#n chs n relationships to have been more developed and consistent n not have so many gaps to leave imagination n nostalgia

[metabolizemotions]

Maybe Station 19 was like an experimental cubist painting.

There were too many stories to be told and too many people trying to tell them, from too many perspectives, with too many styles…

Each viewer saw a different picture.

It was the show that tried to capture the zeitgeist and represent the under-represented. Also the show that often struggled. With the tones and textures. With representing w/o tokenizing. B/w laughing with and laughing at. B/w realism and romanticizing. B/w deliberate and arbitrary. B/w educating and entertaining. B/w what they consider profane and sacrosanct.

At times, it touched our hearts deeply. At times, it frustrated us to no end.

Not every story was given the respect, sensitivity and intricacy it was due.

One moment could lead to a profound understanding of an aspect of a lived life some of us had never known; while the next could be a moment that was beyond confounding - about an aspect of ourselves that made us feel slighted, diminished and even erased.

It had often been an exercise in empathy to find our common humanity at the intersectionality of stories. Yet, the scale of empathy often skewed too far in favor of some characters with the differing standards, narrative frames and plot armors. Ironically yet reasonably turning people off these very characters they wanted people to root for. A persistent dissonance and disconnect.

But it was also the show that didn’t shy away from the ugly, the raw, the uncomfortable and messy parts of our shared human experience. The tribulations of oppression. The perils of ambition. The tests of morality. The trials of friendship and love. That we would make mistakes, but we could also make amends. That we're not defined by our worst. That our best lives could still be in front of us despite the current struggles. That sometimes life sucks but having your people with you makes it more bearable.

I would think it an interesting journey for the diversity of people behind, on, and in front of the screen. The evolving stories, evolving characters, evolving storytellers, an evolving fandom - all amidst an evolving media landscape.

It was probably not an easy show to make. The show had a bewilderingly lack of support from abc or shondaland. Diversity seemed to be both good for promotion (when there was any) and the reason for the prejudice against it.

Just as it had not been an easy show to watch - so biased, inconsistent and self-contradictory. Like when they kept telling us about the family spirit and deep friendships yet somehow spent more time showing otherwise. Or when the writing of systemic sexism was somehow inherently sexist.

Personally, I don’t think characters belong to the writers alone. Besides the usual constraints, the characters were often adjusted back and forth to fit the plots. We’ve also learnt how network execs' dislikes, writers’ personal experiences were factored into the stories. I fully respect the writers’ artistic rights. But actors who embodied the characters for years have a unique understanding too. Viewers also have their personal takes about what were true to characters. It's ok to agree to disagree.

There had been sparks of brilliance, but often extinguished too soon. It has been confounding how the greys-verse did not capitalise on its vast potential, esp. S19. Even while both shows share a show-runner. Grey's anatomy could have lent its scale while Station 19 could have injected renewed energy back into its mothership. Both shows could have been better for it.

Although the characters have the foundation of distinct and interesting backstories, their development often did not fully utilise the narrative potential and the talents of the cast. I’m sure the crew was also competent and hardworking. But somehow some elements b/w n within the shows seemed to just cancel each other out instead of amplifying their impact. IMO 704 and 709 were a few exceptions.

But I'll always be glad S19 existed and we got a S7. I believe they had tried their best to wrap up and give closure to everyone invested in the show. I truly appreciated the hard work given the circumstances even when I personally didn't agree with some takes.

In the end, I really do want to remember it as the show with heart, the show that made us laugh and cry and the show that tried. The show that's unique - in both its merits and flaws. I’ll definitely miss the characters. One last time - 19!

[jingabitch]

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell ch.4

SUMMARY: when you were ten, taehyung adopted you and gave you a home. now that you’re eighteen, the sudden change in your scent perplexes and confounds him.

PAIRING: wolf hybrid!tae x human!reader (all bts members are hybrids)

WARNINGS: talk of ownership (reader is tae’s pet human) | (eventual) daddy long legs syndrome | angst | angst so fucking much angst | mentions of prostitution (but not explicitly described) | reader is in a real bad situation | maybe don’t read if you’re sensitive

WORD COUNT: 10.5k

RATING: explicit

A/N: again, I am a liar because this story is still not complete. nevertheless, i hope you guys enjoy this! 

I don’t do tag lists, so please don’t ask.

Also, shoutout to my wonderful betas @knjkitten and @seoul9711 for going over this for me! yall are the greatest 💕

series index

Spring means spring showers. Usually that’s something Taehyung kind of enjoys, because it means the weather is getting warmer, and who doesn’t love curling up in bed on rainy mornings (or afternoons, or evenings)?

This spring, though, is different. The boys, after hearing Taehyung shamefully confess that he’d kicked you out, assuming that you’d head right over to one of them, had immediately torn into him for being an irresponsible owner. They were especially upset because he hadn’t told them the entire story, ashamed to let them know that he’d started a sexual relationship with his pet human and not ready to talk about the whole imprinting debacle. To them, he’d simply lost his cool over something petty and done something stupid.

Then they’d organized and strategized, planning to comb through Seoul to try and find you. It was a good thing that all of them were predator hybrids, with enhanced abilities to sniff you out. This rain, though… it was making things difficult, washing away your residual scent. It was bad enough that they were trying to track you two weeks after you’d gone missing, but it had been consistently raining this whole time, and that meant it would be next to impossible to track you down using your scent.

Spring showers meant another problem: no one was picnicking if it was raining. Well, it wasn’t like there were many anyway since it was still cold out – the boys assured you that during summer, they came in hordes – but between the tents and rented heaters, there were still people who came out sometimes, just to spend a little time outdoors once in a while. Hybrids were made sturdy, after all, and weren’t as susceptible to the cold as humans.

It was another week before Taehyung got to Hangang Park. A week of combing through every street, back alley and underground pass in the part of Seoul that he’d been assigned. At the very edge of Seoul, Hangang Park was one of the last places that they hadn’t looked and hope that they would find you was running low. You could be anywhere by now, perhaps having begged a ride or train ticket to another city even.

In the week that they’d been out looking for you, you’d been spending a lot of time inside with the boys. Since it was cold, all of you tended to huddle together in a puppy pile that was uncomfortably reminiscent of the big snuggle fests you’d enjoyed in the past with Taehyung and his bandmates. All the free time that all of you had meant that you spent a lot of time engaging in the only fun thing homeless poor people could afford, and you’d more than once thought sardonically that since you weren’t getting much food, it was a good thing you were getting so much protein.

After all that time spent apart, your reunion with Taehyung was almost anticlimactic. You’d squirmed free of Youngbae and Jiyong, who were currently napping, to go use the public restroom. When you were done, you were drying your hands on your shirt while walking out of the little hut that housed the toilets when you saw him. Or at least, someone who looked suspiciously like him from the back. He was wearing one of Taehyung’s favourite shirts, too, a long-sleeved silk button-down that you’d taken to and from the dry cleaners many times before.

For a second, it felt like time had stopped as you stared at the wide expanse of the man’s back. It took you back to a time that really wasn’t that long ago, but seemed like a different lifetime. So much had changed about you, and your life, and the way you lived.

Then the man started turning around and you realized that it was, indeed, Taehyung. Needless to say, you couldn’t leave quickly enough. You didn’t know why he was here, but you definitely didn’t want him seeing how low you’d sunk now. Swearing inwardly, you darted off, back to the tent behind a convenience store that was now your home.

When Taehyung first scented you, he almost thought he was hallucinating. It was just so unlikely to him that you would be here, of all places, when he’d all but lost hope of finding you ever again. It wasn’t until he turned around that he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a figure running away, and realized that it was, indeed, you. Immediately, he gave chase, yelling your name so you’d turn around.

Instead, you just ran faster, practically diving back into the tent where the other boys were and zipping it up tight. Daesung stirred, holding a hand out to you. “What’s up?” he slurred. You took his hand and cuddled close to his side, not sure how to explain things and just hoping that Taehyung would leave. Why was he here, anyway? He should be busy right now with promoting their comeback album; it wasn’t a good time for the band to be picnicking.

“Y/n!” Taehyung was standing right outside the tent now, and you closed your eyes stubbornly, tucking your face into Daesung’s chest. He’d been absently stroking your hair, but when he heard Taehyung, he propped himself up on his elbow.

“It sounds like someone’s looking for you,” he pointed out rather unnecessarily, raising a brow at you. You rolled your eyes at him in response.

“Y/n, please, let’s go home!” Taehyung continued, and you groaned, turning onto your belly and burying your face in your hands.

Jiyong, who was famously grouchy when he woke up, snarled as he unzipped the tent. “Who are you, and what the fuck do you want?!” he growled.

Taehyung blinked, slightly surprised at the hostility. “Uh, is Y/n-ssi here?” In the unexpected situation, his speech became polite.

Seunghyun came up behind Jiyong, frowning. He’d developed something of a soft spot for you – well, as much as was possible, anyway, when all of you were scrounging for survival. “What’s it to you?” he asked rudely.

“Uh, I’d like to speak to her, if possible?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you objected. You had no interest in anything he could say to you at this point. Was he here to scream at you again? That seemed like overkill, all things considered, but since there was nothing else you could imagine, it remained the most likely scenario in your mind. You didn’t want him seeing you like this, either. If he was going to hate you, you’d rather he at least remember you the way you’d been as a pet, not as a homeless stray.

“Y/n, please.” The tone of his voice gave you pause – it was weary and sad, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't stop yourself from wanting to comfort him. You'd spent half your life attuned to his every need and it was difficult to turn that off suddenly.

With a reluctant sigh, you pushed past Jiyong and Seunghyun, who were blocking the entrance. "What is it?" you asked. You tried not to make eye contact with Taehyung - he'd always been perceptive, and you didn't want him staring into your soul again, afraid of what he might find there.

“Y/n… please come home,” Taehyung pleaded. With you standing in front of him, he could see properly the toll that the past three weeks had on you. You’d lost a lot of weight and your jawline was sharper than it had ever been, you looked tired and messy, your skin was starting to break out due to lack of proper nutrition and access to skincare products, and you smelled… not that great, which wasn’t a surprise since you’d had about two showers in the last three weeks.

Still, you crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and looked away. “I don’t want to,” you objected. You could still hear his harsh words ringing in your ears, but more than that, the shame you felt at encouraging your unusual relationship when you should have stopped it was weighing heavily on you, and you didn’t want to go back and face that.

“Y/n-ie, please? I know I was mean and awful, and I’m sorry about that. Please come home,” he tried again, but you refused to even look at him.

“Stop it, leave me alone,” you whispered, hugging yourself protectively.

Finally, his shoulders slumped. He couldn’t handle being the cause of your distress anymore, even if he did think that you would be better off back at home with him. “Okay,” he accepted, his voice quiet and dejected. “I’ll go if that’s what you really want, but you’re welcome to come home any time, okay?”

You nodded stiffly, waiting for him to leave.

When he turned away disappointedly and walked off, you turned back to the boys to find all four of them staring at you. “What?” you asked slightly defensively.

“Who was that, baby?” Youngbae asked.

“Uh, it was my previous owner.”

“And he wanted to take you home?”

“Uh, yeah?” More uncertainly this time, not sure where they were going with this.

“And you said no?” Jiyong butted in incredulously.

You shrank in on yourself at the volume and tone of his voice. “I don’t want to go back with him,” you almost whimpered, your hands bunching up the fabric of your shirt anxiously.

“Baby… why not?” Seunghyun asked.

Your mind stalled. You didn’t want to tell them the real reason, afraid that they would look at you differently or even kick you out of their group. “We… had a fight,” you said rather vaguely instead.

“And you’re still mad at him? Did he do something wrong?”

“Yes, he kicked me out,” you said pointedly. Wasn’t that enough?

“Baby… he clearly feels bad about that if he came to ask you to go home,” Daesung pointed out reasonably.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he kicked me out,” you grumbled petulantly. “What if he does it again? Then I’ll end up right back here.”

“And what if you do?” Seunghyun asked. “Even if he kicks you out again in a week, that’s a week that you get to spend with a roof over your head, and access to food and water.”

You blinked at Seunghyun. Out of all the things he could have said, that wasn’t really what you’d thought he would say, but it made sense somehow. Living on the streets was difficult. You hadn’t had a hot meal in three weeks, and even though the hunger pangs kept the nausea at bay, picking at hybrids’ half-eaten food wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time.

It must seem so shallow and ridiculous to these boys, who’d been living on the streets all their lives, that there was someone offering you a perfectly good home and you didn’t want it. Why? Because of your feelings? Ultimately, did that matter? You began to doubt yourself and your reasoning, wondering if you were being silly.

Still, your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the memories of Taehyung forcibly kicking you out of his house, and you gnawed on your lip uncertainly. Would it really be okay?

“Sweetie, it seems like there’s something more keeping you from wanting to go back.” Youngbae, ever the astute one, guessed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head slowly. It might seem tempting, but you didn’t know how they would react to hearing about your sexual relationship with your hybrid owner. You’d lost enough; you didn’t want to lose your new family too, especially when their protection was all that was keeping you from being out on the streets alone. The memory of the two nights you’d spent wandering around the streets of Seoul, lost and alone, were enough to keep your mouth shut out of caution and fear.

“That’s fair, but is it worth living like this?” he asked, gesturing towards the tent where the five of them had been living practically on top of each other.

“You live like this,” you objected. “We’ve been fine, haven’t we?” you continued, a little more uncertainly now. Were they just too polite to tell you that they were tired of you and wanted you to leave?

All of them exchanged glances, before turning back towards you, serious expressions on their faces. “Y/n… any blind fool can tell that you’re not made for this life,” Seunghyun began. “The rest of us were born on the streets and we know how to handle ourselves.”

“I know how to handle myself,” you protested, your hackles rising. Hadn’t you been doing your part to contribute to the group? Thinking about it too hard made you feel a little unsettled, like you were about to be booted out of another family, so you tilted your chin upwards in defiance.

Daesung stepped in, ever the peacemaker. “You’ve been doing really well, sweetie, but all of us can see how difficult this is for you,” he pointed out.

“What- what do you mean?”

“Well… your soft hands that have clearly never done heavy lifting, your fussiness about food, your general demeanor…” Jiyong started listing things that all of them had noticed over the past couple of weeks, only stopping when Seunghyun nudged him to be quiet.

“The point is… this life is clearly not suitable for you,” Seunghyun explained. “And even if things are bad between you and your owner right now, he’s willing to make an effort, and it seems like going back with him is the best thing for you.”

You bit your lip. “You really think so?”

“I think if you have to eat any more cold ramen noodles you’ll kill yourself,” Jiyong said dryly, and your cheeks heated, remembering the day that all you had to eat was cold, congealed half-eaten instant noodles. You thought you’d covered up your distaste, but apparently not. In your defense, it had been a soup ramen and the noodles had absorbed all the soup and gotten bloated and soggy.

“Okay,” you finally accepted. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Unexpectedly, it was Jiyong that came to hug you goodbye. “If anything goes wrong, you’ll always be welcome here,” he whispered, and you nodded, hugging him back. Even though you were pretty sure it was just because they enjoyed the convenience of having pussy on tap, you were still touched, your eyes starting to sting with tears that you refused to shed. As accepting as they’d been of you, you’d tried your best to avoid appearing weak and needy, and that wasn’t about to change.

It didn’t take long for you to find Taehyung – he was standing right near the entrance of the convenience store, smoking a shame cigarette. It was a habit he’d picked up in the military and quit when he left, but when he was stressed or upset, he still craved it. Right now, he was all of that and more.

You watched from around the side of the small building as he blew smoke out and flicked the end of the cigarette with his thumb, causing the ash to fall into the ashtray on top of the bin. The cigarette smoke was all he could smell, so he didn’t know you were there.

“Taehyung-oppa?” you called hesitantly, taking a few steps forward.

The way he whipped around to look at you was almost comical. “Y/n…?” he breathed, like he could hardly believe it. Hastily, his free hand came up to wipe his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

You came a little closer, still a little skittish. “You shouldn’t be smoking,” you said instead of answering.

He smiled a little sadly, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. “Well… probably not,” he agreed.

“It’s bad for your health,” you continued walking towards him as you chided him gently.

“It is,” he said, although his voice cracked on the second word. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, trying to stifle the sobs. If this was the last time he ever saw you, he didn’t want you to remember him as a sobbing mess. Dragging a deep, painful breath in through his lungs, he swallowed hard to compose himself.

“Taehyung-oppa…” When he next opened his eyes, you were standing right in front of him, in all your ethereal glory. Right now, it didn’t matter that you looked (and smelled) like you’d seen better days. He forced himself to drink in every feature, every bit of your essence and scent. If this was all he had for the rest of his life, it would be enough. When he’d adopted you, he made a promise that he would always take care of you. He’d failed once already, but if all he could do for you for the rest of his life was look out for you from afar, that would be enough.

The powers that be must be smiling down on him, though, because instead of disappearing, you plucked the cigarette from his hand and ground it out against the bin. “Let’s go home,” you said simply.

He didn’t know why or how you’d changed your mind, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Nodding mutely, he held out his hand, and miraculously, you placed yours in it, letting him lead you back to his car.

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In the enclosed space of the car, Taehyung could pick apart all the unfamiliar notes of your scent, and it was driving him insane. The sour note of hunger and misery made the wolf in him want to whine and nose at your throat, bathe you and feed you and cuddle you until it all went away. The scent of unfamiliar men blanketing you inspired a very different reaction, though. It made him want to snarl, to tear the men who’d dared touch his mate apart, and make sure their scent was covered by his. He didn’t even want to think about how deep the scent of other men had sunk into you after three weeks. It had been his fault, anyway.

The part of him that was human tamped down ruthlessly on his baser, animalistic instincts, knowing that he couldn’t give in to them when they’d been engineered to manipulate him. Now, these instincts that had been bred into him were preventing him from being a good, responsible owner and that was unacceptable. Being here with you was throwing the conflict between his wolf and human sides into sharp relief, and he was silent as he mulled over it.

You didn’t have anything to say to him either, and your car ride home was quiet. You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the side of the car, and whenever there was a red light, Taehyung would gaze upon your face silently until he had to drive again.

When you finally got home, you followed Taehyung silently up to the apartment, your head bowed. His heart clenched at how broken and sad you looked, and the thought that he was the cause of it made him want to clutch you to his chest and cry. He did none of that, however, merely opening the door and letting you step into the house before him. You hovered uncertainly in the entryway, not even toeing off your shoes, your hands clutching the hem of your shirt in a way he recognized as an anxious habit of yours.

He stepped into the apartment and held his hand out to you. “Come on,” he coaxed, much like the first time he’d brought you home. The parallel didn’t seem like it was lost on you, because the ghost of a smile played across your lips, but this time when you put your hand in his, it was stiff and tense. He didn’t say anything, though, closing his larger hand around yours and drawing you into the apartment. You were still hesitant, though, looking around nervously, and in that moment, if he could have given up his heart to make you feel better, he would have done it without any thought.

“Do you want to go take a shower while I get dinner ready?” he asked quietly, and you nodded after a second, slipping off into your room to grab your clothes, then into the shower. When he heard the shower come on, he texted the boys to let them know he’d found you and they could call off the search. He didn’t add other details, not ready to share or even knowing what he should say to them, really.

With that done, he put his phone down on the counter, ignoring the way it vibrated over and over again, the boys undoubtedly bombarding him with questions. He figured you’d probably want a hot meal, and opened the fridge to see if he could cook anything. Seokjin would definitely be cooking up a storm for you and would load his car up with containers full of food tomorrow, but for tonight, he had to make do. There were a few threadbare ingredients that were left over from the last time you’d gone grocery shopping and he pulled them out hesitantly. It had honestly been too long since he’d cooked – when you were around, you usually took care of it and he’d been living off delivery food while you were gone.

Out of practice, he nevertheless gave it the good old college try, chopping up the onion and meat and attempting to make doenjang jjigae. He knew it was comforting for you, and it was for him too, especially after you’d made it for him during his heat. Unfortunately, when he tried to cook the stew, it turned into a mess somehow, with the onions burning and sticking to the pot, the doenjang starting to smoke, and the meat turning an unappetizing colour. Panicked, he started cursing while trying to scrape the food off the bottom of the pot.

The bathroom door swung open when you heard him, and you came out silently, nudging him aside to see what was happening. Without a word, you turned the stove off and started scraping burnt bits of food off the pan and into the bin. “Sorry,” Taehyung said, hovering awkwardly behind you. He’d never felt lower in his life. Could he do nothing right?

“It’s all right,” you murmured. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I might just turn in.”

His wolf whined in misery at the thought of you actually going to bed hungry, and he might have let a little noise slip, because your gaze snapped up towards him, before looking away. Your shirt was fisted in your hands again, and he forced himself to calm down. The fact that you were now afraid of him filled him with so much despair and hurt. He would genuinely throw himself off a bridge if it would make you smile again, just for a second.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll call delivery,” he said. He reached out to grab your hand, but thought better of it and snatched it back before making contact.

“Okay,” you agreed, your head still down. “Thank you, Taehyung-oppa.”

“Do you want to go sit down while I call them?” he asked, nodding towards the living room. You nodded and made your way to the couch where you perched on the very edge of the cushion, holding yourself stiffly with your hands in your lap.

Looking over sadly at you, he grabbed his phone and dialed the number for the restaurant that he knew was your favourite, ordering your food and his. He made sure to get additional side dishes, his wolf wanting nothing more than to provide for his mate.

When the food arrived, he busied himself taking it all out of the big basket and setting up the table as you drifted closer hesitantly. Even though he wasn’t looking directly at you, he watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as your lips turned up in a slight smile seeing your favourite black bean noodles, with sweet and sour pork on the side. It wasn’t much – before, you would have clapped your hands with glee and sit down eagerly – but to him, it felt like a victory anyway. Like maybe he could do this, take care of you and win back your affection.

You picked up your chopsticks and dug in, eating with a haste that he’d never seen before. You’d always been a bit of a slow eater, claiming you wanted to savour the food, but now you were wolfing it down like you didn’t know when you’d get to eat again, and it broke his heart all over again that you’d experienced hunger. You were his – his responsibility, his mate – and he’d failed you so miserably. The thought made his stomach flip unpleasantly and he found himself slowing down, losing his appetite at the thought of how much you’d undoubtedly suffered.

When you were done with your noodles – and most of the pork and side dishes – you started casting furtive glances over at his bowl of stew, and he pushed his bowl towards you without you having to ask. It was a striking reversal of the way you’d taken care of him during his pre-heat, and he was just now realizing how much responsibility you’d taken around the house since you came to live with him after his military service ended.

You hadn’t felt so full in weeks, and you sat back with a satisfied sigh when you’d drained Taehyung’s bowl as well. Your stomach hurt from how much you’d eaten, but it was a nice feeling, after the near-constant hunger pangs for the past three weeks. Moving sluggishly, you went to pack the empty bowls back into the bucket, but Taehyung stopped you. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Go get some rest, you look beat.”

Since you were exhausted, you didn’t argue with him, just getting up and heading to your bedroom. Taehyung watched, slightly wounded that you didn’t want to spend the night with him like you used to, but also not wanting to say or do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. “Good night,” he called, regretting it instantly when you leapt into the air at the sound of his voice.

“Good night,” you responded softly, and it was only his enhanced wolf hearing that allowed him to pick it up. Sighing, he finished cleaning up and put the basket back outside the door.

Being back in your bedroom felt almost surreal, after living on that streets and then in that tent. Everything was the same as it was before, when you were so different, it was like you didn’t fit in there anymore. The cute room with the cozy patterned bedspread, the overstuffed, oversized chair and reading nook… it was for another person, someone who didn’t exist anymore.

Still, you tried your best to block the thoughts out of your head as you pulled back the duvet to slide under it, fidgeting to try and get comfortable. Closing your eyes tight, you snuggled into the pillows, falling into the fitful, restless sleep that you’d gotten used to.

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Taehyung lay in the dark in his room, his eyes wide open. Having you in the next room over instead of in his bed next to him felt wrong, somehow, but even though he wanted nothing more than to slide into bed with you, or better yet, bring you to his room, his uncertainty and guilt kept him where he was.

He must have spent hours just lying there, listening to you toss and turn and whimper in your sleep, each sound twisting the knife. You’d always been such a deep, easy sleeper, knocking right out every night and sleeping peacefully till morning. It was his fault you’d changed, and he tortured himself all night imagining all the horrors you’d been through during the past few weeks.

When sunlight started shining through his curtains, he decided he’d had enough of lying there, and got out of bed. Still in his pajamas, he left his room and walked the small distance to yours to wake you up. Standing over your bed, he watched for a moment as you continued fussing in your sleep, a small frown etched into your features.

It had been a while since he’d done this, but years of waking you up meant that the muscle memory came back to him easy as he leaned over you and patted your side. “Hey… wake up,” he called softly.

You stirred and, clearly only half-awake, slurred, “Okay… you want a handjob?”

“I- what? Y/n…”

Your hand fought its way out of the covers and you held it out, palm up. “Come on…” you yawned.

“Y/n-ie… stop it.” Taehyung’s voice trembled as he saw the way you were holding your hand out, your fingers loosely curled. He put his hand in yours and placed it back onto the bed.

A little more awake now, you blinked the sleep from your eyes and squinted up at him. “Taehyung-oppa? Good morning,” you murmured in your soft, slightly scratchy morning voice. “Do you need breakfast?”

He hesitated. You looked so small and innocent in your bed now that he almost wondered if he’d hallucinated your earlier interaction. You continued looking at him, looking more alert, and he knew you were waiting for an answer.

“No,” he finally said. “Do you want to come to the studio with me today? We can grab some food on the way, and I’m sure the others are excited to see you too.”

You blinked and yawned again, before pushing yourself into a sitting position. “Okay,” you agreed. “Let me just get ready.” Sluggishly, you got out of bed, twisting your back to stretch while Taehyung made himself scarce, going to get dressed. When he was done, you ducked into the bathroom to do your thing, carrying your clothes in with you.

When you emerged, you looked fresh and adorable, in a simple white blouse and blue jeans, and anyone who wasn’t looking too closely or didn’t know you would have thought you were merely another pampered pet human. Taehyung, though, could see the way the clothes hung off you a little too loosely, the sharper edge of your jawline and cheekbones from weight loss, and most of all, could smell the scent of other men on you that even your shower last night hadn’t been able to get off.

“Is there anything you want for breakfast today?” he asked as you put your shoes on. He opened the front door and extended his other arm towards you, intending at first to usher you out with his hand on your lower back like he usually did, but he saw the way you stood a little more stiffly at the anticipation of his hands on you and dropped it awkwardly. He supposed he shouldn’t have been quite so surprised and hurt at your hesitance. If you wanted nothing more to do with him, it was still more than he deserved.

He took you to a little restaurant for porridge that was near the BigHit building, watching carefully as you downed the entire bowl in record-breaking time. Usually you were too busy chatting with him and telling him about your day, or random things you’d seen, or something you’d read in a book, but now you were silent, your head down as you shoveled food into your mouth. In an attempt to break the silence, Taehyung asked, “Did you sleep well?” even though he knew the answer to the question.

It didn’t work, anyway. You just looked up at him, wide-eyed, for a second, before nodding and returning to your food. Sighing in defeat, he lapsed into silence too. If this was the new normal, he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. At least you were eating well – it soothed his wolf slightly, to know that his mate was eating well.

When you were finished with your meal – even licking the spoon clean dramatically – he took you to the studio, where the boys, as anticipated, glomped you the moment you set foot in the door. Jimin was basically in tears as he hugged you and wouldn’t let go, even when the others came forth for their turn. Namjoon, however, hovered back, hesitant to greet you. In the heat of the moment, with Taehyung’s turmoil and misery in his face, it had been easy to justify his own role in the entire debacle, but now that he was looking straight at you, and seeing the toll that the past few weeks had taken on your body, the guilt sat uncomfortably in his chest.

Soon enough, you were back in your usual spot – on the couch, squished between Yoongi on one side and Jimin on the other, listening absently as they discussed their album and comeback with the managers and executives. Feeling warm and full from the porridge, your eyelids started to droop, and Yoongi, always alert and aware, gently took the book from your loose grasp and closed it, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

Taehyung, watching from the adjacent couch, frowned, barely paying attention to what Bang PD was saying. He knew you hadn’t slept well last night, and the more rational side of him was relieved that you were at least getting some rest, even if you didn’t seem that comfortable. If he had his way, you would be lying down on a couch somewhere in a dark room where you could get some proper sleep. His wolf wanted to tear Yoongi to shreds, snarling in jealousy at the older man. It should be his shoulder you were currently drooling all over, your face adorably smushed into the fabric of his shirt.

Reminding himself harshly that you weren’t comfortable around him anymore, and really, whose fault was that, he forced himself to look away, although his jaw remained clenched, an outward sign of his irritation. He’d never been good at keeping his emotions to himself, but he figured he’d better damn well get good at it now, if he was going to keep all his problematic emotions to himself and avoid making you feel even more unsafe around him.

-------------------------------------------------

For almost a month, you and Taehyung danced around each other, trying to stay out of each other’s way. You didn’t want to do anything that might set him off again or remind him of why he’d kicked you out in the first place, and Taehyung was practically bending over backwards to give you the space he thought you needed to heal. As a result, the apartment was very quiet for most of the day, an oppressive silence that hung like a shroud over you.

Since you weren’t talking much to Taehyung, you were always happy to go with him to the studio, where the other boys were more than willing to entertain you. They’d realized quickly that you were a lot jumpier than before, which was understandable, so they tried not to do anything that would give you a fright. For the most part, you were all right with physical contact (other than with Taehyung, which upset him tremendously) but once in a while an innocent brush against you could remind you of the way Big Bang would touch you, and you’d leap into the air to get away from it.

It was Yoongi, who let you sit on the couch in his studio most days, who finally broached the topic after he tried to usher you into the studio with his hand on your back and you almost burst into tears. He sat you down on the couch and squatted in front of you, holding your hands and pleading for you to please tell him what was wrong for about half an hour before you caved and admitted that you might have some trauma from living on the streets. It was another twenty minutes of cajoling before you told him, in the smallest voice possible, that you’d had to use your body to survive.

“You… what?” Yoongi was so shocked by your confession that he lost his balance and fell, sitting ungracefully at your feet. Thinking he was reacting this way out of disgust, you covered your face with your hands and drew your shoulders in.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears stinging at your eyes. This was exactly what you hadn’t wanted; you’d thought you’d been doing well with hiding everything and dealing with it alone. Now that Yoongi knew, the rest of the boys would know that you were filthy, disgusting… you couldn’t stop the sob from tearing out of your chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, putting his shock and anger aside in the face of your clear distress. He wanted to flip a table, maybe set fire to something, but you were more important right now. His hands fluttered helplessly by your knees, wanting to comfort you but not sure how to. Your adverse reaction to the boys’ touch made so much sense now, and he didn’t want to accidentally trigger you again and upset you further.

In the end, he took your hand and placed it on top of his head, letting you stroke his soft, fluffy leopard ears. The rhythmic motion seemed to soothe you, and you smiled a little past the tears as you scratched the base of them, just like he let you do when you were a child. He didn’t want to force you to speak, but slowly coaxed everything out of you. Once you started talking about your experiences, it was like the words fell out of you, so relieved to finally be able to tell someone after keeping it to yourself for weeks as you tried to pretend like you were the same innocent human you’d been before being cast out.

Eventually, Yoongi managed to get you to fall asleep for a much-needed nap on his couch after you’d cried yourself out. His heart broke as he looked at you lying on the couch on your side, so small and delicate. You looked almost breakable, and the thought of you having to use that precious body to survive because of Taehyung made his fists clench by his side in rage. Turning down the lights so you would be able to rest properly, he left his studio, making sure to close the door quietly to avoid waking you up even though he wanted to slam it in his rage.

Taehyung was sitting in a meeting room with Jungkook and Jimin, and when Yoongi burst through the entrance, all of them looked up. “Suga-hyung, what’s up?” Jimin greeted.

Ignoring him, Yoongi stalked over to Taehyung, yanked him by the shirtfront out of his seat and decked him across the face. Shocked and unprepared for the hit, Taehyung sprawled on the floor, only to prop himself up by the elbow a second later, cradling his jaw with his hand and looking up at Yoongi with wide, hurt eyes.

“Suga-hyung, stop!” Jimin cried as Jungkook all but leapt across the table in the room to restrain the older man. The two bystanders exchanged panicked glances, not sure why Yoongi was suddenly attacking Taehyung. As irritable and snarky as the rapper was, it was almost impossible to get him truly angry, and he was clearly fuming right now.

Furious at the sudden attack, Taehyung surged up off the floor. “What the fuck was that for?!” he roared, pulling back to return Yoongi’s punch with one of his own. Jimin hurried over to pull Taehyung back before the situation descended into a brawl.

“You’re garbage,” Yoongi sneered. “Ask Y/n what it was for.” With that, he pulled himself out of Jungkook’s grasp, glared at Taehyung once more, and left the room, unable to stand being in the same room as him anymore.

“Shit, you’re bleeding,” Jimin fretted over his best friend, taking his chin in his hand and turning his face from one side to the other to see what the damage was. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he instructed, tugging on Taehyung’s hand so the wolf hybrid had no choice but to trail after Jimin, his ears drooping.

“What do you think that was about?” Jimin asked in the bathroom as he wetted a wad of paper towels in the sink.

Taehyung, leaning against the wall beside the sinks, shrugged, meeting Jimin’s eyes in the mirror. “Hell if I know,” he grumbled, still bitter. “I can’t believe hyung would do something like that,” he sulked.

Starting to dab at the busted lip to clean it up, Jimin ignored Taehyung’s hiss of pain and subsequent whines. “You know hyung isn’t the type to do something like that out of the blue… we can go talk to him later, okay? Find out what’s wrong.”

Taehyung started to protest, but Jimin’s glare and the way he pressed a little harder on the split lip he was tending to made him subside, pouting.

Since Taehyung could be a big baby and Jimin had an obsessive need to take care of everyone around him, it took a while before Taehyung was deemed patched up enough to go talk to Yoongi. As he made his way down the hallway to Yoongi’s studio, he fumed silently about his hyung’s weird behavior.

By the time he got to the door of Yoongi’s studio, he’d worked himself back up into a rage, and pounded on the door loudly to announce his presence. “Hyung, open up!” he yelled.

The racket he was making woke you up abruptly, and you jolted awake, gasping as you shot up into a sitting position. A quick glance over at Yoongi told you that he hadn’t heard Taehyung at all, since he was still working, with his giant expensive noise-cancelling headphones on. Since he was occupied, you went to open the door yourself to let Taehyung in.

Taehyung’s arm was still up, poised to knock, when you opened the door. He stared at you with wide eyes, not having expected you and feeling slightly abashed now that you’d seen his childish tantrum. “Ah, Y/n-ie… I didn’t know you were here,” he greeted, dropping his arm to his side.

You, on the other hand, had a far more dramatic reaction. Seeing his split lip, you gasped in horror, and in your panic, the artificial distance you’d been imposing for the past month slipped away. “Tae-oppa!” you cried, your hands flying to his face. “What happened to you?” With the pads of your fingers, you stroked gently over the reddened skin around the cut, wincing.

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him over to the couch and sat him down, continuing to fret over him. Taehyung, for his part, sat quietly and let you do what you wanted, just happy to have you near him again. All his anger evaporated as he smiled at you like a fool, ignoring the way it made his lip sting.

Yoongi, who’d turned around in his chair and slipped his headphones down around his neck, frowned at the sight that greeted him. You were kneeling on the couch next to Taehyung, leaning over him while he held your wrist in his hand, stroking gently along the soft skin on your inner wrist.

At the sound of Yoongi clearing his throat, you jumped, tearing your wrist out of Taehyung’s grasp, to look over at the rapper. The interruption was enough to startle you out of your frantic concern for him, and you sat down on the couch, your hands in your lap as you tried to make yourself smaller. “S-sorry,” you said to Taehyung, though it was directed at your hands. What would he think of you now? Getting all up in his personal space, even after he’d made it so clear that he didn’t want to be involved with you like that. You really needed to get a grip if you were going to remain his pet, you thought. No way in hell were you going back to being homeless.

“It’s all right,” Taehyung murmured, responding to you habitually. Now that you weren’t in his personal space anymore, though, his anger started coming back, and he trained his gaze on Yoongi, his jaw flexing with his irritation. Yoongi met his gaze with equal measure, neither of them backing down.

You were so consumed by your own thoughts that you didn’t realise the tension between them, asking Taehyung obliviously, “So what happened to your face, anyway?”

There was a beat of silence, then Yoongi replied smoothly, “He must have walked into a door.” As he said it, he pinned Taehyung with a warning gaze, as if daring him to disagree with his lie.

An awkward moment later, Taehyung agreed. “Yes… I was distracted,” he offered as an excuse.

Watching the way Yoongi looked at you, with a small frown knitting his brow, Taehyung remembered what Yoongi had said earlier, about asking you what the punch was for. He broke eye contact with Yoongi to look over at you instead, although you still refused to look up at him, preferring to focus instead on your lap, where your hands were folded politely.

“Anyway, Y/n-ie… I’m not needed for the rest of the day. Do you want to go home early?” Taehyung figured that whatever it was he was supposed to ask you about, it was probably best to do it in private. He didn’t have his own studio, so his apartment was the best bet.

“Sure,” you agreed immediately. You’d been doing that a lot lately, just going with whatever he wanted or suggested, unless you were protesting that he was spending too much time, money or effort on you. It was so completely different from the carefree girl who loved to go crazy with his credit cards and soaked up his affection that he’d known, and he hated himself again for causing you to withdraw like that. It had taken him so long to earn your trust back when you’d been a child and he adopted you, and now all of that was gone down the drain.

He stood up and you followed, trailing after him out of Yoongi’s studio with a smile and a wave that upset him all over again. He hadn’t had that cute, carefree smile directed at him for so long now, and again, he fucking knew it was his own fault, but that didn’t make it any easier. For now, he had to be satisfied with seeing that smile only when it was directed at other people. At least, he thought bitterly, he’d succeeded in providing a good support network for you.

When you got home, after yet another awkward car ride filled with stilted small talk, Taehyung sat you down on the couch, wanting to talk to you but unsure of how to bring it up. You looked at him inquiringly as he stuttered through several aborted attempts to start the conversation, stopping each time with a frown and a hum.

Finally, he managed to ask, in a tone he hoped was neutral, “Did you and Suga-hyung talk about anything interesting today?”

You visibly stiffened, and he wondered if it was his words or his failure to feign nonchalance. “Why do you ask?” you responded cautiously, and he could see your walls going up.

“Just something Suga-hyung said,” Taehyung waved his hand in the air.

You cursed Yoongi inwardly for selling you out, and so quickly, at that. “Uh, we just talked about some stuff that happened last month,” you said vaguely. Neither of you were necessarily comfortable talking about the time you’d spent on the streets, and you tried to tiptoe around it out of consideration for Taehyung, but he understood what you were trying to say anyway.

“Uh-huh, like what?” he prompted, undeterred.

Your shoulders hunched defensively around your ears. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, and started to get up to beat a hasty retreat to your room.

Taehyung reached out in a panic and grabbed your hand. “No, please, tell me what you told him,” he pleaded, looking up at you with that sad expression that you’d never been able to resist.

You sighed. “Why do you even want to know?” you asked, slumping back onto the couch in resignation.

Taehyung frowned. “Of course I want to know,” he countered immediately. “Why don’t you want to tell me?” he asked in concern now.

You shrugged. “I don’t like talking about it, and it’ll just upset you,” you explained in a small voice.

“Y/n…” Taehyung’s voice was filled with sadness. “Please, tell me about it.” He scooted slightly closer to you and took your hands in his.

“Taehyung-oppa…”

“I understand if you’re not ready to tell me,” he admitted. It stung to acknowledge the possibility that you were more comfortable talking to Yoongi about this than to Taehyung, when he’d always been your caretaker, the one you’d gone to for everything. “But if you’re willing to tell me, I really do want to know, so we can figure out the best way to help you.”

You swallowed. “All right,” you agreed hesitantly, then lapsed into silence as you thought about how you should explain what had happened. You didn’t want Taehyung to judge you, but then again, Yoongi hadn’t either, so maybe your fears about that had been overblown.

After a little more hemming and hawing as you tried to muster up the courage to talk about it, you finally said, “Do you remember the guys that I was living with?”

Taehyung nodded, slightly confused, but didn’t say anything, simply waiting for you to continue speaking when you were ready.

“Well, uh… they agreed to take me in and all, but it wasn’t for free,” you said, trying to skirt around the topic, hoping he would get it without you having to spell it out in so many words.

Of course, Taehyung just gave you a blank stare, as if waiting for you to finish your thought. You sighed. “They proposed, like, a trade,” you continued, willing him with your mind to just understand what you were trying to say already, damn it.

When his expression didn’t change, you gave up on hoping he would understand your hints. “I only had myself and didn’t have much to offer, so they, uh… theymademeusemybody,” you rushed out the last part of your sentence so softly it was almost like a whisper, but with Taehyung’s sharper hearing, courtesy of his hybrid senses, he picked it up perfectly.

Only, with what he’d heard, he wished he hadn’t. He stared at you imploringly, his ears folded down against his head, his eyes starting to fill with tears. “Wh-what?” His voice wobbled, unable to believe what he’d heard. You avoided his gaze by turning your face away, not wanting to see the expression on his face. You didn’t need his pity.

“Y/n…” Taehyung tightened his grasp on your hands. “I’m so sorry.” The emotion behind the simple words caught you off guard, and you turned back to look at him. He was staring straight at you, his eyes huge and filled with distress (and tears). A sob that he couldn’t quite hold back tore out of his chest and you watched, with some disbelief, as he completely broke down in front of you.

“Taehyung-oppa…” you murmured, trying to extricate one hand from his grasp. Panicked, he held on even tighter, unwilling to let you go and afraid that you would leave if he did. He was so upset it physically hurt all over. As an owner, he was distraught that his thoughtless actions had caused you to suffer like that. His baser instincts, however, prodded him to hunt down the humans who’d forced you into such a position. How dare they make such profane, disgusting, exploitative demands of you, his imprint, his mate?

And yet, wasn’t it all his fault? He was the one who’d kicked you out, so you had no other choice but to accept it. Everything that had happened to you while you were living on the streets had happened because of him, because he was a thoughtless, stupid, irresponsible, owner. It would serve him right if you left, although he couldn’t bear for you to. Clearly, he’d shown that he was an unfit owner.

He was so lost in his self-hatred that he didn’t realize how hard he was squeezing your hands which were folded in his bigger ones until you made a quiet noise of discomfort, flexing your hands in his grasp. Horrified, he let go of them as if scalded, appalled that he was hurting you yet again.

Instead of immediately taking off, however, you reached up to cradle the side of his face, wiping his tears away with your thumb. As much as you’d resented him, you couldn’t see his sadness without wanting to comfort him. It was somewhat strange – you’d always seen him as the rock, the constant in your life. Always there for you, always in your corner. That was gone now. You knew firsthand how he could be, how much you suffered because of him. Yet there were still those memories that, try as you might, you couldn’t stop holding close to your heart. Of being tucked into bed by him, spoilt rotten and cuddled during what had to be the most pampered adolescence possible. Part of you was vindictively pleased that he was so upset, since it was what he deserved, but there was another part that didn’t like seeing him suffer.

When he felt your hand on his face, Taehyung felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment. It would have made more sense to him if you’d slapped or punched him, but this tender touch, after all you’d been through because of him… he didn’t deserve you. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating like a mantra, as if saying the words could dispel the heavy guilt he felt.

Because you weren’t a saint after all, you couldn’t resist twisting the knife. You knew you should appreciate how apologetic he was now that he knew what had happened, but there was also a spark of irritation within you. Why did he get to cry and make a fuss, when you couldn’t? You were comforting him when all the things he was upset about had happened to you, because of him.

“If you were sorry,” you said quietly, “you wouldn’t have kicked me out to begin with.” There was no malice in your tone, which was quiet and neutral, but it was abundant in your words. This was all his doing, and he shouldn’t get to wail dramatically about it like he was the victim.

Taehyung swallowed. “You’re right,” he acknowledged immediately. “This is all my fault, I’m sorry. Tell me what I can do to make it better for you,” he implored, his wide, tear-filled eyes looking at you earnestly.

“Tell me why you did it.” You never raised your voice, staying unmoved in the face of his clear anguish.

“Okay,” he agreed instantly, almost before the last word left your mouth. “Okay, I’ll tell you, just please… don’t leave.”

You folded your hands neatly in your lap and prepared to listen. To be honest, you’d thought you would be able to predict whatever he was going to say. He was furious about you coercing him into a sexual relationship when he wasn’t in his right frame of mind, he would confess, and after thinking about it, he’d gotten so angry that he acted impulsively. You could almost hear the words inside your head already – they were the same reasons you’d been repeating to yourself, over and over again.

“I was mad,” Taehyung admitted, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth, “And I acted rashly.” He hadn’t wanted to tell you about the imprint, hoping that he could deal with it by himself so he wouldn’t give you yet another thing to worry and stress over, but you’d asked, and he couldn’t reject your request. Not when he knew how much you’d suffered because of him. You nodded, like you’d expected him to say that.

What he said next, however, took you completely by surprise.

“Namjoon-hyung told me…” he stopped to swallow and gather himself, then started again. “I know you think that during my last heat –” you both flushed, thinking about what had happened then – “that was new, but it wasn’t.”

Your gaze sharpened and focused on him, listening more carefully to what he had to say now. “I’d been struggling since my discharge from the military,” he continued. Damn, this was hard to say. “Namjoon-hyung helped me look into it, and he found…”

He paused to muster some courage, running his hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. “He found what?” you prompted, leaning forward curiously. You hadn’t voluntarily come this close to him for a month, he noted. His wolf preened.

“Uh, he found evidence of… hybrid technology that he believes is the cause. He called it,” he coughed to delay it a little longer, “an imprint. It’s a genetic quirk that was created in predator hybrids to ensure that they could bond with their human owners.”

You blinked. “I’m not your owner,” you said dumbly. It was so much to take in, that bit was the only thing your mind could focus on and grasp.

“I know,” he nodded, “but because we spent so much time together in our adolescence the bond had a chance to form, and after spending two years apart, it kicked in because you’d reached…” He grimaced, not really wanting to say it, and waved his hand at you vaguely instead.

You understood well enough what he was trying to say and blanched. “Gross…” you muttered under your breath, but Taehyung heard it and his shoulders slumped further. Of course you were horrified and disgusted at him – you should be. For the first time, he wondered if you would have been better off on the streets – at least then you wouldn’t have to deal with him and this genetic abnormality. He’d forced you into every difficult situation you’d faced since coming back to him after his military service, and it was only natural that you were appalled by his revelation.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He was saying that a lot, but no matter how many times he uttered the words, they were never enough to convey the depth of his remorse and sorrow over what he’d done to you. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” his head fell into your lap as he cried.

You started stroking his head and ears, the habit you’d developed from years of being around him making you move your hand automatically to soothe him as you tried to sort out your thoughts. Hybrid technology… a genetic quirk… that meant humans had been responsible for what Taehyung was going through. You were more educated than most humans, which meant you understood very well the history between humans and hybrids. Humans had created hybrids and enslaved them, treating them as chattel – pets, workhorses, you name it.

And now, you were continuing to be the source of a hybrid’s pain and suffering. Had humans not done enough? Their destructive legacy continued to live on in the bodies of the hybrids they’d created, and while Taehyung had been struggling with it by himself, you’d been living in blissful ignorance, resenting him for what he’d done.

Taehyung cried until the tears wouldn’t come anymore, then he just lay with his head in your lap, the occasional hiccup making him jerk slightly. After a while, you turned your head to look out the window – the sun was setting, you noted.

“Taehyung-oppa…” you called softly, shaking his shoulder gently to wake him up. “You should get to bed.”

He stirred slightly, then tried to go back to sleep, but you pushed him back into a sitting position. “Come on, Tae-oppa,” you said, standing up and tugging on his hand. He followed you as you led him to his room, but wouldn’t let go of your hand once you’d gotten him settled in bed.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” he croaked.

You eyed him dubiously for a second, not sure if it was a good idea, especially in light of what you’d just learned. But with his sad expression, the dejected slump of his shoulders and the way his ears flopped over his head, you couldn’t say no to anything he asked. Especially not with the newfound guilt you were carrying around.

“Okay,” you acquiesced. “Just let me wash up and I’ll come back.”

When you tiptoed back into Taehyung’s room, scrubbed down and in your pajamas, you thought he was asleep from the way he was curled up under the sheets. You quietly pulled back the covers on your side of the bed and got in slowly, trying not to jostle him awake, but it didn’t seem to make a difference, since the moment you were settled into the mattress he squirmed closer to you, wrapping his arms and legs around you and pressing his face into your neck.

With a small sigh, you settled into his hold.

---------------------------------------------

“Y/n… I don’t understand.” Namjoon’s brow was furrowed as he looked up at you, standing in his studio.

“Namjoon-oppa… I know you know about the imprint, and you told Taehyung-oppa about it,” you told him.

“Right… but I don’t know why you’re asking me this.”

“It’s not complicated – I just want to know if there’s a way to break the imprint.”

Namjoon hesitated. It was something he’d been looking into nonstop as well, hoping to find something that would set both you and Taehyung free. It didn’t seem to be possible, though – the genetic bond was not designed to be broken, especially since hybrids had been considered so disposable. If anything went wrong, euthanasia of hybrids had been just as commonly accepted as euthanasia of regular pets.

“There isn’t,” he admitted. “The only cases where a hybrid was able to move on from the imprint…” he gulped, not sure whether he should tell you.

“What is it?” you asked impatiently. “Namjoon-oppa, please. I’m trying to help Taehyung-oppa, just like you are,” you pleaded. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Stop asking!” Backed into a corner now, he snarled at you, his ears pressed back against his head. “There’s nothing you can do, okay? Just drop it.”

“Namjoon-oppa, please. I don’t know why you’re trying to hide it. I’ll do anything it takes to help Taehyung-oppa break his imprint.”

That got his attention. “Anything?” This was crazy… it was way too much to ask of you.

“Anything,” you confirmed resolutely. He could see your determination in the set of your jaw and the way your gaze met his unwaveringly.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Ah, this is crazy…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

“The only recorded cases where a hybrid was able to move on from an imprint… is when the object of the imprint passed away.”

[infinites-chaser]

val’s mementos

(or: a working masterlist of my mlqc fics created mostly for my own sanity)

everything on this list has also been posted to my ao3!

currently accepting prompts from this prompt meme~

(while i will do my very best to fill every prompt with writing that i’m proud of pls keep in mind that some may take longer than others for any amount of reasons!)

Lucien

dark night fireworks- my first (published) mlqc fic <333 2nd person and entirely too pretentious (rumor has it even the author doesn’t really know what she was trying to convey except. n e u r o s c i e n c e and MEMORY is cool). slight spoilers for ch.16

watch the universe expand- a long, rambly attempt to explore lucien’s character and also evolutionary biology and evols told through excessive metaphor and bedtime stories. spoilers for lucien’s childhood and ch.13. im proud of this one ^^ though there is a lot of projection involved. also lucien is an enneagram five.

to dwell on- c: lucien and homes and him and mc being soft together that’s it <3 or in more coherent language some bittersweet fluff for lucien’s bday based on moments from his mini-house and his most recent bday karma + date. in hindsight i’ve realized i didn’t use his or MC’s name at all outside of dialogue LOL

king lear and other tragedies- a prompt for the librarian ask meme linked above! im p sure anon prompted me a month before i got around to actually writing an answer hndkslgj but. here we are. shakespeare and tragedies and parallels between characters and a lot of pretentious dialogue, meant to be an extension of/missing scene after lucien’s theater date. this only rly exists bc of a single line in the date mentioning the production being put on was king lear and i took that and ran for all it was worth

Gavin

just a summer thing- a short little scenario that manifested in my head one warm summer night when i should’ve been sleeping and my first foray into domestic!gavin territory <333 i’d say it’s probably one of my lightest fics, if not the lightest ahfksldg (also heavily inspired by the way @belovedstill writes gavin/mc pst basia’s fics are to die for)

under a golden sun- high school era gavin, MC and minor! originally intended for gavin’s bday except (1) i didn’t finish on time LOL and (2) the fic never mentions his bday oops. also in 2nd person though if you asked why i couldn’t tell you it just felt more right. ft. basketball and memories and a bit of bittersweet nostalgia. simultaneously has some of what i think is my weakest writing (in terms of pacing/consistent tone imo) and some of my favorite lines i’ve ever written for a gavin fic and i’ve come to appreciate it more over time bc of that c:

today, this is the whole universe (and that’s okay)- gavin, MC, and domestic, sleepy sundays. and a long ao3 title that’s it that’s the fic (narrator: and then, she never wrote anything purely fluffy ever again). heavily inspired by gavin’s sleepy morning asmr and that one clip of his cn voice actor playing/humming his theme (aka soft soft SOFTEST) also just. i said it already but all of my domestic!gavin is inspired by and exists thanks to the breathtaking writing of @belovedstill <333

in the wind- a semi(?)exploration of gavin’s wind but also just him loving mc bc that’s what he and his evol are all about. short and bittersweet <3 (if anyone’s keeping track i think this is where my writing starts to lean more on the uhhh descriptive side and becomes less dialogue-based? or i feel there’s a diff from this writing style compared to the earlier gavin fics (besides parts of under a golden sun) which is just interesting for me to think about but not relevant to the fic itself ahfklsdf) 

winter’s end- winter world!gavin and mc and a softer, more bittersweet reunion. m a j o r spoilers for ch.22 and what comes before. also gavin’s past. it hurt to write and apparently hurts to read b u t there’s a happy ending. i promise c:

sunrise to noon- a secret santa fic that ended up being less holiday related than I originally intended but like all things domestic and Gavin I think it works well as it is <3 just tender winter mornings and domesticity and the return of my fluff writing

Kiro

falling down the stairs of your smile- this was a prompt for the librarian prompt meme and doesn’t have an official title on the ask but here’s the title in all its long all-lowercase ao3 glory. basically the first few chapters from kiro’s perspective with slight spoilers from his past! kiro is such a joy to write and i love this a lot and im super glad i got the opportunity to write this (the waY i banged this out in one night when i got the ask askfsdkfksl)

[deleted by Key]- i have an idea and i’m s u p e r excited about it but no spoilers except this quote: ‘But that is how a tragedy like ours or King Lear breaks your heart— by making you believe that the ending might still be happy, until the very last minute.’- If We Were Villains, M.L. Rio.

Victor

Of Corgis and Christmas- a secret santa present for a victor stan that conjured some fluffy victor writing from my victor-less heart,,, a christmas miracle aND im lowkey proud of how it turned out but the highlights of the fic are Goldman and Cindy T-T they deserve more screentime and someday. i will write the subplot that got cut where Goldman sends Cindy embarrassing Victor stories to try to impress her and MC helps :>

spend my whole life searching- i combined 2 victor librarian asks from the librarian prompt meme above would u believe he's the only suitor I got twice 😔 this man is so popular and for what (only kidding ahdjdjs we just have a relationship of mutual disapproval dont mind me dragging him just a little i need to compensate for the appreciation I developed for him while writing this :>) this is similar to the kiro librarian fic in that it kinda gives vic's perspective on victor/MC's first in-game meeting with a healthy dose of and they were soulmates and angsty longing™ and also. victor is an enneagram one

Shaw

i started a few things a long time ago for him maybe someday i’ll finish them :’)

[hookedonapirate]

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.  

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

So a few things before we get started with this chapter.

You've probably noticed, I made Emma older than she is usually portrayed in fanfics since being chief of surgery requires an extensive medical background, education, training, experience, etc. Basically this is how old she would be ten years later from the OUAT pilot. With that said, I've made the other main and supporting characters older as well. Emma and David are 38-39, and Killian, Elsa, Anna and MM are 32-35. Just wanted to clarify that to avoid confusion, though I do mention some of their ages in the story. I'm doing my best to keep the timeline consistent but if anything doesn't make sense with the timeline, or in general, please don't hesitate to ask me about it either on here or Tumblr.

Secondly, I know some of you, or maybe all of you are hoping Emma will contact the police about Neal, but keep in mind, Emma's a suspect and yes, contacting the police would be in her best interest, but Emma's going to be paranoid about every move she makes because she overanalyzes and thinks everything through. And any move that could potentially bring more attention to herself regarding graham's murder could effect her career she has worked so hard to obtain. So please keep these things in mind before you get too upset with her.

Also, this chapter is in Killian's pov, so we will see the video footage of Emma's interview. To avoid a bunch of repetition this chapter shows different points of the interview so that's why different questions are shown in this one, except for a few that I included in both chapters..

You will find that Killian has to iron out some wrinkles in his relationships with David and Elsa, so this chapter and the next will include some angst, but I think all of you lovelies are going to like what I have planned for chapter 5, so please bear with me until then :)

Okay enough of my rambling and on with the story. Thanks for reading!

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2

Chapter 3

“Uncle Killian!”

  With a big smile on his face, Killian watches his nephews charging toward him. He sets down his tackle box and fishing pole and wipes the sweat off his brow as he steps off the dock. “Oof,” he feigns a pained noise with a chuckle as Leo tackles him. Killian picks him up, drawing him into an enormous bear hug, noticing his nephew is heavier than the last time Killian picked him up. “You’re growing too fast. Soon you'll be taller than me.”

  “Nah-ah,” Leo laughs, shaking his head. 

  “Uncle Ki-wi!” Liam wobbles toward him and wraps his arms around Killian’s legs. 

  “Can you tell they missed you?” Mary Margaret asks as she catches up with her children, David hot on her heels, their hair rustled by the wind.

  “No, not at all,” Killian chuckles, setting Leo down to pick up Liam. “It’s been too long. Far too long.” The two brothers are four years apart, and though Killian is not related to them by blood, he’s like a brother to David, thus Uncle Killian to David’s sons. “I missed you too,” Killian says, dropping a kiss to the crown of Liam’s head. 

  The little lad will be three years old soon, but it feels like only yesterday when Killian cradled the newborn in his arms as the parents announced they were naming him after a man who died a hero—David’s best friend and partner, and Killian’s brother. 

  He sets little Liam on his feet and looks up at David, noting the laptop satchel strapped around his shoulder. He fooled Killian into thinking this was only a social visit by wearing his casual clothes—khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. And Mary Margaret is carrying a tote bag of beach supplies, ready to lounge on the beach.

  “Did you catch anything?” David asks. 

  “Fishing is not about the catch, mate.”

  David grins. “I know. It’s an excuse to drink during the day, right?” 

  Killian scoffs playfully and waves his words. “Like I need an excuse.”

  They share a laugh as they draw each other into a hug and pat one another on the back. They’ve been friends long before Killian joined the Storybrooke Police Department. David’s four years older than him and the same age as Liam would've been—thirty-nine—but the three of them were pretty much inseparable. And after Liam passed, Killian and David shared a heartache neither would ever fully recover from. “I’ve missed you, Jones.”

  “Missed you too.” After they break the hug, Killian turns to Mary Margaret, smiling warmly at her. “Thanks for bringing the boys.” 

  “Of course,” she says, throwing her arms around him. She’s six years younger than David and has been married to him for ten years. They met right after she graduated from college and moved to Storybrooke to take a teaching job. She is now the vice principal at Forest Grove Elementary. 

  “Sorry if I smell like fish and sweat,” Killian apologizes as he wraps his arms around her.

  “Oh wow, you do,” she laughs, pinching her nose but doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. Wouldn’t expect anything less since you live in this fishing town.” 

  He chuckles. “You know, I could’ve just visited you all in Storybrooke if I had been given more notice. I could’ve saved you a trip.” He didn’t even know they were coming over until last night when David had called him out of the blue.

  Mary Margaret waves off his words as they break the hug. “Nonsense. The boys were dying to see their Uncle Killian, and they've been begging us to take them to the beach, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone.”

  “It’s nice to see all of you again.” He looks at David, narrowing his eyes. “Though I have a feeling this isn't just a pleasure trip for you, is it?”

  David gives into a grin and pats Killian on the shoulder. “Is it ever just pleasure with me?”

  Killian chuckles and shakes his head. “Never.” Outwardly he’s relaxed and cheerful, but inwardly, he has a bad feeling about whatever David wishes to discuss with him.

  “Uncle Killian, will you make sandcastles with us?!” Leo asks as his mother hands him and Liam a big sand bucket packed with sandcastle molds and a shovel.

  Killian opens his mouth to answer but David beats him to the punch. “Actually, we have some important things to discuss first. Then Killian can make sandcastles with you.”

  The boys groan their disapproval, Leo gets over it quickly and wastes no time racing off toward the shoreline, Liam wobbling after him.

  “Not so fast, you two! Sunblock, first, then floaties!” Mary Margaret calls out, following their trail of messy footprints in the sand.

  When Leo halts in his tracks and turns around, going to his mother as she spreads out a blanket on the sand and retrieves a bottle of sunblock from her tote, Liam trails behind his brother.

  “Anyone want something to drink?” Killian asks them.

  “Sure, I’ll take some iced tea,” Mary Margaret replies.

  “Do you have Capri Suns?” Leo asks.

  “Of course I do. What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t stock up on Capri Suns for when my nephews come to visit?”

  “Yes!” Leo exclaims, fisting the air.

  Mary Margaret pulls off Liam’s shirt and rubs lotion over his back and arms. “Thank you, Killian. And you don’t have to worry about Liam, he has his sippy cup with juice in it.”

  “Okay.” Killian turns his head to look at David. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure, you got Lone Star?”

  Killian’s lips stretch into a wide grin. “Any other beer would be treason.” After he grabs his fishing gear and stores it in the garage, he and David head inside the house. 

  Killian goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of sweet tea, a fruit punch Capri Sun and two bottles of beer, setting them on the island counter. He pops off the caps of the beers before handing a bottle to David. “What important things did you have in mind to discuss?”

  David holds up his bag. “Take a wild guess.”

  Killian sighs as he pours Mary Margaret a tall glass of tea. “And here I thought you just wanted to catch up on old times.”

  “I do, but I also want to discuss a case with you,” David admits softly before taking a swig of his beer.

  Killian’s jaw twitches as he glares at his old friend. “Then you’re wasting your time. I came here to Port Lavaca to get away from that stuff.”

  “Which is exactly why I brought it to you.” David sets down his beer and places his laptop bag on the counter, unzipping it. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because you’ll want your hands on this case, trust me.” David pulls out his computer and sets it up on the counter.

  “How are Elsa and Camila doing?” Killian asks, deliberately changing the subject. He’s not interested in whatever case David is about to present to him, nor is he pretending to be. 

  “Why don't you ask them yourself?”

  “Because you see them and talk to them more often than I do. I didn’t even get invited to Anna’s wedding, which I’m positive the Maid of Honor had something to with.”

  David looks up from his open laptop, furrowing his brows. “Doesn't the bride and groom normally choose the people on the guest list? Mary Margaret and I chose our own guests for our wedding.”

  “True, but even if Anna and Kristoff wanted to invite me, you don’t think Elsa talked them out of it?”

  David shrugs. “Maybe, but if she did, who’s fault is that?”

  “David…” Killian mutters with a pained expression, his heart constricting. “You know my relationship with Elsa hasn’t been the best since Liam passed.” 

  David turns around and plants his hands on his hips, gaping at Killian. “Hasn’t been the best? It’s almost nonexistent.”

  “Aye, because of what happened,” Killian states bitterly. “Since then, she’s only ever let me stop by so I can pick up my niece and spend time with her.” He desperately wants to change that though. He wants his sister-in-law back, he wants the friendship they once had, and he wants to spend time with both her and Camila again. He’s tired of missing out on important milestones in Camila's life all because her mother and uncle prefer not to be in the same room together. He’s just been too much of a coward to tell Elsa that. To apologize for letting his temper get the best of him.

  “Do you blame her? You let her husband’s killer get away with murder,” David scolds.

  Killian slams his beer on the counter, anger surging through him. “I loved him too, okay?! I was only trying to prove—no, you know what?” He raises his open palms in protest. “I’m not doing this with you. Not today, not ever.” He gathers the beverages and storms out, the backdoor squeaking on its corroded hinges as he strides onto the deck and rushes down the steps. He doesn’t need this shite. His nephews are here to visit with him and he’s not about to waste the opportunity.

  “Killian, wait!” David calls out from the deck as Killian trudges through the sand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that! I know you loved him! We all did!”

  Killian turns around, pinning him with a glare as David makes his way down the steps. “He was my brother. I’m the last person in the world who wanted that piece of scum to get away with ending his life.”

  “I know.” David sighs as he inches closer. “Which is why I’m here.”

  Killian narrows his eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. “I thought you were here to discuss a case?” 

  A pained expression etches David’s features. “I am. A case involving your brother’s killer.”

  Killian’s fists clench around the drinks, his jaw tightening at the thought of another innocent victim falling at the hands of—

  No, he can't do this. He’s not going down that path again; it only leads to anger, bitterness and vengeance. He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m done with detective work. I’m not interested.” He walks away again, heading toward Mary Margaret and his nephews.

  “What if I said there's a good possibility you could catch him this time? Then would you be interested?”

  Killian stops in his tracks, gazing out at the sea as David’s words slice through him. No, he shouldn’t care about catching Liam’s killer anymore. He gave up a long time ago. But somehow he finds himself turning around to face David again, curiosity clawing at his gut. “How?”

  A triumphant grin crawls across David’s lips. “I knew that would gain your attention.”

  “Just tell me,” Killian demands ardently.

  David steps toward him. “I'll tell you when you agree to hear me out.” He holds up the five fingers of his right hand. “Five minutes.” 

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Killian mumbles and turns around, walking away. This time, David doesn’t holler after him or follow him.

  When Killian brings the drinks to Mary Margaret and Leo, she thanks him and lifts her sunglasses, perching them atop her head and squinting up at Killian. “What were you and David shouting about?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

  Mary Margaret frowns, not believing him. “You should hear him out, Killian. He really misses working with you.”

  Killian sighs and sips his beer as he watches Liam filling his bucket with sand and Leo walking along the shore, collecting seashells. “Will I really want my hands on the case?”

  A solemn expression creases Mary Margaret’s features. “Would David drive three hours to ask you if he thought otherwise?”

  “He would if it meant spending time with an old friend… or at least I would hope,” Killian grumbles.

  “Of course he would, but if he didn’t think you’d be interested, he wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

  Killian takes another swig of his beer, pondering David’s offer.

  Mary Margaret puts her tea in the beach cup holder she’d brought with her and gets up to walk toward her sons, giving Leo his drink and sitting across from Liam to help him make a sandcastle. 

  Killian misses spending time with them, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to head back to Storybrooke. He’d moved here to this fishing town, Port Lavaca, almost two years ago and bought this cabin on Lighthouse Beach. After Cassidy got away with murdering Liam, Killian blamed himself—everyone blamed him—and he couldn’t stand to be in Storybrooke any longer. He couldn’t live in a town that reminded him of his brother, a town that couldn’t bring his brother’s murderer to justice and pointed their fingers at Killian for the reason Cassidy got away with his crime. David knows he has no interest in going back. Not to Storybrooke, not to the SBPD, and yet he made the trip with his family three hours away from home. Nolan wouldn’t have bothered bringing the case with him if he knew Killian wouldn’t take the bait.

  When Killian heads inside and steps through the backdoor, David’s back is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he waits for a different answer. Or rather the answer he wants to hear.

  Killian knows he’ll regret this, but he can’t deny his curiosity is piqued. The detective in him is itching to know more about the case, or so he tells himself. He assents with an exasperated sigh. “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”

  David grins. “That’s all I need.” He brings his laptop to the table, and once Killian takes a seat next to him, David plays a video that’s ready to go on his laptop. “This was recorded yesterday.”

  The video feed takes place in the interrogation room. David and Detective Jefferson are sitting at one side of the table and there’s a man in a suit sitting on the other side who David says is an attorney. But what really piques his interest—or rather who—is the blonde woman sitting next to the attorney. She’s beautiful, with long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and striking green eyes. She’s wearing a black blouse under a fire engine red, two-piece suit and red pumps on her feet. Bold color choice. She’s definitely not a woman who lacks confidence. 

  “Who is she?”

  “This is Dr. Emma Swan. She’s a surgeon at Storybrooke General.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Killian comments, more to himself than to David.

  “She’s Anna and Elsa’s cousin. But this conversation and what I’m showing you has to stay between us. I’m only here to visit with an old friend, got it? I haven’t even told Mary Margaret that Anna and Elsa’s cousin is involved in the case.”

  Killian nods. “I understand, but what’s her crime? Dressing too nicely. Being too pretty?” he quips with a smirk.

  David rolls his eyes. “This is serious, Jones.” He reverts his gaze to the computer screen. “Her colleague, Dr. Graham Humbert, was murdered seven days ago in the Storybrooke General parking lot. They were rival surgeons who bickered and teased each other all the time. Both were vying for the Chief of Surgery position he was appointed to just a week before he was murdered.”

  “And you think she offed him for his job title?” Killian asks, unable to take his eyes off her. She doesn’t look like your typical suspect by any means. She’s calm and still, her arms and legs crossed casually, her face expressionless. Typically, people who were being questioned for a felony offense trembled, couldn’t sit still and would sweat profusely. But not this woman. He can't detect any sign of fear or worry in her eyes, her posture or her behavior. 

  “I think there’s more to it than that, but yes, I think she had something to do with his death. The night he was murdered, Dr. Swan was with Graham at the Rabbit Hole. According to other colleagues who were also there celebrating Graham’s promotion, the two surgeons were having an intimate discussion.”

  Killian lifts a brow. “You think they were lovers?”

  “According to Emma and everyone else, they weren’t. They often squabbled, but it was mostly friendly. They respected each other.” 

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Dr. Swan said he walked her to her car that night, and before she left, she saw him head back inside. According to the bar owner and his employees who were on duty that night, Dr. Humbert left the bar an hour later, around eleven o’clock and went home. His phone records show he received a call at 2:20 in the morning, but it was from a restricted number.”

  “And let me guess, the number was untraceable?”

  “Yep. But whoever called him knew the safety code.”

  “Safety code?”

  “Anyone who calls in hospital staff is required to supply the safety code. You know, like when parents give their kids a safety word for emergencies so they don’t get abducted by strangers.”

  “So, whoever called Humbert was someone who works at the hospital?”

  “Possibly, and either that person had something to do with his murder or it’s a sheer coincidence the phone call preceded his death by only twenty minutes. But no one I spoke with at the hospital knew about the phone call or why he would've been called in. He wasn't on call that night.”

  “Was Dr. Humbert married?”

  “Nope, never was. A few people I interviewed mentioned he once had a fling with Dr. Regina Mills, head of Cardiology, but it ended four years ago. She’s now happily married.”

  “Maybe they still had something together, but kept it secret so her husband didn’t find out? And if so, maybe her husband found out and is the one who murdered him?”

  “The husband, Mr. Locksley owns the Rabbit Hole, and he was closing the bar at the time Dr. Humbert was murdered. One of his employees was there to corroborate that.” 

  “Dr. Mills didn’t take his last name when they got married?”

  “No, I asked her about it during the interview, and she said she wanted to keep her maiden name to avoid confusing her regular patients.”

  “And where was she that night?”

  “She was tending to a patient with cardiac arrest.” 

  “What was the cause of Dr. Humbert's death?”

  David clears his throat and retrieves a folder from his bag, pulls out some photos and spreads them over the table. 

  Killian swallows the sizable lump in his throat. The photos are of the murder victim with a knife lodged in beneath his left arm. 

  “Massive hemorrhaging from the stab wound.”

  Killian picks up one of the photos, studying it. “And the knife’s untraceable as well?” he asks bitterly, though he doesn’t need to. He already knows the answer.

  “Of course. The knife is an average filleting knife that could’ve come from any kitchen. The blade went through clean as a whistle and popped Dr. Humbert's heart like a balloon. And no fingerprints. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. Or she.”

  “Like another doctor?”

  David shrugs. “Possibly.”

  “And you’re certain the cardiologist was with a patient? She would know exactly where to stab a person to make it fatal.”

  “I checked the hospital security footage for verification. She went into her patient’s room at the time of the murder. Her alibi checks out.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “A security guard saw Humbert pull into the parking lot but never saw him go inside. When he left his post to check on Dr. Humbert, he found Graham’s body near his car. The murderer was like a ghost. Never seen, never heard. He left without a fucking trace.”

  The hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand on end. “Cassidy...” He cringes from merely speaking his name.

  David nods. “Question is, who hired him?”

  “This Dr. Swan… is she married?” Killian doesn’t think Emma had anything to do with the murder, but perhaps a jealous lover who saw her with Graham that night hired Cassidy. He’s drawing straws though.

  “No husband or boyfriend to speak of. She lives alone. No kids, not even birth parents. She was shuffled around from one foster home to another until she was adopted at the age of ten—by Anna and Elsa’s aunt. I’m sure you've heard the story?”

  “Aye, after their parents died in a car accident, Anna and Elsa went to stay with their Aunt Ingrid and her adopted daughter.” Killian points at the computer screen. “That’s her?”

  David nods. “Yep. The aloof cousin.” 

  “Huh.” Why has he never met this aloof cousin? Of course, if he’d known she was so gorgeous, he’d have made that happen a long time ago, but he'd never seen a picture of her, at least not one of her as an adult. If he had, he would have recognized her on the video. Killian shakes off the thoughts and studies the photos again. “I don’t get how a good-looking, successful doctor like this man stayed single?” Or a beautiful, successful doctor like Emma for that matter.

  David shrugs. “He probably was by choice. Maybe he was too focused on his career and thought a romantic relationship would only distract him. Or maybe he was in love with Regina and knew he couldn’t have her, so he didn’t want anyone else.”

  “Or maybe he was in love with someone else?” Killian poses. If he were Graham and had a female friend like Emma, he doubts he’d have only platonic feelings for her. “You said he walked Emma to her car that night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was there a kiss goodnight?”

  “When I questioned Dr. Swan, she said they hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek. I asked her if that was normal and she said no. It surprised her. But I checked the video footage in front of the bar. Mr. Locksley set up a camera there after someone tried to throw a rock through the door window a couple of years ago.”

  “To steal alcohol?”

  “Or cash from the till,” David shrugs. “Whatever their reason was, they weren’t successful. Probably got spooked by someone who saw them. Anyway, the hug between the two surgeons lasted too long to be friendly.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “How long is a normal hug?”

  “A few seconds, maybe more, depending on the relationship of the person you’re hugging. But ten seconds is too long if you’re only friends. Or frenemies in this case. So maybe, Graham had feelings for her but she didn’t return them? Maybe Graham made her feel uncomfortable or said something to her when he hugged her, and that, topped with him getting the promotion she desired was enough to want him dead.”

  Killian mulls it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it’s too obvious. She’s smarter than that. She’s a doctor and has way more education than both of us combined. If she really wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have hired someone to murder him a week after his promotion. I don’t think she hired Cassidy.”

  David cocks a brow, a sly smirk curving his lips. “So does that mean you’re in?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Killian grumbles.

  “But it’s been over five minutes. Which means I’ve intrigued you. Otherwise, we’d be outside with my wife and kids right now.”

  Bloody hell. 

  David’s right. Killian is intrigued, and not solely by the case, but by the blonde woman on David’s computer screen. He wants to know more about her; he wants to find out more information. He has a gut feeling about her; he knows she didn’t murder Dr. Humbert. He doesn’t believe the whole rival surgeons scenario is a motive for murder. He and David also bicker and tease each other, but he would never murder David over a job promotion. “Okay, fine. I’m intrigued. But as I said, I don’t think she had anything to do with Dr. Humbert’s murder.” 

  David makes a noise of hesitance and appears to be unsure about Killian’s assessment. “There’s something else you should know that might change your mind.”

  Killian cocks a brow. “What’s that?”

  “Did you hear about Cassidy’s most recent trial?”

  Killian shakes his head. “I stopped watching the news or following any media regarding that arsehole,” Killian mutters. “Not knowing there’s yet another victim left in his path of destruction is the only way I can sleep at night.”

  “He was acquitted from another capital punishment.” 

  Killian scoffs. “So he got away with another murder? What else is new?”

  David sighs and fast-forwards through the video. “Just listen.” He hits play.

  “Dr. Swan, did you recently serve on a jury that recently acquitted an accused contract killer, Neal Gold?”

  Killian’s eyebrow jumps, and he reclines in his chair, crossing his arms.

  “What’s the relevance of the question, Detective?” Mr. Hopper asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  David raises his hand in defense. “I’ll get to that, I promise.”

  “Please do very quickly,” Emma says curtly. “Some of us don’t have time for unnecessary interviews. I have patients waiting for me.”

  David sighs. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can leave.”

  She expels a tentative breath. “Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

  “And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

  Killian swallows the lump in his throat. 

  “I was. But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Feisty lass,” Killian remarks with a subtle smirk.

  David nods. “That’s for sure. Feisty but polite.” 

  They revert their attention to the video.

  “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

  Emma narrows her eyes at the insinuation. “Dr. Humbert and I were not adversaries. We were friendly colleagues.”

  “Yes, you were a colleague of his who wanted the promotion he got, and recently let a contract killer back on the streets.”

  Her eyes widen as she lunges forward in her seat. “I didn’t free him. The judge made the final decision. My job was to determine the facts and reach a verdict based on all the facts and evidence. In that case, the evidence was lacking.” 

  Her attorney puts out his hand to stop her from continuing to speak any further. “Detective, Mr. Gold’s crime was alleged and has no relevance to this case.”

  David pauses the video. “Some of the jurors said Cassidy and the doctor kept making eyes at each other.

  Killian quirks a brow. He doesn't doubt any straight, red-blooded male would be attracted to Emma, but he highly doubts a woman of her class, beauty and intelligence would be interested in a scumbag like Cassidy. “Did you question her about it?”

  “Yes, she claimed he kept staring at her, but that his attentions were very much unwanted. That’s as far as I got before Mr. Hopper stood and asked if there were any more unnecessary questions I wanted to ask her.”

  “So, you think the doctor hired Cassidy to eliminate her competition?”

  “The crime scene had his name written all over it.”

  “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t think someone like her,” Killian says, pointing at the paused screen, “would get involved with someone like that piece of scum.” The thought makes him utterly sick to his stomach.

  “He may be scum, but he’s clever scum. That’s why your brother coined his moniker, remember?”

  “Aye.” He remembers very well when Liam began calling him Cassidy. 

  One time Killian asked his brother why he called him that, and he said Neal’s father, a convicted felon Liam successfully put behind bars, was referred to only as his surname, Gold. To avoid any confusion, he didn’t call Neal by his surname too, nor did he wish to call Neal by his first name—Liam never called perps by their first name—so initially, Neal was the clever killer because he seemed to be an exception to Locard's Exchange Principle, which asserts, “the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and leave with something from it,” and that “both can be used as forensic evidence.” Dr. Edmond Locard was the Sherlock Holmes of France who came up with the basic principle of forensic science, “every contact leaves a trace.”  

  While Cassidy always leaves a weapon at the scene, he never purchases the weapons, or at least there is never a trace of the purchase. He also never leaves fingerprints. There was only one single time when Cassidy was sloppy and accidentally left something of his behind and that was when he murdered Liam. But he never took anything from his victims.  

  The name Cassidy was brought up when Elsa became pregnant with Camila and they were deciding on names. Elsa had mentioned Cassidy as a possible name for their daughter, and when Liam looked up the name to see what it meant, he discovered the origins of the name and that it meant clever. So it became Neal’s nickname.

  When Liam’s daughter was born, he suggested they call her Camila, which means perfect , and Elsa was immediately on board with it. Killian’s glad Liam and Elsa didn’t end up naming their child Cassidy. How ironic would it have been if Liam gave his daughter the same name he gave the man who eventually killed him? 

  Liam never mentioned Neal Gold to Elsa, he didn’t like bringing work home with him and he especially didn’t like to cause his wife any distress by talking about a notorious serial killer on the loose. He didn’t want Elsa to worry about her husband, and while she knew the risks that came with Liam’s job as a homicide detective, he made her believe he mostly reviewed old, unsolved cases. 

  After Liam died, Killian promised Elsa he’d find her husband’s killer. While no one was certain of who murdered Liam because there was no evidence, except for a single thread of fabric left behind at the crime scene, Killian and David knew. But Killian botched any chance they had of convicting Cassidy and failed Elsa and Camila in the process. Not only did he fail, but he’s the reason why Cassidy couldn’t be convicted. He acted on high emotions after Liam’s death. He was so angry and vengeful, he was willing to do whatever it took to put Cassidy behind bars. And that’s exactly why he failed. He didn’t think. He made a split decision, and several people have subsequently paid the price for that decision. Now a highly respected surgeon has been added to that list, along with who knows how many others.

  “So, how will you proceed?” Killian asks skittishly, afraid of what David’s answer might be.

  “Not me. Us,” David says. “I need your help.”

  “Why me? Why not Scarlet or Jefferson?”

  “Because I need someone with your instincts, someone good, and you're better than them or anyone else in our department. Besides, no one knows Cassidy like you do.”

  Killian shakes his head. “I can’t. Any case involving Cassidy is personal for me. After he killed—” His voice cracks. He can’t even force the rest of the words out. “I can't.”

  “Come on, Killian. I’m not asking you to come back permanently; just this one case, that's it,” David pleads. “If you won’t do this for me, do it for your brother.”

  Damn it, Nolan. Why did he have to go and use that card? 

  Killian sighs and stands up, pacing the kitchen. When he reaches David again, he stops and places his hands on his hips. “Let’s say I said yes, what would you want me to do?”

  “Search for any clues that will tell us if Emma and Cassidy are in alliance.”

  Killian furrows his brows. “Since you need probable cause, I'm guessing you don't have a warrant for Dr. Swan, so how do you suppose I do that?”

  David shakes his head. “Ah-ah, I’m not telling you until you say you’re in.”

  Killian sighs dramatically as he drags his hand over his face. He has a feeling he’s not going to like whatever plan David has up his sleeve. But he misses working with him again, and he has to admit, he still doesn’t believe Emma had anything to do with her colleague’s murder. So perhaps he can go along with David’s plan to prove that. He looks at David again and with a curt nod, he makes it official. “I’m in.”

  To that, David says nothing, just grins complacently.

  Killian gulps. What the bloody hell did he just sign up for?

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

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[hrodvitnon]

Once again this is the Ch.14 nonnie with the questions. Thank you very much for answering them. Just tell me to stop if they become annoying. New batch anyway. 1. You mentioned a suicide attempt for Vivi earlier, if that had made it in what would their relationship have been like? 2. How do you conduct your research, library, internet or some other source? 3. Damn your side note, making me think of a whole lot of questions but just gonna ask one, got a potential partner in mind for them?

Welcome back, Ch. 14 Nonnie! And no worries, these questions are fun.

1. Had the suicide attempt not been cut and happened (whether via the barrier, the walls, seppuku via metal lifty-bits on a forklift, whatever works), during the act San would lose his shit and actively fight Vivi on this because for however-many-eons he’s lived as part of Ghidorah he only knew “hunt fight kill eat survive! We’re Bad Bitch Ghidorah, we ain’t gonna die!” He doesn’t have a concept of  w h y  someone would want to die and this would feed into his developing thanatophobia because from his perspective when you die nothing happens, no afterlife, no reincarnation, just... nothing. He never had to worry about that, being for all intents and purposes immortal. 

So because this freaky new concept utterly terrifies him on a level he’s never experienced before (think how in the movie’s end San has a look of “OH SHIT WHAT” and hesitates before firing his Gravity Beam at Burning Godzilla) he completely freaks out at Vivi and probably comes to the conclusion that this is his fault because he’s been conditioned to think if something goes wrong it’s because he messed up somehow. Now that I think about it there probably wouldn’t be too much difference if the attempt was left in. Maybe he’d try to (literally) disarm themselves as a safeguard assuming they’d grow another arm back, and maybe it would but then it’d be stuck in this weird straightjacket position due to bone mutation and make their Ch. 6 escape that much more difficult with only two functioning limbs. He might be more resistant to the “microwave ourselves” solution and oh boy this is turning into Until Dawn levels of decisions and consequences!

2. I’m a bit of a hermit so my research is done online. With the Elder Futhark runes acting as chapter titles, I look up various websites regarding rune symbolism and meanings and lean more towards the ones where the interpretations are consistent, so the runes will act as a “in which events are described” function, fitting with whatever the chapter’s about and even act as foreshadowing; for example Ingwaz (“seed”) foreshadows Ghidorah orchestrating the conception of the Many and human/Ghidorah hybrids through Jonah’s DNA trafficking. With the early chapters aping the SCP Foundation it’s only natural certain SCP entries were big inspirations, the most notable being SCP-682 (Hard-to-Kill Reptile), SCP-610 (The Flesh That Hates), and most notably SCP-439 (The Bone Hive). Imagine my horror and fascination where the picture shown is an actual image of advanced FOP.

3. While I haven’t thought of any potential mates for Viv ‘n San, there are implications that Rodan thinks they’re interested in him and/or Godzilla. It doesn’t help that, well, certain birds can get sexually stimulated when they’re being petted in certain areas, like the chest, and Vivi suffers from Damn You Muscle Memory and at times forgets that her human gestures can have completely different meanings to a Titan mind. So Vivi needs to figure out poking Rodan in the chest will inevitably lead to a very awkward learning experience.

[all-sortsa-stuff]

A new start, part 10

(Image does not belong to me!!)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 3038

Warnings: Language

 Part 9

 “[Y/N]! [Y/N]!  You look amazing.  Who is your designer?”

Chris squeezed your hand as he moved to step behind you to let you have your time to shine.  You took a breath and stepped forward towards the woman.  With a bright smile, you told everyone about Mijael’s gorgeous creation.  There was no doubt that he was with his team all screaming every time you said his name.  It was the least you could do for the man.  Once all the fashion questions had been answered, the reporter eyed the handsome man behind you quickly before looking back to you. “So is Chris Evans here as your friend, supporting his costar… Or did something more develop between you on set?”

You had to laugh at the way the woman emphasized ‘more’.  Glancing back at Chris over your shoulder, it was hard to miss that giant grin on his face, or the wink he sent your way.  He loved every second of this.  “Chris is here to support me of course…”  

Not wanting to wait for the end of the sentence, Chris stepped up grabbing the microphone from the reporter.  “As her boyfriend,” he added to your statement.  That sent everyone within hearing distance into a tizzy.  You laughed, covering your now blush covered face. The reported started firing off many more questions until someone gently grabbed your arm pulling you towards the red carpet.

“[Y/N] has a lot of other people to talk to tonight.”  Petra, your publicist pulled you far enough away so you could take a moment to recover. “Girl, you need me around to keep you out of trouble and stuck talking to the same person.”

You hugged her quickly before introducing her to Chris.  After that, it was many more of the same questions being asked and answered along with a few that you chose to ignore.  One reporter had the nerve to bring up your ex, asking who was a better lover, David or Chris.  If Petra had not pulled you both away, Chris and you might have hit him.  It was all whirlwind until it was time to find your seats in the theater.  Once seated, your nerves got the better of you and your leg started to bounce. Chris laughed setting his hand on your knee.  “Baby, it will be fine.  You are getting way too anxious for this.  Just enjoy it.”

Leaning over, he kissed your temple lightly before smiling that smile of his that always caused your heart to beat out of your chest.  “That isn’t helping!”  He looked at your genuinely confused.

“What?”

“You looking at me like that!  Looking so freaking hot in your tux and smiling at me as if I am the last woman on the planet.  You have no clue what that does to me.”  The goofball then laughed loudly enough to draw attention to himself, but he did not care.

“Good to know I drive you crazy almost as much as you drive me.”

“Ass.”  You teased, as you leaned over and stole kiss.  He smirked not minding one bit.  More people were starting to take their seats around you as the awards were about to start.  The purse in your hands started to vibrate from a message on your phone.  Pulling it out to look, you found it was from your mom. It was one of the pictures of you and Chris together all dressed up, with one word underneath it.

Grandbabies

That woman was relentless and you could not prevent the sigh that escaped.  Chris raised a brow in question; laughing when you showed him exactly what it said.  Quickly you wrote a message back.

Thanks Mom for the well wishing

It took a minute because your mother was so slow at texting.  However, her response made you smile and tear up a bit.

[Y/N] [Y/M/N] you don’t need well wishes.  I know how talented you are and no matter what happens tonight you are still my best actress.

The lights dimmed in the theater as the music began.  This was it and your hands started to shake.  Chris put your phone away before holding your hands securely in his.  It was perhaps the only thing keeping your entire body from shaking.  The master of ceremonies spoke of the time honored tradition of the awards before moving into a musical number.  Your category was one of the final presentations of the night and by the time it came, you had gone to the bathroom three times to relieve your nervous bladder.

Then it was time.  The presenter of your category stepped up to the podium with a bright smile.  “Our next award for the evening is Best Actress.  The four women nominated for this award are some of Hollywood’s best and brightest. I am honored to be able to present this tonight.”  The three other actresses were announced first as you finished up the grouping. Chris leaned over quickly to whisper in your ear.

“When they say your name everyone is going to cheer and clap for you.  The world already loves you, [Y/N].  But none of them love you as much as I do.”  There was no time to react to his declaration.

“The award for Best Actress goes to… [Y/N] [Y/L/N] for Deep dark corner.”  The audience erupted into screams.  Clapping thundered throughout the theater.  Chris grinned as he forced you to stand.  He kissed you lightly before pushing you down the aisle.

Your speech was clutched in hand, as you stepped slowly onto the stage, ensuring you did not fall flat on your face. ��The presenter hugged you before handing you the award and access to the podium to speak. It felt as though your heart was going to beat right out of your chest.

“I truly can’t believe this right now.  I don’t think I will be able to read this speech of my cards.  Wow, thank you so very much.  So many people to thank for this. Umm… first Amelia Maxwell for writing the wonderful screenplay that, honestly, scared me to death when I read it. For telling the story about her fight against schizophrenia and giving people the chance to experience a side of the condition most do not see.  My parents, who pushed me to do something outside of my comfort zone.  Our director Doug Hartman for helping me take on this role and believing in me.  As well as the entire crew, without who we could not have made such an amazing film.  Thank you all.  And Chris… I love you baby.  Thank you.” You lifted the trophy, grinning like a fool, as you were ushered off the stage by the presenter and one of the stagehands.  Holy crap… you just announced to the world that you were in love with Chris.

Immediately you were whisked off to be interviewed by a group of reporters.  Many asked about how you were feeling and what was next for you. Even more asked about your relationship with Chris.  The rapid-fire questions had your head spinning.  Before long, you were pulled towards one of the offices to sign your life away in regards to your trophy.  Required appearances and interviews would be necessary that evening.  The after-party with more reporters and those wanting to get their time in with you.  It was all so much at one time.  You never knew how much went on behind the scenes of these shows.  

It was at least an hour before you had a chance to get back to Chris.  By then the show was over and everyone was filing out of the theater. You were stopped a few times along the way to have people congratulate your win.  It was still such an odd thing to wrap your mind around, but here it was. You had really won and within a few months, you would have the trophy to display at home.  Well, that is if your mother did not steal it for herself to show off at her house.  Damn you might have to put it in a locked case to keep her away from it.  

Chris was standing, with your purse tucked under his arm, by your seats talking to Petra.  It was hard to miss the grin on his face when he saw you.  He pulled you close, kissing you as though it had been months since he had seen you last. “Couldn’t wait to tell the world how you feel about me?”

Laughing quietly you wrapped your arms around his neck.  He leaned his forehead against yours.  “Nope. Though I was still in shock from the bombshell, you dropped on me.  I couldn’t even read my speech.”  He stole another kiss before Petra spoke up from behind you.

“Ugh, you two are such sugary cuteness I am going to be sick.  Come on, you have other people to inflict this on tonight.”  The sarcasm in her voice was apparent and made both of you laugh, as you were lead out to the waiting limo.  On the drive to the first after party, you started to read a few of the texts you had received.

“That damn thing, I swear must have gone off fifty times in the first thirty seconds you walked to the stage.”  Chris laughed shaking his head.  Pulling out his own phone to text his parents.  “My family said ‘Congratulations. We are so happy for you.’

“Oh that is so sweet! Tell them, thank you.”  It meant a lot coming from his family.  Chris was right; you had a little over fifty messages from assorted family, friends, and acquaintances.  There would not be the time to be able to go through them all now.  You messaged your parents, your brother and your agent, thanking them and letting them all know you would talk to them in the morning.  Then you thought twice about it and sent a message to Mijael thanking him for the entire package tonight.  He sent back a picture of him blowing you a kiss.  

The first party of the night consisted of you talking to many people you did not know that were involved with the awards.  You smiled and answered questions when you were asked, all while making sure Chris was not far away.  This was one of the downfalls of winning for you, having to do all the PR stuff.  After a couple hours, you were given some breathing room to dance and have a good time.  Several glasses of champagne later you were feeling relaxed and able to show a true smile. Chris was being wonderful and had only had water so he could keep an eye on you while you enjoyed yourself.  

It was a wonderful night with so many important things happening.  Your lips were starting to dry out from how much you kissed Chris and how many people you had to talk to.  Excusing yourself for a moment, you needed to freshen yourself up and make sure you did not look a fright in front of all the cameras.  On your way back to find Chris, a voice stopped you.

“[Y/N].”  It was not a voice you wanted to hear tonight.  Not a face you wanted to see.  Nevertheless, you were not going to be outwardly rude, at least not in this public place.  

“David, I didn’t know you were here.”  Turning to look at him, he stood before you in a dark blue tuxedo.  

“I’m making my way around a few of the parties.  My agent thought I should get my face out there again, since I have been trying to lay low recently.  Since… well you know.”  Nodding you clutched your purse close against you.  

“Yeah…”

“I just wanted to congratulate you.  You deserved it.  The movie was amazing and you brought it to life.  There was no competition, it was yours.”  Nodding slightly, you smiled half-heartedly.  You did not want to be here, having this conversation with him.

“Thanks, it was a surprise to me.”  You took small steps, slowly making your way out of the hall towards the crowd.  

“Are you happy?  I mean you seem really happy.  I don’t know if I ever saw you smile that big before. You lit up the room.  But you always did.  [Y/N]… I miss you so much.  I’m in agony here.  I need…”  David took a step towards you, forcing you to take several steps backward.

“David, don’t.  I am happy.  Happier than I ever have been.  I am so crazy in love with Chris that I just declared it to the world. Speaking of which I need to get back to him. This and you aren’t going to ruin my night.  There is no chance for us again, ever.  Please move on.”  If you had not been wearing high heels you would have ran, but instead you walked as quickly as they would allow.  Chris walked up to you with a look of concern on his face.

“[Y/N] you okay?”  

“Yeah, fine.  You ready to go to the next party?  I think I am over this one.”  He searched your face for a moment, knowing that there was something more to it.  Thankfully, he decided not to press further.

“This is your night. I’m here to do anything you want. Let’s go if you want.”  Kissing you gently before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder leading you out towards the limo.  The rest of the night was amazing.  You had the chance to talk to friends and former costars.  One of your old directors dragged you on to the dance floor as he used to, when the crew would go out bar hopping.  Much more champagne was had and many more pictures were taken.  It was a good time for both you and Chris.  It was nice to not have to worry about the world finding out about your relationship.  Now you could just enjoy each other.

By 4 AM Chris had your purse under his arm again and both of your shoes tucked into the pockets of his jacket.  He had to help your drunk ass from the limo into the house.  Though, he was enjoying the giggly drunk version of yourself.  “Do you know how freaking hot you are?  Like I mean, reallllllly hot.  Damn and you’re all mine.”  You giggled loud as you spun around in your pretty dress in the living room.

“Yes ma’am all yours. You ready for bed?  You have to be exhausted.” Shaking your head wildly causing some wisps of hair to fall out of the clips.

“Nope, I wanna dance!  Dance with me.”  He laughed shaking his head.  Shrugging out of his jacket and pulling off the tie.  His shoes had already been left by the door.

“[Y/N], we have been dancing all night, baby.  You said your feet hurt.”

“No we danced for everyone else.  Now it’s just us.  Come on, pleeeeease.”  You pulled out the sad lip and batted your lashes at him.  There was no defense against the lip and the lashes; the man was already lost the moment he first laid eyes on you.  Turning on the music first, he wrapped you in his arms.  The song was slow but you did not hear it. You just wanted to look at his face.

“This what you wanted?”

“Mmmhmm.”  Several song played with neither of you saying a word. Just staring at the other and grinning like idiots.  At the beginning of the night, you had already decided you were not going to wait anymore. You wanted him more than anything else in this world and it was time you went further.  The award and his three little word declaration had turned the night upside down.  Nope you did not want to wait anymore.  Tonight you wanted it to end with the two of you together.  “I think I’m ready for bed.  Help me get this thing off?  It’s already hard enough to walk.”

With a nod, you spun around glancing at him over your shoulder as he started to pull the zipper down. “You go, am going to make sure everything is locked up and I will meet you up there.”

You kissed him long before making your way upstairs.  The dress slipped easily to the floor, pooling around your ankles as you stepped out of it.  Glancing in the mirror, you found bright pink cheeks from the alcohol and pure excitement of the night.  In your drunken state, you still thought you looked cute, and hoped the sexy lingerie set you had been wearing underneath the dress all night would tease him.  After several minutes without him coming up stairs you went down to find him.  Padding quietly down the stairs you found him reading over a piece of paper he had in hand.  He had not heard you behind him.

“Hoping I would fall asleep without you?”  At the sound of your voice, he turned to find you standing at the base of the stairs in just your black cheeky panties with matching strapless bra.  It left little to the imagination.

“Holy shit…”  Chris’s jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw you. Whatever was on the paper was forgotten. “I… umm… I was… distracted.  Were you wearing that the whole time?”  Biting your lip gently you nodded at him.  “Damn… It’s a good thing I didn’t know that.  There would not have been after parties.”

Another giggle left your lips as you walked towards him.  “Come to bed?”  You did not give him a chance to answer as you kissed him, showing him exactly how much you wanted him.  He tried to resist for a moment but his resolve crumbled quickly.  That kiss grew into something much more, well that was until he pulled back having to breathe hard as he stared at you.

“You are trying to kill me.”

“No, I am trying to seduce you.  You had better live through it.  I have lots of plans for you in the future.”  Two steps was all it took for him to move to you, picking you up in his arms and walk up the stairs.

“Please, don’t hate me in the morning.”

 Part 11

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