you nicknamed her - sitting on her bed with her back on the wall, staring straight ahead of her. You sat right in her line of view, which was on your mattress, crossing your legs one over the other. “Guess what?”

Blank stare.

“I’ll kill Mr Captain America one of these days. I know I’m not as skilled as Winter is, but I can do it. I know I can.” You started to ramble convinced that she wouldn’t pay attention to you since she never did, but soon enough, too focused on your own words, you felt a hand on your tight.

A cold, almost imperceptible touch. She had walked towards you, kneeling down in the end as her legs were too weak to hold her light weight for longer than a few steps.

You stared into her soulless eyes for a moment, before she shook her head.

“No? What - what do you mean no?” You looked at her dumbfounded. “You don’t want me to kill him? Nonie, I h-”

But before you could continue, she crawled back to her bed in the same position she was in. You stayed silent too, for a moment. For a long, tense moment.

“So you can understand what I’m saying! You can hear me!” You realized, getting up. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Nonie made a movement with her pale hand to tell you to get closer to her - which you did without second thinking. Those few steps felt like happening in slow motion and once you were right in front of her, she raised that same hand to her mouth; her fingers grazing the edge of her lips.

You frowned, but you didn’t have the time to utter a word that she stuck out her tongue - or what was left of it.

≈

“For fuck’s sake - Emma!” Your eyes snapped open at Bucky’s voice, your heart racing in your chest as you sat up in bed, your forehead almost colliding against his.

You couldn’t help but dream about her, giving what you and Dean had saw just hours prior. She always came back into your memories one way or another, whether it was with a nightmare or just with a simple thought during the day - she was always there, in the back of your mind. And no matter how much years had passed since then, Nonie wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Bucky spoke again with a sharp tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve been trying to wake you up the whole night.”

You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by his harsh tone and the fact that he was sitting so close to you. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I had a nightmare.”

Bucky’s expression unexpectedly softened, though you could still sense some irritation. You knew he had trouble sleeping too, and waking up in the middle of the night due to someone else’s problems wasn’t really ideal. “Nightmare, huh? Great, now we’re both awake.”

You closed your eyes and took a breath for a moment as you tried to find the right words to say. You never meant to disturb him but you could not control how your mind worked - and Wanda wasn’t even there to help you. Sometimes you gave her permission to get inside your head and erase the bad memories for one night so you could properly rest, but she wasn’t with you and so you had to do it alone. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, his demeanor softening ever so slightly. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” He admitted gruffly. He better than anyone could understand how you mist be feeling, and he could have approached it better. “It’s been a long day and I guess I’m just on edge.”

You huffed. “Believe me, I know.”

Bucky exhaled as he was still sitting on your bed, the situation becoming awkward. He got up, but didn’t leave quite yet. You saw some uncertainty in his eyes before he spoke again.

“Food always helps me with nightmares.” He cleared his throat, his tone softer than before. But not much, he was still Bucky Barnes after all. “Come downstairs with me. Dean left some pizza in the fridge before leaving.”

You noticed you were hungry now that he mentioned food. Once you and Dean got home after the investigation, still unsure of what you saw - or, rather, still hoping your mind had played an awful joke on you, you went straight in your room. You had left the task to explain things to Sam and Bucky to Dean.

“One thing I learned about Dean is that he becomes a mad man if someone touches his food.” You let out a small chuckle, getting up the bed.

“He left it for you.” Bucky admitted.

“Oh.” That was surprising. “I was going to eat it anyway but I will feel less guilty knowing it was already mine.”

Together you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, the silence was oddly comfortable for once. You sat down while Bucky took the pizza box from the fridge and tossed it your way. Action you thanked with a smile.

He rummaged through the cabinets searching for something to eat himself. He sat on the chair beside yours with a box of homemade biscuits - wait, homemade biscuits?

“The old lady that lives on the other side of the street brought these over today, when you and Dean were at the Miller’s house.” He explained after reading your expression. “We’re invited at her niece’s birthday party this weekend, by the way. I said yes.”

You being invited to a party full of strangers wasn’t really on the list of the things you liked to do since you were as social as a rock but what you wanted went into the toilet the second you became an Avenger. Like that time you and Pietro were sent on a mission on a yacht - you were scared as hell of the sea after a certain God of Mischief made you watch Titanic changing the finale with your face instead of Rose’s. But that was another story.

“Great.” You sighed.

“So, the investigation. How did it go? You came home quite traumatized.” He raised a brow, and you didn’t miss the judgement in his tone.

You stiffened for a second, your mind went inevitably back there just as soon as you were starting to think about something else. “I wasn’t traumatized. I just… if you had seen that, you would have understood.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? Seeing the breakdown of an hysterical old lady after she lost her daughter doesn’t seem so terrible compared to what we’re used to, come on now.”

You frowned. That was the last of your concerns, you weren’t a therapist or something but a breakdown was certainly not that woman’s biggest problem. “Dean didn’t- he didn’t tell you everything?”

It was Bucky’s time to frown. “He told us what happened. You two arrived there, the woman was obviously grieving her missing daughter and she had a break down after asking one too many questions which led to her kicking you out.” He reassumed everything Dean had said. “Isn’t that all?”

You gulped. Dean kept his mouth shut about that, and you wondered why. Bucky knew what Hydra was capable of, but that? That was something beyond imaginable. Still, before talking to Bucky about it you wanted to know why Dean kept it a secret and why he didn’t seem to freak out as any other normal person would - beside you.

“No, that’s all.” You said after a moment, sounding as sincere as possible. “It’s just… her daughter’s probably dead and… and seeing her reaction wasn’t easy.”

“Mh.” He nodded, seeming to believe you. “Rich coming from you.” He said after, turning back into himself - for a second there you almost forgot how infuriating he was.

“Excuse me?”

“Rich coming from you.” He repeated casually. “Didn’t you use to kidnap people yourself for Hydra? Or maybe… bring back the ones lucky enough to break free from their control?

You stayed momentarily silent. “No.” You answered. “I never kidnapped anyone or brought back anyo- what the fuck is your problem, man?”

“I have absolutely zero problems, but I wonder if you even have the right to feel bad when you used to do the same to innocent people - willingly.” His tone was as light as if he was talking about a damn football game.

“You killed dozens of people too.”

“I was brainwashed, and I feel guilty enough. You were not.” He fired back. “And you never apologized.”

“I was a fucking child, Barnes.” You reminded him, clenching your jaw. “I thought I was doing the right thing by complying, just like you were!”

“I know that, Dayne, I’m not an idiot. But you’ve been indoctrinated with their ideas all your life, which is exactly why I wonder how the fuck it is that you’re on our side now.” He said, leaning back on the chair. “I’m not attacking you, just curious.”

“It’s been ten years, it took me a long time to see things the right way.” You said, really stopping the urge to flip the table and walk out dramatically. “And it looks like an attack to me.”

“It’s not.” He remarked. “You know, Rumlow was a SHIELD agent while being loyal to Hydra. If he did it, I won’t get off the table the fact that you could be doing the same.”

“I never joined Hydra willingly, I was born there!” You shot back to that lunatic asshole. “Rumlow joined those people because he believed in their ideas, to me their ideas were the only thing I’ve ever known! Excuse me if I didn’t know a difference between the good and the bad when I was told that killing people was the only way humanity could survive!”

He sighed at that. Maybe he had been too harsh?

“You’ve been brainwashed in a way, and I in another. If you think I’m some kind of monster for what I did or I cannot be trusted, then we may not be so different.” You spat while pulling yourself up from the chair with force, the legs scrapping against the floor. “And if you wake me up again I’ll stick that metal arm up your ass.”

With that, you left him in the kitchen alone. Fuck him and fuck whatever his problem was.

[carb0n-m0n0xid3]

Dear God, this took forever to write

Ok so, I made a short story to submit into a writing contest (maybe). I am still deciding whether to put in that story or poems (as that is the choice). But Here it is, I hope you guys enjoy it :3

It was an ordinary day for the centaur, locked up in his cell with thick, cold chains rubbing his skin raw. He had grown used to such troubles though, as he had others far worse to deal with in this harsh facility. He had long forgotten his old life, practically raised in these cruel conditions since being abducted nearly two decades ago.

“Subject 70424!” called Dr. Shridener, a scientist, hitting his cell door with her clipboard to wake him. She had done so successfully, watching his fright with an annoyed expression..

He awoke startled, stretching up from the old dirty mat he had called a bed, dusting off his medical robe. He had wished so dearly to wake with the rising sun rather than by someone inhumane screaming orders at him. But as of now that was just a silly dream, perhaps once a distant, fading memory.

“Yes, ma’am” he anxiously muttered, hesitantly approaching the cell’s door. He held his lanky arms out to her through the bars, guessing she'd want to see the progress of his healing skin grafts.

“Ahh” Dr. Shridener said with some hope, snatching the centaur’s arm in a tightening grip, causing slight winces to escape him. She hummed whilst observing the old scarring, though her smile faded in disappointment. It was unfortunate for her to see the start of an infection along the site of the grafted skin that his own had rejected.

“Another failure, I see..” she hissed, releasing his arm from her grasp. The centaur retreated back with a flinch, watching her scribble some notes on her clipboard. He sighed, knowing this meant more tests. Why were they even doing this, seeing what skins are compatible with his own? He had no clue, but surely he would find out in the future.. right?

He was then transported by Dr. Shridener towards the medical bay, though already knew the way from the amount of times he had gone. Down the hall and take a right, down that long hall… then past the dreaded “extermination chambers”. He never dared to think of what was done there, fearing for his life each time he was near that section of the facility. It was occasional to hear the wails of innocent creatures from within, though he tried to ignore such terrorizing sounds of annihilation.

Once in the bay, the centaur was guided to a room, knowing what would happen within. Eventually came in another scientist to conduct the procedures on him, one whose name tag read “Dr. Favela”. 

He entered without a greeting, a rather stern, plain look on his face. He adjusted his gloves and brought out a kit, one all too familiar to the centaur. From within the kit, he drew out some appliances, preparing anesthesia to momentarily sedate the centaur. The poor creature had grimaced, still uneasy at the sight of needles despite how often he had seen them.

He inhaled sharply as the needle penetrated him, slowly numbing his frail skin with its liquids within. His eyes began to grow heavy, faltering and shutting once succumbing to the substance.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

A few weeks had passed since the operation, the centaur’s arm currently bandaged with gauze, cleaned daily with painful antibiotics. He could barely sleep with the agony, though whenever he could, it never completely satisfied his fatigued state. He dreamt daily of the wilderness, clips and blurs of his past memories blended together. He was tired of these same cold gray walls, the thick bars containing him, and heavy chains that prohibited freedom, or even slight movement.

“Subject 70424!” yelled Dr. Shridener, once again slamming her clipboard on the cell door. The centaur awoke with a shudder, already forgetting the sweet serenity of his fantastical dreams. He approached, the chains clanking along the floor as he trotted a short distance to her, rolling up the grimy sleeves of his robe to reveal his bandaged arm. She unwrapped the gauze with one gloved hand, the other holding his arm tightly. 

He watched her with a growing sense of anxiety, as Dr. Shridener was never one to smile, even less one as wide as this. He glanced down to his arm, seeing the patch of grafted skin beginning to heal with his own. It.. worked? After all this time, it finally worked?

“Dr. Favela will be thrilled when he sees this..” she said, releasing his arm and grabbing her clipboard, unable to wipe the grin from her face. 

The centaur sighed shakily, not really knowing how to feel about this. The graft worked, but now what? What were they going to do with this? With him? As of now he was just led back towards the medical bay, taking the mundane route towards the room. He followed Dr. Shridener down the hall and to the right, watching her strides. He was led forward and past the extermination chambers, feeling that same uneasy feeling in his gut.

She was the first to enter the room, glancing around with the same smile.

“Dr. Favela~ Oh doc-”

“I am busy.” he snapped, turning in his chair from his computer. His expression was the same as always, dull and tiresome. After glancing between the two he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to his computer.

“The grafts worked” Dr. Shridener said, pulling the centaur in and revealing his arm to the scientist.

At this Dr. Favela finally perked up, leaving his chair to observe the arm. The centaur couldn't understand what the whole deal was with his skin grafts. Sure, it was different and interesting, but why did they need this information? Being lost in thought he missed their conversation, but knew he was going to go somewhere different. 

This time he was led through the facility by Dr. Favela, following the man closely. The hall trailed throughout the building, finally ending at two towering doors. The centaur shuddered at the sight, entering the cold room. There were several machines, ones he did not recognize, and have never seen before. 

“Come” said Dr. Favela, motioning for him to approach one of the benumbed machines.

“They are just larger, modified CAT scans and X-rays” he said in a monotone voice, seemingly annoyed at the centaur’s fear.

“But I suppose you know nothing about machines, due to your lack of knowledge.”

The centaur approached with dreadful submission, shaking with fear at what might go wrong. The scientist was right, he didn't know what these machines were, or what they even did. But he listened to the instructions, finding out that getting these “scans” as Dr. Favela says, was a pretty harmless task.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

After nearly two months of scans and blood work, the centaur was deemed “ready” for a plan.. one he still wasn't informed of. All he knew was that it was a surgical procedure, but that only terrified him further.

“Oh Subject 70242” Dr. Shridener called, this time waking him without the whacking of her clipboard on the cell door. It was abnormal for the centaur to see her in such a positive state. But he stood and approached still, heart racing in a fretful manner. 

She had gathered him and led him to another new area, going straight down the hall from his cell. The walls seemed to fade from a bland gray to a soft blue, bringing a sense of serenity to the centaur, though he was still troubled at this uncertainty.

They had finally approached a pre-op room, about four other staff within the room. Dr. Shridener gave orders to the nurses before leaving, the four now glancing over to the centaur. They began to approach, some holding needles and others disinfectants. He failed to back away, bumping into the wall while nervously clutching the medical robe’s sleeves.

“What's going on?” the centaur finally sputtered, feeling an uneasiness deep within himself, as if passing the extermination chambers.

“SPOS? Surgical Process of Separation? Did they not tell you?” One nurse said, rolling her eyes as she paused. Another had begun to approach the centaur, raising the needle in his hand closer to the shaking creature.

They were going to separate his.. what? He could barely think straight when informed of this operation. How would he be after? They are posing a major risk to his life, just to see what might happen? Just to make him “normal”? He froze in his spot, clutching his chest as the four came closer. This was it. His life could all end here if he did nothing. Was there anything he could even do? 

The centaur snatched the medkit on the counter beside him, throwing it at the nurses as a quick distraction before bolting out of the room. His hoofbeats echoed throughout the halls, nearly matching with the speed of his racing heart. He could only try to focus on escaping, fleeing from this inhumane facility as horrid questions flooded his head. Why would anyone propose such an idea? Is that why they needed the scans? The successful grafts? What if I get captured? Would they return me for the surgery, or worse, extermination?

Alarms began to blare throughout the building, red lights flashing as a voice came upon the speakers:

“SUBJECT 70242 ATTEMPTING AN ESCAPE, HEADING TOWARDS SOUTH-EAST LOBBY.”

The centaur could already hear the sounds of security approaching, their footsteps growing louder as he rounded the corner, seeing the emergency exit just ahead. Closer and closer he got, heart pumping at speeds he never knew were safe, spreading fear and terror throughout his frail body.

“STOP RIGHT THERE” He heard guards yell, running towards with guns aimed at him. But he continued on, disregarding their threats. His breath grew quick as he raced down the hall, finally bursting through the emergency door with gunshots echoing behind him, some just skimming the hems of his robe.

The night's cool air refreshed the centaur for a moment, something he hadn't felt in forever. He threw off the robe while darting throughout the lot, seeing a dense forest just ahead. His throat burned and his lungs ached, but he persisted, hearing the shouts of others fade behind him. The thoughts of being captured continued to fill his mind, fueling his terrorizing dread and perseverance to keep on racing through the forest.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

After hours and hours of treading, the centaur finally slowed, his body giving out from fleeing such a great distance. He grew exhausted and lied to the forest floor, joyfully weeping at his deliverance. Grasping the wet grass with tight fists he laughed, feeling as if in one of those dreams he had whilst in captivity. It all felt so unreal, the newness of the woods overwhelming him with glee and tranquility. He took a shaking breath, watching the sun slowly rise with its glory. A widening smile began to grow on the centaur’s face, the first genuine smile he had experienced in a very long time.

[peachy-panic]

“Look at me.”

Hi there. I’m new here, but also very much not, which is to say you’ve probably seen me pop up a few dozen (hundred) times in your notifications with likes and comments and the occasional ask when I’m feeling brave, sliding under the radar from the safety of my obscure fandom-turned-main account.

POINT IS, I’m no stranger to the wonderful works of this community, and CERTAINLY no stranger to whump appreciation, even if I haven’t always had a word for it. And because I’ve been so inspired by all the talented writers here, I’ve decided to finally cut loose and throw my own work into the ring, and the whole @whumpmasinjuly thing seemed like an opportune time to pop up.

I’ve aggressively lurked on so many of your pages in the last year so I’m sure I’m leaving someone out, but I did want to tag a few of the writers who have really motivated me to start this page just by reading their writing:

@ashintheairlikesnow @orchidscript @deluxewhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @card-games-and-pain

And if you’ve made it this far into the post, we’ve arrived at the actual content. This snippet is from a project I started writing before I knew about the existence of the BBU, but I’ve slowly started molding it into something that fits more-or-less within the bounds of that collective universe. Some things may take slightly different turns to the rules established there, but it’s the same general concept.

Without further ado.

PROMPT: “Look at me.”

WARNINGS: General BBU-esque warnings, human trafficking, slavery, non-con (fade-to-black ish but the lead up is… Not Great). Let me know if I missed anything!

He knows something is off right away when Mr. Torley calls to him from the end of the long hallway on the other side of the house. 

When the children are home, Jaime is confined to the main common areas: the living room that spills into the large open-concept kitchen, the guest bathroom, the laundry room (where he has already spent most of his time working), the boys’ toy room (where he has only gone to clean up after them), and of course, the small room he has been given to sleep in, which he is sure once served as some sort of storage area. 

At the mouth of the living room is a corridor that leads to Mr. Torley’s study, and across from that, his bedroom. So he is told. Jaime was given instructions never to go into that wing of the house unless explicitly invited. He has been in his new home assignment for three days now and has never once been asked to cross those bounds. 

Until now. 

Carefully, Jaime places the mug he had been diligently scrubbing in the basin of the sink and shuts off the tap. He looks around for the hand towel and, remembering he had thrown it in with the last load of laundry, dries his hands on his t-shirt instead.

There’s a shift in the air, something thick and weighty and terrible as he steps into the opening of the hallway, but he doesn’t allow himself a moment to hesitate. He pads near-silently forward, toward the only open door, all the way at the end. 

In the threshold between the hall and the master bedroom, Jaime’s toes brush against where pristine hardwood meets soft carpet. It feels good against his bare feet after days of standing on an unforgiving surface without the allowance of shoes or socks, but not nearly good enough to settle the uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach. Mr. Torley sits on the edge of the bed, a long, deep-colored robe covering most of his body, save for the deep strip of exposed skin down his chest where a few patches of thick, dark hair peek through. Jaime forces his eyes up to his.

“You called for me, Sir?” His voice low and steady, even as his eyes draw unwittingly to the lamp on the bedside table, which has been dimmed to an orange glow that makes the room feel small and suffocatingly warm. 

“Come here,” his Keeper beckons, and Jaime’s muscles operate by the hand of some unseen force, pushing him forward. He only makes it half a step in before Mr. Torley raises a hand, gesturing to where the light of the hallway spills in around his silhouette. “Close the door behind you.”

Jaime’s limbs feel very heavy all of a sudden, but he moves anyway, a phantom sting buzzing beneath his skin at even the briefest thought of hesitation. Never make your Keeper wait. Never let your Keeper ask twice. 

The hallway is plain and sterile, much like the rest of the Torley house, but Jaime stares longingly out at it as he pulls the door shut, wishing he were out there instead.

When the door clicks shut, he can feel a pair of eyes rake down his back like cold fingertips. It raises the hair on the back of his neck, his skin breaking out in an unpleasant chill, but he forces perfect neutrality into his expression before he turns around. He zeroes in on the sensation of soft carpet under his soles instead of the prickling dread under his skin as he makes his way toward the bed, coming to a stop a couple feet away.

Mr. Torley chuckles under his breath, a low, amused sound that Jaime is already getting used to hearing. He seems to reserve it for Jaime alone and it always serves to make him feel like there is some sort of private joke he’s not been let in on. Or, more accurately, that he is the joke, and he can’t quite stifle the lingering sense of shame that comes with that. 

“I said, come here.” It’s a direct order, but paired with a hint of amusement and something darker swimming behind his eyes. He rubs a hand invitingly, pointedly, over the comforter next to him and Jaime swallows back a lump in his throat that feels a lot like bile.

He isn’t stupid. Despite everything that’s been told to him, he’s not. But in that moment he wishes maybe he was, and then ignorance could be bliss for just a few more seconds. He knows where this is headed, and he knows that it’s wrong. It is against the policies, against the rules, he knows it is, but he isn’t surprised, either. It hadn’t taken long at the training facility to discover that the system on paper looks a whole lot different than the system in practice. 

“‘We uphold a zero-tolerance policy for the sexual exploitation and abuse of Domestic workers,’” a cruel, mocking voice recites in his head, alongside the memory of a leather-gloved thumb sliding between his lips, his wide, tearful eyes glued to the tiny, black remote in his handler’s fist. 

The skin beneath his collar burns at the memory, and he raises his fingers absently to touch there, half expecting to feel the heavy weight of the electric clip attached. He doesn’t, of course, and the only electricity he feels now is of a different nature, coming off his Keeper in waves as he waits, a bit more impatiently with every second, for Jaime to sit. 

So he does. 

Mr. Torley crowds his space immediately, and his instinctive response to pull away is smothered by a heavy arm draping over his shoulders and a droning voice inside his head. You must make yourself available at all times. You may not refuse any order or request that does not directly interfere with the wellbeing of another person. Jaime allows himself to wonder, for the briefest moment, if his wellbeing counts for anything. He knows it doesn’t. They had just spent the past three months teaching him, in every way imaginable, that he was not, in fact, a person at all.

All the offhand remarks from the trainers, the lewd sneers, the heavy-lidded glances and roaming hands… they had all painted him a picture of what to expect. He had just tricked himself into thinking that maybe, hopefully, if there ever really was a god in this universe that loved him like he was sure he once believed, that he was wrong. In the three days since he had stepped foot into his newest post, Jaime had managed to convince himself that maybe, possibly, he had gotten one of the good ones. 

Mr. Torley is all too happy to shatter the illusion as his finger and thumb find Jaime’s earlobe, rubbing it between them and then ghosting down the side of his neck. 

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers.

Jaime’s blood runs cold. 

You may not refuse any order or request. He can’t conceal the trembling in his fingers as they curl around the hem of his standard-issue grey t-shirt. You may not refuse any order or request. The warm ambience of the room feels startlingly cold against his naked torso as he pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall in a soft whisper onto the carpet. You may not refuse any order or request. His arm is back around his shoulders instantly, hot and cold assaulting his skin all at once and he feels so exposed and he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to do this. 

Mr. Torley places a heavy palm against his chest, running it slowly downward, and Jaime can picture what it looks like without even looking; calloused pads scraping over soft skin, all thick fingers and subtly unkempt nails, the beginnings of age spots and wrinkles and small dustings of black hair across the knuckles. He thinks his keeper must be able to feel the way his heart is pounding through his ribs, and he feels a surge of embarrassment that he was sure the training should have beaten out of him.

It’s because you weren’t trained for this, the panicked voice in the back of his head screams as the hand trails lower, grazing the thin patch of hair below his navel. This isn’t supposed to happen. This is against policy. You weren’t made for this. His skin feels static in every place Mr. Torley’s fingers brush, and he wishes he could dissolve under them.

“You’re shaking, baby.” Jaime winces at the unexpected term of endearment. So far, it has only been boy, curt and abrasive when thrown in his direction, usually followed by a direct order. “Have you never had a man touch you like this?”

His mind supplies a horror show of memories, flashes of images behind closed eyelids -  leather-gloved hands and concrete rooms of the training facility - and he realizes he doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to cry. Can’t cry. Isn’t allowed to cry. Then there are fingers on his chin, on his jaw, softer than any of his touches have ever been; soft like the word baby on his lips, soft like the half-lidded eyes that he is forced to meet. 

“I asked you a question.”

“I haven’t. Sir.” His voice shakes, barely a whisper. 

It is mostly true, probably in the way Mr. Torley really meant it, and unfortunately seems to be exactly the answer he was looking for. Dread splits Jaime in two. One part, the part of him that’s hazy and pliant and good tells him he has done a good job, that he has pleased his Keeper, he has said the right thing. His keeper’s needs are his needs, if his Keeper is happy, he is happy. 

The other part just keeps screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

He doesn’t want this.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, he’s not supposed to have wants.

But this isn’t allowed.

His Keeper is happy.

Please, please stop touching me.

He can’t say no, no is forbidden to him.

Please don’t make me do this.

His keeper is smiling.

“You’re very lucky,” Mr. Torley says, dragging the thumb that was holding his jaw over he’s lower lip. “They could have given you to any one of your bidders, and trust me… there are some messed up people out there who invest in the services of Domestic Companions. But I can be good to you.”

Somehow, he doesn’t feel very lucky at all.

“Yes, sir,” he says, a bit breathless as fingers trace up and down his spine. His own fingers curl into the bedsheets on the opposite side of his thigh where Mr. Torley can’t see the outward signals of his distress, though from the naked delight in his eyes as he watches him, he doesn’t think he minds. 

There are lips on his before he can even process what is happening, and he feels his whole body go rigid in his Keeper’s hold. He’s never been kissed before and the cold wetness against his mouth is nothing like the movies make it out to be. It’s hard to wrap his head around the overwhelming sensation, but the one thing he knows for sure, immediately, is that he hates it. 

He hates his first kiss unlike anything he’s hated before. Terror and humiliation seize him in equal stride as he realizes he doesn’t really know what to do. He is frozen, for a moment, his own pulse beating wildly in his ears as slimy lips move against his own. When Mr. Torley cups a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to lean into the kiss, his mouth opens instinctively, submitting to the insistence of the movement, and this seems to be exactly what he was looking for. A low, throaty hum vibrates against his mouth and Jaime clamps his eyes shut tight. He feels like he might die. For a moment, he kind of wishes he would.

He doesn’t register the pressure of the hand against his chest until his back is already pressed into the duvet. Mr. Torley sits up then, breaking the kiss, then stands. Jaime doesn’t look at him - he can’t bring himself to - but he can feel his eyes on him anyway. Thick fingers hook into the elastic of the thin, gray pants he had been given three days prior, and his breathing goes flat. Please don’t please don’t please don’t, his brain lights up with panic, every nerve ending in his body on high alert. But he doesn’t move, other than to close his trembling fingers around the material on either side of him, curling the soft fibers of the duvet into his fists. He wants to close his eyes, but he can feel them burning, then swimming with moisture, and he knows if he clamps his eyelids shut, the tears will spill over and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Torley.

Instead, he stares up at the ceiling fan, focusing on the long, thin blades of wood instead of the feeling of cool air against his lower half as the material is pulled away from him. He hears the rustle of cloth as his pants join the discarded shirt on the carpet at his feet, and then another sound of the same, this time heavier, but he doesn’t dare look away from the grey clump of dust dangling from one of the fan blades above him.

Worse than the chill of the exposure is the heat that follows in the form of skin on skin, an immovable weight settling over his body. His throat jerks in another attempt at a sob, a plea that can’t let free. He swallows it down and tells himself that if he just keeps staring at that one spot of dust, he isn’t really here, that his keeper is not on top of him, that this isn’t about to happen to him. 

But he is. It is. There’s no stopping it now. There never was.

“Look at me.” 

For the first time, he allows his eyes to slip shut in a quiet moment of defeat - just a singular moment of hesitation before he follows the command. He feels the moisture slipping out at the corners but he can’t do anything to stop them even if his hands weren’t being slowly pressed above his head and into the mattress. When he opens his eyes, he looks up into the cold expression hovering over him, fully eclipsing the spot of his previous focus. It’s just him now. It’s all him, every one of his senses besieged by the one person whose life he is supposed to center himself around now. In that context, perhaps this should feel exactly right. 

Somehow, it doesn’t. Not at all.

[ragingbookdragon]

These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

���You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

[slashbitch2]

Extra Complications

never expected to be crushing on an animated character but here we are

Next Chapter

It was sneaky. Perhaps cheating by some standards. But from your perspective, it was a damn good plan.

Ironically you'd seen the advertisement for the Alchemax internship right after being flung into a wall by the very same woman who'd likely approved the broadcast. Olivia Octavius, or Doc Ock as you ought to refer to her in costume. Though she'd given you little time to read up on 'how to apply', as moments later a car was thrown in your direction, which was very inconsiderate of her, but was also all the persuasion you needed.

At this point, you'd be willing to do anything if it contributed to thwarting her, surely, very evil plan. Of course you admired the woman for her general genius and eccentricity, but the constant unprovoked conflict was becoming tiresome. It felt as if she were trying to determine how much of a threat you posed, whereas, you liked to think your legacy as 'that Spider-Person who sometimes saves the day' was all the evidence necessary.

Honestly, you weren't certain as to what exactly her, no doubt, villainous plan entailed besides patrolling the streets in green swimming goggles and black spandex with ridiculous plastic tubes jutting out of her back. In fact, it was ridiculous that no one had made any attempt to stop her yet. Unlike your identity, kept secret by a more modest spandex suit, hers was public knowledge.

Sometimes, it seemed as though you were the enemy here.

Which is precisely why infiltrating her team of scientists was more than appropriate. You were about to single handily take down an international threat, one hidden in plain sight, but left untouched due to the company's vast money, leverage and prestige.

Someday the city would thank you for your many sacrifices. Specifically for voluntarily working another job without pay. Y/N Y/L/N, broke intern by day, friendly neighbourhood Spider-Person by night.

"Excuse me?" A voice called from the left, your vision of them obstructed by an inconveniently placed potted plant. "Are you the new intern?" The person stepped closer, briefly glancing up at you, then back down at a sheet of paper. "Y/N Y/L/N?" The woman's timid appearance hardly screamed villainous scientist, but then again, looks can be deceiving.

"Yes, that's me." You stood, reaching out to shake her hand.

She sighed in relief, shaking your hand a tad too enthusiastically. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Marie and I'll be getting you settled in for the first few days."

A spark of disappointment flashed across your mind. Olivia hadn't been there for your interview, nor had any sway in your hiring, and now she wasn't even the person greeting you on your first day. Although you had no right to be, you felt rather offended by the lack of challenge she was providing. It was almost too easy.

---

To be fair, Marie was the perfect candidate to give you a tour of the facility. She was kind and patient, but not condescending. She seldom spoke beyond what was required of her, unless you asked something work related, when her lengthy response would affirm her status as an epicure of scientific knowledge. By midday, you'd decided she was someone to befriend, and subsequently accepted her invitation to have lunch together.

You were also hoping that the team would eat lunch as a group, but alas, more disappointment. Instead, you spent the break sitting in an awkward silence with Marie, who seemed to loose basic communication skills when presented with food. In spite of her lack of engagement, you still took the opportunity to try and ascertain information about the project you'd be working on, though each time she expertly diverted the interrogation, or ignored your question entirely.

Who knew working for an evil, secretive corporation would be so boring?

It was a test of patience to be sitting in the same building as Olivia Octavius, while forced to shadow an incredibly kind, but slow eating woman. Realistically, you knew there'd be plenty of time to investigate, though you were reluctant to end the day without any progress. So, while Marie was still distracted by her lunch, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

She dismissively approved with a wave of her hand, allowing you to slip away from the dining hall. You vaguely remembered the location of Olivia's office as being on the top floor, indicated by Marie's imprecise pointing. She'd explained that very few had clearance to get in, but you'd already thought of a way to get passed the security.

Who aside from the highest ranking scientists had access to every room? Janitors, of course. Because, for some reason, cleanliness was more important than security.

It didn't take long to locate a cleaner, or much effort to pickpocket the security card. To be on the safe side, you even had an excuse ready: that the man had dropped it, that you were simply looking for him to return it. And if Olivia caught you in her office, well, she wouldn't (Spider-Senses and all). Again, it was almost too easy.

There was a minatory silence as you walked along the final corridor toward her office. Part of you felt as though this was some kind of elaborate trap, the repeated phrase 'too easy' coming to mind as you reached the door. Though the logical part of you must've known this was a fatuous suggestion, and took control.

With a final pause to confirm nobody was approaching, or was already waiting inside, you scanned the key card. The action was rewarded with a satisfactory beep, followed by the door sliding open so fast it appeared to have vanished.

The office was smaller than you anticipated. Or maybe it was the bareness of the room that caught you off guard. The woman was insane, yet her work area hardly reflected her deranged mental state. Everything was so perfectly neat that you began to wonder if you'd actually walked onto a movie set, or a photoshoot, which would've explained the strange ring lights hanging from the ceiling.

Upon reaching the centre of the room, you were struck by the realisation that you truthfully had no reason to be here. Even if the office had been as messy as you'd expected, it was unlikely that she'd leave her super evil plans lying around. Rather, It'd been some morbid curiosity that had lured you here. To see where The Doc Ock worked, where the alter ego was likely created. The reality was underwhelming to say the least.

Deciding that you'd spent enough time admiring an incredibly bland office, you exited back out into the empty corridor, nonchalantly throwing the security card behind you, certain someone would eventually return it. Then, as if right on cue, you sensed somebody approaching, soon followed by footsteps resonating from around the corner. With no way of avoiding them, you kept your head down with the intention of blending in.

Olivia Octavius rounded the corner, not sparing a glance up. She was frowning at a piece of paper, her full attention directed to it, blissfully unaware of your presence.

Instinctively, your entire body tensed at the sight of her lithe frame and mass of hair spilling out of its messy bun. Any other circumstance and you'd have fled by now, through a vent, out of the window, it didn't matter. Though you had to remind yourself that there was no reason to be afraid now. There was no possible way she could know your identity.

Nonetheless, as you passed her with less than a metre of space, you held your breath. She said nothing and you both kept walking in opposite directions.

It seemed the coast was clear. You released the breath you'd been holding and kept moving until. "Hey, wait a minute."

You froze, aching to ignore her and escape. Her voice was deep, more so than you were prepared for. While fighting, few words were exchanged, and even then they were unintelligible. Although, now was the worst time to be thinking about previous interactions, so with much difficulty, you cleared your mind. As far as anyone knew, including yourself, you were just the intern.

You ran a hand through your hair nervously, straightening out your lab coat and turning to face her. She was stood at the far end of the long white corridor, entirely unthreatening when compared to Doc Ock, who would've loomed over you menacingly.

Remembering the role you were meant to be playing, you choked out a response. "How can I be of assistance?"

"You're the new intern, right?"

"Yeah." You considered approaching to shake her hand, but the idea of awkwardly marching the length of the corridor to greet her was rather unappealing. "That's me." You settled for a polite smile and shoulder shrug instead.

She screwed up her face in consideration before crooking a finger. "Come with me."

Swallowing any concern, you nodded hesitantly. The prospect of returning to the office you'd broken into only moments ago had you dragging your feet.

She waited patiently until you were by her side to continue. "Don't worry." She scanned her key card. "I don't bite." Her tone was playful, her eyes kindly mocking.

"Good to know." You muttered, following her inside. You took a second to look around the room with mock curiosity, feeling her eyes trace your every move. Like a predator, eyeing up its prey, determining your weaknesses. Unlike the encounters with Doc Ock, it was uncertain who had the high ground here. Her gaze was putting you on edge, not dissimilar to how your character of 'the intern' would react.

"So..." She shuffled some papers around on the desk, finding what looked to be your application. "Ms. Y/L/N right?"

You confirmed with a nod, summoning the resolve to amble toward her desk.

"Take a seat." She gestured to the chair opposite, letting you sit before proceeding. "Tell me about yourself, Y/N."

You started to think of an adequate answer, but she interrupted a second later, contradicting her initial inquiry. "Are you okay with me calling you Y/N?" She leant her head on a closed fist, narrowing her eyes.

Although the question sounded considerate, you didn't feel the implied sincerity. Even if you wanted to say no, that didn't feel like a suitable response. "Sure."

Somehow, it felt like she was establishing dominance through the polite act, and combined with being under her scrutinising glare, the performance was working.

"Great." Suddenly, she leant back in her chair, all evidence of the hostile act disappearing instantaneously.

"What'd you want to know?" Mirroring her relaxed posture, you attempted to re-establish some control.

"Oh, anything." A flicker of something passed in her eyes, piqued interest possibly?

You began routinely rattling off some basic facts about yourself, nothing too specific or personal. Facts that would answer any follow up questions she might have, and yet said nothing about you. Surprisingly, she seemed hooked on your every word. The thought crossed your mind that this might be the real interview, that everything else up to this point had been a sham. But you settled on a more unsettling justification. That she was committing everything you said to memory.

Coming to the end of the informative monologue, you decided to take a risk. "Do I get to ask a question?" You raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Inquisitive. I like that." She stated, folding her arms on the desk. "Go ahead."

You decided to see how far you could push your luck. "Tell me about yourself." You smugly repeated her vague first query. It was the Doctor's turn to come up with an answer to the ambiguous demand.

She scoffed, realising your plan to make her struggle. "Touché. But I'm rather busy, so how about you pick a more specific question."

Narrowing it down, there was only one thing you wanted to ask. "Can I see the-" You waved your arms around, imitating tentacles. "the suit?"

She chuckled, slowly standing. Judging from her lack of surprise, this was likely a request she'd heard many times.

First, she removed her glasses. Then slipped out of her lab coat. Next to go was the shirt, which she pulled over her head while maintaining eye contact. You wanted to look away, out of respect, yet you didn't. Without the shirt, you noticed she was already wearing the suit underneath and had the harness strapped to her back, confirming your suspicion that she always had access to the weapon. As she was stepping out of her trousers, the arms (tentacles?) inflated, and within moments were threateningly extending to their full potential.

She smiled proudly, enjoying your stunned expression. "As good as you expected?"

"Better." Unable to resist any longer, you stood to investigate the suit in further detail. You'd never seen it stationary, or had the opportunity to try and gauge the details of how it worked. Although you argued this would be beneficial for your next fight, in reality you just wanted to admire the contraption. You circled round, marvelling at the simplicity of the design. It was convenient, yet elegant. "It's beautiful."

Coming to a stop in front of Olivia, she had an unreadable expression. A mix of emotions, most prominently confusion. To your delight, a faint blush coloured her cheeks. Whatever unspoken game you'd been playing, you were winning, or were until she said. "How'd you like to intern for me?"

You quickly recovered. "I already do."

"No." She sighed. "I mean personally. As my assistant? You'd get your own desk, an almost guaranteed job at the end of it and so much more experience than you'd bargained for." She leant forward, a little too close for comfort. There was an unhinged look in her eyes more reminiscent of Doc Ock that both convinced and deterred you. "So what'd you say?"

She genuinely wanted you to work with her.

This hadn't been part of the plan. You'd expected to spend no longer than a few months working at Alchemax. To uncover their evil scheme, figure out how to stop it and hopefully take down the company. An optimistic plan, sure, but one you'd been assured you'd stick to. Although, the opportunity to work closely with Olivia Octavian, with the Doc Ock, was too good to pass on. Not to mention, infinitely more interesting.

You grinned, embracing the insanity that your answer would incur. "I'd love to."

She clapped her hands together. "Great!" Then offered her hand for you to shake formally. "I'll sort out the paperwork and details this evening, but right now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

She left before you had the chance to say anything else, still in her suit, which left you confused for the following half hour. You finally understood upon catching a glimpse of a news alert on your phone.

Doc Ock Seizes Bank, Has Taken Hostages!

You sighed. Today was going to be a long day, and things were only going to get more complicated.

[amiechuchu]

do you do requests? :D can i request for a fluffy doctor!reader and loki? i love your mmaatib series btw!

anon!! you're making me BLUSH!!! thank you so much for your support! and sorry if this came out a bit late i was feeling a bit under the weather the past few days. i also apologize for any errors btw! as you can see, i am a very very tired student who just wants her fix of loki too :'). anyways, i hope you enjoy!

Summary: because of y/n’s incessant pestering, loki turns y/n into a cat hoping that it would give him a moment’s peace.

Warnings: none

Catastrophe.

Loki had become accustomed to the smell of disinfectants that linger in the medical wing as his visits became more and more frequent. Although he hated to admit it, he loved the company you were able to provide. Maybe a bit more than the shared solace your safe haven have provided for the both of you. Usually, the low hum of the air-conditioning filled the room’s silence along with the small conversations you and Loki had shared. 

However, today was not one of those usual days. Today, you decided to reverse the roles, where you would be the one getting under Loki’s skin and Loki would be... Loki. Today, you decided that it would be fun to be the most annoying person in the whole Nine Realms. How? By disrupting the peace that graced this room, of course. You started off by imitating the Avengers to which he easily ignored. Then, you began imitating him, speaking of glorious purpose and whatnot, asking him to conjure his prized golden horns for you to use. Though the image that crossed his mind of you wearing his horns was temptingly adorable, his growing annoyance was far greater. Its evidence pointed at his deepening unamused pouty face.

The last straw for Loki was when you thought of imitating a variety of earth’s animals. You chirped, mooed, croaked, barked, and meowed. At that point, despite how much Loki loved hearing your voice, having a moment’s silence sounded so much sweeter to him. So, the God decided to turn you into the last animal you imitated... a cat. With a flick of his wrist, green swirls engulfed your form, and, in just mere seconds, you were transformed into a furry feline. A very cute one nonetheless.

You stood on your hind legs to admire your paws, mesmerized. Loki, on the other hand, looked pleased to see that your awe has taken over your sudden bouts of wanting to annoy him. He could finally read his book in peace, whilst stealing glances at your feline form every now and then to make sure that you don’t get into trouble. 

You took a few steps forward and a few steps back to see how comfortable it was to walk on four legs. It seemed very unnatural to you at first, but you managed. After a few minutes of walking, running, jumping, and exploring the area with your new form, you were confident that you had mastered the basics of feline movement. Without a care in the world, you began to sing Loki a song... in cat... very badly. In which, the lyrics you uttered were literally just meow, meow, meow, and meow on repeat.

“Loki,” you said in attempts to get the God’s attention. To your surprise, a meow still came out. The evident shock in your furry face shown as your irises were  enlarged and your mouth slightly open.

“Cats meow, pet,” Loki snapped at you, eyes still focused on the novel he was reading. “You know, for a mortal who treats people for a living and studies human physiology all their life, you don’t seem very smart. And no, before you even ask, I will not turn you back. ” 

Ignoring his remark, you jumped up to the table where he was situated. This time you kept tapping on his hands. “Hey, listen,” you meowed wanting the God’s undivided attention. “Wait, how can you even understand me?”

Before Loki could answer, the doors to the medical wing were swung open, revealing your boss, the one and only Tony Stark. Great. Immediately, Loki’s face soured upon seeing the man. His face all scrunched up and pouty again. You, on the other hand, pretended to be a good little kitty and lie down on the table, acting all cute and innocent. Tony wouldn’t notice, right? No, he would. But, he wouldn’t care, right? Hopefully.

“Reindeer games, have you seen the, uh, doctor in charge here. They are about this tall, and probably the only person who hangs out here majority of the time?” Tony asked, as he made gestures with his hands trying to picture out your height. He took a few glances at you - the cat - on the table as your tail gracefully wagged to-and-fro. Although a bit confused, he decided not to mind it, thinking that someone - maybe even Loki - adopted the cat and let them in the tower. Not that he really cared at the moment. Currently, the only thing nagging his brain was finding his precious doctor to finish their research agenda. This was the first time you were late and that worried Tony more than he’d like to admit. He wanted to find you before an overprotective uncle Bruce could notice, and, honestly, racing against that time period was too pressuring, even for him.

“I haven’t seen them,” Loki replied, making shooing motions with his hands. A signal that he wanted to be left alone already. The God went back to reading his novel until Tony left to scour the entire building for you, muttering something along the lines of calling Doctor Strange if he couldn't find you at all. He knew that Bruce wouldn’t take it lightly knowing his niece was missing under his watch, so calling out the all-knowing sorcerer became his trump card in case dear old Brucie decided to kick his ass for losing you.

With Tony out of the way, Loki turned his gaze on you.

Actually, on nothing now.

Of course, you had to disappear for real this time.

An exasperated sigh came out of his mouth as he realized you ran away from him. It wasn’t long until the same sense of worry Tony had came over the God. Realizing his current situation, an anxious laugh managed to come out of his mouth. Look at him, Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, a literal deity, worried about the doctor who he turned into a cat.

At this point, panicked thoughts began to rival his own logical ones.

What if someone else had picked you up? You were in a form of a feline inside a facility that clearly doesn’t deal with any animals. It wouldn't be a surprise if someone took you. Undoing the magic with this situation in mind wouldn't bring as much trouble, right?

Loki thought of undoing the magic, but another thought popped into his head before making the decision. What if you were hidden in some cramped space just waiting for him to find you? He feared that undoing it while you were in hiding might be detrimental to your own safety. As much as you annoyed him, Loki wouldn’t want to see his favorite little physician hurt in any way. 

Upon weighing all the pros and cons of the situation they were in, Loki decided to look for you the old fashioned way: by himself. Magic would be useless in this situation. Knowing you, any form of telepathic communication Loki made would just be ignored. Though he loved playing all types of games with you, this one only stressed him out. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and thought of the different places he would hide if he were you. 

The God observed his surroundings as he decided to look for you inside the medical wing first. With you in feline form, you wouldn't have the strength to push open the doors, so he deduced that you wouldn't have gotten too far. Maybe you were under the beds, hidden in the shadows. Or even at the top of the shelves, away from plain sight. He began pacing through the whitewashed rooms, looking for more clues to narrow down the possible hiding places. Upon reaching halfway through the wing, Loki noted how the afternoon sun shone brightly, through the wide glass windows especially there at the far end of the room. Coincidentally, at the same area, he also spotted a seemingly occupied hospital bed with its curtains pulled all the way. The God took a few more steps as his brain continued to wire all the information together. Finally, it dawned on him. 

That was perfect place for a catnap.

Loki crept towards the bed's entrance, careful not to make any sounds to alarm you. Anxiously, he peered through the curtains, mentally cursing himself for the crinkling sound it made. Gods, how he prayed to find you there waiting for him. Taking a deep breath, he made his way inside the secluded area to find... you basking under the sun in feline form, all curled up and asleep. Thank the Norns.

Your rhythmic purring quietly resonated throughout the area. A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, relieved to have found you. Although he was jealous of the fact that the entire time you were just fast asleep, while he had to go through such an ordeal. And so, Loki climbed on top of the bed in the most quiet way possible. Although he was slightly unsure of his actions, he did it anyway. No one else was there, no one else would know. So, there he lay beside you, comfortable with a novel in hand.

It was not long until all the adrenaline in his system died down, and Loki too needed a nap of his own. He stifled a yawn, not wanting to disturb your peaceful slumber. As time passed, the God slowly drifted to sleep, and the magic that held your form was undone. Now, there you lay beside him, adorned by the golden afternoon sun. 

Still in deep sleep, you shifted your position, attracted to the warmth the God had brought with him. Realizing the change in position, Loki, as if by reflex, took his arm and put it around the small of your waist in attempts to keep you from falling off the edge, to keep you close. His head nudged yours lightly, and there he stared, captivated, at your sleeping form. There he realized how much he really cared for you despite how much of a handful you can be sometimes. It just felt right for him to have you pressed into his chest, to have his arm around you, to have you right there by his side. 

It just felt right for him to have you. 

“Sleep well, my mischievous little doctor,” the God said as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before finally dozing off.

As the two of you blissfully slept, basking under the afternoon sun, somewhere around the tower there was a very angry Tony Stark, looking for the missing doctor. That didn't matter at all to Loki. The only thing that mattered to him then and there was you by his side, safe and sound.

It was enough for him that today didn't end in a catastrophe.

Taglist: @gaycatlord-stuff 

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: You’re a Lieutenant, stationed on Orinda. You’re content with your trustworthy crew, but issues with a certain ship (spoiler alert: it’s the TIE silencer) end up trapping you on the Steadfast, instead. Your relationship with Kylo Ren isn't how you left it. How many more messes can you stand to clean?

(Yes, this is the sequel to Fix Your Attitude.)

Words: 4500

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Umm... hi!! I don't have much to say other than I'm very excited to post this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I love you all so much. I'm genuinely lucky and grateful to have you in my life.

You weren’t ready.

Since the alert had come in that the First Order would be sending a transporter to Orinda, your hands had been jittery. There’d been no indication, no hint as to what your team should be expecting when they arrived. In the four months since you’d arrived at the fuel post, you hadn’t received a single visitor from the brass.

“Hey, Chief.” 

The voice called you as you were chest-deep in a pile of fuel-cells. Grunting, you wrenched yourself free, patting the reactor dust from your uniform. Certainly there was some in your hair, too. 

“Hey, hi Tonis, what’s up?” You tried to restrain your anxiety to the perimeter of your mind. “Can, uh, can I help you?”

Tonis, your third engineer, sighed, wrangling his hands together as he looked to the ground. “Do you know what’s going on with this transport unit arriving?” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “They’re saying that they might be shutting the post down.”

“Oh, jeez.” You shook your head, grabbing a rag from the terminal and wiping your hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I really, really, really don’t want to be moved. Again.”

Grimacing, you looked at your reflection in the terminal facade. “I know.”

“Orinda’s really great,” he said. “All the different ships we get to work on. And it’s so quiet. And our team is so great--”

“I know.” You mussed your hair, as if shoving dirty fingers through it would improve its appearance. Incredibly, it did not. “They’re only sending three people. I’m sure it can’t be that big of a deal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he said. “Don’t you think that a transport unit with only a few passengers must be here for something super-official?”

Your chest seized, and you cleared your throat, turning back to him. 

“Maybe.” You ignored the hot burn of your cheeks. “Guess we’ll see when they get here.” 

The terminal blipped, a familiar pattern that indicated the atmosphere had been breached. It’d been awhile since you’d felt like you had the power to summon anything of importance with a single thought. The reminder tweaked your heart. 

“Or… I guess we’ll see now.”

Tonis squealed, running through the post. “Hey! Hey guys! The First Order’s here! The First Order’s arrived!”

Sighing, you looked into the terminal again. Four months hadn’t changed your appearance too much. Not that it mattered. Or it might. But you wouldn’t worry about it. Only a little.

You steeled your nerves and walked out of the hangar into the dusty outcropping of the fuel outpost. Flat land stretched for miles in diameter from your station, a rolling pitch of blue mountains in the far distance, the wind whipping across the plains, rustling the dry grass. Shielding your eyes with a hand, you gazed up and spotted the transporter, a blooming black spot in the cloudless sky, quickening the pace of your pulse with every passing second.

It was just a transporter. He wouldn’t be on it. There was nothing to freak out about.

Tonis had gathered the rest of your massive crew--all three of them, him included--and they surrounded you, faces taut with anticipation.

“What do you think it is, Chief?” That was Mirna, your second engineer, a short, wide-set thing, with buzzed hair and a gruff voice. “You think they’re shutting the place down?”

“She already said she doesn’t think it’s that,” Tonis replied.

“Well, yeah, but then, why are they just sending three people?” said Lin, your mechanic. 

“There’s plenty of reasons they could send three people,” Tonis said, as if he hadn’t just been agonizing over that very issue just minutes ago.

Mirna snorted. “Like what?”

“An announcement,” Lin said. “Maybe they’re canvassing all First Order planets.”

You nodded, chewing your cheek. “Sure. That could be it.”

“Or maybe it’s a survey!” Tonis was almost wiggling with excitement like the little nerd he was. “Does anyone else love filling out those weird surveys?”

“No, nerfherder,” Mirna teased, grinning. “Just you.”

“Could be an escort.” Lin shrugged. “Maybe they’re here to pick someone up.”

Mirna laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Who in the stars could they have an interest in on this planet?”

Blood blazed your face. “It’s a mystery.”

You hadn’t told anyone since arriving what had brought you there or why you’d come. You hadn’t told them when you’d first landed that you still had the cum of the Commander of the First Order leaking out of your cunt. You hadn’t told them that just hours before, he’d held you in his arms, brought you into his mind, and shown you--with a breathless, crushing tangibility--how utterly and completely he loved you.

You hadn’t told them, either, that in the days, weeks, months following your arrival, you hadn’t heard from him at all. 

With a dying wail, the transporter hovered and landed, spitting up a ring of dust that smacked you in the face. You sputtered, wiping your eyes, the rest of your crew apparently victims too. Frowning, you crossed your arms, brow cocked as the ramp whined and descended. Something akin to fear needled your heart in the empty space between the sound of footsteps and the emergence of two Stormtroopers stomping to the ground. 

Something that was definitely fear gripped it as those two troopers were followed by a man you’d hoped to never, ever see again.

“Engineer.” General Hux had somehow lost none of his smarmy, pink-cheeked smugness--his refusal to say your name was out of petty spite at this point. And his face was just as punchable as you remembered. “I see you are, for once, prepared for our arrival.”

“What sort of facility chief would I be if I didn’t stay on top of our arrival queues?” You hid your hands behind your back to hide their quaking. “Though I believe my rank is Lieutenant, now, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied, with the same amount of disdain he’d probably afford a crying child. “I imagine it’s the lack of distraction.” He smirked. “I loathe to think of the productivity you would’ve had on the Finalizer with a similar environment.”

“Oh, as do I, sir.” You offered him a gleaming smile. “I can’t imagine a punishment worse than being in your good graces.”

“Chief,” hissed Mirna. “That’s a General of the First Order. What are you doing?”

Cursing internally, you pinched yourself, stood straighter. Your team would have no idea why you felt so comfortable mouthing off to a man who, otherwise, might’ve had you thrust into the bowels of space by now--and to be honest, you didn’t have much of an idea why at this point, either. Your presumed protection was hardly a current presence in your life. 

You shook your head, wagged out your hands. “Let me try again, sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “General Hux, sir. To what do I owe the honor?”

Hux smirked. “As much as I hate to interrupt, Lieutenant,” he said, continuing to let the word drip with more venom than a snake ever could, “I’m here to order you to come with me onto the Steadfast.”

“The Steadfast?” Obviously the name of a ship, but not one you were familiar with. No news bulletins had made their way to Orinda in the time you’d been stationed. “Why?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter has ceased functioning. Every engineer we’ve brought to it has failed to diagnose the issue.” His jaw tensed in real, actual reluctance. “We were at the border of the Rim, and unfortunately, I thought of you.”

You blinked. He wanted you to work on Snoke’s TIE fighter? 

And then another question: Snoke had a TIE fighter? 

“Uh…” Frowning, you glanced around at your crew. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them for days on end. “How long will I be gone?”

His face betrayed nothing but pure disgust. “As long as it takes you to fix a TIE fighter.” He watched as you paused in thought. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant. We’re leaving now.”

With that, he turned on his heels, marching up the ramp. A long, slow breath left your lungs, and you turned to your team, scanning their faces for any reaction. To your surprise, everyone but Tonis seemed rapt in excitement, eyes wide and chins wagging in awe. 

“I had no idea you were such a big shot!” Lin grinned. The other two nodded in agreement.

Blushing, you rubbed your arm in embarrassment, looking between them. “No, no,” you said. “Nothing like that.”

“You have to tell us the story, one day.” Mirna was smirking.

“Uh… Right.” You coughed. “So, hopefully I’ll only be a day or so, max,” you said. “Mirna, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Chief,” she said. “Tonis, my first order is for you to please calm down.”

He shot her a glare. “Good luck, Chief!” He offered you a salute, which was both strange and unnecessary. “We’ll be thinking of you!”

Warmth spread in your chest. “I’ll be thinking of you guys, too. Don’t make too big of a mess, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied in unison--and then broke into laughter. 

You shook your head, finding yourself laughing with them. “Okay. See you guys soon.” 

Bowing your head, you trudged up the ramp into the transporter, taking a seat far away from Hux and the two Stormtroopers. You wondered why he’d bothered to bring them to a tiny outpost like Orinda, but you supposed that self-importance and paranoia knew no bounds in the higher ranks of the First Order. 

As the door closed to the transporter, your heart wrinkled. In the past few months, despite your open ache, Orinda had become your home, your crew had become something akin to your family. You hoped the issue with the TIE fighter was something stupid, like a busted hyperdrive. They were simple to repair, but most engineers wouldn’t mess with lightspeed travel--the mechanisms were so delicate that even a simple mistake could result in splitting the ship. 

The transporter rose into the air, and in seconds, it burst into the sky. A windowless cargo meant you could only imagine the faces of your crew as you disappeared into the horizon. You sighed, watching your feet as they jostled with the jerking of the ship. You weren’t sure what the Steadfast was like, but apparently Snoke had moved his operations there. Though you still had no clue what Snoke looked like, you’d never imagined him to be the type to fly--but perhaps a Supreme Leader required multiple skillsets.

The awkward ride finished without a single word being exchanged between you and Hux, which was fine by you, and possibly finer by him. When the ramp lowered, he speared you with his gaze, waiting for the troopers to exit before standing and ordering you to follow him with only his eyes.

You tromped down the ramp into the hangar on the Steadfast--it looked almost identical to the one on the Finalizer. The ceilings stretched high, like a giant’s mouth, the magnetic shields glowing teeth at the lips of the bay. Ships buzzed above you, racing in and out of their docks, the floor crowded with soldiers and officers alike. 

The rush hit you--sure, the time on Orinda had been fantastic, engaging, rejuvenating. But it would never match the thrill of working in the presence of fleets and fleets of warships, surrounded by the heady spell of urgent, prestigious labor. You sucked it through your nose, held it in your chest, unable to stop your eyes from lingering on every busted ship they saw. In the distance, a team huddled around the smoking wing of a TIE fighter--you bit your lip to prevent yourself from racing over, from tearing it apart for them.

Another thing you weren’t able to stop looking for was any hint, any presence of the Commander--but in the bay, you didn’t even catch evidence of the Command Shuttle. It was a huge assumption to guess he’d be on the Steadfast to begin with, but part of you hoped he’d trailed his precious Supreme Leader to any place he was ordered. It figured that the one time you might have been within thinking distance, he’d managed to make himself scarce. 

Another twine in your heart snapped, joining the collection that’d been unfurling since you’d departed the Finalizer. 

Yes, he’d said he would find you. You still believed him now, even. 

But really. What was taking him so damn long?

Hux led you to a wide dock toward the very front of the hangar. The crews you spotted along the way seemed detached, working without words, communicating with gestures and mirthless expressions. Tonis’ silly salute would never happen here. You frowned. The lack of thrill was worth your autonomy.

“Lieutenant.”

A snap of your head, and you blinked. You were in front of your charge. 

This TIE fighter was unlike one you’d ever seen. Instead of the flat panel wings, this one bore talons, sharp knives capable of cutting space and possibly any ship in its way. Red-paned transparisteel formed the cockpit into a muzzle, imitating an animal instead of a sphere. And it wasn’t a ball suspended on plates, but was rather tucked tight into the body of the ship, creating a seamless, dynamic transition that to you, seemed so new, so modern. It was almost--sexy? 

You looked to Hux. “Are you sure this is the one that isn’t working?” Lips parted in awe, you stepped up to it, placing a hand on the solar array. “It’s gorgeous.”

“The Supreme Leader has been unable to fly it for cycles, now,” said Hux. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” You rolled your eyes. “Got it.” 

What you needed was a post-flight report. You strode over to the nearest terminal and entered your credentials--thankfully, as a Lieutenant now, they were universal to the entire First Order system. Only one ship was logged underneath the access: TIE/vn space superiority fighter: SILENCER.

“TIE silencer?” you mumbled. “Where do they come up with these names?”

You investigated the reports in the past several cycles that detailed the attempts by engineers to get the thing working: thrusters aligned, check. Solar lines flushed, check. Refuel port cleansed, check. Heat calibration reset and replaced, check. 

And yet with each new repair--engine test: fail. 

Engine test: fail. 

Engine test: fail, fail, fail. 

Screwing your lips in thought, you landed on the post-flight report, hoping it would provide you with insight. If he knew what was good for him, Supreme Leader Snoke would be thorough.

You opened the report, and paragraphs of information flooded the screen. Your jaw dropped. Every single system had been left with a meticulously in-depth account of its status before, during, and after flight. The level of specificity contained within each sentence astounded you. It was almost unbelievable that a single person could remember this much, let alone regurgitate it with any level of accuracy. You groaned, lost in Basic.

Hux cleared his throat. “How long do you anticipate this taking, Lieutenant?” 

“As long as I--...” You stopped yourself with a grumble. It would be much easier to hear it from the tauntaun’s mouth, instead of pouring over and cross-checking every single detail. “I’m not sure, General. Is there any way I could speak with the Supreme Leader?” 

A strange, smug look passed over his face. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”

You blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. “Uh… okay.”

Hux turned on his heel, clipped stride cutting through the hangar. You hadn’t been prepared to meet the Supreme Leader when you woke up this morning, but you supposed anything was possible when working for the First Order. Swallowing, you shut down the terminal, and followed him into the halls.

Returning to a Star Destroyer, in a way, felt like home--the glossy black tile passed like a familiar path beneath your feet, and you spared fleeting glances to the Stormtroopers who passed you. The halls of the Steadfast maintained their similarity to everything else on the Finalizer--though that did nothing to assuage your anxiety about the memories you’d had on that ship. Or who may or may not be on this one. 

“Do you work on the Steadfast, now, sir?” 

Hux was silent for a moment, gaze trained forward. “Yes. The Finalizer was decommissioned.”

“Wait, really?” Your heart thumped. The only datapad message you’d received from your friends had come in the first few weeks after your departure. You just assumed they’d been busy. “What happened?”

“A Resistance attack left it crippled,” he replied. “Leadership and surviving crew were transferred to the Steadfast.”

Terror seized you, your pace quickened. “Sur-surviving crew?” you asked. “Sir?” More silence. You stumbled to catch up with him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “Sir--”

“Engineers Foster and Loren were transferred to this vessel unharmed, Lieutenant.” He leered at you. “Satisfied?”

You heaved a massive sigh, hands falling to your knees. They were here. You’d have to catch up with them, soon. 

“Yes, sir, thank you--” 

By the time you’d finished, he’d already managed to make it what seemed to be fifty paces ahead of you, and you scrambled to keep up with him. 

As you did, a grey-haired man emerged from the corner in front of you both, and Hux stiffened, cursing under his breath. Raising a brow, you tried to meet this man’s gaze, only to bump into the general, who’d stopped, limbs pinned to his sides.

“Shit!” Your face burned, and you jumped back, snapping to attention. “I mean, uh, sorry, General, sir.”

The look Hux offered you was similar to one a parent might offer a simpering child. Right before they murdered that child in a fit of blind rage.

“General Hux,” said the grey-haired man. “Just the one I was looking for.” 

“Allegiant General Pryde.” Hux’s chin jutted to the ceiling. 

The Allegiant General Pryde turned his attention to you, glimpsing your uniform before meeting your eyes. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted, Lieutenant…”

You gave your name. “Sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “I’m Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“Ah.” His gaze lingered on the fuel cell filth smattering your chest. “Of course.” Something within his eyes categorized you in league with rodents--and something else within them told you he crushed rodents for sport. “Interesting.” His attention whipped back to Hux. “General. Regarding the Council meeting…”

“I plan to present the Supreme Leader with my plan, sir.”

“I know you do,” Pryde replied, “but you failed to run it by me.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. You wished you were anywhere other than this extremely awkward hallway meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“Forgive me, Allegiant General,” Hux said, “but I didn’t think a basic unit efficiency research required your approval.”

“Everything requires my approval, General,” he said. “Lest we forget the errors of Starkiller Base.”

That was a low blow. You gulped. They both looked at you, and you cleared your throat again, throwing your hands behind your back. The energy radiating from Hux could be classified as skin-scorching. 

“Of course.” Hux’s tone grew tighter with each word that left his lips. “I’ll remember that next time, sir.”

“Good.” Pryde glanced between you. “What brings a facility chief from her station all the way to the Steadfast?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter, sir,” Hux replied, still staring into the air. “She may be the only engineer capable of repairing it.”

The Allegiant General frowned. “Really. How many resources did you expend picking up a single person from a remote outpost?” he asked. “Do you not consider this to be something I should know?”

“It was a brief excursion,” he said. “I took two Stormtroopers and a single transport unit.”

“Was that unit’s excursion approved?” He circled Hux, a silvered predator, sizing up his prey. For once, you almost felt bad for the ginger bastard. “What if Resistance staged an attack while you were gone? If we needed that unit for more than a handful of bodies?”

Hux’s lips pursed, chin dimpling with tension. “I don’t know, sir.”

“And how do you think the Supreme Leader will feel knowing you acted without approval, all to retrieve a single engineer?”

Silence drifted like fog over the three of you, thickening as this grey-haired power-laden dickhead glared at General Hux. But Hux’s back had aligned, parallel to the wall, every flicker of frustration fled from his frame. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled at his mouth.

“I think he’ll be just fine with it. Sir.” Hux’s brow quirked. “We’re on our way to speak with him now, if you’d like to accompany.”

Pryde grinned, a serpent’s twist to his smile. “Your confidence has failed you in the past, General,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

You trailed behind the Allegiant General and Hux, fingers starting to quake. Now, you’d not only be meeting the Supreme Leader still smothered in space dust, you’d be meeting him accompanied by the two biggest assholes in the First Order--second only to one other, perhaps. 

Unfortunately, that particular asshole was a ghost to this ship, and there wasn’t anyone in particular you felt comfortable asking about him. If Hux had been superceded by this new jerk, the last thing you wanted was another opportunity for someone with rank greater than your own to question you about your personal relationships. 

Dread pooled in your belly. Supreme Leader Snoke did know about your personal relationship with the Commander. In fact, Snoke had been the one to insist you be his conduit, among other insulting things. You imagined him bringing it up: Ah, yes, the engineer, the distraction… and how have you been, without his cock inside of you?

You shook your head. No, it didn’t make sense for him to bring up his apprentice’s dick at your first meeting. Or any meeting, for that matter. You hoped.

The two men led you through the rest of the journey in silence, animosity prickling like durasteel barbs in the air between them. At least your own team didn’t regard you with vibrodaggers behind their backs--as far as you knew, anyway--and the realization, against the backdrop of your current situation, had you aching to leave. The discussion with the Supreme Leader would be swift and succinct; you’d get the information you needed, diagnose the problem, and be on your way back to Orinda. 

In front of you, a massive turbolift sang its arrival, blast door whirring open. You followed the two men inside, heart tingling. Maybe part of you had been hoping that your long-awaited reunion would have occurred during your time aboard--as you thought it, you tried to stymie the resentment that you’d waited this long at all. The rational part of your mind reasoned that he was a busy man, that lack of contact didn’t indicate lack of thought. 

But every other part of your mind was staving off bubbling despair. Four months had felt like four years, and you’d only grown more desperate, more anxious for his embrace--then furious that he didn’t appear to return the sentiment. 

You knew how he felt. So it didn’t make sense, then, why he hadn’t acted on it for even a single, solitary night in the past sixteen weeks.  

When the blast door opened, you crossed the threshold into an obsidian sanctuary. The floor gleamed, a black lake of glass sweeping into high ebony ceilings that twinkled with artificial stars. The only other illumination came from two enormous spheres that hung, suspended in air at opposite ends of the room, their surfaces a swirl of white-grey light, imitation suns with colorless coronas. At the far end of the room was a hovering stone throne, six dark figures crowding it in a crescent. 

Your heart stammered--you’d seen them before. In memories that hadn’t belonged to you. All of them were outfitted in clothing that seemed familiar, helmets that hid their identities, and each of them possessed a weapon meant explicitly for assassination. The only conclusion you could draw was that they were the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards. 

Whoever they were, to you, they were ominous.

The two men in front of you strode forward, and you followed, catching your reflection whispering by your shoes: your hair was mussed with evidence of engine exhaust, your uniform still glowing with smears of ionization. Internally, you cursed yourself. Yeah, this was exactly how you’d wanted to look when meeting the Supreme Leader of the First Order--like complete shit. Stomach sinking, you sidled behind them as they stood at attention. 

“Supreme Leader,” they said simultaneously.

As if on command, the wall of shadowed soldiers parted to reveal the throne. 

But no one was there.

You blinked. “Oh.” 

Hux’s head swiveled between the strangers in front of you. “Where is he?” He turned to Pryde. “These are his receiving hours--”

“Yes,” replied the Allegiant Asshole. “But perhaps he’s departed early for the Supreme Council meeting. We’d be better off--”

The turbolift doors wailed behind you, and like synchronized chronometers, you, Hux, and Pryde spun to meet the new arrival. 

Your brain went blank.

Kylo Ren crossed the shimmering sable floor in a confident stride, his robes replaced now with padded armor that clung to the contours of his powerful, thick chest, his broad shoulders covered with a hooded cape. His fists, still bound in leather, flexed at his sides--and his face... 

More beautiful, more arresting than you could have conjured in any memory, his lips still pink and plush, his nose still a long line, his hair still rolling in waves, like black silk-velvet at his shoulders. You met his eyes as he advanced, finding them guarded, resurrecting every fear and insecurity, tempering them with hidden warmth. 

“Generals.”

The voice was lightning through your limbs, its owner a perfect match to the soft baritone you’d replayed in your dreams for the past one hundred and fifty two days. All of your systems leapt to life at once: brain spinning, heart soaring, adrenaline coursing. Sweat soaked your neck, your figure thrust whole into a furnace.

“Sir!” Both bowed their heads.

Gazing at him, then, you realized what was happening. This was his throne. You were working on his TIE fighter. Kylo Ren, your lover, your obsession, your galaxy was now the de-facto leader of the actual galaxy. You weren’t in love with the First Order’s Commander, anymore. 

You were in love with its Supreme Leader. 

Shock anchored your mouth open. Your eyes welled with latent tears. You grinned in disbelief.

“Dude!” You laughed. “What the fuck!”

[rhaenyratargeryn]

Title: Continuously, Without Interruption Rating: 🍋 Pairing: Takemura x female!V Summary: AU pwp fic where Takemura and V stick together after the events of the main story mission “Search and Destroy”. 

The motel was barely more than four walls and a dirty mattress, paint peeling off in stained chips and carpet reeking of cigarettes and booze and the faintest hint of mildew. It wasn’t preem, but when had anything in her life been?

Luxury it was not, but safe? She would take safe, especially with her arms half full with a teetering, bleeding former Arasaka bodyguard. She went for the light switch, forgetting herself, but his hand caught hers and through labored breaths he said, “No lights.”

Takemura’s voice was always low, a rumble of thunder… but in pain, it was harsher, like gravel and sandpaper. V nodded in the dim light and helped him to lean against a far wall as she fumbled around in the darkroom. She found three half melted candles and a nearly empty lighter, but it would serve well enough to give them some kind of light in the motel bathroom. What first aid supplies she’d managed to scrounge from the hotel staff were in a box that looked older than her, but last she knew, bandages didn’t expire, and even if they did, they needed them. And most importantly, V had bought a half empty bottle of vodka from a drifter hanging outside room 102.. A true medical necessity.

Takemura had been grazed by at least a bullet, that much V was certain. The older man tilted his head back against the wall he leaned against while V hurried throughout the room, bracing himself as he took in shallow, but even breaths. 

“C’mon, gotta see what we’re dealing with…”

“You ripperdoc now?” Takemura asked, repressing a dry chuckle that surely caused him pain by the way his shoulders flinched.

“Yep, step right into my office.” V said, letting him lean on her as they stumbled into the small bathroom. She shut the door, running a finger along the seam to make sure it would stay light tight. V picked up one candle and after a few flicks, managed to get a light from the lighter. The room was soon lit in a soft glow, completely unfitting for the task at hand.

Takemura’s eyes moved around the room as he sat on the edge of the tub.

“Your medical facilities are not to code.”

It was a joke, but he said it with such damn seriousness that V felt the laugh punch out of her, sharp and breathy.

“Well, ya know how it is. Cut backs.”

“Ah, I see.”

Carefully, Takemura unfurled his arm from where he clutched at his side. The bleeding had slowed, oozing sluggishly now only when he moved too much. Takemura’s fingers curled around the bottom of his shirt, tugging it free from where it tucked into his trousers. The white material was stained with dark spots, nearly black in the candlelight. 

“Let me help.” V said, automatic, thoughtless. She came to stand between his knees, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her hands still trembled slightly, the rush from the firefight and the pain of a couple dozen bruises doing their work. She had seen the chrome work at his throat and was unsurprised to see it continue on, flaring out over his shoulders like veins. The rest of him though was ganic, smooth skin over hard, toned muscle. 

Takemura only winced once when she peeled the fabric, tacky with blood, away from where it stuck to his left side. She knelt down, noting the blood had seeped out from the back of his shirt too.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“Well… you are gonna have one hell of a scar. How the hell were you even walkin’?”

“Had one injector. Used it after that shot.”

“Good thinkin’.”

V set the kit on Takemura’s thigh, using him as a makeshift table as she picked through the contents. There was no MaxDoc or Bounce Back, but it helped Takemura already had one dose. It would boost his own body's healing process for a good enough while… the graze looked nasty, but the bleeding had stopped. The only thing threatening to kill the old koger now was a staph infection— and given their surroundings, it was probably best to wrap him up.

With a gruff sound, he tugged his shoulder free of his sleeve, removing the soot and blood streaked shirt and discarding it on the floor. No doubt this room had seen worse.

V unscrewed the top of the vodka bottle off with one finger and then casually flicked it off, the metal clanging across the tile. She offered it to Takemura, “Anesthetic?”

He wrinkled his nose. V shrugged, took a drink herself and then, without warning, spilled a generous amount over his wound.

Takemura swore, loudly.

“Shoulda taken the anesthesia.” 

“...わるガキ.”

V’s cyberware helpfully provided a translation: Brat.

There was almost a hint of fondness in the word even, V thought for a moment. Just a little. And judging by the way he hid a smirk that was threatening to overcome the tightness of his expression, maybe she was right.

Maybe it was the blood loss, or the near death experience, or failing to convince his last chance at finding revenge for his employer— but Takemura took the bottle from her then and drank deeply.

“Wow. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You going to be doctor or comedian?” he said, taking another shorter drink as V fished through the first aid kit and pulled out a few large gauze pads. She tore the wrappers free, packing two against the wound just in case.

“Hold please, nurse.”

Takemura growled, but did as directed, setting down the bottle to help hold the bandage in place as V used the gauze roll to wrap it tightly against him. Half way done, V realized… she had never been this close to Takemura before. His body was like a furnace, overstimulated and heightened from pain and the lingering effects of adrenaline. Beneath the smell of smoke and copper V almost thought she caught the scent of cedar… of faint pepper and incense.

V finished tacking the wrappings on, using her palm to smooth over the gauze to make sure it wouldn’t come off easy. Her fingertips ghosted against his skin and she felt the muscles of his abdomen clench, a tiny, nearly undetectable shudder going out across his skin.

Her eyes lifted to his, a smirk already spreading across her lips. Takemura was doing his best not to notice, picking up the vodka bottle and swishing the contents around.

“Takemura Goro. Elite Arasaka soldier, top of the class… and ticklish.”

“Should have separated. It is not safe for us to be together.” Takemura grumbled, pointedly ignoring the statement.

“Didn’t leave you then, not gonna start now.” V said, voice a murmur as she moved to flip the first aid kit closed, sliding back away from his space. A firm hand stopped her.

“You are bleeding.”

V looked up as Takemura let go, gesturing to his own temple. V touched the same spot on her forehead and pulled her hand back to see the smudge of sticky thickened blood. The swipe of her touch had been enough to break the clot back open, a droplet of fresh warm blood pooling up and dropping down her face.

“Didn’t even notice…” V said with a hiss, the sharp pain now registering. Takemura nodded and offered her the bottle.

“Anesthesia.” 

V huffed a laugh, taking him up on the offer as she knew well enough what Takemura was going to do next. She took one quick shot and held the burning liquid in her mouth, swallowing the moment Takemura splashed the alcohol unto her temple.

“Hold please, nurse.” he said, handing her the bottle and trying to ignore the positively shit eating grin of approval she wore at her own barb returned. V handed off a large adhesive bandage to him, the kind a kid might put on a scraped knee. She was surprised how gentle his hands were, brushing aside her hair as he meticulously checked where to best place the bandage before he ripped off the thin paper on the back and settled it in place.

V’s fingers twitched, itching to hold a smoke between them. The impulse born, like most weird shit in her life recently, from Johnny. She settled on rubbing her thumb across the inside of her forefinger and middle finger, staring at nothing as silence settled over the pair of them.

It wasn’t a tense silence. It wasn’t even grave, though given their current situation such a silence would be warranted. It was… comfortable. Or just plain tired.

When he was finished, Takemura rested his right arm on his thigh, taking care not to bend too far on his injured side. He let his head bow forward, his shoulders going lax.

“... I had thought tonight... I was to face my death.” his words were slow, cautious— no. Careful.

“You had no reason to come back for me.”

“Bullshit.” V said, the word falling like an exhale. 

He tilted his head up, eyes half lidded as he met hers, looking up at him now from where she knelt. Something in V’s chest ached. A pang, sharp and sweet and good. It arched it’s way from her heart to her stomach just from the way he looked at her.

She sat up a little taller, movements going still again when his hand came up to rest against the side of her neck, holding her steady. His thumb traced a circle against the space behind her ear and V felt as if the very blood in her body had paused, her breath shorting out on an inhale. The smell of him, the heat of him… it all came crashing back into V’s perception until she all but heard Johnny groaning with exasperation in her head.

Takemura didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything and that silence gave V the boldness she needed to close the hairbreadth of distance between them and touch her lips to his. It was soft, chaste in it’s hesitance and briefness. Takemura did not kiss her back.

V pulled back, eyes fixed over his shoulder on the far wall, anything not to see his face right then. The silence stretched on until V felt she would be crushed beneath it, words forming in the back of her throat, but dying before they could reach the tip of her tongue.

Then Takemura’s other hand came up and he held her face in both his hands, firmly directing her to face him. She looked at his lips, at his jaw, anything but his eyes.

“Look at me.”

His words translated in her mind from Japanese, the change in language startling her enough into obeying him. V didn’t have to look long, because within a moment his mouth was on hers, urgent and demanding. It took a moment for V to take control of the spinning in her head, but when she did she carefully settled her hands on top of his thighs, fingers curling slightly as she slid her palms up over the fabric of his trousers until she could wrap her arms high around his middle, above the bandages. She was content to let him cradle her jaw in his hands, holding her fast as if he feared she would spring away, vanishing into smoke.

V made a small sound, soft and needy, her mouth opening at the same time as Takemura. A shudder coursed its way up and down her arms when he made a sound, rumbled and deep in his throat and then caught her bottom lip, letting his teeth press against it.

She let her nails run a slow path across his shoulder blades, tension dropping from her arms as she sunk against him. They were both ravenous for touch unmarred by violence. By pain. When was the last time she had embraced someone other than to silently subdue them? When had he? In the grand scheme of things, Takemura had been starving for longer.

Her legs were unsteady, even with him helping to set her up on her feet. They stood together, breaking their contact only when absolutely required. If his mouth was not on hers, it was on her throat, her shoulder— bared now as he pulled and tugged her shirt collar aside, desperate to feel the soft warmth of her against his skin.

V shucked off her jacket, walking backwards as Takemura pressed forward, stalking her as surely as he did his prey with eyes darkened with artificial pupils blown wide. It was his hands that pulled off her tank top, throwing it away carelessly. V gave a nervous chuckle when those same hands gripped against her lower back and forced her up hard against his chest.

The soft swell of her breast pressed firmly against his skin, the shared heat positively searing as they stumbled out of the bathroom and unto the creaking worn motel mattress.

This was stupid. Irrational. Dangerous. They needed to be on guard, to be vigilant. Arasaka was still hunting them and yet V was certain Yorniubu himself could bust through that door and Takemura would not untangle himself to kill him until he had had his fill of her.

V fumbled with his belt, Takemura’s hand coming between them to catch her wrist, stopping the movement.

“You are sure?” he managed, his voice breathless and ragged. Falling into his mother tongue was something he did when he was overwhelmed, it would seem.

V’s answer was to settle her weight back onto her shoulders and press her hips up against him in a slow, enticing roll.

“はい.” 

Takemura needed no further convincing. 

He kissed her again, thoroughly and practiced, taking her other wrist in his hand and holding them down above her head. V’s last coherent thought was to wonder where he had found time to learn, but those thoughts scattered apart like a bullet through glass when he drew his mouth down her jaw and she felt the rough scrape of his beard between her breasts.

He pace was so slow. So agonizingly slow. Placing open mouth kisses against her breastbone as if he were a man with all the time in the world. 

“Oh— so suddenly that graze doesn’t bother you? Made me drag you halfway—“

V’s voice broke off with a surprised yelp as Takemura bit her nipple, a gruff sound of disapproval in his throat at her monologuing. The slight painful tug was all but forgotten when he rolled the same tightened peak with his tongue. 

V was quiet then, except for a soft panting as he went back to his own easy pace. 

“Goro…” his name came out unbidden when he switched to her other breast, a soft laugh sending hot breath over her skin.

“Better.” 

Smug bastard. V wiggled beneath him, one hand coming free of Takemura’s grip because he let her. That fact only made her tangle her fingers even more roughly at the nape of his neck, drawing strands loose as she tugged him demanding upwards.

She could feel the smirk against his lips when she kissed him, fiercely and sharply as she bit him back.

“Why hurry?” Takemura said, in English this time, his voice a low murmur.

“Cause when Arasaka busts that door in, I’d rather die having been well fucked.”

“You will.”

God, if a voice alone could make her cum those two words would have done it. That sharp pang hit right to her core again, making her want to press her thighs together and spread them open at the same time. 

“‘Fast is slow, but continuously, without interruption.’”

For once his quoting made some goddamn sense to her. It also helped he was using his now unoccupied hand to unfasten her jeans, sitting up to pull them off her legs.

He seemed to consider for a moment, the pause making V groan in impatience and then protest when Takemura pulled back and slipped off the foot of the bed. He took off his belt and the rest of his clothes before he kneeled onto the floor.

V was rising up on her forearms to get a better look at just what the hell he was doing— that was, until his hands slipped beneath her calves and pulled her to the edge of the mattress. He guided her legs over his shoulders and without warning, licked that same trail he had over her breast up the length of her slit.

V’s hips bucked, but Takemura was ready for that too, folding his arms across her middle and keeping her held in place as he bowed his head between her thighs and utterly devoured her.

There was a joke to be made here, V was certain, given Takemura’s picky “tastes'”— but every time his tongue traced a new pattern over her labia the joke short circuited.

Even Johnny, tucked away inside her head, was silent now. 

Takemura alternated at a whim, but his pace stayed slow… deliberate. Savoring. His beard tickled against the inside of V’s thighs. She fisted the motel sheets so tightly in her hand the damn thing pulled off the corners.

He only stopped once, forgetting himself and trying to force her thigh up higher and wider and managing to pull at his wound as he raised his arm. V reached down to touch him, to brush her hand through his hair and draw her thumb over his cheek.

“You okay?”

Takemura sat up, the dazed look that had settled in his eyes since they began clearing. He pressed a kiss against her knee as he let her legs slide off his shoulders, climbing back into the bed and moved to hover over her.

“Goro? Are you okay?” She asked again, worriedly touching the gauze tape and making sure he wasn’t bleeding through.

“... I am fine.” he said at last, the words soft and almost.. awed? As if he had never said them before. V searched his expression, holding his face between her hands and feeling something in her heart strain when he shut his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“Come here.” He said, though it was him who snaked his arms beneath her lower back and brought her core up flushing against his hips. 

She could feel him. Feel the length of him rested against her mound, feel the slight movement of his hips as he rubbed faintly against her.

She laid back, her hips elevated and secure in his arms. Takemura was back in his head again, eyes heavy and meditative for a lingering moment before he shifted his hips back enough to slip his head up against her and then slowly began to press into the silky wetness between her legs.

A deep deliberate breath exhaled from his lungs as V barely managed to keep herself from rolling and bucking beneath him.

No matter how many times she did it, that initial slow stretch brought with it the most intense feelings of fullness. Takemura was so poised, so controlled… V envied him in that moment and hated him for it in the best possible way. She wanted it fast and rough— pleasure easy and quick. Takemura though, clearly was more inclined to relish each and every motion.

The act felt… intimate. Too intimate. Takemura’s focus was pinpointed, every touch, every dragged out pull of his shaft inside her and then the gentle push back within her heat was done with such steady intent.

V felt almost god damn shy. The attention. The intensity. It was good, it was amazing,  but at the same time some part of her felt like it was on the verge of shattering… and the last thing she was going to fuckin’ do was cry during sex.

But fuck— when was the last time she felt safe? When was the last time she felt held? Takemura gently stroked his hand up across her stomach, over the valley of her breasts and back again, his eyes fixed on not just her but himself touching her.

V made sure not to wrap her leg around his injured waist, but squeezed at him hard with her other, trying to pull him in. To edge him on.

“Faster…?” She breathed, adding a raised lift at the end of her words. Questioning. Asking.

Takemura only nodded, returning his grip around her lower back. The position made it nearly impossible to give anything but deep, shallow thrusts, but V was not complaining. The quickened pace was giving her the friction she needed, the press of his pelvis against her clit, the edge of his head sometimes finding that spot deeper in that sent sparks through her body.

It gave her more than her own pleasure too. It was giving her his. He had been so quiet, purposeful and diligent.. and now his brow furrowed and his breath came sharper. His skin flushed hot and red where he was organic and untouched by chrome or cyberware. V bore down around him, clutching at his shaft when he pulled back and grinned when his hips suddenly snapped back forward. A rough groan slipped from his lips, a curse following when she rolled her hips forward and began to rather enthusiastically fuck him back.

He wasn’t shocked, but pleasantly surprised would have been an accurate term. As a man who lived to serve, it only made sense he wouldn't expect to receive.

“Pull me up.” 

V demanded, rising up on her forearms and then her hands until Takemura had no choice but to slip his hold up higher along her back and pull her up, sitting into his lap.

V grinned wickedly and saw the exact moment Takemura realized his mistake.

She rose her hips and thrust down, hands running from his chest up his neck and then back down to grip hard to his shoulders as she rode him.

“Oh... fuck—“

And that was the only word V managed to make sense of before Takemura slurred into half incomprehensible Japanese. She didn’t need her cyberware to translate that.

One solid push was all it took to have him flat on his back, her hands running up and down his chest as she took control.

He hissed once, grabbing hard at her thigh to move it away from his wound, but after that? The only word she understood from him beneath the rest was yes.

When she came, it tightened in her core, holding steady and constant and lingering right at the edge for long enough that when her body finally burst into spasms, she cried out half in shock of it.

The sound keened to a low whine as V rode out the waves, rocking her hips gently as the initial exhilaration faded to pleasant fading throbs. Takemura’s hands had slid down to her hips, squeezing and rubbing for the sheer pleasure of touching. He was far away again, but somehow, V knew that it was less to do with her and more to do with the fact he remained hard inside her.

“... you didn’t—?” V started to say, hips slowing, but Takemura’s grip tightened and he urged her on.

“Keep doing that.” 

So she did. Slowly moving and becoming intensely aware of how he felt wrapped up and pressing inside her walls. His eyes shut, his lips parting and V couldn’t resist the urge to lean down and kiss him, the movement as languid and lazy as her hips.

Takemura did not tense like she did, but instead every muscle went soft and lax beneath her. A quiet moan, half gasped out was her only warning before she carefully slipped off of him and he came, slow spurts spilling across his skin.

It was less like he had lost control rather than he’d allowed it to slip, but V had dismissed the thoughts, trying not to overthink it. Right now, she was busy making work of cleaning him up, licking a trail along his pelvis and enjoying the way the muscles played beneath her touch.

Ticklish, her thoughts reminded. Takemura rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if waking, alertness coming back into his expression, but… something still softened its edges. Made him more of himself but also less— or maybe it was just the side of him V had not yet seen.

She stretched, rolling off to lay alongside him like a cat, one leg still thrown over his as she propped up her chin on the heel of her hand.

“So… I don’t know if maybe there was some kinda life debt you mighta been thinkin’ bout giving me for saving your ass but uh— consider it paid.”

Takemura, to his credit, laughed.

“You realize, that is like saying my life is worth—“

“Oh, I know what I’m saying.”

“I do not know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Just be both and cover all the bases.” V said, leaning down to press several kisses along his jaw, indulgent and very appreciative.

She expected him to disparage the attention now that their purpose was completed, but while he did turn and shy away from the kisses, he also drew his arm up to wrap around her and hold her in a loose grip.

“Someone needs to keep watch.” Takemura said, his voice begrudging the very words.

“I’ll do it. Arasaka didn’t fuck me up near as bad as ya.”

He scoffed.

“You fell three floors, V.”

“First of all, it was two.”

“And second?”

She kissed him, thoroughly obliterating any desire he might have had to protest as he turned to bare her down into the mattress.

“Very persuasive.” He said against her lips, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. Despite that he let her go, grimacing when he noticed they would need to redo his bandages after the mess he made.

V got up from bed, finding her discarded jeans and tank top and tugging them on, delighting in the way her body ached just slightly still.

Spontaneous we-might-not-live-through-the-night sex clearly was the pick-me up she needed. Takemura was the opposite though, seeming sluggish and sated, laying still upon his back, his chest rising and falling with lingering speed.

Something like concern warmed through her and V returned to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully stroking the back of her knuckles over his cheek and feeling the scrape of his beard against her skin. He silently looked up at her.

“You really doin’ okay?”

“Three times in one day…” Takemura said with a short mirthless laugh.

“Three?”

“You’ve asked me three times if I am okay. I ...can not recall the last time anyone has asked me such a thing.”

Takemura gingerly rose only to pull his trousers back on, getting back into bed without bothering with the fastens or his belt. 

V didn’t even know what to say to that revelation, feeling her heart clench as she sat, waiting as Takemura settled back against a stack of pillows and closed his eyes.

“If someone arrives to kill us, wake me.”

“You got it, Goro.” V said, forcing humor into her voice as she stood only to retrieve her shotgun and then sat again at the edge of bed, muzzle poised towards the door.

Yeah she’d wake him alright, by killing whatever fucker dared come through the door for him.

Christ, V.

Johnny. His voice tinged with disapproval in her mind, the emotion almost acidic on her tongue.

Worry about us first. Though if you do manage to somehow live through this night, that’s gonna be a conversation I’d rather you take a blocker and sign me the fuck out for.

V responded with confusion, a mental indication of Whaddya mean?

The shit that Corpo just laid on you? That wasn’t just some casual fuck. As the minstrels say, he was makin’ love to you.

V audibly choked.

“V?” Takemura asked, a unspoken question lingering over her name. She shook her head without turning around.

“S’fine. Cough.”

And you were to him. Hormones all over the fuckin’ place. Nauseating.

I was not.

Don’t bullshit me, V. I can feel your emotions get all mushy every time you look at him. Now it’s just gonna get worse.

V tried to ignore him, making a pointed effort of blocking out his words with a stream of thoughts. Song lyrics, scenes from an old Bushido flick, the way Takemura looked at her with such open desire and sheer wanting when he had settled inside of her, warped up in the heat of her and her in him—

Fuck.

Yep. Told ya.

Headlights cut through the dark, shining between the blinds of the motel room as a car slowly edged across the parking lot. V’s grip tightened on her weapon.

There were more pressing dangers to worry about now, but somehow they felt smaller… when her thoughts would scatter into panic, rapid and heated, inevitably every single one landed back on the one thing that gave her comfort— Takemura was here with her. He was alive and here with her.

But that was some shit to sort out another day.

[kikis-writing-world]

Whiskey Straight - The Foil (4)

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

The masked men, who still haven't identified themselves, have you. They have questions and you're forced to admit things out loud that you hadn't been wanting to even admit to yourself.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Light kidnapping vibes (reader is blindfolded and tied to a chair at one point,) interrogation setting, SMUT: unprotected p in v, memories of unwanted sexual advances (if you made it through the last chapter, it's just reader trying to get over/deal with it.) If I've missed anything, please let me know. I care about you all and want you mentally safe <3

Series Masterlist  -  Prologue  -  One  -   Two  -  Three  -  Four  -   Five  -  Six  -   Seven

via GIPHY (Credit to Artsplained on GIPHY)

The thick, dark hood over your head kept you from seeing anything as you were led forward by a strong hand on your arm. It muffled the sounds around you but the echo of footsteps bounced around in the small space. You could only guess you were being led down twisting, barren hallways as two sets of shoes clacked against the floor.

You had tried asking questions when you woke, the hood already placed over your face. Your head felt heavy and lethargic, your chin rested against your chest. As you remembered everything that led to your situation, specifically the hard hit to your head, you were surprised to not be in any pain. You tried to lift your hands to remove the fabric covering your face, but they were tied down. It took you a moment to take stock of your body: You were sitting in a chair and some kind of straps held your arms in place. They were pliable, so likely made of fabric or leather as opposed to metal. Your feet weren’t secured, but as you shuffled them around, you could feel nothing but the legs of your chair and the floor beneath you.

You started to shout, asking where you were, demanding to be let go, but all your pleas were met with silence. By the time you heard a door open and footsteps approach you, your voice was hoarse. Still, none of your questions were answered as you were released from the chair and led from the room.

You were halted, the hand on your arm tightening as you stopped. You heard a door open in front of you and the hood was pulled from your head. You couldn’t adjust to the brightness of the halfway before , you were pushed forward into the darkened room.

“No, no, no!” You panicked, turning to find the door slamming shut behind you. There was no handle. You started to press your palms along the seam of the door, frantically searching for a way to open it. You whimpered, scratching at the door, when the lights behind you clicked on with a loud pop. You turned, backing yourself against the wall to take in the room.

Large and empty aside from the metal stool placed in the middle, the room appeared to be made of concrete. The lights came from the corners of the ceiling, pointing down on the stool like spotlights. One of the far walls housed a large mirror. You didn’t need to check it to figure it was a two-way mirror and you were being watched. Still, you approached the mirror cautiously, hoping to see through to the other side. You wanted a hint as to where you were and who was holding you here.

“Sit down.” A loud, robotic voice echoed through the room, making you jump. You hadn’t even made it to the mirror, and you scurried to back yourself against the wall once more. You leaned against it trying to be as small as possible.

“I said sit down.” The voice returned. You stared at the stool, taking slow steps towards it.A plain metal stool, it reminded you of the kind from science labs back in high school, or maybe in a doctor’s office. You touched it gently, making sure it wasn’t boobytrapped in any way before sitting down, facing the mirror.

You waited for further instruction, your breath coming in short, panicked pants. You blocked the bright lights from your eyes with a shaking hand.

“Who do you work for?”

“U-uh,” you stuttered out of fear. “It’s a sm-small office downtown.”

“Who do you work for?” The voice repeated.

“Stern and Carpenter.” You answered, giving the name of the company this time.

“Who do you work for?” You were asked a third time.

“I don’t know what you want!” You wailed. “I work an office job, data entry! I’m just a secretary!”

“Sure, Mrs. Daniels.”

You froze, breath catching in your chest as they used your real name. They knew who you were. Not Trisha Strickland, no code name or cover story. They knew you.

“What was a secretary doing in the woods with an international terrorist? Taking dictation?” The voice questioned. “How long have you been part of The Vulture’s faction?”

“F-faction?! I don’t know anything about a faction!” You gasped, shaking your head. “I-I’ve only known Phil for a few weeks, maybe a month and a half. I don’t know any Jackal.”

“Phil,” the voice pronounced the name slowly, dragging it out as if it was testing the way it sounded. “Is that who he said he was?”

“Y-yes. Phil Strickland. I barely know him!” You explained, unable to stop the hysterical tone to your voice.

“That’s not what it looked like when we found you.” You could hear the mocking tone of the voice, even through the robotic crackles.

You bit back a sob, hanging your head as you remembered Phil forcing himself onto you just before the men in masks had appeared.

“How did you meet him?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you thought back over the past month. You explained the first time meeting him. How he had dropped the briefcase at your table and rushed off almost immediately afterwards. You explained not wanting anything to do with him - you left out how that had changed over the past month. You told them how you broke open the briefcase, finding the gun and the documents and cash, how you wanted to get rid of it but didn’t want anything falling into the hands of someone on the streets.

You were interrupted, the voice asking why you continued to see him after you realized he was dangerous.

“He said he needed my help.” You sighed with a small shrug.

“Not because you were attracted to him?” The voice accused.

Your jaw dropped, insulted and shocked. “No!”

“You weren’t attracted to him at all?”

“No!” You repeated, shaking your head emphatically. “He’s not my type, and I’m happily married!” The words rolled off your tongue easily, you’d been telling them to yourself long enough now. Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you thought about the way working with Phil had made you feel. You felt important, you felt seen.

“Maybe a little.” You admitted sadly, your stomach churning at the admission. It wasn’t Phil’s looks or his charm or even his car that attracted you to him, it was the way he treated you. That he would compliment you easily and often, constantly thanking you for your help. You grew attracted to the attention he gave you. “B-but it wasn’t like that-”

“Is cheating on your husband common for you?” The voice accused.

“What?!” You gasped. “No! I’d never!”

“So this was the first time then?”

“I wasn’t cheating!” You wailed, wanting them to believe you desperately. You may have done bad things, but you hadn’t cheated on Jack. Phil had forced himself onto you, and you had tried to stop it. The memory made the stomach bile creep up your throat.

“Tell me about your husband, Mrs. Daniels.” They demanded.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you stared at your own greening reflection in the mirror. “Jack? What do you want to know about Jack?” You waited, but they didn’t clarify. “What can I say about him?” You wondered aloud with a shrug. “He works for Statesman Distillery, runs the division...”

“So sex with him isn’t doing it for you anymore?”

Your jaw dropped once more. “That’s none of your fucking business!” You hissed. “What kind of question is that?!”

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Mrs. Daniels. I suggest you cooperate.” The voice glowered. “If we want to know about the most intimate details of your life, you had better tell us if you want to get out of here.”

You choked back another sob at the threat. The thought of never leaving this facility, of never seeing Jack again - you’d never get to make up for the month of bad decisions, never get to hold him or kiss him again. Would they tell him what happened, or would he go on never knowing what happened to you? You fought back the tears, not wanting whoever this bastard was to see you cry.

“Jack is a good man.” You whispered, closing your eyes. It was true, and you felt like you were reminding yourself just as much as you were telling them.

“But he doesn’t exactly ‘take you to church’ anymore-” The voice cut off abruptly. You were glad for it, the guilt and anger bubbling within you.

“Why did you go to Francis’ hideout.” They asked.

“Francis?”

“Francis Steinruck, legal name of The Vulture. Also goes by Phil Strickland.”

“Francis Steinruck.” You repeated quietly to yourself, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. You’d been so stupid to believe him. “He wanted me to go with him to Paris. For a mission. He needed a cover and he wanted me to… pose as his wife.”

The silence was deafening. Saying it out loud, you felt like an absolute moron, falling for all of his attention and flattery.

“And you agreed?” The flat voice nearly sounded in disbelief, not that you could blame it.

You nodded pathetically, unable to look up and face your reflection.

“Why?”

You shrugged before dropping your hands back into your lap. “I don’t know.” You admitted, nearly laughing at yourself. “I… I guess I just needed something. Something... more?”

“What did you need, Mrs. Daniels?”

You shook your head, giving another small shrug. “To feel alive? I just wanted to do... something outrageous. Something that was just for me… And it felt really good to be needed. Wanted.” You admitted with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling and blinking back the tears. These were all the thoughts you’d had since meeting Phil, but saying them outloud was just tearing open wounds you’d been ignoring in your life.

“He trusted me. When I talked, it felt like he was listening. He noticed things… He made me feel special.” You paused, taking a steadying breath. “I-I’m not getting any younger, you know?” You laughed bitterly, looking at yourself in the mirror. The tears threatening to break, the dark shadows under your eyes. It was all too apparent as you looked at yourself.

“There’s so much more out there in this life and I didn’t want to miss it. I wanted to be able to look back one day and say ‘yeah, I lived that life. I was wild once! I was reckless and did something exciting!’” You sniffled, not able to stop a few tears from spilling over, letting some of your deepest insecurities come to light.

They said nothing. You didn’t know if they were judging you or felt sorry for you. Both options made anger flare up inside you.

“I don’t give a shit,” you mumbled, wiping your face before feeling more confident as you defended yourself. “I don’t care if you understand or not, okay? I made a decision for myself, and maybe it wasn’t a good decision, and maybe I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I don’t know. The point is I made it for myself, and you don’t have to understand that. I have to answer to myself, and to my husband, but certainly not to you.”

“This Phil… did you sleep with him?”

You sighed, feeling defeat spread through your body. You were exhausted and scared and wanted to go home. You didn’t think you could argue with the faceless voice anymore. “No.”

“You mean you did not have sexual relations with him?”

You huffed, halfway to a laugh as you shook your head. “If you’re going to ask me every goddamn question twice, this is going to take a really long time and I have to get home.” You snarled, standing from the stool.

“You’re not going anywhere.” The voice scolded you as you started to approach the door.

“Just get me out of here!” You screamed, hands flailing at your sides helplessly as the rawness in your throat flared up once more.

“Answer the question.”

“I already answered your fucking question!” You snapped. You couldn’t handle it anymore. The judgement from the people watching and questioning you, your own guilt and anger inside you. You grabbed the stool, swinging it with all your strength into the mirror. It barely cracked, a small spider web pattern spreading from where you connected.

“I did. Not. Sleep. With. Phil!” You screamed, bashing the stool into the mirror with every syllable. “I did not plan to sleep with Phil, I did not want to sleep with Phil!” You shrieked, nearly hysterical as you kept swinging the stool. The mirror broke more and more, your own reflection morphing into a jaded puzzle of yourself, but the mirror never shattered completely.

“Calm down!” The voice demanded, but you ignored it. They called for you to calm down over and over, but you swung the stool until your arms hurt. You swung and swung, screaming until you felt the last ounce of energy you had leave your body.

You stared at the cracks in the mirror, realizing it was never going to break. You panted, chest heaving as you caught your breath from the break down, stumbling back a few steps.

“One more question, Mrs. Daniels.” The voice prompted, sounding as calm as ever. “Do you still love your husband?”

The question made you drop the stool from your hold, clattering loudly to the floor.  You smiled sadly as you thought of Jack, sitting at home with his newspaper or watching a football game while he sipped from his favorite tumbler, having no idea what you had been doing or where you were now.

“Yes. I love him.” Your voice cracked, both from emotions and all the screaming you’d been doing.

The room was silent once more. You didn’t care what they thought anymore. You were just tired and wanted to go home. Curl up next to Jack and start to make your amends for your foolishness. You bent over, fixing the stool and sitting back on it, waiting for the voices to tell you what was happening next. You prayed silently to whatever power might be listening that they would let you go, that you’d get that chance to make your amends.

“There’s only one way to fix all this, Mrs. Daniels.”

You looked back at the broken mirror, the lines and shatter patterns too many to even make out your reflection anymore.

“You will work for us.”

You laughed pitifully, rubbing your forehead as you fought off the headache that was starting to form behind your eyes.

“I am offering you a choice. If you work for us, we will drop the charges and you can go back to your normal life. If not, you will go to federal prison and your husband will be left humiliated and alone. Your life as you know it will be destroyed.”

Your jaw dropped as you listened to the ultimatum. “Gee, what a choice.” You deadpanned.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes, of course I’ll do it.” You huffed in defeat, nearly wanting to laugh. It wasn’t a choice at all. “What do I have to do?”

“You will be contacted with the assignment. The code name of your contact will be Whiskey, and your code name will be Bourbon.”

You huffed, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you heard Jack’s voice in your head. “Bourbon is a whiskey, dumbass. You remember the part when I told you my husband runs a distillery, right?”

The lights clicked out suddenly, making you jump. Sassing them when they had started to show mercy may have been a bad idea.

“You’ll receive our call.” The voice echoed in the darkness. “Goodbye Mrs. Daniels.”

The door behind you opened, and you spun to see a man silhouetted against the light of the hallway. The door stayed open as he stalked towards you.

“Please, I didn’t mean it!” You defended, holding your hands up in front of you in surrender.

The man said nothing. He placed the dark sack over your head and grabbed you once again by the arm, pulling you out of the room.

You weren’t led back to the room you’d been in before, taking different twists and turns through the facility. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. They had said they would let you go, to have you work for them, but that was before you mouthed off.

A door ahead of you opened and you could tell you were outside. Gone was the echoing of shoes, clicking off the pristine floors and bouncing off the walls. The crunch of gravel was under your feet, the sound of trees rustling in the breeze. Out was good… right?

A new sound just in front of you made you jump and as you were pushed forward to climb into a vehicle, you realized it had been a van door sliding open. The moment it closed, the van was moving. You fell to your side, catching yourself with your elbow against the scratchy carpeted flooring. With no one holding you and nothing binding your hands, you were tempted to remove the hood but you didn’t want to know what would happen if you saw something you weren’t supposed to. You stayed quiet and still, mentally pleading for them to let you go.

You weren’t sure how long you drove before the van screeched to a halt - literally screeched, throwing you forward with the momentum. Before you could even think to right yourself, you were grabbed and pulled out of the van. The hood was ripped off and something shoved in your hands.

Your purse.

You were next to your car, where you had parked it when Phil- or Francis, or whoever he was - had picked you up that night. Oh god, was it even the same night?

The van was gone before you even had your bearings about you, no chance at trying to catch the license plate or any distinguishing features. You stood in the deserted street, almost not believing that they’d let you go.

With shaky hands, you opened your purse and dug out your car keys. You dropped them twice while trying to unlock the door. When you finally did, you climbed inside and locked the door right behind you. Feeling even the tiniest amount of safety, locked inside your car, you finally cried. You wrapped your arms around yourself, sobbing as all the emotions from the night hit you. The terror, the disgust, the guilt- it all hit you like a tsunami as you finally broke. 

You wailed, angry with Phil, angry with yourself, gripping at the steering wheel as your knuckles turned white. Pulling at your hair until it hurt. Part of you wanted to hurt, you deserved it after everything you’d done.

You weren’t sure how long you sat in your car, under the overpass, crying, screaming, cursing - eventually you felt numb. Sore, exhausted and numb. It started to feel like the last day had been a movie, something you’d watched someone else live out, not lived it for yourself. You wiped your eyes, seeing it was a little after 11 at night. The last time you’d looked at the clock, it had been around 4 when Phil had picked you up from this very spot. Was it really only 7 hours later? It felt like a lifetime.

You took several long breaths, trying to calm yourself as you started the car. You felt in no way like you were up to driving but you had to get home somehow. You took your time, driving slowly and taking side roads to avoid having to navigate too much traffic.

The porch light was still on when you pulled up to the house, Jack’s Bronco parked in the driveway. A dim light was on in the den, the colours of the TV shining onto the curtains. You parked, wondering if he was awake, waiting and worried, or if he had dozed off.

You took a moment to try to make yourself look semi-presentable. Your red rimmed eyes and heavy bags were a lost cause, but you smoothed down your hair to look somewhat decent, straightening your clothes. There was no way he wouldn’t know something had happened. You thought of the threat that robotic voice had uttered - you will go to federal prison and your husband will be left humiliated and alone - and you knew you had to lie yet again.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat as you unlocked the front door, trying to calm the shaking of your hands as you entered your own home. It was quiet inside, the noise from the TV turned down low. You cleared your throat, wincing at the pain shooting through it before you called out to Jack, your voice as level as you could force it.

There was no answer as you kicked off your shoes, not bothering to right them from wherever they fell. You dragged your hand along the wall for balance as you made your way to the den, your legs shaky after everything you’d been through.

Lit by the lamp to his side and the flashes from the TV, Jack sat in his favorite armchair fast asleep. His head was flopped back against the chair, mouth open as he snored softly. The sight sent waves of regret through you. You might have cried if there were any tears left in you. You crossed the room, crawling into Jack’s lap.

Jack woke with a start as you curled up on his lap, grumbling to himself as he slowly figured out what was going on. You buried your head in his shoulder, curling your fists into his shirt as his arms came up to wrap around you.

“Hey there, darlin’.” He greeted happily, his voice slow and sweet like honey as he woke, his accent thick with sleep. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He chuckled.

You didn’t answer, clinging to him as you tried to find it in you to beg for forgiveness for something you couldn’t even begin to explain to him.

“Sweetheart?” Jack asked, giving your arm a slight shake when you didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered, whispering to hide the strain in your voice.

“For what? What happened?” Jack shifted under you, sitting upright as his tone flooded with concern. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, face still hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Darlin’ look at me, please?” He asked, cupping your cheek as he tried to coax you out of hiding. You took a deep breath and let him pull your face into his view.

“What happened?” He asked calmly, but you could see the concern swirling in his amber eyes. He stroked your cheek as he waited for you to answer.

“Nothing,” you lied, shaking your head.

“Don’t look like nothin’. Talk to me?” The sweeter he was with you, the worse you felt.

“It’s stupid.” You denied once more.

“Rough day?” He guessed, and you were relieved for the out. You nodded as he brushed a large hand over your hair, smoothing it down. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled you into a soft kiss. It felt so different from the last set of lips that had been on yours. Welcome, warm, soft. You melted into the kiss, relishing the love and care behind it. You held him close as he tried to pull away, chasing his lips with your own. He let you lead the kiss, let you take what you needed in your emotional state. The more you kissed him, the more his mustache tickled your lip and his hands massaged your back and shoulders, the more you realized you needed him.

You adjusted yourself in his lap until you were straddling him, your thighs pressed tight to his in the chair. He hummed happily, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your waist. You licked the seam of his lips, pressing your chest to his as he opened his mouth.

He moaned softly as your tongues danced, cupping your cheek as his other hand teased along the hem of your shirt. You wanted to feel him, skin on skin, and you started unbuttoning his shirt. He took the cue to slip his fingers up the back of your shirt, callused fingers dragging over you. It made you gasp, the warm loving touch helping to erase the past several hours. You splayed your hands over his chest, feeling his warmth, the way his chest rose and fell as his breath sped up. It wasn’t enough.

“Need you, Jack.” You whimpered, foregoing the remaining buttons of his shirt to focus on the button of his jeans instead.

“You have me.” He promised, his voice low and husky as he pulled your shirt up. You didn’t lift your arms until his jeans were undone, sitting loose on his hips. Your shirt was discarded carelessly on the floor before Jack surged forward, kissing between your breasts as he palmed them through your bra. You tangled your hands in his hair, letting your head fall back as he focused on you, arching into his touch as your breathing sped up.

“Tell me what you need, baby.” He prompted before closing his teeth over the fabric of your bra, pulling it away before letting it snap back into place.

“Upstairs. Need you to fuck me.” You told him, nearly begging. “Need you inside of me.”

Jack groaned, long and low as he took in your request. His hands scooped under your ass, the only warning you had before he stood. You locked your legs around him, one arm around his shoulders as the other stayed in his hair.

He carried you into your bedroom with ease, despite your lips along his collarbone and you writhing in his arms. He set you on the bed, kissing you passionately as his hands slid up your back to unclasp your bra. You pulled at his shirt, not caring if the buttons opened or broke off. You needed it gone. Your breaths mingled in the space between your lips, panting as the heat grew between you.

He pulled your bra down your arms, dropping it to the floor before sliding his shirt off to join it. You pushed his jeans down his hips, pulling his briefs with them. He helped you, pushing them until they were too low, kicking them off his calves. He removed his lips from yours, kissing down your chest as he worked on your pants.

“Please,” you mewled, gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips.

“I got you.” He responded, breath ragged as he pulled the last pieces of fabric out of the way.

He wrapped his arms around you, lifting you without warning to set you in the middle of the bed. You gasped, caught off guard, and tried to pull him up to kiss you again. The more he kissed you, the more you forgot about Phil. About feeling alone and unseen. The more you could think about nothing but Jack Daniels, the man you should have been thinking about this whole time.

You felt his thick fingers slide along the crease of your hip before dipping into your folds. You moaned, shaking your head.

“Need you now.” You urged against his lips.

“Okay. Okay.” He panted his understanding as his hand left you. You felt him adjust himself, the blunt head of his cock replacing his fingers at your core. You shuddered, dropping your legs open further for him.

“Please, Jack please.” You babbled, letting your head fall back into the mattress.

He shushed you, positioning himself at your entrance. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, god please, Jack.” You nearly sobbed, canting your hips against him.

You gasped as he finally pushed forward, your breath catching as he stretched you. He groaned, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he entered you slowly. You felt his whole body shudder against you as he bottomed out, his short, quick breaths flitting across your skin as he struggled to control himself.

You gripped at his back, feeling the muscles taut under his skin, pleading with him to move. He obliged with a grunt, pulling out before snapping his hips against you. You cried out, back arching up off the mattress as he set a rapid pace, pumping into you steadily.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you sighed, repeating it like a mantra as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder.

“Like that? That what you need?” He panted, lifting his head to stare down at you. His eyes were black with lust, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, jaw clenched.

You continued your mantra as his answer, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper with your heels against his thighs.

He cursed under his breath, nose nudging against your before he took your lips again. All teeth and tongue as he fucked into you. The kiss didn’t last long, both of you struggling for breath.

“M-more.” You stuttered. You wanted him to fuck you. Hard and fast. Use you.

He grunted, increasing his pace. He choked on his words, losing his wits as he cursed, panted your name, ranted how good you felt. You were no better off, only able to ask him for more, more, more as he pounded into you.

He pulled you upwards suddenly, making you gasp in surprise as he sat back on his haunches with you in his lap. He wrapped his arms around your back, using his hands on your shoulders to push you down onto him as he thrust upwards. The new angle made your head spin, his pubic bone grinding against your clit as you cried out for him.

“Wha’d’ya need?” He demanded through clenched teeth. “Need’ya to cum. So fuckin’ close.”

“Don’t stop, god don’t stop.” You plead, wrapping your arms around him and holding him as close as physically possible. Your sweat-slicked chests rubbed together, your nipples hardening at the friction.

You felt Jack’s pace stutter as he got closer and closer to his orgasm. He snaked a hand between you, pinching your clit. Your whole body seized up, a gut-wrenching moan ripping itself from your chest as you came around him. His body shook under you as he rutted into you, your walls holding him tight. You heard him growl as the warmth of his seed filled you.

You collapsed into him, body turning boneless as you came down from your peak, your walls still fluttering around him, throbbing with every beat of your heart as you shakily gulped down all the air you could.

You felt the tremors shaking Jack’s body as his pleasure faded. He carefully lowered you back to the bed, cradling you in his arms before pulling out of you with a drawn-out grunt. He rolled to the side, falling onto his back as he caught his breath. You felt his cum leaking out of you, dripping down onto the blanket beneath you.

Neither of you spoke or moved, simply trying to catch your breaths as your bodies hit you with faint aftershocks of your orgasms. Your mind was finally quiet - the guilt, the anger, the stress all replaced with the only thing you could think of: Jack.

You jumped when his hand caressed your cheek, not having realized your eyes had drifted closed.

“Y’Okay?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with love and care even in the dim room. You nodded, resting your hand on top of his.

“Feelin’ better?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He smiled tiredly before leaning over you, kissing you so gently you almost questioned if his lips were even touching yours. “Stay here.” He ordered once his lips left yours.

He got out of bed, grousing quietly as he moved. You didn’t think you could disobey him even if you wanted to. There was no way you could move.

He returned with a washcloth, gently parting your legs to clean you. You moaned softly as your muscles protested the movement. The cloth was warm and his touch gentle and soothing to your aching, swollen flesh. When he was satisfied, he tossed the cloth in the direction of the various discarded clothes littering the floor to be dealt with in the morning. Climbing back up the bed, he carefully pulled you to him, holding you close with your head nestled on his chest.

His heartbeat, slowly returning to a normal pace, beat steadily in your ear. His smell was all around you, he was all you could feel. His voice rumbled through his chest, speaking a soft good night as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You mumbled your response, too tired, too spent to articulate. You were passed out mere moments later.

Tagging  @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @seasonschange-butpeopledont @vonschweetz @insideafictionaluniverse @driedgreentomatoes @computeringturtle @thottiewinemom @phoenixhalliwell @sheerfreesia007 @and-claudia @weirdowithnobeardo @massivecolorspygiant @mrstaekim @chibi-liz05 @adrieunor @ilikechocolatemilkh @thirstworldproblemss @dynishot @diamond-doritos @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

[harknesswife]

It was you all along (Agatha Harkness x Female Reader)

Summary: This is a sweet self-insert love story between Agatha and a Westview citizen. Everything that happens follows the original events of “Wandavision” and MCU, like a parallel.

Chapter: 10/10

Word count: 1.663K

The bus stopped in front of the “Welcome to Westview” sign. We all got off as FBI and SWORD agents kept blabbering about going back to our real lives. I let my mind wander for a while.

It had been a week since I ran off the hex, leaving Agatha behind. They got all of us into this facility that, to me, it kinda looked like a prison. “We just need to be sure that the city is safe to come back to”, they said. My room had no windows, but I knew that this wouldn’t stop her. I’d sleep every night hoping that she’d just burst her way in and take me out of there. She told me to wait, and I did.

Agent James clapped his hands and brought me back from my daydream.

"Ok, welcome back, everyone. Everything is perfectly fine. Westview is secure, Wanda is gone. And that’s all you need to know."

Some people clapped. They wouldn’t tell us anything about what happened after we got out, and that was driving me insane.

We stepped inside Westview as if we’re entering a pool, slowly and carefully. The city was way different from the colorful lie we were living. Everything was pretty gray and dark. I passed by my place, the door was still open just how I'd left it. But I didn’t want to get in, not yet. I wanted to preserve a little more of that memory of how it used to be. Lots of families were getting inside their own houses, I could see people packing stuff. I kept walking, getting my eyes used to this new reality when I saw it.

Her house. What used to be her house, the place where she took me on that Halloween night. Everything was destroyed. I crossed my arms on my chest, trying my best not to cry. Sword did it, I was sure, to make Westview “safe again”. I peeked around, trying to find any clue when I glanced at her bicycle just tossed aside. I ran for it and when I was about to lift it…

"Oh, hey!"

It was Fietro. I took several steps back.

"You can have it", he said, lifting it and handing it to me. "I don’t mind".

I kept staring at him, trying to read his eyes. He smiled at me.

"I’m sorry. Do we know each other? My head is still kinda messy from all the, you know…"

"No need to be sorry", I said, relieved that he didn't remember me. Especially naked me. "Nice to meet you. Are you leaving?"

I pointed at the two big bags behind him.

"Definitely. I’m not taking my chances with her again."

"Wanda? I thought she was gone", I asked, slightly more interested.

He sighed.

"I shouldn’t be talking about this. I’m sorry", he tried to leave, but I held him.

"Do you know what happened? After we all left?", I was holding his arm with only one hand. He wasn’t trying to get away, but I refused to let go.

"I was here", he whispered. "But I can’t talk about it. They made me promise."

"Please!", I asked. "I’m so confused right now. I need closure. I think knowing would help me to just… move on.

I meant it and he knew that. He above all people knew how it was to be unable to control his own mind. So he told me all about the two identical men flying and fighting against each other. He told me about that brave woman that just threw herself in front of Wanda’s kids to protect them, even when she didn’t know that her body was bulletproof. How the sword army was defeated by these same two young boys. And, finally, how both witches kept throwing blasts at each other, a huge battle in a red sky.

"And then..." he said, pointing at the exact place where it happened. "They got back. But Wanda was… different. She looked like a witch, cape, and everything. And the other one - I could see some anger in his voice - was just on the floor, defeated."

I took a deep breath.

"Wanda left after a while. The agents found me and it was their idea to destroy the place. I used to live here, you know. That’s why Agatha picked me".

It was really weird listening to someone else saying her name.

"But if Wanda’s gone… What did you say about taking chances?"

"Well. I heard something that I never told the agents...", he was whispering again. "Wanda changed Agatha’s witch clothes into casual ones. She told her that she knew where to find her. I think Wanda did to her what she did to all of us, trapping her inside her mind. And that makes me think that..."

"She’s still here."

It wasn’t a question. She was there, in Westview. That’s why she didn’t come for me. Now it was my time to find her. I smiled at him, hopping on the bike.

"Thank you, Fietro!!"

"Wait, what did you just call me?"

But I was already pedaling away at full speed. Looking right and left, trying to figure out where Wanda would place Agatha. Plain sight, so no one would suspect? Or maybe a little bit away from the neighborhood, just to be safe? I felt a few drops of rain falling into my head, wet hair getting into my eyes. There were a few cars on the street and It was hard to keep track of all of them. The orange light of a headlight blinded me for just a second, and it was all it took for me to fall. I tried to get up, feeling dizzy.

!Hun! Are you okay?"

I wasn’t ready. But she was right there, in the rain, kneeling in front of me. I had no idea how.

"Agatha", I said, staring at her. Somehow, I thought she would simply look at me and remember everything.

"It’s Agnes! A common mistake, tho", she smiled, her hair also getting wet. "Oh, let’s get inside! Let me help you with that", she said while grabbing the bicycle. I got up slowly.

If I had looked back, I’d see how she stopped, confused for just a split second, after touching the handlebar.

The inside of her house was cozy and colorful, like a piece of the “fake Westview”. It felt like home.

"I’m gonna get you something warm. Just a sec, honey."

She left me in the living room, my heart beating like crazy. “Calm down”, I said to myself. I looked around, trying to find anything that would help me bring her back. There was a shelf with some books, but none of them were glowing. Mundane. I got closer to read some of the titles when something else got my attention.

A few drawings were on the table right next to the shelf, some of them unfinished. A faceless girl with wings. The back of two women with bubbles floating around them. Pieces of our memories. They were still there, in some corner of her mind.

"Here you go", she said, handing me a cup of tea. Our fingers touched for a second, and she kept staring at me as her smile faded away.

She let go of the cup and touched my face, just like she used to do. I closed my eyes, waiting for her next reaction. Something was happening and I knew it.

"Go. Now."

It was her voice. But it didn’t sound like her.

The rain was still pouring outside. She kept telling me to leave, her eyes locked on me, like a trance. I refused. One of her hands was now glowing with a red fog.

Wanda.

"Agatha, please. Please. You need to remember. Please!", I kept saying it while she slowly lifted her hand.

I had no idea how, but Wanda was controlling her. Talking wouldn’t help. I took a step in her direction, then another one. She lifted the other hand, a threat that I ignored. Agatha did some sort of magical movement and everything flew into the walls. Everything but me. She wasn’t expecting that. I took another step, getting closer.

"You protected me long enough", I said, hoping that, somehow, Agatha would listen. "But I need you to come back."

I grabbed one of her wrists, trying to ignore the massive red energy that she was holding on her other hand. I could feel the warmth and the light getting closer to my face, I knew that it was my last try. I took off the ring that she gave me and placed it on her finger, screaming by how much strength it took me to do it. We both fell on the ground immediately.

I crawled over to her. She was trying to get up.

"Agatha?", I said with my voice breaking.

She looked up.

Agatha held me tight, touching my face to make sure that I was okay. I couldn’t stop the silent tears from falling. She kissed me several times, on my lips, my forehead, and my cheeks.

"I’ve missed you..." she whispered, fixing a lock of hair behind my ear. "We gotta get out of here. Wanda knows about you."

"I had to", I said, holding her hand.

"I know", she nodded, taking off the ring. The stone was black now. "You won’t need this anymore. I’ll be your shield."

We both got up, ready to leave, when the same orange headlight blinded me again, right inside of her living room. Only it wasn’t a headlight, as I realized too late. Agatha put me behind her, staring at that weird thing.

It was like a mirror, but instead of our reflection, we saw a man. He was wearing a cape and a necklace with a glowing green stone.

"My name is Doctor Strange", he said, in a calm voice. "And I need you to come with me."

[papergirllife]

Chapter 1

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem​ (lmk if you wanna be on the list)

It has always been like this, being locked up in the study room so you could ‘study’ for hours end, or that’s what they think you’re doing. You studied in an elite academy with your smart cousins, only to have you graduating with average grades, which of course, earned you a harsh scolding from your parents. Now, you’re supposed to be studying business for university, even though you had zero interests in it, the subject is fine, it’s what you’re studying it for that irks you. Your family runs a business in Seoul, but from what you can see by secretly skimming through the files as well as the arguments behind shut doors with your aunts and uncles, things aren’t going as planned.

You don’t have many friends, nor a phone, they took it away from you when you wanted to go out with some friends, claiming that it’s a distraction that should be locked away. You felt like Rapunzel, locked away from the world, they don’t have any love for you, you’re quite sure they don’t, they had once slapped your face ten times when you had a boyfriend behind their backs, and you were 15 for god’s sake, along with other things that you rather not say, you don’t want to relive all those painful memories.

Sometimes you wished you could go back to the time when you were a child, when you were at your grandparents’ in the morning, her warm smile and loving eyes, when you didn’t know what laid ahead. You wish you hadn’t realised that you were being abused, you used to think what you went through was the same for other kids as well, until you talked about it with other people and scared them away from you. The painful memories sinking back in made the words in front of you blurry as you felt tears seeping in your eyes.

Depression.

It’s deemed as something ridiculous in your family, and that people who are suffering from it are weaklings and don’t deserve anything from this society.

‘Does that mean I’m weak?’

You never went to therapy nor took any medication for your mental illnesses, and recently the development of anxiety attacks are constantly putting you on edge. You have them at least once a week, sometimes you even had problem breathing, but you couldn’t tell anyone about it, nor anyone would ever listen to your cries of help.

“We’re going to help sell your uncle’s house this Saturday,” your mother said as she was folding the clothes.

“The mansion he recently bought?” you asked, confused as to why he would sell the mansion he was obsessed with just two months ago.

“Yes, he bought that without our permission back then, so now we need to sell it for funds, and you need to be there to entertain the potential buyers, give them a tour around the house and other enquiries. You have to direct them to us if you think they’re truly interested, it’s going to be an open house concept party,” cold, that’s how your mother sounded, her claims of putting family above everything else flying out of the window whenever her demands are not met.

“Okay, is there anything else?” you asked, hoping to be excused as soon as possible.

“No, you can continue your studies in the study room.”

That’s what basic communication is in your life, you tried talking about your interests, your opinions, but they either fall on deaf ears, or you would receive a lecture for having a ‘false perspective’. You’ve given up on talking to them about things that are going in on your life now, they don’t listen anyways.

The party is filled with old men with their muffin tops waddling around with a wine glass in hand and talking obnoxiously loud, obviously having too much money to go by, looking at how overly filled their bellies are.

You tried hiding away in the house, but your family kept pushing you out to talk to them. Their stares were not intimidating, no, but it made you feel uncomfortable as their gazes linger a bit too long on your legs or anywhere else, and the way they didn’t want to let go after they shook your hand, made your anxiety levels rise to the roof.

You would find random excuses to run away, like going to refill their glass or saying you need to use the loo, your heartbeat going as fast as your legs could take you away from them.

When you came back out from hiding for the 6th time, both your parents were rushing you to meet someone new.

“He’s a man of great fortune and power, so the chances of him buying this house is high. Don’t try to hide from this one, or you’ll get it when we get home,” your mother warned, her eyes side eying you with daggers.

Your mother’s threat made you sick inside, what are you to them? A scapegoat?

You weren’t paying attention to who or where was she pushing you to, but once you stopped, the man in front of you made your eyes as big as saucers.

‘How is a man like this doing here?’ you thought to yourself.

“Hello Mr Suh, we’re quite busy at the moment with other potential buyers. Why don’t we allow my daughter, Y/N, to show you around?” your mother said, her voice overly sweet, like day old cotton candy.

Once you were in front of him, your parents left. Leaving you helpless as your social anxiety kicks in, your eyes trained on his shoulder, eye contact, especially from this man, made you very nervous.

“C-can I give you a tour?’ you asked, hoping to ditch him halfway.

Johnny looks at the way your eyes avoid his, it wasn’t hard, given how tall he was, there’s just something so intriguing about you, so different from the girls that throw themselves at him with zero doubts.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Johnny,” Johnny introduced himself by bending down slightly, a friendly smile on his face, one that you can’t decipher whether he had similar intentions as those nasty old men had.

To say that the tour was horrible would’ve been an understatement, you kept stuttering under his piercing gaze, instead of looking at you like you were his next meal like other potential buyers, Johnny was genuinely listening to what you have to say. You didn’t think the house was any interesting, it was just a bunch of useless expensive things under one roof, like the movie room, the slides at the pool, the ‘mini’ bar. These things weren’t appealing to you, riches are overrated when it becomes too common, like your cousins and their different designs of Birkin bags, you weren’t exactly fond of their favourite alligator skinned ones as well.

Yet Johnny didn’t look at the cliche setting that you are currently presenting, instead his eyes are trained on yours, it wasn’t a scrutinizing gaze like the wives of those perverted men who stared down on you, nor anything that seems predatory, it only held calculation and observance. On the house? It doesn’t seem like it. On you? You can bet this whole house that he’s met women far more beautiful compared to a plain jane like you.

“T-that’s all for the tour, Mr Suh. Would you want me to direct you to my parents, if you’re interested?” you asked, hoping that you’d get to be alone again.

“Can you take me to the park nearby? I’d like to see the facilities available in this housing area,” he answered smoothly, as if he had calculated every little detail in his life.

You nodded wordlessly at his request, taking him to see the park nearby the house. It was a weird sight, having a man as tall as Johnny towering behind you.

“This is the park,” you pointed stupidly, cursing at yourself, obviously this is the park,  anyone with eyes could tell.

Johnny inhaled the breath of fresh air this area offered, his shoulders not as tensed up after. A smile decorated his handsome face as he turned towards you.

“Let’s sit.”

Johnny directed you to the nearest park bench, his size taking up most of the bench, yet he scoots into himself as you sat down next to him, giving you personal space.

‘Does he think I’m going to lower the price of the house for him? I don’t even know how much they’re selling it for,’ you thought, thinking this man must be mad that an unimportant person like you could negotiate with him.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Y/N. I’m not interested in the house,” Johnny said, breaking the silence.

Your mom isn’t going to be pleased when she hears this, you thought as you bit at your bottom lip, thinking about how harsh is she going to react if she didn’t get a buyer out of this event.

“Thank you for taking your time for considering through out this-

“I’m interested in you.”

Did you hear that correctly or was your mind playing tricks on you?

You stared at Johnny as his hand comes close to your face, he wasn’t pulling you closer, instead his fingers reached out to gently graze the underside of your eyes.

“I can see what you’re hiding,” Johnny said solemnly, his eyes showing you pity.

You quickly took out your compact mirror out of your pocket, checking to see if you did a bad job on the concealer for your puffy eyes today, but it looked fine.

“I used to be involve in theater, and I’ve seen people covering unwanted marks or eye bags on their face many times. It’s not obvious to most people, don’t worry,” Johnny explained.

The touch of his fingertips on your face was filled with warmth, as well as his eyes when he looked at you now, if his eyes were honey you’ll be as addicted as Winnie the Pooh. His touch was quickly gone as it had came, his hand placed back into his lap as he stares ahead.

“I’m not going to assume anything, but from what I can see, I don’t think you deserve to be going through what you’re facing now. And as for your family’s company, it’s not going to last long even if they managed to sell this property out. You’re going to be in a much more disappointing situation when that happens, I’ve been in the business game my whole life, my predictions hardly go astray anymore,” Johnny said without a sliver of judgement, he was just laying out the cards for you to observe.

Johnny reaches for a card in his coat pocket and handed it to you, it was his business card.

“I can take you away from all this chaos raging among your family, if you can call it a family that is. I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N,” Johnny said before standing up and walking away to the direction where his car awaits, his driver closing his door.

That was most definitely a statement.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Guiding the Way

Written for the Kidge Spring Event!

Prompt 5: Fern and Oak | Shelter and Strength

Years ago, @uraraaaaaaan mentioned wanting a Kidge Sentinel/Guide AU and I wrote down the idea, always intending to go back and write it. Finally, I have.

Summary: Sentinel/Guide AU. Pidge had long given up on meeting a Sentinel who would be strong enough to provide the balance she needed. It wasn't until her first day at the Galaxy Garrison that she began to see a glimmer of hope that maybe they were nearby.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

The first time Pidge felt it was during her tour of the facilities of the Galaxy Garrison.

It began as a low ringing in her ears, a sensation that was immediately brushed off as nothing unusual. She automatically tightened her emotional control as a foreign feeling of loneliness and hopelessness began to creep over her, pushing it away so she wouldn't become overwhelmed. She looked around and watched as a few others in her tour group, as well as a few cadets who were roaming the halls, began to shift in unease, some of them rubbing their ears or gingerly massaging their temples, as though hoping a physical reaction would ward it off.

The ringing intensified with a single pulse that drowned out all other noise.

One minute Pidge was standing and the next she was on the ground, slumped against a wall with her head in her hands, struggling to breathe. There was a hand on her shoulder and, as her hearing returned, she could begin to make out someone coaching her through a breathing exercise.

“Sh-Shiro?” she gasped out.

Takashi Shirogane smiled softly at her. “I'm here, Katie. Don't speak right now: just breathe. You'll be okay.”

As she lifted her head to look around, Pidge saw that not everyone was affected by the sound. If she had to guess, around one out of twenty people were affected the same way she was. She waited until her breathing had mostly evened out before speaking again. “What was that?”

“A Sentinel suffering from Overload,” Shiro said, sounding apologetic. “Commander Holt never mentioned that you're a Guide.”

“It's not really important,” Pidge lied. She knew he was curious about why she chose to keep it such a secret, but she was much more curious in learning why a Sentinel who was suffering so badly was kept in a place like the Galaxy Garrison.

“So, who's this Sentinel you mentioned?” she asked.

“Keith,” spat out a nearby cadet with brown hair, who was being helped to his feet by a girl with short blonde hair.

Shiro stiffened. “Cadet Hawkins is--!”

“Well, they can't keep him hidden forever!” snapped the cadet, jerking his head to look in their direction. His face paled as he got a look at who he had yelled at. “Lieutenant Shirogane, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you!”

Shiro ignored him and instead helped Pidge to her feet. “Officer Johnson, I'll be taking Cadet Holt from here. I'll be sure to return her to her dorm by curfew.”

The woman clutched her clipboard to her chest and pursed her lips together in a thin line, but in the end, she didn't voice her dislike of the breach in protocol and allowed Shiro to whisk Pidge away. She ordered the remaining new cadets to reform a line and continued with the tour.

Pidge trotted after Shiro and waited until they were a suitable distance away before beginning her questioning anew. “Are you going to tell me what's going on? Who's this 'Keith' guy anyway?”

Shiro ushered her into an unoccupied room before answering. “Keith is an exceptionally strong Sentinel. Strong enough that we've been unable to find a Guide who is capable of bonding with him. I... That is, myself and some of the other high officers thought it would help if we moved him away from the Garrison, but it doesn't seem to have made a difference.”

Pidge's jaw dropped. “He's not even on the grounds? Just how wide is his range?”

“Immeasurable,” Shiro said with a grimace. “As you can tell, there are those who are unhappy with the way we've handled things, but they also believe that he's still within Garrison grounds. They cannot know how far away he is. There has already been talking of sending him to a... specialized facility to try and help him regain control.”

There was something about the tone Shiro used that made Pidge think that moving Keith to such a place would be the worst thing they could do. What kind of facility could help a Sentinel who was suffering from Overload, anyway? People had studied it for years and couldn't find an artificial way to prevent it or the Guide equivalent of Apathy.

“The only thing we can do is keep him as comfortable as possible and hope we find a Guide who is capable of bonding with him,” Shiro said.

Pidge remained silent as Shiro led her back out into the hall and picked up her tour where Officer Johnson had left off. All the while, she thought of the mysterious Keith and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was the Sentinel she'd been searching for.

She came Online as a Guide at the age of 8 – much earlier than most and to the great confusion of her family, who had never considered preparing for such an event. It took years of talking to older guides, of being pulled out of school, of emotional outbursts, of failed attempts to find a Sentinel for her to bond with, and a very near-slip into Apathy before she was able to control her abilities enough to go out and be around crowds again.

As Sentinels and Guides were two sides of a single coin, so were Overload and Apathy.

For Sentinels, who were most well-known for their inhuman strength, excellent eyesight, and an enhanced sense of smell, Overload was the result of being overwhelmed by those physical senses in a way that was difficult to turn off without help.

For Guides, who were known for their sense of empathy (and who historically had been accused of reading minds because of the way they could sense emotions of those around them), Apathy was what happened when it all became too much. First came the maelstrom of emotions around them, followed by them overcompensating to try and regain control, which inevitably led to a full emotional shutdown.

Bonding was beneficial to both parties – and could be considered necessary for them to live long and healthy lives.

Because she came Online at such a young age, Pidge was an uncommonly strong Guide. She had to work harder than most to try and block out the emotions of those around her, as well as to keep her own under control. It also meant that she needed a Sentinel who was capable of providing the balance she needed.

“I want to meet him,” Pidge stated, interrupting Shiro in the middle of his description of the Gymnasium and the courses offered there. She stopped walked and gazed up at him, a stubborn glint in her eyes. “I want to meet Keith.”

Shiro hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Tonight. After dinner.”

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Keith's morning began on a high note.

There was no bright sunlight streaming in from the windows where the heavy curtains couldn't quite cover. The temperature inside the house was just right – not too hot and not too cold.  Better yet, his blankets and clothing didn't feel like sandpaper grating against his skin. He got up slowly, taking the time to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted.

It never lasted for long.

He knew that from experience.

He shuffled across the floor into the bathroom where he took care of his usual morning ablutions before heading into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of plain oatmeal, which was typically bland enough that he wouldn't become overwhelmed. It was when he uncapped the milk to begin heating it up that things went wrong.

Keith gagged, immediately fighting the bile rising at the back of his throat. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the milk, which Shiro had bought the day before, but the smell of it was still too much. He managed to twist the cap back on and shoved the carton into the fridge (which was missing a lightbulb to avoid agitating his eyes) before he dropped to the floor as his Overload kicked in and made his senses go haywire.

Suddenly, everything was too much.

His head throbbed in agony and Keith clenched his teeth, trying in vain to hold on, but it was all too much and darkness soon rushed up to meet him.

Keith didn't know how much time had gone by when he woke again. The house was still dark and quiet, but all of him ached from passing out on the hard kitchen floor and it took him a few long minutes to slowly stretch and try to alleviate that pain before he felt well enough to stand up and try to cook again.

The oatmeal was as bland and tasteless as ever, especially when made with plain water – Keith didn't want to risk opening the milk again – but it was inoffensive enough that he could force it down and truthfully tell Shiro that he'd eaten something. There wasn't much else for Keith to do after that. His head hurt too badly to do anything productive, though he knew he should, at the very least, attempt to meditate again.

It was something Shiro was always getting on him for; his friend was convinced that meditation would be the thing to help him, but how could it when he couldn't concentrate long enough to do it? How could it when it only seemed to amplify his senses?

Keith laid down on top of his makeshift bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

Hours passed.

Keith slipped into a state somewhere between being awake and asleep and only jostled free by the agonizingly loud sound of the front door unlocking and then squeaking open. Out of habit, he kept his eyes closed to prevent being blinded by the rays of the setting sun and because of that, his only indication that Shiro wasn't alone was the sound of a second set of much lighter footsteps following along behind him.

“Who's with you?” Keith asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

He heard the door shut and only then dared to open his eyes, focusing immediately on the young woman wearing the familiar orange uniform of the Galaxy Garrison. He couldn't muster up the energy to ask again and turned his head away in dismissal.

“Keith, this is Pidge,” Shiro said softly. “She's a Guide.”

Keith couldn't bring himself to react to the news. He'd tried to bond with so many Guides over the past few years that he had given up on ever finding the right one. He was too tired to keep trying.

Someone shuffled closer and Keith could hear Shiro saying his name, but it was as though he was speaking from a great distance. Was that... bad? He couldn't fully bring himself to care. What did it matter? Nothing mattered. There was nothing that could help him. Nothing.

A hand. Light and gentle over his own. Warm. Pleasant.

A voice. Soothing and quiet. Refreshing, in a way.

Perfume. Subtle. Soft citrus and something earthy. Like the forest after a thunderstorm.

And in the back of his mind, a tendril of worry unfurled and prodded him until he opened his eyes and he found himself face-to-face with a girl – Pidge, wasn't it? – with golden eyes. He blinked and relief blossomed across her face, echoed by that tendril creeping deeper into his mind.

They weren't his emotions, Keith realized all at once.

A bond. Slow to form, but effortlessly strong once it took root. He could feel it there and instinctively knew that all he needed to do was reach out and accept it. He breathed in and then out, slow and steady, all the while maintaining eye contact. He twisted his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hello,” Keith said hoarsely.

A tiny laugh bubbled up from Pidge's throat as she smiled, and Keith could feel the pop of joy inside himself, bursting bright like sunshine. “Hi,” she responded, slightly breathless.

Shiro settled onto the floor next to Pidge and Keith tilted his head to look at his oldest friend, taking in the traces of deep concern across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say except: “I ate this morning.”

“Oatmeal?” Shiro guessed with a grin.

Keith nearly groaned. He hadn't meant to say that out loud!

Shiro chuckled as he stood up. “Why don't you two stay put and I'll see what I can make for dinner. Once your bond starts to settle, you'll both need to eat.” He paused a moment, looking down at both of them with a soft expression, and then strode across the room into the kitchenette, where he began searching the cupboards for anything edible.

Keith turned his attention back to Pidge.

Back to his Guide.

And it was as she introduced herself that Keith got the first inkling that everything was going to be alright from that point on. The longer she was there, the more the pain he felt so intensely before was easing away. Things no longer sounded as loud. The room actually appeared dark to him. (Actually, it was a wonder that Shiro could actually see in the kitchen. He should probably tell him he could turn on a light.)

Yes. Things would be better.

[killian-spey]

Death Would Be Kinder [Prologue]

Next Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 1591

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad.

TW/CW: violence

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. It's a tad different from the original concept, but I just had so much fun with it! (Planned to be somewhere between 5-10 parts.)

It was Buffy’s 17th birthday today, but the mood seemed too heavy in the car for any giggling between the two of you. Truth be told, you both had a lot on your minds; not that you would have actually told her anything about your problems. You were staring out the window, picking absently at some dried paint on your arm; you never were able to master being tidy while you painted. Your older sister, Jenny, was driving the two of you to The Bronze, where the rest of the group was lying in wait to surprise her with a birthday bash. You made eye contact with her when she looked through the rear view at you, and you could tell she was just as worried as you were about recent developments.

Your Uncle had come into town recently and berated the two of you for letting Buffy and Angel get so close. Unfortunately for you and Jenny, if something didn't change quickly, Angel could lose his soul. All the work of your ancestors taken to curse him would be undone, and there would be no way to fix it. It's not that you wanted Angel to be unhappy, but the vengeance curse against Angel was not only important to your people, but possibly the thing that kept him from being a monster. If anything jeopardized that, it would crush Buffy and the gang. You didn't want to let anyone down.

Jenny pulled into the side street -having arrived at The Bronze- and you undid your seat belt. Before you could open your door, Buffy pulled your hand away from the handle.

“This looks funky, stop for a sec.”

You and Jenny both squinted, trying to see what she was even talking about. It took you both a moment, but sure enough there were two vamps clambering around on a truck in the shadows. Jenny tried to talk Buffy out of fighting them, but she left anyway. Something about destiny and all that. You were just impressed she could see that well in the dark.

Watching Buffy fight the vamps left you wincing, pitying the undead for having to go through such a beat down. You hung on the edge of your seat and leaned on the passenger seat in front of you. The two of you left in the vehicle hadn't had a chance to talk in private since Uncle had spilled the beans on the Angel problem.

“What are we going to do about the curse, Jenny?”

She made a face and shook her head, she didn't know what to do either. She knew more about the curse than you did -magic was never your strong suit- and if she didn't know, you both were stuck.

“If only there was a way to separate them.” You were spit-balling.

“Right, and how do you suggest we do that?”

She had a point, Buffy and Angel had been practically attached at the hip recently. You opened your mouth to speak, but paused as Buffy tossed the last vamp through a window into The Bronze. You and Jenny both made reactionary sounds that could only be summed up as “Yikes noises” and scrambled out of the car. Buffy hopped through the broken window and you both inspected the window. Jenny picked up a crate one of the vamps had been carrying and carried it inside.

After some pleasantries and some “Yeah, sorry! Vampires exist” talk with Oz, the group crowded around the mystery box. It was no secret that those vamps were Spike’s men, so whatever it was, it was definitely not good.

Your worry was confirmed when an arm shot out of the box, strangling Buffy before she and Angel managed to rip it away from her throat. According to Angel, it was the arm of The Judge. That meant Spike was building a one-man-apocalypse like some kind of demonic Lego figurine.

You glanced at Jenny, trying to communicate your plan silently as you addressed the group. “Someone has to take this thing as far away from here as possible- separate it from the other pieces.”

Jenny was quick, immediately understanding your idea.

“Angel, it has to be you. You're the only one who can protect this thing.”

It took a little convincing, but a plan was soon agreed on. You and Jenny shared a “Thank God” glance, secretly pleased that Angel and Buffy would be separated, at least temporarily. You could rest easy in the fact that Angelus wouldn't be loosed on the world in a freak accident of soul-losing proportions.

Or so you thought...

A couple hours later, you were back in the library doing research. Angel and Buffy had lost the box, and had everyone regroup to study up on The Judge.

To be entirely honest, you were doodling in your notes. Every text on The Judge said exactly the same thing, sometimes even verbatim. The Judge cannot be killed by any weapon forged by Man. It was exhausting!

Luckily for you, Buffy decided to break up the research with some good old fashioned recon, and Jenny suggested you go with them. Buffy was about to protest, but you cut her off.

“With the exception of you supernatural folks, I do have the best track record of holding my own. No offense, guys,” Xander seemed less than pleased with your not-so-subtle brag, but you continued anyway. “And, I’d be able to map parts of the facility super quick and easy. We’ll need that info if we plan on making a move.”

Reluctantly, Buffy and Angel agreed to take you with them and you snatched your notepad and pencil from the table, glad to be free from the texts and tomes… Even if it meant putting you in direct danger. You briefly wondered if maybe you shouldn't see a therapist about that someday, but shrugged it off as the three of you left the building.

---

Upon reaching the factory, the three of you climbed the fire escape and ducked into a broken, old window over a set of rafters. You had already begun sketching the layout of the rooms as you took in the sights below. It looked like some kind of party, to be plain. Vamps were crawling all throughout the place, a crystal bowl of what looked like punch rested on a table covered with cups in the middle of the warehouse space, and tall lattice-backed chairs were loosely strewn around a banquet table. You and Buffy creeper ahead on the grate walkway above it all. Your eyes were locked on the party, but you could assume Angel was following behind; he was too quiet for you to hear.

Your eyes fell on Spike, he was in a wheelchair. He seemed to be enjoying himself despite his weakened state, talking to someone just out of your line of sight. Not a second later, you saw Drusilla dancing her way across the floor, swaying to her own beat and sweeping the red chiffon ribbons of her dress through the air. Buffy gasped softly, but you didn't see whatever she'd seen.

“That's him. The Judge,” Angel whispered from behind you both and pointed.

You saw him, just as he craned his ugly blue head up to spot the three of you gawking. Fuck.

You spun to face the window, finding two vamps in the way of your escape. Buffy and Angel had flanked you from both sides, but fighting this many vamps was completely futile. Before long, the three of you were dragged in front of Spike, Drusilla and The Judge. Spike rolled his chair forward to get a better look at Buffy.

“Well, Well- look what we have here! Crashers.”

“I'm sure our Invitations just got lost in the mail,”

You almost rolled your eyes at Buffy’s one-liner. How she managed wise-cracks at a time like this was beyond you. Ignoring the monologues, your eyes darted around in search for an escape method. Nothing came to mind, but when you turned back into the conversation, Drusilla’s eyes had locked with yours.

She was ever so slightly swaying to music you couldn't hear and your eyes followed her intently. She raised two fingers, pointed at each of your eyes and gestured to her own. She beckoned you. She was enchanting. Beautiful. She was- she broke contact as Buffy suddenly made a move and you took a second to follow suit, twisting out of a vamp’s hold and knocking him -and accidentally yourself- off balance. You were suddenly unsure of your footing, almost groggy as you fought.

Angel pulled a chain, crashing a pile of video monitors you hadn't noticed down from their perch onto The Judge. The three of you scattered. You ducked behind some crates and heard Drusilla call for the lackeys to chase. You spotted Angel and Buffy slipping into a sewer drain and psyched yourself up to book it twenty feet to get there to join them. You took one last look behind the crates -Drusilla locked eyes with you- and you booked it, not entertaining her gaze this time.

As you dropped down the sewer drain, you caught a glimpse of her, just staring at you. You scanned both directions of the sewer system, but found no trace of Buffy or Angel. In a split second you picked a direction and ran. You didn't stop running. Not for breath, not to look behind you, and certainly not to entertain the nagging memory of Drusilla’s eyes, staring into your soul as they'd done just minutes ago.

Read Next Ch.

[might-be-a-zygon]

How about Terror and 19 for thasmin but also, as an additional request if you're able, the Doctor has to be the one to say it.

The Nightmares Gonna Get You

The Patient has no idea how long she has been in the facility.

She doesn’t even really know where the facility is. She knows that probably isn’t it’s real name, but it’s the only thing she’s ever heard them call it.

The Mother says it’s a hospital, and with all the doctor’s buzzing around, that makes sense, but it doesn’t look much like a hospital. Well, she doesn’t think it looks like a hospital, anyway. When the Patient thinks of the word hospital, her mind conjures images of sterile white rooms and blue gloves and rows and rows of beds. She doesn’t exactly know where that image comes from, but she’s never been in any hospital that looked like that.

Thinking about it, she isn’t sure she’s ever been anywhere but the facility.

One of the doctors comes to tuck her in at night. She doesn’t need tucking in, of course, she’s hardly a child, but she knows that the Mother wants to monitor when she’s in bed, and sending the doctors to deal with her is a reliable way to know that she’s actually where she’s supposed to be. The Patient doesn’t mind much- the doctors are mostly kind, and she’d rather have them checking in on her than the Mother.

“How’re you feelin’?” The doctor asked, walking up to her and placing a hand on her forehead as though checking for a fever, though she hadn’t suffered from one after a tissue sample before. It was never a fun experience, but she bounced back quick.

This doctor doesn’t come to see her that often- she’s always assumed he must work less hours than the ones she sees more often. He also looks the least at home in his white lab coat, constantly tugging on the lapels as though he is used to a different sort of jacket. Still, his Northern accent is comforting to her- a little slice of a home she can never quite remember. Nobody else in the hospital talks much like her, after all.

“It’s. Alright. Bit sore.” She admits after a few moments, trying to downplay the pain. She doesn’t want them to give her the painkillers again- they make her dreams even worse than normal, and she really doesn’t want to face that.

He gives her an understanding look, nodding and stepping back. “D’ya need anythin’ else before I turn the lights out?” He asks. She shakes her head.

The doctor makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling the heavy red covers up over her, though he doesn’t tuck them in like the Mother does, on those rare nights she comes in person. The Patient is glad of it- she hates those nights, spent pinned under covers wrapped far too tight. They’re almost as bad as the nights she has to spend in the real restraints, when experiments go wrong, and the Mother is angry with her and the doctors can’t talk her down.

“I might see you tomorrow.” He promises, though from the sound of it he doesn’t seem convinced he will, “I think the Mother has somethin’ planned for you, so I might be there. Sleep well.”

She doesn’t get a chance to ask what is being planned before he’s hurriedly gathering up his clipboard and leaving. Nobody in the facility is willing to get on the Mother’s bad side.

Her room here is pretty. It has soft red carpets, and faded black wallpaper patterned with golden spirals which catch the orange light streaming through the window. When she really thinks about it, the Patient thinks it’s a little better than those all-white rooms in her head, where everything looks brand new. Still, if the pretty room is supposed to put her at ease, it never does.

The pattern on the wallpaper is nice- she can count the circles in the design when she got stressed to calm herself, but the sheets, the curtains, and the carpet are all that dark crimson colour which sets her teeth on edge. When the sun begins to go down, and the room is thrown into darkness aside from the harsh reddish glow of the lights on the machines, it looked almost as though the walls themselves are bleeding.

There are some days when that carpet feels sticky underfoot, as though there really is blood seeping through it to maintain its rich colour.

Today hasn’t been one of those days, though she can’t deny that it’s beginning to develop an unusual shine as the light outside her window darkens. Maybe it’s just that she can’t sleep. She’s tried shutting her eyes, and counting sheep, and staring at the shifting golden patterns on the wall until her eyes lose focus, but exhausted as she is, nothing seems likely to push her into the realm of sleep.

She turns over, and immediately regrets it as it puts fresh pressure on the bandage curled around her arm, further aggravating the wound underneath. She sucks in a hiss of a breath through her teeth, her fingers moving to rest over the top of the bandage, checking that it it’s not wet. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have done any damage, though she can practically feel the hours-old stitches straining to hold the skin together.

It’s important, somehow. They need the tissue sample to test for- something. The Mother didn’t say what- just that it’s very important. The Patient knows better than to argue with the Mother. Arguing with the doctors sometimes gets her rest when the tests are getting too hard, but with the Mother? Arguing never stops the testing, it just gets her restrained for them- and that just makes them so much worse.

She flexes her fingers, and lifts her hand a few inches off of the bed, trying to ignore the phantom squeeze of the cuff she isn’t wearing now, and remind herself that she isn’t tied up anymore.

She was a good girl, today. She didn’t need to be tied up.

Just as the Patient is considering getting up- just standing briefly to try and clear some of that sickly feeling in her stomach when she hears shoes clicking down the hallway outside. She shuts her eyes and feigns sleep, just as the door cracks open.

“Hello, my dear. What do you say that we drop the pretence, hmm?” A voice comes from the doorway. They know she’s awake.

The Patient knows that voice- its one of the doctors. The older one, with the playful glint in his eyes and the wild grey hair. She likes him. He has some posh accent she can never place, and he always looked hilariously out of place in his plain white lab coat.

She hasn’t seen him in a long time.

She keeps her eyes shut, just to be safe.

“It’s okay to be afraid- you’re hardly the first person here to get scared.” The doctor promises, checking over her bandage with gentle hands. He speaks with a soft lull at the end of his words, like he’s speaking to a child. The Patient knows she’s been at the facility far too long to be considered a child, but the effect is still a little comforting. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Mother.”

The Patient nods, almost imperceptibly, a hint of a smile crossing her face. She opens her eyes just a crack so she can see him heading for the door, outlined against the artificial light of the hallway.

The shadows on the walls seemed to grow darker now- blocking out even the shimmering gold woven through the wallpaper and making it difficult to see the exact diameters of the room. When she closes her eyes, the Patient can feel the walls closing in on her, threatening to crush her under the weight of her own delusions. She sits there, afraid to even blink, with the ache in her arm becoming worse and worse as the night draws on.

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since the doctor came to check on her. Another one will come soon, and she knows she shouldn’t be awake when it happens, but how is she supposed to sleep when every time she closes her eyes she feels like she’s suffocating.

Another doctor comes, as though her just thinking about the possibility. She feigned sleep again, but this time he didn’t even pretend to be taken in.

“No point trying to hide it. I know you’re up.”

The Patient opens her eyes guiltily, looking up at the doctor with some relief. It was the funny little man with his dark eyes and sly smile- not always the friendliest, but usually more then willing to bend the rules about her treatment plan when she was upset.

“Now. The Mother did tell me to give you the jab if you weren’t asleep yet-“ Her eyes are suddenly drawn to the needle in his top pocket, which frankly seems far larger than necessary. If he gets that sedative into her she’ll lose control of herself, and she’s always hated that.

She shakes her head quickly, not daring to actually speak, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time the Mother had been listening at the door while she was with a doctor.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow at her before breaking into a grin. “Never was a fan of needles myself. How about-“ He takes out the needle and uncaps it, squirting the colourless liquid inside into a potted plant. He taps his nose twice conspiratorially, and then pulls out a small, circular plaster from his pocket, sticking it onto her arm where the needle should have entered. “That should do it. No one needs to know.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Be better next time. You’re very bad at fake sleeping.”

“I’ll try.”

He takes a step away, before moving back to her side, and patting her rather awkwardly on the arm. “Do try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

She doesn’t get the chance to ask what he means by that, before he’s disappearing out into the hallway, and she’s alone again.

Big day tomorrow.

She hasn’t been told about anything particularly special that would be happening, but a big day in the facility was never a good thing. Big days meant big tests, and big tests were always painful, and often humiliating.

Sleep is certainly not coming for her any time soon. She kept thinking back to the last big day she’d had- they had said they needed to test her physical endurance, and had made her run until she collapsed, and every cell in her body burned. It’d been a week before she could even stand without one of the doctor’s helping her. She’d begged and cried, but ever time she fell the Mother had shushed her, and kissed the top of her head, and helped her to her blistered feet, and set her off running again.

The Patient shudders at the memory.

When the door creaks open for a third time, she isn’t pretending to be asleep at all, unable to face closing her eyes and reliving that last big day long enough to feign sleep. Luckily, it is another doctor, not the Mother, this time one of the younger ones. She’d always liked this one a lot- he had a mop of brown hair that tended to fall into his eyes, and a big, infectious smile, like he was excited about even the simplest things.

“Hi” He moves quickly over to her, sitting on the edge of her bed like he’s just a visitor. “I can’t help but notice you’re not sleeping. Why not?”

She flinches slightly at the question, but can’t bring herself to respond properly. It’s embarrassing.

“Are you scared?” He asks, prompting a slight nod from her. To her dismay, he actually smiles at that. “Good! Good- scared is good. Promise. You shouldn’t let scared keep you up.”

“I don’t like being scared.” She tries to argue, but he just shakes his head.

“Well, no. Nobody does- but some things that’re good for us don’t feel good. Like choosing broccoli over ice cream! Actually- don’t do that. Don’t ever do that- that’s a rubbish example.”

“So how am I meant to sleep when I’m scared?”

“I could tell you a story?” He offers. She nods, once again struck by how brightly he smiles. “Okay! Once upon a time- no. No that’s not a good way to start. Once upon a time stories are too far away. They’re boring. How about.” He pauses, giving her another of those warm smiles. “How about we start like this. Somewhere out there in the Universe, there’s a woman. She might look ordinary, but she’s seen galaxies born and die, and she’s here to help. And, when she finds you- all you have to do is ask.”

“Will you tell me more about her?”

The doctor hesitates, glancing at the door, before turning back to the Patient with a smile. “I guess a few more minutes won’t hurt.”

 Yaz didn’t like the sound of this ‘Facility X’ thing in the slightest. She trusted the Doctor, of course she did, but splitting up in a place like this seemed like madness. Then again, this whole trip seemed like madness, really. Following a cryptic message on the psychic paper to a creepy hospital? It would  hardly have been her first choice for a good day out. Still, the Doctor seemed to think that one of the patients here was in trouble, and she wasn’t going to argue with that.

She managed to ‘borrow’ a white coat like the Doctor had suggested. So far none of the staff had given her a second look as she wandered around, looking for any patient in distress, who might have been the one to send the message, while the Doctor wormed her way into their systems to give them an out.

She was becoming increasingly unsettled by the fact that every patient room she’d passed had been empty.

 It’s the oldest of the Patient’s Doctors who comes to wake her in the morning. She usually struggles to get along with him as much as she does with the others, but this time when he comes into the room he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and gives her a grandfatherly smile.

That’s when she knows that whatever’s going to happen to her today is going to be very bad.

“I’m sorry you’ve no breakfast this morning, my dear. The Mother says you mustn’t eat before your procedure.”

“It’s okay.” She promised, moving to climb out of bed. He holds an arm out for her to steady herself, though she really didn’t need it, she takes it anyway. “What time is it going to be?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. The Mother said she’d be sending someone along to do your bloods, so it should be a good few hours, yet.”

“Am I allowed to drink anythin’ before?”

“I tell you what, I’ll ask around, and send someone up with a nice cup of tea or something, if you’re allowed.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, my dear girl. I’m just doing my job.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, as though he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to give her any affection, and then, once again, settles for a good natured pat on her uninjured arm. “You’ll be okay getting dressed by yourself?” The Patient nods. “Well then. I’ll be seeing you later. Good luck.”

And, just like that, she’s left alone to drag her tired body out of bed and begin dressing herself.

There’s never any verity to the clothes, here. There isn’t any attempt to make her look pretty, like they did with the room. Every day she puts on an identical greyish-brown smock dress that gives the doctors easy access for any procedures that were going on. It’s a little too thin to provide any warmth, and the fabric is itchier than she’d like, but the one time she’d asked the Mother to try something different- well it hadn’t gone well.

Simple as it is to get on and off, she’s still just barely finished buttoning it when the door is thrown open again, revealing yet another doctor, this one holding a paper cup with a lid out to her.

It’s the tall one with the wild curls and the slightly unhinged smile. She always dreaded having him in the room for testing- he’d always make her laugh and the Mother would get so cross with her, but when they were like this, and there was nobody else around he made things a little brighter.

“Mornin’, doctor.” She greats him, taking the cup gratefully.

“It’s just water today, I’m afraid,” He winks at her. She takes a sip of the orange juice, shooting him a covert smile. “Oh, hang on a moment, I think-“ He moves forwards as though to fix one of the clasps on her dress for her, instead pressing a small brown paper bag into her hands. Before he’s fully pulled back, he brings a finger to his lips in a ‘shush’ motion. “Keep your strength up for today.”

She glances down, peaking at the little bag of sweets, before moving to tuck them under her pillow.

“Thanks.” She steps back at where they’re hidden, knowing she’s best of waiting until after her bloods have been done to actually start eating them. It’s pretty rare that she has something to look forward to, so the illicit treat means a lot.

“Just don’t let the Mother find out about them, she’ll have my head for messing with the experiment.”

The doctor shoots her another manic grin, tugging on the lapels of his white coat, before heading towards the door. He turns back at the last minute, adding, “Oh, and, good luck today. I know you can handle it.” as an afterthought.

The Patient finds herself sincerely hoping that he’s right.

 “She’s nearly ready for a full harvest.” Yaz heard one of the white-clad staff-members of Facility X muttering to another.

She’d found a clipboard somewhere along the route, and was now walking along pretending to check the readings on various pieces of equipment while jotting down everything she overheard. If she couldn’t find the patient they were supposed to be helping, she was at least going to have as much information as she could when the Doctor came out to meet her again.

“Oh yeah? Why are they so sure this one is going to survive? None of the others did.”

“The boss keeps saying this one is strong. Her mind is protecting itself from the machine.”

“If there’s as much to go around as the boss seems to think there’ll be-” The conversation was cut short by a grotesque, inhuman slurping noise as one of the workers licked his lips. Yaz did her best not to show her revulsion.

She walked off quickly, past another row of empty rooms.

She was really, really hoping the Doctor was doing better at finding this mystery patient than she was, because it sounded like the girl was in trouble.

 “So, are you here to do my blood tests?” The Patient asks, looking up at the newest doctor to arrive. She isn’t used to seeing him here, at least not for the nastier tasks like these. He was usually one of the gentler ones who she met when she was recovering from procedures, than the one actually administering them.

“I’m afraid so.” He gives a weak smile, pushing a few strands of blonde hair out of his face. His hair seems a little longer than the last time she saw him- it’s not much shorter than hers is, now. “And I’m sure you’re not any happier about it than I am, so lets get this done and dusted and you’ll be able to take some quiet time before your procedure this afternoon.”

The idea of quiet time in this place seems a little redundant, at least in the Patient’s eyes. All of her time is quiet time, really- at least all the time she doesn’t spend being tested. She’s never seen another patient in the facility, and the doctors rarely come and visit her this often. It’s putting her on edge, now many of them seem to be working today.

If they need this many doctors around, the procedure which the Mother is planning has to be very dangerous.

“You look nervous.” The doctor states, looking at her.

At first, the Patient shakes her head, but he gives her a knowing look.

“I never like the needles.” She admits quietly, her eyes darting towards the door, looking for any sign of the Mother.

The doctor looks at her again for a moment, before quickly standing up. “I’ll see if anyone is on break who can come sit with you. The Mother is busy right now, so you don’t have to worry about her- I won’t tell if you won’t.”

His smile is genuinely kind as he picks up his bag, moving towards the door again, at a pace which suggests he’s a little more worried about running into the Mother than he’s letting on. Still, he comes back a few minutes later, with another doctor trailing behind him. She’s always had a soft spot for this one. He reminds her of the hero of some romance novel she’d read a very long time ago- she didn’t like the book enough to remember the specifics, but the feeling of vague fondness towards the protagonist persisted.

“So, I know this whole thing is a bit nasty, but I’m sure we can get the whole thing delt with nice and quick, how does that sound?” The Patient gives him a dubious look, and he shrugs apologetically. “Nothing else we can do I’m afraid.”

“I hear this kind of thing is supposed to be easier if you keep talking?” The blonde doctor suggests. The Patient looks at him for a moment, though immediately regrets it when she sees him getting the equipment ready to take her blood. She knows there’s an easier way of doing this, but the Mother always says that the results aren’t as good when they do it like that.

“Yes! Excellent idea!” Exclaims the other. She’d never understand how he could sound so enthusiastic in a place like this. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” She asks, sounding more baffled than nervous for the first time.

“Oh, anything. What did you dream about last night?” The brunette takes her other hand as the first needle punches through the skin.

“A-“ Her breath caught slightly at the familiar sensation. She’s used to being prodded and poked with needles, but pairing the pain with the dread of what was happening next made it worse. “A woman.”

He grins at her. “Oh? Dreaming about a girl, that’s always good sign. Tell me more.”

“She’s brilliant- she’s clever, and kind, and she cares so much about people. She travels the whole universe, and, I think that she’s coming to get me.”

 “Hey, new girl.” Yaz looked up from the machine she’d been pretending to examine when one of the staff members clicked their fingers at her. She pointed to herself, and the white-clad employee rolled their eyes. “Yes you. Here, now.”

She held her clipboard a little tighter, flipping onto a blank page as she went so they wouldn’t see what she’d been writing.

“I need you to take these-“ A plastic bag of wires was thrust unceremoniously into her hands. “Up to the boss. She’s having some problems with the temporal manipulation in the patients room.”

“What?” Yaz asked, trying to play dumb to get a bit more information from them. If they thought she was new, she might be able to push them into telling her what was actually going on here.

“The timestream in the patient’s room is supposed to be moving faster than it is- look, you don’t have to understand it, just do as you’re told and get those over there.”

“Over where?” When that question won her a dirty look, Yaz held up the clipboard with it’s blank sheet, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry- It’s my first day, and I don’t want to keep the boss waiting. Think you could-“

The employee snatched the clipboard off of her, drawing a crude map of the facility, with an X marking the patient room.

She shuffled off very quickly, glancing at the map with a triumphant expression. Whenever the Doctor managed to set off her distraction she could run out with the patient- it’d be perfect. She just wished the Doctor would hurry and give her the signal already.

 The Patient is seeing all of her doctors today, it seems. The one with the spikey hair arrived with a new dress for her, and before he’s even said a word she knows what the procedure is.

She’s being reset.

“The Mother sent me- told me to ask you to change.” He says, his tone gentle, though he seems a little nervous, as though he doesn’t want to be delivering this news any more than she wants to be hearing it.

A reset is the most painful procedure they ever give her. She’s never been reset in the same twice- the Mother wanted to test the effects of different methods on her- but every time her body would burn like fire, and she would walk away irrevocably changed.

She takes the dress wordlessly, just staring at it. It’s several sizes too big for her- just in case. She never knows what she’ll look like after this, so it’s better to have something too big on than to tear through her clothing if it’s too small.

“Oh, chin up.” His voice is full of false cheer, “I know it’s hard.” The doctor says, leaning against the wall, and watching her tug at the greyish fabric. “It’s got to be scary, knowing you’re going to come out as somebody else- but at least you know you’re going to come out of it. You just have to be strong for a little bit longer, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Someone’s going to come collect you soon. You’re not going to be on your own.” He smiles at her, a warm, genuine smile which makes the corners of her lips twitch up too. “I know you’ll get through it.” He promises, before walking away.

She stares at the too-big dress for another minute or so, before beginning to change. It isn’t as though the Mother will let her get away with not going through with it just because she didn’t put on the proper outfit.

There’s something inherently unsettling about dressing herself for her own funeral- a sense of unrivalled dread she’ll never quite get over.

Because deep down, she already knows this won’t be the last reset.

In the end, two doctors came to fetch her. They couldn’t look more different- one with a mop of dark hair, and one with a mess of blonde curls- but they’re both giving her identical looks of mingled pity and pride.

The blonde moves first. linking arms with the Patient, and offering her a too-bright smile. She can see he’s trying to cover his own distress.

“Right then. Not long now- it’ll all be over, nice and quick.”

“You won’t feel a thing.” The dark-haired doctor promises in turn, as the two of them began to usher her down a corridor, towards whatever the Mother had waiting.

 The longer it’d been with no word from the Doctor, the more worried Yaz became. She’d gone in first, she should have managed to get into the systems by now, right? Yaz had fulfilled her end of the bargain.

In the end, she headed for the area the Doctor had entered, finding a mountain of equipment, but no Doctor in sight.

She picked up the device the Doctor had been working on. It seemed to be wired in properly…

“I really hope this works…” She muttered, hitting the keys on the thing to try and set the timer. It should draw most of the staff away from the patient. Hopefully the Doctor had had the same thought before she left it.                            

She took off at a run now, mostly abandoning her pretence at being staff, and just desperate to reach the patient’s room- which, luckily, seemed to be in the same central hub of the building as the electricals.

Somehow, the patients room looked less like a hospital than the rest of the facility- a single, empty room painted an inky black colour. There was only one woman inside that she could see, standing over a large machine with a gleeful expression on her face. Yaz couldn’t get the best look at the machine, though from what she could see of it, it looked like some kind of goth-styled MRI machine.

“I don’t need those wires anymore.” The woman said, sounding annoyed at the intrusion. “The loop is working perfectly- time is moving faster for her in there. She’s just strong- keeps putting up mental blocks.”

“Mental blocks?” Yaz asked, taking a few steps closer. She pulled one of the wires out of the bag, just in case, waiting for- well, she didn’t really know what would happen when that timer hit zero, but she knows it’ll probably be loud enough to give her an advantage.

“Yes. It’s funny to watch. The whole scenario feels real to her- created from her deepest seated fears. She needs to be really afraid for us to harvest her.” The woman made another of those nauseating slurping noises. “She’s been subconsciously putting things in her way to stop herself from scaring too easily. Most people can’t get that far.”

“And when you harvest her?”

“Well, that’s the question. Most people would die- that’s why we had to lure this one here.”

Yaz craned her neck, trying to get a look at whatever was in the odd, casket-like machine, but she can’t see from here. She has a feeling she already knows, though.  

 The Patient is sitting down, now. She doesn’t remember how long they walked to get here, but the doctors had left her alone in this room, waiting for the Mother to arrive. When the door opens, though, it isn’t her.

She’s always been fond of this doctor. He has a perpetually grumpy expression, messy grey hair, and a kind smile, despite his intimidating looks. He’s gentle as he begins attaching wires to her, though she knows that he’s sentencing her to death.

“I don’t want this.” She admits.

“Well, then. Why don’t you ask for help?” He says, as though it’s that simple. He has a funny accent which reminds her of friends she can’t quite remember.

“I can’t.”

“I’m the last one now.” He presses a wire to her wrist, holding her hand a little more tightly than he needs to as he does. “After I go, it’s just you.”

“I don’t want to change again.”

“So don’t.” He says, still speaking as though that’s the obvious answer.

“But the Mother-“

“Well.” He scoffed, “If you’re going to let the Mother define your whole existence, it‘s your own fault, not isn’t it?”

“Then how?”

He gives her one of those kind smiles, standing up once she’s fully wired into the machine she knows will kill her.

“Be brave, and ask for help. You can’t solve every problem on your own.”

 “So you think this one can survive it?” Yaz asked, edging slowly closer.

The woman laughed, bitterly. “Oh no, I don’t think she can survive it. I think she can fix herself after it kills her, though- it’ll give us a near infinite source.”

Something on the device lit up, and her lips curled into a wicked smirk. “There we go. She’s alone in there- almost time to-“

A deafening bang shook the whole facility, and the lights in the room sputtered out. Seizing her chance, Yaz tackled the woman to the ground, police training finally coming in handy as she dragged the woman’s hands behind her back. She didn’t have handcuffs, but the wire would do to bind them for now.

 The Patient is alone when everything begins to fall apart. The machine she’s strapped into begins sparking, and at first she thinks it’s been turned on prematurely, but then everything else seems to pixelate around her, as though the whole facility is disintegrating. She quickly begins to fight against the straps holding her to the chair.

“No…” She pulls at them trying to get to her feet- to get the wires off before the gaping void ahead of her takes her too. She doesn’t want to change but that- the eternal inky blackness threatening to swallow her alive.

She knows the doctors have to be nearby.

“Help!” She pulled at the restraints on her wrists. That terrifying abyss was close, now- almost touching her. “Somebody help me! Please!”

 “Somebody help me! Please!”

Yaz could hear shouting- familiar shouting- coming from inside the machine, and it was more than enough to distract her from the woman she’d had pinned. Her hands were tired anyway, and the explosion should have been distracting enough to buy them time. She ran to the machine, slamming her hand down on the release catch to open it up.

The Doctor sat up, dislodging more wires than Yaz would have liked from her skin, looking wide eyed and afraid, but relatively unharmed. It was odd, really- the Doctor rarely actually showed fear. She knew she felt it- remembered how the creatures on Desolation had taunted her about it, but still.It was odd to see it displayed so openly.

“Doctor?”

“Yaz…” She looked around, still coming back from whatever false reality they’d built around her. Her fingers curled around Yaz’s wrist, as though she was trying to convince herself that this was real.

“I’m here. I’m right here-“ She heard muffled noises from the bound woman across the room, trying to undo the chord ties holding her in place. “We need to go, right now. Can you run?”

The Doctor managed a weak smile, letting Yaz help her climb out of the machine.

“Always.”

[jincherie]

florescence | i

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly, fluff, smut (future), angst  ❀ — words: 4.7k+ ❀ — rating: sfw ❀ — warnings: lowkey highkey threat of euthanisation (wooo dystopian hybrid elements!), shy and blushing boys prepare your hearts ❀ — notes: this is written for an old old old old request! you can find it here for now, but I’ll make a post for more convenience later. besides that, I already have about 18k written for this and have barely dented what I want to include so... guess we’re in this for a bit of a long haul! I’m still in the process of guiding where I want this to go, but until then... I’m eager to kick-start it! Since I technically already posted this, I’ll post the second part relatively soon. Please enjoy! lmk what u think!!! love u!!

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin... You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but... maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 28.07.2019 // masterlist || next.

Nerves have your knees wobbling slightly as you stand in place, the impressive height of the B.H. Laboratories building looming over you. Really, you’re not that anxious about what you’re about to do, yet your knee still feel slightly weak and your shoulders pinch with minute tension. Your body might be a little out of tune with your brain, you think, or perhaps the emotions attached to the physical reactions just haven’t hit you yet.

You waver in your spot, finally deciding to bite the bullet and take the handle into your grasp. It’s cool against your palm and smooth to the touch, if slightly worn. As you shift your wrist and twist the bolt, you recall the panicked and desperate voice of your friend as she’d called you barely half an hour ago. Seulgi is hardly the type to get worked up over nothing, so when you’d answered the phone to the sound of nothing but fear and urgency in her tone you’d been instantly at attention.

Your raven-haired best friend works at the massive Lab currently in front of you, filling in the role of the receptionist and taking her placements here as she completes her degree. Her ideal career path is one of science, but one of her passions and interests lies in the complex matter of hybrids. Really, this job is perfect for her—B.H. Laboratories specialise in genetic matters and in the creation of hybrids, most specifically those made to be companions. Long since passed are the days where hybrids were still new and shiny and held under the most barbaric of laws, if any. For some the strangeness and novelty has worn off since then, yet that doesn’t mean that the laws regarding hybrids have kept up with the shift in the population.

B.H. Labs, from the very beginning, have been pioneers of sorts in the field. Always pushing the limits, extending past perceived boundaries and paving the way. A lot of what Seulgi gets glimpses of is new hybrids, new combinations and variations. The goal of the company is to achieve the perfect companion for the people and the individual, and they work hard in their efforts to create such a thing.

This means that new lines and batches of hybrids are always being created, prototypes always being tested and tried out. Usually, the hybrids pass and go on to the next stage—they go to shelters for adoption while the data recorded from their stay goes towards the creation of the next batch. Usually, this is how it goes. However, there are the rare exceptions—batches that begin to vary and differ as they grow, turning out nothing like intended. Batches that don’t meet the goal of the experiment or that are lacking in some way or another, are marked as failures. If even a single hybrid of the bunch is deemed unfit, the rest are scrutinised brutally and received the blemish on their records as well. This, actually, is a topic that sparks heated debate in the community— because it’s common knowledge that at most hybrid facilities, failed batches aren’t sent to shelters like their predecessors, but instead are put down, like nothing more than the animals they are spliced with. They don’t have the opportunity to make connections for a possible home, and so the only destination that awaits them is the gallows. B.H Labs stand out from the rest here, due to their spotless record of product success. Never have they euthanised a hybrid of their making, and never has a batch or single hybrid been deemed a failure. However records and streaks of success, like all things, must come to an end eventually.

This… is why Seulgi had called you in such a frantic manner earlier.

She’d caught wind of a last-minute decision that had been made about two hybrids who had been deemed ‘failures’ for whatever reasons. They were being moved from their quarters as she spoke and are scheduled for the chopping block tonight. Seulgi is far too good a person to just stand by and just let it happen, and while floundering for any possible solution she’d come across you.

You can’t believe she remembered it, but one time you’d confessed to her while blind-rotten drunk that you were actually a little bit lonely, living by yourself in your large two-bedroom apartment as you were, and kind of longed for a companion. You’d never ever meant to let slip that you’d considered getting a hybrid, because you both held very similar views regarding them, but it had tumbled from your pouting lips nonetheless and now Seulgi is privy to one of your most embarrassing secrets. If she wasn’t your best friend and didn’t know that you’d rather cut off all four of your limbs than mistreat a hybrid, then your drunken confession might have earnt you a potent smack and the cold shoulder. As it is, all you can remember receiving was a drunk laugh and sly smile.

You didn’t think she would remember it, but clearly you were wrong because here you are now, all of a sudden about to receive not one but two hybrids in one go.

The second you step foot into the reception area your presence is noticed and a high tone pierces the air, stationery and folders cluttering against a desk along with the familiar sound of small wheels sliding across the linoleum.

“Oh, y/n, thank god you’re here.”

You turn, catching sight of Seulgi as she bolts up from her position behind the counter and darts around the desk, heading straight for you. She might have slammed straight into you if she didn’t catch herself a little before she arrived.

“I’d give you more info but we really don’t have time, they’re going to move them soon so we need to get our asses going.” She’s speaking so fast you can barely keep up and if you didn’t know her so well then you might not have understood what she was saying at all. She grips your hand and begins down the stark white and light blue hall, tugging you behind her. Fuck, okay, this is going much faster than you prepared yourself for. “Thank you so much for coming, y/n. I know you were kind of thinking of adopting only one, and from a shelter, and this is way out of the ball park of what you ever imagined but… thank you.”

At the mention of the other details you’d accidentally confessed to her while drunk that time, you blush, but choose to let it go for now. You aren’t sure why it embarrasses you exactly, but you know she doesn’t say it with ill intent and that she is stressed to high hell right now so you’re willing to ignore it.

“It’s no problem,” you say, shooting her a reassuring smile when she turns to catch your gaze. “I couldn’t live with myself if I said no, knowing what will happen if we don’t…”

Seulgi doesn’t say anything but the way her features twist into a grimace are telling enough that she knows what you mean.

“I asked them earlier if they could be spared if someone was interested in them, and they said yes but since they don’t know anyone, they’re still going ahead as per normal procedure,” the raven-haired female informs you, the two of you hastening your pace down the winding halls. Deeper into the bowels of the building you venture, Seulgi navigating with so much ease that you are sure she could do it with her eyes closed. “So long as we get there before they start the final part of the procedure, we should be good.”

Everything has gone so fast since Seulgi first called you over half an hour ago, and it continues to do so as you round corners and duck down halls. Eventually you reach a wing with walls painted pastel red instead of soft blue and your stomach churns and dips as the situation suddenly becomes much, much more real to you. Are you actually ready for the way your life is going to change in just a few short minutes? What if things go wrong, or they hate you and—

Seulgi stops suddenly, turning to you with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. I almost forgot—I should tell you before we go in there, they aren’t… from a batch that was deemed a failure.”

Your brows furrow before you can stop them, confusion on your face plain for her to see. She hurries to explain, “They’re… they’re from two previous batches. The rest of their batches were fine, but these two… something about them deemed them unfit to be pushed forward to the next stage.”

You can see the embitterment on her features as she continues, lips tugging down, “They… they were kept for a while, observed a little, but they… the next batch is larger than the last ones, and they’re clearing out the block to use all the room they have available. And with nowhere else to send them, since they weren’t ever officially cleared for release from the lab like the others that go to shelters and sellers…”

You’d come here already empathising with the poor hybrids, but your chest aches and your heart throbs even more now. It saddens you that this is happening to them, that this is their reality. The idea of how powerless and scared they must feel right now… it makes your lungs pinch and constrict in sorrow.

Seulgi swallows, turning her gaze to the side; you hadn’t noticed before but she’d stopped you right outside a frosted glass door, and if you strain your ears you can just barely hear the low tone of male voices on the other side.  The shorter female seems hesitant as she glances back to you, as though concerned that your mind has suddenly changed or something along those lines.

“Stop stressing,” you smile, pushing down the incriminatingly thick, wriggling bundle of nerves in your stomach. “I already agreed, I’m not going to turn back now. I want to help them.”

Your words ease her worries instantly, and she appears sheepish for a moment as she averts her gaze. “No, I know, I just… the thought of what would happen if I didn’t know you…”

She trails off, shaking her head before catching the reassuring gaze you send her. “Alright, let’s go in. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”

With that, she reaches for the handle of the door, swiping her personal card on the scanner beside the frame with her other hand. A beep permeates the air and the light flicks from red to green, lock clicking open. She’s quick to act, twisting the handle and bursting into the room with you hot on her heels, acting in the moment before your nerves can catch up to you.

“Wait, please wait! I brought her, I brought someone who will take them, please wait!”

The sight that greets you as you enter the room is one that you should have expected yet it still comes as a surprise. Three people dressed in slacks and button-ups with clinical coats over the top turn to face you in shock; one is by the door on the other side of the room, hand poised by the handle, and the other two are stationed either side of the remaining two figures in the room.

The hybrids, you realise instantly. You feel the breath whoosh from your lungs suddenly as they spin in place with wide, fearful eyes and you catch sight of them in all their beautiful glory.

They’re about the same height, with the same golden skin that glows nicer than it should beneath the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the lab. That is where their similarities end for the most part though, as they appear to be different hybrid types altogether, something that is consistent with what Seulgi said to you earlier. The one to the left has soft, pale reddish-coloured hair and large triangular ears with thick tufts of white on the inside. His eyes are rimmed by long, dark lashes and the iris swims citrine green-gold with dustings of cocoa by the pupil. His hips are narrower than the hybrid beside him, his posture drawn in as he hugs himself and his tail, deep russet and incredibly fluffy and thick, wraps around his long legs.

The male beside him sports soft charcoal hair, the ears settled amongst the strands speckled grey and black to match the fluffy, white-tipped tail that brushes his calves. His eyes are deep amber, gleaming gold in the light, and rimmed with dark lashes that only serve to emphasise the contrast of his irises. His shoulders are impossibly broad and his upper body tapers into hips that, while aren’t as narrow as the male beside him, are still slim and give way to long legs. Both of the hybrids are wearing the standard loose white clothes that come complimentary from the lab, and both are looking at you with mixed emotions playing on their features.

“Seulgi,” the male by the door lets out a heavy breath of relief, hand dropping from the handle completely. “Thank god, I thought you weren’t going to come—I tried to take as long as possible but there’s only so much I can stall when I have orders from the higher-ups, you know?”

Seulgi nods, her gaze flitting from the hybrids in question to the male’s face. “I know, I’m sorry I took so long, Jooheon. Are these the ones?”

The male, Jooheon, nods and begins walking over to where you are, reaching into the deep pockets of his lab coat. The other two humans in the room visibly relax at the turn the situation has taken for them.

“They are,” he affirms, gaze falling to you with what you swear is a hint of gratitude. “And this is your friend, y/n? The one who offered to take them?”

You nod along with Seulgi, and Jooheon lets out another huff of relief. “Thank god. Okay, I brought the release forms down so all you will have to do is sign and then the three of you can be out of here.”

He pulls a folded bunch of papers from the pocket, placing it along with a pen on the desk to your side that you in all honesty didn’t even notice until now. He then turns to the two hybrids, who are looking frantically from you to him with wide, confused yet somewhat hopeful eyes. Your heart gives a painful throb as you see the glossy sheen beginning to gather over them.

“You’re saved,” Jooheon breathes, and you watch as the hybrids seem to shake slightly. “This is y/n, she agreed to be your owner and take you two home to take care of you from now on. You’re safe now, you won’t need to worry about… what we talked about earlier, anymore. Okay?”

The two hybrids look like they’re about to cry, chins wobbling and lips trembling, but they manage to keep the tears at bay just a little longer. They turn to you, appearing as though they want to say something, but Jooheon takes your attention again before they get the chance.

“Alright, y/n I need you to sign here and here, on both forms,” he instructs you, holding the paper open and pointing to the areas amongst the lines of fine print that needed your signature. You take the pen and do as told, and once he is satisfied with your progress, he turns to the other two staff members that were in the room. “Hyungwon, Changkyun, you can take their wristbands off. They won’t need them. Did you bring the collars?”

They both nod, the taller one reaching into his coat pocket while the other goes about removing two thick bands from the hybrids with a tiny, specialised key. You finish scribbling your signature where it’s required just in time to receive the two simple leather collars that the tall one is holding out to you.

Now that what you guess to be the ownership forms are signed, Seulgi has visibly sagged in a combination of relief and exhaustion—she did stay here well after her shift ended to sort this all out, after all. She isn’t normally here until almost nine o’clock at night.

“Thank you, Jooheon, Hyungwon, Changkyun,” she breathes, striding forward to grasp the papers and fold them neatly. “Thank you for letting us do this.”

Jooheon shakes his head, a fond, thankful smile tugging his lips and making dimples appear on his cheeks. “No, thank you. I… I don’t know what we would have done if you two didn’t…”

The silence that falls at his words is heavy, and you look to the two hybrids to see their gazes directed at the ground, forms trembling. You want so badly to comfort them and reassure them that everything is going to be okay, that you’ll keep them safe and do everything in your power to make them happy, but you can’t bring yourself to overstep that boundary. You’re new to them, they don’t know you. The recollection of that fact makes your face heat in embarrassment at the nature of your instincts in this situation.

“It’s no problem,” you say, the first words you’ve uttered so far in this room—every gaze whips to you accordingly. You shoot Jooheon and the two hybrids a smile. “I’m happy to help. I promise to do my best.”

The male nods at that, relieved, and he turns to the two hybrids.

“Alright, you two come with me. We’ll go grab your things and make sure you have everything ready to go.” He turns to Seulgi now, “We’ll meet you at the front of the building in a few minutes, make sure to grab the guidebooks for her.”

And with that he’s grasping the two hybrids gently and leading them down the hall, disappearing from sight within moments. You don’t even notice the other two lab employees bidding you farewell until Seulgi is tugging at your arm and leading you in the direction you came from.

“Come on, let’s go,” she says, a smile tugging her lips to replace the stressed frown from earlier. You’re glad to see a brighter expression on her face. “I’ll grab those guidebooks for you then we’ll meet them out front. You caught the bus here right? I’ll drop you three home.”

x     +     x     +     x  

Barely half an hour later finds you standing on the footpath outside your unit complex, waving to a grinning Seulgi as she pulls from the curb and toots her horn in farewell. Something that you probably could have gone without, if the way the two hybrids by your side flinch is anything to go by. Silence drifts over the three of you as you watch her car disappear into the night, taillights flashing before she rounds a corner and is gone form your view. The short trip to your house was spent much in the same manner, Seulgi the main perpetrator driving the conversation as you respond occasionally from the front seat, the hybrids bunched together in the back with their tiny amounts of luggage. You’re not really a quiet person— quite the opposite, really— but you don’t want to overwhelm and intimidate your new housemates more than they already are. Thus, a majority of the trip was spent in silence.

You realise as you’re standing there that you know little to nothing about these two hybrids—there was no ‘getting to know them’ process as there might have been at a proper shelter. Normally, the procedure is that you enter the shelter, fill in application forms and tell the clerk what you’re looking for—they direct you to hybrids they think will be suitable, and then you spend some time with the hybrid to get to know them a little. Obviously, nothing like that happened tonight; actually, you’re still reeling a bit and the events that have occurred so far haven’t even caught up with you yet. You can’t find it in you to complain though, not when you know that choosing them meant that you saved them from a fate more befitting to an animal.

“Do you two have everything?” you ask suddenly, doing your best to make your voice as gentle and nonthreatening as possible. It still startles them though, and they flinch before their attention whips to you, their eyes wide—both are taller than you so it’s almost kind of comical, the way they react. When they nod you let out a hum and send them each what you hope comes across as a reassuring smile. “Excellent, please follow me and we’ll go inside.”

They do so without qualm, and you can’t help but wonder as you turn on your heel and begin to walk towards your unit—sat on the ground floor to the front of the complex and hidden behind a tiny courtyard—what exactly was quote-unquote wrong with them for them to have been marked as failures and lined up for the fate they almost faced tonight. You climb the few steps that lead to the courtyard with them in tow, making it to your front door and unlocking it with speed and practiced ease. You hold the door open for them, closing it softly after they file in.

“Alright,” you hum to yourself, moving to slip your shoes off and deposit your bag to the small table to the side. You go to face them, about to ask them what they would like to do first, when you come to a startling and embarrassing realisation.

You don’t even know their names.

The two hybrids are already looking at you as you turn to face them, soft smile on your face.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hands wringing somewhat nervously. The events of the past hour are only just sinking in, a jumbled mess your mind is struggling to disentangle, and it all feels so….surreal. “This has all gone pretty fast, huh? I just realised I never asked your names. I’m y/n, as you probably already guessed. And you…?”

The two of them share a glance before the one to your left, the one with raven hair and bright amber eyes, speaks first—the other shifts behind him, cheeks dusting pink as he ducks his head a little, russet-coloured strands hanging over his forehead.  

“I am Seokjin,” the male speaks clearly, but you can hear the tremble in his tone that betrays just how nervous and on edge he still is. “This is Taehyung. Th-thank you for taking us in, mistress.”

At the title he attaches to the end of his sentence you blanche, shoulders pinching in discomfort as a squeak escapes you. You reach and take his hands into yours without thinking, desperate to reassure him.

“No, please! You don’t have to call me that. I don’t know what you’ve been taught but we’re equals in this house, just y/n is fine,” you inform them, gaze flicking from one face to another. “Okay?”

The second your hands grasped his a deep blush stains Seokjin’s cheeks, his eyes wide and ears slightly pressed to his skull in what you guess is fluster. He nods when you send him a prompting look, Taehyung following suit from next to him. You allow your eyes to scan their trembling forms for a moment, taking in the way their tails press tightly to them and wind around their legs, ears half lowered. You’ve barely recovered from what almost happened to them, so you don’t doubt that they’re still caught up on the fate they oh so narrowly missed. Your heart goes out to them.

“You’re still a little shaken up, huh,” you murmur in observation, brushing your thumbs over the knuckles of the hands in your grasp before you realise what you’re doing and gently let go. You do your absolute best to fight the embarrassed flush trying to colour your cheeks as a result. “I’ll show you to your room, then you can decide if you would like to shower and freshen up or have something to eat first. Is that okay?”

Seokjin’s eyes are wide as he regards you with something akin to shock, plush lips falling open before he musters an answer for you in the form of a nod. You turn and see Taehyung shyly nodding as well, a hand reaching to grip the back of the other hybrid’s shirt as he shuffles slightly behind him. You suppress the urge to raise your brows—wow, he’s a shy one, huh? You’re a little taken aback but it’s honestly a little endearing.

“Okay, let’s go,” you say, offering them a smile again. Seokjin attempts to return it, but Taehyung is too busy staring at the floor to catch it. “My house isn’t very big, but I’ll point out places as we go.”

The two hybrids trail after you as you proceed to give them a makeshift tour, pointing out the main rooms and adding little comments of what you liked to do in there or what you use certain things for. They observe their surroundings with wide, inquisitive eyes, and the further into the house you delve you catch them sniffing subtly as they take in the different scents in your home, tails unwinding from their legs to tentatively brush wall corners and furniture. Bit by bit they seem to ease, tension fleeing their forms somewhat, and you’re glad for it. You don’t want them to be on edge for the whole night, and you don’t want them to feel uncomfortable for longer than is normal.

“—this one is my room, and this one here is yours. I’m sorry, you have to share a bed for now but I will be able to get two separate ones soon.” You run your hands through your hair sheepishly, eyes sweeping over the room for anything that shouldn’t be there. You duck in and grab a box of paints you left to the side, offering the two hybrids an embarrassed grin. “I promise I will get all this stuff out of here as soon as possible, too. Ideally I would have cleared it before you got here, but tonight was a little short-notice so… yeah.”

Taehyung is hiding behind the other male but is watching you with rapt attention over his shoulder, absorbing everything you say even if the blush on his cheeks betrays that he’d rather be averting his gaze right now. Your eyes flick to Seokjin and you catch him chewing his lip as he processes your words, amber hues flitting about the room and taking everything in.

“It is fine,” he says, offering you a small smile in reassurance. “We will be okay. You have already been more than generous enough.”

You shake your head at him, attempting to smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I appreciate that, but you guys deserve better than the state of the room as it is right now. I want the two of you to be happy , so… as soon as we can, we’ll get some stuff for you to decorate and make it your own… okay?”

You swear his eyes are shining as they whip and meet yours, his mouth falling open once more as he struggles to form a response. You clear your throat, speaking so he doesn’t have to.

“Just there is your bathroom. I have one attached to my room, so that one is just for you two,” you inform them, fingers wringing nervously again. “We can maybe go tomorrow and get everything we need, but it would be really helpful if you guys thought about what you want and maybe make a list? I’m happy to get whatever.”

They seem taken aback at your words, not for the first time tonight, but nod nonetheless. You let a bright smile onto your face. “Awesome, thanks. You can pop your bags in here—would you like to shower and freshen up first, or do you want some food?”

The hybrids share a look, and Seokjin turns back, opening his mouth to answer when two loud grumbles pierce the air. Both hybrids flush bright pink, mortified, but you just laugh.

Guess that answers your question, then.

a/n: please let me know what you think! i hope you liked it, i’m excited for more to come :) 

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