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acourtofsnakes · 4 years

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Solus - Rogue, Chapter 1| Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader(F)

Summary: So I don’t want to give too much away, but a rough outline - You are Force Sensitive, and after being hunted your whole life, you’re not surprised to find another Mandalorian on your tail. What you didn’t expect, was THIS Mandalorian. Nor anything that happen’s after. And so begins a journey of two Rogues (three if you count the womp rat).

Warnings: Not many in this chapter as it’s an opening but, mentions of death, angst?, swearing, fighting, my rusty writing after I haven’t done it in years, let me know if there’s anything else!!

AN: So, I think this might be a little messy in terms of tenses. It jumps around from the past to present a little too, so I’m sorry if its confusing… Let me know what you think!! And if you want to be added to the taglist!

Word count: Just over 4k.

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo

Mando’a translation: Solus - Alone

Alone.

That word had come to change its meaning over the years. When you were a small child, alone meant you were outside, playing in the grass and flowers with your parents just a few metres away indoors, within sight of you still. Close enough to come running should anything happen to you. Including that time you got stung by a bee and screamed so loudly the neighbours thought you were being raided.

A few years later, alone meant being shut away inside your room, windows closed, door firmly shut.

“It’s for your own safety, honey, you know what will happen… We don’t want this for you, we hate this, but we must keep you safe, my darling.”

You understood, of course. It was your own fault; you didn’t mean for it to happen… But just because you understood, it didn’t mean you had to like it.

A year on, alone changed properly for the first time.

The true meaning of the word hit you like a speeder when you were kneeling in the mess on the dusty ground.

Blood had soaked your knees, staining your tunic. It had coated your hands, your arms as you frantically shook the shoulders of your mother, willing her to open her eyes, to sit up and hold you. To stroke your hair and tell you it was okay, it was all just a bad dream. To take you home, where you could forget this whole thing.

It didn’t truly sink in until you heard your fathers strangled scream as he ran around the corner…

And then the sickening hiss and sizzle as the blaster hit him square in the chest. The way he tried to crawl across the ground to you and your mother, but there was a heavy white boot planted firmly in his back, a gloved hand yanking his head up and a vibroblade sliced across his throat.

His blood had coated your own bare feet as you ran to him.

You were only 12.

From that moment on… you were truly alone. No family. No more friends, they had all left when you showed them your power. Such a beautiful, natural thing, being in line with the Earth, the energy that connected all living things. It was rare, meant to be celebrated…

Instead, it just bought death upon those you loved.

So, as you ran from the horror scene within the market square, your parents blood baking onto your skin in the hot sun, you buried it. Deep inside, locking it in a box, surrounding it in darkness and keeping it hidden.

And that’s where it had stayed for the last 20 years.

~~~

Sorgan was a good place to be for a little while.

The air was breathable, the forests thick and lush, providing good cover, and the inhabitants were spread few and far between. It was quiet, the only habitable planet in its system, in fact, so it was… safe?

Well. That’s what you had told yourself when you made the split decision to come here after somehow managing to stow away on a ship that just happened to be going there.

You’d just been attacked by a Trandoshan bounty hunter, chased halfway across the planet you were on and forced to dump most of the belongings you’d managed to acquire for yourself in an effort to get away. The green lizard humanoid was… beyond eager. Hunting was their way of life, they thrived on the ritual of it and this one was no different. He was relentless. Constantly tasting the air for your scent with that disgusting flickering tongue. He’d even licked your neck once and you thought you might throw up all over his weird, scaly body.

It had gone on for more than a week before you decided to try and get the jump on him. You laid a trap, using his eagerness against him and it had worked…. Mostly. You fought, hard, managed to sever his arm and you were just going in for the kill when out of nowhere the tables turned. Knocking away your weapons, he’d pinned you to the ground, a wickedly sharp blade pushing into your shoulder and scraping bone.

He took one look at you, battered, exhausted, blood soaking your shoulder and burst out laughing, preening in glee that he’d finally caught you, finally managed to capture the girl everyone wanted (you hadn’t bothered to ask if he was employed by the Republic or the Imperials. At this point, it didn’t matter anymore).

What he failed to notice in his gloating, was the vibroblade you pulled from the sheath on your thigh. One moment, he was laughing, the next, his head was thudding onto the ground next to your own, mouth still open in glee, reptilian tongue lolling out.

The next hour or so had been a blur, making your way through the town again, cloak pulled up over your head and over your shoulder to hide the wound. You’d managed to steal cloth and a tincture from a street vendor, binding and cleaning the knife wound whilst hiding in a small alley. It was there that you saw the ship, only a small cargo ship, the door left open. You’d slipped in like a ghost, settling between some crates of unidentifiable objects and let yourself slump, adrenaline leaving your body, leaving it shattered and full of pain. Too close. You’d almost been caught and taken back Maker knows where. Luckily you had that blade, one you’d stolen from an Imp a couple years back after he’d tried to capture you.

As you hid in the cargo hold, you heard the co-pilot ask about the turquoise planet.

“Sorgan? Why Sorgan? That place is beyond boring. I’m surprised the people living there haven’t started a war just for something to do.”

The pilot had laughed, “You’re right there. Barely anyone comes out here anymore. Most people don’t even remember it’s here.”

That suited you just fine then. A mostly empty planet with a krill-fishing village that kept to itself, swamps and forests… hey, maybe you’d finally get a chance to relax.

Since then, you’d found a little place in the forest, up high in some clustered branches, near a source of running water. It was high enough to stay out of the way of predators, but close enough to the ground that you’d be able to spot any enemies – and get away quickly.

You’d even made a friend here.

Well… sort of.

Your first night on the planet, you were trekking through the forests when your legs had just… given out. You were spent, mentally and physically, blood pooling through your fingers from the knife wound which had since opened up again. As you lay there, staring through the canopy, you decided that maybe this was it now. Maybe it was time to give up the fight.

You had been running for so long, it was a way of life now. Had more injuries than you could count and been hunted by twice as many people. Hunters and mercenaries of all species and origin, IG-11 droids, the occasional Imp or New Republic official, even a Mandalorian once – that one had been bad. You’d had to give in after you killed him and go to a hospital, he’d left a blaster hole in your thigh so deep you could see bone.

It was quiet here, peaceful, you remembered. The treetops had begun to blur and swoop under you as you came to your decision.

I’m sorry, mumma, I’m sorry, papa. I tried, but I can’t do it anymore.

You had closed your eyes, giving into the darkness with a final goodbye and letting it wash over you like a tidal wave.

Only to be woken up what felt like seconds later by a wet nose and furry face pushing against your hand. Lifting your head, you’d blinked away the blurriness to find a rounded, big eared head resting on your hand. A Loth cat. It appeared that you’d gotten yourself a little friend.

Since then, she hadn’t left your side, following you everywhere, climbing up the trees and curling up on your lap of a night. You weren’t sure what had drawn her to you, but… it was the first companion you’d had in such a long time, and her warm body against yours was such a comforting feeling that you couldn’t bear to part with her.

That was a few weeks ago.

Nothing had happened in those few weeks. No fighting, no threats, no beeping of tracking fobs waking you in the night and sending you hurtling for the trees.

Nothing but trees, swamps and your furry little friend that you’d called Duru, after a childhood friend.

The only thing bothering you at this point, was your arm. You’d managed to smuggle some herbs from an apothecary hut in the fishing village, but it wasn’t healing properly. The wound had sealed, but it ached. Insistently. Some days it wasn’t too bad, but most of the time, it caused you enough grief that you struggled to grip anything. It was just lucky it was your non-dominant side.

A small groan left your lips as you rubbed at the skin around the wound, perched on a low branch, watching the village. The string of your bow dug into it, sending small shockwaves down your nerves and making your hand spasm. You shifted the bowstring, curling your hand into a fist and releasing it again to get some feeling back into it, an absent action as you just watched the day-to-day life of the village.

It soothed you in a way, just watching people go about their daily lives, how each person had a part to play. Even though you hadn’t met any of them and doubted they knew you were there, you liked and respected them nonetheless. So, whenever you snuck into the village for supplies, you always left something in return. Prey you’d shot down in the forest for food, herbs you’d gathered, fish you’d caught. Just a small way to say thank you to the for keeping you safe, even if they didn’t know it.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sat there for, eyes closed, one leg dangling from the branch and just enjoying the sunlight on your face, the cool and faintly briny breeze when Duru suddenly shot to her feet, a low growl rumbling from her throat. Your eyes snapped open in an instant, bow drawn and pointing into the forest, ignoring the lick of pain as your shoulder protested.

You scanned the branches, the ground below but… nothing. There was no-one there, but Duru was still staring, eyes fixed on something you couldn’t see. You huffed, leaning back against the trunk. She probably just saw a bird or a bug or something.

Still, you remained on edge for the rest of the afternoon, your hand flying to the hilt of your knife at every little crack of branches or whisper through the trees.

It took you a long time to sleep that night, but your body eventually gave in and fell into a somewhat fitful slumber, hand still resting on your bow just in case.

---

Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Bee-

Within seconds, your eyes shot open and you were bolt upright. You knew that noise.

Instinct took over and you grabbed Duru, urging her still sleepy body onto your shoulders as you scrambled down the tree trunk… only to fall the last metre because of your shoulder.

Stifling the cry of pain, you shot back to your feet and took off running, in the opposite direction of that noise.

You’d been too relaxed, let your guard slip down too much here. You should have left the second Duru went on alert last night. Of course, her instincts were so much better than yours, but you ignored it. Like a fucking fool.

The curses kept slipping from your lips as you ran, not daring to see who was behind you just yet. Maybe you’d get lucky, maybe it was just a normal hunter, looking for a big job, not realising the countless that came before him or her. Or it.

You almost laughed to yourself as you zig-zagged through the trees, feet flying over the undergrowth.Maker, you had to get off this planet, it was making you too lax.

The predator’s presence was like a dark cloud behind you, slipping through the trees, lapping at your heels every time you thought you had gotten away. Trees and branches whipped past your face, stinging but you didn’t have time to brush them away. You didn’t even have time to turn your bow and shoot an arrow, the hunter was just that close. Your brain worked frantically, seeking for a way out, an escape, a distraction, anything.

Wait.

A distraction.

You cursed yourself again, drawing in a ragged gasp of air into your aching lungs as you fumbled at your belt. You had a small flash grenade in a pouch on your belt. You used to have three, you’d had them for years and only used them for dire situations. Like this one, you just need a distraction, even for just a few seconds to get up into a tree.

Duru dug her claws into your shoulders for grip – ow, claws - as you activated the grenade and threw it over your bad shoulder without even turning around. The hunter was so close behind you, you knew it would work no matter where you aimed.

As the grenade exploded into light, you shielded both your eyes and Duru’s with the hood of your cloak, putting on a burst of speed and adrenaline and you bolted for a tree to your left, practically flying up into the canopy. Without hesitation, you began to make your way through the trees, almost sobbing with relief to the Maker that the branches intersect and cross over so that you can make your way across them.

After about 10 minutes of moving through the air, you stopped, hunkering down against the trunk of a huge willow tree as you tried to haul air into your lungs, whilst staying quiet. The pain in your shoulder nearly brought tears to your eyes, the ache in your chest but you stayed still, breathing in through your nose slowly, then out through your mouth, massaging the stitch in your side.

Was the hunter still all that way back? Was he looking for you on the ground? Maybe he was in the trees too, opposite you, watching and waiting to-

“You can’t hide from me.”

The voice came from below and somewhere to the right, a few metres away. On the ground then. The voice sounded male, a little distorted, but that may have just been the roaring of blood in your ears.

You barely breathed, scanning your surrounds and slowly rising to a crouch on the branch, calming your body into a hunters pace of your own. Slow, even movements, balancing your weight as you crept around the tree to a branch on the other side.

Even Duru was silent, hunkering around your neck, her head barely peeping out of your cloak.

“You might have evaded all the others, but you can’t run. Not from me.”

Typical. You rolled your eyes as you slipped along the branches like a phantom. Another hunter thinking he’d get the glory because he captured you. The faint call of fear in your blood quietened as you realised he was just like the others.

Let him gloat, you thought. He could be dispatched as easy as the ugly reptile last time. And his tongue.

You kept your ears pricked as you eased over to the next tree, but you couldn’t hear him. Obviously trying to get the jump on you. You let out a silent laugh as you reached the adjoining tree and began to descend.

“I can bring you in warm. Or I can bring you in cold.”

You froze, going rigid, praying the leaves would hide you as one foot dangled in the air. He was right underneath you.

You dared a glance down, finally looking at your current attacker and…

Nearly fell from the tree.

Standing on the ground below you, pulse rifle pointed at you was a tall figure. Decked out in beskar armour so shiny you could have done your hair in it, the infamous helmet covering his face, tilted in an almost casual, cocky expression.

A Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian.

You’d heard whispers of this one. That beskar armour, more than any other Mandalorian has ever laid their hands on, paid for by the collection of a high-stakes bounty. A bounty which he stole back, from the hands of The Client and Stormtrooper bodyguards, breaking Guild code and going on the run. Wanted by The Galactic Empire, The Guild, and countless others, he became a rogue, travelling the Outer Rim with his little green child in tow, completing jobs and missions for normal people, all the while being hunted himself by Moff Gideon. He was relentless, one of the best, not hesitating to kill if someone threatened him or the Child.

Someone obviously wants you very, very badly, to call upon a wanted man to track you down.

And he obviously wants to bring you in just as much, to take the risk of this hunt. You briefly wonder just how much he’s being offered.

Fuck. You’re really screwed now, aren’t you?

All of this flashed through your mind in an instant, as your arm shook with the pull of your body weight on the wound. You made as if to move, put suddenly he’s there before you’ve even let your foot drop, a gloved hand grabbing the bottom of your cloak and yanking you to the ground with a thud. Duru made a yowl of protest, springing off your shoulder and into the trees, which you were relieved about because at least she’d be safe.

Twisting to avoid putting weight on your bad shoulder, you bared your teeth at him in a grin, “I bet you use that line on all the ladies, don’t you?”

Really?? This man, this Mandalorian was going to either kill or take you, and you were trying to flirt with him??

Shaking your head at yourself, you rose to your feet, grabbing your bow, thankful you spent 4 years saving the credits for it. It was made of a strong but flexible metal, perfectly shaped for your height, as familiar to you as your own arm. Its edges were razor sharp, a knifes edge. You spun, swinging it toward him and it lightly clanged as it met the armour on his forearm, the vibration skittering down your arm.

The Mandalorian lifted his other hand, a knife in it that he guided toward your side, “Only the ones that have a bigger bounty than I’ve ever seen on their head.”

You quickly jumped back, but not before he caught you, cutting through the fabric of your tunic and opening a small cut just under your ribs. “Ooh, now we’re onto flattery so soon? Careful, Mandalorian, I’d think you were trying to woo me, not kill me.” You flung out with your bow again, only to have him grab it, yanking it out of your grip and throwing it to the side.

Mandalorian made a faint noise, whether it was disgust or exasperation you didn’t know, “You talk too much” He came at you again, a flurry of fists and kicks that were almost too quick for you, making you realise that you weren’t just fighting some cocky hunter.

This was possibly the most dangerous Mandalorian out there, save for Boba Fett. He wasn’t going to let this go. You were a good fighter, excellent, even, but as you both danced a routine of attack and defence across the clearing, you realised… you just might not walk away from this.

You panted, ducking under his arm as he swung for you. Maybe… maybe you could go and seek help in the village, you could hide in a hut or a boat, beg them to take you in.

It was like he read your mind, seeing what you were planning to do, “Really? You’d lead me into the villages? Haven’t enough people died for you already?” His voice was like a rasp as it come out through the modulator, cutting straight through the clarity of the fight and into your heart, making you pause.

How did he know that? Your parents were common knowledge within the hunters of course, nearly everyone knew, but everyone else, those that tried to hide you…

~“Run!!! Y/N, run. Don’t look back, whatever you see, whatever you hear you must promise me you will not look back.”~

A hard impact to your jaw made you stumble backwards, dragging yourself back to the present. Asshole. He’d distracted you. “You’re talking to me about death? How many have you killed, Mandalorian?” You kicked out at his knee, your boot connected just under the plate that covered his thigh and he partially went down.

The Mandalorian grunted as he rose back to his feet, “I’ve killed, yes. But criminals. Murderers. People who deserve it. I haven’t killed innocent people.” He came for you again, fists up and his blaster out this time

You couldn’t help the shocked laugh as you avoided his advances, slashing out with another small knife, grinning when it found home in his shoulder, “You haven’t? What about all the Jedi your little clan murdered?” You spat out the word clan, punching him hard, ignoring the protest your knuckles made at the impact of the beskar. “You didn’t understand a people, so your first instinct was to slaughter them like animals.”

You could almost feel the frown behind the T-visor of his helmet, “That was before me, I was never a part of the war. And why do you care about the Jedi?”

~“Mumma!! I’m not leaving you!! I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, this is my fault, I shouldn’t have done anything, I’m sorry!!”

“Shhh, shhh, my darling. It’s alright. They just don’t understand you, that’s all. Which is why you have to run, you must go and find your father and be safe, please.”

“There she is!!! Over there! Kill anyone that tries to protect her”~

You hesitated, lost in memories of the past, explosions, screaming and blood. So much blood…

He shot out a grappling line from his vambrace and it wrapped around your ankle and he pulled you off balance and to the ground, again. Weapons made specifically to combat Jedi, people with the same abilities as you, reminding you just how hunted you were. He rose to his feet, walking over to you, “I don’t know why they want you. I don’t know what you’ve done. I don’t care. I just know that you’re a criminal, you’re wanted, and the price on your head is nearly as big as mine.”

You snarled at him, reaching for your vibrobrade and pulling it from your thigh.

He just sighed, kicking it from your hand with one foot easily and at the same time he jammed the end of his rifle against your shoulder, already having marked it as a weakness.

A howl of rage and pain ripped through your gritted teeth, and the edges of your vision started to go black. It was broken by the helmet coming into your eyesight, the moon bouncing off the surface, “Give in. You can’t win. Even if you beat me, more and more people will just keep coming after you.” His voice had turned to honey on a knife edge, persuasive. Wrong.

Right.

You shook your head, as if trying to shake off his words, deny the truth of it even as tears started to burn the back of your eyes. You arched your back from the floor, trying to get up, trying to shift his knee off of you but he was like a damn rock on you, pinning you to the floor. “Fuck off, you’re just as heartless as the rest of them.”

Your power cried out to be used, begged form that place buried deep within you, but you pushed it down. You wouldn’t, couldn’t. Instead, you swallowed, lifting your head and opening your mouth to scream.

Only for his hand to wrap around your throat, his fingers lightly pushing against you. It wasn’t enough to strangle you, or cut off your air supply, but the squeeze of his fingers was enough to warn you that he would do it if you tried to alert the villagers. The Mandalorian leaned down, close enough that you could see your reflection in the black visor. More honey dripped from that voice, worming into your head, your defences.

“More people will die for you. And I don’t think you want that. I won’t touch those villagers, but anyone after me might not be so lenient.” He tilted that stupid helmet, merely watching you struggle with another light squeeze around your throat, another slight prod into your shoulder.

~Explosions lit up the market, local people screaming and running for cover as spices and fruit flew through the air. You choked, searching through the smoke, until your bare feet landed in something warm and wet. Blood.~

As you glared up into the unrelenting metal, you caught your own reflections eyes. Bruised. Battered, snarling. A danger to anyone you came near. How many people had died because of you? Either directly or indirectly? All because you kept running. Maybe you just didn’t deserve it. Deserved to live freely. And hell, you were so tired. 20 years on the run, more if you count the years with your parents. Always having to look over your shoulder, never being able to completely trust another living person. The closest thing you’ve had to a friend in the last 5 years is a Loth cat, and even she left.

It was time to just… give in.

~“Mumma? Mumma wake up, please wake up. You have to, you have to get up, please mumma, PLEASE!!”~

You couldn’t do it anymore.

I’m sorry.

The Mandalorian saw the defeat in your eyes, the way your body slumped into the ground, your muscles relaxed. As a tear rolled down your cheek, you took one last glance at the stars, so you didn’t see him hesitate for just a second before using the shock of his rifle to knock you into darkness.

Next chapter

#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x you #Pedro Pascal x reader #star wars

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Snow Covered Mountains // (F.W.)

Summary: A wintery escape with the one you love.

Prompt 41: Renting a winter cabin

Prompt 93: “You are very endearing when you are half asleep.”

Prompt 94: “How about a kiss?”

A/N: My entry into @vogueweasley‘s writing challenge! Congratulations on your milestone, I am so happy for you!! I’m so sorry it has taken a while to get to! I really did love writing this fic, it’s just so fluffy! I hope you like!!

Warnings: a lot of fluff, post!hogwarts, no angst just happiness

Word count: 2.1k

“Where exactly are we going?” Fred questions: bags in one hand as he holds the other out for you.

You smile, “You’ll see when we arrive.”

Fred goes to question you further; happy to drop the bags and question you until he’s blue in the face but you grab his hand before he can start, apparating the both of you to the winter cabin you had rented for a long weekend.

It wasn’t a large cabin, big enough for the two of you to enjoy the time away together. Fred remained speechless as you led him up the stairs to the porch, digging around in your bag for the key to the door.

Pushing open the door, you step aside for Fred to enter first. He drops the bags to one side before walking further into the large living room. A rustic feel to the room, a great couch takes up the centre of the room, a cream blanket laid over the back of it. In front of the couch, a fireplace sits unlit. Smiling to yourself you follow Fred into the living room, making a mental note to light the fire as soon as possible to warm the both of you through.

Fred moves to walk through to the bedroom, spying the queen size bed from his spot in the living room. Instead, Fred turns to you, eyes bright with happiness and love as he asks, “When did you do this?”

You shrug, “A couple of weeks ago. You came home from the shop looking dog-tired, so I spoke to George and he let me take these days for you. That night, I booked the cabin.”

Fred rushes over to you, taking your face in his hands and tilting it back slightly. His eyes run over your face, searching for the answer to a question you don’t know. “I love you; you know that right. I love you so very much.”

You cover his hands with yours, smiling up at the redhead that had occupied your heart and mind for years now, “I love you too.”

Fred beams, refusing to say another word as he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that effectively ends all conversation for the rest of the day.

--------

The morning starts deliciously slow. There was something incredibly sweet about waking up naturally, without aid of an alarm. The absence of the piercing shriek happily noted by the both of you as you stretched, reaching out for Fred across the bed.

Fred meets you halfway, humming happily in his sleep as he feels your body curl around his. Your legs slip in between his as your hand runs across the flat expanse of his stomach.

From there, the morning turned even more languid. Fred waking, kissing you immediately before rolling you onto your back where he pressed you further into the mattress. Fred in the mornings was really something to behold: sleepy smiles, messy hair and intoxicating kisses. He was a dream in the mornings.

Breakfast is late. Fred cooking shirtless as you sat at the counter, admiring the man you fell in love with so many years ago. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you twisted the ring that sat on your finger; a proposal whispered in the middle of the night; an answer swallowed by a kiss.

From there, the day is moved to the large couch in the living room. Fred falling backwards onto it, tugging you down on top of him. After years together, the position is second nature, the weight of each other being nothing but a comforting presence.

It doesn’t take very long for either of you to nod off. Fred’s breathing slows first; his fingers that were doodling aimless patterns onto your back stops, a sign that he’s fallen asleep peacefully. You follow soon after, drifting off with a hand resting on Fred’s chest.

------

Similar to the morning, you wake slowly, finding that neither of you had moved through the late morning nap. Sighing in content, you become aware of a hand playing with your hair. Turning your head, you meet Fred’s gaze. It’s soft and filled with nothing but love. He doesn’t say anything, but a small smile spreads across his face.

“You are very endearing when you are half asleep,” You whisper, tilting your face, brushing your lips against his in a manner that has Fred craving more and more and more.

Fred smiles against your mouth, conscious of the fact that you currently reside on top of him in a manner that could quickly become counterproductive to the day he has planned in his mind.

He taps your hip, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt. You shiver against him; a reaction that Fred never got sick of. He pulls back from your mouth, a smile still on his face. “We really need to get up, love,” He states, shifting underneath you, keeping a tight hold on your waist.

“Do we have to?” You question softly, the whisper of suggestion in those four words has Fred’s body under yours heating. He wants to cave; he wants to fall back onto the couch, his mouth attached to yours as his hands wander further under your shirt, brushing against your skin in a manner that will leave you gasping.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs quietly, shaking his head at your words. “I’m afraid we do. It’s snowed some more when we were asleep, and I know you want to make a snowman before we leave.”

You purse your lips, weighing up the decision in your mind. Stay warm and make out with Fred or brave the cold and make a snowman – your only aim since arriving at the cabin three days ago.

“I suppose we should,” You sigh dramatically, moving off Fred and standing from the couch.

He pouts as you move, missing the warmth of your body already. Your eyes run over his naked torso unashamedly, drinking in the sight of the man you had pledged your forever to. It was a sight you could never grow tired of, but now Fred needed to put a shirt on.

“Babe, grab a shirt and then we can head out.”

Fred wiggles his eyebrows at you; relishing in the fact that he can fluster you so quickly even after all the time together. He doesn’t argue; the quicker he has a shirt on, the quicker he can get you back to the cabin and back into bed.

------

Snow covers the ground, untouched and pure. It’s breathtaking, Fred thinks to himself as he rubs his hands together to force some warmth into them. He reaches for the gloves in his pockets, tugging them on as he turns to face you.

He stops halfway round; caught off guard by the smile on your face.

You aren’t looking at him. You’re focused on the view from the porch of the cabin. The freshly fallen snow blanketing tree branches and weighing them down; the crispness to the air and the bright sky that only promises further snow fall.

To be loved by you, Fred realises, is an honour. A continued honour that he will always take above everything else. To know that you love him just as intensely, as encompassing as he loves you has his body feeling whole once more.

There was a time, not too long ago, where he doubted everything. A time where he couldn’t tell reality apart from the nightmares that had haunted him since that fateful day at Hogwarts.

Then you entered his life as a force to be reckoned with. The friendship that he had cherished for years was rekindled when you entered the Burrow and offered him a short and sweet reality check. Fred likes to joke that that was the exact moment he fell in love with you.

But as you smile up at the sky; a peaceful look on your face, eyes shining with happiness so deserved that Fred realises he’s been falling in love with you every day since.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

That is very question he asks himself as you turn away from the view, focusing your attention on him. The very love you feel for the redhead written across your face, shining from every pore as you reach for his hand. The gloves make it difficult to tangle your fingers together, but you hold his hand just as tightly as you did that day you whispered yes to him.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

Fred remembers the very first moment he asked himself this question. The anniversary of the battle was fast approaching, and Fred could feel himself sinking to a dark place he now visits so rarely, but at one time spent most of his time there. He could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest, constricting his breathing and worrying his mind.

He remembers how you banished the very thought from his mind. How you pressed yourself against him; taking his face in your hands as you listed the ways in which you loved him. By the end of the list, you were both reduced to tears, but he had understood. He had understood perfectly how you could love someone as broken as him.

You were broken yourself. Broken but healing with the help of Fred, just as he was broken but healing with your help.

Still, sometimes he has to take a moment. Only a moment to question how he got here; how he got to this point in his life where he’s in love with someone as lovely as you and the ring on your hand to prove it.

The snow crunches under your feet as you step down onto the first step, turning back to Fred with a large smile. “Come on magic man,” You laugh, “I want to make a snowman!”

Fred cannot help but laugh along with you, following you down the front steps of the cabin and into the fresh snow. It freezes his feet, and the cold begins to seep into his bones, but when you turn to find him following you, the smile that crosses your face instantly warm his body up once more.

You haven’t strayed too far from the warmth of the cabin when you pause, spinning in a circle. “Here,” You state plainly, “Here is where we’ll build Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?” Fred asks, eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“Sebastian is his name,” You explain, bending at the knees to gather the snow.

“Why Sebastian?” Fred asks, a curious but slightly envious tone to his voice.

You shrug, crushing the snow in your hands, “It’s a strong name for a snowman.”

“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” He states, “But does it have to be a man?”

“Fred,” You gasp, the beginnings of laughter curling in your chest, “Are you jealous of a snowman?”

Fred shakes his head, refusing to answer, “I was just wondering why Sebastian couldn’t be Samantha?”

You fix him with a plain look, still holding the now formed snowball, “It’s a snowman, Fred. Sebastian was the first name that popped into my head. Now, do you want to build a snowman before we freeze our fingers off?”

Fred laughs, jealousy forgotten as he bends down, gathering masses of snow to make the bottom of the snowman. The ball slowly begins to grow as Fred shifts through the snow, pushing the snowball along with a now cold hand.

It’s as he’s doing this when something wet and cold smacks into his face. He splutters, snow freezing his cheeks as his eyes widen at your actions. “What was that for?” Fred all but shouts, enjoying the sound of your laughter at the sight of his sopping wet hair that now falls over his forehead.

“For being jealous of a snowman!”

Fred holds his hands up, admitting, “Alright. I was jealous of the snowman – are you happy now?”

You smile, victorious, “Much. I’ll get to work on the middle section if you’re happy to continue with the bottom?”

“More than happy, love.”

You turn back to your work, gathering and collecting the snow to start rolling into a ball. Fred smirks as he breaks up the snowball in his hands, beginning to creep in your direction, the idea fully formed in his mind.

You screech as the snow falls down the back of your coat; soaking your jumper and everything else you wear. You turn to Fred, scowling playfully as you tackle him into the snow, straddling him as he lays in the cold. Sebastian the Snowman now long forgotten by the both of you.

“Shall we head back to the cabin?” You ask, heat alight in your eyes, love alive in your smile.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Fred whispers earnestly, “But I have something to ask you first.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Now I have to hear this.”

Fred pushes himself up, propping himself on his elbows; pure happiness written across his features, “How about a kiss?”

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @missmulti @storyisnotover

Fred Weasley taglist: @whiz-bangs78 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @seppys-return-to-madness @hexmione @ickle-ronniekins @oh-for-merlins-sake @somekidinacoma

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #vogueweasley1k

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darthmaulification · 3 years

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empty house full of faces | boba fett

A/N: so my brain really said “let’s reopen boba’s childhood trauma” and spat this out. this is kinda also like an addition to the spooky october thing like the maul fic was a bit ago. 🎃 i may add them both on ao3 as a series, i’m thinking.

also, please ignore the probable inaccuracies of boba’s canonical childhood, my brain is small and i know nothing ever. 😋

(the excerpt at the beginning is from romeo oriogun’s poem on the 23rd death anniversary of my father)

hope you enjoy! 💗

summary: he watches himself become his dead father over and over again.

content: angst, grief, anger, haunted!boba, mental disintegration, minor body horror stuff, self loathing (directly and by proxy kinda), a tad bit of clone discrimination if you squint, rip in peace to jango 👊😔

word count: 831

Here’s the sting, here’s the sound of fear, here’s your father’s face carved into the day breaking the world across your back, here’s all his memories burning down your bones.

After his father’s death, what was Boba— this grieving, broken, familiar-faced boy— to the Kaminoans but another obstacle to overcome? They had already been cold towards him, but after the Kaminoans, even Nala Se who Boba unfortunately thought might show some semblance of pity, developed a distance in their eyes that made Boba even more alone than he’d just become.

That Count Dooku character was of no help either. He feigned sympathy, offered Boba an apology that didn’t reach his eyes, and said to him “Your father was a great man”, and for some Maker-awful reason put unneeded emphasis on was and thinly veiled sarcasm on great. That’s the last Boba saw of the Count, left simmering with the stab of realizing his father is dead and that Jango was just a bounty hunter to the rest of the galaxy all at once.

None of the other boys (who looked and talked like him— the same face everywhere) understood. They appropriated the language his father had to fight to earn, the language that Jango passed down special to Boba, and called him vod. (He is not their brother.) They grew twice as fast as him and Boba was forced to watch each one become an older him, then a young Jango, and then Jango himself.

With his father dead, Boba had to watch for years as swarms of new fathers rose in his place and talked in his dead father’s voice, in his dead father’s language, but what words are there to resurrect the dead? To truly revive the face that talked around him, the body that walked around him, when the one that keldabe kissed his forehead and tucked him into bed at night and said “I love you, Boba” was dead, and the one’s around him the same but different?

(There is none.)

Years after the initial grief (not really, it’s still here) Boba paints his father’s armor the colors it was when the Mandalorians first gave it to him; forest green, mustard yellow, red— anything to forget the familiar chrome and cobalt with all the memories attached. The beskar doesn’t fit— too large, broad, too much Jango— and Boba suffers with the painful realization that he’ll grow perfectly into it.

The hardest part, the part he waited to do last because he loathed it, is putting on the helmet— the helmet that was his father’s second face, that held his decapitated head.

Before he fully knows what he’s doing, Boba’s yanked the helmet off so quickly the pressurized latch didn’t fully unclasp, and slashes the rim clean across the bridge of his nose. The sharp pain is incomparable to the one he’s been feeling for years now, but it’s potent enough to jolt him back to reality— somewhat.

In the mirror’s reflection of him, Boba stares at his father’s face— younger, fewer scars, softer with youth— looking wild-eyed back at him, bright crimson trickling down the round tip of his nose and gathering at the curve of his upper lip. His father blinks and the tears start, and Boba watches his father begin to cry, watches the tears rain on Jango’s face.

He feels them on his cheeks, warm and wet, and it comes crashing down on Boba that the ghost of his father will follow him everywhere, that there’s no place he can look where he won’t see him, and it burns, it burns, it burns.

Boba watches his jaw fall so wide he wants it to break and unhinge itself from him, wants the skin of his cheeks to pull taut and snap like over-strained strings. He wants his tongue to roll out his head in a slimy, bloody mess, because there’s no amount of mutilation he wouldn’t take if it meant not having to look at the same face in the mirror every fucking day.

His heartbeat, rapid and wild, pulses in his head and he just starts screaming.

Boba screams until his voice grows so hoarse that he’s pushing air past raw flesh, until he tastes the tang of copper in the back of his throat, until it hurts, until it feels exactly the way he’s felt ever since his buir fucking died and Dad, I miss you so much— I want to die— It hurts so kriffing bad—

He stops screaming once the air’s run out and his chest has constricted so much that the pain in his ribs almost matches the pain he feels in his soul. His skull throbs with a headache blooming from tears and the screaming, and Boba wants to sever it from his body. (The voice in his head whispers, “Like your father?”)

Boba wants to gouge his eyes out.

Wants to rip out his hair.

Pull the skin from his bones.

To destroy himself and his father.

#star wars #star wars boba fett #boba fett #jango fett #star wars jango fett #the mandalorian #buir jango fett #this is just depressing #orion's october fics

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raendown · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: SamBucky Word count: 2070 Rated: T+ Summary: Steve had only just been thinking about how much he missed his best friend when his phone started ringing. Great minds think alike! Except apparently Bucky had meant to call someone else entirely and Steve was not at all prepared for the discovery of this baffling - but adorable - secret.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

From Where You Are

He may have staunchly denied it every time Tony or Natasha or anyone else teased him for it but Steve knew damn well that he had a - very slight! - penchant for dramatics. Dramatics like slamming an entire plane down in to the icy ocean rather than just turning the damn thing around and flying in circles until Peggy or Howard came up with the latest madcap rescue plan. Yeah. He was a self aware guy. Which meant he knew exactly how much teasing he would get if he so much as dared to open his mouth and complain about life on the run.

Because as well as Steve knew himself, his friends knew him better. He might be lucky to get a whole three words in to his sentence before any of the people he currently had available to listen would guess exactly what he was really complaining about. He missed Bucky. So sue him! He’d already spent seventy years thinking his best friend was dead and then another two knowing he was out there but not exactly all there. Now finally he knew exactly where Bucky was. He knew that Bucky knew exactly who he was. They could be best friends again.

Through video calls only.

Steve clenched his jaw against the urge to close both eyes and whine at the unfairness of it all. Leaving Bucky in Wakanda had been the right choice for everyone but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Could the world maybe stop being so unfair for just five damn minutes? Give a guy a chance to reunite properly with the one thing that had centered the first couple decades of his life? Maybe get a hug or two in while Bucky was only one-armed and half defenseless against a few rounds of proper manly affection? It didn’t sound like too much to ask. Yet here he was sitting up just past midnight trying to calculate time zones to figure out if maybe he could get a quick call in now that Sam and Natasha were falling asleep. If he snuck out on to the balcony he might be able to avoid waking them and therefore avoid the inevitable teasing over his ‘very obvious pining’.

So lost in his own head was he that Steve nearly threw his phone against the wall when it began signing in his hand. It took a slow blink or two for his thoughts to clear enough that he understood no, he had not called Bucky out of rote habit, Bucky was calling him. Score one for that mental best friend bond he’d heard the other two joking about the other day. Steve was smiling as he accepted the call and held it up at an angle he hoped would get his face properly.

“Hey, Buc- oh my god, are you okay?”

Small on the screen and folding in to himself like he was trying to be just as small in person, Bucky’s eyes were wild where they stared somewhat just over top of whatever device he’d used to call from. He took several ragged breaths in and let them all out a little too heavily before he could speak.

“No.”

“I’m here, pal, what’s up?”

“Can you- where’s Sam?”

Steve felt his eyebrows lift up together. “Uh, Sam? Is in the next room. Why?”

A good question, he felt, since in the eight or so months since they had all last been together in Wakanda, Bucky had never once so much as breathed Sam’s name during these scattered video calls. Steve had seen them have maybe two conversations in the palace and both of those had been stilted as hell. Two men dancing around the fact that they’d both tried to kill each other on several occasions. Now here was Bucky jerking his eyes over to look directly at the camera and Steve had never seen him look so haunted before. Which, really, was saying something.

“I want to talk to Sam,” he said, voice quiet, aching with something Steve hadn’t heard before. They had talked about Bucky having nightmares. He’d just never seen one, not even the aftermath. Bucky had been a keep-it-close-to-the-chest guy long before what happened with HYDRA.

“Uh, okay. Sure. He might be asleep but I’ll just- yeah.”

Feeling more than a little confused, he did just that. Stood and marched to the door with a single minded purpose that could only come with being given a mission. Bucky wanted to talk to Sam and he might not understand why but he was going to make that happen even if he had to wake the man up.

Thankfully, he did not have to wake the man up, although if he’d waited even a single full minute longer that might have been the case. Sam hadn’t even taken the time to undress or properly get in to what passed as his bed for tonight. He was still sitting half slumped against the wall on a little nest of blankets, carefully positioned in exactly the opposite corner from Natasha because one simply did not sleep next to a Russian super spy knowing that the slightest disturbance would send her in to full mission mode in less than five seconds. Besides, Sam had laughed when he pointed that out, I’m a serial sleep cuddler and I don’t think that’s a great idea here. Who knows how many knives she’s got under her pillow?

“Sam?” Fond amusement rippled through the layers of worry as Steve watched his friend’s head loll towards him, indolent and exhausted. “Hey, uh, Bucky’s on a call. He wants...to talk to you?” That got a reaction. His eyes cracked open to take in the phone Steve was holding out and his chin lifted faintly in greeting.

“Hey man,” he ground out, voice coarse with near-sleep. “‘Nother nightmare?”

“Can you tell me a story?” Bucky asked.

Steve very nearly dropped the phone. He almost dropped it again when Sam, without any external reaction whatsoever, immediately launched in with, “So you know that guy Dwayne I was telling you about? From homeroom? God, lemme tell you about how stupid this guy is. We’re at prom, right? And there’s this honey he’s had his eyes on for like three months only she went to prom with Harry Murdock- yeah, you know, the quarterback. Fuckin’ quarterbacks, man.”

It was kind of like watching something his own weird dreams might come up with. A sequence of events that made very little sense once you’d woken up and tried to piece it all back together. Sam’s eyes gradually slid closed again but his mouth just kept going like this was all totally normal, like he often spent his nights sitting up and telling Bucky random stories about the other kids he’d gone to highschool with. And on the opposite end of the call Bucky’s face grew less haunted with every word until the panic had drained out of him entirely and his own eyes were sliding down. He must have been using a tablet or laptop because the camera stayed perfectly centered on him even when his head at last fell gently down against his chest.

“-and I mean, yeah, I get what he was going for with the ribbons but fuck, it really just made the whole thing worse. Best night of my entire highschool career gone right down the drain because Harry Murdock was too ashamed to tell his parents he wanted to take me to prom and Lisa Furlow was too good of a friend to tell anyone she was just a beard. Obviously the teachers were mad about the horse being there but- ah. He fall asleep?” It took a second for Steve to realize his friend was asking him a question.

“Yeah. He did.”

“S’good. Good. ‘M gonna too. Night, Steve.” And then he was out too. Sam’s head lolled again, face going slack, and Steve was left standing there with a phone in his hand and several new knots in his chest, all of them shaped like confusion.

Well. That. Had happened. Lifting his hand, Steve watched the live image of his best friend sleeping peacefully, a direct contrast to the shaken man who had reached out for help. Reached out to someone who wasn’t Steve. He’d be lying if he tried to say some part of that didn’t sting but he was a big enough person to recognize that helping Bucky was so much more important than stroking his own ego even if he did still feel like the ground was shaky between them after everything that had happened. Watching the man now, he certainly couldn’t deny that whatever the hell just happened seemed to have helped. Bucky hadn’t looked so at peace since he’d volunteered to go back in to cryo while the Wakandans figured out a way to help him.

Movement from the opposite corner of the room drew Steve’s eye and when he glanced over he found Natasha sitting primly with both eyebrows raised in question. Not having much of an explanation, he could only give her a helpless one-shoulder shrug. They held each others’ gazes in matching confusion for several beats until Steve turned to look back at where Sam lay, asleep and content, slumped against the wall. He was definitely going to wake up to an aching back.

And a whole lot of questions.

Unfortunately for Steve’s overwhelming curiosity, he was still self-aware enough to know he didn’t have the heart to wake Sam, not knowing that it was ultimately his own fault the other man was so tired. If he hadn’t shown up on Sam’s doorstep that day they wouldn’t both be here, on the run from their own country, unable to call home to the people they cared about, worn to the bone from running and fighting and hiding themselves away in whatever dingy hole they found to crash in for a night or two. No, Steve would not be the one to disturb any rest his friend managed to find.

“You gonna hang up some time this century?” Natasha’s voice murmured through the shadows.

“Oh, yeah, I probably should.”

She watched him do so with what was probably an all too obvious reluctance. Then she grinned. “We’re giving him the third degree tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So many questions. I need to know absolutely everything that led to Sam Wilson telling the Winter Soldier bedtime stories. Everything.”

“That was weird, right?” Steve ran a hand through his hair, absently noting a tremble in the fingers. “We should probably get some sleep too. I mean, you try. Don’t think I’ll be able to get any.”

Natasha unfolded herself from the floor with the corners of her mouth curling up in a little smirk he couldn’t bring himself to look away from. “No, I think I’ll be fine. Let’s go get some coffee. We’ll coordinate our plan of attack for when this guy gets back to the land of the living.” She jerked one thumb at Sam’s form and Steve finally had to peel his eyes away just to hold in the laughter that wanted to spill out.

“Alright. Yeah. Coffee. And a plan of attack. Sounds good to me.”

“What was it they called you? The star spangled man with a plan?”

Steve groaned and covered his eyes with the hand not still holding his phone. “Please tell me there’s no surviving footage of me prancing around on stage in tights.”

“Why would I need footage when I get front row seats every time you suit up?” Natasha sauntered away from him, probably - definitely - aware exactly what shade of red she’d just left on his face. Front row seats indeed. He certainly didn’t mind his own front row seat whenever he had the chance and the times Natasha had to join them out here on the run from their own government gave him plenty of chances.

One last look at his phone made him smile before Steve slipped it in to his pocket and gently clapped both hands together, rubbing his palms back and forth. Coffee did sound good. Coffee with Natasha while they figured out exactly how much hell to give Sam over how he was apparently reading bedtime stories for a man he hadn’t said two words about in all the time since they’d left Wakanda. This was going to be fun.

#rae writes #sambucky #winterfalcon #sam #bucky #steve #natasha #fanfiction #mcu #i already have a companion piece almost done...#i did warn y'all to expect more sambucky #the world is not soft and so my writing will be

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guksauce · 4 years

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~TickledPink!~

Part Seven

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 4,367K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those who show this story and myself love 💖 Thank you to everyone who’s been on this journey with me.

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

For weeks the question of whether or not you were brave enough to move forward with this pregnancy loomed like a storm cloud over your head. Beyond the crashing fear you felt, the thought of who you were with and where you were now in comparison to the life you’d lived before, you were swollen with confidence from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Still, the memory you try so hard to avoid thinking about climbs up the back of your throat like the rising sun through the windows in the kitchen, scratching and threatening to rip out a scream. The coffee cup in your hands shakes as you stare through the blinds; imagination turning the perfectly trimmed hedges into a dirty green dumpster. It overflows with the smell of rotten food, waste, and your now broken pride. The coffee inside the cup is scalding, and you're positive it is burning the prints right off the pads of your fingers, but you are too mentally exhausted to care. A branch of the tree in the yard, littered with forest colored leaves, sways in front of the sun and makes the rays shining through the gaps glint in your eyes. It turned what should be a beautiful golden glow into the dingy flicker of the broken sign at the diner that ugly rainy night.

The you that stands in the kitchen begs to close your eyes. They burn as the result of not being able to think clearly enough to even blink. But the you that called Namjoon in the wee hours of the morning that day was caught in the crazed eyes of your offender. You remembered him being wild, rabid even. You also remembered that you wouldn't have been surprised if he had been foaming from the mouth under the black mask covering his face.

Just as the sun breached the height of the highest trees, the kitchen exploded with a blinding light, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata playing softly from the speaker on the counter behind you almost forcefully dragging your emotions out further and further. Where the sunlight streaming in should have warmed your insides and shocked you out of your inner turmoil, it instead highlighted your pain and the drops of salty tears painting wet trails down your cheeks just as Jungkook stepped into the kitchen. Halting in his tracks, his eyebrows cinched together and his heart dropped to his stomach as he watched your pain shake your frame to its core. It took all of five long strides across the kitchen to reach you before he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his comforting arms around you. You recoiled for a moment, so lost in your memories that the arms that intended to protect you blended with the ones that swore to harm you.

“Shhh. It’s alright y/n.” He cooed softly, coaxing you away from the demons that haunted you and into a new unfamiliar world of bliss. “It’s just me. Im sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper, tangled in the strands of your hair that had fallen in your face. The silence that followed was calming to say the least. The longer the two of you stood facing the warmth of the sun and the beginnings of summer's lush greenery beginning to bloom in the garden, the more you felt the weight of impending events to come wear off of you. Spinning you in his grasp, Jungkook guided your arms around his neck, pulled you closer, and easily lifted you off your feet in a dizzying twirl as the piano notes dramatically swirled around the morning lit kitchen, resulting in a fit of giggles from both of you. You let this feeling sink into your bones and will your muscles to relax and mentally ask politely for your heart to stop pounding in your chest in such a violent manner. It feels so good that you can't stand the thought of having to ruin it, but your thoughts won't stop attacking you.

“I have my first Ultrasound appointment today.” You share. He doesn't stop swaying but his familiar chocolate orbs gaze down at you with an emotion that not even he is sure fits the situation. It’s just a smile. One you don't expect to see, but it's littered with what you can only imagine being...excitement? But why? Unbeknownst to you, somewhere inside him...he is. However, he can see by the expression on your face, that despite his excitement, you are terrified.

“Whatever happens y/n, you are not alone. I know this is beyond cliche to say but, everything will be alright. There's no way in hell me, or Namjoon, or any of the others are going to let you go through this without support.” You don't mean to but, you watch the way his lips bounce off each other when he says words like “Me” and “be”. They glisten in ways that could make any woman weak, but the meaning spilling from them means so much more to you. It pains Jungkook to add what he's about to but he says it anyway in hopes that whatever worrying thoughts you might be having, sort themselves into the appropriate folders. “Whatever decision you choose to make, I will be right here with you.” Another comfortable silence falls over both of you as you lean closer into his embrace.

“This might be too much to ask but...would you come with me today?” You ask and hold your breath, waiting for his answer. You expect him to say ‘No’. You almost WANT him to say no when the weight of your question pulls your eyes from his lips down between where your bodies pressed together, just as Namjoon rounds the corner to the kitchen.

Namjoon had been gone all day. Caught his favorite coffee shop right at opening time where he ordered an iced americano and a raspberry scone. He had run eight miles to the park with the lake he liked to visit, and watched the reflection of the clouds in the water for an hour before running back home. When he’d arrived, instead of heading straight upstairs like he normally would have, the dryness scratching at the back of his throat begged to be squelched with cold water from the fridge. But upon hearing your question before he’d dared to peek around the wall, he watched. Watched the way Jungkook let his arms hang loosely at the small of your back. Watched the way the tips of your fingers absentmindedly played with the curls resting at the nape of his neck. The two of you looked so natural together that Namjoon almost felt the raspberry scone forcefully lurch its way up his throat. It isn't that he didn't want you or Jungkook to be happy, but he'd always imagined it would be him holding you like that someday. Namjoon closed his eyes and swallowed hard, willing the fluffy pastry contents of his stomach to go back down and stepped into the kitchen.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to answer your question with an excited “Of course!”. He didn't know what it was about this situation, but he couldn't deny that even in his young age, helping you through this and being part of the experience was everything he wanted. There had been so many days and nights that he had admired his mother for becoming the strong woman she is today through being a mom. Jungkook could say the same for his father after watching how he had supported young kook’s mother in both big and small ways. Jungkook understood the importance of bringing a child into this world and thus the importance of assuring that the child that he or she would always have people in their life that love them unconditionally. The corners of his lips twitched up in a smile when your eyes flashed up to meet his. The surprise that widened them caught every glint of light streaming in through the window and in that moment, Jungkook saw you in a new and vivid way...but so had Namjoon.

“I promise i'll take care of you.” Koo whispered, his warm breath fluttering against your cheeks. Joon, after finally deciding that he couldn't take it anymore, burst through the room and ripped open the fridge, snatched out a bottle of water and knocked three more over in the process. You don't mean to but you find yourself taking a large leap away from Jungkook. The expression he wears is full of understanding but it doesn't keep him from grinning at the blush coloring your features.

“Good Morning Joonie.” You don't recognize the forced voice that flies from your mouth. It's too high and sounds distorted, making Jungkook smirk more and huff out a small breathy laugh. You glare at him and kick out your leg playfully in his direction but you could say the same for your vision as well when you finally scan the kitchen in its entirety; distorted and warped. “How was your run? I planned on catching you before you left but you were gone before I could get to the bottom of the stairs.”

If it weren't for the fact that you had grown up with this man, the very carefully placed facade Namjoon wore would have slipped right past you. But you noticed the way his shoulders were slumped and the lack of a whistle sang through his lips, breaking the silence in the kitchen. But above all, it was the “Uh…” he only does when he's especially nervous that he started his next sentence with that let you know something was up.

“Uh, morning. And sorry about that. I was trying to get to the bakery when they opened. You know how much i love scones.” What could you say to that? You knew he liked scones, but you were almost certain they’d never really been a favorite of his. Then again, he's been living a much different life than the one you knew his 16 year old past self to live. It's upsetting, you think, how time has gifted you with a lifelong friendship with this incredible man but somewhere along the way that same time has made you forget who he is...or only remember who he was and have no idea who he has become. Sparing a glance up at you, he shakes the bottle of water in his hand and smiles before exiting the kitchen.

“Hyung!” Jungkook calls after him and follows him out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts again. But this time doesn't feel so heavy. Your coffee has cooled to a comfortable temperature and your mind is full with how it feels to be wrapped in Jungkook's embrace. You think about how ridiculously school girlish you feel when you're with him and bounce on the balls of your heals in attempts to keep yourself from squealing until the coffee in your belly starts to make you feel queasy.

A glimpse of a single white butterfly catches your eye. Its tiny little wings flap tirelessly as it floats past the window. It looks oddly familiar. Or perhaps feels familiar. That feeling...That fluttering feeling. You rest a hand over your thickening torso and swallow hard as you take a seat at the kitchen table. How...familiar…

It's time. The clock on your phone strikes 12:00PM and an alarm follows promptly after, screaming obnoxiously in your face. It's time. It's time. You’ve just downed your third mug of coffee when Jimin enters the kitchen and waves at you with both of his happy little hands. It's time. You never once moved from your spot, glued to the chair ever since you saw the butterfly. Time had flown by you. You wonder if you ever even blinked. It's time. There's a spot on the table that holds your attention. The wood, though it's already dark, looks burnt in a particular place. It looks like a black hole and you treat it as such, staring aggressively at it and wishing for it to swallow you up whole until a set of ringed fingers enter your line of site and brush over the surface.

“One night we had a food fight and somehow someone's napkin got mixed up in the chaos and dropped onto a candle we had lit in the center.” Yoongi. His voice is low and comes out slow and smooth. You dare trail your eyes from his fingers to his face, much like the black abyss you'd imagined the spot to be, you find his gaze on the burnt table is farther away than you expected, reminiscing a moment in time when you didnt exist in their home. “Hoseok had to get the fire extinguisher and covered our dinner in white fluff.” A smile twitches on his dry lips. Regardless, it's nice to hear him speak to you again.

“We laughed forever.” Tae says as he rounds the table and takes a seat next to you. His presence alone makes you feel better, the goofy expression he wears when you look at him makes you laugh and shake your head.

“We had to throw it all away.” Jimin says and sets a bottle of water in front of you with a smile and nods at you as if to say ‘Drink up.’. So, you do.

“So many wasted noodles. I'd been looking forward to eating them so bad.” Jungkook says, pouty lips and rosy cheeks making his fair skin glow and his dark curls darker. The lot of them laugh together in agreement as Jungkook holds a hand out to you. “Ready?”

A nod of your head ‘yes’ feels more like a magical bewitched wiggle of your nose because you're already at the clinic before you can take your next breath. From the passenger's seat you watch Yoongi’s hands on the steering wheel glide effortlessly over the matte black finish. You wonder if asking him to come was too far fetched of an idea. He hasn't seemed bothered. In fact he had not seemed like anything. Not a single muscle in his face had twitched, not a single hint of emotion. He'd simply scooped his keys off the counter and held the door open for Jungkook, Namjoon, and myself.

When he puts the car in park, you dread the moment he takes his hands off the wheel. You stay seated, your body swaying to and fro as the weight of the car shifts while the guys all file out.

You can do this Y/n. You can. You got this.

Joon opens your car door for you and carefully helps you out one step at a time. From where you stand in the parking lot, you can see the giant letters on the front of the building that read (MEDICAL FACILITY). They Are daunting and make you shiver and lean into Joon’s side.

“It's alright y/n.” He whispers to you quietly and kisses comfortingly into your hair. “Joonies got you.”

Inside it's so much harder to exist in this life and coexist in the presence of others once you've found a spot in the waiting room. Namjoon promised to return with your bag from the car before you could blink, a panicked skip in his step when he ran back out the rotating door in the hospital lobby. Jungkook watched his back like a lost puppy after Namjoon all but shouted an order at him to get you signed in. Since this morning the tension between them had been high and clouded and you wondered where Jungkook had followed him to before leading you away to your current terror.

It's too white in here. The chairs look like they have not been updated since the 70’s. The plants in the corners of the room had begun to wilt, filling the space with stagnant water and rotting soil mixed with the pungent scent of sterilizer. The flickering fluorescent lights above you bring back memories you wish you could avoid forever but it only highlights exactly why you're here. There's a painting on the wall that looks like a really old silk painting. The material is worn and frayed at the edges but the dull grey strokes depict what looks to be a man in a carriage being pulled by the likes of a Dragon through a body of water. Your eyes scan the length of the dragon just as you hear the nurse call for the next patient as though your head was underwater, glancing down at the plaque that reads “Man Driving the Dragon.”

Worry settles in the pit of your stomach when you realize neither Jungkook nor Namjoon are back, and the mountain in the back of the painting starts to look intimidatingly large when a hand rests on your knee. Your chair had begun to squeak under the shaking of your leg, and Yoongi could tell that you were starting to panic when your eyes had latched on to the painting. He didn't say anything; rubbed his thumb over the fabric of your jeans just once and it was all you needed to crumble the mountain in the painting and relax all of your muscles. For a moment you worry you've bothered him, but when both boys come rushing back to your side, he gives your knee a small pat and stands just as your name is called. All at once your body shakes, your heart drops to your stomach pounding hard enough to keep your legs from moving, the message never reaching your brain. The nurses jacket flows behind her, softly brushing the back of her knees while she scribbles information on the clipboard in her hands.

“Breathe Y/n.” Namjoon whispers in your ear when he notices your eyes scan every room you pass, searching for something to distract you or to frighten you further, you aren't sure which one. He’s careful when he touches you, fingertips gripping your elbow to guide you back to the here and now. The overwhelming scent of steryl fries every hair in your nostrils and starts a storm in your head, the hallway closing in around you. Jungkook is there as you start to sway, a hand on your back to steady you and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi at your flank with his hands out in front of him. Suddenly the nurse is stopping in front of you, the door is opening and streaming out of the room through the dark is a very soft off white glow, followed by a smell that reminds you of the eucalyptus body wash setting on the shelf in the shower at home.

And that's what this feels like out of the blue, a sense of homeness. It's the pink orchids in full bloom on the counter, the jar of fluffy cotton balls and the assortment of blue tinted tissues next to the reclined leather chair in the center. It's also the bottom half of the walls painted sage green and the top a crisp white in a way that makes you think of decorative ideas for the nursery at home. But above all, it's the three men following behind you and the four others waiting for you at home that gives you the most comfort.

After a quick change of clothes and the prick of a finger for blood work, you're comfortably laid back in the chair just as the cold gel is squeezed onto your belly. The sonographer that replaced the nurse is bright eyed and almost overly hyper as she presses the device to your stomach and chirps happily in a way that somehow reminds you of Jimin.

“I'm excited to show you your baby today, miss Y/L/N!” You don't know where it stems from but the smile on your face spreads from ear to ear as a fuzzy black and white image appears on the screen. But then she's pointing at the screen to something small in the middle and your eyes are glued.

“This little spot right here...is your baby!” When the Sonographer turns back to make sure you've seen it, her smile turns from excited to warm. The men with you have crowded around you gazing with awe at the monitor. Namjoon behind you with his hands on your shoulders. Jungkook at your side, kneeling down so his face is inches from yours. And Yoongi at your knees leaning with his fingers pressed into the taut leather of the chair to get a closer look.

“Wow…” Jungkook breathes out, absentmindedly lacing your fingers together. You squeeze his fingers just as Joon squeezes your shoulders tenderly and Yoongi falls to his elbows at your thighs patting the same spot on your knee as he had before.

“Everything looks good too. It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.” The sonographer speaks quieter and separates her last couple of words like she knows it's exactly what you need to hear right now. A moment of anxiety makes you think she's saying it because she's judging you for what happened, but when you tear your eyes from the screen and catch her gaze, you know she's being genuine. “I'm going to give you all a couple minutes to look at this while i go grab your copies. I'll be back in a moment.” With a smile she bows softly and leaves the room to us. Yoongi watches the way Namjoon and Jungkook lovingly caress you and feels a pang of guilt in his stomach.

“Actually, could the two of you leave for a second? I'd like a moment with y/n.” He asks, standing straight and the boys share a worried look.

“Hyung…” Jungkook mumbles looking at you, to which you nod after squeezing his hand.

“It's alright. It's not like he's going to eat me or anything.” You assure him softly. Both boys obey their older brother and exit the room. Yoongi hold a hand out to you and you take it without hesitating. You'd been waiting for the opportunity to just sit down and talk with him since the moment you stepped foot into his home.

“I just wanted to apologize for…” His eyebrows sinch together, that forever deep in thought look on his face passes through complex stages of emotions and it's so endearing that you struggle to do everything in your power not to giggle. He starts again, this time with more confidence in his voice. “I wanted to apologize for doubting you. For not believing in Namjoon when he needed me most. For not realizing what you meant to him. To Jungkook. And in turn...Me.” It's not what you expect to hear from him.

“It feels like a dream to hear you say that. You’ve been right about all of it from the beginning. It was an unrealistic expectation to think all of you would just be completely okay with having to deal with the change of someone new in the comfort of your home.” Yoongi nods slowly, taking every word of your thoughts into consideration.

“Yes, they may have been true at the time but the change was good. Your presence shook up our world and gave our minds a new direction. You sparked a new inspiration in us. I wrote five songs yesterday. Namjoon wrote three. Even Taehyung had me look over some new lyrics. And Jimin a melody for a song we've been stuck on for a while now.” Again you're unsure of what to say but you feel at home all over again as though a line had never divided the two of you to begin with. A knock at the door breaks the bubble but a weight feels lifted from your shoulders and the future feels lighter.

Four printed copies of your ultrasound crinkle quietly as the boys all pass them around. The entire group is snuggled around you on the couch. You Are snuggled into Jungkook on your left, Jin leans close on your right with Namjoon cuddled up behind him. At your feet Jimin leans back against Yoongi’s chest between your knees with Hobi curled up between Jins knees, and Tae between Koo’s with one of his legs thrown over Tae’s shoulder as he fidgets with a rip in Koo’s jeans. The fireplace is roaring, fat raindrops pelt the windows, and Tae’s favorite jazz mix plays softly in the background. The long day of events runs through your mind like a roll of film, buzzing softly but you finally feel like it's okay to accept the love they just keep offering to you for nothing in return. It's exhilarating but your heart is at ease all the same.

In your hand you observe the child growing inside of you and you take a deep content breath and nuzzle further into Jungkook’s side. He’s been just as content if not more since seeing the baby for the first time. Since seeing your face light up in a way he had not experienced yet. Now you were glowing and warm and he swore to himself that he would do his damndest to keep it that way. With his cheek pressed into your hair he observed the photo with you over your shoulder, imagining teeny tiny hands that looked like yours and smiled, kissing your temple. He smiled more when your chest rose a little higher, your body shivering against his as you let out a shaky breath.

“Someone help. I can’t find it. Where is it?” Jin whines and everyone bickers at him for not being able to see it, laughter in their voices as they tease him. Namjoon attempts to point it out but you giggle when he’s too far over. Behind you, Koo chuckles and points at the baby in Jin’s picture.

“It's this little bug right here.” He says and you smile at the nickname.

“Little bug. That's so cute.” You say.

“Looks more like a peanut.” Tae says, looking up at you with a wide boxy smile. This moment feels precious, surrounded by real unconditional love. Welcome to your new beginning Y/n.

Part Six

Master List

Part Eight

#jungkook #BTSau #AU #Fanfiction #bts fanfic #pregnancy au #OT7 dads #single dad au #jungkook x reader #kookie #namjoon #joonie

106 notes · View notes

slightlymore · 4 years

Text

cute~

- a pride spin-off -

pairing: haechan x mark

other characters: doyoung, jaemin, jungwoo, onew (??? only bc I needed a name 😔)

genre: angst!! smut! fluff!!! one-shot, company!au (you can read this without reading "pride" first but make sure to read at least the little synopsis below, just to have some kind of context for the first part)

warnings: 18+, language, sexual activities, alcohol, drunk characters

words: 14K (oops)

for those who didn’t read pride and don't want to: doyoung and y/n are in love with each other but because of a series of unfortunate events (them being stupid) they can’t be together. doyoung leaves her after college and starts working at haechan’s company while being miserable; the two boys become enemies/friends. everything goes relatively well until one day y/n makes an appearance and starts working there as well. doyoung and y/n finally get (their shit) together and become a couple. haechan is the happy friend witnessing all of that and this is his story

(the photo was meant to be a shitpost but now I kinda like it lmaooo)

The phone rang for the millionth time that morning, a piercing and resounding noise, making Haechan unable to hear his own thoughts. The boy groaned. It was only 10 am yet everyone suddenly needed to speak with him. Haechan would have loved to spend his workday gossiping on the phone. Maybe chit-chatting about everyone. Listening to his colleagues talk about George's new too-expensive-for-his pockets-but-he's-an-idiot car, or the scandalous hairstyle Alex tried out to impress his already-married-and-twenty-years-older flame, or to hear how someone heard from someone else that somebody had sex with someone somewhere. But not that day. Haechan was exhausted, physically, and mentally, head buried between his arms, the white noises of the office almost putting him to sleep. The infernal device stopped ringing for a second and the young man sighed relieved before it rang again soon after. Haechan whined, almost sobbing, while lightly hitting his forehead on the desk. A soft 'what the fuck' made him raise his face with pained eyes squinting from the sudden too much light. "Are you alright?", the same voice asked, his desk neighbour inquiring. "Mind your own business, Owen", Haechan mumbled and finally put one hand on the phone while massaging the base of his nose with the other. "... my name is Onew", the dude whispered offended, but Haechan's little attention was already drifting away. A female voice said something that Haechan couldn't catch but to which he replied with a short "yeah, thanks", having figured out the words "intern" and "acceptance" through her quick mumbling. When he first heard the news during the beginning of the year reunion, Haechan was ecstatic, to say the least. They said he was responsible and could handle taking care of an intern making Haechan's shoulders widen at the compliments. Also, having an innocent soul to bother for a few months? It meant some company and less work for himself. Paradise. But Haechan had already forgotten about the joy he felt before. He had been feeling weird for a while now and he hated it. The previous night he didn't go home after Doyoung and Y/N left the company building. He listened to them talk for an excruciating period while pretending to sleep. It was beautiful, choked voices and raw confessions, and he felt like the third wheel in his own life. When Haechan walked out of his office one day, months before that, with the intention of "grabbing something important from somewhere" (or taking a break while making it pass as work) and heard the loud bang of the neighbour office door, he didn’t think that his life would go spiralling down from that moment on. It took him days. No, it took him weeks, maybe months, before the uncomfortable feeling creeping on him, making his spine shiver and palms sweat could be classified as something real by his brain. As a feeling. Sitting down on his chair, tired fingers tapping away at the keyboard for hours, he would suddenly feel this ungodly urge to get up and go to that office again as if an obscure force possessed him. To do what? To see a pair of angry eyes. Angry and full of pain. They were beautiful: round but also angled, dark but also light, absent as if looking at anything but their surroundings. Looking at something only they could see. That thing, sadly, was never Haechan. The boy tried everything to be seen by them. Being friendly, being funny, being helpful. Then he tried being rude. To his immense joy, the latter worked better, as if those eyes hatched such an enormous amount of anger that they had to spill some onto someone. And Haechan didn’t mind being that someone if it also meant being the object of those eyes’ attention at the same time. Then he realized that he didn’t want to see only the eyes. Something else was fighting for Haechan’s regard. Pink and soft looking, often stretched in a line, sometimes forming a pout. God, Haechan would have done everything to be able to touch those lips even once, even for a second. And he did it during his most feverish dreams. The first time, he woke up panting, ashamed, shaken to the core, the feeling of that soft skin still ghosting his own lips. The second time Haechan raised a trembling hand and touched the place where his subconsciousness created such a realistic scenario. He caressed it slowly, laying in that obscure slumber, silently, afraid to wake up his rational side. The third time he didn’t need to dream. He just imagined, shamelessly. His lips got kissed and his name was pronounced with such lust and desire to leave Haechan panting. So real, as if Doyoung whispered that while being beside Haechan in his room. It took Doyoung a few good weeks to call Haechan by his name in real life. When he finally did it, he wasn't even scolding him. No. From weird conjunction of stars, Haechan didn’t need to do something to gain Doyoung’s attention that day. He was in the photocopying room. One hand was mindlessly using the machines, the other was warmly hugging a mug of coffee. His slowly descending glasses were being pushed back by one of his fingers when a fluttering shadow appeared behind him. Haechan’s hands stopped as if his crawling skin could physically predict the future. “Haechan”, Doyoung said. Just like that, sweet and soft. And the boy with that name let his coffee mug fall to the ground. Oh. “Haechan!” Doyoung repeated. “What the hell?” Yes. Yes. Haechan. That’s me. That’s my name on your lips. Say it again. “Haechan! You’re doing this on purpose now”. Doyoung stood tall with hands on his hips, looking at the way Haechan was failing to grab his mug, letting it comically slip from his hands, again and again, new coffee stains covering the carpet. I just love how my name sounds in your mouth. I don't want you to stop. Please. “Oops”, Haechan chuckled, the mask he carefully crafted for Doyoung easily slipping on his face, and despite everything, Doyoung rolled his eyes with a little smile himself. “You’re such an idiot”. Oh fuck. That. Haechan almost forgot. The boy could drown in the light that Doyoung’s face emitted when he was smiling. It would dissipate for a split second the darkness lingering around him and it was Haechan’s doing. Haechan did that. It made his little heart buzz every time and soon enough he started to fantasize about a day in which Doyoung would not have that expression line between his eyebrows anymore. And it arrived eventually. Haechan realized everything would go downhill for himself when he got blinded by Doyoung’s soul. He could see it before as well but not this way. Not while the older man's cheeks got red and his pupils were trembling. And Haechan understood soon what that was because a sick person recognizes another sick person easily. Was Haechan like that as well? Were his cheeks flushed and eyes glossy every time he looked at Doyoung? Ah, Doyoung’s soul. He took it out so suddenly and poured it into that girl’s hands. Haechan felt like dying. No. No, wait. It's supposed to go like this. I should be there. I worked so hard. I endured so much. It can’t end like this. This is my story. Isn’t it? And it was, but not the type of story Haechan imagined. In this universe it ended in him being alone, bones cold and empty, looking at Doyoung’s back as he carried his love in his arms. Haechan stayed back there, motionless, no arms holding him. He bit his lips for a little while, looking around the office as if not knowing on which planet he was. Then he crouched down and cried. He was tired. Yeah, he was just tired. It has been a long week and a long day. He was exhausted. That was the reason. Haechan, you're good. Just get a good night sleep. You’ll be fine. Now get up and go home. And he did that. Like a robot. He was alone inside the 4 am metro, blinding, fluorescent lights burning his fatigued eyes. His feet dragged him towards his apartment although he found himself knocking on Jaemin's door instead. Jaemin was a weird guy and Haechan loved him dearly. He just never slept. Every time Haechan called him, he somehow was wide awake doing some random shit. Haechan hoped that he didn't suddenly change his habits because he desperately needed some arms to crash into. And Jaemin opened the door as expected, a popsicle between his lips, eyes wide and bright. Haechan stepped inside and took the snack away, putting his lips on Jaemin's instead, pushing him against the wall, letting the coldness of Jaemin's tongue numb his thoughts. And he let the popsicle fall from his fingers when Jaemin wrapped him between his arms, guiding him towards the bedroom, no questions asked, no romance. I need a distraction right now, Haechan's whole being was screaming and Jaemin was good at reading people. Quickly and effortless, clothes sliding down, Haechan's mind finally lingered in a grey bliss as the only thing he could think of was the way Jaemin rolled his hips into him, sending shots of pleasure through his whole body. But then Haechan's slipped. "Doyoung-", he whimpered then gasped, eyes wide with horror and cheeks reddening. Jaemin didn't care if Haechan called other guys’ names but when Haechan put his palms on his face, chest rising and falling quickly, sobbing desperately, Jaemin stopped and sighed. He let Haechan go and rolled over, wrapping his shaking frame with his arms. "Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. Haechan shook his head, burying it into the other's chest. Jaemin stayed quiet, the only sound in the dark room being Haechan's irregular breaths, his fingers delicately drawing patterns on the other’s skin. "It's going to get better", Jaemin whispered after a while. "You're going to be seen by someone one day, just like you see everyone else”. It was weird how Jaemin always had the perfect thing to say. Though Haechan didn’t believe that, he had no force to argue. He stayed like that for the next hour, in silence, until the sun came out. Then he got up and let Jaemin prepare his breakfast that he barely touched. Haechan then borrowed the other's clothes and said it was fine for him to go to work that morning. You have to be sick to be able to call in sick, Haechan said. Because you’re someone that follows rules and does an honest job, Jaemin commented sarcasting with a raise of the brow. I just need to be busy, Haechan added and left.

Now, heading towards the acceptance, he regretted not staying home, maybe sleeping the whole day. Sleeping would be good but dreaming? He was afraid of that. The squeaking sound of Haechan’s shoes on the main floor tiles was so distressing that Haechan felt like taking them off and throw a tantrum in the middle of all those white collars. Blinking fast he sighed when he saw the new guy, an anonymous-looking young man looking around as if uncomfortable and slightly afraid. Haechan introduced himself in a monotone voice, letting the intern shake his hand then he turned around with a short 'follow me', not giving the other time to do anything else besides tailing his supervisor. Haechan has been babbling about the company for a good five minutes now, walking quickly through the corridors, showing rooms and people. He wasn't doing a very good job because he didn't care. The new guy, weirdly enough, didn't seem disoriented at all and Haechan shrugged internally. "And this is the terrace", the boy finally finished his monologue as they both stepped outside. It was a sunny day but the wind was quite strong, making Haechan close his eyes as his fluffy hair danced around his forehead. "Cute," the guy commented with a soft chuckle. Haechan looked around. Cute? It was kinda cute, he guessed. Too many ugly buildings around though and it wasn't the best-kept terrace. He turned his head to face the intern. "What's cute?" Haechan asked. It was the first word that guy said and Haechan wanted to hear him speak. The intern was looking at him already instead of the surroundings and Haechan could have sworn that the dude's cheeks were flushed with a pink hue. "You are", he said shyly, eyes big and twinkling. Haechan could only blink back. Wait. What? Did this guy just call him cute? Cute? "Listen, thanks, but you have to pay me respect. I'm your supervisor", Haechan replied trying hard to keep his voice stable. He wasn't annoyed but he couldn't just giggle, could he? Also, who calls strangers cute? On the workplace? What a weirdo. The guy’s expression shifted at Haechan’s words as if in slow motion. "Oh God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", the intern babbled and stuttered, cheeks going from pink to red, eyes darting around, not knowing where to look. Haechan has never seen someone that transparent with his feelings before and he could tell that he was very honest. Looking so naive, Haechan fought the urge to roll his eyes at him just to make him feel even more embarrassed. "I can't fire you personally or anything and I'm not your boss, but I can tell people to fire you", Haechan tried to sound cold even if the situation was rather funny. The look the guy gave to Haechan was of pure terror a for a split second Haechan felt almost sorry. But then the dude’s eyes darted to Haechan’s hair, still flying around his forehead. Haechan puffed annoyed and put one hand on top of his head as to stop the motion. The intern’s expression relaxed. "And what are you going to say? That it's because I called you cute?" he asked. His lips were back into a timid smile. Haechan was baffled. "What is so cute about me?", he sniffled, sure that he caught a cold already and switched the hand from his hair to his ear as the wind got even stronger. The intern took the question seriously. "You have curly purple hair-", he started then stopped as if that was enough to explain his comment, "-and well, your cheeks are full and now they're uhm red and it's... very cute. Also, your eyes are big and round and it's very cute-"

Haechan groaned incredulously.

"Oh my God! Stop saying cute", he spoke up to make his voice heard over the loud rumble of the wind, before turning on his heels and walking towards the terrace door. The intern’s cheeks turned pink again as he tried hard to not add whatever he wanted to say.

_______

Mark was told that he was somewhat of a dense guy. He disapproved. He just paid attention to what he wanted and disregarded the rest. So, if you asked him to show off the company to you, what tasks he had to do or where the bathroom was, he wouldn't know where to start. But if you asked him to tell you how many moles Haechan Lee the Supervisor had, he could answer in a second. It was weird and Mark wasn't a romantic person at all. But when he saw the guy walking out the elevator, eyebrows furrowed and dark circles underneath a pair of tired and red eyes, Mark felt a tingle in his stomach that he could only describe as love at first sight. Okay. Maybe not love. Crush at first sight? Attraction? Mark didn't know what that was and it made him so confused that he could only look at the guy's back when walking around the company as if it could give him some answers. Haechan, he said while letting Mark shake his hand. Of course. It fit him perfectly. Mark could see it - the sun - underneath his skin. Their fingers parted ways too quickly after shaking hands and Mark felt so paralyzed by the sudden tingle on his skin that he couldn’t fully pay attention. Was he also warm to the touch? Mark desperately wanted to find out. Was it weird? He was being weird. But God, he was so cute. Cute. Very cute. Cute. Cute. So fucking cute.

This is all Mark’s mind was thinking about and when Mark thought about something he would just say it. Just like that. Cute. Don’t say it now though. Cute. I swear, Mark, shut up, for once. So cute. Please, not now. “Cute”, his tongue slipped.

Goddammit.

“What’s cute?” Haechan asked. The view. The view is cute. The view, Mark. Mark, say it. Mark, are you listening? The view. “You are”, Mark said instead and Haechan suddenly turned even cuter. Mark gasped, firstly because of the way Haechan’s cheeks turned red and his eyes round and big, then after a good full second that felt like an eternity, because of embarrassment. Oh shit. Fired. He was about to get fired. "God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", Mark felt like running away. He woke up that morning with the intent of finally living the life he worked so hard for and there he was instead, calling strangers cute and making everyone uncomfortable for the sole reason of not being able to shut his mouth for once. Haechan looked embarrassed as he was though and that little detail made Mark hope that it wasn’t all over. Then Haechan shut some cold blinds on his own face and Mark knew that Haechan thought he was safe, that Mark wasn’t able to see his feelings underneath all that. It wasn’t an efficient job and Mark wondered if other people needed just that little act to not see Haechan anymore.

_______

"Good morning". Haechan saw the intern’s feet first before hearing his voice, but he didn't raise his face as suddenly something very important and urgent was being shown on the computer screen and he couldn't physically let his eyes fall on the way the guy wore his suit.

It was terrible. Long legs and strong thighs on display right in front of his desk? Terrible, and he didn’t need any more distractions in the workplace. After the intern left for the day with a soft “see you on Monday”, both tired having spent most of the time walking around the company and explaining boring paperwork, Haechan had not been able to stop thinking about him the whole weekend. No. No, it wasn’t a crush or anything. Haechan was just, what’s the word? baffled, s h o c k e d, appalled. Some random guy called him cute and Haechan acted that way? Blushing timidly? Was he feeling that bad? Was he that sick? Unacceptable. He was Haechan, for fuck’s sake. And Haechan didn’t just blush. He could not slip anymore. "Yeah, hi Mike", he replied lazily, fingers typing something he didn’t really need to write. "It's Mark", the intern replied in a neutral tone. Haechan knew it was Mark. In fact, he also knew his full name. Mark Lee. Born on August 2nd, 1999. Toronto. Moved to Vancouver. Graduated from university a few years ago. Great grades. Interested in music and sports. Plays the guitar. Good boy. Loves animals. Does charity work regularly. Has a normal amount of friends. Doesn't know how to take selfies. No, he was not being weird. He just read his CV.

Obviously.

He was his supervisor. He needed to read that. The other info? He Googled him only to make sure that he wasn't a criminal. And the social media research? It was just to check on his personality.

Obviously.

What if he posted about illegal shit? He had to check every photo and tagged person. It was part of his job. He was single, even if Haechan didn't search for that in particular. Haechan loved his work a lot and he didn't care that he worked on that until 3 am, scrolling through his phone, drifting to sleep with Mark's selfies impregnated on his lids. It's just that he took his job seriously.

Okay. Okay.

It wasn’t the whole truth. Haechan was curious. Who calls you cute all of a sudden? Haechan had to know more.

"Okay, Matt. What about you go and bring me a coff-", Haechan started but got interrupted by a hand, delicately placing a cup of steamy coffee in front of him. Haechan stared at it as if not understanding what that was then finally raised his eyes to meet Mark's gentle ones. He was smiling. "I stalked your Instagram. Full of food and coffee", Mark explained honestly with a shrug while walking around the desk and sitting down on his chair. They had to share a desk and Mark was as close as to touch elbows. Haechan hated having people so close to him when he didn't want them; especially at that moment, as Mark rested his head on his hand and just stared.

Yeah, he stared. His eyes were piercing, looking at Haechan as if that’s what normal people do. Scanning him from head to toe, then looking into his eyes as if able to see something there.

Haechan ignored him and looked away. "Stalking my social media is problematic, Mike". Mark chuckled lightly. "You did the same". Haechan's head snapped. "And why would I do that?”. Mark shrugged. "Close the tabs if you didn't want me to find out," he smiled staring at Haechan's laptop.

The younger’s eyes suddenly widened and with a quick hand, he closed it in a second, cheeks hot with shame. He opened his mouth to say something to get himself out of that embarrassing situation but Mark thankfully didn't give him any time.

"What are we doing today, sir?" he asked instead with a sly smile. "We write codes", Haechan replied quietly. "Fun", was Mark's comment.

And they did that the whole morning, ignoring each other's knees as they sometimes brushed against each other. And they ignored the way their knuckles touched when both reached for their own cup of coffee. And Haechan ignored Mark's cologne while Mark ignored the way the computer lights made Haechan's skin glow. Mark loved programming, he always did, but that morning he thought that it would be nice to not be a programmer, just for a minute, just to be in a well-lit office and see how different Haechan would look under the sun instead.

_______

Haechan stared down at his sandwich, sitting still wrapped and untouched in his lap. Then he looked up at the blue sky and let the white fluffy clouds calm him.

It happened close to the lunch break.

"Spaghetti", Mark said suddenly. Onew had left already and in front of their office, everyone was walking the corridor heading out. Haechan was finally getting into the flow of working when Mark's hoarse voice startled him. "It's your favourite food, isn't it?" Mark asked, explaining himself. "Soup. I don't put things I love on my Instagram", Haechan replied. Mark looked pensive. "This is why there's no girlfriend photo there?" he wondered with a timid smile. Huh? What was that? So this is what was happening? This is the reason for the cute?

Haechan had no force to being hit on, as much as Mark intrigued him. He had zero force and suddenly all the thoughts that Haechan buried away for a few days, came back like a bulldozer.

Haechan bit his tongue before talking too much. "Maybe the girlfriend doesn't exist", he mumbled before getting up and grabbing his wallet.

"Wait, are you going away?" Mark got up as well, surprised. "I thought we were going to eat together. I don't know other people-". "Well, I don't want to. Make some new friends", he replied and just walked away. No, he ran away and the first place he thought about was the terrace. It was the only uncontaminated place in the whole company. Doyoung has never been there before.

And Haechan loved the clouds. He loved the wind moving them around fast. It was mesmerizing and in moments like those, he was able to not think about anything, until he was not Haechan anymore, until he was a cloud himself, floating in the blue sky.

"Sorry, I didn't know this was your favourite place", a voice startled him for the second time that day.

Haechan looked at his right where Mark was standing with a plate of food in his hands. He looked like a scared deer, turning around to leave Haechan alone, probably wondering what he did wrong but too anxious to confront Haechan about it.

"It's alright. You can stay", Haechan spoke softly and resumed his cloud gazing.

Mark stopped uncertain, standing still for a little while but then he walked towards Haechan and slowly sat down, resting his back on the wall as Haechan did, raising his eyes to watch the sky.

"Pretty", Mark commented and this time he was actually talking about the view.

Haechan hummed, then after a moment of silence, he apologized.

Mark began eating his food. "For what?" he asked with his mouth full. They both knew the reason but Haechan still appreciated Mark’s effort to showcase that he wasn’t mad at him. "For telling you that I don't want to eat together. I was being an ass for no reason", Haechan explained. Mark shook his head. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I came off clingy". Haechan huffed. "Funny. Usually, I'm the clingy one".

Mark swallowed and Haechan looked at him. "I haven't been myself lately. But I promise I'm not an asshole". Mark smiled back kindly. "I know. I can see that".

Haechan's expression flattered.

Mark took another bite. "You look very warm. Your name is very appropriate for your personality. You're just… very cute", he added with a shy smile.

Haechan continued staring at the other, unable to make a single sound.

The other had a few other bites as if not noticing the way his words made Haechan feel then he finally raised his gaze.

"Why are you not eating? Are you sick?" Mark inquired eyeing Haechan's sandwich. The boy finally sighed and looked up at the sky again. "Maybe". "Well, you'll get worse if you don't eat", Mark commented and grabbed the sandwich, unwrapping it and putting it into Haechan's hand with force. "I can't believe you're treating your supervisor like this. Calling him cute and forcing him to eat", Haechan stared at the food in his hand before taking a small bite, mostly to make Mark happy. The other shrugged. "You act like no one calls you cute every minute. Also, I am older than you. I can do that”. Haechan rolled his eyes. "I'm still your senior. You don't want to see me get mad. I can guarantee you that". Mark opened his mouth to say something dangerously similar to “cute” but then smiled instead, shaking his head. Haechan forced himself to keep a straight face. "If you say it again…", he warned the other. Mark cleaned his already clean fingers on a napkin then suddenly grabbed Haechan's cheek with two fingers. The boy's eyes got wide and he almost dropped his food, his mouth open in a surprised o.

Mark smiled even more at his reaction, gulping his last piece of food while gently pinching Haechan's face as if he were a child. Then he let him go and got up, dusting his pants. "I didn't say anything this time", Mark explained innocently.

Haechan looked up at him, still shocked.

"I'll see you in the office. Finish your food", Mark told him and left. Haechan could distinctly hear Mark comment "so fucking cute" while he was descending the stairs.

_______

That night Haechan fell into his usual decadent slumber. He was almost fully unconscious, the twilight sleep making space for a depraved and troubled dream. Fingers twitching and muscles quivering, Haechan’s mind transformed his day yearning in darkness. Images of eyes and lips tormented him again. It has always been the same pattern, yet something new derailed the boy’s focus that night. Little details. The roundness of the eyes, the form of the lips, the touch of the fingers, the voice. That voice sounded different and it whispered something Haechan has never dreamt about before. A single word, soft but sensual, repeated again and again in Haechan’s ear.

That morning, after a very long time, the boy woke up with a new name on his lips.

_______

Mark sometimes thought that everyone was just stupid besides himself.

Not because of an unhealthy superiority complex or something, but because he couldn’t understand how everyone could be that blind.

“Oh, Lara, I love your new blazer”, Haechan would say while walking around the company with Mark following suit. Poor Lara would blush and be genuinely happy about the compliment. But Mark could see that Haechan thought it was atrocious. And Adam’s stuttering speech a well. Oh, and Joseph’s wrinkly newborn.

However, it wasn’t this fake persona Haechan had that made Mark uneasy. It was the one he would wear when talking about himself. Oh, I slept very well last night. No, I don’t need any help. Yes, everything is fine, what do you mean? Smiles and laughs and sarcastic comments.

Mark wanted to know. He wanted to get closer and dust off the misty layer on Haechan’s eyes.

Maybe Mark thought too highly of himself. Maybe it was his ego talking.

I’m going to be the one to help Haechan, that’s the only thing he could think about.

And lately, during sleepless nights, Mark would beat himself up about it.

It’s not your business, Mark. You want this to feel a good person.

Except, he would then frown and hug his pillow tighter, getting annoyed at himself.

No, I would want it even it wasn’t me to help Haechan out. I just want to see him happy.

Yeah. This sounds good.

So he would drift away to sleep, peaceful, knowing that he was selfless.

Alas, it took very little to Mark to realize that he wasn’t that selfless as he thought.

Mark raised his eyes when Haechan’s abrupt manners opened the office door with a kick. “Haechan, you look good today”. The other smirked. “I always look good. What do you mean?” As if the literal sun entered the room. Mark was blinded. “Did something good happen?”, he watched Haechan’s hair bounce at his every step, like a little seedling gently moved by the breeze. Haechan’s smile widened as he sat down, rolling around in his seat, pure energy sprinkling from every pore. “So I guess the answer is yes,” Mark found himself smiling as well, although a bitter taste pasted his tongue on the palate as he spoke. “I just remembered how much serotonin a good fuck gives you,” Haechan opened his computer and started working on his tasks, not paying attention to Mark’s face.

Oh.

Mark hated it. Oh, he hated it so much. God, he hated it.

The boy tried hard to not think about Haechan that day, resulting in him thinking about Haechan all day. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about his body touched by somebody else.

It was almost lunchtime when Mark finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dating someone?” Haechan raised an eyebrow, eyes still too focused on his computer to give his full attention to Mark. “What? No. Why?”, he mumbled distractedly. Mark blinked for a few seconds. Haechan finally processed and laughed. “You’re kinda sweet Mark. I just got dicked down, that’s all”, he got up and stretched his arms up with a whiny yawn. “Come on,” he lightly hit the other’s shoulder, “I think today’s menu is soup”.

______

Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark.

It was as if Haechan was going crazy.

It was just a dream. A single dream.

When did this happen? How was it possible?

“Fuck, Haechan, you’re-”, Jaemin gulped, his adam apple going up and down inside his stretched out throat just like Haechan’s body moved on top of him. “Yeah?” the directly concerned boy smiled. “-crazy today”, Jaemin concluded. “Who made you this horny?” Haechan bit his lower lip, hating his mind for not leaving that thought out, even if for a single second. “Call me--”, he ignore the other’s question, cheeks violently turning red. Jaemin groaned at the way Haechan sunk deeper on him in the process. “Call you what?”, he asked breathless, fingers tightening around Haechan’s painfully hard length. “Cute”, the boy finally whispered. And Jaemin said it, again and again until that word replaced Mark’s name from Haechan’s head.

_______

That day’s menu was indeed soup which only added to Haechan’s general euphoria. Mark walked one step behind him, troubled by the double sword his feelings formed inside his heart. His eyes were only on the younger’s face and Mark could only sigh every few seconds.

Oh, I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love.

Lost in his melodramatic thoughts, Mark didn’t notice when Haechan suddenly stopped. “Hey, boys. Haechan,” a dude greeted generally before locking eyes with the younger one. Haechan rolled his eyes and made a step back from where that guy was. The dude’s smile flattered as if annoyed at that obvious showcase of hatred towards him but kept his fake expression on as he looked at Mark instead. “So, I’m organizing this party downtown at the Garages. Do you want to come?”, he asked.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Haechan to see what the deal was about.

Haechan huffed. “Mark doesn’t like parties and neither do I, Jungwoo. Thank you”, he replied snarkily while making a step to continue walking.

Jungwoo smirked. “Says the party animal. You never mentioned it to me while I had you on my-”, but Haechan interrupted him, hitting his chest with the back of his hand.

Jungwoo chuckled with satisfaction.

“Oh, so the boy doesn’t have to know?” he asked indicating to Mark, faking innocence.”

Mark felt his jaw muscle flinch and a sudden urge to punch that dude in the face made his fists almost tremble.

“The boy doesn’t like the way you’re making his friend uncomfortable right now”, he spoke with a cold voice not breaking eye contact. “Whatever happened between you before, now Haechan doesn’t want to see you again and certainly he doesn’t want to come to your party”.

Haechan opened his mouth to say something but Jungwoo's laugh interrupted him.

“Oh, but he does want to see me again and come to my party. Don’t you, Haechan?” the dude asked.

“Of course I don’t, Jungwoo. Get fucked”, Haechan replied quickly, eyes rolling in their sockets, feet turning direction and walking away.

“I bet I will”, Jungwoo shrugged with a little smile, throwing one finger gun at Mark. “By Haechan”, he whispered with a wink while leaving him alone in the corridor.

To Mark’s horror, despite those two’s abrasive conversation, he could definitely see that as a silent promise.

So Mark went there as well.

Why? He didn’t know. He liked to think that he was concerned about Haechan’s safety.

That Jungwoo guy had some rancid vibes and Mark hated the idea of the two together. Because he was concerned for his safety.

Not because he was jealous or anything.

Haechan could do whatever he wanted and sleep with whoever he wanted to, but what if, just what if, Haechan changed his mind and chose Mark over the Jungwoo dude?

Mark could do that.

Mark wasn’t self-centred but he still realized that Haechan deserved better and he could provide that.

If that was Haechan needed to soothe the darkness in his eyes, Mark could do that.

But Haechan wasn’t there and neither was Jungwoo and the thought of that man’s hands on Haechan’s skin made Mark’s guts twirl on themselves.

He looked around, frantically, breathing the sweat-impregnated air, trying to avoid being hit by people’s sticky shoulders. Until he started to feel sick, not only because of the loud music and blinding lights but also for some obscure reason, grabbing his throat and choking him.

He had to drown that down.

_______

When Haechan arrived Mark was surrounded by people, eyes closed, face up exposing his neck, laughing and screaming, jumping and moving his body as Haechan has never seen someone do before.

His legs were nicely on display in a pair of severely ripped black jeans that Haechan had no idea Mark liked to wear.

The younger boy was so concentrated on the way a plain white T-shirt could look so good on a person that he noticed too late the way Mark directed his eyes towards him.

He was far away and Haechan couldn’t decipher the other's expression but it didn’t matter as Mark quickly made his way to where the younger boy nervously stood.

Mark was drunk. A lot.

But he still somewhat fluidly avoided the crowd as if dancing until getting as close as hovering above Haechan. The boy had never noticed that Mark was taller until he had to raise his face to look up, his back and palms pressed against the wall. He didn’t notice when he walked backwards either.

“Haechan”, Mark said his name with such worry to make the other’s heart beat like crazy. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”, or that's what Haechan deciphered from his lips since the music was so loud that his ribcage felt about to be ripped apart. “Home. I’ve just arrived”, Haechan yelled and Mark got even closer, giving his ear to the boy’s lips to hear better.

Haechan couldn’t do anything else besides inhaling his odour. Mark was a little sweaty and his breath smelled of alcohol, but Haechan has never found someone sexier than him at that moment.

His eyes were dark under his black curls and his lips looked swollen as if someone sucked on them. Haechan felt like prey and unconsciously pressed his body against the wall even harder.

“And where’s Jungwoo?”, Mark’s voice tingled Haechan’s earbuds. “I have no idea. Why would I know?”, Haechan replied, acting as if he didn’t realize why Mark was behaving like that.

It made Haechan’s palms sweat.

He thought about that a lot, at the way Mark got defensive of him in front of Jungwoo, at the way Mark’s expression darkened even after Haechan told them that he had no intention to go to the party, at the way Mark has been looking at Haechan a lot, at the way Haechan couldn’t just stop thinking about Mark for a single second either.

He came to the party because of that. Haechan’s mind was running again and he wanted to stop it. And also because he played with his phone all day, looking at Mark’s number for a long time.

Mark would have replied but did Haechan really want it? He was such a sweet person and Haechan didn’t dare to contaminate him with his presence. Mark didn’t deserve to be used as Haechan needed.

So he went to the party, ready to contaminate somebody else instead. Who knew that Mark was there waiting for him?

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole night”, Mark talked again after staring at Haechan as if trying to understand the younger one’s thoughts. Just like he has been for the past few months, making Haechan feel small and naked. "Yeah, I bet. While letting those people grind on you?" Haechan replied sarcastic trying hard to conceal his shaking voice.

Mark got closer, bold and cocky, putting his hands on the wall, caging Haechan between his arms, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "Yeah, I was imagining you grinding on me", his confession tickled Haechan’s ear and the boy tried to move his head away on the side, afraid to do something he would regret, but Mark's hand was there and his head had nowhere to go. It wasn't right.

Haechan was sober while Mark was drunk and had no idea what he was talking about. He had to go away, push him back, but his limbs weren't cooperating. Mark's hand though was working just fine and it gently grabbed Haechan's face, turning it into his direction.

"Haechan, please, let me kiss you", he begged, his breath caressing Haechan’s lips.

The boy gulped down surprised, shivering with desire, fighting with himself. He put his hands on Mark's chest, with the intent of lightly pushing him away, but he was made of iron. No, Mark, no, please. You’re too precious to me for this.

"You don't know what you're talking about", Haechan mumbled.

Mark breathed heavily. His jaw muscles tightened. Then he put his head down as if trying to gain forces.

"Yeah, sorry, okay okay, I'm leaving", he retrieved his arms and let them fall to his sides like dead flesh.

Haechan looked at them with some relief, suddenly feeling exposed and cold, even if the club's air was so hot that it was hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just him having breathing difficulties. Haechan had no idea.

"No, wait", his lips betrayed him. "Just-", Haechan interrupted himself, eyes squeezed together as if already regretting what he was about to say, unsure, holding Mark's wrist with both hands. Then he opened his eyes again.

Mark was looking at him his heavy lids. His gaze wandered from his face to his exposed neck, then to his collarbones and chest. Mark was undressing him without touching anything and Haechan felt like going crazy.

"-just a kiss. Okay? It's going to be a short kiss", Haechan continued, unable to believe he was actually saying that.

But there was no harm in that. A little kiss. Just a harmless little kiss. Like the ones you'd have in college during stupid games. No one thought about those in the mornings.

But when Mark's lips curved in a little smirk and his body got as close as to press on Haechan's one again, the younger boy knew that it wasn't going to be just a kiss. Not for him at least. And not only he would think about it in the morning. He probably would think about it for a long time. And he was right. It was indeed memorable. Slow and careful but not timid. Mark cupped the other’s face, palm pressed on his jaw, fingers as far as touching his neck and ear, the other grabbing his hips, pulling them against his. Haechan’s head felt light and he couldn't fathom how Mark managed to have so much control when he was about to lose it all. And then it became even worse as Mark slipped his tongue inside of Haechan’s mouth and the younger boy had to tighten his grip around Mark’s torso. He whined into Mark's mouth, making the other hum back, picking up the pace, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, letting his hand fall from Haechan's face to his neck, then chest, then to his stomach, grazing the skin separated by Mark's fingers only by his thin button-down.

Haechan had to stop him. It was going too far. That was a mistake. They still had to work together. There’s a reason why Haechan avoided talking to the coworkers he fucked before. Mark wasn't realizing that but Haechan did. He had to be responsible.

Stop him, Haechan. Stop him.

"Mark, wait", he broke off the kiss when Mark's hands reached his jeans button. The boy looked down at him, panting, eyes half-closed: he was begging Haechan to let him continue.

Haechan grabbed his shirt and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows.

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?", he warned him, shutting his brain off. "Okay", Mark replied quickly putting his mouth on Haechan's again as if unable to be away from it for too long. And he put his hands on Haechan's jeans again as well, opening the button, letting the zip fall slowly, tucking his hand underneath Haechan's boxers, feeling his soft and hot skin, wrapping his fingers around him tightly, not letting the struggling Haechan to break off the kiss to moan. And he didn't even last too long. The boy came shuddering all over Mark's fist after a few good strokes and the older finally let him press his face into his chest.

Shit, he had never lasted this little. What the hell.

Haechan was fucking embarrassed and if Mark wouldn't have been too drunk to remember anyway, he would have just run away to hide in that exact moment.

"Fuck", Mark cursed under his breath, feeling Haechan’s hot release on his skin, nudging at Haechan's temple with his lips while the other came down from his high. "Oh, fuck, you're so hot like this, Haechan. And cute. Shit, you're so cute, I'm going crazy", he babbled before letting Haechan's cock go and trying to bring his fingers to his lips. "Oh no", Haechan gulped trying to stop him. "Mark, don't. You touched all sort of things in the club with that hand", and Mark stopped for a second as if processing the information before dropping to his knees and tasting Haechan directly.

The boy opened his mouth in a silent gasp and he was still so aroused that feeling Mark's tongue made him hard again in a second.

"Fuck", Haechan swore loudly, pressing his fingers into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back, feeling himself grow harder inside Mark's mouth.

He didn't expect it. He didn't expect any of this. Innocent and soft Mark Lee sucking him off like no one has done before in the dark corner of a club? Haechan the slut coming in two seconds and getting hard again soon after? Past Haechan would have laughed, yet there he was, moaning Mark's name like a mantra, coming for the second time in minutes like a little virgin.

It was no dream. It was a reality.

Mark didn't let him go and Haechan felt like flying as his cum descended inside Mark's throat. And then he looked down right in time to catch a glimpse of Mark's eyes, looking up at him, letting his cock out with a lewd plop. "Mark, where did you learn that?", Haechan asked suddenly exhausted. The boy licked his lips and held onto Haechan to get up, shakily. "Was that good? It was my first time doing it", he mumbled with a smile before resting his head on Haechan's shoulder, the cocktail he had right before adding to his brain fog.

_______

Mark woke up to the sound of a heartbeat. It was a comforting sound. Deep and regular.

He groaned softly as his lids realized they were getting hit by bright and irritating sunlight. Then he opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the windows first, vision blurry, then on the plant underneath it, then on the young man underneath him.

Mark's muscles got a spasm and woke up completely as his brain finally made sense of what was going on. Meaning that his face was resting on Haechan's chest. Bare chest. And his own torso, bare torso, was wrapped by the boy's arms.

Oh fuck, he thought. Oh shit.

"It's too late in the morning to run away", Haechan mumbled, waking up softly as well.

Mark froze as he was trying to get up. He was propped up on an elbow when Haechan opened his eyes and Mark felt his breath hitch.

Haechan was there, pillow adorned with his luscious locks lying all around his head like a halo, chocolate eyes warmed by the sun shining through the windows and his skin, God, he looked like an angel.

"I'm not going away", Mark lied, surprising himself by how deep and hoarse his voice sounded like. "Fuck, you're so cute right now", he whispered soon after, unable to control himself.

Haechan's eyes got wider at Mark's words. He expected Mark to freak out, and Mark was freaking out inside a lot, but having Haechan like that, underneath him, vulnerable and beautiful as never before, made Mark feel peaceful at the same time.

This is all he wanted in life.

The older managed to keep it together for a few other seconds, trying to look confident, but when Haechan's cheeks reddened with blush, Mark lost it and blushed as well, rolling away, grabbing a pillow to hide his face in with a scream.

"I can't believe it", his voice came out muffled. "Oh my God", he yelled quietly.

Haechan started to chuckle embarrassed. "What an idiot".

"How-", Mark removed the pillow enough for one eye to poke out. "How far-", he stuttered.

Haechan rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance.

"Just oral", he whispered while getting up and putting his feet on the ground, turning his back to Mark, unable to look at him in the face either.

"Oh", the other sounded weirdly disappointed. Haechan pinched the base of his nose. That man was sending such mixed messages. "You did dry hump my ass if that makes things better", Haechan spoke through his teeth, embarrassed out of his mind, grabbing the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand. "I'm sorry. You deserve to get fucked properly", Mark replied quietly as if thinking at loud, making Haechan choke on his water and spit it all around the room.

Mark sat up quickly and placed a hand on Haechan's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The choking boy turned around to face him.

"I thought you'd be all embarrassed about this", he commented while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand.

"I am!" Mark's eyes got wide and his red ears confirmed it, but it was still not what Haechan expected.

"I mean", Haechan hesitated, unsure of what words to use, "I thought you'd regret it in the morning. You were really drunk last night and you had no idea what you were doing”.

Mark's face visibly darkened.

"Do you regret it?", he asked.

Haechan went on with his phrase ignoring Mark’s question. "-like I was sober and I was worried that maybe I should have-".

"Haechan".

Mark's voice was so deep and serious that Haechan's heart started to beat faster upon hearing him calling his name like that. "Answer me. Do you regret it? Did I- fuck - did I do something wrong?", Mark asked ruffling his hair with one hand. He looked so worried and distressed that Haechan for a second didn't know what to say.

"No", the younger finally shook his head. "No", he repeated. "I was aware of everything and I made my choice consciously but you-", Haechan hesitated again. "Me too", Mark spoke up, nodding. "I remember everything until you helped me to get out of the club. After I sucked y-".

"Don't say it", Haechan stopped him with a raised palm.

Mark chuckled embarrassedly.

If only Haechan knew how cute he was being in that moment, faking his serious face and steading his voice. Mark would have wanted to see Haechan confess just how weak he was.

"So you, like, you wanted it? Not because you were just drunk and I happened to be there?", Haechan asked timidly. Haechan couldn't believe he was so shy to talk about sex with someone. It has never happened before. Nothing he did with Mark happened before.

Mark gulped down. "I wanted it, yeah. I didn't do it because I was drunk. I did it thanks to that. I don't think I would have had the courage otherwise", he explained. "But I'm also sorry. It mustn't be nice to- like--uh, you know, with a drunk person", he stuttered, eyes closing and opening as he thought about the words to use.

Haechan looked down, shyly. "You were very hot actually", he whispered back, scratching the back of his head.

"Haechan," Mark finally found his voice after a moment of shocked silence. "I swear to God, I would take you-", but interrupted himself abruptly.

Haechan looked at him flustered.

Mark cleared his voice.

Then he shook his head.

"No", he chuckled at himself. "Nothing, never mind", he added suddenly getting up, the covers sliding down his naked body.

Haechan looked at it. He had looked at it the whole night. That night he kissed every inch of that skin and listened to Mark's soft moans. And Haechan realized that it wasn't a hookup. At all. Not for him. But Mark didn't remember that part and Haechan didn't want to tell him. If Haechan had to think about it for the next month, so be it. It was all on him. He let himself go too far and he wasn't talking about the physical aspect. It was all his fault if his heart was aching to see Mark get dressed instead of lying beside him, cuddling, or better, doing what Mark didn't dare to tell him.

_______

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?".

Forgetting.

Mark wanted to forget but he couldn't do it. Not the day after and not on Monday morning, seeing Haechan's pretty lips so close to him and not being able to kiss them.

Mark lied when Haechan asked him what he remembered.

Well, not entirely, because he did forget some parts.

But he was definitely lucid when Haechan went down on him, slowly, after kissing his lips, then his neck, sucking on his skin, then his chest and stomach as Mark wrapped Haechan's hair around his fingers. The boy asked multiple times if Mark was okay with that until Mark had to basically beg to just suck him off already. And God, he was so cute doing it. He would never forget how that felt. Divine. His head was so light as if zero oxygen got to it, every drop of blood concentrated inside of Haechan's warm and wet mouth instead.

And he was staring at that mouth now, as Haechan explained the work to do for the day. Mark wasn't even that horny. No. He just wanted to hold him again and softly press his lips on Haechan's plump ones.

"Tomorrow we forget about this".

Haechan was sober when he said that. He meant it. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. Right? Should he ask? Haechan, did you forget? Do you want to forget? Because I don't.

And I can't.

"Mark", Haechan snapped his fingers in front of him making the boy jolt. "Focus", he ordered. "What are you thinking about?".

You. I'm thinking about you. You. You. I've been thinking about you for days, Haechan.

"Lunch", Mark shrugged. Haechan rolled his eyes. "What an idiot".

_______

That afternoon Haechan was in a relatively good mood.

He should have known that the most peaceful days could bring the most terrible storms though.

So he jolted at the sound of a voice he almost forgot how it sounded like.

"Haechan, I thought you died or something".

The boy in question looked up from his computer to see a pair of feline eyes.

They were bright and amused. Then he saw the lips. Soft and pink stretched in a sweet smile.

Doyoung was still like a house with all the lights on, but now it wasn’t empty anymore. Now everyone was home. This house was full of people, all happy and content.

Haechan was so glad. He truly was. This is what he has always wanted to see since first locking eyes with that man. But he also felt suddenly miserable. Miserable and confused.

His heart shouldn't have skipped a beat like that. Not anymore.

"I did die and I just got back from hell", he replied, trying to sound as snarky as possible. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"What about you? You also went missing". Doyoung blushed subtly at the innuendo and Haechan felt the urge to punch the table. Or himself. "I've been busy", Doyoung replied softly. "So you went to paradise instead, I see", Haechan commented with a smile hoping that no one noticed how fake it was.

_______

"A man can't have his alone time in peace. What do you want?", Haechan rolled his eyes while Mark sat down beside him, resting his back on the rooftop wall, looking in front of him at the blue sky.

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze, enough for Haechan's fringe to wave gently.

Mark loved it when the wind ruffled Haechan's hair but he couldn't bring himself to look at the younger boy. Not at that moment.

"I didn't know", Mark whispered. "What?", Haechan's voice came out irritated but he didn't care.

"That you were in love", Mark added.

Haechan choked on his breath.

"I'm not", he crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes as if sunbathing. Conversation over, it meant. An angry bronzing session.

Mark finally looked at him then, feeling safe as he wasn't seen back. He watched the way Haechan’s skin glowed under the warm rays. Mark thought about how it would feel under his fingertips but he wasn’t sure. He touched it before but now he couldn’t remember it. Mark wanted to raise one hand and touch his cheek again, this time fully concentrating on the feeling. He wanted to let it slide down the boy’s jawline, feeling the sharp bone, then on his neck where the angry pulsating artery pumped blood at a crazy speed. Then he wanted to hear Haechan’s soft breath as his hand unbuttoned his shirt, this time feeling his heartbeat. Mark wanted it to be fast and only for him. For Mark.

It all made sense now. But why does it have to be like that? What should Mark do? What do people do in this scenario?

Was he thinking about this Doyoung guy? Has Haechan been thinking about other men? The whole time? While Mark was thinking about him?

Was he imagining kissing that man's lips while Mark's mind was full of Haechan and Haechan only?

Of course, he would.

What was Mark thinking? Isn’t this what he accepted? Isn’t this what he decided to adventure in? Why was Mark suddenly so hurt about Haechan behaving as he anticipated him to do?

We forget about this in the morning and Mark was certain now that Haechan actually did forget.

"Does he know?", Mark asked after a while. Haechan snorted. "Of course he doesn't". "He doesn't know what?".

The other boy sighed at the trap.

"Just leave me alone", he ordered. And Mark actually got up and left.

Haechan's cheeks got wet right when it started to rain.

_______

"Mark, if you have something to say, just say it".

It's been a few days of Mark not talking but still looking at Haechan as if about to burst in a monologue anytime soon.

Haechan had been brusque with him before, but it never came to Mark not talking to him.

The younger boy wasn’t stupid. It was obvious what was going on with Mark but Haechan didn’t have the force to deal with it sooner.

"I don't have anything to say", Mark replied. "Do you have anything to say?".

Haechan rested his back on the chair and looked at Mark, irritated.

"Okay, we need to sort this thing out. We can't work like this". "Like this how? We're working just fine", Mark didn't raise his eyes from the computer. "Mark, you've been writing and deleting the same line for a while now", Haechan indicated the screen with his chin. "Well, maybe something is going on with me but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so we don't need to talk about anything", Mark replied finally starting a new line.

So Mark was able to lie as well, huh?

"Mark", Haechan lowered his voice. "Do you perhaps have feelings for me?", he whispered.

"What?!" Mark yelled.

Onew jolted on his seat.

"Keep your voice down, you dumbass", Haechan put one hand on his thigh. Mark looked down at it then at Haechan's face.

Haechan retrieved his hand back.

Mark breathed heavily before talking.

"It's just--”, he rested his back on the chair as well, “I've never been with someone like that before and I'm so confused right now, like, I don't know if I have feelings for you or just--like, I need closure?", he questioned as if talking to himself.

Haechan was surprised that Mark told him all that.

"You mean that you're a virgin?", the younger asked incredulously. "Uhm, I can hear you", Onew said. "Then get your ass up and take a stroll, Owen", Haechan spoke up.

Mark flinched at his sudden and loud voice.

Their colleague shook his head as if not believing he was dealing with some weirdos and got out of the office mumbling something about gen z people.

"I am not a virgin. I meant hookups", Mark explained after a little pause while his cheeks acted like a virgin's. "You said you've never sucked someone before", Haechan raised one eyebrow. "It's alright if you're a virgin, Mark. You just have to tell me and-”, he interrupted himself as if realizing what they actually did, “-fuck, you had to tell me before as well. God, I acted recklessly, I should hav-".

"I am not a virgin! Stop saying that. I've never sucked before because I've been eating pussy, okay?", Mark raised his voice.

Haechan blinked at him. "So you're confused about your sexuality?"

Mark rolled his eyes defeated. "I know what I like! I'm not confused. Just hear me out!" "You said you were confused just a minute ago", Haechan said. "But not about my sexuality. Because of the hookup!" "Why are you yelling?", Haechan yelled. "I'm not yelling!", Mark yelled back. "You're arguing with me right now". "Because you're not listening! I don't know how I'm feeling about you because I've never slept around before. I-- just--don't like it", Mark stuttered. "Then why did you sleep with me?", Haechan was exasperated. Mark whined. "Because I liked you already”. "So you do like me. You have feelings for me", Haechan raised his hands as if talking with a fool.

The other shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable.

"Don't all people like their hookup partners though? Like, would you sleep with someone if they were ugly as fuck? I don't think so. You still need to be attracted to them a little".

Haechan sighed while massaging his temples. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Didn't you have crushes before? Don't you know what it feels like to be in love?".

Mark groaned tiredly. "I did. And I know. But this is different", he spoke with a softer tone.

Haechan sighed. "So what? Am I supposed to help you figure that out? If you like me or not?".

Mark straightened his tie and focused on his computer again as if the conversation was over.

"Listen, you wanted to hear me talk, so I did".

The younger boy stared at the other’s fingers as they started to type something, probably useless.

"Do you even want to like me? Like what's your expectation?".

Mark’s fingers stopped and he remained silent for a little while. "Well, you like somebody else, so it wouldn't be nice if I had feelings for you, would it?".

Haechan prolonged the silence a bit. "I'm getting out of it".

Mark turned his head to him.

That was a lie, Mark could see it. A blatant lie.

"Do you want me to like you?", he asked. His voice was soft and low.

Haechan thought about it for a second. He didn’t know what to say.

Mark sighed, unable to wait like that, and closed his eyes, reclining back on his seat again.

"I like you, Haechan. Okay? I like you, fuck. I don't care if you like somebody else".

Haechan’s heart started to beat even faster than before.

“Was this the problem, then? You were jealous?”, Haechan’s voice came out quieter than he intended.

Mark opened his eyes and looked down at his hands clasped together.

He shrugged.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I just needed to say it. I’m not asking for anything from you”, Mark directed his gaze towards Haechan.

He looked so serious that it made Haechan’s cheeks get pink again.

Mark’s eyes trembled imperceptibly at that reaction but he didn’t dare to say anything about it.

He cleared his voice as Haechan couldn’t bring himself to add anything either and got back to work.

_______

It was very late at night.

Haechan had no idea what time it was but it was not a time normal people would be awake at.

He fidgeted under the covers, restless and irritated. He felt hot and his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

His hands found his phone after a while, ready to click on Jaemin’s name. But then his thumb slid down and it stopped over Mark instead.

Haechan stared at the bright screen until he felt his eyes tear up from lack of blinking then just pressed it with a huff.

Bad person Haechan. You’re a bad person. You’re such a bad person. A mistake. You did a mistake a now you were about to make another one.

“Yes”, Mark’s rough voice interrupted Haechan’s train of thoughts.

The younger boy opened his mouth to breathe better and he let that monosyllable caress his ears even after the sound already died.

“Hey”, Haechan whispered, closing his eyes, helping his other senses to get sharper.

Mark groaned softly and shifted in his bed, probably turning in a more comfortable position. “Haechan”, he said in the same sleepy and deep voice and Haechan had to make an effort to not whimper into the phone.

Why was Haechan so affected by this boy but at the same time so afraid of him? He shouldn’t have let Mark get so involved. Haechan should have put a wall between them the first time his lips said that first “cute”, then another one when he blatantly saw the way Mark’s eyes couldn’t leave him, then another one that night in the club, and another one when Mark asked him if Haechan wanted to be liked. And now as well. Just end the call.

But he couldn’t.

His walls were not strong enough for Mark and Haechan was a bad person.

He liked it. He liked a lot. Haechan wanted more and more even if he could give back only darkness.

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, Haechan said after waiting a few seconds to recollect himself.

Mark hummed as if telling him that it was alright. “Is everything okay?” he asked and Haechan noticed the way Mark was slowly waking up by the growing concern in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, everything is good. I just…”, Haechan hesitated.

Why did he even call Mark in the first place? Did he need company? Rude. Did he miss him? Gross. He was a bad person, using people when he needed, disregarding their feelings? Yeah.

“I wanted to speak to someone”, he decided to be honest.

Mark’s breath got louder for a second as if he laughed lightly. “I’m glad you thought of me, then. Unless you called other people first and no one replied”.

Haechan smiled, feeling like a teenager talking to his first crush, then stopped, starting to hate himself. “No. You’re the only one I called”, he confessed.

What was he doing? Bad. Bad Haechan. Bad.

Mark went silent and Haechan listened to his breath for a while.

“You confuse me so much, Haechan”, Mark’s voice was a whisper and Haechan swallowed nothing, feeling his throat suddenly dry.

Yeah. It was not fair. Not when Mark told him how he was feeling and Haechan couldn’t do the same.

“But I’m not complaining”, Mark added before Haechan could apologize and end the call, finally getting to his senses. “I don’t care, Haechan. I like you so much. You can do whatever you want to me”.

Haechan bit his lower lip. God, he hated himself.

“Mark-”. “Would you do something for me?”, the boy interrupted him. “Mm? What?”. “Would you-”, Mark stopped, breath suddenly quicker, “-would you-uhm-- shit”, he repeated softly before chuckling, slightly embarrassed.

Haechan’s skin got goosebumps, wondering if he understood what Mark wanted. His heartbeat started to pump blood at a crazy speed at it all went in a single place.

So he did what Mark asked, even if he would end up being wrong, only because he wanted it too. He slid a hand under his t-shirt, slowly, until reaching his nipples, and whined into the phone.

Mark went completely silent for a second.

Haechan whined again a little louder.

“Fuck, Haechan”, Mark’s voice trembled. "Are you-- are you touching yourself?”.

Haechan hummed. “My nipples”, he simply replied as he pinched them, playing with himself, feeling his boxers get tighter at every stroke. “Oh fuck”, Mark’s rough voice made Haechan squeeze his eyes together and open his mouth in a silent moan.

They were both panting. Haechan couldn’t tell if Mark was just lying there and imagining or if he started to shyly let his hand slide south as well.

“How does it feel?”, Mark inquired with a shaken voice and Haechan realized he still had too much control to be rubbing one out as well. “It feels so good, Mark”, the younger one replied, adding soft swears as his fingers got under the fabric of his boxers, letting the elastic hit his abdomen once, loudly, making sure Mark heard it as well. “Hmm -a-ah”, he wrapped his cock with his hand, pumping it slowly a few times, pressing his thumb on the slit.

He didn’t need to exaggerate any sound. Knowing that Mark was listening could make Haechan go over the edge alone.

“Haechan, you make me go so fucking crazy”, Mark’s shaking voice made Haechan bite his lower lip. “You too, Mark”, he confessed in the cloud of sensations.

Then listened to the way the other boy’s bed sheets irrefutably shifted and the bed creaked and his breath hitched as he started to pleasure himself to the sound of Haechan’s whimpers and the image he had of him.

They didn’t talk anymore. There was no need to and they weren’t able to either. Not having Mark near him, made Haechan last longer but it was still too quickly than usual so he stopped right before cumming, edging himself until the other whined into his pillow, cursing and calling Haechan’s name.

_______

Haechan avoided Mark the whole day. He told Mark that he had some other work and barely came into the office.

The older boy would sigh every five minutes, mind racing, making the poor Onew groan.

“He’s feeling awkward. You guys fucked, it’s normal”.

Mark turned his head towards him as if awoken from a dream, cheeks blushing violently as soon as he made sense of the other’s words.

“Also, you’re in love with him. I would avoid someone in love with me as well if I only wanted to fuck them,” Onew added as if talking about the weather. Mark was unable to speak. “He’s afraid to hurt you now”.

“I told him it was alright, though”, Mark finally whispered, trying hard to suppress the hysterical little chuckle he would get when nervous or talking about embarrassing stuff.

Onew got up with his empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Show it. Do something that can make him realize that it’s okay for you to be in this type of relationship”, he added before walking out whistling with not one single worry in the world.

Mark would have wanted to whistle as well but couldn’t.

That advice was breaking his heart.

It was true. Mark said that he was okay, but he was lying.

Of course, he was not alright.

He wanted to, oh he wanted so bad to be alright but it was so late. It was already late from the beginning. Mark didn’t want that kind of relationship. He wanted more.

But Onew was also right. Mark had to do something. If being able to have Haechan like that meant breaking his own heart, Mark was ready to do it.

And when that night he went to Jungwoo’s monthly party again, he forced his beating heart to stop upon seeing Haechan’s back.

The young men’s slender figure was curved in a laugh, the pretty sound almost audible to Mark’s far away ears. Then Haechan sipped from the drink in front of him, still amused by the handsome bartender’s joke, and spun around in his chair right in time to see Mark being hit on by a woman.

Haechan’s lips stopped on the edge of the glass, eyes unable to blink, staring emotionless at the way Mark’s lips curved in a timid smile while his hands weren’t timid at all, firmly grabbing that girl’s hips as she wiggled her ass against Mark’s crotch.

Haechan turned around, placing the drink on the counter with a slightly shaking hand.

“Everything alright?”, the bartender asked.

Haechan didn’t reply and threw his head back, finished his cocktail in one gulp.

_______

It was quite early when the boy left the party. Haechan felt like suffocating in the middle of all those people breathing heavily, clouding his mind.

Waiting for his taxi outside, ignoring the stares of horny people smoking and grinding against each other by the entrance of the Garages, he got reasonable startled when two hands suddenly wrapped his torso.

But those were some delicate fingers and Haechan could recognize that cologne in a thousand others.

Mark rested his face on Haechan’s shoulder and no one said anything for a little while, listening to the deep bass coming out of the club, the yelling and the traffic on the main road just a few blocks away.

“Sorry if I startled you”, Mark mumbled.

Haechan bit his lower lip and turned around, expecting a drunk and horny Mark yet again. But the boy’s eyes were wide and awake, his usual staring-as-if-reading-your-soul eyes met Haechan’s ones.

The younger looked at them for a second then he eyed the bright red hickeys on the other’s neck as well as the slightly unbuttoned shirt.

“I see you’ve had some fun tonight”, Haechan commented unable to hide his bitter tone. Not that Mark wouldn’t have been able to see through his fake face anyway.

Mark licked his lips and tugged Haechan’s hips towards him.

"Is this alright?", his voice was low and sultry, ignoring Haechan’s little jab, caressing his lower back instead.

Haechan started to pant softly, unsuccessfully trying to take a step back then he gulped down staring at the other’s lips getting each second closer.

"We can pretend it didn't happen", Mark went on, "just like we've always done, isn’t that right?", and Haechan could have sworn that Mark was a little pissed off. “Fucking at night then pretending we don’t know each other during the day, huh? Isn’t this what you want? I can do that”.

Mark's fingers reached the hem of Haechan's t-shirt by now, hiking it up slowly, dragging his fingertips on his skin. It was warm, just like Mark had always imagined. A loud cheer mixed with glass shattering made Haechan flinch but Mark shushed him, every second closer until they were breathing each other's air.

"I really want to take you right now, just like this".

Mark's whisper made both of their hearts beat like crazy. The first, not believing he was talking like that, the second, not believing that Mark was telling him that.

And when Haechan finally closed his eyes, ready to melt into the kiss, Mark's lips ghosted his cheek and neck instead, fingers still drawing little circles on the younger's chest, resting his palm on the beating heart. Then he pulled away.

“It’s a shame that you’re pushing me away like this”, Mark straightened his back and walked away.

_______

Mark was a weird guy.

And when Haechan bumped into him inside the local supermarket near his apartment, a large sweatshirt on his frame, boyfriend jeans, ruffled hair, a little stubble, concerned expression behind his golden round glasses, the tip of his tongue out, licking his lips mindlessly, deciding what brand of cereal he wanted, Haechan felt the urge to go there and yell at him that he's in love.

Haechan never liked the "what are we" question.

Everyone around him asked that. What are we? Friends. Friends with benefits. Nothing, we're just fucking. Haechan has never adventured there. But now, looking at Mark's profile, his hand finally picking up the cereal pack, Haechan wanted to ask him that question.

What are we, Mark?

Because I want us to be something.

I want to claim you in ways that give other people no place to do the same.

Not a friend, not a colleague, not a friend with benefits.

An etiquette that only Haechan could claim.

Even if Haechan didn’t deserve that.

Mine. My boyfriend. Mine. Mine. All mine.

Was that wrong? Probably.

But Haechan felt no remorse.

Was that love? Haechan was unsure but he wanted to find out.

So he walked over. Was Mark there because he hoped to see Haechan? "Oh, Haechan", Mark seemed genuinely surprised when the younger called his name. "What are you doing here?", the boy asked.

Mark looked around briefly as if suddenly not knowing where he was. "The meat here is higher quality than the supermarket near my apartment", he explained and Haechan could see the way Mark's expression screamed honesty.

He wasn’t there because of Haechan. Mark might have had a crush on the other but he was slipping away now.

Come back, Mark. Come back to me. Call me cute again. Touch my skin. Don’t do this. Don’t play with me like this.

"Haechan", Mark's voice wavered as the boy got suddenly closer. "We're in public".

Haechan didn’t look away. “You didn’t care about the public last night. You let that slut fuck you in front of everyone then you dared to flirt with me and leave me on the edge like that?”, he confronted him.

Mark’s little stunt made the younger so mad the day before that he felt like bursting in his pants during the drive home. Cheeks flushed and trembling hand, he didn’t even bother to walk to the bedroom. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to rest against the entrance door as soon as he stepped into his empty apartment. He came and came, again and again, until he felt too sensitive to touch himself anymore. God, he was so mad.

“Haechan, are you jealous?”, Mark’s eyes relaxed, the cereal pack still between them, the gaze of some elderly ladies not leaving their backs.

Haechan’s jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah. I am. I am jealous. I am fucking jealous. Okay? I hate it. I hate that you sleep with other people. You’re mine and mine only”, Haechan spat out quickly before he could regret saying it.

He was panting and he didn’t even have to look at himself to know that he was all red.

Mark’s breath hitched in a startled laugh.

“And I hate that you have all of this control over me. I was done, okay? I was done with feelings and here you are, doing all of this bullshit to me. Your little game worked. Are you happy?”.

Getting out of the apartment that late morning, Mark didn’t anticipate getting a confession from Haechan in the cereal aisle while said person looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, doe eyes and a trembling lower lip.

God, he was so cute, Mark wanted to grab his face and kiss him.

“You saw my game and played by my rules?”, Mark asked impressed.

“You didn’t even give me time to play at all! I got defeated before starting”, the other admitted frustrated.

Mark chuckled. “Why are you getting mad at me, Haechan? You ignored me in the first place, sleeping with other people.”

The boy huffed exasperated and walked away, bumping Mark in the shoulder, making the other pirouette and grab him by the forearm.

“I was joking. Come on”, he cooed. “This is what I’ve always wanted”.

Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek, annoyed. “What? Me making a fool out of myself?”

“Showing yourself to me”, Mark replied kindly.

Haechan rolled his eyes, still using his faking-nonchalance-to-not-show-his-feelings technique, but Mark was already immune to that. In fact, he has been immune to that from the start.

Haechan loved it.

Haechan loved it so much that he got scared. It was too good to be true.

________

It was pouring heavily when they got out of the supermarket. Haechan had his apartment windows open and they could smell the scent of rain, clean and refreshing.

It was cold but Mark's body heated the boy in a second, groceries fallen on the floor, wrapping his arms around the other’s frame.

They did not kiss and Haechan was quite surprised but he didn't say anything, hiding his face the crook of Mark's neck instead, inhaling all of his favourite scents at the same time.

"I called you upstairs for a different reason," Haechan mumbled, surprised at the sudden softness, the sound of his voice muffled by the other's slightly damp sweatshirt.

"I know," Mark whispered against his temple.

He placed a delicate kiss there, then another one slightly below, then another one, drawing a line until reaching the jaw. Haechan raised his face and Mark kissed the corner of his lips, then the other cheek, and jaw again, and the other temple.

Haechan closed his eyes with a little smile as if giving up.

Mark, what are you doing?".

"I want you to think", the other replied, lips still busy. Haechan scoffed. "I want to stop thinking". "I want you to think about me".

His lips reached Haechan's forehead and stayed there for a little.

The only sound was the rain and Haechan's quick heart.

"I already think about you a lot", Haechan confessed, face close to Mark's collarbones.

"And why do you want to stop?" the other murmured.

His voice was so relaxing and calming that Haechan for a second forgot why was he trying to not think about Mark in the first place. Why was he pushing him away? Why has he been pushing him away all of that time?

Then he remembered when Mark's hands slid down Haechan's back.

"Because I'm a bad person". Mark sighed as if he expected that but still wanted to hear the other say it. "You're not a good judge". Haechan tsk-ed. "Well, thanks, I guess." "I am the one who has to decide if you're a bad person or not, and I say that you're not." "You're blinded by love”.

Mark hugged Haechan even tighter.

"Yeah, I am, so Haechan, please, let me love you", his tone darkened suddenly. "Stop pushing me away. I can handle anything".

"I'm going to fuck up", Haechan shook his head.

"You won't and if you do, I still want to take my chances. What if I fuck up before you do?"

Haechan laughed, resting his chin on Mark's chest, rising his face to look at the boy in the eyes. "Mark, you're a saint".

The saint’s eyes were those of a sinner though when he pressed his thumb on Haechan’s plump, lower lip.

"Have you ever made love to someone before?", he asked with a deep voice.

Haechan's eyes widened with amusement. "Are you joking? I’m a hoe.”

Mark hummed. "No. I said, love. Have you? Because I haven't either and I desperately want to make love to you right now".

And Mark was right.

Haechan had never made love with someone before and he realized it as soon as the other's hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, pushing him back towards the bed, making him sit on it, letting Haechan watch as Mark elegantly took away his sweatshirt first then the shirt underneath it.

Haechan blinked, emotions he has never felt before invading his whole body as Mark pushed him down with a gentle touch, kissing his stomach and going up, taking Haechan's top with him, letting the cold air caress his skin making it all shiver. It would have shivered anyways, goosebumps forming at every feathery touch of Mark's lips. They took away all of the remaining clothes, touching each other slowly, curiously, exploring everything, with fingertips and lips and tongues. Attentive, remembering which stroke made the other whine louder, what kind of whisper pleased the ears more, what pet name made the other blush.

It was still raining hard, but they weren't cold, tightly wrapped in each other arms, the heavy covers to hide their secret whispers from the world. They were hidden in giggles and heavy breaths, "here?", "yeah", "like this?", "hmm", and Haechan felt so present. He was there, at that moment and he was seen. Mark was looking at him, really looking and Haechan didn't have to do anything to make it happen. There was no reason to put on an act. He just had to be himself. Vulnerable and- "cute," Mark whispered, chests rising, short breaths, his thumb caressing Haechan's red cheeks.

"Say it again", Haechan smiled.

Mark imitated him, his lips murmuring the word until they didn't have to, the feeling of it lingering in the air by itself.

#here she is #mark smut #haechan smut #mark angst #haechan angst #markhyuk smut #markhyuk angst #nct smut #nct angst #markhyuk fluff #nct fluff #jaemin smut #jungwoo #jaemin

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Guardian

TITLE: Guardian

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. + Imagine sometimes when Loki is having a particularly bad day, he’ll sneak into your quarters, throw his head into your lap and put your hand in his hair so you can pet him. If it’s really bad, he’ll ask for you to tell him he’s doing a good job.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: Totally self-indulgent bit of fiction based on the thought that Charlie 1) is adorable, and 2) will 100% cut a bitch. Language! Also, I don’t know who needs to hear this but NO ONE HAS THE RIGHT TO MAKE YOU FEEL AWFUL OR MENTALLY ABUSE YOU!

Loki was not a stranger to bad days. He had managed to survive many in his thousand-plus year life, but in this mortal state the suffering seemed amplified. He felt it a little deeper, despite his best efforts to push it out of his mind.

Muttering under his breath, he stalked the length of the corridor in front of the door marked 502, head tilted up and blinking rapidly to will away the dampness accumulating on his eyelashes. He couldn’t bring himself to open the door until he had gotten himself under control. He didn’t need to bring this dark mood into the flat with him. He didn’t need to burden her with his worries. He was meant to be Charlie’s strength, and this whole ordeal just…

His breath shuddered with the exhale.

Gods, that woman was nasty.

Sure, he understood people’s negative feelings for him. He had destroyed their city. Not of his own volition, mind, which was why Stark felt perfectly comfortable and letting him roam the land with minimal supervision. Or, at least, he did now. But this viper of a woman on his rounds was perfectly content to verbally abuse him over every single detail for no reason. Loki swallowed the venom on his tongue, aware that he would only make matters worse, should he snap back with the same general maliciousness she did him. In a strange turn of events, he was now mostly unsure about whether he would be able to get a word out without sounding like a pitiable mess.

“Fuck. Get it together,” he breathed.

Loki dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, pressing down until he saw stars behind his lids. He took another steadying breath and dropped his hands, feeling well enough in himself that he could unlock the front door and let himself in.

The flat was dark in the early evening light. Soft music played in the background at a volume he was sure he wouldn’t be able to perceive were he not from another realm. Charlie was sitting on the sofa, book discarded haphazardly beside her as she swayed gently. Braille, as they both had discovered, was not Charlie’s strong suit, and though she had picked up on the alphabet quickly enough, it all fell apart when they were strung together in sentences. He had suggested audiobooks, she had stubbornly told him she was learning if it were the last thing she did. It was still a work in progress.

“Lo?” Her voice broke his reverie and drew a sigh from his lips.

“Hello, darling,” he whispered, taking her face between his hands and kissing her soundly before flopping down beside her.

Loki shuffled until his head was resting on her lap. His eyes drew closed on their own accord, and he awkwardly patted around him until he found her hand. Pressing a short kiss to her knuckles, he guided her delicate fingers into his choppy, dark tresses, in a well-practiced request. She buried the digits at once, gently scraping at his scalp as he turned boneless on her thighs. Her other hand smoothed down his forehead before they stilled on his cheekbones. Lifting the hand slightly, her fingers rubbed together for a fraction of a second before they returned to his face.

Charlie sighed. “What happened?” Loki clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. Swallowing down a whine, he shook his head in refusal, pulling another sigh out of her. “Was it Mrs. Herder?” He remained still for a long while before he gave a reluctant nod.

Loki’s eyes dared to peek through his lashes only to find Charlie’s gentle features curled into an uncharacteristic snarl. With her wild, curly mane, he momentarily thought she looked a little like a lion. A very cross lion.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” she hissed, shifting to get to her feet. Loki had to scramble to put his arms around her waist to pull her back to the cushion with a little huff.

“Charlotte–”

“The third time! This is the third time she’s made you cry. This. Week. I am going to murder her!” She announced, as if it were a perfectly valid explanation.

“Charlie, it’s fine.”

Charlie’s head snapped toward him, hazel eyes landing on his form with remarkable precision. “It is not fine. It wasn’t fine when I made you cry the once, much less some old hag who does it every week! You’re not here to get abused–”

His hands played with hers in an anxious fidget. He hadn’t met to make her upset with whatever issues he was having. “Honestly, I’m just overreacting.”

“STOP. Just stop, Loki.” Loki froze, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was being told to be still. “You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to speak up for yourself.” Her face was becoming more flushed with anger the more she became impassioned.

Oh, she meant to stop–Norns, emotions were complicated.

“But–”

“NO! NO BUTS! FULL STOP!”

Loki flinched away from her roar. He swallowed, sinking further into the sofa, hoping to disappear into the fabric. He was aware he would have to say something to convey his discomfort, but he felt like such a weakling needing to do so. “Could… could we not yell at me right now?” He asked, almost shyly.

Her face relaxed instantly at his tone and he was glad to see her come back from the brink of the homicidal rage that threatened to consume her. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Charlie cooed, crawling across the couch until she was flush against him, arms around his shoulders. She pressed his head to her body. Loki gratefully nuzzled into her neck as he tightened his own arms around her, the feel of her thudding heartbeat against his chest lulling him into calm. He shuddered as Charlie kissed his crown. “I’m sorry. I just love you, and–”

“W-what?”

She sighed. “I get a little worked up about–”

“No, not–” Loki interrupted her again, pulling back slightly. “You love me?”

Charlie frowned. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

The matter-of-factly way that she said it made Loki’s heart stutter to a near stop. The realization hit her when she noticed Loki’s breath no longer warmed her neck, despite him not having moved.

“Ohh. You didn’t know that. How did you not know that?”

Loki watched as her nose scrunched in that way it did whenever there was something that didn’t quite make sense. He usually saw it in reference to some part of her code not working.

“Guess I need to be better at telling you.”

He had paid no mind to anything she had said after her admittance, his brain having shorted out. “I love you.” His voice was soft and somewhat choked. He never thought he’d give himself permission to let those words slip out. Then again, he didn’t think he’d give himself permission to actually feel them, either. “I love you. I love you,” he chanted, tucking his head under her chin and embracingly bone-crushingly tight, once more.

Charlie wound her fingers into his waves, listening to how his voice turned from a hoarse whisper to a near purr, even though the front of her shirt became damp with tears.

“I know you do, babe.” She peppered kisses onto the top of his head, secretly relishing at the fact that she rarely got to dote on him in such a way. It was a refreshing change of pace. Loki deserved to be taken care of, too, every now and again.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to sputter somewhat pitifully, wiping at his eyes with his hands.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You just stay there and take as long as you need to feel better,” she murmured, gently. “And once you do, I will pick up the phone and give that horrid, old witch the what for.” Loki chuckled, despite himself, a deep rumble that reverberated through Charlie in a pleasant echo. His insides melted with every stroke of her hands over his scalp and down his neck, a pleasantly possessive air to the whole ordeal. “No one messes with my Loki. No one. Understood?”

“Yes, darling.” Loki grinned against her neck, feeling all of a sudden like a peacock with all its feathers ruffling in display, preening at the attention from a mate. “But, please, don’t make a fuss on my account,” he added, out of politeness more than anything. He surely wasn’t supposed to encourage this behavior, he guessed.

Charlie snorted. “We’ll see.” The ambiguous phrase sounded much more like a resolute not fucking likely. He would never admit that it pleased him even more.

Loki immediately decided that it was nice to have a defender; a guardian. That woman wouldn’t know what hit her once Charlie was through with her. Good.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted one shot #submission #guardian #Fanfictrashdump

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lunarnirvana · 4 years

Text

Lavender Moon

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Please not read if these subjects upset or trigger you in any way. Heavy themes are present in my writing.

Descriptions of abduction, hospital setting, language, Vomiting, mentions of s*icide, non-consensual drug use, seizure, some descriptions involving gore, blood, injury, reader drugged, mentions of LSD and tripping, anxiety symptoms.

Prompt: Nicole’s Alphabet Angst for 8K - Occult

Summery: Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy… (Full summary at bottom of writing so as not to spoil but if you’re worried about the content I’ll always add the full summary at the bottom! Stay safe)

Category: Angst with some fluff sprinkled here and there (Happy ending)

Word count: 7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU Female Reader

A/N: I hope saying this doesn’t discourage anyone from reading but this is my first imagine! I guess not that I’ve written, just posted. I’m kind of really nervous about putting this out there but why not? Also for future reference I write very intense and real things and I want this to be a safe place for everyone which is why I will try to be as thorough with my trigger warnings as humanly possible but if there is ever anything written that I did not warn you about before the writing I apologize and PLEASE let me know so I can make it a priority to include that warning in the future. Ty and tpwk <3 enjoy

“No evil ever came from a woman’s womb that wasn’t placed there first by a man.”

― Charles A. Cornell

Her intuition never betrayed her.

It was lodged deep inside her throat, the swell of hesitation like a globule that obstructed any resourceful observations about the crime scene photos. The innate feeling that the case was destined for calamity. Y/N didn’t let the gravity of her work weigh on her mental state until she was in the comfort of her confides where she could lick her psychological scars in peace.

The entire BAU regarded their unspoken directive was to bottle any reaction to the happenstances of the case with little exception. As they congregated at the round table they’d bind their biases against their eyes with the blindfolds they used to avoid looking at the bodies for too long. If you stared for too long into those gaping gashes, the blackness of the cavernous body would consume you completely. This is what they all knew to be true and so they pursued beasts with scar tissue forming over their minds and volatile hands with stoic accuracy.

This accuracy was entirely derivative of their abilities to detach from the emotional aspects of the case.

Garcia was the exception to this jurisdiction, her back turned against the horrific gore on the screen yet she described the carnage as if she were looking at it. She threw in some embellishments and innuendos for certain aspects that were too nauseating to repeat.

“We’ve got a local case today. Linda Jefferson and Kayla Burnen were the first two victims of what local PD wrote off as a suicide pact at first,” Garcia explained, “After further inspection, though, they discovered an incredibly high, nearly lethal dosage of LSD in their blood.”

Reid spoke up beside her when he noticed something in the tox-analysis results, startling Y/N slightly, “It's not synthesized in the same manner, though. There are certain proteins missing that would make this particular substance would ensure an emergence phenomenon would happen regardless of the environment.”

He let his hand fall into his lap so his girlfriend could trace figure eights in his palm with the tip of her finger in some apologetic gesture for the trivial fright as he chided. They’d been together for a year now so he understood what comforted her and what didn’t.

“So you’re saying they took bad acid? Growing up in my generation I can vouch that I never felt compelled to shoot someone under the influence,” Rossi chuckled at his own shortcomings and garnered amusement from the team.

“Actually, I believe this particular form of LSD was tampered with to cause a bad trip. You’d either have to be an idiot to make LSD this way or…” Reid drifted off, letting someone else conclude what was already obvious to him.

“You’d have to do it on purpose. You can’t mess up that bad and it not be intentional,” Emily agreed, bobbing her head back and forth while the raven locks framing her elongated facade veiled around her expression.

“A few days after those two were found,” She flipped the slide, “Beth Myers and Lola Sanchez were found in the same area with the same exact M.O. No correlations to the first two victims or to each other.”

Reid felt the way Y/N’s finger swirled against his palm and traced the creases in his skin before flipping his hand over so she could run her soft touch across his veins and phalanges. She found his hands fascinating suddenly, more fascinating than the case. When Garcia flipped to the picture of the victims he felt a sudden pressure as Y/N locked her grip around his hand. She squeezed it for reassurance as the smiling women stared at them through the screen.

“The victims had blood-let themselves, were covered in melted wax from candles, were placed in white nightgowns, and were forced to finish one another off by stabbing each other in the chests,” Garcia winced as she recited the details.

Y/H/C, the texture of their hair, and resemblance with her was the aligning factor between the four and it made Y/N’s chest wrench at the thought of being drugged with such petrifying euphoric paranoia. She could tell her boyfriend noticed her reaction but didn’t bother to meet his concerned gaze. He just stared down at her avoidance in yearning for some communication although he rarely gave her that courtesy himself. He could tell she held reservations about the case, especially when they realized the unsub was following ritualistic patterns and protocols, the occultism sprinkled through the murders like decoration.

Reid never took holding her hand for granted but in this instance he swore he heard bones cracking. Y/N was comforted by the gesture but realized she was hurting him when she felt him begin to crumble under the pain beside her. She turned to him quickly and released her vice-grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” She whispered toward him, not wanting to disturb the briefing.

“Its fine, hun, but what’s wrong?” He pressed.

She shrugged and slouched back into her chair, sinking into the seat as if it would express her silence. She told herself it was just anxiety and eventually convinced herself it was her own self doubt causing her to have such a guttural feeling. She watched the clock for the rest of her shift before gathering her personal effects from the surface of her desk, sweeping the items into her bag. Reid watched her maneuver rather quickly to get her things together. Expecting her to wait for him like always, he bent down to grab his satchel but when he arose she was halfway to the elevators, shuffling through interns and her coworkers to leave.

He followed her down to the lobby before bringing it up.

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you, love. What is it?” His hand had fallen to the small of her back as they walked out of the east entrance together.

“It just freaks me out sometimes, you know? The whole occultism thing,” Her voice was suddenly softer than he remembered.

Typically, this disquieted nature was portrayed by him but she remained unnerved the entire walk down. Something churned in her stomach and converted her into a placid arrangement of unease. Y/N despised the corruption of any establishment but this particular subject hit her square in the chest.

He smiled down to her while they approached the rugged vehicle parked on the far end of the lot. “Occult-related homicides are a statistical anomaly. They’re highly uncommon, Y/N/N, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She nodded as she pulled the keys to her car out and passed them to him, “Can you drive?”

“Of course but only if I can pick the playlist,” He smirked, snatching the jangling keyring from where it swang on her index finger.

“No way in hell,” She giggled, “I am not listening to Bach the whole way home.”

She slipped into her seat and immediately her leg began to bounce with disarm. She tried to steady it herself as she watched Reid bend down to face her before getting in.

“I was gonna put on Brahms for your information,” His slender body folded into the front seat and he turned the key over in the ignition. Noticing her shaking leg, he reached his arm across the center console to rest on her knee as he began pulling out. It soothed under his touch and he smirked knowing exactly how to ease her even with the slightest gestures.

The base of the lamp was a wicker configuration and it flooded the room with brilliant fiery luminescence, the walls suddenly painted a pastel yellow from the warm lighting emitted from their bedside table. Along with that, illuminating the neglected contours of the room were a few white candles that burned on Y/N’s wooden bureau. Wax congregated at the foot of the tall towers of flame and spilled over the sides of the candle holder onto the wood.

The encapsulating smell of Nag Champa incense shrouded the room blending with the wafting smoke streaming from the ember-littered sage Reid’s eclectic bedmate’s hands. Y/N watched the silver scarf dance above the end of the dried bundle as it swirled around the room. Her eyes followed the smoke, eyelashes veiling her sight giving her a dark allure that Reid couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

He didn’t mind that she liked to indulge in the holistic benefits of burning herbs or the countless books she had on witchcraft and the occult. He found it charming. Although he knew when she was upset she’d do these “cleansing rituals” which really did nothing more than make their room smell like a Grateful Dead concert. She never was discomforted by the fact the unsub was utilizing occultist beliefs, she was upset at the perversion of her practice.

Of course, he was sworn to secrecy against telling the team about her hobby. She knew she’d be teased into oblivion for such an unorthodox collection of semi-precious stone, herbs, and essential oils that she claimed assisted trivial offenses. That was the aspect of her avocation Reid disagreed with.

They’d debated about it before but both were keen on their bias and so they agreed to leave the subject as an unspoken rift and move forward. Reid still found the smell of the incense suffocating especially when his migraines trickled in. She’d slip rosemary and peppermint into his tea to help his chronic condition but whenever he would catch the taste he’d beg her not to use her ‘pseudoscience’s instruction’ on him. Each time they’d get into an argument about it but eventually it’d fizzle out in sniffing apologies and fond interactions generally ensued.

“You’re really going to town on the bad juju tonight, huh?” He spoke up from behind his book. It was always strange to hear his shift in nomenclature when he left work, his vocabulary becoming relaxed and casual. He practically bathed in her relaxing aura. He would describe her the same way she describes the effects of lavender when she tried to spray some on his pillow to help him sleep.

He told her he didn’t need it as long as she was sleeping next to him and that was the first night they shared a bed. He hadn’t left her apartment since.

“I have a bad feeling about this case, Spence. I’d like to clear the negative energy from the room,” She said, waving the burning bundle of dried sage around the bed.

“The creepy ass painting you bought from the farmer’s market is still on the wall so I don’t think it’s working,” Reid laughed. She shot him a small warning glare that resulted in the two of them collapsing into hysterics.

She plopped on the bed, clutching her stomach from laughing with him as the tightening delight in her stomach began to burn. Reid was cackling, trying to make out the words, “You looked like a disgruntled care bear.” She felt relief from the laughter when his hand coiled around her waist and tucked her against his chest for safe keeping. She felt his soft lips quiet his dissipating chuckles as they pressed against her forehead.

The sage was smouldering against an abalone shell beside the bed and Reid let Y/N burn the candles throughout the night despite his heedings that it was a fire hazard. It seemed to bring serenity to her and that’s all he was concerned with.

They remained entangled like chains in a jewelry box, Reid soon enveloping her in his grasp completely. He worried that the victims looked too similar to her as he struggled to fall asleep beside her but eventually, the rhythmic movement of her breathing against him brought him enough poise to sleep.

The case dragged out across a couple of weeks stretching resources and mindsets across the vast expanse of interrogation and interviews. They sharpened the victimology down to a finite point to dig into the unsub’s plans and wrench him away from his potential choices. They were delivering the profile to the police department when Y/N noticed Reid’s hand was now tightly gripping hers instead of their usual routine.

He held their hands behind them so the crowd wouldn’t see the unprofessionalism. As each new victim was discovered resembling the woman he woke up to every morning he began feeling that same tension she’d expressed. Now, as he heard the profile, it brought an agitation to his stomach. His grip was tight and unwavering and unlike hers it didn’t shake at all. It was like he was afraid if he let her go, the unsub would be lying in wait behind them to snatch her away.

“We believe he’s a male caucasian driving a blue Ford Crown Victoria which he uses to abduct the women,” Rossi began.

“His victims are aged twenty three to twenty eight and we think he’s in the same age bracket,” Hotch continued as the soft sound of scribbling followed.

“Combining that with the fact he can synthesize LSD into a more aggressive formula suggests we’re dealing with a highly intelligent unsub with an extensive knowledge in chemistry,” Reid said monotonously despite his conflict.

“This isn’t surprising. Psychopaths often have above average intelligence. Coupled that with trauma relating to a religious mother figure who was abusive in some respect. Either his biological mother or a foster parent,” JJ nodded through her portion, her dark ocean eyes striking every gaze in motherly vivacity.

Y/N sat up, “For some reason this unsub will not engage in the killing himself. He watches the two victims kill one another under the influence of drugs and instructs them on how to mutilate one another,” she suddenly felt Reid’s hand leave hers but remained focused on the expectant faces of the precinct, “His M.O. is consistent with occult sacrifices. It's a form of homicidal voyeurism that could represent his own impotency or may be a forensic countermeasure.”

Reid lurched forward, pushing himself off of the edge of the desk and excused himself politely as he walked back toward the bathrooms. Y/N turned over her shoulder to look, her eyebrows wrought with concern but Emily’s modulated voice leashed her back into delivering the profile.

“He’s been consistently choosing his victims to coincide with the seven deadly sins. First greed where the first two victims were taken from a casino then lust. The third and fourth victims were in an online BDSM chatting room when they were lured into a threesome with the unsub where he killed them. Because of this consistency in his signature, we’ve predicted his next choice is going to be Envy,” Emily explained.

“His target location is going to be an underground swingers club. Our team and some members of the force will be undercover as security for the club. You’re looking for anyone who might complain that they’ve been roofied or look for women who seem overly intoxicated,” Morgan informed.

Y/N leaned back into the table behind her while she quickly spoke, trying desperately to rush through the profile to check on her boyfriend, “So far he’s been following the major astrological events happening in the past month. Tomorrow night is a Harvest Moon and a partial solar eclipse which fits his preference. Excuse me.”

As soon as the sentence ended she was following Reid to the bathroom. She turned behind her to see the crowd still mesmerized by the team as they briefed them and took the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed. She knew Hotch and Morgan would pester the two of them about it later but she couldn’t help it. She saw the way his face shifted to a paled green hue and how he gripped his stomach as he pushed the swinging door open.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw his oxfords poking out of the stall and the sound of retching echoed in the bathroom. Y/N ran beside him and rubbed circles into his back, feeling tears well at her waterline and threaten to spill over. She blinked them away quickly to not upset him any more. Guilt wracked her chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” She soothed and crouched beside him in the stall so that she could rest her head on his shoulder blade. She watched her hand slide across the woven knit of his cardigan, smoothing the fibers down and continued to try and calm him. She could feel him sobbing dryly, his back arching with each heave. Eventually he felt it was safe to lean back against the far wall of the stall and face her.

The skin around his eyes puckered with irritation, shining with the tears that slipped from the corners. He closed them tightly, wrinkling his face in an agonized expression while Y/N leaned forward. She rested her hands on his knees that were awkwardly sprawled in different directions in the small confides of the stall. She sat between them, tucked into herself so as to not take up too much room.

“Talk to me, Spencer,” she pleaded.

He actually decided to, exhausted by the weight of the bodies that piled in the morgue and his quivering stomach. “I’m worried about you being on this case. I don’t want you to get,” he gagged on the rest of the sentence and vomited into the porcelain bowl again.

“Baby, please stop worrying about it so much,” she was begging now as tears began to haphazardly fall onto his back. He sat up at the sensation and resumed his previous position.

His horse voice came forward now as he tried to swallow the mucus that lined his throat now. “Promise me you won’t leave my side until this case is over, okay? Until the unsub is in custody,” He asked her through his darkly adorned eyes.

“I promise,” She assured and it brought a relief to his nausea, “I have mouthwash and ginger gum in my bag. I’m gonna text Morgan to come bring me it—“

“I can walk, honey. If you tell Morgan he’ll call me something like barf boy for a week,” he chuckled and began to sit up. His legs wobbled beneath him slightly but he caught himself on her shoulders. She gripped his elbows tightly.

“You’re dehydrated, come here,” She lead him to the sink where he could wash up and rinse the taste of bile from his tongue.

Pulsating basslines berated Reid’s chest making him feel like he was choking on the loud music. He despised clubs like these dipped in technicolor animosity and relishing in the electronic stimulation the club reverberated. Each member was stationed at certain points of the room such as beside exits, the landings of stairwells, and an agent at each corner. Y/N was beside the bar vehemently watching each drink poured and handed out, ensuring no hands slipped tabs into the liquor.

Hotch’s instruction was patched in through their earpieces.

“Blonde hair, black button up in the west corner of the bar by you, Y/L/N,” Reid heard and immediately his gaze shot toward her.

She was alerted and her sight honed in on the suspect. He was analyzing the body language of the woman before him who held similar semblance to Y/N. He waited patiently for her to let her guard down and look away from her drink and he was charming her into doing it.

The girl threw her head back in laughter and he saw his opportunity presented before him. Y/N watched his meticulous hands slip a small white tablet into the amber liquid of the girl’s glass. It dissolved into a discreet poison, lacing her glass with LSD.

Then he looked at Y/N and she felt his taunting stare desecrate her sanctity. She didn’t express it, though, her stoicism making him come to the conclusion she was a cop. His eyes widened and he grabbed the startled hands of the two women beside him, one seemingly more intoxicated than the other.

“Suspect is on the move with two friendlies, agent in pursuit.” Y/N’s voice was patched through and Reid watched her bolt after the unsub as she unholstered her gun.

“Wait,” he said through the earpiece, “Y/N, wait!”

She proceeded despite his protest and chased the unsub out of the building where he began loading the girls into his car. They obeyed, the trip settling in for at least one of them. He held a gun to the sober one’s back but Y/N in a flurry of indecision charged at the unsub.

“FBI! Stop or I’ll shoot!” She warned.

He drew his gun toward her but she shot his shoulder clean making his gun fly out of his hand. The man cried out, one hand falling on the gushing wound but he closed the door before the sober woman could get in, trapping her counterpart inside. He staggered toward the driver side and ducked into the car as she began to aim her gun at him again, threatening another offense.

Y/N reached out and pulled the girl from the skidding tires as he sped off before she could even process that the other girl was trapped inside. Once she did she began trying to shoot his tires out but to no avail. The girl was sobbing in her arms now, her tears bleeding through Y/N’s shirt that peaked out from above her Kevlar.

“You’re safe now, it’s okay,” she assured, “You’ve been drugged you need to be taken to a hospital,” Y/N said and almost as if on cue, Morgan could be heard behind her calling for a bus.

JJ came and took the sniffling victim from Y/N’s care allowing Reid to grab her shoulders and spin her around to face him. He inspected her facade for any damage but she brushed him off.

“I’m fine, Spence, but the other girl. We have to find her,” She grabbed his arm as he grabbed hers and they interlocked their forearms to reinforce some affection.

“You need to stop chasing after suspects with no backup. You’re being reckless and I’m taking you home, Y/N/N.” His voice was stern and she didn’t bother protesting from the way he looked at her.

Reid was fuming on the car ride home, the whites of his knuckles highlighted even in the darkness as he gripped the steering wheel. Y/N was curled against the passenger side door, wrapped in his sweater that she pulled taught around her frame.

“Can we please not fight when we get home?” He asked suddenly, voice breaking through the silence of the car, “I don’t want you to argue with me to go back into the field. This entire case has been so draining I just need you to understand seeing you do stuff like that— it kills me.”

“I know, Spence. Are you getting a headache?” She noticed him wince as someone passed with their high beams blazing. He groaned at the exposure, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodded.

She decided to make him some tea when they got home. Preparing the mug in the kitchen, she seeped the jasmine leaves and reached inside the cupboard for the mason jars she had filled with various dried herbs. Making the tea kept her mind occupied from the disrupting guilt she reserved for not saving the other girl. It was a guilt that clamped her arteries and made even the simplest tasks seem harrowing.

She put a pinch of dried rosemary and a drop or two of peppermint extract, stirring it in with some sugar. The sound of the metal spoon scraping the bottom of the glass brought her attention back to her task.

Her fingers coiled around the warm ceramic mug and she walked it carefully into the living room where Reid laid on the couch with a pillow pulled over his eyes. She took the hint and dimmed the lights but as she set down his tea he could already smell the additives.

Coupled with the headache, he’d never become genuinely upset over her affinity for the occult until now. He sat up with exasperation and picked it up, sniffing the steam to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/N, seriously?” He asked and looked up to her but his own voice made a piercing impact on his head.

“Seriously what?” She repeated defensively.

“You know what. I honestly can’t believe you. Especially after the case we just had,” he shook his head, laying back down.

“So you’re not even gonna drink it?” She asked, her face falling to an annoyed deadpan although he couldn’t see it.

“Jesus. No. I’m not. Can you just leave me alone for right now?” He asked finally.

A twinge of hurt stabbed her chest at the request and she took the mug as he pulled the pillow back over his face. In the darkness, he could see her pained expression etched into his vision. The shuffling in their bedroom intrigued him as well and he began to realize what he’d said. It blurred the agonizing migraine and caused him to sit up only moments later to apologize.

As he stared at the empty room he was startled by the sudden creek of their door from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he only caught the tail end of her jacket as she walked out. A raucous slam followed making him wince at the sound.

I really screwed up.

Reid pushed through the shroud of pain emanating from the fluorescence of the room, reaching forward for his own coat. A ripping agony followed and he doubled over, burying his face in his palms so he wasn’t staring at the light. A groan tore through the empty apartment as he tried to rub the headache away so he could chase after her.

Following Y/N proved to be farcical in his condition and he leaned against the couch in defeat, praying she’d just step outside for some fresh air.

Y/N stomped down the street with a quivering chin like a small child, sobs tearing through any muscle or fiber holding the sound in. People on the street avoided her state awkwardly, their gazes falling to the concrete when she’d pass. Humiliation was wrought in her mannerisms but she didn’t care. He told her to leave him alone over tea. She knew his migraines were the culprit but she couldn’t stay cooped up inside. There was a girl being tortured somewhere and she was sitting at home making tea with her boyfriend? There was something unfair to her about the situation.

She heard her phone trill a few times but ignored the noise, fleeing toward a local park down the street. She decidedly plopped down in the jagged blades of grass, kicking the shoes she threw on to the side so that she could feel the ground beneath her. She wanted to be as close to the ground as humanly possible to calm herself.

Every time she’d begin to soothe her cries her phone would ring bringing another wave of distraught. Through her tears, the world was a blur of velvet indigos distrusted suddenly by a dark shadow looming over her. She gasped in reaction but that’s all he gave her time to do before she felt his hand grab her head and pull her up by her jaw, his large gloved hands covering her entire face.

His fingers were sprawled apart so she could see herself being dragged away. Something bitter slipped onto her tongue and she tried to spit it out but the unsub locked her jaw shut to force the drug to work through her system. She tried to scream but with each muffled shrill he’d tighten his grip. Her teeth involuntarily grit against each other from the force and she screamed against her lips for help.

Y/N thrashed around as much as she could before she felt a pinprick in her right arm. Then the world shifted to a darker blue until her vision was gone completely.

Waking up in a wooded field sanctioned off from society’s wandering earshot, she felt the zip tie’s digging into her ankles and wrists. The skin had swelled around the bindings, causing excruciating pain whenever she’d move. She could feel her lip bleeding from being split by someone’s fists. Suddenly, a face fell before hers and began to cut the zip ties. Why was he cutting her loose?

“Good morning, sleepy head. You… you really messed my night up, you know that?” The man asked, his hand falling to her cheek.

Instead of skin she felt the smooth sensation of latex against her. The medicinal smell filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes, pretending she was in the hospital with Spencer there instead of him.

“How…” she found it harder to speak than normal, “How did I do that?”

“Clara. I had Clara picked out. She was the perfect one but you were jealous of her. You wanted me all to yourself. Envy is a sin,” his words were venomous.

He couldn’t have been much older than her, sand colored locks that fell in soft tufts around his face. He looked like a renaissance painting with a wicked possession, his blue eyes complimented by the crimson of his bloodshot waterline. When he smirked at her his face shifted from an archangel to that of a demon, waiting to consume her whole.

Then, she noticed the shifting movement beside her. The other victim was tied up beside her and groaned as she awoke. In the darkness even, Y/N could see the girl’s pupils were dilated. She suddenly began screaming and thrashing around violently, kicking at the open air as if there were a second offender in front of her.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, there’s nothing there!” Y/N tried but the girl couldn’t hear her, only the muffled calls of her hallucinations.

“Darcy, I need you to shut the fuck up sweetie,” the unsub grimaced.

She quieted down almost immediately but still shook in fear at whatever she was seeing before her.

Y/N turned back to the man in front of her, “Let her go. You don’t want her, you want me.”

“On the contrary, I want both of you,” he seemed coherent enough but was still clearly suffering a psychotic break. Psychopaths usually hid those breaks well.

“Why?” Y/N’s gaze suddenly shot straight through his, “You’re afraid if you touch us you’ll be infected with our sin?”

She made a move to spit in his face and he jumped back, yelling and wiping his face harshly with his sleeve. “You filthy bitch! My father will love you,” a smile etched across his face.

“Your father? Where’s your father?” She looked around for a partner but no one could be seen.

“The destroyer of souls of men. He bears the torch, the herald of dawn,” He spoke in his cryptic tongue but Y/N remembered Reid reciting certain portions of the Bible and poetry regarding Lucifer.

“Your father is the devil, right? Lucifer?” She asked.

He suddenly slapped her, the latex making the blow sting that much worse. Blood trickled from her teeth down her hanging lip but she sat back up despite the pain.

“My mom used to bathe me in bleach. She cleansed me of my sins. She’d scrub the chemicals into my back and say ‘Your daddy’s the devil.’” He seemed to find some inner turmoil with his logic but continued to quote his mother in a southern accent, “‘Your daddy is satan and you were born into this world as an abomination.’”

The M.O. and signature began to align with his claims, a severe case of germaphobia which rendered him unable to carry out the murders himself. He lets his victims do it for him.

As he spoke she watched his face begin to shift and swirl into a much eviler expression. His lips coiled into a smile, his eyes narrowing into black slits and his nose sunk into his skull. He began taking the form of a horrifying wraith, horns practically splintering out of his forehead. The trees began to sway and dance despite the lack of wind and the stars in the sky melted into glowing stalagmites that threatened her toward the ground.

Everything began to distort and she felt herself descend into horror. The acid was taking effect and as the girl’s blood curdling shrieks erupted beside her she began to put her head between her knees and sob. He rubbed her hair, sighing.

“Even the warriors must crumble. You’ll bow to my god,” he stood and suddenly tangled a fistful of hair into his hands, yanking her up along with Darcy.

Shrieking as the pain visualized before her in petrifying hallucinations she was positioned before the screaming girl. The unsub instructed Darcy to take the dagger from his hand and stab Y/N. She refused, shaking her head.

“It’s ok,” Y/N assured even as the trip progressed, “It’s ok. Just do what he says, I promise it’s ok.”

Darcy bawled as she hesitantly took the dagger. She walked toward Y/N and slowly drove the knife right beside her hip bone. She groaned, her hand falling forward onto Darcy’s shoulder. “Fuck,” she moaned as the squelching sound echoed through her head.

She keeled over the agony, wrapping her arms around herself. It was harrowing to have to pressurize a wound on oneself she found. Even the slightest touch against her cut felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly. She felt the cool tip of the Unsub’s gun push her up by her shoulder. That was when she realized only one of his hands were in use. The other one was still inflicted with the gunshot she fired. If she weren’t so high she would have used that to her advantage.

With the pain came even more disillusionment. She looked down at her palms and suddenly a bloodied dagger was grasped in them. “No, no, no,” she whispered.

Darcy pleaded for Y/N not to stab her and the agent had no intention of carrying out the Unsub’s fantasy.

“Kill me yourself you coward,” she spat, “I’m not hurting her.”

“I didn’t think you’d be persuaded that easily,” suddenly a gunshot cracked through the soundscape. It rang in Y/N’s ears causing her to buckle over in pain. Nothing seemed real. Her chest felt like it would tear open at any second, freeing her palpitating heart from it’s confides.

She watched the girl’s body fall limply before her and screamed out, racing to her side. The more she looked at the corpse the worse the gore progressed. Eventually, she was staring at a demon.

“FBI! Kye Alderwood, put your hands up!” Reid’s booming voice came from across the field. When she turned to look at him, though, he wasn’t himself.

He was taller, probably eight feet tall, and his body was stretched and elongated into a bony configuration. His face twisted and melted into a horrifying facade and he charged at her. His hands were giant daggers waiting to rip into her. She didn’t see the unsub aim his gun toward her but heard another shot fired. Suddenly, another demonic corpse laid beside her.

She couldn’t fathom grabbing the gun from the unsub’s vapid hands but there she was snatching the glock from the grass it was enveloped in. She didn’t comprehend that her boyfriend was in front of her. What she was seeing was a nightmare unfolding before her. The delusions were real. It was all real.

Reid stumbled back when he saw the gun pointed at him. He thought it was a mistake but when he saw her eyes he knew she wasn’t seeing him. Her paranoia was evident as she hyperventilated and her entire frame trembled, barely able to stand. Swaying back and forth and she wept he felt himself grow sick at the sight.

“Y/N! Put the gun down, honey, it’s just me,” he pleaded.

A sob broke through her voice, “Get away from me!”

“It’s Spencer, baby,” Now he was crying, terrified she’d pull the trigger. In any other circumstance this situation would have diffused by now but the LSD in her system turned her completely hysterical.

“Leave me alone!” The words being reflected back to him just wretched his heart further.

He wasn’t even pointing his own weapon at her anymore. He stopped pointing it at her the second he recognized her. Now it was pointed askew, the barrel facing the grass beside him. Neither of them could have aimed a gun at one another in the right mindset where she didn’t reside for the time being.

Seemingly, her psychosis seemed to penetrate any affection they shared. Beads of sweat formed on her skin as she held the gun steadily toward his frame. He knew if she shot him it’d be a kill shot. She had the best aim on the team.

“Please, baby, I love you so much. Just put the gun down I won’t hurt you,” Reid persisted through it as he heard reinforcements file in behind him. He spun around, waving Morgan, Hotch, and Emily away.

“Don’t come any closer! She’s drugged, she can’t help it and I swear to God if you shoot her I’ll resign!” He warned the other agents who heeded his warning despite the alarming display before them. They still kept their guns aimed at their teammate in allegiance to the judicial implications.

Y/N’s trip began to peak, the world around her becoming unrecognizable in the heap of apparitions that surrounded her. She screamed as misshapen, flesh colored bats charged down at her, flying toward her and swatted them away.

Reid watched her pushing and swatting away imaginary attackers and took the opportunity to run toward her. She screamed and thrashed around in his arms, clawing his skin and kicking at his legs behind her.

Everything looked like bloody flesh. Every blade of grass felt like rusty nails driven through her feet. She felt like she was coiled in the death grip of an anaconda.

“Stop! Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” He tightened his grip on her and used one leg to pin both of hers against his other one. She was completely entangled in him again and the familiarity of his cologne instantly calmed her, he thought. As fell completely limp, relief deluged his psyche only to be matched with her sudden convulsions.

She slipped into a violent seizure, shaking and jarring her body as he lowered her onto the ground and to her side. Hotch and Emily fell beside him and he watched blood seep from her nose and mix with the medley of blood on her lips. He was whimpering as he tried to relax her muscles and barking orders to the others surrounding him. Eventually, her shaking form was taken by the EMTS who were already on the scene. He stood in the wake of the scene, bodies strewn about him wondering what she saw him as that terrified her so.

She was treated for an overdose in the hospital and as Reid entered her room he saw her small figure curled up on the hospital bed. He felt his heart shatter for the hundredth time that night as he floated toward her like a ghost. Placing his hand on her arm, she jumped suddenly startling him as well. He didn’t expect her to be awake so soon. if

“Jesus,” he breathed out, clutching his chest.

She flipped over to face him and couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Dork,” she said hoarsely. The way her inflection cracked made him frown in response.

“I don’t even,” he struggled to find the right words, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I tried to kill you, Spencer,” she began to recollect the happenstances, “I could have killed you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it’s going to be hard for us to get back to normal.”

“You had ten times a normal recreational dose of LSD in your system. That wasn’t you,” he assured.

She nodded softly and scooted back, patting the vacant place beside her on the hospital bed.

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you,” as the sentence stumbled out of his mouth he couldn’t help but start crying again.

He was surprised he didn’t bawl himself into dehydration on the way to the hospital. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, leading him down to her where he crawled beside her.

Cupping his face in her hands she felt the sticky coagulation of tears that caked his face. Pulling him toward her, their lips locked and worked against one another before completely enveloping one another in devotion.

Pulling away she caught his glassy irises with hers, “You could never hurt me. Not really,” she replied.

“But I did. I told you to leave me alone and you left and had to go through…” he decided not to bring up the trauma.

She couldn’t remember the trip itself, only what she did during it. He didn’t want to bring it up and trigger an acid flashback.

“I left because I was hurt, yeah, but you didn’t hurt me. I felt so guilty about leaving Clara with the unsub that I thought making you that tea would help me feel better. We should have just stayed in the field, maybe we could have caught him before he killed anyone,” she sighed.

Reid nodded and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then peppered the rest of her face with the same affection.

She ran her fingers over the skin on his arm and felt raised scar tissue in her wake. Looking down, bruises and scars were freckles across the pale vastness of his arm. She choked back, her hand falling to her lips.

“Did I do this to you?” She asked, her eyes glued to the cuts now.

He craved for her relief so he shook his head. “I don’t remember where I got them but it wasn’t because of you,” He lied. Realistically, she’d clawed and cut his arms until she began seizing. The cocktail of drugs in her system left him a stranger to her while she was high.

She nodded, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“There’s no way we could have known. I need you to not blame yourself for this because if you do I won’t be able to live with myself. This wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he snaked his arms around her waist carefully, avoiding her bandages.

“I know, I know,” she sighed and nestled into the crook of his neck, “I promise I won’t make you anymore occultist migraine tea.”

He pulled his chin from resting at the top of her head to look at her. He suddenly cupped her cheeks now and made sure she understood.

“Please, never stop making me migraine tea again,” he said before pulling her into a kiss again.

FULL SUMMARY:

Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy. After Reader disrupts the Unsub’s routine she becomes a target. After Reid fights with the Reader because of a migraine, she is taken hostage by unsub and is drugged with LSD and nearly shoots Spencer while tripping.

#spencer reid angst #reid angst #cm fan fic #cms #cm fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer fan fic #spencer reid #trigger warning #reid fanfic #reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #reid imagine #spencer reid imagine #nicolesalphabetangstfor8k

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countessofbiscuit · 4 years

Note

If you're taking potential prompts...Fox and Riyo discuss tattoos in their respective cultures? Maybe while one gets a new design or a touch-up?

Fox didn’t set the Republic military standards, but he sure as heck has to exemplify them. So it’s my headcanon that he doesn’t have any tats until Riyo’s affection works on him and/or the shittiness of the rest of his life strips his uptight grain. But I like to think this still fits the bill! Thanks for the prompt : )

- - - - -

Inked

2k. Teen. Also on Ao3.

- - - - -

The Senate concourse never slept, but most of the Dome’s regulars had long since made for their beds when Fox spotted Senator Riyo Chuchi waiting for the Annex hovertram. She stood alone on the platform, arms wrapped snugly around herself and engrossed in the floor's marbling. The hour was far from social, but Fox had both an apology to make and thanks to offer. And there was no time like the present.

“Good evening, Senator Chuchi,” he greeted from a polite distance. Natborns, especially politicians haloed round by ego, took personal space seriously; brothers wouldn’t give both ears unless someone were right on top of them and they still might not pay any heed.

She straightened up, almost startled. But then — a diplomatic smile. “Commander Fox. Is everything alright?”

Species and biographic profiles popped across his display. Fox blinked them away.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the disturbance. I wanted to apologize for not addressing you properly the other day, when you kindly held the lift for me.” For him, the discomfited idiot, who couldn’t bring himself to enter the public turbolift he'd subversively called when faced with a mere Senate guard and a pretty woman. “And to thank you — for that, and for not giving me away to Senator Robb.”

They’d only just been formally introduced yesterday by the Security Committee Chair — and Senator Chuchi had not let on that Fox had recently broken a Dome directive. Ignorance or indulgence, it mattered little. The effect on the fresh-off-the-transport commander was the same: he was very grateful.

“Oh! Of course. You’re most welcome,” Senator Chuchi answered mechanically. Diplomatically. Stalling for understanding with a squint behind her smile.

“My database wasn’t synced to my input feeds yet,” Fox clarified. He’d been plagued by a deep need to reassure her that he took professionalism seriously. That he wasn’t chronically cavalier with protocol. “I didn’t know who you were, at first. But I’ve modded the software, so I —”

The tram approached. But it was Senator Chuchi’s blue hand on Fox's gauntlet that really stopped his thoughts short at the brainstem. She was very petite and looked about as warm as a silk petal in a breeze; but Fox’s skin prickled strangely under the plastoid.

And she wasn’t cutting him off: she was holding him in place. When the tram doors parted, she did not let go. Senator Chuchi meant to keep him with her. Closely. As no one else was around — especially as no one else was around, Fox had no argument against overstepping another rule if the Senator condoned it.

The tram was reserved for senators whatever time of day; when Dome-bound platforms were busy, and certainly when a vote was called, no mere aide, intern, attaché or privileged tourist could expect passage. The tram droid would spot you at fifty paces, bleat and wail with flashing lights, shame you into the permacrete. Clones were just supposed to walk — or, in Fox’s case, bike.

“Truly, you’re very considerate,” Senator Chuchi replied once they were onboard. “But I didn’t notice. I forget that my face doesn’t always give me away.”

It certainly gave her away as being very beautiful. Fox killed his display entirely. He even indulged the idea of removing his helmet, the better to appreciate her. But that would be quite forward: she hadn’t asked and the Guard had a lids-on policy handed down by the executive office.

Fox cocked his helmet in silent encouragement.

“Chuchi tattoos.” She touched two fingers to her cheek. “Obvious to Pantorans.”

Fox cast his mind back to cultural modules. He remembered certain trivia and understood that this was a situation which called for small talk. “I've read about Pantoran ink. Is there really aurodium in yours?” he asked in a carefully modulated voice, though there was no one to overhear.

“Yes. It’s still common practice for — among certain families. Impossible for the layman to tell, however.”

Fox mentally calculated about twenty seconds until arrival. The time begged another question. “Did it hurt?”

“The first time. But everything is unbearable to a child. They were filled out when I came of age and it wasn’t so bad.”

“Who did yours?” Fox found his questions coming as naturally as her answers. This wasn't so bad. Not at all.

“Someone my Grandmama knew. They decide these things. And they keep the rakes.”

“Rakes?”

“The tattooing tool. Usually the bone — well, it’s … it’s customary to keep an ulna and radius of one’s mother to be fashioned into rakes, and then into button hooks or hair pins once they’re worn down.”

Wasn’t the oddest natborn tradition he’d ever heard. And just the other day Stone reported that a detachment of MPs had cut their teeth over Ohma-D’un breaking up a brawl about some cursed finger of Jango’s. A few units claimed to possess one. Everyone deferred to Geonosis vets, and really, what was the harm? Well, until they came to blows over it. “Huh.”

“Do you have any?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

“Tattoos?”

Thankfully, the hovertram was slowing into the station. It allowed Fox a transitory moment to consider why she’d care and to gather his conflicted thoughts on the subject as they disembarked.

Strictly speaking, tattoos were against regs, at least for clones. The RCMJ prohibited any bodily ornamentation that might bring discredit upon the galaxy’s preeminent military, but culturally significant tattoos and jewellery were permissible for natborns — the unspoken being that clones didn’t have a culture to claim.

“No, I don’t have any. It’s, uhh … not allowed in the Guard.” Not that Fox hadn’t seen some. Even before deployment — back before it was his problem to punish — the occasional itch to differentiate, to distinguish, had defied the longnecks’ surveillance, at least until the next quality control inspection.

Some experiments with filched hypos and med-markers had lasted longer than others. Stars and heavens help the bastards who’d inked themselves and paid for it in sweat and blood and punishment tours, only for the artistry to fade. Or for the shine to quickly wear off their youthful love of Coruscanti opera or the Galactic Senate. Or for the limb get plain blown off.

“Oh. On what grounds?” she asked.

In the main, Fox liked the RMCJ: it accorded a comforting set of guardrails, standards, and norms in a new and overwhelming operating environment. But he sensed a rebuke of the hard facts of life forming in the good Senator’s mind.

No point clouding the issue for her sensibilities; the regs only referenced what the Military Creation Act made plain in Section 3: all of clonedom, from marshal commanders to the lowest and last trooper on the production line, belonged to her federal government. Down to the dermis.

“Defacement of Republic property,” Fox offered as he followed her onto the Annex slideramp, since she hadn’t dismissed him yet.

Senator Chuchi did indeed frown up at him. “Does it really say that?”

“Yes. In the uniform code.” In a number of articles, actually — like the ones about mistreatment of service property and punishments for desertion. “There’s a certain leniency out in the field, I gather,” Fox added lightly, though privately he marvelled how any officer could sufficiently shake that feeling of a cold finger hovering behind their ear and get inked; would he even recognize himself without observational stress? “But it’d be nice to have it codified — or, err, uncodified.”

While he’d made it widely and painfully understood that facial tattoos would be burned off before they could be flagged as culturally insensitive, Fox wasn’t wholly a rule-bound, stuffed suit of armor. He was slightly more practical than purist. The Guard’s plates needed to be uniform and finer than dinnerware, sure; but so long as you were fit to fight, what happened under your blacks was between you, your sergeant, and your capacity to endure barracking.

Fox chose not to see a lot of things and liked to figure what natborns couldn’t see couldn’t hurt them.

Problem was, natborns liked to see fucking everything, especially politicians curious about how fully organic their new army was. Inspect, his shebs — bother, interrupt, and gawp at, more like. Guard Central off the Executive Thoroughfare was hardly incognito and not necessarily off-limits if you could nab some natborn logistics lieutenant with the most basic clearance.

It was only a matter of time before a guardsman got his favorite dancing girl slapped across his back in glorious color and some peeping bureaucrat kicked up a stink about a gross lack of standards in the locker room. Fox could do nothing about General Tiaan or other top brass, but at least they trumpeted a few hours before their arrival to ensure the proper pomp and ceremony — and they didn’t care about the showers.

Senator Chuchi had gone quiet as they reached the main Annex lobby. Fox’s neck dampened to think he’d lowered her spirits or given her cause to regret his company.

He also believed guilt helped no one. She didn’t seem pompous or presumptuous, just unfailingly polite. Maybe he had a chance to make a real ally. “If I may request a favor, ma’am,” he ventured, steepling his hands at his navel like he’d seen the Chancellor do when putting forth a sensitive proposition. “For my own ... err, family.”

This time Senator Chuchi arrested Fox with both hands on his gauntlets. He couldn’t have moved if Corrie’s axis pitched. “Certainly,” she said. “I like to think I’m a public servant. And not only for Pantorans.”

Fox had been primed to make a short speech about clone personhood and the need for senatorial sympathy. He was damn tired, though. And moonstruck. Enough to make him chuckle and ask instead, “If you could maybe … I don’t know, discreetly put it round that it’s gauche for politicians to drop into the barracks unexpected? The men don’t get a lot of privacy and the shower block’s the closest thing to a spiritual retreat they’ve got.”

Senator Chuchi’s bright eyes widened, his display registering a sharp increase in her pulse and temperature. “Of course. You have my word. I’ll see if can carefully address this matter of … discretion. And I’m sorry you had to ask.” Her knuckles paled as she squeezed his armor; he felt nothing but her sincerity.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Fox was so flustered, he nearly invited her to drop by his block anytime, which would’ve been the height, depth, and breadth of stupidity. Instead he said something else that was only marginally short on sense. “It’s very late. May I escort you home?”

“That’s kind of you, Commander. But my driver will be here now.” Her driver — of course: she was as rich as Koros, she possessed a smile literally finer than gold, and she wasn’t touching him anymore. Fox bowed his head low — a head that had almost outgrown his helmet in a moment of unprofessional conceit.

He had to walk back down the Thoroughfare to fetch his bike. As he did, Fox wondered what might bring him to patronize that closet in the barracks he wasn’t supposed to know about. What he’d ask for, if he ever forgot his station enough to ask. What could ever stir his heart so much, that he’d wish to mark the spot.

Hypos and hypotheticals: Fox, senior commander and paragon of the Guard, didn’t have time or liberty for either. He tried to forget all about it.

#foxiyo #commander fox #riyo chuchi #coruscant guard #biscuit fic

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visual-explorxtion · 4 years

Text

The One That Got Away [Leon S Kennedy x Reader] - One Shot (NSFW)

Synopsis: You caught your boyfriend cheating and you're looking for an emotional getaway in a bar. Until you met Leon and you both instantly hit it off. But not everything is what you hoped it would be.

A/N: This one took way too long. I've started writing this prior to everything I've posted and it was on and off in between. Imagine this as older Leon (RE Damnation and up). I had a basic outline of the plot but kinda got derailed further I wrote and now it's a smutty, angsty and depressing fic (Three for the price of one). I thought I wrote too much and also not enough but it turned into a 5 page fic. And I also didn't realise I was writing in first person until halfway through. So, bone apple tea.

Word count: 3,842

The low murmurs and whispers of conversation surround the dimly lit bar, just two blocks away from my own apartment. I thought I could catch a break from my reality and sit silently with a drink in my hand. Hoping that I would get drunk enough to let my thoughts shut down, even just for a little while. But my mind circles back to him. My so-called boyfriend. Even though we are dating, our relationship just seems so...platonic.

I shake my head and took another sip of my drink. The ice cubes are slowly diluting the burning sensation of whiskey down my throat. Soon, this wouldn't be enough to forget all my problems. Irritated by my drink, I set it back down on the bar table, hoping that the aftertaste of alcohol would take my conscious away. I place the glass gently back down on the coaster and nudging it back and forth until it is exactly in-line with the circumference.

I leaned forward, pressing my forearms against the chilly, oak bar table. The sharp sensation ran up my arm, sending goosebumps along with it, awaking my drunken state. That was the last thing that I want. Reality setting back in.

The place was illuminated by the strip lights underneath the bar table and several backlights coming from the shelves of liquid. My bleary eyes tried to focus as I lift up my hand to signal one of the bartenders. But, to no avail, they do not seem to notice my presence. "Goddamnit..." I muttered under my breath. At this point, I could just slip out of this place and they won't even know it. I thought about it for a second but decided that it was a bad idea.

"Bad night, huh?" A low, raspy voice called out. I looked towards my left, where the voice came from. A man sat two seats away from me. His fringe covered most of his face so I couldn't tell what he looks like, but his chin was in view, chiselled and full of stubbles that could be seen even in a place with poor luminosity. "You wouldn't even know it," I answer, surprised that someone notices my existence. I've seen this man before. He's always here when I come to this bar, sitting in the exact same seating. I assume he's one of the staffs here, but he could just be a regular. Either way, it isn't any of my concern.

He chuckled, "I've had a handful of those before. I understand how you feel." His head angled slightly towards my direction. His face is now just peeking out from behind his golden hair. His eyes are piercing blue, like a vast ocean full of mysteries. He's handsome, beautiful even, but full of pain and hurt beneath it all. How could a man be so beautiful, and yet, so fragile?

I scoffed at his response, taking another sip of my now watered-down beverage, eyes returning to his gaze. "I'm sure you do," I spoke, resting my chin on my palm, giving him a smug grin. Maybe this is what I need, talking to a stranger, surely this will take my mind off a lot of things. He shook his head and smiled. "Hey, I'm Leon. You come here often?"

My brows furrowed and a little smirk came out of my lips. "If you're looking for someone to warm up your bed, then I can assure you, you've got the wrong girl," I paused, "I'm already seeing someone." Those words made my stomach wrench. I know full well that I'm the one that's seeing them, but they don't see me. No, not in the same way. Not anymore.

A breath escaped through his nose as he replied, "Well, I guess that makes the two of us...kinda." He takes a final sip of his bourbon and signals. "Another round...and make that a double." The bartender nodded and pulls out two glasses from under the bar table, now half-filled with alcohol, the bartender place one glass in from of me and slid the other one in from of Leon. I raise the glass up with my thumb and index finger by the rim, inspecting its content. The backlight is shown through the transparent liquid and dispersed in all direction, it's pretty and hypnotic. Though, the effect of the drink itself isn't as pretty as you'd think.

"Glass half full or empty?" My question sounded more like a statement. Leon gave a little laugh to my expression. My cheeks slowly burned up into a pink hue as I relived those words inside my mind. How stupidly naive I must have sounded.

Leon took the hint of my embarrassment and also raised his glass. "I'm neither an optimist nor a pessimist. All I know is that this is a good bourbon. And sometimes, that's all that matters." He reached out with the drink in his hand. I stared at it for a good while, "I think we could both agree on that." I smiled to myself as I return the gesture. Our glasses emitted a small clink to our small celebration. Bottom of the glass now upturned and down goes the alcohol, the scorching feeling made my face scrunch up. The bourbon slowly making its way into my bloodstream as the room that surrounds me spin like a carousel.

Hours go by, the muttering of conversation comes and goes, I have no recollection of our exchange, yet some faint pieces of memories spark up in my head. Knowing that you were a stranger, I spilt all my secrets, my fears and weaknesses, but you just listened and nodded along. An emotion blooms inside me, a warmth, telling me that we are the same type of people, the way we understood each other. We are lonely and just wanna belong somewhere.

Every day, I look forward to the moment when the sun hangs low and the moon comes up to dance, almost every night, I wander back into the bar with a light flutter in my heart. Knowing full well that Leon would be there, in the exact same seating, a glass of bourbon to accompany him. I found my life with meaning once again, understanding that I am not alone. Our conversations found their way of chatting about my life, to his. The story of his life and the things he had done shaped the person he is now. Though I know he speaks truthfully, I can't help but notice the gaps in his biography that he decided not to fill in. Whether to think after everything he revealed would make me scared of him, or I would look at him in a pitiful way, but that did not matter. The Leon I met, he's nothing like how he described himself. In my eyes, he's a soft and gentle soul, who got a few humorous tricks up his sleeve.

Sometimes, I think I'm somewhat emotionally detached, even if the sky topples, my mental state will remain calm as the world crumbles around me. I wouldn't scream, nor would I cry, I'll just quietly accept this as my fate.

And fate's plan came crashing down on me in one swift motion. Not even a second too early or too late. My most traumatic and emotional experience, all happened in a small time frame of one sunny morning. When you live through a memorable moment in life, good or bad, they become forever etched into our brain. Just like a movie. But, that same scene plays over and over again, until you can't handle it anymore. The sight of your ex-boyfriend in bed with a woman that's not you. Her hair and eyes resemble your appearance, eyes gleaming in a dark hue with their soul still intact. But, you're not her. And she's not you. He didn't choose you.

The lookalike gripping her hands around his toned arm, trembling in fear of what might happen next. What I would do next. My vision holds not her, but the so-called of a man, whom I just realise is nothing but a coward. The air around the room is thick and heavy, no words were spoken, not even an explanation or an apology. Under the hint of light, silence can be heard, from his blank expression, I knew the answer. I left not because of a broken heart, but because I don't belong there anymore. And I'd be lying to myself if I say I wasn't sad. Deep down, you knew this was bound to happen. You knew this from the very beginning, the spark wasn't there. You just weren't ready to admit the facts because you are afraid. Afraid of being alone again.

Waves of emotions hit one after another. Exchanging between grief and relief, this emotional loop cycles on. The crystal glass in my hand mirrors my mental suffering. Once empty, then full again and empty once more. Now drowning in a pool of liquor, until I can no longer distinguish between night and day, I hope this cycle never ends.

"Isn't it a little too early to hit the bottle?" A familiar voice came into my earshot, "Well, if it isn't my new-found buddy, Leon! Come, drinks are on me!" The laughter in my throat refusing to cease, everything is now on autopilot. The room sways back and forth to the beat of the music, every bassline played made my head blurrier each time, the lights in the bar almost seem like someone crank the exposure to the highest level. He sighed and took a seat, seeing there's no other option. "Jesus...how many have you had?" His concert did not reach me as I just skimmed over his question. "Hmm...4? 5? I lost count...but who cares?! I'm here to have a good time!" I exclaimed, both fists pumped up in the air and chuckling idiotically to myself.

Leon's brows scrunch, a finger rubbing at his temple, the crease on his forehead gets deeper by the minute. His drink arrived but his focus was elsewhere, he would take one sip, then looks back at me, contemplating. "H-hey, aren't you supposed to...protect the city or s-something, Mr detective-man-or-whatever?" I hiccuped, with half my speech slurred. "I'm not a cop. I don't...can't protect people." He took another sip. "Isn't that...hic...what you've told me?" I pressed on, this isn't what I've intended to do. He exhaled, "It's complicated." A drunken smirk left my nose, the alcohol had intoxicated my system and left my mouth defenceless. "Is it really that complicated? Or do you just not want to tell me the truth?" Jesus! Shut up, me! I can see the rage boiled behind his darken eyes, his fists gripped and nails digging deep into his flesh. "You. Need to stop drinking."

The clock strikes midnight, but neither one of us had any intentions to sober up or face whatever reality has prepared for us. We laughed, argued and make flirtatious jokes to one another. The air between us shifted, hot but still intoxicated. Even so, my mind still lingers on the images that shattered my heart into a million pieces. I don't want this anymore. "Hey...what if I kiss you right n-now? How would you react?" I giggled. "Sure. I'd be glad to," he said, facetiously. "Pfff, come on! I'm serious!" another hiccup. "You're drunk and trying to take the piss out of me." I locked eyes with him, setting my next words in a serious manner. "Am I? Why don't you come and find out?" I slid my hand from his forearm down to the back of his hand, drawing circles with my index finger, tempting and testing his borderline. A small grunt caught in between his lips, gaze running up my skin and idly to my mouth, his fixed stare lingered what feels like an eternity until we meet eye to eye.

What happens next came to me like a blur. I took his hand and led him away from the bar. The place was too packed for anyone to know if we were gone by the next second. We stumble away through the crowds of drunks living on cloud nine, but our hands kept a grip tight on one another. I pushed on; wanting to feel something, anything, even just for tonight. The burning desire inside has reached its limit, but so was Leon's. He twirled me around and constrained my backside up against the bathroom door. His body leaned in close to mine, our faces just an inch apart. The feverish breath touched my neck, turning me on even more so. I can feel his hesitation as his lips close within range, just hovering close to yours. "Would it really kill you if we kiss?" my words were hushed, giving him the final push. And those were the few words to make him let go of his rationality. Before I could acknowledge my next thought, his hand slip under the back of my neck with a firm grip and our mouths collided in the heat of the moment. His kiss was strong and passionate, everything that I imagined it would be, my hips feeling every inch of his, teeth gently grazing my bottom lip as I parted them to deepen his taste. Heat radiates off his chest as our tongues now intertwined with the taste of bourbon and sweetness, Leon showed no signs of backing down as his hand squeeze my hip tighter. But we had to break our physical contact when the chatter grew louder from inside the bathroom. Our hearts still racing, panting breathlessly and aching to be together again, though both of us would rather avoid being caught in an awkward situation.

My body mindlessly took us further down the deserted corridor to a backdoor that leads to an alleyway, the door itself could easily be missed if not observed carefully. I extended a hand to push open the door but was abruptly interrupted by Leon's demanding kiss. Eager to be whole again, he hoisted me off the ground effortlessly, binding my leg around his slender waist. The faint sound of music could be heard from the interior of the building, imitating the beat of our hearts. My back is up against the rugged wall once more. His nails dug into my thigh as I whimpered at the pain but Leon's kiss grew more hungry and impatient, urging for something more. The heat between my legs burning white-hot for this man with absolute longing. As if he could read my thoughts out loud, his hand travelled up to the waistband of my jeans, a finger hooked underneath and running it across my waistline and stopping just before where the buttons clasp. His tease sends chills along my lower abdomen, I'm struggling to keep up my composure.

Leon's icy blue gaze pierced through me, signifying his needs. "Do it." With the sign of my approval, he ripped the jeans clean off my sweat-covered legs without a hitch. My bare limbs glistening in the moonlight, reflecting off the moisture with the gentle breeze caressing them. The heat on my face grew, knowing that my lower parts are only concealed with a thin layer of fabric that's half opaque. Leon smugly grinned at the sight presented to him, licking off the residue from our kiss, he lets me down delicately as my feet touch the sturdy ground. He shifted and on both his knees, positioning himself in between my legs, feeling nervous being fully exposed to him. I stifled a gasp as Leon steady my balance with hands on either side of my hips, his kisses trail down the torso, leaving marks all over my stomach, down to my v-line. His soft fingertips skim the hem of pants then he dipped his head low, the black, lacy underwear caught between his teeth, removing them until I'm left bare and vulnerable.

I can feel his eyes exploring every inch of uncovered skin, like a wolf with his hunting instinct. His mouth found its way to your folds. The next thing you know, a foreign feeling spreads open your lower organ, heat escaping from your core and drip down to your inner thigh. You squirm and twitch with every movement of his tongue, chest rapidly rising and falling with each breath taken, you know you are close to the edge. Your hands clench his hair gently as he continuous drive over your sweet spot, humming, until you unravel your senses upon him. Knees giving out as everything tingles from head to toe, Leon catches you in his arms as you recover your strength.

Cleaning you off with the tip of his tongue, he reclaims his posture to tower over you and returns lips onto yours. The passionate kiss filled with desire, you can taste your own thirst mixed with his own saliva. Sultry and sweet. Chest to chest, every curvature and dips of his toned muscles embrace my own, our heartbeats synchronised. His scent of cologne mixed with sweat gives me a sense of comfort. I can feel the outline of his bulge through the thick fabric. One hand placed on the small of my back, the other desperately uncuffs his belt and down to his pants, revealing his length. My eyes widen in awe at the size of his...thing. It's pressed up against my abdomen, from shaft to the tip, Leon seems to be satisfied with my reaction as his egotistic smirk painted across his face. I swallow, mentally preparing myself before any attempt on riding him. Holding the base of his cock, now positioned near your entrance, you draw a hand near it and gently massage it. As if it's fragile, my hand gave it a few pumps then guide his tip inside. All that foreplay made it much easier for him to enter.

His tip without any difficulty. "Breathe" his deep, husky voice whispers in my ear, then inch by inch, until he fills up all my crevices inside. He took a pause, letting me adjust to his size for a minute, then slid back out again. Without a word of warning, he thrusts his cock back in all the way to the hilt as I let out a lusty yelp. The electric shock sends my pelvic muscles twitching and tensing around his cock, the repetitive motion causes me to ache for him even more. My hips sway and grind along to the beat of his movement, harder and faster, making him let out a soft cuss. The twinge at the back of my mind resurfaced again, flashbacks of this morning's event, haunting my thoughts again. Standing in the same doorway, looking at him and her on the same bed, same stiffness in the air. But, I'm looking at me through her eyes now, situated in this dark alley. The fear crept in. I can't love him. I know better than this.

"Hey. Just focus on me." Leon's hands cupped my cheeks, radiating the warmth I know, calling me back to the light. His tongue has taken up my mouth once more, diverting my focus from my own broken mind to the love he's providing. But you shouldn't. Hips picking up the pace, every bump and vein hitting my sensitive spot as I cry out, calling his name out in ecstasy. Leon's breathing is getting heavier with every beat he thrusts, bringing me and him closer to coming undone. Hot liquid spilling out, filling you up to the bream, overflowing like my emotions. The feeling he provided which shifted something inside, a beacon of light into my own soul. He pulled out, the inner content spilling out slightly as we redress ourselves again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The pang of guilt hit him. Just like everyone else. My feet stumbled a few steps back, almost tripping myself up in shock. The tears behind my eyes threaten to fall out. I have to get out of here. I spin on my heels and made a run for it. This isn't how it is supposed to turn out. I know better. Knew. "Wait! At least let me take you home-" "No!" My feet kept on pushing me, yelling at me to keep going. Hot tears pour out inevitably, unlike tonight. It's all my fault. I naively believed that we were the same- wanting the same thing, am the same type of people. I was wrong. All I ever wanted was to stop being alone, but you chose this. You wanted to be alone. And I've made a mistake. "Wait, goddamnit." I stopped in my tracks, tears falling nonchalantly. I turned, leaving him with only a few words. "I'm sorry...but I fell in love with you tonight." But we both knew the answer.

---

#this fic turning out to be sad and depressing was accidental #i was hoping to put more chara emotion into it but it kinda slipped #lemme know if you want me to put warning tags #its a smut fic #can you believe #leon x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil damnation #resident evil 6 #resident evil vendetta #re leon #im gonna slap this on ao3 too #gonna sit in my room and zone out for 5 minutes #⭐️.doc

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: All A Bad Dream Spinning In Your Head

Summary: Edge wakes up

Notes: In this chapter there is some violence. Angst! Drama! We got it all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst, Violence

Warnings: Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

That Place Where You Can’t Remember and You Can’t Forget

Casting Its Shroud Over All We Have Known

There’s a Place I Like To Hide

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Something was wrong.

Edge could sense it, feel it in the marrow of his bones through the heaviness of sleep.

Wakefulness was slow in coming and Edge struggled to shake the darkness away. Even tangled in mental cobwebs and shadows, he knew this was not a natural sleep. Years of living on the streets trained him very well to quickly snap awake at the first twitch of anything suspicious and at this moment, his instincts were wailing, shrieking that something was very, very wrong.

His sockets were barely slit open enough to see as Edge fought off that unnatural pull of drowsiness. Around him everything was too soft, offering no traction and he struggled through cloyingly padded surroundings to where light came in through the door, belatedly remembering the pillow nest.

He came tumbling out of the closet, fighting to get his footing. His limbs felt stupidly clumsy, as if they weren’t his own, and when he tried to stand, he nearly collapsed back to the ground, staggering on unwieldy legs, looking around wildly for the attacker.

It could be nothing else, he never fell asleep like this even when he was ill. This was deliberate, one of his enemies seeking to make him vulnerable. With enormous effort he managed to summon his own magic, a wavering shield of bones hovering before him. First hold back any incoming attacks, next form his own, if outnumbered, look for an escape, never let ‘em corner you, and don’t ya ever panic under fire, never, we call monsters who panic dust, never--

His brother’s voice in the back of his mind faded. There was nothing, no one else was in the room. Only furniture, the bed, the dresser, the tidy line of possessions along the wall from when Rus emptied out the—

There was no one else in the room.

Rus.

Edge bit off a snarled curse and headed for the door. He still felt drugged, clinging to the banister as he made his clumsy way downstairs, trying to shake off the sedation that still clung like a tarry shadow.

Then it felt as if something around him gave with a soggy pop. One minute he was struggling to stay upright, then he was snapping alert; whoever was casting either let the spell go or had their concentration broken, and there was only one way to find out which. Edge jumped the railing, landing lightly on the ground floor and ran outside.

One of the first things he’d learned when training for the guard was to assess a situation before engaging. Running in blindly was a good way to very quickly dust.

But no amount of training could have prepared him for seeing Rus lying crumpled in the snow, looking too-small and vulnerable with the snarling clash of fighting far too close by from two people he would never have thought to see in Underswap.

Undyne. His Undyne, the air around her bristling with summoned spears, launching in a pattern only she knew at her opponent and suddenly the reason for all his earlier muddled confusion came clear. An Underfell Knight Knight, their twisting, smoking armor already telling a tale of blaster damage as they struggled to hold off Undyne’s ferocity. Knight Knights were formidable foes and could force another Monster to sleep, dusting them in the midst of their unnatural slumber.

Whatever happened, Edge was coming into the middle of it all and Rus was too close to the brawl by far, the pallor of his bones stark against the bright orange of sweatshirt, nearly blending into the snow.

Undyne didn’t even look at him, caught up in the dance of battle. She barked out with savage glee, “Hey, nerd! ‘bout time you showed up! Keep back, take care of your boy!” Her needle-sharp grin was as vicious as her words. “I can handle this fucker.”

Of that he had no doubt. Even as he watched, the Knight Knight fell to one knee, her great shoulders heaving as she barely held off the last round of spears that poured down on her.

There was no time for strategizing, one wrong step would send the combatants trampling over Rus’s crumpled form. Edge flung a hand towards Rus, calling up blue magic and taking a firm hold of his soul to pull him closer. The limp way he hung in Edge’s gravitational grip was distantly horrifying, his panic buried beneath practiced control; he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from the battle. Edge pulled Rus in until he could gather him into his arms. Even as pregnant as he was, his weight was inconsequential, nearly as light as the pillows he’d carried not long ago.

“Rus?” Edge said, jostling him lightly, then harder when he didn’t respond, “Rus!”

His sockets fluttered briefly, and he let out a breathy snort but didn’t wake. His face twisted into a grimace as the swell under his sweatshirt stirred, the baby moving restlessly. A quick Check confirmed both their stats were full and holding steady, and Edge didn’t have time to consider their text, Rus’s an unconscious blank and Lucy’s, *almost*. They were alive and unhurt, that was all that mattered.

Most of his attention was necessarily on Undyne still hammering attacks down on the Knight Knight. A sweep of her arm sent another wave of spears denting into already battered armor and a couple embedding into the siding of the Swap brother’s house with a quivering thud.

There was no way for him to assist her, even if she’d allow it; he’d have to put Rus down, and that would be a desperate move reserved for the moment it became apparent she was losing.

Behind him, Edge could hear others running, the residents of this Snowdin drawn by the sound of battle into a loose crowd; the Swap brother’s house was in the middle of town, and the innocent inhabitants of this world were milling foolishly close, adults and children who should be safely in their homes were instead watching with fearful curiosity, frozen in the ankle-deep snow as they stared.

“Keep back!” Edge barked. He cast a wall of bones around them, concentrating to keep the intent low, the goal was to keep the fools away, not to injure them. In his arms, Rus moaned, low and dazed, and Edge shifted his ungainly, limp form to hold him closer, murmuring, “I have you, you’re safe, Rus, you’re safe.”

There was no telling if he understood and no time for anything else. More shouts and Edge glanced to the side to see Underswap’s Alphys and Blue running from the direction of Waterfall. They were going to be too late, the Knight Knight was no longer attacking, only struggling to hold Undyne’s back.

Until a sudden shield of bones that weren’t his own rose up between them, too far away yet to be Blue’s and the magic signature was one Edge knew intimately, far stronger and more immovable than nearly anyone would guess.

“stop!” Red barked. He was crouched on the roof like the gargoyle Rus so often called him, one eye light strobing with nauseating intensity as he held back Undyne’s attacks. “knock it off, fish lips!”

“What the fu—get out of my way, you rotten little cunt!” Undyne howled, pounding against the shield. Abruptly, Edge understood; Undyne wouldn’t hesitate to strike a killing blow and while a portion of denying that was not wanting the children of Underswap to see such a thing, there was another, more pertinent reason to keep this Knight Knight alive.

“Don’t kill her!” Edge snapped. He read her furious look clearly, grudgingly mollified only when he added, “She can’t give us answers if she’s dust!”

"You look after your baby mama," Undyne shot back. She shook back the fronds of her fins from her damp face, sweat dripping from the ends despite the chilly air. “He went down like a stone when chuckles here grabbed at him.” Her sudden grin was appreciative. “Your little honey got off a hell of a shot before he dropped, though.”

Red stepped out of a shortcut at ground level at the same moment Blue dashed up with Alphys at his heels. With a flick of his wrist, Red sent another wave of bones out to surround the Knight Knight, pinning her down. His brother barely gave their prisoner another glance as he came towards Edge, his fierce gaze on Rus.

“how is he?” Red asked curtly, even as he cast his own Check. Rus flinched from it, turning to press his face into the front of Edge’s shirt.

Blue was pale with worry and Edge dropped into a crouch, enough to allow him to see his brother, watched as Blue ripped off his gloves and tossed them into the snow, his slim hands fluttering over his brother, from his face down to the rounded bulge of his belly. “Papy?” Blue implored, “Brother?”

“He’s all right and so is the baby,” Edge told him. Automatically, he tightened his grip when Blue made to take his brother away. Not that he couldn’t carry him, Edge was well familiar with Blue’s strength, but the even with the Knight Knight contained, his instincts were still inflamed, demanding he keep Rus close to him, shrieking out a pulse of protect, protect, protect.

Blue started to protest, swallowing it back when Red touched his shoulder and shook his head. He was obviously displeased, but didn’t argue when Edge stood again, settling Rus more comfortably into his arms. The solid weight of him was reassuring as was the occasional thump of the baby kicking, anchoring Edge when his strongest impulse was to keep them safe.

Much as he wanted to take Rus into the house, away from all of this, they needed answers. He was unconscious but his stats were fine and so were the baby’s, and Edge was unwilling to leave him alone in the house and equally unwilling to allow the Knight Knight out of his sight.

Undyne and Alphys were currently eyeing each other suspiciously, literally in their cases as they only had one apiece. To Undyne, Edge asked, “How did you get here?”

She shrugged, “Beats the fuck out of me. Tagged along with your shitty brother. What in the name of Asgore’s balls do you have in your basement, looked like a fucking black hole.”

“You went through a black hole to help out your pal here?” Alphys looked mildly impressed. Nearby, the other locals were still milling around curiously and Alphys turned towards them, shaking a scarred fist as she barked at the lingering lookie loos. “Go on, show’s over!”

Reluctantly, they drifted off and it was a stroke of luck that they were out of sight when the Knight Knight suddenly collapsed into dust, even her armor crumbling away.

“Whoa, fuck!” Undyne yelped, leaping back. “There was no fucking way I did enough damage to dust her!”

“you didn’t,” Red said, disgusted, waving a hand to dispersing the jagged bones caught in the dust. “that’s one of asgore’s little toys, suicide tag in case one of his private guard gets caught. like we said, can’t ask dust any questions.”

“Asgore? Your Asgore?” Blue rounded on Red accusingly, "Where were you? Where were both of you, how could you let this happen?"

Edge met his reproachful gaze as it swung to him, ready to accept his fault. Blue was right, they were to blame, and he’d sworn that Underfell would never touch Rus and their child and yet here it was dusting at their feet. Guilt was thick in his throat, there was no apology he could make, no excuse for not protecting his…his…Rus, and the baby.

Assistance came from an unexpected source as Alphys spoke up.

"Not his fault," Alphys said, nudging at the dust with her boot, "Knight Knights got some specialized skills, they—whoa!!" She recoiled as the dust began to bubble, dissolving away the snow beneath it into foul sludge.

"might want to keep away from that, who the fuck knows what it can do. knight knights can put you under is what she's saying," Red said tersely. "makes ‘em good for some espionage with a side order of kidnappin’. someone's been watchin', boss." He gave Undyne a pointed look.

She snorted loudly and shook her head, unoffended. “Not me, nerd, and you already know Alphys keeps an eye out. She called me. Told me one of Asgore’s skeeves was hanging around your place. Figured I’d better check it out.”

“And you didn’t contact me?” Edge snapped.

Another unapologetic shrug. “Woulda, if I’d had time. I showed up and saw that one going into your basement…” She trailed off uncertainly. “I think it was your basement, I don’t—” she shook her head as if trying to rattle the memory loose. “It was like there was no door and then there was and then there wasn’t.”

“that’s when she came lookin’ for me,” Red threw out. “didn’t have time to argue so i brought her along. lucky i was headed home.”

Lucky. Edge didn’t normally prescribe to luck but lately, there seemed to be a slim thread of it for him, as though someone on high were watching. Instead of relief, it made him shiver unpleasantly. The margin of failure was painfully high; if Undyne hadn’t found Red, he would been confronting the Knight Knight still under her influence, trying to protect Rus from whatever her intentions were. She’d tried to grab him, Undyne said, and killing him for his meager LV was likely the kindest possible ending to that. His and Lucy’s, for what little quantity an unborn child might have.

Nausea churned in his soul, thick and sour. Edge only realized how tightly he was holding Rus when he let out a whimper of complaint and stirred. Everyone stood stilled, waiting, but his sockets stayed closed even as he curled in closer to Edge, nuzzling at the front of his shirt with a soundless sigh. Closer to sleep than true unconsciousness and some of the tension wound tight around Edge’s soul loosened.

When Rus didn’t bother to fully wake, Red spoke up again, “when we got to the basement, the door lock was busted. i took a sec to set up a little welcome for anyone else who might try it and scrambled the coordinates, but—” Red shook his head. “when we got here, the honey bun was about shoving a blaster up her ass ‘fore he dropped, but it didn’t take her down. undyne stepped up to the plate, think you know what happened from there.”

“How did she see the door?” Edge demanded, “No one else ever has.”

“dunno,” Red shrugged, scratching at the back of his skull. “i’ve never known how that fucking things works. barely even know how we ended up with it, it just was.”

“Yeah, exactly none of that made any fucking sense, Papyrus,” Undyne snorted. She cast another glance at Alphys who met it evenly, “I don't got a clue what's going on here.” She looked around, visibly disconcerted, at the clean, tidy houses in Underswap, the Gyftmas lights draped over eves and trees, and when she shuddered, it was not from the cold. “Where the fuck are we even?”

“Papyrus?” Alphys frowned, her scaly brow drawing down, “Your name is Papyrus, too? Sans, what the fuck--?”

“Why don’t we go inside and have some tea?” Blue interrupted, brightly determined. There was a certain panic layered beneath it, understandably, this was not an eventuality any of them had prepared for. “Papy shouldn’t be out in the cold anyway.”

“yeah,” Red agreed. Already there was a certain calculated gleam in his eye lights that was a relief to see. Surely if Blue didn’t have a plan for dealing with Alphys and Undyne then Red did, he always had plans, contingencies for his contingencies, always, “he don’t need to be out here, bro, get him inside and we-all can chat.”

Before Edge could take a single step, Rus gave a snorting sort of inhale, his sockets fluttering. He looked up with hazy eye lights, staring at Edge with pained befuddlement. “edge? wha…ohhhh,” Rus moaned, curling around his belly at the same moment a sudden burst of wet warmth soaked through his sweatshirt, rivulets running over Edge’s hands, dripping brilliant orange patters into the snow.

“What happened?” Edge said, dumbly, the sickening blood-warmth on his hands making his gorge rise. In his arms, Rus was whimpering, his fingers twisting in his soaked sweatshirt as he clutched at his swollen middle. Sweat trickled down Rus’s skull as he tensed, his pretty face twisted into a grimace.

“fuck! what happened is you need to get him inside now,” Red snapped back, “fucking go!”

Edge turned on his heel and nearly ran into the house. Slipping through slush and snow with the others right behind him, and all he could hear was Rus whining in pain again, feel the squelching wetness on his hands as he carried the ones dearest to his soul inside. Even as he ran, he called up a Check, and their stats were holding steady, but it was the text showing in his child’s that tipped him into panic.

*Now.*

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #pregnancy fic

41 notes · View notes

euphorianyx · 4 years

Text

DADDY ISSUES [Dawn] -3-

Pairing: JungKook & Reader Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst Summary: You believe you know someone you live together but that only counts if they are true to themselves. Can love really change someone or do they just hold back? What if you are yet to meet the dark side? Will you stay to handle all that or will you walk away? When there is something you have to protect, the choice is not really yours so you just do what you think is the best.

AN: If you just found this story you can read the prequel here.

Other Chapters

JungKook walked slowly to the table occupied by the young woman that was seen fit to be his next toy. It was hard to tell by her back but a few small gestures already caught his eyes. The way she sat or seemed was all wrong. It lacked your shyness balanced with straightforwardness. The smile she gave to the waiter was sweet. It was way too sweet that could be childish, lacking the elegance you had.

Rolling his eyes but still making his way towards her JungKook already could tell this was a lost case. He sat down on the velvet encrusted chair across her. She greeted him with a wide smile, letting her chest pop a little. It was obvious she was trying to be sexy but the reality was far from it.

Her face truly reminded you. Long lashes, well-shaped lips gave a feeling of you. JungKook did not know why he was searching for you in someone else but he could not help it. He wanted to give her a chance but the more she spoke the worse things went. At some point, JungKook just left his glass on the table. He did not even care about the special cocktail he favored the flavor. He raised his hand cutting the young women.

He grabbed the dark purple envelope and went through papers. Hoping to find an excuse that will make sense but Min Jae Yeo seemed awfully clean. Letting out a deep sigh JungKook decided it was best to get done with this real quick so left the envelope on the table.

“Jae Yeo...”

She nodded right away with bright eyes. She was so tractable and would follow him but that was not what he needed anymore.

“I don’t think you are qualified for what I have in mind.”

The girl reached for his hand but JungKook pulled it away before she could hold it. He gestured the waiter to bring the bill. Jae Yeo was tearing up as JungKook raised from his seat. He did not mean to make her cry but did not feel like comforting her too. He had his poker face before he turned around to leave the café. On his way back to Jeon Enterprise JungKook got a call from YugYeom. He hit the pedal of his black Bugatti before he touched the screen to answer the call.

“What is it?”

His voice was not harsh or anything. It was monotone until YugYeom revealed why he called.

“Im Won... He was in charge of the border but he got seven hundred. Should I inform your father?”

Im Won dared to give them false information on the amount of white he was dealing with his name. He reported five hundred kilograms but actually got seven hundred to make more money by himself. JungKook arched an eyebrow. His voice was dangerously low as he asked.

“No...But inform everyone for tonight. The party will be after midnight. I will take him by myself.”

YugYeom ended the call after a simple remark letting JungKook know he understood. JungKook was already at the edge but the information ignited his ice-cold soul. Noone... Noone could use his own resources to make extra money. He was free to do his own thing now and the chance came quick. JungKook’s fingers danced on the steering wheel.

When JungKook pulled up by the car park, the noise of a strong engine echoed through the grey dull walls. He locked it and walked a bit until he reached the elevator. When the simple steel doors opened, the large cabin welcomed him. He rested his hands on the bars by the door.

His blood rushed while he was staring at his own eyes. They were dark just like they have been for years. The person he wanted to hold back was out stronger than ever. He felt it in his bones. A different smirk grew on his thin lips. JungKook tilted his head while his eyes rolled back with excitement. The door opened and the young boy with brown hair greeted him to the polygon.

“Mike...”

JungKook simply greeted him with a small gesture. Mike smiled back at him.

“We haven’t seen you here for so long.”

JungKook let out a cool chuckle.

“I know. Just here to keep myself in check.”

JungKook took his jacket off as he stopped in front of the familiar number. Seven... He put it aside as the gun arrived. Ignoring the headphones he grabbed it. The silver metal shined in his hand while he pulled the trigger. On and on until there was not a single bullet left. Jungkook pressed the button to see the result. Two big holes... One in the head one in the chest.

Then he heard someone clapping behind him. The young woman had peachy long hair, big eyes, and full lips. Her tiny waist was completed with her hips. JungKook arched an eyebrow at her questioningly, though she smiled.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you...I don’t know who got you mad but I am Min Chae Soo.”

She raised her hand to greet JungKook. After taking a look at the friendly gesture, he shook her hand briefly. Then her earphones arrived with the same brand of gun he used.

“Want to go for another round?”

Her simple defiance triggered JungKook. They both had similar grins as they aimed for the vital points. They pressed the button at the same time to see their results. Chae Soo’s challenge went on in their conversation. JungKook realized he was actually smiling.

After they finally decided who won, the duo walked out of polygon. When their paths were separated JungKook wore his poker face again. He had no idea what about her made him put his guard down right away. Still thinking about what just happened she went for squash and JungKook went for boxing.

After their sessions ended their path crossed by the hallway again. They decided to have some drinks together. Chae Soo wore her leather jacket. Her hair was stuck by the back so she pulled it out and it danced in the air. The smell filling the air was not perfect but not bad either. She hoped on the front seat and JungKook was not disturbed at all.

He drove to Mucaro, the night club at Im Won’s territory. JungKook stopped the car rigidly. They got out but the vale was frozen in his spot. He fixed his small hat, bowing at them. JungKook threw the keys at him before they made their way to the place. The neon sign above was bright with green, blue, and purple colors. Walls were black with lines in the same shades as the sign.

When he was seen by the door every single person working there was urged to form a proper line each side of the door. Female employees were in awe while male employees were busy with their envy. Not even aware of what was expecting him Im Won stood in the middle by the edge of the maroon carpet. He greeted JungKook and Chae Soo with a decent smile.

Im Won thought it was one of JungKook’s impromptu visits so lead the way to the big room at the back. Bodies were swaying around each other under blue and purple lights. A small group of young boys and girls had blunts hanging from their lips and glasses filled with alcohol in their hands. By the corners, two girls in skin tight dresses sat each side of a middle-aged man in a suit. JungKook had a smirk on his face before he turned around to face Chae Soo.

“Let’s grab some drinks.”

Im Won was expecting him to talk about the next deal but did not dare to question JungKook so he just left. They sat by the bar and chatted casually for a while. Somehow topic drifted on more personal matters where JungKook made Chae Soo reveal herself a little bit.

“So you were raised in a dormitory...”

JungKook imagined a little girl at such a place with no one to care for her. Chae Soo’s arm rested on the wood as her hand was under her chin.

“Yeah until I was fifteen. Then my father adopted me.”

The heaviness of her sentence lingered in the air a bit. He was going to tell YugYeom to do some research on her to see what he was going to do. Though it was time for her questions.

“I thought you got married but... I... don’t see your ring.”

Your face before his eyes, JungKook looked down at his empty finger for a moment before he put his glass down.

“Yeah, I did but things got complicated.”

Chae Soo did not ask anything further since she sensed it was no good. Meanwhile, JungKook got what he wanted since Im Won did not suspect anything at all. Soon the last member sent the signal to let him know he was there.

“Listen, I would like to talk to you more but I have something urgent to take care of. How about I get you a taxi to drop you off?”

Chae Soo arched an eyebrow at him but grabbed her purse. She hopped off the chair towards JungKook. There was almost no space between their bodies. She put her hand on his chest.

“Not before I get a promise.”

JungKook nodded with a smile. Chae Soo grabbed a pen from her purse then reached for his hand. She slowly wrote her number under his intense gaze. Looking at his hand for a good moment JungKook put it on her back gently. He gestured one of the taxis waiting across the path. The young guy pulled up right away, his eyes widened when he noticed JungKook. He opened the door for Chae Soo and told the driver to safely take her to her address.

When he was back with a simple head gesture members started to evacuate the place by informing people one by one. Im Won realized something was up so he gathered his own men together but it was too late. He walked towards Jungkook who still sat on his chair casually.

“Mr. Jeon what is going on?”

JungKook calmly put his glass down. His eyes were dark when he directed them at Im Won. He grabbed the man by his neck and his head hit the wood with a loud thud. His men proceed to interfere but they could not.

“You thought I would never find out?”

Im Won mentally cursed himself.

“Let me explain.”

JungKook let out a chuckle that froze his blood. He gestured his men to interfere and hell broke loose. The loud noise of triggers drowned in the loud music still playing. The heavy smell of gun powder and blood mixed with each other permeated the place. He got two cuts from the knife of a pretty stubborn one. JungKook got away with a swing of his body and kicked him on his chest. The man fell back and Jungkook aimed at his head.

JungKook reached for another gun. He turned around and saw two men almost reached him. He pulled the trigger in pure mercilessness and watched their bodies fall on the cold ground. JungKook realized Im Won was by the door and ran towards his side but the man fell back. Seeing who was by the door JungKook stopped for a good minute. Chae Soo had timber in her hand now was strained with Im Won’s blood. She threw it at JungKook.

“I knew something was up so I did not leave.”

You fastened your steps on the sidewalk with your phone on your ear.

“Hi NamJoon, I believe we need to talk.”

NamJoon sounded serious at the other side of the line.

“Sure Y/N...”

He knew you found out that he gave your name. Their conversation about divorce with JungKook played in his mind, he quietly took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you come over.”

If it was not for him you were going to offer that. Soon you were by his door. You knocked twice and waited for a little. NamJoon was in a simple t-shirt and dark green sweatpants with his hair swept back. He fixed his glasses as he greeted you then lead the way towards the living room. You mostly spent your time at his office room here so did not notice many details about other parts of his house.

The walls were a light shade of blue, giving his living room a calm vibe. Two dark blue couches were in the middle of the room across each other. A small white table stood between them matching the TV unit by the wall. The kitchen was open by the left of his living room. NamJoon offered you a coffee that you accepted. You watched him prepare them in silence and when he was back you finally broke it.

“I heard you gave my name to the company.”

A simple nod with his poker face was NamJoon’s response.

“Because I thought you were what they needed in there.”

A small smile spread across your lips.

“Thank you... but I doubt that is the only reason.”

NamJoon let out a deep sigh before your eyes met again.

“Okay, I will be honest with you. It was a mutual decision with Mr Jeon.”

You bit down your lip as you refused to finish the coffee and put your cup down on the table.

“And you expect me to take it when I know someone else could be there if you did not interfere.”

Before you pulled your hand from the table NamJoon caught your wrist.

“Y/N, I gave your name because I knew you could do it. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Even your family does not know yet, right?”

Your hand turned into a ball of fist while you shook your head. NamJoon gently let your wrist go with a small smile on his lips.

“I understand and he is trying to help you Y/N. That is not as bad as you think.”

You let out a deep sigh.

“He knows where I stay right now, does not he?”

NamJoon confirmed your assumption before he made the offer that surprised you.

“Why don’t you stay here instead?”

When he directed his eyes back to you realized he was serious.

Next Chapter

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Ghost Busted || Morgan, Adam, Jasmine, Nell, &Constance

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @walker-journal @halequeenjas @nelllraiser @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Morgan’s plan to bind Constance gets busted.

CONTAINS: gun use (salt rounds)

Binding a soul wasn’t much more complicated than binding anything else, as it turned out; not in terms of ingredients, at least. Morgan was able to gather the herbs on her own, mostly foraged, to save her pride at the Eye of Newt, but to adhere as closely to the spell instructions, she braved Vera’s judgmental looks for the last few things. Now it was time to take stock and go over the plan one last time before doing the binding. Morgan felt for the bottle in her bag. Still there. As far as she understood it, just about any vessel that could be marked with the right sigils would do, but using any of the tiny jars she had left from her crafting days made her feel uncomfortable. They seemed so small, keeping someone in there just seemed so...unsafe. And what if she could somehow see Constance staring at her through the glass? The thought made Morgan shudder too much, so she got a nice arcane looking, opaque, ceramic jar.

The day was bright, the kind you painted on a greeting card for fall. Morgan turned at the sound of footsteps, not certain how much she should smile, with Jasmine and Adam at least partially on the fence. But this was a net good for everyone. A bottled ghost was going to kill a lot less people and cause a lot less chaos than a free range one. After they did this, she could figure the rest out on her own if it came to it. Morgan offered a small wave. “Uh, hey?” she offered. “Did you...get everything you needed okay?”

Apparently, Nell was the first back from her little monster hunting excursion. In truth, she would have preferred to still be out gathering spell items for many reasons, but the primary one stemmed from the little guilt monster that was gnawing away at her stomach. Now that she’d talked about exorcising Constance at the first chance possible with both Jasmine and Adam, it was emotionally difficult to sit here and pretend as if everything were still going according to plan, sitting next to Morgan as if nothing had changed and she would still get her revenge. But it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. There’d been multiple occasions in which she’d had to make decisions that her friends wouldn’t like for the benefit of themselves and others. Still...that didn’t mean it got any easier. Nell could only hope that Morgan might be forgiving in the long run, and still want something to do with her at the end of the day. “Yeah, I got them,” she answered as she held up her trophies. “Are the others back, yet?” Taki, her Ovinikk familiar, hadn't been far behind- looking proud as anything while he carried a few grathered herbs between his teeth.

Nell kept her response short, not wanting to say much else when she was caught up in wondering whether or not her and Morgan’s friendship would make it to see the end of the week. “I’m just gonna look over the stuff again, too.” Then she gingerly plopped herself onto the ground next to a basket of herbs, muttering to herself about their quality and picking through them with a careful hand as a means of keeping herself busy, and hopefully safe from too much conversation.

Chickcharney feathers, a catalyst for the curse. The larynx of an Aravo to bind their voice. The pelt of an Aufhocker to weigh them down to earth. A heart burst by a Carach’s fractoxtin to remind them of heartbreak. The exoskeleton of a Dearoile, to echo their life’s pain. A bone from a Gashadokura slain a century ago, to rekindle memories of fleshly deprivation A Valravn skull medallion, a symbol of death as the inescapable devourer.

Adam entered and began to place these cheery trophies of several weeks hunting in their assigned places, thoughts heavy with the twisted moral balance of what was about to transpire.

There had been no doubt in her mind that Jasmine was doing what was necessary. Whatever grudge Morgan had against this ghost mattered very little in the big scheme of things. Her ingredients had been more or less easy to gather. A mix of herbs and different salts. She was never without iron flakes and rods either. Once she had made it back to their meeting spot, she mentally began envisioning where she could lay out a salt circle. It wasn’t entirely necessary for a typical banishment, but it made things easier. Even if she had any intention of playing along with this whole binding the ghost until Morgan found a way to torture her, she’d be taking these same precautions. It all lined up with what they were doing here, just instead of Nell doing the binding, she’s simply banish Constance. Whether or not she deserved worse would be up to whatever cosmic power she faced after being thrown out of this plane. “It sounds like we’re ready then,” she said as she contemplated laying out a circle. She turned to Nell with a knowing look in her eye, “So, when are we doing this? Did we want to go ahead and knock this out before anyone else is hurt?

Constance didn’t feel at home in the manor. The walls reminded her too much of the ones she had dusted and cleaned for the Bachmans, and the environment was so unmoving save for spare objects that were fiddled with and tossed by spirits. Constance preferred to take them out to the woods where the oaks grew tall and remembered everything, even her. Or to the lake, veiled in mist and shining waters. “And did you know!” She cried, turning to Nancy trailing behind her in strange garb that had come into fashion after her death. “I taught her everything she knew about magic. Her mother was a beastly woman with no talent in her right fingernail, doing charms I had managed practically with my intuition. I gave Agnes the keys to the kingdom of the gods, which makes me the reason that tiny, ugly cow Morgan could tap into any of her magic at all. But, oh! The raptures we would find in these woods. They weren’t half so thick, and we felt so fearless and bold hiding here and--”

The sound of other voices made her stop and drift up into the trees. She had gotten better at this now, having so many ghosts to practice with and help her along. Most of the faces were familiar. Morgan, of course, tramping her muddy boots through her woods. The girl from the summoning. The boy from the classroom. And then some other woman, but if she was in league with the others, then she couldn’t be any more trustworthy. She hovered in the soggy gold and red of autumn leaves still hanging on, knowing that Morgan could see her always. There were strange things being passed, salt, herbs, some runes she recognized, and a jar.

“Those cruel, treasonous fiends,” Constance hissed. Did Blanche know about this? Was she just biding her time, placating Constance until this very moment, when she might be trapped forever? Or until such time as a suitable punishment could be given? As if being stripped of her liberty, of everything but her consciousness wasn’t punishment enough. “Nancy,” Constance whispered. “You said we could play a game today, right?”

Morgan wrapped Nell into a quick hug. “Thanks, Nell,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you’re doing better.” She nodded to the others, smiling tensely. They weren’t thrilled to be here, that much was obvious, and she wasn’t sure if any kind of thanks would smack with passive aggression she didn’t intend. “It looks like we’re gonna be all set, and the town is going to get a lot safer once we’re done and she’s all tucked a-- fuck. Nell, get down!”

Morgan grabbed the young witch and shielded her with her body as she saw Constance come soaring out of the trees. And this time, she wasn’t alone. Her iron rod was at her hip, she could give her a good whack or two and be done, but she couldn’t leave Nell vulnerable, and there was Adam and Jasmine to consider. “Okay, uh--new plan!” She screeched. “We get some salt lines down and nobody dies today, how about that?”

With the waking nightmares gone, the ghosts had also returned to their normal state of invisible. As it were Nell would have had not a single clue that Constance or Nancy had appeared if it weren’t for Morgan and Taki. Blindly following Morgan’s command, she ducked— hoping that whatever she was dodging might simply fly over her. It took a moment for Nell to make the connection between salt and spirit, and then she could only assume that it was Constance who had come for them. “Is it her? Constance?” she asked both Jasmine and Morgan. Taki’s fur had bristled into an enormous ball of fluff the moment the ghosts had appeared, hissing and spitting in disgust as the spirits approached. Remembering that last time Taki had met Constance at the ghost’s summoning and how it had ended with the familiar in the pet hospital, Nell instinctively picked up the dog-sized cat. Shit- they needed salt like Morgan had said. Focusing her magic for a split second, Nell Summoned the table salt from home, a blue canister blinking into existence in her hand. Then another appeared in her other palm, and Nell silently thanked Bea for sometimes buying in bulk. “Here!” she called before tossing the salt container to Adam. Hastily, she began to draw her salt circle, first using it to encompass the spell ingredients. Losing them would be too much of a set back to risk.

In another town, if people just started freaking out for no visible reason and tossed him salt, Adam might have questions, concerns even. However Adam was becoming accustomed to weird improv game that invisible spookums entailed that he just caught the salt contained and got to work putting circles around the important stuff.

This was all happening more quickly than Jasmine could have anticipated. As a familiar chill ran over her, she felt her whole body tense. No, not now. Not while Nell was here and she didn’t even have a proper circle yet on the ground. This was less than ideal, but she could make do without the circle if it was just a simple banishment. Minimal distractions would be needed so she had to trust Nell and Adam could hold down the fort if Morgan threw a fit about what she had to do. Once she actually caught a glimpse of the ghost, her mouth dropped. Even if she never planned on going through with the torture, it was still shocking that she wanted to torture an actual kid. “Seriously,” she shot a glare at Morgan, “How old is this ghost? Sixteen? You want to torture a teenager?”

She shook her head and didn’t need any further motivation to push forward with the exorcism as planned. It hardly mattered to her whether or not Morgan approved of the decision. “Nell, stay back and keep everyone away,” she directed as she took her place in the room. A haphazard salt circle was laid out on the floor and she stood directly outside as she began the familiar incantation she followed for banishment rituals. The air was whipping around them, but she knew she could do this. It was only a banishment, she just needed Morgan to stay away. She could feel the familiar bolt of energy going through her as she spoke the words. Her eyes remained on Constance who was getting pulled closer toward the circle as she chanted. She could feel the fight in her, but this was the kindest outcome for her.

“Fucking Stars, she’s nineteen and a few centuries! How is that important right now!” Morgan screamed. She wasn’t going to make Constance into Jasmine’s problem. She would find her own exorcist, and maybe a plan B or C just in case they crapped out on her. Morgan was pulling Nell back to the Subaru. She was trying to shield her with her body and fish out her salt at the same time. “Salt outside the car and get inside, okay?” She turned to Adam, pointing furiously at the car, “Stuff is replaceable, you are no--!” She didn’t quite finish, because the roar in the air grew quiet and she heard Jasmine--chanting? Morgan whirled. “What are you doing? That’s not the binding, what the hell is that?”

A burst of force knocked her to the ground and dragged her through the salted earth until her head collided with a tree. It happened so fast, Morgan’s vision blurred. She grimaced, reaching for the salt pistol clumsily to her belt when she looked up and saw… some 1950’s barbie with a snapped neck. “Who the fuck are you?”

Constance screamed to the heavens. At last her body held some gravity, but it wasn’t binding her to the earth. She was being dragged towards a circle. She didn’t need to see its sigils to know it would mean her end. “Nancy!” She screamed. The leaves rose from the ground at her cry, the trees trembled. Control. A strong spirit was like a strong witch; she needed control.

All the herbs and magic playthings Morgan’s brood had gathered froze in the air, and with them, the two bodies not protected by Blanche Harlow’s words. She did not see Nancy lift her concentration, much stronger and better practiced than her own, to do likewise, nor how she approached the circle to take her place. There was an evil scream from Morgan, then the world shattered and bodies flew.

As Morgan tugged her towards the car, Nell did her best to wrestle from her grip, not keen in the least to let Jasmine and Morgan take the brunt of whatever it was the ghosts had come to accomplish. “I’m not gonna hide in the car!” she refused, though her indignance was also cut short as the exorcist began her ritual. Would Morgan retaliate? Try to stop Jasmine from doing her job? The witch wouldn’t get an answer as an invisible force threw her backwards along with the others. She landed roughly, arms scraped open by the assorted twigs and rocks of the forest floor when she’d tried to catch herself in a roll, trying to shield Taki from ricocheting off the ground as well. It was then that she officially decided that fighting ghosts was the single worst thing in the world and all its realms to go up against. How was she supposed to stab something she couldn’t see? She couldn’t even stab them to begin with. With a frustrated growl she rose from where she’d landed, wincing as her body protested the movement. The Ovinikk leapt from her arms, making a beeline towards the ghost named Nancy before erupting in an angry and thunderous dog’s bark, doing his best to ward off the spirit. Following his line of sight, Nell plucked the salt canister from where it had landed before blindly tossing its contents in the direction of the familiar’s barks, hoping it might miraculously find a hit.

Not for the first time, Adam found himself sprinting as things he couldn’t see turned his surroundings into an obstacle course. Autumn leaves were a dry whirlwind of red and gold as uncontrolled telekinesis and the sacred energies of exorcism caught everything in spiritual turbulence. Bowls and canisters shattered, sending shrapnel of glass and pottery zipping through the supernatural gale. The contradictory smells of pungent herbs and the frigid sterility of fall wind filled Adam’s nostrils as he booked it towards where the cars were parked, trying to not get pulverized as he ran across the grove.

Trying to pry off the windborn leaves that kept getting plastered against his eyes and mouth, Adam knelt by the closest car and started slating a circle around it. Adam’s world spun a bit as a stray herb bowl hurled from out of ritual space and shattered against the back of his neck. The ex-Hunter blinked flaring white spots from his vision and ignored the trickle of hot warmth down the back of his back.

His eyes cleared enough to see Morgan get flung against the tree with a blunt cracking sound.

Shit...well um, least she was already dead right?

Then Morgan started asking more nonexistent people who they were.

...that’s not good

How quickly things could spiral out of control wasn’t entirely new to Jasmine though it was different when it was just her and a ghost. Knowing how close Nell and this Adam kid were only steeled her sense of determination. The kids weren’t getting hurt on her watch even if it meant having to go up against two ghosts on her own. She laid more salt down and kept her eyes firmly between Constance and Nancy as she yelled out, “Nell, Adam. Car now. Morgan, not now. I keep the ghosts from killing us and you get the kids out of here.” There wasn’t time for Morgan to fight her on this. Constance was undeniably strong and her friend seemed to have been practiced, too. It was inconveniently her friend that was now bound to the circle as the air whipped around them at an impossible speed. Jasmine dug her heels in the dirt to try and stabilize herself against the whirlwind happening around her, but found she found herself floating in the air alongside Morgan and all the items they’d gathered.

The howls of air swirling were hard to shout over especially with no stable ground beneath her feet and Constance’s shriek still ringing in her ears. She had to keep pushing if any of them were going to make it out of this. Nancy was bound to the circle and it didn’t seem like Constance was going to join anytime soon. They couldn’t fight off both of them and Jasmine felt the fear creep up on her. Making the hair on her arms stand on end and added to the dizziness she was feeling from above the ground. Her words weren’t steady as she was whipped around, but not a syllable was missed. Right now, getting rid of one ghost would have to do as she kept going with the banishment ritual she knew like the back of her hand.

After what felt like an eternity, her chants drew to a close and Nancy simply disappeared forever. It’s what she wanted to do with Constance, but she already felt entirely too drained to perform another banishment. The floating in the air only furthered the feeling of unsteadiness, until she was no longer in the air. It was all very sudden after Nancy was gone that she found herself being thrown into the tree. The crack of bone against wood was enough to make her nauseated and she let out a pained shout as pain shot through her left arm. “Bitch,” she screamed knowing she had little else to stand on and her iron rod was too far away for her to grab in her condition.

Constance saw it all and yet was powerless to do a thing. The gravity on her body ebbed, all the energy she’d been pouring into fleeing sprang back and she shot into the trees, watching from the branches as Nancy disappeared without so much as an ‘I’m sorry.’ A thought came to her as lightning: this cruel departure had always been Nancy’s plan. If not to use her as a bridge off this miserable world so she need not bear pretending to care, then to grant Constance more time. Either way, she was utterly abandoned. Was this the so-called pleasure of lifting her gaze to anything beyond her one wish?

“You monster!” She screamed, flinging herself back down to the ground. She reached for the woman’s bent arm, as if she could will herself solid and snap it like so many twigs. The trees screamed with her as she wailed. To think she had ever considered Morgan’s friends worth sparing, that to be direct and careful was the only and best way to fulfill the fate she had written. Not anymore, maybe not ever. Constance wanted to burn it all, and for their remorse to be written on every human face as too little, too late.

Bang. A salt round fired through Constance and exploded into the trunk of a tree. The ghost turned just in time to see who had done it. Her mouth opened to scream just as she dissipated. Morgan stood crooked and seething as her spine knit itself back together. Her pistol dangled lip in her fingers. “You’re welcome,” she growled. “Now please explain to me what the hell was going on with that. You could have just taken her with iron, with literally anything else…” The last of her vertebrae snapped into place and she was able to look around. The herbs, irrevocable. Jar, smashed. Hides and fluids, destroyed. If Constance was going to be bound out of trouble, they would need to start from scratch. But there was something else that nagged at her worse. For a moment that had gone so completely off the rails, there was a serious lack of surprise and confusion among her friends. A lot of the attention was on her, and it didn’t seem like the ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘we’ll try again’ variety. “What’s going on…?”

Once the winds had returned to normal, and Morgan stopped shooting at thin air, Nell presumed the coast was clear. Crouching next to Jasmine, she took in the awkward angle the exorcist’s arm had been broken into, grimacing in sympathetic pain. “We gotta get you to the hospital.” Then as an afterthought— “You have insurance, right?” She wasn’t about to willingly lead someone else to thousands of dollars in debt. Jasmine’s injury had sparked the fire of worry in Nell’s belly, but Morgan’s question ignited it into a full blown flame, guilt beginning to pool. “I agreed...that Constance should be gotten rid of if the moment presented itself.” She was used to taking the fall with her sisters, so it came naturally to try and focus the blame on herself in this situation as well. Besides, it only felt right when she’d essentially betrayed the trust of her friend. It was true that Nell had never promised against exorcising Constance, but she’d also agreed to helping Morgan do it her way, and the two paths weren’t all that conducive. “I’m sorry,” she replied reflexively, not knowing what else to say.

It was becoming increasingly more apparent to Jasmine that Morgan hardly had her priorities straight. She was injured and others had been put in danger’s way yet her biggest worry was the fact she tried to get rid of said dangerous ghost without torturing her. Not to mention the ghost was practically a child. None of it sat well with her and she found anger boiling over in her. “What do you mean what the hell was I doing? In case you didn’t notice, we had a ghostly tag team try to kill us? Or did you not notice my extremely broken arm here… which, hey, kind of your fault for not wanting to handle this in an even remotely responsible way. A cast is going to clash with literally my entire wardrobe,” she huffed out as she tried to gesture to her broken arm but failed as she winced in pain. She shot Nell a look, “Nell, you don’t have to take the blame for this. I would have tried to get rid of the murderous ghost with or without your approval. That’s literally why I have these powers to begin with.” She quickly looked back to Morgan and rolled her eyes, “Look, I get you’re pissed and have your whole torture revenge thing, but your feelings aren’t more important than people’s lives. Which should be glaringly obvious.”

“I dissipated Constance in two seconds and I could’ve done the same with vintage Barbie too! We could have finished this just fine!” Morgan snapped. “And if you didn’t notice, I was protecting the kids while you were busy doing some kind of banishment instead of walking them into thin air!” But there was something more, something worse, and it made Morgan deflate and back away from them all. What did Nell mean by ‘agreed’ to do something in the ‘moment.’ Morgan played back all of their last conversations, searching for the time when Nell had said, sorry Morgan, but no, I think this is bullshit. She’d posed some questions, she was afraid of there being more collateral damage than there needed to be, but she never said she didn’t want to. She’d said she would help Morgan. They’d talked about what was happening to her powers. Hot chocolate. Movies. Her mom. Everything but stepping out of this. “If we had just stuck to the plan, no one else would have gotten hurt,” she said, her voice trembling with shock. “Which apparently doesn’t matter to either of you, but don’t throw your choices on me like I don’t give a shit.” She searched for Adam in the midst of them. “What about you? After all the times I said you didn’t need to do anything you didn’t want to. Was this your idea too?”

“Nope,” Adam stated with blunt honesty as he stepped out of the salt circle and walked to the back of his car. He popped the trunk up with a click and the footballer’s head vanished into the cargo space. Some clicking and unlatching sounds were followed by Adam remerging with a tan military medic’s kit slung over one shoulder.

Adam crossed the rubble-strewn ritual space, tennis shoes crunching on pottery shards and autumnal leaves. He took a knee by the ladies and unzipped the tactical med kit with the purposeful calm of someone used to tending to grizzly battlefield wounds.

He produced a tincture of watery translucent goo with the depiction of a grotesque goblinoid creature with a distended barracuda-like jaw and bone claws on the label. “You’ll want some of this for the pain,” Adam said to his companions offering them the anesthetic tincture of reified Rawhead salvia and a stopper. “Only a drop or two though, else you’ll get muscle paralysis and shit yourself,” he explained with that gentle bedside manner Hunters were famous for.

Adam furthered purposed a splint and bandages for Jasmine, along with the more sutures, gauze, and antibacterials for everyone’s general lacerations.

“Honestly Beck, I was just gonna stab you in the spine and hold Miss Hale at gunpoint till she exorcised Ginger Casper normally,” Adam admitted, speaking of assault and threats in an amiably conversational tone. “But it looks like they’d worked out something smarter than that already.”

Jasmine could feel her blood boiling beneath her skin despite the lightheadedness she was feeling. Between blood loss and banishing Nancy, she found herself pretty zapped in the blood sugar department. As much didn’t stop her from glaring at Morgan, “I told Nell to go to safety so there was no chance for either of them to hurt anyone ever again.” Her voice was getting weaker, but fire was pushing her nonetheless. “You’re going to end up just like them on your whole revenge path.”

She eyed Adam as he tried to give her something for the pain. Her eyes narrowed and she asked, “Uhm, what the hell is that?” The mention of shitting herself was enough to make her wary of it, but if he was going to insist on patching her up she figured she better use it. It only served to make her more woozy as he went on and everything felt like it was spinning.

It was difficult to brace herself even with the numbness though Adam’s genius plan was enough to make her eyes widen. “Excuse me?” This kid was going to force her to perform an exorcism at gunpoint? “You were going to what?” She moved away as he had already placed the splint and muttered, “Ugh, you know what. Not a priority. Do you have a driver’s license? I’d like to see a real doctor and I can’t exactly drive like this.”

The entire situation had quickly dissolved into a shit show, and Nell wasn’t sure where to begin with Jasmine and Morgan. The witch didn’t have a defense for the choices she’d made other than the fact that she hadn’t wanted more unneeded innocent blood being shed on the path to ending Constance. And though Adam was doing his best to patch up what he could, it seemed that Jasmine wasn’t all that fond of possibly being made to complete an exorcism at gunpoint. Which was...fair enough. Nell wasn’t a mediator. She was better at creating tense situations than resolving them- especially when there was no common enemy to point anyone towards. The only way she knew out of a situation like this was to focus on an end task, and try to get the others to do that as well. “Let’s just get Jasmine more medical care,” she repeated, assuming the exorcist had already remembered that Nell didn’t have a car license. Latching onto the woman’s uninjured arm, she began to try and guide her towards Adam’s car.

The choice of whether or not to look at Morgan was one that took Nell a long pause to make, trying to decide if she wanted to see the hurt and disappointment that she was sure to find there. This was why she’d done her best to avoid the woman ever since she’d made her decision to get rid of Constance by whatever means were fastest. Ripping off the bandaid hurt less if the wound beneath it already had the chance to scab over. Finally she found Morgan’s eyes, knowing it was the coward’s choice not to face the consequences of her actions. But now what? What could she possibly say that would do any good to either of them? She wasn’t sorry for trying to get rid of Constance, even now. It was the right thing to do— minimizing collateral damage. The only regret she has was that of hurting her friend. “We should go,” was all she could settle on.

Adam’s hidden plan wasn’t all that surprising to Morgan, given his ‘barbed wire in a backpack’ ways and how quick he’d been to share his distaste with Constance’s age. It would be awkward in class, if the full moon didn’t kill him first, but it was nothing she couldn’t brace herself for. Jasmine’s cunning had tripped her up; most of the dutiful types she’d met in White Crest didn’t encumber themselves with lying to your face, but she’d remember not to let the exorcist’s confidence fool her into thinking that what she saw was what she got. It was Nell that left Morgan dumbfounded, staring slack-jawed and stupid as she helped carry Jasmine to Adam’s car, so focused that Morgan may as well have been a ghost herself. “Wow,” she said, too stunned to even put much venom behind her voice. “Not even an explanation, huh?” Morgan’s eyes burned as she spoke and she wished, bitterly, for even an ounce of banshee control so she could just stay hard and steady and leave. But her face was trembling on the verge of collapse, her voice full and ready to crack on the next breath. “I trusted you. I gave you a choice, so many choices, Nell, and I trusted you…” She hadn’t deluded herself into thinking she was nearly as important to Nell as Nell was to her. Nell had a family, a community that had seen her grow, friends her own age. It was an imbalance Morgan could live with, to feel like she had a family of her own. But she hadn’t reckoned on being worth so little that Nell could turn her back on her with ease, that she would be left alone in the underbrush as the sun cut red over the trees. It took all the self control Morgan had to turn her back on Nell in kind and get back to her Subaru. “So much for that.”

#ghost busted #wr nell #wr nell chatzy #wr adam #wr adam chatzy #wr jasmine #wr jasmine chatzy #wr chatzy #wr group chatzy #gun use tw #wickedswriting

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princesssarcastia · 4 years

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in any other world (aka four ways veronica mars’ life could have ended up)

because i CANNOT get these ideas out of my head, goddammit. whatever god gave me the plot bunny gene needs to take it back now. anyway welcome to my veronica mars kick, 2020 edition. it’s another long one, boys, and readmores are for suckers.

1. just remember me when we used to be friends

them telling other people stories about each other (gia and whats-his-face wait another four weeks to kill carrie; logan is a thousand miles away with the best alibi in the world. a movie!canon au

Cobb’s paranoia holds out an extra five weeks, and Logan is already on deployment when he and Gia sneak into Carrie Bishop’s home and electrocute her in her bathtub. A troubled, drugged up starlet’s death is ruled a particularly gruesome suicide, and word doesn’t reach Logan until well after it happens.

Something about it doesn’t sit right with him, no matter that he predicted she’d end up here; something about it itches in the back of his mind, makes him want to reach for a phone he didn’t take with him when he shipped out and pull up a number he hasn’t dialed in nearly ten years.

But that’s ridiculous. He writes it off as nostalgic product of a reunion he didn’t even go to, that he’s sure she didn’t, either, and gets back to work. He’ll go brood and break down about Carrie when he’s off duty later, and let one of his squad-mates put a hand on his shoulder, and then move on.

He lets go of, Veronica, I need your help, and ignores the bone-deep certainty that she’d drop everything for that, after years and continents spanned and blood shed.

—

Meeting The Piznarskis is a surreal glimpse into a normal upbringing; the kind no one Veronica knew growing up ever got. They’re kind, maternal and paternal people who unreservedly love their son and live simple lives.

And they seem to really like Veronica, which is good. Piz keeps giving her beaming looks whenever his parents turn away, and her heart crawls deeper inside her in shame because all this clearly means so much more to him than it does to her.

She is keeping polite-society smiles on her face and using her tame, Normal Veronica anecdotes to entertain them instead of really opening up. Is this how everyone is with their in-laws?

These people will never know me, she thinks distantly as Mrs. Piznarski lays a hand on her arm and smiles as she inquires after her years at Stanford, and it is a comfort because she doesn’t want them to. Doesn’t want to see their normal bubble pierced by the mud smeared all over her real history.

She starts keeping her polite-society smile on face in the apartment with Piz, too.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

—

She catches the tail end of Bonnie DeVille’s funeral on Hollywood Access at her favorite deli. The volume is cranked up, probably so the guy at the counter can hear it over the crush of customers during lunch hour. Which means that Veronica catches every unfortunate second of their coverage, vaguely familiar faces in the crowd drawing her attention back again and again.

Mentally giving up as a way to pass the time, Veronica compares faces to ten year old memories.

Dick, Gia Goodman, Luke Holderman...some vaguely familiar schmuck...

She doesn’t even realize who she’s looking for until the correspondent mentions that DeVille’s last boyfriend, Logan Echolls, son of the late Aaron Echolls, is not in attendance because his current tour of duty with the Navy started just days before her death.

God, Logan. Veronica bites back any kind of expression at the thought of Logan learning that his girlfriend committed suicide while high off her mind. Even the media circus at the funeral is a bitterly familiar echo of what happened when Lynn died.

The thought of him lingers all the way to the front of the line and her brisk walk back to the office, until she finds her hands hovering over keys, debating whether she should look him up. Then one of the partners walks briskly past and she jerks back to reality, where she’s working through the rest of her lunch to keep the edge on the other new hires.

But the impulse lingers, long enough that she resigns herself to ignoring it until a new obsession seizes that confined part of herself she shut away that first year at Stanford.

—

Veronica refuses to go back to Neptune for the reunion, but after Truman-Mann jumps at the chance to hire her, she splurges on two round-trip tickets to New York for Wallace and Mac, figuring meeting up was the whole reason they were so gung-ho about it in the first place.

She really doesn’t make it out to California very often, let alone Neptune. After her disastrous freshman year at Hearst, Veronica jumped at every chance to step further away from the crash-and-burn-site. The only reason she didn’t lose them is because Mac understood that impulse, and Wallace is a better man than everyone she’s ever met.

But god, skype and Facebook and phone calls don’t measure up to the real thing. Veronica throws her arms around them right there in the airport and fights the inexplicable urge to tear up.

Something between nostalgia and longing wells in her chest as they sit shoulder to shoulder with her in the back of a cab, chatting about their lives in Neptune. She crushes it ruthlessly and fires back with tame, hollowed out stories from work and Piz, and smiles all the way through.

Her father was so proud when she told him. My daughter, the big shot New York lawyer. Veronica smiled all the way through that, too, and had an extra glass of wine that night where she derided her own inability to put two and two together.

Fortune 500 companies. Frivolous lawsuits. Disappear before they ever make it to a courtroom.

She knew exactly what she was doing, going into corporate law. The smart thing, right thing, the thing that paid her student loans and kept her out of the oh-so-tempting mud surrounding criminal law. She knew it would be contracts and smug rich people and ruthless competition.

But that didn’t stop her growing guilt—no, not guilt, shame—as she helped further grind the little guy into the dirt. As she poked holes in probably-legitimate sexual harassment suits and helped companies with more money than they needed break contracts with smaller service industries and...

All that keeps her going in the disgustingly large paycheck she gets every two weeks and the fact that she does corporate law for filthy rich companies, not defense law for filthy rich people.

(Though that doesn’t stop her from waking up gasping, one night, after dreaming she’s back in that courtroom, with Aaron Echolls’ goddamn face smiling smugly at her as she tears Logan’s and her father’s and her own testimony to pieces, as she gets him out of Lily’s murder and his attempt on her life. Piz rolls over in his sleep, breathing quietly, and she slips out of bed. )

She and Piz treat them to dinner that night, and she enjoys it once she gets over the childish jealousy that she has to share these two people she adores with Piz, who she also adores, dammit.

Their apartment has an office/guest bedroom and a separate living room, so when they get back near midnight (we’re way too old to be out this late, Wallace joke-groans, and Piz laughs back) Wallace heads to bed, and Piz does, too, after she waves him off from helping her set up the couch for Mac.

They share a look, and Veronica lets a smile pull her face wide as they have the same thought. The sheets and pillow get piled up in a chair as Veronica quietly retrieves two beers from the fridge and plops down on the sofa next to Mac.

“Cheers,” Mac says, clinking her bottle against Veronica’s, and they both take long pulls.

Veronica sighs more heavily than she means to and lets some unknown tension flow out with the air. After a long, comfortable silence, Mac nudges her with her knee.

“How are you, really?” Mac asks pointedly. Veronica lets her head fall against the back of the couch and grumbles. No, she didn’t miss the glances Mac and Wallace kept sharing all night when they thought she wasn’t looking, but when Wallace went to bed she thought they’d somehow agreed not to pry.

Now she realizes they just decided to be nice and not tag-team her, which is somehow worse.

“I met Piz’s parents a few weeks ago,” Veronica says, still looking at the ceiling, but even as she says it she knows it’s not the right place to start. A symptom, not the disease.

Mac hums at her, listening but not interrupting, so Veronica takes the chance to start again. Her head lolls to the side to examine Mac, really pin her with her stare.

“Did you ever imagine you’d end up working at Kane Software?” Veronica asks.

Mac catches her stare and raises her eyebrows, clearly recognizing it for what it is, and pauses to really thing about it. “You mean, when I was scamming 09ers that deserved it for their money and helping you crack cases like a budding hacktivist?” She says with a wry look. “No. But I knew I was going to do something with computers, and terrible reputation of their founding family aside, Kane Software is a pretty good place to do that.”

Now it’s Veronica’s turn to hum noncommittally.

“I never had your sense of justice, though,” Mac continues. “I just enjoyed getting swept up playing Q to your Bond.”

Silence falls again as Veronica mulls over what to say next. She’s avoided putting her finger on this feeling for months and months, because new, normal, successful Veronica Mars is not supposed to...to...

To miss sticking her hands in the mud.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself,” she says finally, forcing herself to keep meeting Mac’s eyes. To get a second opinion.

“Yeah,” Mac agrees. “I looked up the kinds of cases Truman-Mann takes when you told me you got the job.” ‘Looked up’ for Mac doesn’t mean ‘googling;’ Veronica grimaces lightly at the implication. “It was, uh, surprising.”

Veronica turns away when her eyes start to burn with that now-familiar shame, taking another long drink. “Well, it pays the bills. Keeps me out of trouble.” Another drink. “They tell me if I keep up the good work, I can make junior partner in four years. Three, even, if I snuff the competition.”

Mac nudges her again and Veronica starts to fiddle with the label on her beer. “My dad hasn’t worried about me in four years,” she admits softly. “He’s proud of me, Mac. Proud that I got out, proud that I don’t ruin people’s lives anymore.”

“Hey,” she says gently, “You didn’t ruin peoples lives.” Veronica lets her incredulous face speak for her. “Well, no one who didn’t deserve it,” she amends.

“I ruined his life,” she says sharply. “I got you and Wallace in trouble, I lost—” she bites that off. “I wasn’t happy. I saw dark corners everywhere. That’s not a healthy way to live, Mac.”

“No,” she agrees. “But was that because of your cases, or was it leftover from the long string of traumatizing bullshit in high school?”

Veronica takes another drink. Getting a psychology degree at Stanford was a fun exploration of all the ways the previous four years of her life were fucked to hell, and fucked her to hell. And she did seriously work on her trust issues, though she stopped short of going to therapy, because that was never gonna happen.

Mac goes in for the kill. “Are you happy now?”

Veronica, hyper-aware of Piz in their shared bedroom scant feet away, doesn’t reply, and Mac lets her. But they both know what the answer is.

—

She passes the bar exam with flying colors; a 320 that makes her father beam with pride once she takes the time to explain the scoring rubric to him. Piz kisses her cheek and brings her flowers when he gets off work.

It takes more effort than she’s willing to admit to ignore the fact that she scored so much higher in criminal law than contract law and civil procedure.

—

It takes her three more months to gather the courage to break things off with Piz. He’s smart enough to notice that she waited until their shared lease was up, and that leads to a fight more vicious than any they’ve ever had; a final nail the coffin of their relationship.

Apparently she’s cold-hearted, mercenary; unwilling to open up and share her inner life with him. Unable to commit to anyone.

But if I did that, you never would have loved me, Veronica almost says, biting it back at the very last second because the last thing she needs to release that knowledge for circulation.

She methodically packs up her clothes, the scant few knick-nacks and numerous pictures spread around in a facsimile of personal touches. Her new apartment was lined up before she even spoke to Piz, who later scathingly rejects her careful offer to pay for half of next month’s rent while he looks for a place.

In the end, it take three days to dismantle their year-and-a-half-long relationship completely. He’ll certainly get all their mutual acquaintances in the aftermath, who were always more his friends than hers, leaving her with no one but the service people at her regular take out places and a handful of Columbia friends in the city to talk to.

But as she unloads her things into her new space, all the emotion she can dredge up is a faint relief, and fainter satisfaction at having her own space for the first time in her life. That’s it.

Cold-hearted.

She pours herself a shot of tequila and knocks it back, in the interest of dislodging any hint of feeling she might be repressing unconsciously. Fiddles with her phone and considers texting Mac, or Wallace, or her Dad, to let them know—because she’d done this, new address and all, without mentioning a word to them. She’d even changed her paper subscriptions, but didn’t say a word to the three most important people in her life.

God, at this rate Piz will probably mention it to Wallace before she does.

All another shot gets her is her hands hovering over a keyboard again, still resisting the urge to look Logan up, to investigate he new life in some morbidly curious impulse.

Kids these days call it Facebook stalking, but back in her day it was just plain old stalking.

And she doesn’t do that anymore. Right?

—

Veronica channels her excess energy and time in a post-Piz existence into her work, and it earns her a “keep up the good work” from Gayle Buckley. A nice word from one of the two female senior partners at their firm makes her all warm and fuzzy for the rest of the day.

But that dissipates as she remembers exactly what got her that compliment; playing asshole intimidating lawyer muscle for another “frivolous” sexual harassment suit at a fortune 500 company.

This time, she’s sure the company man did it, but that doesn’t matter in the face of all his money and scary lawyers. The woman quietly folds for literal hundreds of thousands of dollars less than she should be entitled to.

That earns her another night in, drinking more wine than she really should be on a work night.

Are you happy now? Mac asks in her head, and Veronica takes another drink.

—

She exchanges nods with the man at the corner store as she lines bottles on the counter; they’re familiar to each other at this point. It’s late, even for a hard-working New York Lawyer in her late twenties, but she polished off everything two nights ago and somehow can’t face going to sleep sober.

It’s not until she settles back into her couch with her second drink of the night that ice rushes down her spine in spiraling shivers. Veronica freezes with the glass halfway to her mouth.

The blood rushes out of her face in a way that makes her feel cold. An exhausted cold, a mix of expressions she remembers on her Dad and her Mom’s faces growing up.

Her hands shake as she sets it down with a decisive clink on the coffee table.

I will not turn into my mother, Veronica thinks, still reeling with realization. Not even for Normal.

It’s close to 1:30 here, so everyone in Neptune will be sound asleep; she can’t stomach waking them up for this. And there’s no one in the city Veronica is comfortable calling up at this hour.

Faintly, she recalls hands hovering over a keyboard, and her chest aches even more.

If this were a movie, she’d probably go pour out her glass, and the bottles she bought tonight; make some kind of vow. Sign up for meetings.

Instead, she gets up and collapses into bed as-is, barely remembering to set the alarm on her phone before she does.

—

After that she tentatively reaches out to people from Stanford and Colombia, desperate for connections to ground her and soothe the gaps she only now realizes she’s been filling with alcohol.

Just a few Facebook messages at first, but nearly all of them reach back. Veronica has a weak moment of tearing up and rereading some of the replies in her inbox after a particularly hard day at Truman-Mann.

In another few weeks, she and a few people from Colombia have mutually coaxed one another into a standing lunch date, risking that relentless workplace competition for a chance at real human connection with people who won’t throw a fit if they have to run out of the restaurant unexpectedly.

She orders water with the meal and laughs for real at least twice.

—

Her last straw is a predictable one. That final push, the leg stuck out to trip her so she faceplants back into the mud, like she wasn’t two seconds from deep diving into it on purpose.

I need your help, Veronica, one of her friends from Stanford says. And that, as they say, was that.

—

Lilly laughs in Veronica’s ear as she picks her way through the crowd, for the first time in a long time.

Fleet week. In New York, not San Francisco, but she laughs back all the same.

His posture is different. Clearly, there’s something to be said for military training. But it’s not that he’s standing taller, or with more confidence; despite the presence to him, he seems...lighter, like all that weight on his shoulder finally got shucked off.

It takes him a few minutes to sense her gaze, and she savors them, watching Logan Echolls in the wild. Satisfying her inner stalker.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and his face melts into that boyish grin she remembers, softened with age and warm, just for her. She smiles back, delighted, and waves.

Yeah, she looked up him. Eventually.

2. bloody knuckles, longing for home

logan, veronica, and weevil gather like fate after aaron echolls gets off for lilly’s murder; and decide to do something about it. and then flee neptune, because the perfect murder doesn’t exist.

Veronica lets herself into Logan’s room at the Grand with the key she swiped from Duncan before he fled the country. Steam pools out from the cracked bathroom door, so she drops her back on the couch and heads for it, making no effort to conceal her presence.

His head is bowed between his shoulders, arms tense as he leans against the vanity. He breathes out sharply, almost a laugh, and doesn’t move.

“Chlamydia, huh,” he says roughly.

“Immunity, huh,” she fires back, but her heart isn’t in it.

“You know he’s staying here?” He asks, still not looking at her, but tension pools in his bare back. Condensation starts to run in rivulets down the mirror. “He cornered me outside the elevators, earlier. Threatened to cut me off. No more mister nice father.”

Her fingers delicately trace one of the myriad scars that cuts across his spine, and then another, and another, and Logan lets her. She maps out sins of the father visited on the son, and makes a decision.

Aaron Echolls will get his justice in his own way.

“Room 619,” she says, and his head rises.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

—

Mac does extensive research on the Cayman Islands, just for fun, since Cassidy mentioned his father holds some of his assets there.

Veronica and Weevil go out for a drink.

Logan flirts with the woman on the night shift at the Neptune Grand’s front desk.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan go out for a drink.

Keith and his daughter spend the days between the end of finals and graduation decidedly not talking about it, but he thinks she’s taking it as well as she can. Almost surprisingly well. Veronica finds the tickets to New York he has stashed away.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan and Wallace go out for a drink. It becomes a regular thing, grabbing beers or tequila or whatever they can get their hands on and sitting on a darkening beach every other night or so. Sometimes the hush of their voices run underneath the waves. Sometimes silence rings out.

Deputy Leo intercepts a mother and two boys who come into the station to make a witness report, but they can’t seem to find what they’re looking for in a book of the usual suspects.

Wallace forgets a pen in the coffee cup on the desk outside Clarence Wiedman’s office, when he goes to visit his mother at work.

Dick and Logan plan a blowout bash to celebrate graduation at the Grand.

Cliff McCormick brushes up on inheritance law in addition to juggling six other cases.

Logan books a plane to the east coast for after graduation.

—

After the graduation ceremony is over, half their graduating class descends on the Grand, filling the lobby and conference space rented out. Some of them even make their way to the penthouse, Logan throwing open his door with a flourish.

But something about it just doesn’t feel right. So Logan, Veronica, Wallace, and Weevil grab drinks and head out the front door, letting everyone see them leave for the beach. Dick loudly complains to anyone who will listen about how Logan has been doing this every night for two weeks, like he’s got a standing appointment to hang out with narks and gangbangers.

Veronica calls her father and leaves a voicemail, letting him know she’s staying out on the beach with her friends for a while longer, in case he makes it back before she does.

Mac stays in the lobby with Cassidy the whole time. Kendall Casablancas exits the hotel a little after midnight.

Weevil and Wallace stay out on the beach all night; the Xterra, which they all took together, sharing space for the last time, does not once move.

When housekeeping make their way through the hotel the next morning, there is a do not disturb sign on room 619. It stays there all day, and night, and day, and night, and day again, and night again, until they start to pass it by automatically.

Veronica and her father leave for New York. Logan boards a plane.

—

When the news breaks about Aaron Echolls’ death, neither of them are in Neptune. Logan arranges for a private service in absentia, and sends Cliff McCormick as his representative to the will reading, which the executor of Aaron’s estate takes with more grace than Trina.

His assets are divided evenly between his two children, in addition to the existing trusts tied to age.

Cliff makes a brief stop at a coffee shop on his way back to his office, and says a few words to that computer geek friend of Veronica’s he catches sight of. He forgets some of his notes on her table when he leaves.

—

Keith Mars comes back to Neptune alone. The investigation into Aaron Echolls’ death stutters, stalls, stops. Eventually, a harassed medical examiner admits it’s possible he could have maybe committed suicide.

—

Halfway across the world, a sweet and mischievous little girl named Lilly grows up with a kind, doting father, and an Aunt and Uncle whom she adores, whenever they’re in the country to see her.

Twice every year, her father and Aunt Veronica and Uncle Logan share a toast, even if only by skype. Once on her Aunt Lilly’s birthday, and once on some day in late may.

3. all things grow

veronica mars, special agent with the fbi and logan lester, english professor, love each other well with the strength of decades, and still impress the hell out of everyone who meets them. the one where veronica went straight to stanford after the whole cassidy debacle, and never quite lost the knack of investigating but with some distance from the neptune cesspool, learned to do it without ruining lives, her life.

Everyone knows Professor Lester is a jackass—with tenure, so he can’t be reprimanded for it. But everyone also knows Professor Lester has the best analytical mind in the English department, and all the brightest stars in the Lit program come out of his courses. He’s not bad to look at, either; the planes of his face are so sharp you just might cut yourself on them, and his eyes are always glittering like he knows something you don’t. And he really doesn’t dress like a forty-year-old college professor, which doesn’t hurt.

Only the simultaneously lucky and unfortunate bastards who load their schedules up with him, or worse yet, get him as their advisor, ever see those planes soften.

His office is tastefully decorated, for those few English majors who know enough about interior decoration to say so. It’s also surprisingly devoid of books to belong to a man who seemingly memorized every text he’s ever taught. Pulling quotes and passages out of thin air is a particular talent of his.

There’s only one personal touch in the whole room, beyond the probably-expensive furniture: a picture of himself and a blonde woman holding a pit bull, on a beach so clean it can’t be in New York. In it, her eyes glitter the exact way Professor Lester’s usually do, but his have melted into something infinitely more tender.

Very rarely, at the end of the afternoon or occasional evening class, the particularly observant students notice a blonde woman in a black pantsuit slip into the back, legs extended, ankles and arms crossed. She never says anything. Just follows Professor Lester’s sharp movements at the front of the room.

None of them are trained to notice the outline of her holster, or the way her gaze actually darts around the room, tracking movement and exits, though it always comes back to rest on Logan.

—

Special Agent Mars is always fun at the Agency’s mixers and dinner parties and fundraisers. Seeing her out of the sleek suit some of her coworkers suspect she was born in is all the more jarring for her ease in formalwear. A real chameleon, they murmur, as she flips a switch and becomes more of a tittering socialite than a federal agent.

But the real fun is when she drags her partner with her. Neither of them wears rings, but then, many agents don’t, so whether they’re married or not is up for debate. He’s her standing date for every function, though, so in the end it doesn’t matter.

Veronica Mars has a rapier wit. Paired with her degrees in psychology and law and penchant for cataloguing every detail about a person at a glance, it’s safe to say she’s been verbally skinning people up one side and down the other since Quantico.

When her husband opens his mouth, it’s clear he shares her talent for sparring with words.

And watching them talk to each other is like following a tennis match—or perhaps boxing; trading barbs like endearments.

The best times is when some stuffy higher up with more ego than sense tries to glad-hand one of the most promising agents of the decade, and leaves the conversation head three sizes smaller and feeling vaguely emasculated.

—

Veronica learned the hard way in high school not to put too much of herself into her cases; learned to save some for her father, and for Logan, and for her. But every so often one just stick in her craw and she can’t help sinking her teeth into it.

Her partner is too good to blink when her edges are sharper than usual, but Veronica can tell he notices.

And the man they’re tracking sure as hell does, too. There’s something magnetic about Special Agent Veronica Mars on your trail, and this asshole is responding to it. Leaving her...gifts. Messages at crime scenes.

Verr-onicaaaaaaa, an old demon slithers in one ear and out the other.

When she starts to respond in kind, her supervisor removes her from the case and puts her on unpaid leave. It’s in New York, though, and Veronica knows herself. Knows who she is when she looks in the mirror.

Logan kisses the tip of her nose and thanks her for scheduling her crazy after his semester is finished. They pack together, trading soft looks and touches as they maneuver seamlessly around each other. Veronica calls Keith.

She silences the voice that sounds like teenage Veronica hissing that she’s running away from the fight. That’s not her anymore. And she’s not alone in this; if she didn’t trust her partner she wouldn’t have made it six months in the agency. If she didn’t trust Logan, she would have died at seventeen.

Their visits to Neptune are rarer than her father would like, but just enough to soothe that part of them both that comes from here, that lives in every McMansion and dark alley and seedy bar and raging club and deserted beach.

Neptune is in their blood. Veronica wouldn’t wish this place on her worst enemy; but they are akin, she and it.

While Logan pulls his board and wetsuit out of storage and practically moves onto the beach, she does the usual tour. Eli’s shop is doing well, and Valentina is adorable in her little oil stained overalls as she helps her father. Wallace still eats lunch at their table, after all these years, and she smiles reflexively back at him like she did the first day they met. Mac is still selling her soul to the devil for more money than god, running their software development with an iron fist.

Cliff quirks an eyebrow at her, and drops hints about cases he needs help with like other men his age drop little candies into children’s hands. She rolls her eyes, but glances over the files anyway, and spends a couple nights taking pictures and video and surprising him with it in court.

It feels...nice. Nostalgic, but not addictive. Just some legal favors for an old friend who never failed to scratch her back when she scratched his.

Her forced leave isn’t up yet, and her partner says they’ve hit a frustrating but not definitive dead end back home, so she considers driving to San Diego to drop in on Leo with a pizza, for old time’s sake.

Then the man she was tracking in New York finally shows his face in Neptune. He followed Veronica back here, to her home.

Oh, if that isn’t the worst, and last, mistake he ever makes.

Her friends, her family, closes ranks. The town closes like a lobster trap for people stupid enough to come after Veronica Mars on her home turf. By the time her partner and replacement make it out to the west coast, he’s beaten and bloody and wrapped up in evidence like a Christmas tree in Sheriff Lamb’s lockup.

The Sheriff takes the credit for the arrest; there is no mention of old biker buddies of Eli’s, or information passed along from Cliff and Wallace, or systems infiltrated by Mac. Of tasers and favors.

Veronica is cool as a cucumber when they call to tell her about it, while she’s out to lunch with an old friend. Her partner is suspicious, but there’s no evidence. And frankly, he’s not sure even Veronica Mars could have collared this guy without the resources of the Bureau behind her.

Deputy Sacks shakes his head in disbelief that people are still falling for that after all this time.

They go back to New York. Life goes on.

—

Neither of them went to the ten year reunion, still too fresh off the horrors of high school.

But they do go to the twenty year reunion, and win the shit out of it. Not that they care, beyond vague petty satisfaction at the faces of those few people who do. They leave early, have dinner with Keith, drinks with Wallace and Mac, and fly back to New York the next morning.

Some infinitesimal weight neither of them realized still existed was off their shoulders by the time they touch down in their home of fifteen years.

4. ten stoplights bleeding out

the one where keith mars dies in that plane crash, and veronica mars takes over mars investigations; veronica mars never escapes the insidious pull of neptune; and after ten plus years of money shots and favors, has perfected handing down her own particular brand of justice—and revenge. logan still joins the navy, but always finds his way back to her.

it’s a story Eli’s heard a thousand times before, living in this town. a story he’s lived himself, once or twice, though ever since he met Jade he’s done his upmost to keep his nose clean—to be that better version of himself she somehow managed to see in him.

the cops have it all wrong, lazy, corrupt, blaming it on the first brown kid they lay eyes on, planted evidence, ruined lives, etc.

there’s nothing he can do for them.

there’s nothing he can do for them. But V always did love referrals.

“You need to go see the Sheriff,” Eli tells the kid, still hoping that one day the nickname will catch on just so he can see her expression. His face crumples in heated confusion, because he just spent twenty minutes laying out how “Sheriff” Lamb was an asshole, but Eli smirks and jerks his head toward his car. (Car, not bike)

They climb in, and drive to one of the last places in town holding out hope against gentrification—the 09ers he went to high school with would’ve called it seedy.

He still has a key to her offices after that stint working as her secretary for a few months when she was in college—though it’s not the same key. Veronica Mars is too paranoid to keep the same locks for too long. Never does catch her changing them out, just reaches in his pocket some days to fiddle with his key ring and fights a smile when his fingers find unfamiliar teeth.

But today, her doors are open. They chime as Eli guides the kid inside, and gestures toward the old couch still sitting against the wall.

The receptionist’s desk is empty again. He wonders vaguely what the last one did to earn the brush off. She never manages to find what she’s looking for in an employee (either herself or her father, Eli’s never figured out which, but either option makes him want to clasp her shoulder).

He raps his knuckles on her office gently and pushes it open without waiting for an answer.

She looks up sharply, her resting face before she registers his presence that special kind of pinched that means Logan had damn well better be at the end of his current tour of duty.

“Weevil,” she lets out a little breath and some of her tension. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Yeah, we missed you at dinner last week.”

She shrugs. “Life of a PI; there’s always another stake-out to ruin your night life.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at her. After a decade and a half of knowing Veronica Mars, he’s more than familiar with her self-destructive tendencies.

He’s vaguely grateful she’s pulling back from him before she unsheaths her paranoid claws and scratches everyone in reach, even friends like him; but mostly, it puts an ache in his chest that makes him want to hug Jade close and kiss Valentina on the forehead.

“Whatever, vato. Just because you’re a successful businessman now doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t fight to keep the lights on.” Her lips twist wryly.

And now he feels sort of bad, because she never charges his referrals full price for her services. But favors are part of her gig, the way she tells it—keeps her in information and the occasional backup.

“Speaking of,” he starts, and she leans back in her chair and throws her feet up on the desk in a self-satisfied manner, one after the other, “I’ve got a Sheriff Lamb special in the waiting room for you.”

“Let me guess,” she drawls, “rich ‘victim’,” she pairs it with air-quotes, “planted evidence, and a timeline that makes no goddamn sense?”

“Got it in one,” he says tiredly, suddenly exhausted with the never-ending Neptune narrative.

“Send him in,” she says immediately, pulling her legs back and flipping through the one of the endless files that populate her life.

He hesitates at the door; once he hands off the kid, it becomes a case, and Veronica will tune out everything else that matters. And Eli owes it to her to ask, to give a shit.

“When’s he back?” He asks softly.

Veronica’s hands slow, tension pouring back into her frame. “Four more weeks,” she answers, clearly unwilling to further the conversation anymore.

“Yeah, well, make sure you remember to drag his ass to dinner with us then. Valentina misses his stupid impressions.”

She rolls her eyes, and he shakes his head and leans out of the doorway to gesture to the kid, and that’s that. Veronica Mars is on the case, and somewhere across Neptune, a familiar shiver just went down Don Lamb’s spine.

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