#that man's past is just pure cocaine

[smutnug]

Took me so long to make the connection between "handsome younger man" in the Chosen vision and fucking GORTASH

[weebsinstash]

As much as I strongly dislike when a series kind of "cages" the self insert/OC potential of its audience, it's becoming pretty clear that there's a certain level of pre-determined-ness to Sinners and their appearances, almost to the point it's vaguely implied entire sections of Pentagram City are like, ethnically/visually distinct and that every character we see fits into some sort of category and resembles other people. There's an Overlord who's a giant raptor dinosaur and there are other dinosaur Sinners (and also she's like the club/rave based overlord and even has a business, Klub Kaiju, interesting). Valentino is a moth and there are other moths and different bugs like spiders. In the most recent episode showing flashbacks of Hell in Alastor's past, there was a past female Overlord who had the same multi-toned angular swirling hair as Velvette does. In Vox's studio in episode two, he has members of staff that are visually similar to his own aesthetic. Even up in Heaven, Angel's sister Molly still has her spider aesthetic with a halo and cherub wings

so, i guess, to go where I'm ACTUALLY going with this post.... Moth Reader who winds up catching Valentino's eyes because "oh wow we're both moths, isn't that cute" and it escalates into him seeing you as his property, ESPECIALLY if you also have weird drugging/pheromone powers like him

Like can you imagine it? You smack down into the city while he's like having lunch at a cafe or his limo is parked at a light and you're standing up all confused and helpless and cute, hugging yourself as you look around this loud violent scary new place, and you two wind up making exact eye contact and he can tell you're crying and scared, easy prey. Could you picture Reader's equivalent of his coat being that you're in a little hoodie or jacket or shawl and it just unwraps while you're sitting with him. Idk. You accidentally inhale some of his smoke and just give a cute little sneeze and your antenna and your wings are all just poofing out, you basically just equipped that shit from your inventory. On the fence if Reader would have chest fur but maybe your hair hair is really big and long and silky

Moth Reader having eye spots on their wings that can lull someone into hypnosis, or you have some sort of pheromone that makes people weak to your demands, maybe even horny for you, like some mind controlling queen bee ordering her drones. Val's in the bathroom and some creep grabs you and all of a sudden your antenna twitch and his face gets hit with a little puff of 'dust' and suddenly he's letting go of you, "oh my gosh sweetie I am so sorry, here, take all the money in my wallet, you deserve it, I'm so sorry queen, I'm gonna go jump into traffic, sorry queen, sorry, sorry, im a worm, sorry, sorry"

Valentino having unique reactions to your "pollen" as another moth or at least an addict with a tolerance. He buries his face in your neck so you "poof" him on purpose and he's just hotboxing your scent and getting high and horny while you're struggling and squealing. He forces you to use your powers on him and others so they can feel happy and high. At some point he may even force you to keep producing the powder so he can sell it as a drug or a product and at that point you're BIG INCOME for him, he might as well carry you around like his personal vape pen

Like. Can you even imagine "oh yeah Im super lucky enough that i have these powers to protect myself and potentially manipulate others" and you think you're safe and untouchable and this man is like using his fucking credit card to shift your powder into lines to snort it like a rail of cocaine. You can turn "normal" Sinners into your helpless pawns but it loses effectiveness the stronger the person is and this man is like HOTBOXING your shit, all but passing out on the couch with you in his arms in pure drug seeking unrestrained bliss. And then he fucks ya cause I mean, it's YOUR fault he's all hot and bothered now isn't it?

Just Reader not even knowing how much danger they're in because you just got here and have no idea who this guy is and you're just spinning around looking at your new appearance and flapping your little wings and maybe you can even float or fly a little bit, all happy, big big smiles, being all "oh my gosh this is so cool, I feel so cute ^^" and you don't even realize you're practically modeling yourself on a runway to one very, VERY interested customer...

[whoreseason]

RANDOM JAMES MARCH HEADCANONS

CW for murder, drug use mentions, and discussions of trauma/implied child abuse

I think he excels at doing cocaine. I don’t know how to explain what I mean though

He's done quite a lot of it in his life but no longer does, not only because his ass is dead and he can't get high but because such crass indulgences remind him of his younger days

He’d wear women’s perfume if it were more socially acceptable but his ideas around masculinity refuse to let him do this

His hair is naturally a bit curly and he has spent years gelling it into submission

Is 5'8 and rather small build-wise

Despite his size, he can really, really hold his own in a fight, though he fights very dirty. Hand to hand fighting triggers something in him and he does it with pure rage. His opponent will be on the ground before they know it and he'll probably have killed them before he realizes what he's doing

Is a bit resentful of his babyface, as well as his height, and wishes he were both taller and more mature looking

Growing out a mustache was influenced by this

Also deeply resentful of the phrase “prettyboy”, which he’s heard a fair amount

Either puts lifts in his shoes or wears slightly heeled ones. Do NOT bring this up

Has been smoking since he was 12 or so

His eye twitches just slightly when he’s annoyed. It’s often his only outward tell

His only two modes of expressing irritation/anger are “irritated but not showing it” or “literally screaming”

I feel like we as a fandom don’t talk about his canonical temper enough. This individual has probably thrown a fork into a maid’s eye because she got the placement of a napkin wrong

His original accent is lower class Boston, and while this may not be a headcanon, I feel the need to bring this up. His actual voice may sound more like Kit's than anything

Speaks a bit of French and Latin, largely in an attempt to fit in with the old money upper class

Started drinking pretty hard very young, maybe when he was around 12 or 13? And was basically an alcoholic throughout his teenage years

Barely went to school growing up and was more or less able to charm his way into university

Is embarrassed of his Irish heritage. He's a product of his time

Killed his first victim in a rage episode in an alley behind a bar somewhere when he was 16

His first victims were impulsive kills along these lines, but his motives switched from triggered anger to relying on it as he went on, and by the time he was in university he'd get tightly wound and restless if he'd gone a week without it

Took various traits from his first victims-- ways of lighting a cigarette, vocal quirks, body language tics, that sort of thing. As the number racked up and his designed personality become more fleshed out he stopped doing this, but he carries his first kills with him through certain mannerisms, though it's now subconscious

Also took various traits from movie stars and book characters. Spent a lot of time at the cinema as a young man finding things on screen to make a part of himself

Is so very, very fake. Has constructed basically every aspect of his presentation and outward personality

He hates being reminded of who he was before, who he truly was-- he’ll reference parts of his childhood in the context of who he is now and what he's had to overcome, but it’s more like he’s using pieces of his past to construct a story about himself. Anything vulnerable or authentic to that part of his life he won’t bring up, he doesn’t even let it cross his mind

Has worked very, very carefully to suppress his flinching instinct at sudden noise or movement, but sometimes it still comes out when he’s snuck up on

Used to wake up screaming sometimes when he was alive

Would just as often wake up crying, which he quite hated. He never remembered what those dreams were about

He’s glad that he doesn’t sleep anymore and can thus avoid all that. Which is what he loves to do with his memories or any sign of emotional vulnerability, avoid it. Good luck trying to get him to open up about anything

Love you grandpa

[marimayscarlett]

I need more unhinged Richard quotes, like the whole “[coc*ine when you’re young vs when you’re old]” thing or I may simply pass away

Hi Hello 🤗

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while, but now I finally come around to compile some more quotes from Richard's interviews (here is 'Part 1' so to speak).

Off to another tiny little round of stuff Richard says (some are interesting, others a little weird or downright unhinged):

I think the quote you mean is this one [from this audio interview]: "It's like, you know, it's like you know when you were young and could do coke for a fucking month and nothing, y'know? When you get old you need to recover from fucking one week." (and the interviewer is seemingly quite lost: "haha..true..👀")

Now, on to the Fellfrosch gem [interview]: Interviewer: Perhaps the disgust at the bitter aftertaste is really just a problem of overly careless personal hygiene? Richard:  "Tastes change too. Much of what seemed too bitter to us in childhood tastes good to us today. On the other hand, we usually find the sweets from the past too sweet. Every fur frog tastes different. Pure question of taste. There is no judgment in the text. We’re not saying it stinks."

His readiness to try out his talents with on-screen eroticism some more [interview]: "After I shot some erotic scenes for a video the other day I could also imagine doing an entire film in that direction. I was quite nervous in the beginning, but the longer we were shooting the more fun I had. Erotic, mind you, not pornographic."

in the same interview, he discloses the two main activities which bring him relaxation: "I love lying in bed, smoking and watching good movies more than anything. That is the only thing where I can really switch of other than sex. Lots of both, please. [laughs]"

And another quote from said interview regarding in which time period he would've liked to live and about his affinity to the middle ages (which for me as a history geek is so lovely to see that he is into that period as well): "I guess the sword and blade time as I always call it. Knights templar, 11th century. I can answer that this well, because I like to watch even stupid movies when they deal with that period. I just have a huge affinity to it somehow and would love to find out how things were going back then."

The way he pressurized/threatened (?) Jonathan Davis to sing a high note for the song "Silent so long" (man Richard must be such a nice fellow to work with 👀) [interview]: "But there was a high note in the chorus that Jonathan couldn't quite get right. So what to do? He said he couldn't sing that high. So I grabbed the receiver and whispered the following into his ear: "Watch out, Jonathan. This is the German way! Now take both your hands, grab your balls and squeeze until you get that damn sound."

Touring is hard, but partying is even harder [interview]: "Touring is not the problem, but partying is. If you went straight to the hotel after the show - no problem. But if you party until six in the morning, it's getting increasingly more difficult to get out of bed."

Being super vague in moments where we need more facts from him like in this interview, about the "Bück dich" performance of Till and Flake: "If Till had to do it to me… I would probably you know, like… uhm.. I'll do… something."

this whole feverdream here: an interview for the promotion of the first Emigrate album back in 2007, where Richard and his alter Ego "Mister Emigrate" answer the questions 'together'. It's has a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde vibe to it but is kind of cute ✨

On a more serious note, here he talks about the effects of drugs on him: "I took a lot of cocaine. You reach dimensions that you could never reach otherwise. You can edit a bass drum for eight hours."

Thank you for your interest in even more stuff Richard says 😌

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

📓 <333

Okay back to answering these

I have this one very sprawling, episodic fic I call the Peter Parker Roommates AU that I deeply adore that’s basically based on the idea that, when the three Peters hugged at the end of multiverse, they got kind of glitched together and gained the ability to hop into each others universes.

They discover this fact entirely by accident after the entire matter is settled, everyone’s been sent back to their home universes and forgotten Tom Holland!Peter.

WHAT THEY SHOULD DO:

Tell the fucking wizards

WHAT THEY DO NOT DO:

okay so the thing is

They know, okay? They know that this is probably “cosmically dangerous” and “endangering the fabric of reality” or whatever. They all don’t want to rip a hole in the space time continuum that destroys all of existence.

But there’s a very compelling counterpoint to not telling the wizards.

And that’s that all of them are homeless and rent is very very expensive in every version of New York City and it is very very hard to get a roommate when you’re secretly fucking Spider-Man. They have never had such an unparalleled opportunity to split rent three ways before.

the thing is that apparently changing the fates of people who were “important” to your “past” may or may not change the world you come back to. 2/3 Spider-Men did not know they would be homeless coming out the other end of this and are very unprepared. The last 1/3 only had like 7 minutes of forewarning and is likewise caught off guard.

THE SPIDERMEN AND THEIR RESPECTIVE LIVING SITUATIONS:

Tom Holland!Peter (“Pete”): cold, homeless, alone, and sad. Has no idea if he still legally exists or not

Tobey McGuire!Peter (“Peter B.”): see the thing is that he’s been figuring things out and on/off with Mary Jane for a long time and when he left his universe last he and MJ were actually making a pretty good go at long term domesticity and had an apartment together and were really happy. He gets back and they’re very much off again and not on speaking terms, apparently, for reasons that he can’t figure out because they’re not on speaking terms. He has no idea where he lives. He cannot find it. He has tried. Where are all of his things. Currently has the clothes on his back and nothing else.

Andrew Garfield!Peter (“Peter P.”): not technically homeless but seriously considering it as a preferable alternative. The thing is that when he last left his universe he was living on his own, having moved out of Aunt Mays house for her safety and sanity. The universe he returned to was not that. He’s back in his childhood bedroom and apparently in this universe he was fighting a crime ring he was not fighting when he left because his closet is full of cocaine and he does not know why or where he got it or what mob he stole it from. It’s just. It’s an enormous amount of cocaine. He can’t remember what to do with it. He needs to get out of his aunts house and take his cocaine with him.

Anyway they realize that Peter B.’s aunt may never lost her house (a de-Goblin’d Norman Osborn paid it off and refused to accept any reimbursement whatsoever in complete guilt over what happened with Pete’s May). However, she is the oldest out of any May by a lot and needs to be in full time assisted living care home (also forcibly paid for by Norman Osborn for reasons that. Yeah. Would not explain. Makes sense why now.) and the 3 Peters decide to move in together at Peter B’s home and split living costs from there.

Honestly it’s too sprawling of a fic to adequately summarize so here are the highlights:

Peter B’s universe has a long time Daredevil that he’s absolute best friends with and neither of them will admit that they’re friends. They’re in a “purely professional�� relationship except they like send each other recipes and go antiquing together on the weekends. Both of them fucking hate their universe’s Avengers, who just cropped up.

Okay it’s not that they HATE them it’s just that they hate them. The thing is that this universes avengers didn’t get the hard launch of an alien invasion. Peter B’s universe had Just Spider-Man for a very long time and then Daredevil and Luke Cage and Jessica Jones and other street folk popped up and now the government is trying to roll out their own superhero team. The thing is they don’t have a super large amount to work with since there’s no alien invasion and people fucking love Spider-Man and other solo heroes so they just play the team angle really hard. The government basically launches a PR campaign that’s about how superhero teams are inherently more trustworthy and have more accountability because you have them keeping each other in check. They’re trying to rope in Spider-Man because he’s got the most street cred out of anyone like just join a TEAM get support from a TEAM and it’s just. It’s so annoying and inconvenient. Leave him BE.

Daredevil is having similar problems and is similarly angry about it. He’s not joining a team with tony stark out of all the godforsaken people. Get off of his rooftop and stop trying to recruit him.

They decide “fuck it” and to form a “team” with each other so that way they can say LOOK we have a TEAM we did the TEAM thing leave us alone now. What’s their team name? Uhhh… red. Team red. Because they both are wearing red. Leave them alone now.

This leads to some random guy named Deadpool taking out billboards and television ads begging to be made a part of their team. They don’t know who he is. He left a muffin basket nailed to the Peters front door with a knife as a bribe/for your consideration gift. How does this man know where they live and who is he. Anyway the muffins were fantastic

(Pete during Peter Bs biweekly bitchfest about the avengers: hey it’s probably a good idea you’re not teaming up with them because shield was secretly nazis in my universe

Peter B, slamming his hand on the counter: I KNEW IT)

(Peter B’s Matt (“Mr. Murdock”) waking Pete up in the middle of the night: what do you mean they were secretly nazi’s

Pete, violently realizing that his attorney was daredevil the whole fucking time: oh I’m gonna torture him with that *cue three months straight where he makes a bunch of lawyer jokes around his universe’s daredevil to drive him mad with paranoia*)

Mike Murdock shenanigans when Pete’s Matt gets caught as Daredevil, arrested, and put on trial and Pete, who has decided he owes him a life debt for his help when he was in the hot seat, concoctes a wild scheme where they claim it was his twin brother Mike Murdock all along. Forces Mr. Murdock to go along as their “Mike” by promising to find a way to reveal SHIELD as secretly nazis, because they’re so fucking annoying and Mr. Murdock wants public humiliation and pain for the inconvenience of having to deal with them

When they do reveal them as secretly nazis they do it through Peter B’s universe’s Bucky, who ends up moving to Pete’s universe in a sort of recovery/witness relocation thing. He moves in with Pete’s Matt (“Matt”), who hates this fact. Leave his home.

Peter B’s universe’s Steve hurdles into depression when it’s discovered that he was working for Nazis and Bucky doesn’t want to see him (he immigrated to another universe and they were planning to tell 0 people that fact) and keeps moping where Peter B has to see it, ruining his now AMAZING mood now that the avengers and shield were publicly ruined. So he drops him off at Matt’s apartment. Matt hates this fact. Leave his home.

This Steve decides that immigration to another universe is the only and best option and becomes a barista and decides his fake name is going to be his favorite character from his favorite book from the 40s that was sadly mostly unknown. So he goes around as Frodo the Barista now. What do you mean that book is popular here. He can’t change it again.

He fights crime as a vigilante in Brooklyn with his Bucky in his free time. Matt is frothing with rage that this is his problem and demands Pete do something about it. Pete starts spreading the rumor that this is the ghost of Captain America and Bucky Barnes haunting Brooklyn, obviously. He is aware that his universes Bucky is still alive. People believe it anyway. Now there’s ghost tours in Brooklyn to see the ghost of someone who’s still fucking alive.

(Matt: I need them out of my home I can’t take this anymore

Foggy, squinting at him: you fucked both of them didn’t you

Matt: that is BESIDES THE POINT)

Peter P’s universe is the only one without a daredevil and he is SO UPSET. He loves daredevils. He wants one so so bad. This is so unfair.

Then law student Matt Murdock starts dicking around in black sweatpants and Peter P could not be more excited. Oh god oh fuck yes yes yes yes it’s happening

His Matt is deeply confused as to how he already caught Spider-Man’s attention and doesn’t want to team up with him. He’s just cleaning up his neighborhood. This isn’t a Thing he doesn’t have a superhero name. When Peter p insists on knowing who he is he just replies “I am a Man of Justice”

Peter P is so fucking psyched and blinded that he got a dramatic theatre kid Matt Murdock that he forgets himself and decides “I’m gonna call you MJ. You look like an M name” and then has a panic attack because BOTH the other Peters fell in love with an MJ. Did he jinx this cosmically?? Oh god

The thing is that Peter P’s universe didn’t get an Avengers, they got a fantastic four. Peter P is in a very unwilling and one sided rivalry with Johnny Storm on account that Johnny Storm keeps trying to rival him and he’s like. Fucking 17. Peter P is an adult man in grad school he can’t, this is, it’s just embarrassing is what it is. However Pete fucking betrayed him by dating Johnny Storm (re: had a star crossed and doomed to fail genuine relationship with him that helped him recover from losing MJ and Ned and crashed and failed due to the fact that Reed Richards was chasing the multiverse and Pete decided he couldn’t risk what he had with the Peters after losing his entire family to the multiverse last time. They broke up and both were devastated)

(Peter P, under the impression he has Big Brother Authority, which does not exist: I FORBID IT

Pete: I do not care man

Peter B, has a headache: let’s all take a step back

Peter P: he’s, he’s immature and bad and always dating new people every week and and he is trying to steal your sweetness

Pete: *stares at him* *ungodly screeching*)

The thing is that the Johnny Storm led to an agreement where they could not date each others friends/enemies multiversal counterparts because it got weird fast. What do you MEAN that your MJ is your Daredevil Pete has ONE FRIEND IN HIS ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND THATS HIS MATT PETER P CANNOT DATE HIS MATT

This leads to a period of time where Pete insists upon living out of a little hobo sack in his universe, which leads to an even more embarrassing period of time where Peter B is aggressively trying to hunt him down and force him to talk about his feelings, which is the one thing Pete is refusing to do. Peter B refuses to let Pete (who is in his self destructive loner phase, they all have one, it’s a Peter Parker thing) live alone. He needs a roommate who can patch him up or peter b will fucking web them together. Pete says “fine” and gets a roommate. The roommate is the Punisher. He is the only one who thinks this is a solution. Except Frank is weirdly good with angst riddled seventeen year olds and pete gets more emotional actualization and moves back in with the other Peters

Peter Bs JJJ has actual journalistic integrity and some modicum of concern for this random teenager that his photographer took in and thinks he just needs stability and structure and support in life to succeed. He keeps trying to be a mentor figure in Pete’s life who is simply not having it.

He eventually ends up in multiversal shenanigans and discovers Pete’s version of him, who he decides is the Evil Version of him who sells fucking scam multivitamins and slanders a perfectly nice young man. His thing was different they’re not talking about that anyway he has to kill the version of him without journalistic integrity

Peter B, could not be more tired: *deep breath*

Mr. Murdock is in a long standing polycule with his Karen and his Foggy and the thing is that both his Karen and his Foggy have baby fever but can’t adopt because their lives are hostile to children’s continued survival and he decides that what he really needs for them is a durable orphan who can be their like, pseudo child and he can be like the weird uncle to. He just sort of shoves Pete in their path, who fucking owes him for the entire thing with Mike Murdock, and it’s really very extremely awkward when they figure out he was doing it to help Karen and foggy get out their latent parenting instincts. Pete feels violated.

There’s this entire subplot with scarlet witch and multiversal versions of her orphaned twins trying to find a version of their mom (who died in Peter B’s universe) that they can be with that would take too long to get into but whenever they misbehave on the quest to find Pete’s scarlet witch and see if she ever considered motherhood they threaten to send them back to their home universe to be Mr Murdock’s durable orphans

There’s a lot more but this is very long already

[vidvix]

Gangsta | Chapter 1

img credit: @nexttopbadbitch

Chapter One "The Peep Show" *Cue the most infamous scene from Belly 1998*

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

Devanté and his entourage hustled into the club watching the crowd part like the red sea, Their eyes glowing in the red lights, His shades tilted on his nose as he carried the briefcase containing thousands of dollars and cocaine in the other. His baggy leather clothes concealed him as he looked for his target and his eyes on the prize. One of the dancers stopped dancing as she seen Devanté pull up behind her, His presence identical to a black panther. The look of fear covered her face as she watched him slam the case onto the table and pulled a gun out. The glock sat comfortably on the man's forehead as he stared at Devanté's empty hand. The mission was to trade his supply in for more money and a key to escape. The man scoffed as he looked through the case and sniffed the coke making sure it was pure and not a false batch. His hands trembled as he counted the cash and put the respective bills in the right case making sure everything's right. Devanté gestured for his member to check after him. His glowing eyes focused on the trigger and wanting to release it so bad.

The member gave him the thumbs up and closed the cases.

"See how simple that was." Devanté chuckled "All you had to do was have my shit and not have me sitting here trigger happy. You're lucky your brains are still in your head, Nigga."

He whipped the man with his glock and left the scene distraught. Gasps left people's mouth as he walked past them and out the double doors to his car. Devanté hated when fools played with his money and acted dumb in process.

Tommy stood leaning against the building wall watching Devanté get into his car, Her cuban cigar blowing heavy clouds of smoke out her mouth as she observed his every move. The red cowboy hat on her head covered one eye letting him know that she's always watching. Devanté nodded to Tommy before speeding off in his cinnamon red mustang convertible. He knew who ran this block and what properties was his. Tommy owned all of red light district, Anything related to it belonged to her on the spot. Building or not, Her hands were already on it. The same block where she used to street walk on before she gained an interest in the drug trade and made a name for herself. "King Tommy" is what they called her due to her power over every pawn in her possession. Rather you were apart of it or not, Tommy found a way to make your ass useful.

On the other side of the city, Imani was throwing glass bottles in an empty parking lot with friends and drinking at the dead of night. She was supposed to be home before the streets light came on but she didn't care what happened to her. Imani hated living in that house, She'd do anything to get out of it. That included overdosing, running away, committing a crime, couch surfing, Anything to keep her from the house. Imani wasn't very book smart but she's street smart, She knows how to find her way around without a cellphone or map insight. Ever since she dropped out during her last year of high school, She spent that time exploring the streets and meeting all types of people including her biological mother who drugged herself to death. Imani wasn't surprised her mother was a crack whore, She always knew something was wrong with her but she didn't know what.

Both her and Devanté had something in common, Which is having a bad influence at a young age leading to them being just like their mentor. Except Imani is sheltered while Devanté was not and had to find his own way of finding a place to stay.

"Working for the money is better than begging for it." Devanté often tells himself when he looks in any mirror before he leaves anywhere.

His entourage all had lives outside of the business but never spoke about it. K-ci & Jojo live together taking care of their sick father and Dalvin struggled with mental health but never showed it because he didn't want to be a burden to anyone or himself for bringing it up. He just takes his meds quietly while taking care of business behind the scenes. There was an incident where he tried to take himself out due to the pressure he felt from their last mission and how bad it affected him, Having to see that poor man die for his greediness leaving his family behind. Dalvin can still hear that gunshot in his dreams but it was always him in front of the gun instead of that man.

the adrenaline rush Devanté gets from these high speed chases sometimes make him aroused with the thought of it. He loved the feeling of a gun in his hand and pure coke in his nose before a mission. It made him stronger and better than without it. His eyes sitting low and his gold grills sharp like fangs when he "recharges" himself. K-CI described him as some type of energy monster when it's task assignment time.

"What's mine is mine and what's yours is yours."

He always alluded to that but he meant that statement when told to anybody, He does it out of love as he calls it. Devanté calls himself the black mamba meaning no one is getting through him, Positive or not. He once made a man eat literal dog shit for messing with his supply and killing his dog, Wasn't that man's brightest moment in the moment. All the things people say about him were indeed true. Yes, He has a shop on the black market. Yes, He's killed people for fun. Yes, He's a drug addict. All that at the age of nineteen, Some kid he is. It's all thinks to his father that once lived but died an ugly man for his actions and crimes against others. Devanté will soon be just like him or worse if he keeps playing these silly games and putting his life in danger.

His ex girlfriend, Tris Tiber, wanted him out the game to protect him for getting into more trouble than he's already in. He treated her like shit but she stood by his side from thick and thin when it wasn't needed. That one day, She decided to say "Fuck you!" and packed her shit and left. Her wardrobe changed from the black leather aesthetic she dawned with him to a spunky metallic one, She allowed herself to show her freedom through her clothes and makeup. Once dark eyeshadows and red lipstick to silver eyelids and clear lip-gloss. Known for her sweet innocence, Tris seen some shit and took that trauma for a bigger and bolder personality. She stopped taking shit from anyone and stood for herself. Devanté tried to tie her down and hide her from the world, He failed in the making when he tossed her to the streets and left her to fend for herself. Tris took that sign and began working for Tommy Monroe, She'd be assigned as the acrobats, seductive siren, and the sniper. 

"Keep yo five dolla shit and get from mine." She warned as she slapped the hands off her hips inside the club. 

Her eyes followed Devanté to the back, She noticed he started wearing his shades again and slicked his hair back. The devil as she deemed him, The reason she turned to the dark side instead of leaving it all behind. Watching him pistol whipped that man, Shifted something in her brain chemicals. Tris pushed the man's head out the way and hopped off the stage to witness the rest of the scene. Her tassels shined in the light as she crossed her arms and detected the supply tossed on the table. That pearl powder glowed in her sight wanting her to take a sniff but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was so tempting but she had to stay clean for the next round of tests coming up soon. Tommy would have her killed if she caught her taking their substances from clients. 

Those tests were not to be played about, It was all about focus and determined minds. Tris passed majority of her test up until the recent one for taking out her enemy. That man moves like water flashing past her eyes before she could see him. He had her pinned against a wall and took the caliber off her as she struggled to fight the heavy set man off. She returned to the headquarters defeated with an empty holster and ready to be lecture about her needing to work on her weight game. Tommy told her if she couldn't push a heavy set man off her, She'd be back on the streets looking for money and nowhere to go. Tris had one goal on her mind and that was to kill Devanté where she could have him cornered and stuffed in the back of trunk going to the middle of nowhere.  

[medicinemane]

Ah, edible number 2 may finally have worked. Took the last one like... 6 hours ago so it's been a while, but while I can still kind of feel the pain in my hand and joints, it's way less intense than it had been

That's the main reason I bother with weed based stuff. When I had that infection flair up and just horrible pain thanks to it, some weed tea was the only thing that actually helped, and ever since then I've found that... well it's pretty much the only thing that actually works on me

When I had my wisdom teeth out a number of years ago they gave me vicodine, and I didn't even notice it. I've kind of wondered sometimes if valium might help me back since it's muscle pain, but if I have something that actually works and has way less side effects I'd rather use that (know what? don't feel like looking up spelling for that)

So like I said, all I want is for weed to actually be treated as medicine. You've got medicinal marijuana a few places, then a few of those have it recreationalized like it is here. I think it's a good call, much as stoners can annoy me, it's not worse than booze really (only real problem is the number of stoners I've known who think they can drive totally fine while stoned)

But yeah, I seriously just want it to actually be treated as a medicine, to not just be the "here's some weed, smoke up" style it used to be. Like the edibles and tea make for better delivery methods, but like I really would like it to full on have a form that is literally just treated like medicine, and that's been put through trials like any other drug to try and find maximum efficacy with minimum amounts of getting high (cause like I said, for me that just means I fucking feel my pulse in my head and it's not a good time). I just want a clinically trialed and tested drug that happens to be made of weed

Cause I say all this, but really what I'm saying is I just want a good pain killer. Turns out while this last edible helped, there's still pain that's peaking past the level it can take care of. It's lessened, but it's till very very much there

All I want is a good pain killer I can get my hands on, and the less it fucks me up the better, because I literally just want something that numbs pain and that's it. That's my big goal, and these edibles and tea are the closest I've found, but they still really could be improved if they weren't focused as a recreational fun time, but as a straight up specialized medicine for treating pain. The formula needs tweaking, you know?

Just feel like more pain killing power could be squeezed out of it if you did it right, or maybe that if it was pure cbd you could really amp up the dose without risking getting high (cause all of these have a little thc in them, and I find that's the stuff I personally want to avoid like hell)

I don't know, I'm not a researcher with this kind of stuff... but man I wish someone who was would look into this

Too bad the US is fucking dumb as federally still classifies it as a Schedule 1 controlled substance (unless something changed without me noticing, which it didn't)

So that's the problem, some states say it's fine and the feds look the other way, but technically it's more highly controlled than cocaine (which it comes to medical type stuff), and I'm not kidding about that, which is fucking stupid

[smokeybrandreviews]

Just Over the Horizon

Ah, January. The month where films go to die. Or, at least, that’s what used to happen. The last few years, some straight up bangers dropped during the Cinematic Graveyard. This year is no different. Megan dropped and has been getting fantastic reviews. I planned for this to be the first movie of the year for me but, unfortunately, my city has been inundated with a bomb cyclone and basically washed out with thunderstorms for the past week. I’ll have to pass on Megan in theaters and check it out once it hits VOD in about a month. God bless this new normal with theater releases. Now, this isn’t a complete list. It’s literally the first month of the year and i am sure there are going to be a ton of other films that catch my eye as the next eleven creep forward. I mean, i haven’t even found my A24 entry for the year yet but it’s coming. Since The VVitch, that studio has had at least one film a year, that makes my “best of the Year” list. That said, there are a ton of films coming out this year which have piqued my interest and these are the few which are bubbling at the top.

Renfield

I love a solid vampire flick. I love a solid unhinged Nic Cage performance. Renfield is a combination of the two, This thing is obviously a Nicholas Hoult vehicle bu, let’s be honest, the draw here is Cage’s Dracula. I thoroughly expect a top tier, hammed hp, performance out of Mr. Coppola, which is more than enough to get my but in that seat.

Evil Dead Rise

I’ve been a fan of this franchise since the 2103 remake. No shade to the OG Raimi takes but his style isn’t really my flavor. Free from that type of film making, the Evil Dead franchise has become something very, very, special to me. I can’t wait to see what Lee Cronin has in store for us. And, if that red band trailer hints to what’s to come, i am going to very satisfied.

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

I mean, it’s an MCU flick Of course I'm going to see this thing. I’m not expecting much, the Ant-Man franchise is just a fun diversion, but that Kang reveal was everything. I’m looking forward to see what Jonathan Majors can do with the role. After that absolutely unhinged take on He Who Remains, i my ticket was already punched for this one.

Transformers: Rise of the Beasts

This one is on the list based on pure curiosity. I’m a G1 apologist so Bumblebee was everything to me. Never been a huge fan of Beast Wars but i understand it’s place in Transformers history. The trailer leads me to believe this film is kind of a Hodge-poge of the Bumblebee aesthetic and those god awful Bayformers designs and i don’t know how i feel about that, thus my anticipation.

The Flash

Bro, how could this not be on the list? It’s going to be a whole ass train wreck, regardless of how good or bad the film turns out. Like, Ezra Miller is a whole ass menace and he’s the “last man standing” from Gunn’s Machiavellian slaughter of the Snyderverse. This thing is going to make a ton of money based on that controversy, alone, mine counted among those rubber-necking dollars.

Knock at the Cabin

A surprise dark horse from Shamallammadingdong. This dude surprised the f*ck out of me with Split and then immediately disappointed with everything that came after. Knock at the Cabin is probably going to another let down but I'll see it strictly to see something that week, i guess. It’s wild to see Jordan Peele out Shyamalan-in, Shyamalan, himself.

Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey

Let the Public Domain massacre of Disney properties begin! Blood and Honey is either the first or second of these properties to get the spiteful horror treatment of a beloved Mouse House franchise and I'm going to see it strictly because i want to see that gory remake of Steamboat Willie in five years. This flick is probably going to be dogsh*t but i am, for sure, supporting all of it!

Cocaine Bear

Bro, it’s Snakes on a Plane but based on true events. There was a real life cocaine bear. Obviously I'm going to see this.

John Wick: Chapter Four

Listen, John Wick is everything. This world, these characters; It’s all so rich and i love all of it. John Wick, for me, is like the MCU franchise. I’ll ALWAYS show up for one of these films. Whenever The Continental releases, I'll watch every episode. That Ana de Armas spin-off? Yeah, I'm all over that. It’s wild to see how far this franchise has come, from that one, genre disrupting, entry all those years ago.

Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3

The swan song of James Gunn and the MCU was always going to be on this list. That first Guardians will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the first film to ever make me cry as an adult. That opening scene is, to this day, absolutely debilitating to me. Also, the overall movie is excellent, easily top ten in the entire franchise. How can i not be there for vol. 3?

Oppenheimer

I’ve been a huge fan of Nolan since Batman Begins. Yeah, it took him taking on the Bat to get me to dive into his catalog but I'm glad i did. Dude is a genius and it’s rare i don’t enjoy his films. I even really like Tenet and, according to everyone in the world, it’s terrible. It’s not. The Sh*t was sabotaged by the studio. Oppenheimer looks to have the full backing of Universal, though. We’ve seen what Nolan can do with the resources and i cant wait to see what he does with this very much brilliant, very much haunted, genius’ life story.

Dune: Part 2

I made the mistake of passing on this in theaters when part One released. There was plague. There’s still a plague but i got, like, forty-seven shots so I'm comfortable braving the wild for this one. In terms of visuals, Deni Villaneuve is a god and i cannot wait to see what he does with the explosive climax to his Dune film. and i say film because this thing is, very obviously, a single, six hour film.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

It’s Spider-Man.

I just want to reiterate, this is an incomplete list. A the year goes on, i am more than certain a bunch of disruptors and dark horses will float to the top. Last year, Pearl came out of nowhere and impressed enough to make my “Best of” list so this is more a jumping off point than a complete register. All in all, this year might end up being one of the very best, ever. Maybe. We’ll see.

[smokeybrand]

Just Over the Horizon

Ah, January. The month where films go to die. Or, at least, that’s what used to happen. The last few years, some straight up bangers dropped during the Cinematic Graveyard. This year is no different. Megan dropped and has been getting fantastic reviews. I planned for this to be the first movie of the year for me but, unfortunately, my city has been inundated with a bomb cyclone and basically washed out with thunderstorms for the past week. I’ll have to pass on Megan in theaters and check it out once it hits VOD in about a month. God bless this new normal with theater releases. Now, this isn’t a complete list. It’s literally the first month of the year and i am sure there are going to be a ton of other films that catch my eye as the next eleven creep forward. I mean, i haven’t even found my A24 entry for the year yet but it’s coming. Since The VVitch, that studio has had at least one film a year, that makes my “best of the Year” list. That said, there are a ton of films coming out this year which have piqued my interest and these are the few which are bubbling at the top.

Renfield

I love a solid vampire flick. I love a solid unhinged Nic Cage performance. Renfield is a combination of the two, This thing is obviously a Nicholas Hoult vehicle bu, let’s be honest, the draw here is Cage’s Dracula. I thoroughly expect a top tier, hammed hp, performance out of Mr. Coppola, which is more than enough to get my but in that seat.

Evil Dead Rise

I’ve been a fan of this franchise since the 2103 remake. No shade to the OG Raimi takes but his style isn’t really my flavor. Free from that type of film making, the Evil Dead franchise has become something very, very, special to me. I can’t wait to see what Lee Cronin has in store for us. And, if that red band trailer hints to what’s to come, i am going to very satisfied.

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

I mean, it’s an MCU flick Of course I'm going to see this thing. I’m not expecting much, the Ant-Man franchise is just a fun diversion, but that Kang reveal was everything. I’m looking forward to see what Jonathan Majors can do with the role. After that absolutely unhinged take on He Who Remains, i my ticket was already punched for this one.

Transformers: Rise of the Beasts

This one is on the list based on pure curiosity. I’m a G1 apologist so Bumblebee was everything to me. Never been a huge fan of Beast Wars but i understand it’s place in Transformers history. The trailer leads me to believe this film is kind of a Hodge-poge of the Bumblebee aesthetic and those god awful Bayformers designs and i don’t know how i feel about that, thus my anticipation.

The Flash

Bro, how could this not be on the list? It’s going to be a whole ass train wreck, regardless of how good or bad the film turns out. Like, Ezra Miller is a whole ass menace and he’s the “last man standing” from Gunn’s Machiavellian slaughter of the Snyderverse. This thing is going to make a ton of money based on that controversy, alone, mine counted among those rubber-necking dollars.

Knock at the Cabin

A surprise dark horse from Shamallammadingdong. This dude surprised the f*ck out of me with Split and then immediately disappointed with everything that came after. Knock at the Cabin is probably going to another let down but I'll see it strictly to see something that week, i guess. It’s wild to see Jordan Peele out Shyamalan-in, Shyamalan, himself.

Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey

Let the Public Domain massacre of Disney properties begin! Blood and Honey is either the first or second of these properties to get the spiteful horror treatment of a beloved Mouse House franchise and I'm going to see it strictly because i want to see that gory remake of Steamboat Willie in five years. This flick is probably going to be dogsh*t but i am, for sure, supporting all of it!

Cocaine Bear

Bro, it’s Snakes on a Plane but based on true events. There was a real life cocaine bear. Obviously I'm going to see this.

John Wick: Chapter Four

Listen, John Wick is everything. This world, these characters; It’s all so rich and i love all of it. John Wick, for me, is like the MCU franchise. I’ll ALWAYS show up for one of these films. Whenever The Continental releases, I'll watch every episode. That Ana de Armas spin-off? Yeah, I'm all over that. It’s wild to see how far this franchise has come, from that one, genre disrupting, entry all those years ago.

Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3

The swan song of James Gunn and the MCU was always going to be on this list. That first Guardians will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the first film to ever make me cry as an adult. That opening scene is, to this day, absolutely debilitating to me. Also, the overall movie is excellent, easily top ten in the entire franchise. How can i not be there for vol. 3?

Oppenheimer

I’ve been a huge fan of Nolan since Batman Begins. Yeah, it took him taking on the Bat to get me to dive into his catalog but I'm glad i did. Dude is a genius and it’s rare i don’t enjoy his films. I even really like Tenet and, according to everyone in the world, it’s terrible. It’s not. The Sh*t was sabotaged by the studio. Oppenheimer looks to have the full backing of Universal, though. We’ve seen what Nolan can do with the resources and i cant wait to see what he does with this very much brilliant, very much haunted, genius’ life story.

Dune: Part 2

I made the mistake of passing on this in theaters when part One released. There was plague. There’s still a plague but i got, like, forty-seven shots so I'm comfortable braving the wild for this one. In terms of visuals, Deni Villaneuve is a god and i cannot wait to see what he does with the explosive climax to his Dune film. and i say film because this thing is, very obviously, a single, six hour film.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

It’s Spider-Man.

I just want to reiterate, this is an incomplete list. A the year goes on, i am more than certain a bunch of disruptors and dark horses will float to the top. Last year, Pearl came out of nowhere and impressed enough to make my “Best of” list so this is more a jumping off point than a complete register. All in all, this year might end up being one of the very best, ever. Maybe. We’ll see.

[jordyn-degas]

unfinished - drabble. [2]

ran haitani x fem! reader — from an upcoming story i’ll post once done

warning: smut; tad bit of angst because i cannot help myself

a/n: @iamthepotato a tad bit of a tease until i actually post the first chapter and the rest

Fingers digging into the cold marble, your jaw clenched with such force teeth cracked under the pressure, shoulders hunched over the sink as erratic heartbeats carved bruises into the chest with a never felt before viciousness. A stream of curses rolled off your lips, tears brimming into the lost gaze that met its reflection into the spotless mirror. Lower lip quivering into the lights, head cocked to the side, you quietly watched a few droplets rolling down the cheeks, carrying moments and feelings of a past catching up sooner than expected – the wound reopening slowly with each passing second.

“Where did I go wrong?” you whispered, barely able to raise even an octave, eyes solely trained on the messily snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table along with various empty bottles, condom wrappers decorating the rug under and around the couch while a few pairs of underwear that were not yours were thrown randomly around, a trail of lace disappearing into the bedroom.

“What ‘re ya on?” Ran slurred the question, cigarette lit up between his lips while dangling a bottle of whiskey in an attempt to steadily walk towards you – completely naked, bright red lipstick adorning his sculpted form in shapes of lips that did not belong to you.

“What did I do to you to deserve this?” shaky voice uttering the question, palm landing on his chest and stopping Ran in his tracks, half-lidded lilac eyes pooling into yours.

“‘re perfect, baby.” Ran whispered, pungent smell of heavy alcohol fanning against your face, leaning in as he released the cigarette in between the index and middle fingers. “This ‘s just fun.”

“You do realize you’re fucking whores in our bedroom, right?” you laughed bitterly, knowing that the man standing before you now was unable to properly grasp what was going on. “You do not care to hide anymore. I’ve been coming home to this for a month and I think that’s enough.”

“Who cares about ‘em?” Ran frowned, pushing the hand resting on his chest away so he can come close, lips brushing softly past a feverish cheek as your head turned abruptly. “I’ve always been yours.”

The sudden click of a lock pulled you back to reality, eyes instinctively darting to the door, forgetting all about the tears that streamed down the face, causing wet trails through the foundation lightly coating the skin, as the present melted into the past in the blink of an eye. Ran stood there, jaw clenched in anger, seeing the only woman he has ever loved shedding tears over what he knew to be all of his fault – how? Because the same memories of the night you left were tearing viciously right through him, right through the stone hard wall the older Haitani brother so carefully built since that night.

“Unlock the door and get out, Haitani.” you spoke coldly, entire demeanor shifting into a freshly recharged confidence that had him taken by surprise – at the mere sight of him, both alone in a room, all the tears were gone and nothing but pure anger laced with disappointment coated your absolutely stunning figure.

“Only you could boss around a Boten Executive in their own building.” Ran cracked a smirk, eyebrow raised in a manner that was shot as a teasing jab. “We should talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” you shrugged, fingers twitching to ball up into fists, fighting the urge to rip the mirror off the wall and break it against his undeniably gorgeous face.

“Oh?” Ran hummed amused, both eyebrows raised to match the tone. “Still not over it after all these years?”

“I’m well over it.” you chuckled, the gesture not quite meeting your tear stained eyes, turning around to face the sink yet again, head bowed in order to avoid seeing your true self into the mirror and the lies hidden underneath. “I just simply hate you with a passion.”

“Good.” Ran’s voice dropped an octave, amusement peeling off his face to be taken over by a predatory stare. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Uncomfortable pangs of pain vibrated throughout your body hearing the confirmation laced with coldness and a tinge of disgust one could barely catch on it. It was not much of a surprise Ran would feel the same, considering the fact that you packed and left in a hurry in the middle of the night while he was asleep on the couch – empty bottle resting on the chest while the cigarette was put out on the carpet, leaving behind quiet, peaceful snores and a man that woke up to a quiet house. God, you despised how much of an effect his words still had after four years of being separated, after four years in which you had pushed to try and forget Ran Haitani.

Designer, handmade leather shoes slowly stepped on the bathroom tiles, rhythm of a predator approaching a vulnerable prey, Ran studying carefully how your legs began trembling with each step, shoulders tensing under the heaviness of anticipation of him stopping right behind. Warm breath was playfully allowed to slip past pink lips, tongue gliding along them hearing how your breathing picked up at the faint sensation of his presence. Head snapping up, two pairs of eyes met into the mirror, amusement flashing across Ran’s face as he caught on to the briefly displayed vulnerability on yours.

“This feels ..” Ran rasped, leaning in slowly with the movements of a panther waiting to capture its prey, lips brushing ever so slightly past your right ear. “.. familiar.”

Loud bangs bounced off the walls of the club’s bathroom, faltering in comparison with the music booming and pornographic moans escaping past your puffy lips, all bitten and devoured, lipstick wiped clean as it could be easily seen staining the lips of the man splitting you in half from behind. Bent over the sink, leg propped up on the edge of the counter, dress bunched up around the waist as its thin straps rested around your elbows after being pulled down, breasts spilling out for a complete stranger. Messy, ruffled hair from your fingers running through it in a heated kiss, ruining completely the perfectly slicked back haircut, had its purple and black strands falling over his forehead, droopy, lavender eyes peeking from underneath them as they met yours into the mirror. Jaw of a graceful sharpness opened slightly so a growl could slip past his saliva smeared lips, the image of your unbelievably fucked out face having his cock twitch between the warmth of gummy walls squeezing him for dear life, fingers digging even deeper into the plush skin of your hips. Through loud moans that could put porn actors to shame, skins slapping against each other furiously, and dripping pussy lewdly squelching with each thrust, you sure as hell were entrapped by the beauty this man was so shamelessly displaying. Eyes fell upon the tattoo adorning his neck and, despite not knowing his name, you knew exactly who you allowed to fuck you sensless – the member of the most ruthless criminal organization Tokyo had at the moment, surpassing even your father’s. Bonten.

Coil tightening and snapping, eyes rolled into the back of your head, spent cunt milking the man’s cock for all he had, the orgasm crashed violently into you. Chests heaving, panting breaths replacing the moans, you felt your panties being pulled up and dress falling over them before an arm wrapped around your middle. Being pulled upwards and turned around, the man settled you on the counter as he stepped in between your quivering legs, gracefully throwing into the trash the tied up condom. Lust blown eyes bore into his half-lidded ones, slender fingers working to pull the straps back on the shoulders, breasts being tucked yet again into their tight confinment. A quiet gasp slipped into the air when his soft lips melted against yours, drawing out a slow, mind-numbing kiss, two fingers carefully holding onto your chin.

“Name’s Ran.” he whispered, smirk gracing his all too perfect features seeing your confused ones, not expecting any of the things that came after both finished, thinking he would bolt out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Haitani.” it dawned on you, the name coming out with surprise wrapped around it – the words of your father echoing into the mind when being instructed, not even a month ago, on who to avoid in their world, one of them being none other than Ran Haitani, Bonten Executive and .. “You own this club.”

“And you know that how?” he leaned in, voice dropping an octave, lips brushing past your ear. “Only people in certain .. circles have access to this kind of information.”

“Those circles ..” you replied, letting out a chuckle while pushing him one step backwards, slipping off the counter and doing a double check into the mirror before turning to Ran with a smirk. “I know more about them than you can possibly imagine.”

Fingers dived in between the ruffled strands, slicking them back in their initial place while Ran looked at you the entire time, fixing his attire into its previous pristine form, not knowing what to truly make of the woman standing in front of him. Walking towards the bathroom door, feeling not quite ready to leave yet, heart doing a weird flip along with the stomach, you turned around to catch a final glimpse of Ran Haitani. Finger hooked underneath the collar of an expensive suit jacket, he swung it over his shoulder, brows furrowed followed by the pair of mesmerizing eyes in which confusion flashed briefly as he could not tear his gaze away from you.

“By the way ..” you said with a small smile before opening the door and disappearing into the crowd. “Name’s Y/N.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Sinner & Saint: Creed III” Chapter 2

Masterlist HERE.

"I wanna pick you up whenever you're down baby I'm gonna make you stop when you're in my town baby You make me pour some rum when you're not around I was lost, but now I am found If I know somethin', I know it sounds crazy It's gonna feel so good whenever I'm close to you Promising I'll do the things that you want me to Whenever you need some, you know I got some I hope you don't plan on making me run All you gotta do is call me up and I'll come"

Emmavie – "Tune"

Adonis Creed knew from jump that Damian Anderson coming back into his life was the universe's way of telling him that some debts had to be paid in full. It cost to be the boss and walking into his regular grub spot had him on a hook for his past.

The two men slid into a booth across from one another and his regular server greeted him right away with a sunny smile and an even sunnier disposition. Freda was an older woman who had worked at the neighborhood restaurant for over twenty years. She knew Donnie from when he first moved in with Mary Anne, Athena, and Apollo Jr.—A.J.

"The usual, Donnie?" Freda asked, not bothering to give him a menu.

Her thick salt and pepper hair sat stacked on her head in a pretty bun. If she dyed her hair, she could knock off a good ten years and fool people into thinking she was in her early thirties instead of the sexy mature catch she enjoyed being. Before he married Bianca, Donnie used to flirt with Freda all the time, until her husband, the owner of the spot, told him to back his young ass down. She still enjoyed the playful teasing he gave her about running off to Paris with him.

"Yeah. I only want egg whites for my omelet, though," he said.

"And what about you, young man? Can I start you off with something to drink first?"

Freda held a menu out to Damian.

"I'll have whatever he ordered," Damian said.

"You got it, hun," she said.

Freda stepped away from their table, writing nothing down. The two men stared at one another warily.

"Hope you brought a big appetite. She's gonna bring back a monster plate with sides," Donnie said.

Damian rubbed his stomach, then folded his hands on the top of the table. There was no sense beating around the bush with the man. Donnie cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"How long were you locked up?" Donnie said.

"Eighteen years, bruh. Just got out last week."

"Shit."

Donnie glanced down at his hands. He used to write to Damian. Tried to keep consistent. He even used his own allowance money to send him something. Purely out of guilt. He tried so hard to be Damian's friend and got them caught up in some mess that tore them apart. Damian kept Donnie streetwise and connected to the real world. Being dropped into an insanely wealthy family out of the blue at age ten had him acting like a real-life Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Damian was book smart and street smart, and Donnie wanted to maintain that balance, too. Mary Anne had him connecting with well-off Black families and celebrities that knew and loved his father. The difficulty of juggling where he fit wasn't helped by the animosity of his new older siblings. It took A.J. a few years to adjust to having a baby brother that came from some strange cocaine junkie who had a one-night stand with the boxing champion of the world. A.J. eventually accepted him as a past indiscretion in their father's life. They grew close.

Athena…

She never accepted him totally. Never forgave her father, even in death, for hurting their mother. Donnie was the constant reminder that her daddy wasn't perfect and embarrassed the family. Over the years, she treated him as Mary Anne's pet but pretended to be welcoming and warm for interviews or family gatherings when they were teenagers. He learned to ignore her discomfort and simmering disdain. They stayed cordial and created a sibling dynamic that eventually became a begrudging liking of each other for the sake of their love for Mary Anne as adults.

Freda brought them water and juice along with big plates. Donnie fingered his toast.

"Glad to have you back out," Donnie said.

"I know I've been away a long time, but I've kept myself in shape. I still got gas in the tank."

"Come by the gym."

"Thank you."

"You were one of the best."

"Still am," Damian said with a shy grin.

They ate some food in silence, and Donnie noticed how hungry Damian was. He licked his fingers constantly. Donnie pretended to get full fast and pushed his half stack of pancakes toward him.

"Finish this man. I hate wasting food. My eyes were bigger than my stomach today."

Damian nodded his thanks and attacked the stack. He slowed down when Freda brought them fresh glasses of water and orange juice. When they finished the meal, they stayed at the table and Donnie ordered them coffee to go.

They took a long drive around Venice Beach. Damian told him he liked to ride the bus there every day to get his mind clear. Donnie parked in a lot near the sand and they watched the waves roll in.

"I'm sorry I stopped writing you… sending money. Once I got to college and started down a business degree, Mary Anne… she kept me on a tight leash to do well and I—"

"Don't worry about it. The letters you sent me were enough to keep me motivated. But I still had money on my books."

"Must've been Mary Anne. She made me stop sending money online. Maybe she wanted me to focus on my life and she'd give you the funds instead."

"A good woman."

"Yeah, she is."

Damian dug into his jean pocket and pulled out a letter. Donnie took it and read all the words.

"This still stands, man," Donnie said.

Damian smiled.

"All I need is for you to open the door. I can do the rest on my own."

"I'll hook you up with free membership to the gym… and a trainer."

"I'm looking for a job. Might take some time. Still figuring out things being free. Everything moves so fast on the outside. Most days I feel like I was frozen in time and can't catch up. I stood in a coffee shop on my first day out and watched people pay for coffee and donuts by tapping their phones on the register. For a minute, I thought everything was cashless, and I was freaking out. Technology just went warp speed. Things are loud all around me and it feels like a billion people live in L.A. now. I feel far behind… like I'm in a whole different dimension than everyone else."

"Take your time. I'll see what I can do to help you find employment. Where do you stay?"

"A transitional house downtown. I have to stay there for another month and then I can look for my own place. L.A. is so fucking expensive. I'll probably stay on the East side."

Donnie kept his eyes on the water.

"I don't know if I can ever thank you enough for what you did," Donnie said.

"Mary Anne helped make sure I could be up for parole with that lawyer she got me. Right now, everything is on me. Letting me use the gym, getting me a trainer and stuff… you've done your part. You kept your word. That means a lot. Real talk… everyone else who I thought was on my side bailed, man. Family. Old homies. You're the only person who didn't turn me away or ignore me. I was lucky your sister found me out on the street. I owe her."

"Nah, man. Athena's wrapped a little too tight. Best to leave her alone. This is probably her one good deed for the year."

"She seemed cool. Didn't kick me away like a stray dog."

Donnie checked the time in his car.

"Can I give you a ride back to your spot? I have to pick up my daughter soon."

"Yeah, that's cool. Thanks."

Donnie typed in the location of the halfway house on his cell and drove Damian onto a crowded freeway.

"Damn, this shit is packed," Damian said.

As far as the eye could see, there was only the scarlet red of rear car lights in the stop and stop yet again traffic. It took forever to get downtown. The transitional housing complex was lodged between an auto shop and a church in a seedy area.

"Come through to Delphi tomorrow at ten. I'll show you around, hook you up and we can talk more," Donnie said.

He held up his hand, and they clasped palms.

"I'll be there," Damian said.

Donnie watched him leave his car and grab the black bag he had toted from the back. Once Damian was gone from his sight, he headed out to pick up his daughter Amara from her private school in Los Feliz. He tapped his cell and Bianca's voice filled the car.

"Hey," Bianca said.

"On my way to pick up Ladybug. Do I need to bring anything home from the store?"

"No, I have a lasagna ready for the oven when you two make it back."

"Ok, cool."

"What's up?"

"Whatchu mean?"

"You sound funny. Did Tony bug you about doing the exhibition again?"

"Nah. I ran into an old friend today. He just got out of prison."

"Who is this?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Seeing him made me remember some old times. Haven't seen him in almost eighteen years."

"Mary Anne left a message for you on the landline. She wants you to call her when you get in, and please… tell me you cleared your schedule to come to the Hollywood Bowl on Friday."

"I did. Rearranged my day just for you."

"A.J. is coming down from Seattle with Janice. I haven't heard from Athena yet."

"If A.J. is flying in, she'll go with us. Ma is bringing her new gentleman friend, too."

"Ooh, she's doing the whole meet the family in a public place routine," Bianca teased.

"She likes him and he makes her smile. I like that. She's been alone a long time and I'm glad she feels comfortable enough to venture out with companionship."

"Me too."

"See ya soon."

Donnie hung up and parked near Amara's school. He scrolled work emails from his agent and thrummed his fingers on the open windowsill of his SUV. Damian stayed on his mind until his favorite little munchkin bounced into view, swinging her book bag and using ASL with fellow deaf classmates. She sprinted to the car when she saw he was driving their SUV instead of Bianca.

"I didn't know you were coming to get me!" Amara's hands signed.

She hugged Donnie tight across the console.

He stared at his daughter and moved his hands and fingers with fluid ease.

"I came back from New York early and wanted to surprise you, Ladybug."

Amara hugged him again, then buckled up. Donnie turned up his music, and the bass rattled the SUV. Amara wiggled in her seat and rested her left hand on the console, the vibrations traveling up her arm and through her body.

His daughter was growing like a beanstalk. Slender in body with a slender face and features, she was the apple of his eye. He had followed Rocky's advice and treated his daughter as the blessing she was always going to be. There was no feeling sorry for her being deaf. Amara lived a full and busy life, learning to box at the Delphi under his supervision, while also learning to write poetry from Bianca. Spoiled rotten and loved beyond the stars, she made Donnie and Bianca's life complete.

They stopped off for ice cream and while they waited for their order, their fingers chatted together. Amara could read lips too, and he loved the way she huffed with excitement when she wanted to communicate about her busy day. After stuffing their mouths with Rocky Road and Butter Pecan Toffee sundaes, they drove to their new walled and gated residence in the hills above Los Feliz. Their two-story Spanish-style home was a terraced lot of 1.5 acres with a lagoon pool and spectacular city views.

"Finally made it," Bianca called, and signed to them from the kitchen.

Amara grinned.

"Went for ice cream," Amara signed.

"Didn't bring me any back?" Bianca teased. "Go change your clothes."

Amara dashed out of the kitchen and Donnie wrapped his arms around his wife.

"Smells good in here," he said, looking around.

"Made fresh garlic bread," she said.

Donnie kissed her cheek and ambled over to his home office. There were ten messages on his office phone. He ignored them. Bianca brought him a glass of red wine and he wandered out to the backyard to watch the sun go down.

As the color of the sky shifted and evening settled across the horizon, Donnie forgot about the world outside of his home.

Athena Creed held her cell against her stomach and stared at the number on her screen. She vacillated between putting the phone away and tapping the button on the screen several times. Staring out of her luxury penthouse view overlooking South Figueroa, downtown L.A. looked hectic down below. The night always brought it to life with a sultry glamour that had people returning to that part of Los Angeles in droves.

Damian had been on her mind all day.

Observing him plead his case to her mother earlier made her curious. She left the Creed family mansion early so that she could glimpse him close up. His body looked bulky under the jacket and sweatshirt he wore, with dark jeans snug on his gorgeous ass. With a face chiseled to rival the masculine splendor of an Italian sculpture she once saw in Firenze, it struck Athena with how beautiful and gentle Damian seemed. She was the one who had gone to the family emergency safe hidden in a secret room and taken a thousand dollars cash for him to have. She sealed it in an unmarked envelope and passed it off to the private guard to give to Damian. Mary Anne kept her cheeks puffed out and her lips twisted with disgust as she studied Damian's image on the security screen on her cell.

"Adonis has achieved the perfect life, and that hoodlum suddenly shows up," Mary Anne spat as she stomped into her tea room.

Athena hustled herself out quickly. She had a yoga class to attend and a bottle of Chablis waiting for her at home.

But then she saw Damian's face and grew curious. Backed her car up and everything when she glimpsed him walking in her rearview mirror. What she witnessed in him wasn't self-pity or the gloomy energy of a downtrodden man. Firm determination sat etched across his full features.

She tapped the phone.

It rang five times, and she nearly hung up when Damian picked up.

"Hello?"

"Damian?"

"Yeah."

"It's Athena."

The long pause on his end made her think he hung up.

"Damian?"

"I'm here."

"Were you busy?"

"Nah. I was sitting here reading."

Athena walked to her kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

"What are you reading?"

"The Forty-Eight Laws of Power."

Athena guffawed.

"Are you really reading that trash book?"

"It was in the book library here."

"Hotep central. That shit is full of contradictions and bullshit cut-and-paste cult maxims that have been used to dupe niggas for years."

"I don't know. It seems good so far."

"You enjoy reading?"

"Yeah. Always have."

"What's the best book you ever read?"

"You called me to talk about books?"

His voice was pleasant.

"I called to see how your reunion went with Adonis."

"It went okay. He's going to meet with me at Delphi tomorrow and hook me up with a trainer."

"How did you feel about seeing him again?"

"Why did you ask for my number?"

Athena stopped her wine glass from reaching her lips.

"I was curious," she said.

"Curious about what?"

"What do you really want with Adonis? He forgot about you after all these years. You expect him to fix your life?"

"No. I can do that on my own."

"How?"

"Getting back into the ring."

"I looked you up," Athena said, moving back into her living room that perched high above the downtown landscape.

Damien kept quiet on his end.

"Still there?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You were on your way to the Olympics again. Already won a gold Junior Olympics title. Sports agents predicted you would be the next great professional champion. What happened? Why did you throw that all away?"

"I met your brother."

Athena closed her eyes and gripped her phone tight. Fucking Adonis. Whenever he showed up, people's lives changed for the worse.

"What's your favorite book?" he asked.

"Thich Nhat Hanh's 'Peace is Every Step'," she said.

"What's that about?"

"He's a Vietnamese monk. I once did a silent meditation walk with him in San Diego. He teaches we can use the hard things in life that antagonize us and turn them into something positive that connects us to mindfulness."

"I'll have to look for that one in the library."

"I'll let you borrow my copy. It helped me a lot over the years."

"You into all that new age stuff?"

"Thich Nhat Hanh is not new age. He teaches old wisdom. So does Malidoma Somé, Sonbonfu Somé—"

"Slow down, let me write this down—"

"I told you. I can loan you these books."

"You only dig into spiritual stuff?" he said.

"It keeps me focused on my work."

"What do you do?"

Athena grinned. For some strange reason, talking to him over the phone was like talking to a blind date.

"I work for a sports marketing agency. We represent elite athletes, sports teams, and sporting events."

"You like doing that?"

"I love it."

"I have to do some leg reps before it gets late. Can I call you back tomorrow?" he said.

"Sure. I want to hear all the gory details about your day with my brother."

"Wasn't nothing out of the ordinary. We had brunch, and he dropped me off. I'll see him tomorrow at ten and then I can move on with my life."

Athena took a sip of wine. His voice was confident.

"You two didn't talk about what happened in the past?"

"Not in detail. He feels bad and wants to help me. That's it. Can I still call you?"

She grinned.

"Yeah. Call me. I'll be running errands tomorrow. Leave a message if I don't pick up."

"I'll do that."

"Goodnight, Damian."

She hung up first and cradled the phone against her chest. After a few minutes, she checked her schedule on a phone app and rearranged a few appointments. Swiping her fingers across the screen, she highlighted the Delphi Boxing Academy. Ten a.m. on the dot.

Chapter 3 HERE.

Tag List:

@unfriendlyblkhotti3​

[haruchiyos]

⠀ Body, Mind, and Soul

Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x fem!Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, explicit use of drugs (crack cocaine), yandere themes, noncon, dacryphilia, pain play, anal, unprotected sex, no aftercare, threats, graphic violence, blood play, blood as a lubricant, impact play, branding, slight choking, restraints (belt), punishment, implied stalking. Bonten Sanzu so minor spoilers.

Word count: 2.5k ish? idk I wrote this in drafts 

Author note: this is some vile stuff, check the warnings and proceed at your own discretion. tagging my fellow violence lovers: @bajihub @gentori​

Minors fuck off

Your head was pounding, limbs heavier than led, eyes glazed in a drugged induced haze. Where were you? And why... why was everything spinning? Despite being on the fringes of consciousness you registered the outline of a tall figure at the end of the bed you laid on. 

“w-who ... who’s there?” you slurred, the drugs in your system preventing your eyes from focusing on the person before you. Everything was a blur, from your vision, to your dull sense of touch, to the way time moved all too slow yet far too fast at the same time. 

“Don’t remember me doll?” the figure asked, but a wave of dizziness prevented you from responding. He sucked disapprovingly on his teeth and sauntered to the far corner of the room. “What a shame.” The sound of a torch lighting cut violently through your clouded stupor. 

What was he doing? 

Your eyes adjusted just enough in the light to see the male shift the flame under a crack pipe and take a long drag from it. Blue eyes rolled back into his skull as he helded in the smoke — lean body quaking in ecstasy as he waited for the drug to take effect. Without notice, he dropped the crystal pipe, the sound of it shattering at his feet helped to further ground you in reality — to see through the effects of the drugs. The twin scars at the edge of his lips caused a slight sense of familiarity to rise within you, but you couldn’t quiet place its origin.

Who is this man?

Sanzu exhaled slowly through his nose and cracked open his eyes to watch you. Pure, primal fear ripped through you as your eyes met. Every instinct in you screaming to run, to fight the drugs still coursing through your blood stream, to push past the vertigo, to get away. You’d be safe as long as you could flee from that soulless gaze, one that promised you a world of suffering. You had to get out. 

Runaway. 

Run. 

Run.

RUN. 

But, the drugs wouldn’t let you. Sanzu hadn’t even needed to restrain you, as the poison in your veins already acted as a ball and chain on every limb. You felt like a helpless rabbit before him. Trapped and at the mercy of his volatile nature. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he chimed, “I’ll see to it that you never forget my name.”

You watched silently as he picked up a thick piece of metal wire and angled the torch’s flame beneath it. It didn’t take long for the metal to glow a bright and  taunting red. 

“Please...” you begged softly as tears spilled over your lash line, “... don’t do this. I-I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.” 

A smile pulled at the pink haired man’s lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “But this is what I want sweetheart. You’re going to be mine — body, mind, and soul — whether you like it or not.”

He was on you in an instant, a calloused hand ripping at your clothes to expose the large expanse of virgin skin that was your right thigh. “So pretty,” he trilled, gaze shifting upwards to your face. “Don’t worry, I won't let it get infected.” He reassured as if your crying was in response to anything other than the pain the red-hot metal promised, then proceeded to place a claiming kiss upon the skin.

Ringing filled your ears the moment it touched your skin, the shrill sound and the seering pain overwhelmed all of your senses. You only knew you were screaming because you could feel the air rushing from your lungs. The pain was white hot and all encompassing, taking hold of you with its cruel fingers and dragging you down, down, down into a world of suffering. Darkness consumed the outer edges of your vision as your made your decent drowning you.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

But you couldn't. Not with the excruciating pain emanating from your side. No matter how hard you tried, even with the agony as an anchor to keep you awake, the darkness enveloped you. 

You weren’t sure how long it had been. An hour or two — maybe three? All you knew was that the pain had ebbed to a rhythmic pulsing of heat, almost like a second heartbeat, compared to what it had been before. A hoarse moan fell from your lips as you groggily sat up. The drugs had worn off for the most part, but your movements were stiff and uncoordinated. 

“Awake finally?” Came that same psychotic voice from before. You froze, not daring to look in his direction. He cackled, his face nearing until mer centimeters separated his lips from your ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long, my dear. I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally have you.” he breathed, teeth grazing your ear lobe.

You didn't have to see him to know his eyes were blown wide, glazed over in drug induced ecstasy. “You know,” he continued “it hurt that you didn’t remember me. I was a regular of yours after all.”

A regular?

Your mind shifted to the last thing you could remember prior to waking up before that walking nightmare of a man. You had been at work, one of the few waitresses on night shift at a small family owned diner. It hit you: pink hair and a mask. There was a tall man that’d frequent the establishment once or twice a week during the final hours of operation. All he’d ever order was a cup of coffee that he never seemed touched.

That was him all this time?

“Do you remember me now?” He trilled, elated at the sight of realization washing over your face. You nodded, not daring to meet his gaze as your eyes were trained on the half empty bottle of wine sitting on the bedside table.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” He hummed, a vascular hand shifting to take hold of the base of your throat, a soft squeeze was given, clearly meant as a threat. “You know, I don’t appreciate being ignored Y/N.” Sanzu seethed, taking the time to enunciate each and every word. You didn’t respond; the bottle continued to hold your attention.

Was it worth it? Would it work?

“Answ—” he growled, but was violently cut off as you surged forward, took hold of the bottle, turned, and brought it down on his skull with all the strength you could muster. He stumbled away from the bed until his back hit the wall, hands cradling his head. Red poured from his left temple, a watery mixture of blood and wine. A dark chuckle cut through the cold pregnant silence and you could just make out a sinister grin forming behind his curtain of pink hair. 

“Fiesty aren't you doll?” he slurred — from the drugs or blow you weren't sure. His voice stirred you back into action, prompting you to throw yourself off the bed and towards the door on the opposite side of the room.

You hissed as the broken glass from the wine bottle bore into your bare feet, but persevered on shaky legs and propelled yourself forward. Erratic heartbeat wailed in your ears again, limbs shaking from the adrenaline as you grabbed the door knob. But it didn’t budge, not even when you pulled with all of your weight.

A scream ripped from your lips as you were roughly seized by your hair and thrown to the ground. The impact stole the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and reeling in the aftermath.

He stood over you, still as a statue, head angled down to fully face you. Despite the curtain of hair hanging around his face, his dilated crystal gaze pierced right through you. Unblinking and unwavering, he stared and stared and stared, a small grin finding homage on his lips.

The blood from his head wound oozed down the side of his face and dripped from his chin directly onto the skin of your cheek. You flinched, the tiny impact encouraging you back into action. As quickly as you could you swept your legs towards his feet — hoping to knock him off balance. But he was faster. With monstrous strength his booted foot came down on your left ankle, damn sure shattering it, all the while never breaking eye contact with you. You screamed so violently spit bubbles at your lips. The ringing was even louder now, but it didn’t prevent you from hearing what Bonten’s second in command said next.

“I’d of had no reason to punish you if you had just been obedient.” His eyes remained wide and soulless, not a single spark of empathy within them, only cerulean cruelty. “Does it hurt?” he hummed as another drop of blood fell to your face. The sensation not even registered past the visceral agony overwhelming your nerve endings. This was hell. 

He crouched down to your level as you folded yourself into a fetal position, a meager attempt at hiding from that hellish gaze of his. “Oh sweet thing,” he hummed, a finger circling dangerously around the exposed wound on your thigh. “I can be quite the gentleman when met with respect and obedience. These sorts of ... punishments won’t happen as long as you’re a good girl — my good girl.” A cold hand gently smoothed away the hair sticking to your sweat covered forehead. “Are you going to be good for me Y/N?” he drawled. 

Your throat burned, but you still offered the man a slow nod. His taught muscles relaxed as his guard dropped. “Good,” he stated flatly “You’ll be making up for your little stunt now princess.” Those primal fight or flight instincts sparked once more as you screwed your eyes shut, fully expecting another brutal strike from your captor. 

But it never came, instead, the sound of a belt being undone greeted you. He reached out and gathered your hands in one of his own, the other wrapping the cool leather around your wrists. Realization hit you as the man gathered your trembling form in his arms. “It’s useless to struggle, I always get what I want, so don’t fight me —you’ll only make it worse for yourself.” A hollowness opened up in your gut as you recognized the hidden intentions within his words. He was going to own you, body, mind, and soul. 

He laid you on your stomach, constricted hands pinned between the bed and your chest. The ripped fabric of your destroyed work pants were gently pulled away from your body, the man exhibiting a surprising amount of care to not touch the still pulsing brand. 

A small cry bubbled in your throat, tears welling your eyes “Please... I won’t fight anymore. I promise I’ll be good — I promise. J-Just please don’t do this. Please. ” You begged pathetically, to which he simply laughed. 

“You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” He leaned down and collected a few of the crystalline orbs on his fingertips, then proceeded to pop it into his mouth, humming softly at the taste. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Sanzu stated dismissively and moved to straddle your legs, strong hands easily ripping apart your underwear. 

“I will admit, that little stunt you pulled kinda turned me on.”  Ecstasy manifested in the form of Sanzu’s cock straining against his slacks. “Even so, I can’t let you go unpunished.” The sound of a zipper coming undone reached your ears, only further cementing that your fate was completely within the hands of Sanzu Haruichyo — debatably the worst possible outcome.

The male reached up to collect some of the blood still weeping from the wound you had inflicted. “I’m usually a pretty big fan of foreplay,” he began, his free hand moving to grip your ass cheek, revealing your puckered hole. “but sadly, that’s not something you've earned quite yet.” You groaned as he spread his own blood around the rim, writhing in protest beneath him. He pulled away with a growl and brought down a heavy hand on your ass cheek — the impact forcing a muffled screech from your lips. “Good girls stay still and take what they’re given.” He seethed and pulled down his slacks and underwear to free his cock. It’s fat head prodded your asshole, but he stilled and leaned down to whisper into your ear. “Are you a good girl Y/N?” You nodded in response, face still buried deep within the sheets. 

He tutted disapprovingly and pulled your visage from the bed using a fistful of your hair. “I want to hear you say it — out loud.” 

“I am. I promise I am. I’m your good girl, I am, I am.” you sobbed desperately, willing to anything to quell his cruelty. All your proclamation was met with was Sanzu entering you in a single deep thrust. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down on your lower lip, doing your best to stifle back a scream at the burning strech brought on by his cock. 

Maniacal giggles spilled from the man as he began a punishing tempo, giving you no time to adjust to his size. You spluttered a mantra of groans and pleas; a sense of utter helplessness settling over you as his thrusts rocked you back and forth on the bed. Wetness pooled around your face from your tears, the sensation providing a minuscule amount of comfort compared to the hell you had experienced and would continue to endure. 

Sanzu spat a mix of lustful praise and degradation as he used you to achieve his high — a different kind of high that no drug could ever provide him. This was the first time he had tasted you, and yet he was already completely and utterly addicted. You were his favorite drug and he'd be damned if he let anyone else experience this kind of ecstasy with you. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine.” he sputtered, hips stuttering as his rhythm faltered in the wake of his impending orgasm. He came deep within you, staking his claim firmly and with finality. 

And as he pulled away, leaving you alone in that small room limp on a cold bed you realized: this was it. You’d never be able to escape this man, and even if you did, there was nothing in this world that would ever rid you of the scars he had inflicted — both the physical and emotional. Nothing at all. You were his, body, mind, and soul. 

© Akashiharuchiyo 2021. All content is my own; do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

~

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

      “Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power. 

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid. 

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back. 

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained. 

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand. 

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce. 

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered. 

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild. 

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight. 

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were. 

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha. 

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough. 

“Open it,” you said. 

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing. 

On the count of three, you both opened your presents. 

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal. 

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes. 

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful. 

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading. 

      ‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

      Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement. 

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you. 

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides  - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story. 

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s. 

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said. 

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face. 

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box. 

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle. 

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect. 

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face. 

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built. 

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back. 

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth. 

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly. 

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for. 

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was. 

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own. 

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified. 

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked. 

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea. 

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose. 

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace. 

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen. 

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming. 

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns. 

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked. 

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static. 

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex. 

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist. 

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep. 

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing. 

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

     California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look. 

 And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one. 

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?” 

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.” 

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

 You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

   “You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat. 

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall. 

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief. 

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever. 

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged. 

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression. 

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws. 

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face. 

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway. 

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed. 

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared. 

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it. 

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

    “When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer. 

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission. 

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure. 

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told- 

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.  

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there. 

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road. 

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’. 

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred. 

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again. 

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors.  “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s. 

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again. 

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded. 

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.  

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering. 

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could. 

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal. 

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot. 

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you. 

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room. 

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take. 

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for. 

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look. 

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.” 

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?” 

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice. 

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited. 

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.  

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this. 

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath. 

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand. 

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile. 

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered. 

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer. 

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.  

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back. 

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no. 

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly. 

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills. 

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you. 

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions. 

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.” 

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt. 

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.” 

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion. 

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face. 

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” 

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand. 

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his. 

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt. 

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded. 

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door. 

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday.  “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead. 

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded. 

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted. 

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position. 

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead. 

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told. 

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own. 

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back. 

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern. 

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear. 

     The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy. 

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it. 

“You’re one damn good actor.” 

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.” 

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.” 

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.  

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?” 

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” 

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?” 

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.” 

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out. 

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much. 

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?” 

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup. 

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife. 

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times. 

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses. 

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now. 

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard. 

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now. 

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke. 

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different. 

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in. 

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.” 

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?” 

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.” 

     The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place. 

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was. 

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?” 

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.” 

“Did you need-“ 

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified. 

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn. 

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully. 

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally. 

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you. 

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back. 

     The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner. 

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams. 

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.” 

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

     If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter. 

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could. 

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

     Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it. 

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief. 

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision. 

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!” 

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point. 

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners. 

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist. 

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs. 

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own. 

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind. 

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again. 

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

     You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least.  “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost. 

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him. 

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred. 

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently. 

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open. 

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful. 

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you. 

His therapist would just listen. 

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open. 

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report. 

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Mirror Master II (Evan McCulloch)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Evan McCulloch, also known as the Mirror Master. Yes, there are apparently two of them. This is the younger one. (Pause) The patient displays a number of antisocial tendencies, admitted to having a cocaine addiction in the psychological evaluation that was administered to him upon his arrival at Arkham Asylum, and most likely also suffers from Schizophreniform Disorder or Schizoid Personality Disorder. Session One. Hello, Mr. McCulloch. 

Mirror Master: Howzitgoan, Dr. Strange? 

Hugo Strange: Pardon? 

Mirror Master: Ah wiz like, “Howzitgoan?” 

Hugo Strange: Are you...are you all right, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: Aye. I’m doin’ awright. Cannae say the same for yeh, I’m afraid. Ye look loused; like ye haven’t had a good kip in yonks. 

Hugo Strange: I..you...what? 

Mirror Master: (Laughs) Dinnae get yer knickers in a twist, chief. I’m just having a wee bit of fun with yeh. Always quality to watch the reactions of you Yanks when I use the full Glasgee burr. Pure deid brilliant, so they are! 

Hugo Strange: (Muttering) Glasgow? Well, that explains his incomprehensible accent. (Aloud) I take it you’re from Scotland, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: Aye. Lived in an orphanage in Kirkcaldy as a wee lad; then ran away tae Glasgow, the city of culture. 

Hugo Strange: So, how did a Scotsman end up working as a costumed criminal in the United States? 

Mirror Master: A group of American corporate and government high heejins had heard that I was good at makin’ problems disappear. Offered tae dircht my slate and give me all the dosh I could ever want if I made their problems disappear, tae. Sounded hoora good tae me, so I accepted. Gave me some of the Mirror Master’s gear and one of his auld costumes; sent me after a superhero named Animal Man. Had a square go with him; but when my bosses told me tae murder his Kelly Ann and their wee ones, I quit. Told them there was no way I was gonna kill a woman and her weans; then trapped ‘em all in a mirror dimension. After that, I decided I wanted to meet the man who built all the mental tech I’d been using. I followed Sam Scudder’s trail to Central City, decided I liked it there, and joined the Rogues. They’re good lads-for bad guys, I mean. 

Hugo Strange: So you didn’t come here to fight the Flash? 

Mirror Master: Flasher? Naw. Never planned tae end up fightin’ him...but it kinda comes with the costume. 

Hugo Strange: Yes. The costume. Why did you keep it, Mr. McCulloch? The technology, I can understand...but why the costume? What benefit does it serve? 

Mirror Master: It’s a fashion statement, int it no? (Laughs) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, what sort of statement do you think you are making by wearing that garish leotard? The costume isn’t even yours; it was created by Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: Naw, chief. It was made by Gambi. 

Hugo Strange: Who? 

Mirror Master: Paul Gambi. He’s our tailor. 

Hugo Strange: You...have a tailor? 

Mirror Master: Aye. What, d’ye think a bunch of career criminals ken eno about sewing tae make their own costumes? 

Hugo Strange: Regardless, the costume is irreparably associated with someone else’s costumed identity. What sort of “statement” could becoming a copy of another costumed criminal possibly make? 

Mirror Master: Not just a copy. A mirror image, ken? 

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Yes, Mr. McCulloch, I understand the reference to your powerset. But that does not answer the question.

Mirror Master: When I put on the costume, I become naebody; just a reflection of another man. Nae past. Nae identity. Nae weaknesses. It’s everything wee little Evan’s ever wanted. 

Hugo Strange: In speaking of your past, Mr. McCulloch, I’ve noticed that your file is remarkably scant on pertinent information about your life. Why is that? 

Mirror Master: The government high heejins who wanted me tae take care of their problems deleted all ‘a’ the records on me when they hired me. Was part of the clean slate they offered me, ken? All of the information in that file is two years old or less, chief. 

Hugo Strange: (Flips through the file) You don’t even have a listed birthdate, Mr. McCulloch. 

Mirror Master: Nae danger, chief. A reflection does nae need a birthdate. 

Hugo Strange: You are not a reflection, Mr. McCulloch….or is that even your real name? 

Mirror Master: Aye. (Pause) And nae. 

Hugo Strange: It is either your real last name or it is not, Mr. McCulloch. It cannot be both. 

Mirror Master: When I was just a wee bairn, I was left on the doorstep of an orphanage run by a Miss McCulloch. The note pinned tae the basket called me “Evan”, but there was nae last name, and Miss McCulloch never could work out who my parents really were. When I ran away from the orphanage at 16, I took her last name with me. It’s the only one I’ve ever had. (Pause) Miss McCulloch was a good woman. Tried tae be a mother to us all. ‘S why I always send a portion of the dosh I make from jobs tae her. Helps her keep the orphanage running, it does. 

Hugo Strange: So you’ve never met your biological parents?

(Long pause)

Mirror Master: (Rapidly) Nae. Nae. I haven’t.

Hugo Strange: I see. (Changing the subject) So, Mr. McCulloch, are you an inventor like Mr. Scudder? 

Mirror Master: Feart not. His science talk goes straight over my head. (Pause) But I have something he doesn’t have.

Hugo Strange: What’s that, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: A love of Wonderland.

Hugo Strange: Wonderland? 

Mirror Master: Aye! A bonny world it is, full ‘a’ colors and shapes and light. It’s the most wonderful place in the world. Scudder does nae understand. He treats it like the London Underground; just a transport system. He’s blind to the paradise that it is, and I dinnae understand how. Why go through the looking glass if you’re just going to ignore Wonderland? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, what in the world are you talking about?  

Mirror Master: I’m talking about the world on the other side of every mirror on the face of the Earth. Scudder calls it the Mirror Realm, because he has no imagination. It’s another world you access by going through the looking glass. What else would you call it but Wonderland? 

Hugo Strange: (To himself) Note to self: do not include both Mr. McCulloch and Mr. Jervis Tetch in the same group therapy session. (Aloud) I take it you enjoy your time spent in this other dimension?

Mirror Master: Aye, chief. Very much so. And it’s what makes me better with the Mirror Tech than Scudder is. 

Hugo Strange: How so? 

Mirror Master: On some level, Scudder’s afeared of Wonderland, ken? Says it’s dangerous to stay in there too long; doesn’t talk with it like I do. If he wanted tae, he could access all the same powers as I can...but his fear of the place holds him back. 

Hugo Strange: An interesting theory, Mr. McCulloch. (Pause) Your file mentions that you sometimes abuse cocaine, Mr. McCulloch. Do you access this...this Mirror Realm whilst intoxicated? 

Mirror Master: Tried it once. But Wonderland didn’t much like that, so I never did it again. 

Hugo Strange: So...these things you see in the Mirror Realm...you see them even while not intoxicated? 

Mirror Master: Aye. All the time. 

Hugo Strange: And...and you believe that it is alive in some way? 

Mirror Master: It is alive! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder doesn’t seem to think so. 

Mirror Master: That’s because he does nae know Wonderland like I do! 

(Pause) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, have your teammates ever told you that you were seeing or hearing something that wasn’t really there?

Mirror Master: (Annoyed) Ah’m no’ seeing things! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, I’m sure the things you think you have seen seem real to you, but they are the result of a mental illness.

Mirror Master: It is nae! (Pause) And even if it is, it does nae matter. That’s the best part about Wonderland, ken? Everyone’s mad there. Pure deid brilliant, int it no? (Laughs)

[baepsaetan]

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 1

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore​​

Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 6.1k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: This took me a disgustingly long time to complete, but I’ve limped to the finish line! I wouldn’t have got there without @ditttiii​​, who helped me talk through an early version of the fic. Also major thanks to my beta @birbdae​​ for cleaning up this long piece! 

Is there anything he loves more than stepping into a club for the first time? The easy answer is yes, but in the moment – in the present – right now – Hoseok can’t give the easy answer. Shoving through the door is like plunging into water, waves of heavy bass surging against him as he submerges into the half-remembered music and suddenly warm air. The change in temperature is a welcome relief after the cold outside and only serves to reinforce the sensation of entering a thicker atmosphere. Breathing in against the sudden pressure, Hoseok does a grateful little skip as he pulls off his beanie and gloves.

Next to him, Taehyung laughs, the deep sound competing with the heavy music beating at Hoseok’s eardrums. “Not even on the dance floor and you’re already starting?”

Tossing his head to get his dark hair out of his face, Hoseok grins. “That suggests I ever stopped.” He hadn’t. Not really. Once you start to dance – to inhale the music and turn it into pure, unadulterated movement – you don’t really take a break. You just… slow down, sometimes.

His companion grins, a boxy affair with no ridicule in it. And why should there be? Taehyung is a dancer, too, and a helluva good one, if Jimin and Jungkook are to be believed. (They usually aren’t, but in the case of a possible new crewmember, Hoseok is willing to lend a little belief.) He’s known Tae for a year now, since Taehyung became friends with Jungkook in one of their classes and started hanging out with the crew, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago that Kookie persuaded him to show off his stuff. Apparently, in the past, there’d been some kind of accident that stopped Taehyung from dancing, yet according to Jimin and Jungkook, that hadn’t shown at all when he finally broke out in front of them.

Hoseok will see the truth for himself soon enough, anyways; it’s not like they came to the recently opened club to just stand around. His eyes flick eagerly at the thought, scoping the place out.

It’s pretty packed, and given how huge a club it is, that’s saying something. This is one of those open area concepts, all sprawling space with two bars pushed off to the corners, and a much smaller upper area, almost an oversized balcony. On the far side of the club there’s a DJ booth that’s swarming with people in front of it, so much so that he can’t see through the crowd to whoever is getting them so pumped. And there are more people streaming in by the second; he and Taehyung have had to shuffle to the side several times since they stepped inside, and by now they’re almost plastered against the wall. That would have been disappointing, except that according to Jin, on Saturdays the floor gets cleared at around 11 and the serious dancers get to have a go at it for a while.

In the meantime… Spotting a gap in the crush of bodies, Hoseok takes his chance and darts almost seamlessly through, throwing over his shoulder as he does so, “You want something to drink?”

His companion follows, albeit more slowly. Not that Hoseok can blame him; Taehyung is broader than he is, making knocked shoulders and collisions almost an inevitability. When Hoseok makes it to the nearest bar, he’s left the other behind.

It gives him plenty of time to hover around the edges, admiring the form of the bartender, who puts Taehyung’s shoulders to shame. The man in question isn’t exactly the picture of grace – not like those in Hoseok’s crew – but his energy is so loud, so vibrant, that it makes up for nearly dropped glasses and a few hesitations as he mixes the drinks for various customers. The breathtaking smile helps; the way he goes from 1 to 100 the second anyone tries to complain about the wait time probably helps, too.

Red-faced and outraged, he’s chewing out some poor guy for that exact offense when Hoseok finally finds room to sidle up to the front of the bar. “And if you think I’m making you another Manhattan after that comment, you can stick it straight up – oh. Hey, Hobi!”

The offender slinks away as Hoseok shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Is Namjoon paying you to bartend or to insult customers?” he shouts over the deep resonance that’s currently more a feeling shuddering across the floor than a sound.

Jin’s indignation doesn’t fade so much as evaporate entirely. Blinking with easy complacency, a small smile playing across his face, he turns and begins prepping the order a girl apologetically yells at him. “Just to bartend. The insults I give for free.”

“Wow, a star employee.” Fake seriousness dissolving into something more real, he asks, “Will Namjoon be around tonight? I wanted to ask him about the competition the club is hosting.”

It takes a few moments to reply, Jin’s hands and concentration caught in the mixing profession before he pulls himself away. “Not until a lot later, if at all,” the bartender replies eventually. “He’s looking after Remi tonight, so if he comes it’ll be after she goes to sleep. And can you imagine Joon leaving her alone?”

“No,” Hobi admits. Namjoon dotes on his daughter so much (the few times a month that he gets her) that it would be a miracle if he showed up tonight. Which is a little inconvenient for Hoseok, but the vague annoyance is buried under the reminder that being a good dad comes before being a good club owner.

He stands in fidgeting silence – silence surrounded by sound and people – for a few moments, playing with the studded collar of his black jacket, watching Jin work, and trying to enjoy the music. Taehyung must have been caught by someone, which is fine and not unsurprising given that it’s Tae. However, the absence of his companion, and with Jin mostly absorbed in his drinks, has mild anxiety trickling under Hoseok’s heels and through his fingertips. He rocks on the former and drums the latter against the sleek black leather of his pants in an attempt to drive the restlessness out. It doesn’t work particularly well, but automatically he finds himself adjusting his movements to the rhythm of the bass, and the focus required does help.

Each song is mixed so well, there’s no weird or awkward moment for his concentration to snag on, and the transitions are seamless, so smooth that the DJ must have curated this tracklist with individual attention to each end and beginning. Not unheard of, exactly, but certainly a pleasure when compared to many of the jarring amateur attempts Hoseok has been subjected to before. Last they’d talked, Namjoon had mentioned he was looking to hire another DJ for his new club, and if this is the man… well, Hoseok just hopes he’ll be the same guy who’s doing their dance competition, too. Another question – or request – to throw Joon’s way the next time they meet.

He’s just about to resign himself to submerging back into the crowd in search of Taehyung when the boy in question pops up, all teeth and warm apology. “Sorry, hyung! I saw a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, and you were so far ahead already I didn’t think I could call you back, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a bit so I paused and then I’d lost you and –”

“Don’t sweat it.” It’s always been a marvel to Hoseok that such a rambling and excited apology could sound sincere, but Taehyung makes it work one hundred percent. “Let me grab you something. What do you drink?”

“Oh, well, I like whiskey sours, but you don’t have to –”

“Whiskey it is.” As he turns away, Taehyung’s surprised expression isn’t lost on Hoseok. Yeah, he isn’t often this direct, but the young man’s never seen him at dance practice and besides, the music is scraping under his skin, rubbing his bones the wrong way in the best way possible. It’s forcing him into a different form.

Suiting word to deed, he returns to the bar, puts in Tae’s request along with his own. Like a cheerful despot towering behind his counter walls, Jin takes the order before other people’s, waving off the muted outrage of his customers with shameless ease. It’s good to see his relatively new job hasn’t reformed him too much; it’s not that Jin’s ever actively rude or cruel. but he just has one pace, and that pace is his own.

For all that Hoseok admires that quality in his friend, it still has him flushing and ducking his head apologetically at the accusing looks. He’s quick to grab the drinks, but when he tries to shove money at Jin, the other man waves him off. “My treat,” the bartender calls. “When you all start dancing, everyone’s going to get thirsty and I’m going to be getting tons of tips!” His laughter quickly spikes too high to be heard in this crowd, but he’s still laughing as Hoseok, even more flushed, winds through the press of bodies with the glasses held high.

When he reaches Taehyung, his companion just sips his drink, but Hoseok downs his. The burn down his throat is no more intense than the burn he feels building in his muscles. A different kind of heat.

He finds himself shifting, his body beginning to ache with impatience. Tae is an entertaining person, but Hoseok's restlessness is blazing through his concentration, leaving cinders in its wake, and words of any kind – no matter how entertaining – are a poor thing in comparison. While he's always eager to move when at the club, this is a new level of agitation, a heightened awareness of the sounds and heavy ambience, and at first, he doesn't know what has him so on edge.

They talk some more, just waiting, really, for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive. Taehyung doesn't have a car and Hoseok had agreed to drive him, and Jimin was going to drive Jungkook after a late class. They should be here within half an hour or so, though in the meantime Tae, ever obliging, grabs he and Hoseok two more rounds of drinks. It's while he's grabbing the third round that the impatience becomes less of a hum and more of a howl, and Hoseok grasps with a sudden jolt that it's because of the song that's currently playing.

Whoever is mixing this music is really doing an amazing job; the song modifications, amplifications and beat alignments almost make the atmosphere come alive, and all it needs is an avatar to show off just how much energy it really has. He could be that. He should be that. It’s almost like he and the DJ are in a private conversation, and they’re egging him on, jamming little pinpricks into his joints, demanding he dance.

His mouth is dry – too dry – but that's nothing new when he's in the club, and Hoseok hardly notices it. The next song has just come on, as seamlessly as the last, and with a sharp pang of understanding, Hoseok realizes why he feels so tense, even more so than usual.

This DJ – whoever they are – has similar tastes as Yoongi. The powerful flow of thudding music is creating something in Hoseok, a kind of nostalgic frenzy, and it makes him swallow hard, swallow again with the feeling of shards of glass and regret slipping down his throat. He hasn't heard a DJ who favours reverb and synth choruses so much since the last time he'd guested at one of Yoongi's gigs. How long ago was that? Four years? He can hardly remember.

To remember is absolutely not why Hoseok is here.

"Hyung?" Taehyung says something to him, has said it more than once, to judge by his tone. Hoseok snaps his eyes to the other man's face, his breath abruptly staggered. "Hyung, are you okay?"

"Yeah," and to Hoseok’s ears his voice sounds tinny, strained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jimin and Jungkook should be here soon, right? I should go grab some alcohol for them."

"Do you wanna take your shot?"

"I will after. Be back in a sec."

"Sure...?" Taehyung's eyes are sharp and probing, uncomfortably and unexpectedly keen, and Hoseok can't remember if he knows about Yoongi. He definitely wouldn't know Yoongi – none of his friends do – because they didn't know Hoseok back then. So – there's no point in explaining. No point in bringing it up. Hoseok swallows again, and walks away, needing to escape. Although he can't escape the music.

He also can't help how his gaze skitters to the DJ booth, there and back again, short looks that can't penetrate the barrier of people crowded around it. It can't be him. It can't. The last time he saw Yoongi...

You didn't come here to remember, he reminds himself savagely.

Jin has seemingly even more customers pestering him than before, and just hands off the drinks without a fuss. This time, hypersensitive and too raw to accept charity, Hoseok makes him take the cash, pressing it to the counter when the bartender tries to decline. Head tilting, thick eyebrows furrowing, for the first time this night Jin looks something other than melodramatic, and Hoseok doesn't want that. He came here to dance, for Christ's sake, not have someone notice a mini-meltdown!

Hefting on a smile that feels like it weighs one thousand pounds, he brushes off his friend's concern and darts away, carrying a tray of glasses. He's hardly taken a few steps before he downs his drink. Too much, too fast, especially for him, but he needs the soft buffer of alcohol right now. Hoseok won't look at the DJ stand. It's not him. There's no way it could be Yoongi. And even if it were...

It's not.

And even if it were, what would he do? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? Punch him in his bleakly certain face? Or–

It's not him.

The music resonates around him – through him – in shuddering waves, jarring his weak attempts to tamp it down, and Hoseok is starting to feel feverish with the familiarity of the flashbacks flickering through his head. He's definitely had too much to drink. He just – he needs to do something. He needs to move.

It is with a huge wash of relief that he gets back to Taehyung and sees Jimin and Jungkook have arrived. Jimin is dressed in faded denim jeans and a glittering blue and yellow jacket, though the jacket will probably be off by the end of the night if other nights are anything to go by. Jungkook is a little more subdued, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, but his outfit makes the tattoo sleeve on his left arm pop. Both of them are standouts in the crowded space. Add in Taehyung with his black and white patterned shirt and matching headband, and Hoseok really can’t blame the number of eyes he notices settled on the trio.

Taehyung is oblivious to it. “You’re back!” he exclaims, leaping forward to help Hoseok with the drinks.

Jimin’s sultry expression – he calls it his performance face – is something he wears as easily as his brilliant jacket, and he shrugs it off with just as much aplomb when his gaze lands on Hoseok’s tight look. Eyes flickering about as if he could spot the problem, his smile becoming warmer but tinged with concern, the small man accepts the glass from Tae and then asks, “What’s up?” 

A grin can be a work of art, and Hobi turns this into a masterpiece. All ease and bright lines, no clouds in this painting. He’s not quite as good at lying outright, but the noise probably masks his beat of hesitation. “Nothing! I’m just excited to get started.”

“Makes two of us,” Jungkook comments, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he nabs a shot from Taehyung.

“Three!” Taehyung chimes in. They all fall silent, turning expectantly to Jimin.

He’s still watching Hoseok, his lips lightly pursued. Hobi can’t help his nervous titter at the close examination, turns it into a more raucous laugh. “You’re not excited, ChimChim? Come on, we’ve been talking about this for weeks!”

At last, Jimin breaks eye contact, if only to shove back the unruly silver bangs tumbling across his forehead. “I’m excited,” he says, apparently deciding to drop whatever he’d seen on Hobi’s face. “Just hope there aren’t too many rookie dancers around. We don’t wanna make them look too bad when we start.” The look he wears is nothing short of angelic, but Hoseok knows well enough the competitive edge that lurks under that innocent façade. Jimin likes to win.

Jungkook huffs a fervent agreement. He likes to win, too. He’s good at it. Actually, they all do, and they all are. There’s a reason Hobi’s put this particular team together.

Right. Something to focus on, instead of the shadow of memory that the music keeps trying to make more substantial. With a playful nod, Hobi notes with false regret, “Well, if Tae is as good as you say, they might be out of luck.”

“I’ll do my best!” the man in question promises earnestly, and Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of… something… in Taehyung’s eyes. Maybe not the same sharp need to win that Jungkook wears blatantly and Jimin cloaks yet never lets go of, but something. Passion, at the very least.

Hell, it works for Hoseok. Who cares what drives his people, as long as it's driving them to work hard?

As long as it isn’t driving them straight off a cliff.

He knows exactly where that thought comes from, and unbidden he turns to the DJ booth. It’s still too crowded to tell who’s working there. Probably a good thing. At this point Hoseok doesn’t know what will hurt him more; if the DJ isn’t Yoongi, or if it is.

The rest of them are talking and drinking, and he listens with half an ear, half a brain, half a being. The other half is straining to tell if the music really is as familiar as he thinks it is. If he can match that melody with that moment, or that bass with that breath, or that reverb with that regret. It’s stupid, pointless, harmful, but he can’t make himself stop. How funny, that he could have sworn he was over this. Had drummed it out of his muscles and his head both. God, if only he could dance.

Like an answer from the heavens – or maybe elsewhere – the music suddenly cuts off. A voice comes on the mic, clear, crisp, and familiar, but not who Hoseok was half expecting. It’s Jin. “Hey ladies and gentlemen and everyone else. As ya’ll know, it’s time for the Saturday dance off! If you fancy yourself a dancer, stay where you are, otherwise get your ass out of the floor area marked by the thick black lines. If you didn’t know there was a dance off today and you don’t like it, there’s a big ass door under the exit sign. I think we’re over capacity anyways.” With a loud blare of feedback, he cuts off.

Slowly at first, then more quickly, people start wandering out of the space Jin had indicated, crowding against the walls, or heading to the smaller area upstairs. He thinks he sees a few people leave after the announcement, but that might have just been a coincidence. By the time things have cleared, there are some twenty people on the dance floor, not including his crew.

This is exactly what he needs to clear his mind. Hoseok observes those left, his head tilted, an easy smile unconsciously gracing his lips. He can tell at a glance a few people are just idiots who want to flail around and call it dancing. There’s nothing wrong with that, exactly, but experience has taught him that people like that usually get pretty embarrassed when they suddenly find themselves next to professionals. Unless they’re really drunk, in which case they’ll just be a slight distraction. Nothing his guys can’t handle.

As for the rest… Hoseok actually recognizes two women, a couple he’s met at a few competitions, both official and underground. They’re good. Really good. His smile grows, and amid the tingling warmth of all the alcohol he’s had, there’s a fiercer burn, a kind of exultant excitement. He’s too drunk, probably, but this is crystal clarity, a heatwave burning everything unimportant and leaving just his focus and his friends.

And the music. The DJ regains control of the mic system, and he’s starting off with something heavy, almost ominous. The bass is shaking the floor, shaking Hoseok’s foundation, and he finds himself shaking in response, with little tremors of tension. Whoever’s running the music, they know how to start a show, and Hoseok is aching to finish it.

This isn’t an actual competition, of course. No judges, or set songs, or styles. It’s freestyle, and if there’s any kind of critic, it’s the crowd, already buzzing with anticipation and adding to the air of expectation. Hoseok breathes in and it feels like he’s inhaling something far more than air.

Because this isn’t run by anyone official, there are no rules about who can start, or how, or when. While Hobi and the rest of the serious dancers size each other up and feel out the rhythm, a trio of wasted kids stumble into the center of the floor. Their awkward floundering is laughable, and so Hoseok does laugh, a joyful sound echoed by Jungkook and Taehyung and a good deal of the crowd and competitors. It’s not unkind, at least not on Hobi’s part; he’s just too excited to reach the level that’s so far above these people to keep back the explosion of mirth. 

Jimin’s lip is lightly curled when Hoseok glances at him, but though he isn’t laughing, he’s squirming in place, clearly impatient to start.  

Why keep him waiting?  

“You ready?” he asks his crew, a redundant courtesy. They are. “I think we go low for this one? I’ll take the center? Let’s go… Jimin, then Jungkook, then Taehyung? And keep heavy on the left?” Phrased as questions, but they aren’t, just more courtesy, letting Taehyung know how he wants to approach this. They’ve already discussed general four-person set-ups, with Tae and without. The other two know what Hoseok wants. Everyone nods, short, sharp.

He steps forward. Not far. Not really enough to crowd the hammered trio’s space. Just enough to announce their presence and give them room to work. His friends follow, and Hoseok can almost feel them at his back. The wide grin has faded, replaced with an unintentional intensity that, unbeknownst to him, makes it hard for people to look away. Most of the laughter in the crowd dies, replaced by wire-tight quiet.

In that quiet, he begins. Slowly to start. Why hurry perfection? The music pours into his marrow and he turns it into movement, gives it form and features for the simple price of sweat. Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in several beats later, not quite matching his moves or each other, but close. Distorted shadows. They flicker in time with the rhythm, a collection of power moves loosely connected by breaking. Hoseok breathes, draws in the crowd’s awe and admiration, and turns it into fuel as he burns through everything but the music. 

Worries, memories, regrets, nothing can survive the blaze of his concentration, and Hoseok feeds them to the flames with ruthless abandon, glad to feel them smoulder to ashes.

 His moves become sharper, harsher. Everything gets so much more defined when he dances. The audience, his friends, his body, they all assume a stark clarity, almost painfully distinct. He doesn’t worry – he just moves. The music pulses all around him, urging him on, a nameless connection, and as the fluid lucidity gets even sharper, he prepares to speed up.

Soon – in fact, at what feels like exactly the right moment – the song flows into something else. Faster and more electronic. His body reads it almost before his mind does and Hoseok feels himself changing his motions to fit. More popping now. It feels right to hit the floor, so Hoseok does, in a totally controlled spin on his back that nonetheless looks wildly, perfectly out of control. He stops with a shoulder roll that allows him to transition to his feet, making room for Jimin to step forward and claim center as the crowd cheers.

Jimin is… fucking beautiful. The thought is a vague spark without solid form in the midst of Hoseok’s movement, but it’s true all the same. He dances differently than Hoseok or Jungkook, more gracefully, like any second he could swap his bones for the wind and begin to fly.

Not immune to the effect, but far too disciplined to fall for it (much), Hoseok keeps up his pace next to Jimin, letting himself relax even further into the music. The drunk trio are long gone, shuffled off in embarrassment, but some of the others are inching closer. They’re being polite – letting his crew get in a full rotation – but that’ll end soon enough. He relishes their interest. Not because he has something to prove, or particularly cares what they’re thinking, but because once they start to respond, it’ll be another bar to aim for, another goal, one more reason to keep dancing. And God, does he want to keep dancing.

Jungkook is next, powerful, demanding. He hits each move like it’s personally offended him, smashes into the poses as if he wants to break through reality and reach some other plane. When his feet hit a series of rapid beats in quick succession, it’s enough to get the crowd, already primed, to start whistling and whooping.

Hoseok finds himself doubting his choice to put Taehyung last. From what he’s seen from the corner of his eye as they’ve gone, Tae has kept up fine, his movements slick and confident. Maybe just a hair slower than the trio, but that could easily be chalked up to a lack of familiarity, given how much the other three have practiced together and how long Taehyung has been on a break. Still, asking him to follow up what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok himself have already shown… He’d thought it would give him time to settle any nerves and see how they all approached being center, and Jimin and Jungkook had sung his praises to the high heavens, but now it seems like it might have been cruel.

Taehyung moves into the middle, and for some reason there’s a sudden swell of appreciative screams. Not from anything Hoseok can see from behind and to the side – maybe Tae had made a particularly great expression? The screams don’t really… stop… after that. From what Hoseok can observe, he gets it.

Turns out it wasn’t cruel to put Tae last. Like, at all.

The man is a consummate performer. Several times, when Taehyung’s supple steps put his back to the front and Hobi can see his face, he’s almost literally struck by how good his facials are. Passion is the name of this game and Tae plays it to perfection, his expressions conveying such a range of intensity that it’s a surprise he hasn’t started a fire with his glower alone

Hell, Tae winks at him at one point and Hoseok finds himself grinning at the smug audacity, breaking his own fierce look. Whoops.   

He whips it back on, but they’re almost done, anyways. Another group has edged closer, brash with impatience, and a few seconds later start their own dance. Of course, Hoseok’s crew doesn’t give way immediately – like you could snatch the crown that easily – and for a little bit they’re actually dancing against the other crew. It’s a brawl of sorts, Hoseok’s favourite kind of fighting. It doesn’t last long enough (it never does), but it’s exhilarating while it does. The fact that their opponents are pretty good is just gasoline added to the flames.

However, if a good dancer knows how to step while on the stage, a great one knows when to step off the stage, and as the most recent song winds down, Hoseok stops himself. Unwillingly, painfully, but he does. He gives a short bow to the opposing group, granting them the floor amid a cascade of cheering. 

When he and his crew walk away, the shouting just gets louder, deafening in its wild appreciation. Exhilaration swells under his ribs, threatening to crack them with its overwhelming force. For just a moment, Hoseok hears the cheers, feels the way his body is still crackling with energy, remembers how good it had felt to move, and he’s complete. For just a second.

And then the moment is gone.

The rest of his friends are grinning under the praise of the clubgoers, a little playful swagger in their steps as they jostle each other, giving compliments and insults on the individual executions each had pulled. Jimin snags his jacket from a girl who had picked it up from the floor, waves with giddy appreciation at her. They’re quick to find a good spot to watch the other dancers, the crowd happy to give way after what they’d shown. A couple of people offer to get them drinks and Jimin accepts while Jungkook and Taehyung beam. They’re all practically glowing, flush with success. They’d done well; they deserve to be proud. He’s proud of them.

He can feel proud and still be hollow, right? The sudden empty fatigue hits him like a cement truck going 100. It’s almost always like this after he dances, and the more intense the performance, the harder he gets hit. Hoseok abruptly becomes aware of the sweat pouring off him, the waves of heat billowing across his skin, the strained, quiet pain of muscles stretched just a bit beyond their limits. He’s… tired isn’t right. He could do three or four more routines like that, all in a row, without getting truly, bodily exhausted.

Drained. Yeah. That’s it. Like he’d poured something vital into each move, spilled himself across the floor, until there was too little of him left.

Jimin and Jungkook know him well enough to give him a little space after a dance, but Taehyung isn’t in the loop yet. “Hobi-hyung!” Sweat has darkened the younger man’s light brown hair, and if it weren’t for his headband, it probably would have been dripping down his face. “Hyung, you were incredible! You have to teach me how to pop at your knee like that, I’ve only ever done my upper body!”

The disconnect is there, unbearably strong. It will fade in the next few minutes, leaving him just fatigued instead of full-on wrung out, but in the meantime Hoseok makes himself laugh. Taehyung deserves that much, even if it sounds strange to his ears. “Only if you teach me that expression you were wearing during the chorus while you were center. Think I saw a few people faint when you looked their way.” He laughs again, trying to make the sound more natural. Pretty much fails.

Taehyung seems grateful for the compliment, nonetheless. He bobs his head, flashing a boxy grin. “It’s not a fair trade. Making faces is easy; I think I’d have to be high to move like you were, if I ever could.”

His jaw abruptly tightens, tension arcing through his throat. So quick he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t expecting it, Jungkook and Jimin exchange a glance. They know (almost) all of his history. Jimin reaches out, plucks at Taehyung’s shirt sleeve. “Come on,” he whines. “Didn’t you see me? Don’t you think I was cool, too?”

It’s a masterful attempt at distraction, though Taehyung seems inclined to dwell on Hoseok’s moves. “Well yeah, of course! But what hyung did was –”

Jimin interrupts him. “Anyways, I want to introduce you to one of our friends,” he says cheerfully. “Seokjin-hyung. He works as a bartender here.”

“Oh, but Hoseok-hyung already–”

“I’ll come too!” Jungkook chimes in, and together they drag the bewildered Taehyung into the crowd and away. A kindness, letting Hoseok have this moment of weakness. What had he done in another life to deserve these people in this one?    

What had he done? For just a second, a memory enters his head, of a few colourful blue and red tablets sitting in an outstretched hand. A voice, achingly ironic and raspy, asking, “You ready to get ecstatic?”

He couldn’t have said if it was the pill or the voice that he longed more violently for after the sodden rush of dance-inspired euphoria was gone. Given the way his eyes cut to the DJ booth, Hoseok supposes he has his answer.

He has his answer, but he doesn’t have what he wants. The press of people has dispersed with the dance-off, the clubbers are more interested in crowding the square than swarming the DJ, leaving his view clear for the first time tonight. There’s a girl working the booth. Not someone he recognizes.

Not Yoongi.

A shaky exhale splits his clenched teeth, and Hoseok closes his eyes. He hasn’t been listening to the music since they stopped dancing – not really – but it sounds different now. No longer as intimate, the connection between him and the rhythm is broken. Had he just imagined that bond before the dance-off, made up that gut-wrenching familiarity? Given that he hasn’t taken any drugs tonight, he seriously doubts that he has the creativity to imagine something so vivid.

Maybe the girl DJing learned in the same style as Yoongi. Maybe that’s what set him off.

He hasn’t had any drugs tonight, but he’s still coming down from a high. That’s how it always is, after dancing. He told his friends, his family, that he got clean, but it was a lie. Hoseok just replaced ecstasy, his drug of choice, with something else. Movement instead of MDMA. Not a bad trade. He couldn’t have made a career off of being a chronic user, after all. Couldn’t have found happiness, either. Probably.

His mouth is bone dry, and he’s lost sight of his friends. They’re probably busy harassing Jin. For a while Hoseok watches the other dancers, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs in time to the beats, grateful for the chance to pull himself out of his despondency with a bit of friendly critique. From what he can see, the group that went after them is the most skilled so far. 

The couple he’d recognized earlier haven’t gone yet, and they’ll shake up the ranking, but slowly Hoseok settles into the comfortable conclusion that his crew is the best one here. It doesn’t matter – there are no announced winners – but it’s promising for the actual competition coming up in a few weeks.

Things get better. He gets better. He always does. By the time the couple finishes their piece – with a flourish of partner flips that have him joining the raucous cheering – Hoseok is back to feeling energized by the sweat still slick on his skin. He’s back to being overjoyed by the music beating against his eardrums, back to savouring the crush of bodies and noise and life that scream nothing more than here you are, right now, isn’t it amazing!        

Even stepping in a thick puddle of someone’s spilled drink isn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

With a grin and a lighthearted curse, Hoseok heads to the bathroom, intent on wiping off his shoes. Sticky sneakers are a fact of life at clubs, but given that it’d been a mini lake of beer and he hates the sensation of his feet peeling across the floor, this seems to be a justified trip. Even better, the dance-off is finishing; he won’t be missing anything.

It’s as Hoseok is leaving the washroom, shoes squeaky clean, that someone grabs his arm from behind. Hard. He startles with a yelp that’s barely audible over the raucous noise of the club, his heart rate spiking. Moving jerkily with the admittedly excessive alarm pounding in his chest, Hobi turns to berate whichever of his friends thought it would be funny to sneak up on him.

Freezes. Stares. Doubts.

Hoarsely ironic, Yoongi observes, “Still as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, huh?”

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: El Ojo (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings: swearing, injury to reader, alcohol and drug abuse, threatening with guns, brief mentions of torture, description of injury and blood, unwanted touching, flirting, bad thought processes (addiction). PINK SHIRT 

Word Count: 5k 

A/N: Had a little change of plan last week, this is now the final chapter of this series. I am so sad to end it now, I’ve loved writing this so much. My first time writing for Narcos so thank you so much for all the support y’all I’ve given me with this. I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter!! 

<-- Previous Chapter // Masterlist //  Next Chapter -->

--

You were on a winning streak. Since you’d found the list of sicarios and matched that up with the more current information, you’d presented it to Carrillo and surprisingly he was on board. With his help, you had brought down five, admittedly low level but increasingly more valuable, sicarios. If you didn’t think about the torture and abuse each of them undertook once captured, used to break them into more telling more information, you could say you were doing a good job. Escobar’s organisation was shaking. You were coming for him. 

You and Steve leant against a wall, soaking up the sunshine chatting amongst yourselves when you saw Javier arrive. You hadn’t expected him to come at all, having disappeared without a word early on in the morning. He parked his truck close by, walking over to you and Steve with his vest in hand. You grinned and jabbed Steve when you saw the shirt Javi was wearing. 

The pink shirt had been a long-standing joke since you’d found it in his closet a few months ago. He had many colourful shirts, was known for them, but the pink one always seemed like another level. You and Steve teased him about it constantly, though you had to admit it did look good on him now. Javi scowled when he saw you and Steve’s mischievous grins, immediately realising his mistake. 

“I know you get called the Whore of Bogata but you don’t need to dress like it! Jesus christ Javi!” You fanned yourself with your hand, grinning at him, “really I’m going to need a minute,” Javi flipped you off as you laughed hard.  

“Shut up, I look great,” He grumbled. 

“Just thinking about the poor flamingo you rinsed for that colour,” Steve joined in the teasing, shaking his head sadly. 

“You are just jealous you could never pull this colour off,” Javi said smugly. You laughed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out today, could be quite distracting,” You said, pretending to be thoughtful. Javi’s frowned, only making you and Steve laugh more, “Aw don’t get pissy, Baby. We love you really” You teased him in a mocking voice, pouting at him. “You and your flamboyant choices,” You ruffled his hair up as you passed him. He tried to duck out the way but you caught him. He shoved you away, muttering expletives under his breath. You skipped a few paces out of his reach, flipped him off. 

“L/n!” Somebody called your name across the street, one of the technicians you’d been talking to before Javier arrived. You left Steve and Javier to talk. 

The technician explained the problem again, showing you the options for moving forward. It was quite common that things would go wrong before any kind of mission. Today was no different, the technicians had lost a signal and were now not sure that the address you had swarmed was correct.  

You chewed your nails while you thought. You could risk getting the wrong house, letting the sicarios know you were on to them and you’d lose them again. You could come back another day, but risk losing them again. Or you could ransack some innocent person's house and have Carrillo on your ass for ruining his reputation in the one week he’d left you in charge. 

 If you messed this up it would mean your stronghold would be lost. There would be time for them to work out what was going on and move everything again. 

At a loss, you excused yourself needing to take a break and a few minutes alone to think without soldiers trying to put in their two cents. 

As your work life had become more stressful over the last months. You had found some relief in, ironically, coke. It wasn’t a habit you were trying to form, but you had learnt just what good taking just a little bit could do for you. It quietened down your worried brain and made you simultaneously more aware of everything. You were better when you were just a little bit high.  

You had started keeping a small amount in your pocket. Hidden in a small sewing tin in your jacket pocket, you had started keeping a little coke on you especially for moments like this. You could take it, have a breather, and come back with a solution. It was fine. Nobody would know. 

You’d spotted a cafe across the road, and hoped they had a restroom. You gave an excuse to the soldier you’d been talking to and walked across the street.

“Oi Rookie!” Javi called as he noticed you walk past on the opposite side of the street. “Where are you going?” 

“Going to the bathroom. Women’s issues,” You called back, Javi and Steve grimaced. That was always the best excuse.

While you wouldn’t do it at the compound you didn’t have any reservation here. You’d been itching for a hit all morning and there was only so much more you could take. You walked into the cafe, asked for the direction of the restroom, and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Small, dark and stinking of pee, it was not the best place but hygiene wasn’t particularly an issue you were worried about. 

You tipped a small amount from the box onto the sink counter, lined it up with a card from your pocket, bent down and took it up your nose. You grimaced, while it had burnt your nose somewhat it still stung. But it was worth it when the feeling began to kick in. You smiled at your reflection and double-checked your appearance in the mirror, wiping your nose. Nobody could ever tell. 

As usual, the drug kicked your brain into gear again and everything fell into place. The raid went brilliantly, by pure coincidence you’d bagged two sicarios in one as your original target had invited your next round for dinner with his new girlfriend. Your plan well into the swing of things now, much to everyone’s surprise. 

—

Like every weekend for the last three months, you were going out. The line between enemies and friends was long since blurred, hanging out with ‘Isabela’s’ friends was not an issue. Most of the time you weren’t even trying to get anything from them, you’d got what you needed months ago. As fun as Javier and Steve were, it was much more enjoyable to hang out with people your age. And they wouldn’t give you cocaine, María had it on tap. 

You were dressed up, recently treating yourself to a new outfit as a job well done. A black off the shoulder top, covered in lace, and a little black mini skirt. You felt sexy, you were going to have a very good night. 

“Rookie!” Javier called out to you as he came out of the apartment building. You were standing outside waiting for a taxi, smoking a cigarette.

“Javi, baby, you’re looking slick! Where are you going?” You checked him out. He wore his signature tight blue jeans and an equally tight black shirt that was almost bursting at the seams. He looked incredible, as he always did. 

You were thankful that things had gone back to normal between you and Javier. The awkward stepping around each other had gone, you weren’t jealous. You acknowledged you would probably always like him a little more than was professional but that had fallen into a fun flirty banter that more than anything just wound Steve up.

You found yourself calling him Baby more than his name, it’d started as a joke to get back at him for always calling you Rookie but now it was so commonplace people had stopped picking you up on it if it slipped out while you were working.  

It was fun. You cared for each other, that was clear to even a blind man, but there was no romanticism to the relationship anymore. There was no need. It wasn’t good for either of you. You’d found a comfortable rhythm and were going to stick to it. 

“Out,” He shrugged, “That’s a new top,”

“You noticed?” 

 “Course, can’t keep my eyes off you,” He purred, happily playing along with your game. 

“Thought you’d be more interested in the skirt,” 

“Will you two quit it?” Steve’s voice interrupted your flirting as he walked down the stairs. You barked in laughter. 

“Steve! So it’s a boys night I see? Where was my invite?” 

“Figured you’d have your own plans,” Steve said. 

“And you are correct Murphy but it’s always polite to ask,”

 “Next time,” He assured you. “Where are you going tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Some club, El Ojo or something?” You shrugged, “Seeing as this is maybe Isabela’s last time out I am going to go out with a bang, literally,” You raised an eyebrow, insinuation of your worlds made Steve roll his eyes. 

You were hoping within the next few weeks to be able to close in on some higher level sicarios and associates to Escobar. Drawing the noose in slowly so he wouldn’t notice until it’d choked him. That meant your position as Isabela was going to have to come to an end to keep you safe from your own program. You’d discussed it at length with Peña and Murphy, while you didn’t agree you had to listen to them. They were still your superiors after all, no matter how close friends you were. 

“If you told past you you were going to willingly sleep with a Narco I think you would have passed out,” Steve laughed. 

“I’m a changed woman Murphy, what can I say,” You smirked, “Imagine what I’ll be like by the end of the year,” 

“God help us,” Javier shook his head, a smirk plastered on his face. You laughed and stubbed out your cigarette with your shoe as your taxi pulled around the corner. 

“Here’s my ride. Have a good night, boys. I will be back in the morning,”

 —

El Ojo was just as María had told you. Modern and smoke-filled, people were filling every inch of the space. You walked in and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. This was exactly what you needed. Crowds were anonymous, nobody cared who you were or what you were doing. Everyone was just there for one reason, to have a good time. 

You ordered a drink at the bar, flirting with the man next to you briefly before taking the drink and finding your friends. As usual, they were up in the VIP area, courtesy of the Parreño name. You walked up and were let inside the cordoned-off area to find Diego stood up on his seat, wild-eyed, shouting about something. It wasn’t until you got closer that you heard what he was saying. 

“I’m telling you Isabela is lying!” He shouted above the music. 

“What’s going on?” You asked. None of the ten people surrounding the booth noticed your approach, their eyes shifting awkwardly when they saw you. 

“You! You’re a liar!” Diego pointed down at you, hatred burning behind his eyes. 

“What is going on?” You asked again. You looked around for María, she was usually the one to step between you and Diego, but she was nowhere to be seen. This was not the kind of conversation you’d wanted for this evening. 

“You were the only one to survive that raid at Carlos’,” He continued, jumping off the couch to your level,  “That fucking maniac Carrillo killed everyone but you! You’re working with them, aren’t you?” 

“You’ve lost it,” You rolled your eyes, “Completely lost it,”

“You don’t deny it!” He yelled. You gulped, trying not to look scared of the man but the rage in his eyes was shaking you. You stepped backwards as he advanced toward you

“You’re insane!” You laughed in his face, “I’m not a fucking spy, especially not for Carrillo,” 

“Bullshit,” He spat, Suddenly he pulled a gun from his back, waving it in your face. People shouted and screamed around you, scattering as the metal glinted in the light. Your eyes remained on his, not saying a word as he pressed the barrel into your neck. You didn’t move, barely breathing, “You’re a fucking rat,” He growled.

“Diego!” Finally, María stepped in, running over when she heard the commotion. “Stop it, put it away. Idiot,” She pulled the gun from his hand, standing firmly between you and him. “Ignore him. He’s paranoid. Someone’s leaking information and he thinks it's you because he’s a jealous asshole,” Maria explained, swiftly pushing him backwards until he sat back in the booth again, “How fucking ridiculous would that be? You? A spy!” 

“Insane,”  You agreed through a clenched jaw. Diego continued to glare at you dangerously, leaning over to whisper something to a friend. 

“I swear if we get banned from this club because of you Diego I am leaving you,” María said angrily, “Come on, I want to party,” She linked her arm through you, not caring that you were still in shock from having a gun held to you, and dragged you to the bar.

Fortunately, copious amounts of vodka and tequila were great for calming your nerves. In a few hours, you had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. You couldn’t think about anything more than the music ringing in your ears and how good it felt dancing on the stranger behind you. 

After a while, María pulled you back up to the booth where Diego and his friends were still sitting. You did your best to ignore him, chatting to one of the girls at the table instead. You laughed and did a few lines, generally relaxing into the evening. So relaxed you didn’t notice the newest member of the group until he finally addressed you.

“Don’t I know you?” You looked over and panic spread over you like a bucket of ice water over your head sobering you almost instantly. He did know you. The man before you was the first man you had arrested, almost six months ago. He must have been bailed out for jail. 

“No,” You answered confidently. You didn’t lie. You didn’t know him, not really.

“Gabriel, sit down!” María cheered, “Isabela this is my cousin, Gabriel. Gabriel, Isabela,” She introduced you. Her cousin. Of course. You smiled politely, praying the dim lights would hide the nervous sweat that had overtaken you. 

Gabriel looked confused but didn’t say anything if he did recognise you. Not that that would matter anyway, as soon as he spoke to Diego his memory would no doubt be jogged. If he found out you were a DEA agent you would be dead. You had to leave.

“Here take my seat, I’ve got to get some air for a minute,” You stood up, letting him take your place next to Maria. You caught Diego’s suspicious look as you walked past, spotting the nearest exit door. 

Your hands were shaking, your body not sure what to do with itself. The cocaine and alcohol said to go back inside and take them all out. What was left of your rational brain was consumed by fear and kept you outside. It was bad enough if someone like Senator Parreño had suspicions about you but Diego? Gabriel? Diego had already shown he wasn’t afraid to threaten you in public. Of the two of them joined heads they would connect the dots and your cover would be blown wide open. So would you, you thought morbidly. Coke and anger never mixed well. 

You took breathes of the warm summer air, leaning against the wall of the club as you tried to calm yourself down. You shouldn’t have taken the last shot, now verging over the edge of blacking out; your vision was spotty, sound not registering properly and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. 

You wondered if Steve and Javi were nearby, the fresh air having the opposite effect than you’d wanted. You would blackout and you were going to need help to get home if you did. But you didn’t recall either of the men telling you where they were going, they could be anywhere in the city. 

Stumped for the moment, you decided to wait it out, lighting a cigarette hoping that might help sober you up. You pulled the packet from your purse

“Need a light?” A man appeared next to you, lighter in hand. You nodded and he flicked the flame up, you bent over and lit your cigarette between your teeth. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, turning away from him, hoping he would leave. He didn’t. Instead, the man continued to stare at you, following you into your personal space as you shuffled away from him. 

“Can I help you?” You snapped, immediately getting a bad feeling about him. You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning at him. 

“No need for that tone baby. Come on, I wanna talk to you,” He purred. His eyes dipped to your cleavage, a lustful look in his eyes. 

“I’m not interested,” You said, stepping backwards away from the man. He seemingly didn’t hear you, continuing to get into your personal space, arms reaching out to grab your hips. 

“You were interested earlier. Come on, baby,” He purred, pulling you close to him, pressing his hips against yours. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled, pushing him off hard enough to make him stumble backwards. 

“Fucking bitch,” He growled. 

If you were sober the situation would have a very swift end. You would punch him square in the face and he would leave you alone, scuttling away with a broken jaw and a shattered ego. However, you were not in a state to do that now. He had the upper hand. All you could do was run, hoping once you were back amongst people he wouldn’t attack you. You looked up the alley, the open street was just a few feet away. 

You bolted.

Unfortunately just as you didn’t have enough coordination to punch the man, you didn’t have enough to run in heels on the uneven floor. Not even ten foot away your legs wobble, heels falling into a pothole sending you forward. You fell into a dumpster, head hitting the corner of the metal with a thud. You yelped, vision going black for a moment as you lay on the concrete. 

“Hey hey hey,” A man ran over, instantly scaring the man off of you. He knelt by your side and helped you up from where you’d fallen. You groaned and pushed yourself up, head throbbing harshly, warm liquid trickling down your face. Your world was spinning even with your eyes closed. “Y/n, Fuck are you okay?”

“Get off me!” You exclaimed, trying to push the stranger off, not that your shaking arms were very effective. 

“Y/n hey it’s me, you’re okay!” You looked up and saw Steve through a haze of blurred vision. You squinted as something dripped over your eye. Steve then saw the cut to your head, “Oh shit,” Your eyes are glassy and blown out, you mumbled something to him and pushed yourself out of his reach again, wobbling and tipping backwards. He caught you before you hit the floor again. “Y/n what are you doing out here? Weren’t you with your friends?”

“Her brother was the first guy,” You said, your speech slurred so much Steve barely understood what you were saying.

“Rookie, you’re not making sense. What are you on about?” 

“I’m so fucked,” You sighed, letting your head rollback. You giggled as the world spun. 

“Yeah, I can tell, come on let’s get you home,” Steve stood up, holding his hands out to you and pulled you up to standing again. 

“Where’s Peña?” You asked. 

“At the bar,” 

“I want to go talk to him, let’s go talk to him!” You exclaimed. You began to walk in the opposite direction, dragging Steve along by the arm. He pulled you back with ease. 

“You can talk to him in the morning, we’re going home,” He insisted.

“But I have to tell him about the brother he’s going -,” Your rambling was interrupted as you threw up, barely missing Steve’s leg. He grimaced and jumped out of the way, “I have to talk to him,” You said quietly once you were done. 

“Tomorrow, Kid,” He repeated himself.

You pouted, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes but you didn’t fight him. Despite how drunk you were you knew that going home would realistically be the best course of action right now. You could barely string a sentence together let alone get anything important out coherently.

Steve got you into a taxi, luckily the driver paid no attention to the blood dripping down your face. You were falling asleep on his shoulder as you pulled up to the apartment, Steve pulled you out of the car and up the stairs to the apartment. Only when he opened the door, he was met by Javier and Vanessa also on their way inside.

“Woah!” Javier instantly turned his full attention to you when he saw the state you were in, hanging onto Steve’s sleeve, “What happened?” 

“Some guy tried to touch her up, she hit her head, I’ve got it covered,” Steve explained.

“Hey Baby,” You grinned, obviously giving Javi a once over. 

“She doesn’t look alright,” Vanessa commented, “Did she just call you baby?”

“It’s a long story,” Javi dismissed the comment. “She doesn’t look okay,”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ll get her to throw up and get some water to sober her up,” Steve said, “We’ll be okay, won’t we Rook?”

“Fine and dandy!” You grinned.

“If you’re sure,” Javi said hesitantly. You were gone, hanging onto Steve’s arm to hold yourself up. Your eyes were blown out and blank, if you remembered anything in the morning it would be a miracle. His first reaction was to help you, not sure Steve could handle you alone. Steve wasn’t exactly sober himself, sinking a good few beers with Javier in the bar before he’d left. However, his decision was made for him as you and Steve began walking up the stairs, Vanessa’s hands were back on him and any worry was squashed as she dragged him into his apartment.

Upstairs, Steve took you into his apartment. He took you to the bathroom, sat you on top of the toilet and rooted around the medicine cabinet to find some cleaning supplies so he could patch up your bleeding head. 

“Connie’s probably got something in here,” He rooted through the cabinet. Connie had gone back to Miami for the week to see her family, inconveniently right when her skills were needed. Steve’s tipsy attempt at first aid would have to do,“Ah-ha! Here we go, clean that cut out with this,”

“Ow!” You whined, flinching away from him quickly when he showed you the antiseptic bottle. 

“I didn’t touch you,” Steve chuckled, “Hold still,” Carefully he poured the liquid over a cotton ball, took hold of your face in the other hand and dabbed the cotton on your cut. 

“Ow! Steve that fucking hurt,” You complained, flinching away from him as the alcohol stung the wound on your head. You frowned at him, tearing up a little. 

“Don’t be a baby,” 

“I am a baby!” You exclaimed. Steve grabbed hold of you again, he needed to clean the wound if it was going to heal properly. You whined and hissed at him but eventually, it was clear. 

“Look, all done, got the grit out,”

“Thanks, Steve,” You kissed his cheek quickly. 

“You’re welcome,” He laughed awkwardly. “Come on, you can’t sleep on my toilet. Bedtime,”

“You’re not my type,” You scrunched your nose and leant away from him. 

 “Ouch way to break my heart Rook,” Steve chuckled, “No, you’re going to your own bed, by yourself,”

“It's so far away!” You whined. 

“It's across the hall!” He copied your tone making you laugh. 

Steve pulled you up from the toilet and managed to wrangle you across the hall. Half asleep, leaning into Steve before you even got inside the apartment, you fell into bed without protest. Steve pulled off your shoes, throwing them on the ground before stumbling back to his apartment to collapse in his bed. 

—

Waking up in your apartment unsure of how you got there, was a strange feeling. What was even stranger was the harsh throbbing on your head. You blindly brought a hand to the sight, recoiling instantly as you touched something sore. You sat up, slowly opening your eyes to the daylight and looked at your reflection in the mirror opposite your bed. 

You groaned when you saw the gash on your forehead. Dried blood sat in the creases of your neck, and underside of your jaw as well as being crusted into your hair. You tried to remember how you’d gotten the injury but came up blank. You couldn’t remember anything from the night before. Not unusual for your almost nihilistic habits, but it was concerning given the infliction. 

You looked at the clock. 9 am. You’d slept in. Since you were up you decided to clean yourself up. You padded to your bathroom, wincing at the harsh light inside and the grinding sound of the extractor fan. You filled the sink with warm water and gently cleaned the blood from your face with a cloth, only once stopping to throw up into the toilet. 

You showered, hot steam help clear your brain fog but not helping the cut on your forehead which now stung immensely. But that wasn’t the feeling you were concentrating on. 

A new kind of hunger, one you weren’t yet familiar with had settled in on the back of your tongue. A repeating idea chanting over and over in your head. It had partly been cocaine’s fault you’d got into this mess, but it would get you out of this hangover now. 

You remembered you had some in your jacket pocket from the day before, leftover. Once you’d thought about it there was no stopping you. You didn’t have to take it all, you could stop yourself if you wanted. You pulled the tin out from your coat, sit it down on your dressing table while you pulled on some clothes. 

 You sat back at the dressing-table again once you were done and stared at the box. You’d not done it here more than once or twice. Never by yourself. Something about being at home with it made you feel guilty, possibly because you were surrounded by your friends who also happened to be DEA agents who would kill you if they found the stuff in the building. 

You picked up the box, contemplating it. You could get something done if you took it. Wouldn’t have to sit in your hungover state and wallow in self-pity until the headache left. You could go for a walk. Do nice things. Taking the cocaine would bring you nice things, as it always did. 

You opened it. 

“Morning,” Javier’s voice inside your apartment suddenly startled you, causing you to spill the contents of your box all over your dressing table. 

“Fuck,” You swore out loud. 

“Okay in there?” You regretted giving him a key. You did not need the interruption. His voice snapped you back to reality. You decided you didn’t have time, or rather not wanting to be caught red-handed, you decided to leave it and greet your surprise guest. 

“Good morning,” You said brightly, opening and closing your bedroom door tightly behind you. Javier was standing in the middle of your living room, a book in hand flicking through it. He discarded it back to the coffee table where he’d found it when you appeared. 

“Just wanted to check you were alright, you looked rough last night,” Javi said, “that cut looks sore,”

“It stings but it’ll be ok in a few days,” You shrugged. Javi looked at you strangely, “Did you come up here for something?” You asked. 

“You don’t remember what today is?” He asked. You frowned and thought for a moment. 

“It’s your birthday?” You asked slowly. 

“No,”

“It’s my birthday?”

“I don’t know when you’re birthday is,” 

“Javi I’ve obviously forgotten please just tell me,” You pleaded. 

“Searchblok, you and Steve swapped. Remember?”

“Shit!” You exclaimed. How could you have forgotten?! You scrambled back into your room to get changed, boxer shorts and a hole-ridden t-shirt wouldn’t cut it. 

“I should write you up for the mess you were in last night,” He called through the door as you rushed to get dressed, pulling on the nearest jeans on your floor. That’s not the only thing you should write me up for, you thought looking at the cocaine on your dressing table.

“I should write you up for sleeping with hookers,” You said back.

“Nowhere in my contract does it say I can’t! You however have a reckless behaviour clause,” He said. Your heart stopped at that, opening the door quickly to pop your head out.

“Javi-“

“I’m joking Rook, don’t worry!” Javier laughed. You rolled your eyes and shut the door again, pulling on a fresh shirt. A few seconds later you stepped out, buttoning the last of the clasps on your shirt. “I was worried about you but you’re fine so we’ll forget it ever happened,” 

“Thanks, Baby,” You grinned at him. Javi rolled his eyes.

“You need to stop that though,” 

 “You love it,” You teased him. He didn’t reply, turning on his heel and walking out. You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at your bedroom door. The coke was still lined up in there, calling to you. It would only take a few seconds to do it and get rid of your hangover for a few hours.

“Rookie, hurry up!” Javi called you from the hallway, audibly impatient. You decided against it, grabbing your keys and a jacket and running to catch up with him. He was already waiting by the truck by the time you got downstairs. “Did anything interesting happen last night, then?” Javi asked. You tried to think for a moment, you remembered something important had happened, something you’d wanted to tell him last night but you couldn’t remember what. You shrugged.

“Apart from getting this,” You gestured to the injury to your forehead, “I can’t remember. There was something but I don’t know,” 

“Can’t have been very important then,” Javi added. You shrugged and shook your head. 

“Guess not,” 

Next Chapter  -->

--

Finally we’ve come full circle, I am so sad it’s over I have absolutely loved writing this series. Again I want to say a massive thank you to everyone’s that read the series, it means more than you could imagine. I love you all. I’m going to have a cry and make a start on all the other things I’ve been neglecting to write this.

The ending is already written and posted so if you haven’t read it go enjoy :))

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