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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago

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Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character)

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips.

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry.

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

“You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze.

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL

#bangtanarmynet #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi organized crime #bts organized crime

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Hi Jade! I wanted to request something with Prince Steve and his soulmate. I feel like we’ve started to see them warm up to each other but maybe we could see reader start to meet Steve’s friends and see that she’s got more people standing behind her? Like maybe Robin and Eddie teasing Steve about something embarrassing in front of her or I know she hasn’t shown up yet but I could totally see Nancy as like a lady in waiting/tutor to teach her all about proper manners but in the process she spills all these stories about Steve growing up?

thank you for requesting ♡ prince steve au fem, 1k

A knock at the door, an impatient huff. "Are you ready yet?"

"Come in, Steve."

He wedges into your rooms, a basket in his hands. "Why are you on the floor?"

"Can't tie my stupid shoes," you complain, dropping your hands down, knee pulled up, too warm for all the fuss.

Steve nearly drops the basket, he's that enthusiastic to help you out. He kneels by your feet and takes the laces of your shoes into his hands, pulling them tight, his eyebrows pinched tighter. "That okay?" he asks, pausing his loop.

"Yeah. Thank you."

"They didn't teach you how to tie your shoes back home? We need outreach immediately."

You laugh and lay back on the plush rug behind you. "It's the weird eyelets. You royals do everything weird. Like picnicking."

"So many points. These aren't eyelets, they're lace hooks. You're pretty much as royal as I am, or you will be in a matter of days. And," —he finishes tying your boot, pulling the other toward him with a small laugh— "Robin wanted a picnic. She's not royal. None of your points make any sense."

"You'll be a wretched husband."

Steve takes your hands and pulls you up into a sitting position. He doesn't let them go, transferring both into one so he has a hand free to straighten up your cardigan. "And you'll be a cherished wife."

Steve pulls you onto your feet. Together, you walk through the selenite halls of the palace to the prince's private gardens, where a gazebo the colour of the sky stands shading refreshments from the eager sun. Helping themselves to the hors d'oeuvres are a tall Eddie and a shorter partner in crime, Robin. Nancy lays out in the grass next to who you assume to be her boyfriend, a handsome guy with two books in his hands, still closed. He squints in the sun, waving as you and Steve approach.

"Hey!" he greets. "You're late."

"Don't get up," Steve jokes, waving back at him and Nancy, who's barely lifted her head. "Not like I'm anyone important."

"Very, very hard to find you important when you're wearing shorts," Eddie says.

Steve shrugs. "She likes them."

You realise belatedly and with horror that you're she. How does he know you like his nice shorts? Either way, his indifference so long as you like them makes you flush, leaving his side in search of a cold drink to drown yourself in.

"Did you bring the bat?" Steve asks Jonathan behind you.

"Hey, babe," Eddie says, offering you a glass cup set with pressed flowers in the sides, "you okay?"

"Is that lemonade?" you ask, pointing at one of the small water dispensers. Their glass shells shine with condensation, more ice cubes than liquid inside. It's a cloudy white with blood orange slices cut and garnishing the top, their juice seeping downward slowly.

"Sure is. Prince Stevie's favourite, as always. Don't know where the sudden love for oranges came from, do you?"

You've had a love for them since you got here and tried them for the first time. Oranges are expensive, and so the palace kitchen has them in abundance. Steve clearly noticed. "Wouldn't you know?" you ask. "Don't you choose his meals?"

"As if. I'm a glorified cleaning boy," Eddie says. He scoops a bagel covered in cream cheese and fresh cut salmon from a silver tray and takes a big bite. "Just stick around for the food."

"They won't let him back into the engineers workshop on account of his bad manners, he'll be a dishwasher forever," Robin says grandly, rounding the table to stand on your other side.

"Says you, lady's maid."

Robin was supposed to be a lady's maid. Sick gig, good pay, she had all the grades and none of the decorum, but Steve wouldn't let them get rid of her, and after an intense training program that taught her to wield a titanium blade longer than her arm as an extension of it, she was instated as his personal guard instead. They're all job hoppers —Nancy started as a lady's maid but now apprentices as a royal tutor, and her boyfriend worked for the palace's news room but now works under the sous chef.

You did anything you could to stay alive, and now your full time job is princess, so. You're not judging.

"What's Nancy's boyfriends name?" you whisper. "Jon?"

"Jonathan. I don't think anybody calls him Jon," Robin whispers back.

"She's lying. His name is Gordon." Eddie glares at Robin. "She's trying to trip you up."

A smack erupts through the air, chased by Steve's pleased whoop. "Yes! Baby, did you see that?"

"I'm not trying to trip you up," Robin says, "don't listen."

"She totally is."

"Baby?" Steve calls, yards away in the bluegrass, a bat held at his side. "Guys, stop harassing her. Jesus."

"We're not harassing her, Stevie, slow your roll. This is a common social phenomenon called teasing, maybe you've heard of it? You do it with friends," Eddie says, nudging your arm.

Friends, you think. Steve's looking at you, waiting for confirmation that you're alright. "I didn't see it, Steve. Do it again!"

Steve immediately jogs backwards, goading Jonathan into pitching another ball. He has a good arm, the ball soaring just right for Steve to curl back and send it wide across the green grass of the garden. It hits a long banner across the way, smack dab on its painted target as he'd aimed for, falling practically on top of the first.

It's an impressive arc. You clap your hands together and cheer, though the rules of this game escape you. You think it's supposed to be darts without sharp points, but you're more concerned with the lines of Steve's bicep as he rests the bat on his shoulder, his triumphant sun-kissed smile.

"Did you see that one, baby?" Robin asks.

"He's so impressive, isn't he?" Eddie adds, grinning.

Steve throws them the bird, his cheeks pink.

"That's an example of what not to do in a formal setting," Nancy says, her skirt moving like water as she puts her face in her hand, her elbow on her knee.

"You're getting good at this tutoring stuff," Jonathan says.

Steve meanders your way to beg a consolation hug (he puts his arm across your shoulder, muttering about mean friends and their unjust jokes). "They're the worst," he mutters, his hair brushing your ear, goosebumps erupting down your arms.

"I think they're nice," you say.

He hums in your ear. "You would. Wretched wife."

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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bluestar22x · 3 months ago

Text

Boo!

Summary: You buy a mansion on the cheap having no idea it's haunted by the previous owner's friend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mature readers only)

Word Count: 5,900(ish)

Warnings: "Enemies" to lovers vibes (they annoy each other at first), recreational drug use mentioned, medical stuff, subtitle mentions of sex/yearning, ghost Dieter follows you around the house but isn't a total creep about it - he's just really bored and invisible, AU?, foul language, fluff

Author’s Note: This was created for Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge by @mermaidgirl30 - I already had the idea of writing ghost Dieter before this challenge, so I thought it was the perfect time to write it up. The theme I chose is "haunted mansion" for obvious reasons. I was slightly inspired by a movie some may or may not know.

xxx

You had bought the mansion on the cheap - hardly a million dollars despite the huge, modern layout.

Just outside of New Orleans, the mansion was only one of three you owned as an unusually successful author. One of the few that had gotten rich off of making a crime novel series that had later become a successful drama show that was still running after five years - a true feat in modern entertainment.

Your other two mansions were in Los Angeles and Denver, the first being your main home when working and the second being a winter holiday escape, a place where you could go and experience what winter was supposed to be like. You had grown up in Maine, and it hadn't taken you long after moving to Los Angeles to miss the changing of the seasons, even if you didn't quite miss the often dreary weather.

This mansion in Louisiana was supposed to be another escape, one close to a city with rich history and lore. Spooky lore, that was. You were thinking about writing a vampire series - what better place to inspire you than New Orleans?

Though you'd moved there specifically for the stories of monsters in the dark, you avoided the creepy mansions listed on the realtor sites like a plague. Just cause you were interested in writing it, didn't mean you wanted to live a horror-themed novel.

Your mansion was boring compared to the centuries old mansions and plantations nearby and far from any swampland. It was also only ten years old - a baby mansion that had little chance of having been able to attract attention from any supernatural beings.

Not that you really believed in them, but you were the type not to press your luck. Every time you had in the past, you'd paid for it.

However, the universe had to have been against you, as it often was, because after only one week in your new vacation home strange things started happening.

It began with misplaced items, something easy to dismiss when you were still unpacking and organizing the place. You'd set down a mug of coffee on the countertop and find it on the bar later on or, to your dismay, the living room end table without a drink coaster underneath it. You'd throw a fresh shirt on the bed and enter the bathroom to take a shower and find the shirt on the floor when you returned. You'd place the manuscripts on your desk in a neat pile and find them disorganized the next morning. Things like that.

Then after a month more concerning things started happening. You'd lock a door and find it unlocked minutes later. You'd hear heavy footsteps on the second floor when you were in the kitchen or living room downstairs and you knew no one else was in the house. You'd see doors creak open on their own when they hadn't done that before.

Suddenly the cream colored modern mansion felt unsafe despite the high tech alarm system being in full working order and having never gone off.

You took to listening to music almost constantly, attempting to block out the feeling of unease you felt when everything was quiet. What you thought was your irrational side screamed at you to leave, to sell the place and go hang out at your Denver mansion or return to your main home, but your stubborn, so called rational side balked at the idea. You didn't want to admit defeat against a haunting you were pretty sure was all in your head or had explanations that were not of the supernatural kind.

Then one morning, the day before Halloween, you wandered downstairs to find a strange man sitting at your bar, dressed in ripped blue jeans, a dark tan oxford shirt, and a pair of tan slip on sneakers. You also had time to note that he had a graying patchy beard, sunglasses, and a single gold loop earring attached to his left ear before the fear set in and you screamed.

There was a complete stranger in your house! An interloper! Whatever his reason for being in your kitchen was, it had to be no good.

"Holy shit, you're loud!" he snapped, jumping in his seat. "Why are you freaking out so early in the morning?"

He turned to face you and his jaw dropped when he realized you were starring directly at him. "Wait, can you fucking see me?"

"Of course I can fucking see you," you spat. "You're in the middle of my kitchen, seated at my bar. Get the fuck out before I call the police!"

The man rubbed at his temple, his head pounding, which was really unfair, he thought, considering his situation. "Lady, if I could, I would, you are the saddest company I've ever kept, but unfortunately I have no say in the matter. I was here before you and I can't leave. Believe me, I've tried."

"Clearly you haven't tried enough," you hissed, pointing an index finger at the front door. "Try again."

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, though you couldn't see the latter action behind his shades. "Fine, if you insist."

He pushed himself away from the bar, sliding off the stool he'd been seated on, and headed for the door. He opened it and glanced back at you, finding that you'd trailed him with a glass vase in your hand.

At least you were a resourceful recluse.

He braced himself for the sensation of being catapulted back into the mansion and sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the threshold he felt whatever force that was keeping him inside push him back.

He landed on the tile floor several feet away from the door in the mess of his long limbs. "Oof."

"What the fuck?!" He heard you yelp and he groaned.

"Told you."

"What the hell was that?"

He stood up slowly and massaged his lower back. "That was what's keeping me from leaving, sunshine. Now that you've seen why I can't go, I'll let you guess how this situation began."

"A voodoo priest cursed you to eternity in here?" you guessed, purposely trying to come up with what you thought would be a ridiculous answer. You still were trying to recover from what you'd just witnessed. People didn't just get thrown by invisible forces, yet there was no realistic explanation for what you'd just seen.

"I wish," the man huffed. "But it's not a curse. Not as far as I'm aware. Well, maybe. Maybe some god thought it would be funny. But I'm pretty damn sure it wasn't a person who did this. I don't remember much, but the last thing I do remember before this was partying with a friend, breaking my one year drug sobriety with a dose of some pretty fine cocaine, and then waking up splayed out in the middle of the living room - a very empty living room. By the time I worked through my denial over what had happened to me, you had moved in."

"You overdosed?" you questioned, breath catching because that would mean...

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he replied. "I'm not one hundred percent sure about it. Usually I was always careful about that. But it's not like I hadn't overdosed before." He put his hand out - "Long story." - And sighed heavily. "All I know is I'm dead."

You covered your mouth in shock as you pieced it all together. "You are the one that was moving things, making noises. Did you do that on purpose?"

"What? To scare you?" He looked amused. "I wish I was that clever. Maybe I'd have better company by now. But that was just me trying to keep my sanity. You don't know how maddening it is to wander around a boring mansion all day unable to interact with anything, not even a damn spoon. I'm not good with isolation. Glad the practice paid off."

You walked into the living room and collapsed into your leather couch. "This can't be happening."

He took off his sunglasses as he followed you in and you met his dark but surprising soft eyes for a moment. "What's your name, anyways?"

He placed a hand over his chest and acted shocked, a little stung by your lack of familiarity with him. You could tell he was just being dramatic and didn't really care. "You don't know? Hint: I was an actor who was having a great Hollywood comeback when I died."

Your mind was blank. You didn't know a lot of actors by name, or by face for that matter. You didn't watch a lot of TV and movies, your preferred entertainment being reading. Your office walls were covered by filled bookshelves.

You shrugged at him.

"Dieter Bravo," he told you. "My name is Dieter Bravo. Almost everyone I know calls me Dee though."

"Do I know you now?" you inquired.

"Hardly," he snorted. "But I know you enough, unfortunately, no offense."

You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed. "You can't insult me then claim no offense. I'm gonna take offense. Especially since we've never even talked before now."

"Sorry," Dieter apologized half-heartedly. "I've just been going crazy and all you do is sit at your desk writing or read on the couch. And you seem to prefer it that way."

"Introverts do, yes," you said. "But I can be fun when I want to be. I'm going on a tour of the city tomorrow."

You didn't mention that you were going alone. You hadn't made any friends in the city yet. That always took you a while. Something that most actors probably had little trouble doing. People begged for their friendship or more, didn't they?

"Is it one of those ghost tours?" he asked. "Cause that would be ironic."

You held your tongue and kept your comment about him having used the word ironic wrongly to yourself. You were pretty sure that was something someone boring would point out. You weren't sure why you cared about what a dead addicted actor thought about you, but you did for some stupid reason. Probably because his untamed curly hair looked very tuggable and his jeans were tight in all the right places and you hadn't been laid since your last book tour. Handsome guys were your weakness. You weren't usually into jerks or addicts though. Losers, as far as you were concerned.

Instead, you let your mind wander to all those times you'd heard things moving around while you were undressed or in bed. "Please tell me you haven't been stalking me this entire time."

"Stalking is a strong word," he protested. "We're in the same house for hours on end. We have silently interacted, or rather been in the same room. And I might have been watching you, but only when you were dressed, cross my heart."

"That's comforting," you said sarcastically, but you believed him. No one with so much disdain towards your daily activities would have bothered to peep on you, would they? But he could be the type who didn't care if a girl had personality, as long as she had boobs, right?

You decided it was not worth the trouble thinking about. Not when you had no idea how to get him to move on, or at least get him out of your mansion.

"So, what unfinished business is keeping you here?" you inquired. "Last I heard that's the only way either of us is going to get some peace in the forseeable future."

"Ouch. Fair."

"Do you know?"

Dieter shook his head. "What unfinished business don't I have? My latest movie will never finish filming, my girlfriend broke up with me over the damn phone on my way here, I have no idea if Perry overdosed too or if he's still alive, and my family all hate me."

"Surely not," you said. "They just didn't know how to help you with your addictions anymore."

Dieter blinked at you. "I thought you didn't know anything about me?"

"I don't," you replied. "But I've had a couple relatives, not close ones, but still, they got addicted to painkillers and they wouldn't let the family help them, so my family got angry at them and gave up trying. You can't help those who don't want to be saved is how my mother put it."

"What if they wanted to be saved but didn't know how to accept help?"

The vulnerable question, seemingly uncharacteristic, threw you off. You stared at him and Dieter glanced away. "Just asking," he muttered.

"I don't know," you told him honestly. "Same applies. It can't be one sided. They would've had to find a way to accept it. But they didn't. And they've been buried six feet under for five years now."

Dieter nodded.

"I don't think I could help you with your family issues," you continued on. "But I can tell you Perry is alive, if he is the same Perry who owned this place as I assume. He sold me the mansion three months ago, a month before I moved in."

"That's good," he said, scratching at his neck. "I knew from your calendar and your phone that it has been six months since I died, but I didn't know if he was still alive. I can't remember him ever coming back. Maybe he did and I just wasn't...aware at the moment. Time is different now for me. And I think ghosts actually sleep too. Kinda."

"The realtor showed me this place," you told him. "Perry only showed up to finalize the paperwork at her office. Maybe it was too painful for him to come back?"

Dieter pursed his lips. "Maybe."

"Did that help?" you asked hopefully. "See any doors or light to go into?"

He barked out a laugh. "If only! But there's nothing. Guess we're not getting rid of each other that easily." There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested he wasn't as annoyed about it as he was before. It was actually playful.

"Too bad," you stated, smirking.

He chuckled. "At least we can talk now."

"That we can, so long as you promise not to keep watching me like an invisible creep while I sleep," you said.

"I do not."

"I've felt it," you hissed.

"It's hard to look away," he admitted. "You do know you drool, right?"

"Shut up."

After your first run in with Dieter you didn't see him for a few days, and you wondered if he'd finally moved on, but of course, no such luck.

You choked on dinner when he popped up next to you at the dining room table on the fourth day.

"Sorry, didn't mean to almost kill you," he said humorously, patting your back.

You felt nothing when he did it. Maybe a cold breeze, but nothing really notable.

"Where've you been?" you inquired once you'd recovered.

"No idea," Dieter answered. "I think showing myself to you all afternoon zapped all my 'spirit' energy. What day is it?"

"November three."

"Damn. Oh well."

"You going to use your newfound 'spirit energy' to find a way to move on?"

He pouted. "Said like I wasn't trying to do that before. And jeez, in a rush, are we?"

You huffed. Like he'd given you a reason not to want it fast. It would be way better for you both once he found peace.

"Aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" he shouted before pointing a finger at you. "But I'm not leaving before I give you this advice: don't wear jeans on the night of your death. You may think they're comfy, but they're not. Not after weeks, months in them. I miss my pajamas. My robe."

He sighed wistfully and you couldn't help but chuckle at him. "Alright, advice taken."

He whirled and phased back into invisibility, leaving you alone until the next morning, when he nearly made you choke on your breakfast.

Days turned into weeks like this, with Dieter spending minimal time with you as he made attempts to figure out what he needed to do to be free of the mansion, as he tried to make peace with the things that haunted him in hopes that resolving his unfinished business would open the beyond up to him, but slowly, the more hope he lost, the more time he spent with you.

It started with meals, watching you eat and participating in discourse that became less and less hesitant and hostile over time, turning into shockingly friendly debates and banter.

It turned out Dieter wasn't so bad to be around and he wasn't the loser you'd thought he was, or had been. One search of his wikipedia page and a few youtube videos had settled that for you. He had worked hard to gain his success, spending nearly a decade taking guest star role after guest star role, working in a bar when the roles and his money dried up. And when he did find a major role to catapult his career, he continued to take as many roles as he could.

He was known for partying hard on weekends, but he never showed up for work high.

He enjoyed comfy clothes on his time off, and especially loved wearing his light green robe, sometimes even going to his local coffee shop in it, but he cleaned up well for interviews and other important functions.

Dieter had a good reputation despite his addictions. It seemed like his fellow cast members always had nice things to say about him, even those who worked with him on the disastrous set of Cliff Beasts 6, which was apparently where he'd had his first overdose.

By Thanksgiving you were solid friends, and after you left for the holiday to visit your parents and home in LA, you returned with a souvenir for you both - a fridge magnet with a picture of the city buildings just beyond the Hollywood sign. You'd noticed Dieter seemed homesick and you sometimes felt it too. But you wouldn't leave New Orleans until Dieter figured out how to move on or until you were forced to. The magnet gave you a daily reminder of what it looked like.

As Christmas neared, Dieter began hanging out with you in the living room at night, watching whatever you were watching, which were mostly Christmas movies in December. He did it even when you watched Hallmark, though he'd roll his eyes and make sarcastic comments about the plot throughout those.

"They always fight and break up over an assumption," he rattled on more times than you could count. "Dumb ones at that. His jealous ex flaunts her a ring and says it is from him and the leading lady just bolts without asking him if it's true? And they said I needed therapy."

"You needed therapy."

"Well, not as bad as that bird."

Dieter couldn't leave the house to get you a Christmas gift, and you'd agreed you both would spend Christmas Eve, the night before your parents arrived to celebrate the holiday, just curled up on the couch together as usual, but that hadn't stopped him from giving you something anyway.

He'd thrown a box at you, unwrapped and told you to look inside and you'd found a beautiful charcoal drawing of you writing away at your desk inside. The sight of it made your breath catch.

"You did this yourself?" you questioned, stunned.

"Yeah," he replied. "It took a lot of energy out of me, but I got it done in a few days. I know we said no gifts, but I wanted to give you something anyway. You know, since I can't pay rent."

He'd expected you to laugh at the comment but you were too busy studying the image. He'd gotten every detail, right down to your blemishes. He'd put a lot of care into drawing you. It felt...reverent.

When you tilted your head up to look at him, you did it differently. You saw him in a new light. And though he was in the same jeans and shirt as he always was, you thought he looked particularly handsome in that moment, chocolate eyes hopeful.

"So, do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"I love it," you assured him. "But I...didn't get anything for you."

"It's okay," he said, "Free rent."

"You are the least messy roommate I've ever had," you told him. "But you've got to stop sneaking up on me and making the rooms cold."

"The temperature is out of my hands," Dieter said, shrugging. "Unless you want me to turn up the thermostat. I've mastered turning dials."

You smiled. "I'm good tonight."

You should've known better than to get drunk alone on New Year's Eve, but you did.

No, you weren't alone, alone, but you were the only one drinking since Dieter was not physically able to drink. And he should've been the last person you'd hang out with drunk.

Being drunk made you silly, made you excitable, and it also made you bold.

One minute you and Dieter were laughing loudly, and the next you were leaning towards him. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure. Anything."

You leaned in closer and lowered your voice, "It really sucks you are dead, Dee. It sucks because I really wish we could kiss right now."

Dieter stared at you, dumbfounded, but the shock quickly turned into glee. "We could still, you know."

"You've gotten good at making yourself more solid," you said, "But I can't feel you whenever you touch me, Dee. I don't notice it unless I see you doing it. That's the only way I know. By sight."

"Well, you've never focused on it before, have you?" he inquired. "It always takes me a lot of focus to hold anything, even a pen, for long, but I do."

"It may not seem that way, me being a writer, but I'm terrible at focusing," you admitted.

Dieter brushed your cheek compulsively and you smiled weakly at him.

"Can we try something out?" he asked.

"What'd you have in mind?"

He nodded at the couch. "Turn off the lights and lay down on your back and close your eyes."

You raised your eyebrows questioningly, and he flashed you a reassuring smile. "Trust me."

You did as ordered and Dieter took a moment to take your prone form in, peering through the darkness, and he noticed how your fingers were twitching due to your inability to ever keep perfectly still.

He couldn't believe he was finally going to kiss you. Two months ago he wouldn't have wanted to. He'd had bigger concerns, and you weren't his usual type.

But with time and forced proximity he'd grown to enjoy your company. You were smart, generous, surprisingly witty, and he'd always found you pretty.

He doubted he deserved you, he was certain you were better than him, but you wanted him to kiss you, and lately he'd wanted that too. He couldn't deny you.

He approached the couch and sat down next to you, leaning over you so his face hovered above yours.

"Try to clear your mind."

You nodded and did as told, doing your best to keep all thoughts at bay while your heart thudded in anticipation against your rib cage.

Then you felt his lips on yours. They weren't warm or cold, soft or chapped, and they didn't taste like anything, but you could feel the pressure of them. You could feel when he moved his lips, when he deepened the kiss, when his hand reached out to cradle your face.

You reached up for him automatically, your eyes still shut, and you could feel his strong neck under your hands, could feel the tips of his curls at the base of it.

There was something electric about the moment, and you moaned softly as you let the sensation consume you. The more you got lost in it, the more kissing Dieter felt real.

It was sobering.

You gently pushed him away and opened your eyes to find him gazing back into yours, a confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head as tears flooded your eyes. "I can't, Dee. I can't do this with you. You're dead."

"Pretty sure we just did," he said, wiggling his brows suggestively. "And if we can do that, imagine what else we might be able to do with time."

"I can't," you repeated. "Someday you will move on and I'll be alone again."

"I'll wait to move on only after you die," he declared. "Problem solved."

You shook your head again, harder. "That's unfair for us both and you know it. I don't want to spend my life keeping you a secret, and you don't want to stay cooped up in this house for another four or more decades. You'll go mad."

"Not with you here," he swore, his hand gliding down to squeeze your upper arm.

"I can't take that chance," you said, standing up. "I'm sorry."

You began to walk away, but in the archway to the hall you turned to face him again.

"You should keep looking for your way out," you told him. "Make it your priority again. Cause next week I'm headed back to LA. I've got a book that's going to hit shelves in three weeks and my editor wants to plan some last minute fan meet ups for when it does. I can't stay here while we're doing that."

You tried to avoid looking at Dieter's face but you still got a glimpse of the hurt on it.

He was so upset he didn't say anything to you back, and you told yourself silently that it was easier that way.

You climbed the stairs, quickly curled up in bed under your sheets, and tried to think about anything but him until you fell asleep.

You had no idea that when you woke up in the morning, he'd be gone.

Steady beeping was the first thing Dieter registered when he gained consciousness in the hospital, but it was far from the least pleasant thing about the experience. That had gone to the bright lights briefly, then to the uncomfortable feeling of his feeding tube that was pulled through one of his nostrils.

Dieter would never call waking up from his coma fun. It had been confusing and exhausting (he thought that was ironic) and he’d been sore from not moving for a long time, but at least that discomfort felt short compared to what came after.

He'd been in a coma for nearly a year and that had taken a toll on his body, along with the seizure that had caused him to go into it in the first place, a side effect of his long term use of hard drugs.

He had most of his mind right from the start, but his body was weak and had loss some of the connections he'd made as a child to do simple functions like walking and eating with a fork. Frustratingly, he'd had to learn it all back again.

His only solstice was that his parents were there every step of the way. They'd had him transferred to LA after he woke up and had regularly visited him in the hospital and Dieter kinda wished he'd heard them while he was taking his long sleep. What had they said to him?

Probably what they'd been saying since. His parents rarely missed a chance to tell him they loved him, that they regretted letting his addictions come between them.

"It was my fault," he'd told them, but they'd shaken their heads.

"We didn't go about finding you help like we should've. We gave up too fast."

Dieter didn't care about that though. He was just grateful to have them back in his life. To still have a life at all.

He didn't remember the fateful night that had led to his coma, but he was able to video chat with Perry on his laptop and his friend filled in the blanks.

They'd gotten together and Perry had given him all the cocaine he could ask for. They'd gotten comfortable on the couch and rode out their highs talking about the trouble they used to get into in high school. Then he had began seizing sometime after midnight and Perry had dialed 911.

Even with the fill in, Dieter felt he was missing something. Something important. But any time he tried to recall his night with Perry, he got nothing.

He had dreams though, often several times a week, of him patrolling Perry's mansion alone, of an attractive woman chatting away with him at the dining room table, of him kissing her in the shadows of the night, and those felt like the missing pieces, lost memories, but they couldn't be. He couldn't have been a ghost while he was in the coma, he reasoned.

But all the reasoning in the world wouldn't allow him to shake it off. Eventually he caved and asked Perry, who was visiting him after getting out of rehab, to describe the woman who had bought the mansion from him.

When he gave every detail he could think of, Dieter was flabbergasted.

The woman Perry had detailed sounded exactly like the woman in his dreams...

But it couldn't be, could it?

He decided there was only one way to find out.

As soon as he was back to full strength, he'd fly out to New Orleans and knock on your door.

He'd find out once and for all if any of it had been real.

He didn't mean to go to New Orleans on Halloween, but that's how it ended up - with him on an early flight to one of the spookiest cities in the world on the arguably spookiest day of the year.

He took a taxi to get to your house and hesitantly made his way to the front door.

How should he go about telling you he had dreams about you? To ask if you knew him when he was in his coma and was a ghost? What if it had really all been in his head?

There were several carved orange pumpkins on the front porch - jack o' lanterns - something he didn't remember you having last year, and they immediately sent him into a spiral of deep uncertainty.

She can't be her, he thought. She didn't decorate for Halloween last year.

It was kind of ridiculous to assume that just because you hadn't had Halloween decorations one year you wouldn't have them the next, but that was how much he was doubting himself.

He took a moment to beat down his nerves on your doorstep, shake it off, then knocked, not knowing if you'd hear it or if you were even on the same side of the house. Not knowing if you were home at all.

You were both shocked when you opened the door and found yourselves staring at each other.

How could it be? You'd assumed Dieter had moved on well over half a year ago, and yet there he was before you, looking very much alive and in a fresh pair of black jeans and an olive green button down shirt that was basically his tan shirt's twin.

"Holy shit, I didn't think you were actually real!" Dieter exclaimed.

"Are you?" you inquired. "Last I knew you were dead. What the fuck?"

He guffawed and you marveled at the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, at how they shined with life. His hair was more gray than you remembered, but it only added to how alive he looked.

"It turns out I wasn't actually dead," he explained. "I was in a coma. I woke up in a hospital bed back in January and found out I'd been unconscious for several months. I didn't overdose, but I'd had seizures from the cocaine I took. I had no idea that could be a side effect. The doctors said it was a miracle I survived, let alone had a full recovery."

You stepped outside with him. "And you've stayed clean?"

He huffed. "Of fuckin' course. I'm not a complete idiot. I'm not going through that shit again. Physical therapy was a bigger pain in my ass than any of the cravings could ever be."

You laughed briefly before your expression turned serious again. "That's good."

"I wanted to see you sooner," he told you, scratching at his cheek over the beard he still had, though it was more neatly trimmed than it had been the last time you'd seen him. "But I wanted to be fully recovered before I flew back out here, and for part of that time I didn't remember being here. Not even the night me and Perry hung out in the living room."

You folded your arms, nodded, and pursed your lips. "So how much do you remember now?"

You tried to keep your expectations low but there was a knife stabbing at your heart when you realized that he might not be able to recall much of you at all. Did he even remember your kiss?

Dieter smiled. "I remember us not getting off on the right foot, and maybe scaring you on purpose a few times."

You gaped at him. "I KNEW it!"

He grinned slyly and continued, "I remember how we used to talk a lot, and how that would drain my energy right out, but I'd always linger a little too long, until I had no choice but to slip into the darkness to rest for a while. I remember loving your sarcastic sense of humor and the way you lose your breath when you laugh too hard. And I...remember that night, when we kissed."

That had been something else. Unexpectedly titillating. It was by far the sharpest memory he had of that time he'd spent between worlds.

"I don't know if you remember it, but I regretted every day since that I said what I said that night," you told him, chewing your lip.

He nodded. "I remember. But you weren't wrong. You deserve to be with someone breathing, and I was really getting sick of being stuck in the house."

You chuckled but the sound was cut short when you felt him palm your cheek.

He was sooo warm. Real.

Your stomach fluttered when your eyes met.

"I thought I'd never get to say goodbye," you whispered. "All I wanted after I woke up to an empty house was to get that chance. But this, this is so much better."

"I missed you," Dieter admitted, drawing closer to you.

You beamed at him and he felt his chest warm.

"I missed you too."

He pulled you into a kiss, far more passionate than the first you'd shared, and you gripped onto his elbows tightly, fiercely clinging to him, almost afraid to let go.

When you eventually did, you smirked at him. "You're a day late for our anniversary, you know."

"First meetings do not count," he claimed.

"Oh yes they do," you countered.

"Well, excuse me for fuckin' forgetting to fly out yesterday. Pretty sure I still have some brain damage."

You huffed playfully. "Excuses."

Dieter shook his head at you fondly and kissed you again.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Dieter Bravo #The Bubble #Dieter Bravo Fanfic #Dieter Bravo Fanfic (Mine)#Fanfiction #Mine #X Reader #Jamie’s Halloween Writing Challenge #jamieshalloweenwritingchallenge

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sweetbillwriting · 3 months ago

Text

In The Dead of Night

THE LAST CHAPTER

& EPILOGUE

Characters: AU Eric played by Bill Skarsgård from The Crow (2024)

Setting: This story is set in A WHOLE OTHER WORLD than the movie. Shelley isn't a part of this story. Eric will be different from the movie.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

Notes: Thanks to @b-afterhours for helping me with the language. Picture credit to @hiddlelecki

It was obvious Robin had done something to destroy for Eric, and the only thing I could see it could be, was the relationship with Lotti. The relationship with Simone wasn't good enough to feel a victory over by destroying, and it didn't have anything to do with their relationship either. The thing the two of them had fought about their whole lives was the love from their parents, so it must be that Robin had taken away from Eric.

Eric didn't see Lotti; Lotti even believed he was dead, but that seemed to be his own decision—not anything Robin had forced him to, but Eric grieved his relationship with Lotti, even so loudly he cried over her like a little child. Once again I thought back on Eric's hurt look I had inflicted, and I swallowed dryly. I owed it to him to get to the bottom of this, and if Robin didn't want to talk to me, I must find someone else, someone who had been by Lotti's side more than her sons had in recent years.

×××

I had visited Lotti several times at the home and started to get used to the procedure, but that day I wasn't there to visit her but to talk with someone else; Fiona, her contact nurse, who had the closest relationship to her of all the nurses. I didn't know if she would give me anything because of the patient's confidentiality agreement, but I needed to at least give it a try for both Lotti and Eric. They deserved having a functional relationship, and something obviously stood in the way for that to happen—something Robin had created.

At the reception stood a young nurse I recognized, and with a small smile I asked for Fiona.

“She's with a resident right now, but if you want to, you can wait for her here.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll do that then. Would you let her know I'm here? I just have some questions.” The nurse nodded with a bright smile before turning her gaze back to a laptop. I looked around while waiting and felt my nerves going up by just standing there. Fiona might refuse to talk to me. After ten minutes, I saw her come out from the door behind the reception, and when she saw me, she smiled.

“Here to see Lotti?”

I took a deep inhale and approached the reception again.

“No, I want to talk to you actually.”

Fiona looked at me surprised but then nodded a little.

“Is it a sensitive topic?”

I nodded, and it made Fiona nod too, and then she gestured to me to follow her.

She took me to a little room with a view over the yard and with four armchairs. It felt like the room where they told family members someone had died, and it made me a bit uncomfortable, but I still sat down in one of the armchairs while Fiona fixed coffee from the machine in the corner.

She sat down with a loud exhalation and corrected her ponytail.

“So what can I help you with?”

I looked down at my phone and looked through my phone’s gallery. It was full of pictures of Eric. It wasn't weird; he was so photogenic it would be a crime not to photograph him. I found a picture, modest but sweet, to show Fiona. He sat on the couch, occupied with his sketchbook, brows furrowing deeply. He wore an acid patterned t-shirt; in many of my pictures, he was shirtless. I gave her my phone, and she looked at the picture of him and nodded a little.

“The son she lost?” Fiona said carefully. My gaze lowered into my lap, avoiding the question, but she probably believed it was a yes.

“Did he ever visit her?

Fiona laid my phone on the table and gave me an empathetic look.

“I can't talk about that.”

“But I don't mean to know anything about Lotti, I just want to know if he was here. Fiona looked between my phone on the table and me. My eyes were glassy, and I tried to make my hands stop shaking by dragging them over my jeans-clad thighs. Fiona licked her lips and then nodded.

“Once… Not long before his accident happened. He… He didn't look like he felt so good…” She said everything low, like she was afraid someone would hear her. “Then it was so... It was really awful—his last meeting with his mom, and she didn't recognize him. Robin told me she more or less had screamed at him, and,” Fiona pointed to my phone. “He ran away. I didn't get a chance to talk to him and explain it was a bad day.”

I swallowed hard and dragged my hands over my cheeks. I couldn't even imagine what happened in Eric's head when his mom didn't recognize him, but I could also guess what Lotti saw instead of her youngest son. I had seen the pictures of the unhealthy Eric, thin and pale, hollow-eyed, and then on top of that, all his tattoos. The meeting must have been heartbreaking for Eric. His loving mom screamed in terror at seeing him, the person he loved the most judging him. I laid my hands over my face when I once again could hear my own words to him. Fucking junkie. I was the worst human ever.

“I can't tell you more; I've already said too much…” said Fiona, and I nodded.

“Thank you, thank you…” I said when I had removed my hands from my face. Fiona gave me a small

smile before we said goodbye.

×××

I sat on a bench in one of my town's parks even if the wind blew cold. I looked at Eric's number on my phone. I didn't want anything else than to call him and beg him to forgive me, but I had already done that once, and it felt like it was harder to defend my right to do it.

I wanted to be able to say something real to him—not just whine and beg again, but it also felt like I had something to say.

I tried to paint up a timeline in my head, and for everything I put on it, a more and more clearer picture grew in front of me.

Eric Senior; Robin and Eric's father had died, and it had made Eric lose his footing again. Once again, he started to use drugs. Lotti got in an accident, causing her stroke, and when she met Eric, she couldn't recognize him. Robin got him into rehab, but they also said to Lotti that Eric was dead.

Looking at the timeline, it felt obvious what was missing. Robin had never told Eric it was just a bad day, that Lotti did remember him but just had a confused day. He had let Eric believe his mom saw him just as a druggy guy. Robin had taken his mom away from Eric when he had the chance and left Eric alone, without a family.

I let my tears run down my cheeks slowly while I looked down at the ground. My heart was bleeding for Eric, but I also felt so fooled by Robin. He had been my best friend for two years, and never had I thought he was capable of such an evil crime. I couldn't see another reason to do it than just punish him for being the favorite son, but with this, it became even more understandable why Eric was the favorite. He had a heart of gold, while Robin obviously could let his heart become stone.

Eric needed to know this as fast as possible; he had already missed so much time with Lotti.

×××

It wouldn't be easy to get Eric to listen to me; I knew that, but that didn't make it any less frustrating when he didn't pick up when I called him. I called him every day that week while working in the salon. Robin was sick, but I was quite certain the truth was he didn't want to meet me.

When the weekend came, I had decided to go to Eric, but to my surprise my sister showed up with Odin. I didn't think Robin would keep our schedule, but clearly he would. Desiree looked at me irritated when she just dropped Odin's leash so he could give his wild hello to me.

“Are you fighting again? Come on, you too shouldn't have a dog together!”

I sighed a little while patting Odin's dark fur. It looked like Eric's hair, but Eric's hair was much softer. “He refused to see you.”

“Yeah, because he lied to his mom about Eric being dead,” I said with a pointed look. Desiree looked at me with big eyes; once again, the gossip devil burned in her eyes.

“Seriously??”

“Yeah, because he's jealous. If I could, I would crush his nose!”

“That's insane! But are you and Eric a couple now?”

I gave her a pained look.

“It's so fucking messy, but I will fix it. I know it sounds silly, but I can't live without him. I can't breathe right without him.”

Desiree smiled a little at me and nodded. She probably started to understand Dante wasn't the real deal, Eric was.

“What is your plan?”

“I must go to him and tell him about Robin so he can fix his relationship with his mom. It's a super long story... But his story.”

I meant it wasn't my story to tell, and Desiree nodded, but she looked disappointed. She wanted more gossip.

“But now you have Odin, will you wait-”

I stop her with a head shake.

“No, I'll bring him. Eric loves him. He loves Eric more than anyone else.”

She giggled. “More than you?”

“Totally. I'm the third wheel with them.”

Desiree giggled, then gave me a hug.

“Fix this then. I want to know how dad reacts when you have a boyfriend with Lovecraft on his back.”

I smiled warmly at her but also nervously, not because of my dad's love for gothic literature but because I couldn't mess this up now when Desiree rooted for me.

×××

“Please open Eric! Please!” I shouted outside of his door. I didn't know if he chose to not open it or if he actually wasn't home. “Eric!”

Odin barked twice, but not even that made Eric open the door. I walked to my car again and tried to find a solution. I looked at Odin in the seat next to me, and he looked at me with one eyebrow lifted and eyes full of worry that I wouldn't fix this.

“We will fix something for us to eat and take a long walk and maybe a nap because we will visit someone late tonight…” I said to him and patted his head and ear.

I bought us each a hamburger, not the best dog food, but for one night it was okay, then I tried to make the time pass by walking around; it was boring as hell, but at 00.30 am we could finally go to Jackie’s. I didn't care that it was desperate; I was desperate.

Jackie opened with a smirk. He was obviously high and didn't even give us a confused look. I let Odin's leash go; that way Jackie or anyone else couldn’t easily kick us out. Odin ran into the living room so fast he slipped on the floor. That kind of joy could only mean Eric was there. My heart speeded up at once, and for a few seconds I wanted to turn around and flee.

“Eric is here if you’re searching for him, but I don't think he wants to see you,” said Jackie teasingly. Normally I would answer such teasing with attitude, but now I just swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. Jackie turned to the living room but stopped in the doorway, probably because of my big dog. I looked at myself with the help of the front camera on my phone. I had fixed my makeup and hair earlier in the car, but now, with the nerves, it felt like it all had fallen. After that, I finally brought myself together and walked into the living room. The scene there looked like it usually did. Five guys listening to music, drinking cheap beer, and smoking herbal joints. The air was heavy with the spicy smoke and the mist hung in the air for a long time after someone had exhaled.

Eric had moved down to the floor to cuddle with Odin, and he lay on his back while the dog licked his face almost sensually. I wanted to lay down with them but knew that would be too much, so I sat down on the armrest of the couch. His friends looked at me with big eyes, but none of them would get themselves involved in our mess. Eric sat up and pushed Odin away when he started to get way too excited, and with a snap of his fingers, he got him to lay down on the floor next to him. Odin looked at me pleased, and I envied him for how easy it was for him. When I looked at Eric, he looked away. I had planned to be cool in front of his friends but forgot all about that when he finally looked at me. The sob and tears came from nowhere, and even if I didn't see anyone's expression, I knew everyone in the room was uncomfortable.

Eric didn't let me sit and cry in front of his friends for a long time, he was too kind to do that and took my hand so we could get away.

He guided me out to the hallway and succeeded in having Odin as a tail.

“We’ll take a walk, okay?” He said lowly to me, and then he put on his khaki-colored vans and his long black coat. I put on my outerwear with some struggle, and when I was finished, Eric stood with Odin, leashed by the door.

We walked in silence, the only thing we could hear was my nose that couldn't stop running and Odin's claws landing on the concrete. I looked carefully at Eric, who looked sad and disappointed. I hated the look, and especially that it was me who had caused it.

“I want to say sorry three hundred times for what I said to you—that I accused you of taking those pills, but it isn't why I am here, or not just that reason.”

Eric gave me a quick look but then looked away, uninterested.

“It's about Lotti. Why did you stop seeing her?”

Eric scoffed after a while and shook his head.

“None of your business.”

His answer had some attitude, and even if it was just a little, it surprised me.

“Is it because she forgot you?”

Eric scoffed again and looked down at the ground. He really tried to have a cold attitude, but he was too bad at concealing his real emotions.

“She hasn't forgotten you-”

“Fuck Della! Please, why do you do this?” He said, irritated, and stopped to look straight at me. I stopped just in front of him and looked up at his face.

“She hasn't forgotten you; she misses you all the time-”

“I've met her! She threw a fucking glass at me! She has forgotten me, okay?!” His voice was loud now, but it didn't feel scary because it was such understandable frustration and pain.

“It was just then. It was just that moment. She forgets me too; the next time she's her normal self again. Robin has lied to you. She talks about you all the time and is broken without you!”

My voice was also loud now, to make him listen and shut him up. It worked because Eric stood and looked at me with big, glassy eyes they gave more light than the street light next to us.

“...what?” He said after a while, with a small voice.

“It's a lie, Eric. She hasn't forgotten you. She believes you're dead because that's what Robin said to her, and you believe she has lost the memory of you, but she hasn't! She thinks about you daily!”

I looked at him straight in the eyes, even if they shifted round and round. He dragged his hands over his face and dropped Odin's leash, but he stood by his side anyway. Big tattooed hands covered his face while sob after sob left his mouth. I wanted to hug him but didn't dare, but when he started to cry uncontrollably and was forced to sit down on the ground, I sat down in front of him.

“You can meet her, baby... You can be with your mom again…” I said calmly, and it made him lean his forehead against my shoulder. I took that as an invitation to hug him, and it caused him to unleash his feelings again. He cried loudly in a way I never heard a grown man cry before, and that made it even more heartbreaking. He wasn't a man at that moment, he was Lotti's little boy.

I hugged him hard with Odin sitting close to us, and Eric hugged me around my waist like he was much smaller than he was. I wiped his tears over and over, hushing him, but it took so long for him to calm down. He was shaking when he looked at me with red eyes and nose.

“I want to go home,” he said, wiping his eyes and nose with the backside of his hand. I nodded and dried away a tear on his jaw.

“Let's get home.”

×××

He calmed down quite quickly at home and let me help him take off his clothes down to his boxers and then bundle him up in bed. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he had a serious cold; he both acted and looked like a sick person, but he was just upset. I sat down on the edge of the bed and forced him to drink a glass of water. He looked at me with his red-rimmed eyes. I was prepared for him to turn his back against me, but instead he pulled my top and pants like he wanted me to take them off.

“Do you want me to lay here with you?” I asked softly, and I got a nod back.

I took off my clothes close to the bed—so close he could drag his hand over my leg while I did it. It was obvious my skin was calming to him, and he tried to feel as much as he could. When I just wore my bra and panties, he looked up at me, then stretched out his arm and pulled in my panties. He did it again when I looked at him pointedly, so I pulled both them and my bra off. He lifted the cover so I could crawl down next to him, but he pulled me up over him. I sat up, straddling his hips to be able to look into his eyes.

“I love you, and we should talk and all that, but... I need you now, please. I need you now.” He said with a low voice while pulling down his boxers. I nodded and leaned down to kiss his lips. After that, I didn't drag it out; I let him slip into me, and I rode him until he couldn't handle anymore. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

×××

I asked so many times if he had forgiven me, and he said yes, and that he loved me, every time. He could see that both of our emotions had been wild in every way lately, but I still continued to say I was sorry for a long time.

I had hoped he would want to see Lotti at once, but something held him back, so it wasn't until two weeks later he dared to come to my town to visit her. I would talk to her together with Fiona the day before so she wouldn't get a heart attack from the news. Robin hadn't tried anything to stop us from seeing her, and maybe he had given up. I tried to tell myself he wanted to do the right thing, but to be honest, I didn't know. It felt like I didn't know him.

Fiona and I looked at Lotti as she fixed coffee for all three of us and searched for some biscuits, but they seemed to have disappeared, in some sort of way. She was a bit confused that day but still in a good mood, and me and Fiona waited patiently on her to not destroy the good mood. She needed to be calm to be able to hear that her youngest son was still alive.

“I don't need any biscuits; I think just coffee sounds great!” Said Fiona optimistically to not make Lotti sad.

“Yeah, same,” said I, so Lotti would sit down with us. She gave us a bit of a bothered look but accepted what we had said and sat down by the little table with us and took a sip of her coffee. I looked at Fiona to have permission to talk, and she gave me a nod. She had never heard anything like Eric's story before, so neither she knew the best way to do it.

“Lotti, I am here to tell you something, something great, really, really great but strange,” I began and smiled nervously. She looked at me with a bright smile, like she thought I would tell her I had a bottle of wine in my handbag.

“Eric, Eric is alive and wants to see you.”

Lotti stared at me, then turned towards Fiona with an upset face; she probably wondered if I was lying.

“It's true, Lotti,” said Fiona, who had talked with Eric over a video call.

I could see how Lotti's face changed in slow motion from anger and confusion to laughing in disbelief.

“What are you saying? Are you trying to give a sick lady a heart attack?” She said with a laugh while wiping away tears with a plaid handkerchief. I took her other hand in mine and smiled at her.

“Eric is alive, Lotti.”

“But Robin..?” The emotions swam in her eyes, and I could also see disappointment, like she knew Robin had lied. I just nodded a little; she got to interpret that however she wanted, but she didn't seem to have time to because she laughed and cried in a beautiful mix of emotion.

“But where is he then??”

“He's at my place. We thought you maybe needed some time-”

“Time?! You say my son is alive, and you think I need time to calm down?? I need to see him! I'm his mother! I should see him now!”

Now Lotti sounded angry, and Fiona patted her shoulder a little.

“Delilah, maybe you can tell him to come, while Lotti, you can rest a bit on the bed?”

“Rest?! I want to see my son!”

“Lotti,” said Fiona, giving her a strict look. “This is a big thing, so you should be rested when Eric comes here, right? So he can see you at your best.”

Lotti looked irritated and wiped away some more angry tears, but then listened to Fiona and went to bed.

Seeing Eric in the reception of Lotti's home was surreal even for me, and it seemed so even for Fiona. She looked at him up and down like she really was seeing a ghost, but she also smiled a little embarrassed when he took off his long coat and showed off muscular tattooed arms in a black t-shirt that also hinted about the rest of his fit body. I smiled big with every positive feeling in my body but also to calm Eric down, who looked so worried.

“Sometimes you're the only thing she talks about... She has been angry at me now because she can't wait,” said Fiona with a giggle. It felt like she acted differently in front of Eric, and to make things a little more clear, I took Eric's hand in mine. He smiled nervously at Fiona and then at me but didn't say anything. I knew talking to new people wasn't his thing and especially not when he was nervous.

“I’ll go in and see if she's ready,” said Fiona, and Eric gave her a little smile.

When we were alone, he leaned down to kiss my lips, then rested his forehead against mine. I laid my hands on his cheeks and breathed deeply together with him.

“I'm so fucking nervous... It feels like I will throw up…”

“It's Lotti. Your mom, no one else, you will feel better at once when you have seen her.”

He nodded and moved away from me so he could smile at me. I smiled back brightly, high on love, and fixed his hair and played a little with his dagger earring.

“You're so handsome.”

He shrugged his shoulders but kissed me with a smile. I let our tongues say hello a couple of times before I giggled into his mouth.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Most in the entire world.” He whispered and kissed me again.

I left them alone to have their meeting to themselves. Just like I most often wanted Eric to myself, I knew Lotti felt the same. Eric was everything, after all.

×××

Epilogue

Mine and Eric's lives changed drastically after he and Lotti had a relationship again. He wanted to be close to her as much as he could, so after a couple of months, he moved into my apartment. Robin fled from us to another town but still visited his mother. Odin became mine and Eric's dog. It wasn't anything we discussed; it just happened.

My mom succeeded in finding a job for Eric. He was skeptical at first when he heard it was at a daycare and couldn't understand how my mom could feel that was a good idea, but after just a few months, he went from being an extra staff member to getting himself established employment. The whole thing was so sweet, and sometimes I just went by the daycare to see him play in the sand with the kids or have three of them climb his long limbs.

Life was good for thirteen months, without really any big problems, but then Eric's beloved mother had another stroke and left us without a warning. It led to Eric getting depressed again, but with a stronger, better safety net, he didn't fall down the hole with drugs, but he still ended up sleeping for weeks and weeks while I tried to encourage him to do something instead, but he didn't listen. He just wanted to sleep.

It was a sunny March day, and he finally wanted to leave the apartment. He had lost a lot of his muscles and was a skinnier version of himself. He had moved to the couch from the bed a couple of weeks before but now felt so good he even smiled when we spoke.

“Do you want company?” I asked while he put on his running gear. He shook his head with a smile.

“I just want to clear out my head; I can take Odin, though.”

He gave me a peck on the lips when he had tied his shoes, and I gave him several more after that. He smiled at me and then buried his nose in my neck.

“I can make tartar tonight.”

“Really?” I said excitedly and lifted his head so I could look at his smiling face.

“Yeah, with your help and a better alcoholic-free wine than the last time.”

He didn't even drink anymore, and I glowed with pride when he said it. He had made so much progress. But life has a tendency to break when it is finally good. I wasn't even worried when Eric left our home with Odin. I had been that in the beginning of our relationship, but now I felt sure he wouldn't do anything crass; the only thing I didn't think about was that there were also things like bad luck.

The first thing I noticed was that he was out running for a longer time than usual, but I thought he probably just needed some more time in the fresh air. When he had been out two and a half hours, I started to think about calling him, but it was then an unknown number called me. I thought about not answering, but something made me do it anyway. I regretted at once doing it because the thing they said was nothing I wanted to hear. I knew something had happened as soon as they said they were calling from the hospital and wondered about my relationship with Eric.

“I'm his fiancee; has something happened?” I said worriedly and held on to a chair in front of me. I rarely called myself his fiancee because it sounded a bit silly to me, but I was, he had proposed to me in the October sun, at a farmer's market. It was spontaneous, like he often was, but straight from the heart. He didn't have a ring, so we bought one together instead. I didn't care that he couldn't afford one by himself; that wasn't important.

“We want you to come down here; it's good if you bring a friend with you,” said the nurse.

“What happened??” I asked, upset because that sentence made it seem like something was really, really wrong.

“Eric has been in an accident, but it's best if you come down here instead.”

I started to cry on the phone because if it was good, or at least if there was hope, they would have told me.

I brought Desiree with me, who came and got me in her car. I just cried and cried in panic while she tried to say it was probably not as bad as I thought, but it felt like not even she believed it. At the hospital, they took me to a similar room I had spoken with Fiona in. Desiree hugged my hand in hers because now she couldn't pretend it wasn’t worse than it was.

“Eric came in with a gunshot wound in his chest an hour ago. He had stepped in and tried to stop a fight between some teenage boys without knowing one of them was armed… We did everything we could to stop the bleeding, but... I'm sorry, but he didn't survive.”

…

How do you react when the love of your life gets taken away from you so fast? How do you react when they tell you how unfair life is?

Eric had come jogging with Odin in one of the rougher parts of town. He didn't think much about it because he had always been in those sorts of areas and people had respect for him. He was tall and built and tattooed in a way that made some believe he was in a gang.

The teenagers were just fifteen, and in his eyes it looked like kids having a fist fight. Other people let them fight; they either didn't care or didn't have the courage to do something, not even when one of the boys lay on the ground, getting kick after kick towards his head and neck. Eric acted on impulse. Fear was nothing that held him back, and if he thought something was wrong, he would jump in, so he did. People around saw how calm he was, how he acted like a safe grown up and got the kids to move away, everyone except one who acted just as impulsive as Eric.

It was his older brother's gun. He had brought it to be cool, but he fired it when he felt powerless, shooting Eric in the chest once and Odin in the neck twice. People around just looked at the mess for several minutes while Eric disappeared slowly from the world. Odin had left it behind at once. My fiance lay several minutes without receiving help until a young couple ran up to them, even if the boy still held the weapon pointed towards Eric. The boy was in shock, seeing the grown man on the ground fighting for his life. Another man succeeded in taking the gun, and others around called 911, but their help was too little, too late.

Eric died in the ambulance. He never even saw the harsh light of the emergency room.

How do you react when a kind soul as Eric dies while he tries to do good? How do you react when someone who has fought his whole life dies in such an awful way?

They showed me his body. They had tried to make the room look nice with dimmed light and him lying on a covered observation table, but it couldn't be nice because then they showed me Eric's lifeless face, pale and relaxed. His face had changed because of the relaxed muscles. He looked much softer but still so regal with his high cheekbones.

How do you react to seeing the man you love not breathing? How do you react when you realize that everything the people have said is true?

Eric didn't exist anymore. The light had left his eyes, his voice just living inside of me. The magic was gone forever, and I was left behind. My whole little unit disappeared on the same day. My fiance and our dog. My whole life. I didn't have a life anymore.

×××

I didn't cry after leaving the hospital. A numbness took over—a feeling of resignation. Crying was for people who were cleansing, that tried to move on, I wouldn't move on. Tears were a relief, making tension disappear. I didn't need that. I didn't have any tensions, I wasn't scared, and I wasn't vindictive because I didn't have a future. I was just as dead as Eric.

I could feel everyone around me staring. I just sat on the couch, looking straight forward. Even Robin stretched a hand out but I didn't give him any response. My family thought about calling the psychiatric hospital but let it be, they thought I would come out of the daze I was in. They were wrong, so wrong. It wasn't even a daze; it was my reality. They believed I was stuck in grief, but I had left all earthly feelings behind. They lay forgotten on the hospital floor.

If there is nothing left for you at the party, you should leave it; you will have it better at home. I needed home again—Eric's warm embrace.

If my family knew what I was thinking, they would have taken me to a hospital, but it wouldn't really matter. It was too late. I would have done it anyway.

They had taken me to my parents house so I could live there. They thought I just needed love and comfort, but I couldn't even understand what they tried to do because I wasn't there; I just searched for an exit. They didn't believe I would go out in the dead of night in my trance-like state. I already had found my exit. I didn't have time to spill; I needed to go to Eric.

The exit was at the central station, the trains came all hours of the day, even in the dead of the night. It was easy. My party was over, and I needed to come home to Eric. It was easy.

…

I recognized the place at once. I had been there many times—oh, so many times. I was at my old street again, by the playground. It wasn't as dark as it had been the last time I was there; all the streetlights were on, and the sky shifted in a warm peach color. The sun was on its way up. I looked around, seeing if there was someone there; it was, I heard a loud bark. I recognized that bark so well, and it made me shiver in comfort. I laughed when Odin came running, and I sat down on the ground to let him give me a proper hello. While he licked my neck, I heard footsteps in the gravel. I wouldn't even need to look up to know who it was, but why wouldn't I want to do that? I stood up and looked at my tall fiance standing there, looking like he did in the prime of his life. His cheeks were a bit rosy from the coldness in the park, but still he just wore a black t-shirt with his khaki cargo pants.

“Hey,” he said with a warm smile, and I threw myself around his neck at once, without even thinking. His warm embrace caught me. I was home again. He laughed a little and then kissed me. I couldn't stop, and when we had started, we let it become a make-out session. I giggled into the kisses, and I could feel him smile.

“Did you get to decide on a meeting place again? Fuck, I thought it was my turn now!”

I laughed and dragged my fingers through the hair in his neck.

“So you remember this place?”

“Yeah, from when I was in the coma. I didn't remember the girl's face though, but it was you… the whole time.” He hugged my waist while looking me deep my eyes.

“I never dared to tell you about my dreams; I would have sounded like a stalker.”

“More than you already did, you mean?” He teased, and I hit him playfully on the arm, but then we laughed together. He gave me a soft kiss but then looked at me seriously.

“You shouldn't have taken your life, babe. You had so much to live for.”

He looked sad, but I wasn't really. I felt bad for my family, but I wasn't sad; I was with Eric.

“I think it was meant to be. Here we are, the three of us again-”

“Four.”

“Hm?”

He pointed to a light pole, and I looked up at it where Crow sat, looking down at us.

“He has guided me back two times; I know he will guide me away today. To my parents.”

I looked at him seriously.

“And I will follow you wherever you go.”

Eric looked at me examining with big green eyes. The mesmerizing eyes. He nodded and looked up at Crow.

“I love you most in the entire world, you know," I said with a giggle and took his hand in mine. He smiled at me and kissed my hand.

“And I love you most in the entire world and wherever we will go!” He said it playfully. I giggled, because I wasn't afraid. Eric looked at Odin, then at Crow. The bird made a caw and lifted his wings. I knew that was the signal, and when Crow lifted from the light pole, all three of us followed him towards the sun.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #the crow #eric

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such-expensive-mistakes · 1 year ago

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halfa!Steph AU (part 1)

I'm still working on the Superpham AU but I couldn't stop thinking about this idea.

-----

Once upon a time, there was a girl who thought she could be a hero. And then she died. She died slowly and painfully and steeped in guilt over having accidentally set off a gang war that destroyed the city. It's a neat little story about hubris and knowing your place and why Batman is always right.

Except she didn't. Die, that is. She flatlined on the operating table and Leslie faked her death. And when that girl came back, she put on a costume again and became the third Batgirl. It's a heartwarming story about stubbornness and learning to rely on others and proving Batman wrong.

The truth, Stephanie thinks, is somewhere in between.

When she talks about having died, people treat as— not as a joke, the pain is still too raw for that, but as an exaggeration. Dramatic license.

Sometimes Steph thinks that's all it is. But she feels like she died. She dreams about it sometimes. Not just Black Mask, although he does haunt far too many of her dreams, but something else. Something in-between.

It's probably just the trauma. That's what Leslie says, when Stephanie finally asks her.

Stephanie doesn't ask Leslie about her newfound strength, or about how sharp her senses have become.

You can't go through something like Stephanie did and come out unchanged. That's what Babs says, and she would know. Steph doesn't think they're thinking about the same kind of changes, though.

-----

Stephanie lands on a rooftop and looks down at the white van parked below. It's not a particularly notable vehicle, except for the occupants.

"What are they doing?" Steph asks.

"I don't know." Babs sounds frustrated, and no wonder. There aren't many people who can keep Oracle out of their systems, and Steph wouldn't have judged these guys to be among their ranks. "I'll keep trying to get through their firewalls, but I'm flying blind here. Keep an eye on them, but be careful."

"You know me," Steph says. "Careful is my middle name."

Babs doesn't even bother to muster up a sarcastic response to that, which is how Steph knows she's preoccupied.

These guys have been running all over Gotham for the past few weeks. They're dressed in immaculate white suits and carrying unfamiliar weapons, and they seem to be taking some kind of readings on unfamiliar instruments. None of that is a crime, but it's suspicious, and Oracle's inability to find out any more about them is even more suspicious.

And that means they're officially Steph's problem.

The men are doing the same thing they've been doing the last few times Steph has watched them. It's not particularly exciting.

"Batgirl," Oracle says.

"Please tell me there's a robbery or something that needs my attention," Steph replies. "These guys are so boring."

"Sorry. Do you think you can get one of their gadgets for me? I want a better look."

"Can do, boss."

Stephanie carefully climbs down to street level, staying out of sight. She's gotten a lot sneakier since her not-death. She tells herself it's all of her training and practice, finally paying off, but regardless of the cause, the guys in white have no chance of spotting her.

They're standing near the front of the van, arguing about something.

"The apparition was spotted here last night," one says.

"That doesn't mean it's going to return!" another responds.

Sounds like they're looking for something in particular. Which Steph and Babs had already guessed, but it's nice to have confirmation.

Steph slips toward the back of the van, which is wide open. Not smart, especially in Gotham, but she's got a feeling these guys aren't from Gotham.

The inside of their van reminds her of a sci-fi movie; everything is blindingly white and chrome, with glowing green accents. And lots and lots of those weapons. Whoever they are, they clearly have a nice sized budget.

Steph grabs one of the guns and a handheld instrument like the one the guys outside are waving around, but as soon as she does, all the instruments the guys in front of the van are holding start going wild.

"There it is!" one of them yells. They all start shooting at her, which is how Steph learns that they're using some kind of fancy laser guns. Because regular guns just aren't space age enough for these guys.

That's Steph's cue to get out. She grapples back to the rooftop, just barely avoiding getting hit by the laser guns.

It’s easy enough to lose them from the rooftops. At Oracle’s direction, she makes her way back to Firewall. She tugs her mask off and hands the stolen tech over to Babs.

“The’re looking for something,” she says. “An apparition.”

Babs hums in acknowledgment. “Hopefully these will have some answers.” She switches on the— scanner? Steph’s pretty sure that’s its function, anyway. It starts beeping wildly.

Steph jumps back, startled. The beeping stops.

“Well,” Babs says. “I think we have an idea what they were looking for.”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #stephanie brown #halfa steph au

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concreteangel92 · 7 months ago

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Thou Shalt Not Kill - Chapter 1

AU Noah Sebastian X female reader

MDNI

Summary: Reader is a detective and is assigned to a murder case which she soon connects with previous killings and figures out the religious affiliation, proving there is a new serial killer within the city. The reader soon becomes obsessed with the killers mind and methods and won’t rest until she figures out who the killer is. All while she gets used to working with her new partner on the case, detective Noah Davis.

Warnings: DESCRIPTIVE writing of graphic murders and killings, blood, gore, serial killer, violence, use of religion. I’m pretty certain that’s it for this chapter but please let me know if I’ve missed anything!

I will say this now, this story won’t be for everyone!! I’m comfortable writing/reading about this as I’ve always loved serial killer documentaries, murder mystery novels, etc but I’m not responsible for you reading this if you think you might get triggered or upset!! You have been warned now, I don’t want to get any shitty messages because you haven’t listened.

I have taken huge inspiration from AHS: Hotel which for those of you who know it, will definitely catch on haha but for this whole story, I’m taking inspiration from many different characters and stories! I do not claim to be an expert on detectives/the police btw haha so if it’s not completely accurate then I do apologise!

I’m very excited to start this, it will be fairly longish, definitely no smut at the moment but be patient, it will come haha 🤣

And again, if you would like to be added to the tag list then let me know!! I’ve added everyone who asked, who reblogged and some who liked the original post if I recognised your user names but I’ve probably missed so many out so let me know!

Tags: @reyadawn @thefallennightmare @hayleylatour @calleyx13 @english-fucker @malerieee @lilhobgobbler @glccmreid @badomensls @madomens @loeytuan98 @rosebushjhj @livingdeceasedgirl @lilrubles @samanthasgone @blackveilomens @hellayeahsworld @lookwhatitcost @thatchickwiththecamera

Ima1986

darling-millicent-aubrey

Ithoughtbynowidfeelbetter

softvgold

iluvmewwwww75

Ok so I believe you guys asked to be tagged but for some reason it won’t let me and keeps saying blogs couldn’t be found? I’m not sure why but I’ll try and fix that!

MASTERLIST

You walked fast down the dimly lit corridor in the seedy hotel in downtown LA, the place had a damp, musty smell and you knew if these walls could talk, they’d no doubt scream.

You’d been called to a particularly gruesome crime scene, you hadn’t had much else to go on but you knew your sergeant wouldn’t have called you if it was a ‘straight forward’ homicide.

Seeing some of your colleagues up head, you pulled on a pair of blue surgical gloves and walked into the hotel room.

The sight that faced you wasn’t one for the faint of heart. A couple that had been engaging in sex were now impaled together by what appeared to be a long metal rod. Both sets of hands had been nailed to the headboard and from the looks of it, they were still joined in the middle.

“The scene has already been documented detective”

“Not by me it hasn’t”

You ignored the officer and continued to survey the area. Two driving licenses were on the bedside table with two set of wedding rings next to them, you took note of the victims names and saw the marks where the rings would normally sit on their fingers confirming that they belonged to the deceased.

“They were married but not to each other. They were having an affair”

The officer from before spoke up next to you.

“Jealous ex?”

You glanced back to the couple on the bed.

“No. This isn’t jealousy or a crime of passion. This is something else, I highly doubt it was an upset partner”

You walked over to get a closer look, the woman who was nailed by her hands was slumped forward, body only being held up by the pole that was embedded low into the headboard and running through the man’s chest, blood had run down her body and into his, but what you noticed immediately was that there was more blood that had congealed around her groin and his.

You glanced around the room again and noticed a glue bottle sticking out from under the bed on the floor, picking up confirmed what you already knew.

“They were glued together”

You turned to the officer and handed him the glue to be put in an evidence bag.

“Have the forensic team been in?”

“Yes detective”

“Please have a case file sent to my desk immediately, start cleaning up in here and get someone to inform the families.”

You pulled the gloves off your hands and wrapped them up as you walked out of the room, heading back to the station.

•••••••

You walked into your office with a cup of coffee in hand, knowing it was going to be needed for the long evening.

You’d phoned ahead and asked for a few other files to be brought to you, something very eerily similar about some cases you’d read recently.

You picked up the first folder and flicked straight to the crime scene photos. Once again, these were not for the faint of heart, you felt your throat go slightly dry at the scene before you.

The photos showed a woman in her mid twenties strapped to the bedposts of her bed spread out wide, wrists red and cut from trying to get lose from the metal cuffs, her mouth had been sewn shut, her genitals and thighs covered in blood where the autopsy had concluded that she’d been assaulted by foreign objects repeatedly, ripping her apart from the inside. The bed was soaked dark red and written on the wall behind the bed in her own blood were the words ‘a lair is always willing to take the oath’

Her name was Nina Platt, she had been involved in a court case a year ago accusing her ex of raping her, he had been convicted and later took his own life in prison. Only later had his innocence been proven too late. Nina had been under further investigation when her body was discovered in her apartment.

You took a breath and put the photos down, needing a second before opening the next folder.

Oliver Wicks. 19 years old, body found in an ally way, hands cut off and never recovered, his body surrounded by stolen wallets and phones. This young boy had a criminal history of petty theft, in and out of juvie for years.

And the last folder showed an older couple in mid fifties, throats slashed, both clutching bibles with some of the pages shoved into their mouths. They had both been members of their local church, records showed that wasn’t always the case for them however, both had been well known on the drug and party scene before finding god later in life. Their bodies were discovered on a Sunday night after they failed to show for the Sunday service.

You took a sip of your coffee, wishing it was something stronger, before taking one photo from each crime scene and putting it up on your board. Taking a step back you looked over them.

You had no doubt that they were all connected somehow, they all showed similar qualities, they were a show, a display, for what, you weren’t certain yet but you were determined to find out.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in”

The door opened to reveal sergeant Matthews walking in.

“Detective Y/L/N”

“Sir”

You nodded in his direction and looked back over the board.

“Fuck…what a gruesome display. And you believe these are all connected?”

“I do sir, I think we have a serial killer on our hands. I just haven’t figured out the motive yet. None of these people have any connection to each other, all different crimes but somehow the same”

Sergeant Matthews ran his hand over his chin as he took it all in.

“This person must think that they are god”

Something in your mind sparked up.

“Say that again!”

“This person must think they’re god?”

Your mind was going into overdrive, something on the tip of tongue, what was it? What was it?

“God? God!”

Then it hit you and you quickly ran back to your laptop and started typing.

“Detective would you mind filling me in on what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Your eyes went wide as you’d found what you were looking for, you walked back over to the board and pointed first at the photo of the young boy.

“Thou shalt not steal”

You pointed at the older couple.

“Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy”

Then at the young girl’s photo.

“Thou shalt not bare false witness”

And finally at the couple from this morning.

“Thou shalt not commit adultery”

Your sergeant turned to you.

“The 10 commandments”

You nodded, you felt almost breathless at your discovery, there was a new serial killer in town alright and he’d been killing for the last couple months right under your noses.

•••••••••

Once word had got out, the newspapers had dubbed him ‘The 10 Commandments Killer’. The press was having a field day, it was on every channel and on the front page of every paper. A serial killer loose in the city, it was a frightening prospect.

All the previous cases had been transferred onto you, this was now fully your case and you had every intention to catch the killer as soon as possible before he struck again, there was still 6 commandments left after all.

You were once again stood in front of your pin board in your office, it was now filled with more crime scene photos, newspaper articles and all photos of any evidence that had been obtained. You were trying to figure out the killers mind, see what the connections between these people are or were they completely random? That thought was even more terrifying.

A knock at the door pulled you back into the room.

“Yeah?”

“Detective”

Your sergeant was once again in your doorway.

“I have assigned you a new partner to help with this case. I feel this is too much for one detective alone, especially given its nature.”

You nodded in understanding, no one should take on a case this big alone.

“Who am I working with?”

“Detective Noah Davis. New to station within the last month but had an excellent recommendation from his old station in Richmond, Virginia from where’s he’s transferred, highly experienced and he should be an asset to this investigation. I’ve brought him here to meet you”

Sergeant Matthews opened the door wider to reveal an extremely tall, broad but handsome man, his dark brown eyes meeting yours with an intense gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you detective Y/L/N”

Chapter 2

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #thou shalt not kill #concreteangel92

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twstfanblog · 5 months ago

Note

Woooow Jamil jr really out here framing his dad for a crime he didn’t commit lol

HEHEHEEH, the first meeting story of the Evil Dad AU unlocked!

Yeah, Jamil kicks off the search because THERE'S A WARRENT FOR HIS ARREST. Kalim: Kalim: So…we should look into this right? Jamil: OBVIOUSLY

They get to the city and everyone they suspect of being a part of the gambling ring gives Jamil answers so easily. Because they think he's their boss and he looks pissed, nothing good comes from a pissed-off boss. they manage to get led to the main hideout building of the gambling ring on their first day in the city. But things can't be that easy right?

They get to the back table, both of them stunned to see a perfect copy of Jamil working a table and winning big.

Kalim: Kalim: Jamil? "Jamil": JJ under his UM, looking like Jamil, just bolts after catching Jamil's expression of pure murder. It's chaotic chase scene that ends with Jamil losing the fake in an alleyway. Jamil has no idea where the bastard went, so their stay extends until they can catch him. This happens on and off for like a week. Then, after one failed chase, Jamil noticed that there's a small opening in the wall. He takes note and goes back to the other alleys he lost the fake in. They all have small openings pointed to the walled off center of the city. Jamil: Hey…what's on the other side of these walls? NPC: Oh. That's all abandoned houses back there. They put the walls up so tourists didn't have to look at them.

Kalim and Jamil go in the middle of the night to explore the abandoned part of the city, not really sure what they're looking for other than scenes of life. Which they do find in the form of the local homeless population. While Jamil talks to them Kalim keeps looking through the houses. Kalim manages to find Yuu's hideout for JJ, noting how everything in the house looks decently new and well taken care of. Walking around, he finds actual JJ on the couch asleep. Kalim notices he really does look just like Jamil but much younger. Kalim isn't very bright but boy does have eyes Kalim: Kalim: By the seven. Jamil has a SON….

A statement that wakes JJ up and he instantly pulls a knife on Kalim. Jamil shows up to find 'Fake Jamil' with a knife to Kalim's throat JJ: Stay away or he's dead! Jamil is about to use deadly force. Impressed or not, he needs Kalim to maintain control over the Asim's trade lines but Kalim calls out to stop him. Kalim: Jamil no! He's just a kid! JJ: Shut up!? Kalim: It's an illusion! He's like 9! JJ: FUCK YOU, I'M 11-Damn it. JJ goes for broke and shoves Kalim at Jamil to make a run for it. Final parkour chase scene of Jamil chasing down JJ in the abandoned city. It ends with JJ trying to scale a building o escape Jamil, only for a part to break off and he goes falling down. Jamil manages to save him and now he's got an armful of a tiny version of himself. Jamil, thinking: 11...11 Years ago. Who was I even with 11 years-? *Flash of Yuu in a belly dancer outfit asking him about the 'fabled' snake scepter that she stole the ruby eyes out of * Jamil:

They take JJ with them back to the house they're staying in and interrogate him. The first question being, 'Where's your mother?'. To which they find out that JJ hasn't seen Yuu in about a year, but she still sends JJ his monthly allowance to buy food and do general home upkeep, so he assumes she's still alive. And Kalim asks the most burning question he has.

Kalim: What's JJ stand for? JJ: JJ: I wanna talk about something else- Jamil: No. What does it stand for? JJ: JJ: Jamil Junior- Jamil: REALLY???? JJ: LOOK- Jamil: YOU KNOWINGLY FRAMED YOUR OUR FATHER!? JJ: LOOK

JJ spends the night at their home, Kalim and Jamil prepping to bring JJ back with them. This is Jamil's kid! Kalim can't leave him to fend for himself and Jamil plans to use JJ to try to lure Yuu out of hiding so he can FINALLY put her in a cage himself. Only for the two of them to wake up the next day to find JJ GONE. Luckily they both know where he is and it's back in the fucking illegal gambling house, disguised as Jamil, AGAIN.

Jamil: JJ! JJ, counting his money: I'm busy- Jamil: Get over here. Get over here, right now. JJ: In a minute. Sorry folks, my brother and I gotta talk about something. Back in a few! JJ shoves Jamil and Kalim out into one of the alleys and drops his UM; an angry, small 11-year-old boy glaring up at Jamil. JJ: WHAT!? Jamil: Don't you fucking raise your voice at me... Jamil states that they are LEAVING, JJ is coming with them whether he likes it or not. JJ counters that while it's nice having such a 'loving father', he doesn't plan on leaving. He will try to not get another warrant sent for Jamil's arrest though. Jamil, counter-counters by just picking JJ up and tucking him under his arm. Which while the fastest move was not the best move. JJ is screaming and kicking the whole way out of the city, Kalim beside them all smiles and saying how much JJ is gonna love their house and how much new stuff they'll get him. At a point, Jamil Snake Whispers JJ to sleep, so that he'll stop pitching a fit. Cue JJ waking up nearly a day later in a new city, in his new room, all decked out like a mini Scarabian prince. Sleepily glaring at Jamil bringing him some food.

Jamil: Jamil: Good morning- JJ: You motherfucker- Jamil: That's right. I did fuck your mother. That's how you got here. You're welcome. From there, it's multiple failed escape attempts. But, JJ is getting harder to keep trapped and then Kalim delivers the news that Yuu's been captured and an execution date has been set.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #jamil viper #kalim al asim #twst fankid #fankids #evil dad au

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50shadesofoctarine · 9 months ago

Text

Why you should write that AO3 comment:

Hello! I am an AO3 author and professional fandom dipshit. This is an "essay" on why you should leave that comment on the fanfic you just read.

Table of Contents:

"Commenting is too much effort!"

"I don't know what to write!"

Do you want more fanfic?

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

"Commenting is too much effort!"

Yes, writing a comment takes energy. I'm an introvert, I get that. I have two counter arguments to this point.

AO3 comments are not the SAT:

This is a comment from my latest fic, Quantum Entangled.

Three words and a heart. It requires zero consideration, it isn't specific to the fic, it's something you could copy-paste, even. A comment like this is better than nothing. I'll let my reply from AO3 explain why:

"You know what, I appreciate this way more than you'd probably expect. The temptation to lurk is a strong one, both for social anxiety reasons and internet content-consumption culture reasons. But when people lurk, I can't tell that they've enjoyed the story. The more people that lurk instead of interacting, the more I assume that my work wasn't good enough, irrespective of the reader's actual feelings. So this was a very welcome comment to read. Thank you for indicating your enjoyment. I will endeavour to write more stuff for you to lurk on in the future. :)"

A comment like this, one that is as thoughtless and low effort as possible, is still a comment. Something that denotes a reader's interest. Because, and I can't be clear enough about this, I HAVE NO OTHER WAY OF KNOWING THAT YOU LIKED IT. Kudos and comments are my only window into the reader's experience.

Sure, I'd love more detailed and thorough comments on my work, but, if that expectation is the thing that's going to stop you from commenting at all, I'd prefer the bland copy-paste appreciation.

Onto my second argument.

Do you know what also takes effort? WRITING THE DAMN FIC:

You do not get to complain about being forced to type a congratulatory handful of words after reading that 200k slow-burn fantasy au. Do you know how many hours went into that thing? Do you? Because I can guarantee that it was A LOT. All that writers are asking for is a single emoji. A kudos, at the very least. Consider the effort that went into the creation that you've just experienced and give just a thimble full of it back.

Authors lay out a feast for you to devour. They're only requesting a "thank you".

"I don't know what to write!"

Like in the previous example, an AO3 comment can be as simple as three words saying that you appreciated it. Just an acknowledgement that you were there. It doesn't have to be fancy.

But if you want fancy...?

Here's one of my comments, from Tishae's Better Together.

Let me break it down for you.

"Stunning. This au is so well developed. I love how you managed to maintain tension after the point that they discover that their feelings are requited. This was brilliantly paced, and the action (esp the ending) was so engaging."

The comment opens with appreciation. (Think of it as a sandwich with love as the bread. It starts and ends with my enjoyment.)

There are specific details about what I liked.

"If I may ask, what was the crime that the Metatron committed? Maybe I'm bad at reading between the lines or maybe I missed something, but I'm really curious as to what dirt they have on him. Victimless? Bad enough for imprisonment, but not so morally reprehensible as to make Anathema reveal it? Did he embezzle? That's all I can really think of."

Continues with a specific question about the story and plot.

Shows that I was critically engaged and actively considering the story.

You don't have to have questions about every fic that you read, but don't be afraid to ask them if you do. I love it when people ask me about my work.

"Thank you for the delicious food. I honestly thought that you were going to have Crowley's final look be something in grey (black and white being the theme of the show, metaphorically representing separation/binary, so Aziraphale was uncomfortable with it due to the implications. Grey, symbolising unity/shades of grey as an idiom, would then be the biggest middle finger to the Metatron) but I do really like what you came up with."

Gratitude.

Thoughts about how I read the plot. (This is something I particularly love to read as an author. Please tell me what's going on in that funky lil' brain of yours!!)

"I'm hoping this comment provides plenty of dopamine. If the task activation and instant gratification parts of your brain light up, you might be more likely to write GO content again. Love your work, thanks for sharing it. I hope you gain 3 inches of metaphorical dick length. Please keep writing."

Encouragement to keep writing. (This is the best way to ensure that creators remain in the fandom)

A funny comment to sign off.

Now that you know what to comment, let's start on the real reasons why you should.

Do you want more fanfic?

Fun fact! Fanfictious Authoria are a species that sustain themselves entirely on a diet of brain worms, unfinished WIPs, and kudos. As one of the three fundamental food groups, removing kudos from the fandom ecosystem causes a complete collapse of the natural order. In times of unprecedented scarcity, entire populations of Fanfictious Authoria can die out completely. This means that the production of fanfiction, in that particular region of fandom, stops entirely, often causing major ecological damage, and the subsequent deaths of fan species in the same genus. (Like the Fanfictious Artia, or the Fanfictious Editour, both of which subsist on fanfiction based diets to survive.)

In conservation efforts, experts are imploring readers to donate kudos and comments toward any fandom region that they want to stay alive.

But I digress.

When I want more content, I tell the author. Ask and you shall receive; it's the best way to convince an author/artist to make more.

My comment on @mrghostrat's And They Were Streamers

You liked it? Then COMMENT! Not for the author's sake, but for your own. You want to see the ending of a WIP? Well, it'd be a terrible shame if the author gave up on it because they thought no one was reading... They don't know that you enjoy their work until you TELL THEM. They're not psychic, you have to help them hear you. Commenting on the things you like influences the creators of said things to attribute the act of making content (and, notably, making the type of content that specifically appeals to you) with the dopamine hit of reading your reaction. Treat them like Pavlov's dogs. Ring the kudos-bell.

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

They have real human feelings and real human egos. The contemporary attitude towards media engagement is skewed towards algorithmic, instant, and uncritical consumption. This is pumping straight gasoline into the beautiful lakes of our fandom ecosystem. Fandom cannot afford to treat its creators like mechanical text generators. We are not an unfeeling assembly line, only there to produce content. We are enthusiasts, engaging in our hobby. No fan creator has to show you anything. They are fully within their rights to keep their works hidden in their computer files, never to see the light of day. Every fanfic on AO3 is only there because someone had the grace to share it with you. You are not entitled to an author's work, just as they are not entitled to your kudos. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Do not forget your part in this symbiosis.

It's a problem that extends beyond AO3. Tumblr is a less enthusiastic place than it used to be. Fandom as a whole is drifting towards a consumption mindset. I, for one, am sick of it. Reblog things, like them, share them. Make fanart of fanart. Who gives a shit? Do the cringy thing. You don't have to cultivate your blog aesthetic. Be who you are, like what you like, and have enthusiasm about all of it. Fandom should be an expression of radical self acceptance. Embrace it. Leave essays about fics that you liked. Reblog the essays of other's when you see them. Exist in the mutual joy of seeing and being seen. You are not just an external observer, absorbing content from a distance. You are here too. Wave back at us. Say 'hi.'

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

My final appeal is a moral one.

Commenting on AO3 is just a kind thing to do.

You are your actions. Are you the kind of person who does the kind thing when no one is watching? When no one will care?

Fanfiction is a hobby, and I'm not here to guilt you about how you spend your leisure time. I'm only here to say that there is a kindness you could be giving the world.

If you are one of the people that performs this kindness, I thank you.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #GO fandom I'm looking at you #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable wives #ineffable husbands fic rec #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses

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h50europe · 23 days ago

Text

BUCK/TOMMY AU ROM-COM INCOMING! https://archiveofourown.org/works/60894340/chapters/155548843… All I Want For Christmas... - Three years ago, Evan Buckley was a forensic scientist specializing in facial reconstruction for the FBI until a vicious serial killer kidnapped and nearly killed him. He never fully recovered and gave up his job. While still in hospital, his wife Taylor filed for divorce because she’s more into partying than watching her husband dealing with the aftermath of his ordeal. And as if all of this wasn’t enough, Buck receives a devastating call: His sister Maddie and her husband Howie died in a horrible car crash. And so, he became little Jee’s legal guardian. To escape the nightmare his life had become, he and Jee move to a small town near Whistler, where Buck earns a living doing odd jobs.

Just before Christmas, Hen, a good friend of Buck’s, asks him to house-sit. She expects a visitor but forgets to mention that Tommy Kinard is handsome, charming and slightly different because he is blind. Buck has no idea what he gets into as he and Tommy lock onto one another from their first meeting like heat-seeking missiles.

Welcome to this Buck/Tommy rom-com, which has a touch of crime in later chapters. The story is finished (a total of 12 chapters) and will give you all the cozy Christmas feelings with Tommy, Buck and Jee. I will post regularly to ensure it is finished right around Christmas.

Sneak Peek Chapter 2:

"Besides, I wasn't always blind. Until nine years ago, I could see, but with difficulty," he told Buck.

"My eyes slowly got worse. It's an extremely rare genetic disease. I knew that one day, it would get dark around me. That's why I memorized everything all the more intensely to remember it. It's the same with movies. I still have images from the time I watched them. Crazy, isn't it?"

"I don't think so. I admire how you deal with it," Buck muttered, flipped through Hen's DVDs and smiled when he came across a certain movie.

“How about Love Actually?"

"Yes, Great choice, Evan. It's one of my favorites. Maybe there'll be popcorn and a soft drink, then I can imagine I'm at the movies."

Buck laughed, "Right away, sir. And yes, it's also one of mine." Buck hoped to make it through the movie somehow without ending up in Tommy's lap. Why didn't he choose Die Hard or any other action movie?

A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses and a large bowl of popcorn, put everything on the table and then plopped down on the couch.

The movie was about to start when Tommy suddenly asked, "What do you look like?" The question came as a surprise to Buck, and he paused the DVD.

"Um, I don't know. Just average, I-I guess."

Tommy remained silent for a long moment, but Buck could tell he was thinking by the wrinkles on his forehead.

"Can I ... touch you?" Buck's eyes went big until it dawned on him.

#bucktommy au #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #oliver stark #911 abc #evan buckley is bisexual #lou ferrigno jr

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dreamwritesimagines · 5 months ago

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [31] - Secrets

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Keeping secrets from business partners can lead to issues.

Word Count: 3300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well if that didn’t prove your worth as a potential heir, you didn’t know what would.

For a couple of seconds, no one spoke. You could feel Bucky’s quizzical glances on you but you managed not to look at him or your father who was staring at you in shock.

Ian was the first to break the silence.

“Chicago?” he asked and scoffed. “I know you’re new to this whole thing and Bucky doesn’t share everything with you, but Chicago is impossible.”

You let a smirk curl your lips and turned to the rest of the table.

“A deal with Chicago would ensure—”

“We can’t get Chicago,” Ian cut you off and you arched a brow.

“You can’t,” you told him. “I can.”

“How?” Natasha asked and you shrugged your shoulders, leaning back in your chair.

“Rhett is an old friend.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the puzzled expression on Bucky’s face and as much as you wanted to explain it to him, you reminded yourself that it could wait. Steve pulled his brows together while Sam looked between you and Bucky, and Tony sat up straighter.

“You’re telling me you know the king of Chicago?”

“No Tony, I’m telling you the king of Chicago trusts me.”

“Why?”

“Because I made sure of that.”

“And you didn’t bother telling us about this?” Clint asked Bucky and that made you finally look at him. Bucky stared at you in silence, a fire burning in his eyes before he clenched his jaw and turned to Clint.

“Matter of trust I guess,” he said curtly, drumming his fingertips on the table and you could feel your stomach doing an unpleasant flip at the sight of carefully controlled fury on his face, then took a deep breath.

“The underworld in Chicago works a bit differently than here,” you said. “They never had the need to do business with any other cities and no, Rhett wouldn’t do business with any of you. Bucky knowing me or being married to me wouldn’t have changed anything either, Rhett will want to make a deal with someone he actually knows.”

“No,” your father spoke for the first time. “You’re not getting involved in this Y/N.”

“With all due respect father, your heir is obliged to listen to you,” you said and shot him a small smile. “I’m not.”

“But hold on,” Yelena asked. “How do you know him?”

You liked the night life in Chicago almost as much as in New York. While your and Becca’s surnames made sure you could get into any place in New York, it also meant that there was more of a chance of someone in the club letting your father or Becca’s father know you were there. More often than not, you’d run into Steve or Sam or Bucky—

No.

You weren’t going to think about Bucky.

Bucky was a fucking asshole.

“All I’m saying is that you broke up more than a year ago—” Isla shouted over the music as the bartender put your drinks in front of you. “And don’t get me wrong, Ethan is cute and all but he can’t keep giving you puppy dog eyes whenever you’re around.”

“He’s not,” you said, leaning back to the bar as you took a sip of your cocktail, keeping your gaze on your other friends who were still dancing on the dancefloor.

“Yes he is,” Isla said. “Even Bradley is aware of it.”

“Well Bradley was the one who introduced us,” you reminded her with a grin and she rolled her eyes.

“And I apologize for my boyfriend’s lack of foresight,” she said. “No seriously, you need to move on.”

“I did move on!”

“But you still feel guilty.”

“I don’t,” you argued as someone took the spot next to you by the bar and Isla repressed a grin, giving you a look. You turned your glances to the person to see him eyeing you up and down, and he smiled at you as soon as he realized you were looking at him.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Tommy.”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself and he nodded.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I already have a drink,” you stated with a grin, holding up your cocktail glass and he hummed.

“Ah,” he said. “I guess I can wait until you finish that one then?”

“So you’ll just watch me drink?”

“Sounds like a plan—” he started but was cut off when another guy walked through the crowd to nod at you, then mutter something into his ear. Tommy’s eyes widened and he put his beer bottle on the counter.

“Sorry,” he said without so much as a glance at you, then walked away from you.

“The fuck?” Isla muttered while you arched a brow, glaring at the guy.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Kyle. My boss wanted me to tell you that everything you ladies drink tonight is on the house.”

Isla blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“And he asks if you’d like to join him upstairs,” Kyle told you, making your eyes narrow in fury. “Your friends are welcome to join as well, of course.”

Ah.

Well, that explained things.

This whole nonsense of getting someone intimidated with a mere order was way too familiar to you, and you clicked your tongue while Isla shifted her weight.

“Um, Y/N maybe we should go somewhere else…”

“It’s fine,” you assured her. “I got it. Kyle, isn’t it?”

He nodded, stealing a look at the mezzanine where a couple of guys were having a conversation on. You couldn’t exactly make out the faces from the club lights, but if you had to guess, the guy who didn’t look interested in the conversation and was instead leaning on the rails and watching the crowd had to be Kyle’s boss.

“And your boss’s name?”

“Rhett Davis.”

The prince of Chicago.

Lovely.

“Great,” you said. “Well Kyle, why don’t you go and tell your boss that I don’t appreciate him interrupting my conversations and I’m not a fucking dog to go to him when he whistles, hm?”

Kyle gawked at you. “He’s—”

“I know who he is, our fathers are in the same line of business,” you told him, making his eyes widen.

“Y/N?” Isla said and you waved a hand in the air.

“Everything is alright, don’t worry.”

“Whose daughter are you?” Kyle asked and you gave him a smirk.

“I believe you have a message to deliver, Kyle. Run along now.”

Kyle hesitated only for a moment before walking away from you to climb the stairs and you turned to Isla.

“What was that?” she asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Long story,” you said as your friends called out your and Isla’s names, motioning at you to join them on the dancefloor. You let out a laugh, and shook your head.

“I think I’ll finish my drink, but you go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, go,” you said with a smile, pushing her gently and she walked to the dancefloor while you sucked on the straw of your cocktail. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to send a quick text to Becca, letting out a small laugh when you saw her response.

It was only when you lifted your head from your phone that you saw the bartender’s eyes widening before you felt someone step forward to take the spot beside you, making you look over your shoulder before you turned around.

The infamous prince of Chicago was hot, even you had to admit. He had to be only a couple years older than you; his disheveled curly hair giving him an air of nonchalance, and his blue eyes sparkling even under the club lights, reminding you of Bucky’s just a bit. There was a small smirk playing on his lips and when he motioned at the bartender for a drink, you could see the tattoos scattered along his muscular arms before you forced yourself to raise a brow at him, but that just made his smirk bigger.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said calmly, then offered his hand. “I’m Rhett.”

You tilted your head, then shook his hand before introducing yourself as well and he pulled his brows together.

“The prettiest girl in the club is New York’s underworld princess,” he commented. “Figures.”

“And the cockiest guy in the club is Chicago’s underworld prince,” you said, your voice silky. “Shocker.”

That made him chuckle and he raised his hands, gesturing surrender. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Makes one of us.”

He looked genuinely entertained at your snappy retort as you finished your empty cocktail glass down and he motioned at the bartender for a refill which made him rush to prepare your drink as fast as he could. You raised your brows.

“I can order my own drinks, thank you.”

He hummed.

“Well, I can’t have you return to New York and tell your daddy Chicago was anything but nice to you.”

“And you want to be nice to me?”

“Depends,” he said, his unwavering gaze sending a fire your cheeks. “Do you want me to be nice to you?”

You could feel your heartbeat getting faster but you chastised yourself in your head, then scrunched up your nose.

“I don’t date or sleep with people in the business,” you told him as the bartender put your drink in front of you. “So you can go away now.”

Rhett’s amused smile widened. “Are you ordering me around in my own city, Y/N?”

A smirk curled your lips and you heaved a deep sigh.

“Someone has to,” you said. “Are you telling me you’re not good at following orders, Rhett?”

“I’m good at giving them.”

You pouted your lips, then took a sip of your drink.

“Well,” you said. “Turns out you and I have something in common then.”

“I went to college in Chicago,” you told Yelena. “We kind of ran into each other.”

Your father’s frown deepened. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” you told him. “I met a lot of people in Chicago, Rhett just happens to be the most important one for business, that’s all.”

Bucky nodded to himself slowly, still keeping quiet as he fixed his gaze on the table, but you could see him clenching his jaw.

“And you’re confident that you can convince him to make a deal with New York?” Steve asked and you nodded.

“As long as we have a good offer.”

“I can show you the latest offer we made him,” Clint told you. “You can go over it so that you know what he refused the last time.”

“Yeah, that would be—” you started but was cut off when someone knocked on the door, then stepped inside. The bodyguard approached Natasha to mutter something to her ear, making her grit her teeth, then she pushed her chair back, Yelena jumping on her feet.

“Nat?” Steve asked and she took a deep breath.

“There’s been an attack on my territory,” she said curtly. “I must cut this short.”

“Of course,” your father said as everyone stood up as well, Clint already walking outside with Natasha and Steve and Sam going after them. Tony nodded at you before he walked away as well and you stole a look at Bucky who was walking to the door without so much as sparing you a glance but before you could say anything, you heard your father’s voice.

“Y/N, a word?”

“Um,” you blinked a couple of times. “Bucky—”

“See you at home,” he said, still not looking at you and he walked out of the room, making your stomach do an unpleasant flip.

“Leave us,” your father told Ian and even though he looked like he wanted to protest, he heaved a sigh and left the room as well. You sat back on your seat, drumming your fingertips on the table.

“Yes?”

“Was it you?”

You tilted your head. “Hm?”

“The first attack on the shipment,” he said, making your stomach drop. “Before the raid. Was it you?”

Fear surrounded you so fast that for a couple of seconds, you couldn’t hear anything because of the blood rushing in your ears, making your hearing muffled. The invisible fist around your throat was getting tighter and tighter but you forced yourself to keep your expression as calm as possible.

“Is that what we’re doing now?” you asked. “Blaming each other?”

“Was it you?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a hysterical laugh escaping from your lips. “Is that what Ian told you? What, he wants to kill me now, is that it?”

“No one is going to touch a hair on your head, I just want to know—”

“I would be killed if anyone suspected I broke the truce!”

“I will cover it if you did break the truce,” your father told you, making you pull back slightly.

“…What?”

“Do you seriously think I’d let anyone harm you?” he asked. “Are you that blind? You’re my daughter, I would start a war against all these families if they tried to do anything to you.”

“Truce is important—”

“Anyone who tries to harm you will meet their death,” he told you, looking you in the eye. “No exceptions.”

You swallowed thickly. “Even Ian?”

“Even Ian,” he said without hesitation, making you gawk at him. “Tell me the truth. Was it you?”

You dug your fingernails into your palms and took a deep breath, then shook your head.

“No,” you rasped out. “But I’m not going to pretend I’m not happy that it happened.”

He held your gaze in his as if trying to see whether you were lying or not, then leaned back on his seat as well.

“And this Rhett deal?”

“We used to hang out when I was in Chicago,” you said. “Simple as that. I know how he operates, me knowing him wouldn’t have worked if you or Bucky or anyone else tried to make a deal with him. He will want someone in the business.”

“And you are in the business now?” he asked you and you clicked your tongue.

“I am.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like most of the decisions you make when it comes to business,” you retorted. “Especially recent ones, but here we are.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before a rare smile curled his lips and he let out a loud laugh.

“Never the one to shy away from honesty, are you?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Learned from the best.”

He reached out to squeeze your hand, making you smile as well.

“Wine?” he asked and you turned your glances to the door, biting inside your cheek before turning to him again.

“Bucky will be busy I guess,” you said. “Sure, wine works.”

As you expected, when you returned home Bucky wasn’t there. In fact, he didn’t return home until early in the morning, and by that time guilt was already churning your insides. If it were him who pulled what you had in the meeting, convincing you to make him a part of the meeting only to reveal he had a different plan in mind, you would be furious as well so you understood why he hadn’t bothered coming home last night.

Didn’t mean you liked it though.

You tried not to get discouraged when he ignored your “good morning” and went straight upstairs to take a shower while you sat by the kitchen island, pushing your breakfast around, petting Alpine with your other hand. Being nervous wasn’t new to you but this was the first time you were sure that Bucky was actually pissed, and you didn’t know why it bothered you so much, but it did.

So when you heard him walking downstairs, you sat up straighter, doing your best to ignore the tension in the pit of your stomach.

“Buck?”

He only hummed, putting his cufflinks on and you licked your lips as Alpine jumped from the counter.

“Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk?” he asked, still not looking at you and you bit at your fingernail.

“Yeah,” you said. “Listen, I know it looks like I went behind your back.”

“You did go behind my back,” he corrected you and you pushed yourself off the stool, clenching and unclenching your fists.

“I get that you’re upset,” you stated and he scoffed.

“No shit I’m upset,” he said. “All this time I thought we had a deal, that we were in this together but you…what, you just decided to keep me out?”

“What does it matter?” your voice was way too defensive and he stared at you.

“You can’t be that self-centered,” he said. “Right? No one can be that self-centered.”

“Bucky—”

“Newsflash Y/N, I’m supposed to be informed about your fucking strategy if I am a part of it!”

“You were informed about the strategy you were a part of,” you defended yourself and he gritted his teeth.

“And the rest?”

“I—you—” you stammered. “I have been planning this for a long time Bucky, I’m not going to just…”

“You’re not going to just trust me?”

You rubbed at your eyes, then took a deep breath.

“I need to prove myself to others,” you said, trying to keep your voice stable. “I need to make sure that everyone around that table prefers me to Ian—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Me having a direct connection to Rhett will ensure that,” you continued as if he didn’t cut you off. “And it will be good for business—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It will give a message—”

“Tell me why you didn’t!”

“Because you could take it from me!” you snapped back before you had the chance to stop yourself. “And it was my move, it was my strategy, it was my plan, okay? No one else’s!”

Pain flashed over his handsome features and he stared at you as silence fell upon the room. You closed your eyes for a moment, reminding yourself to be calm despite the tension clenching your muscles together and opened them again, clenching and unclenching your fists to focus.

“I didn’t—” you stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He was quiet for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath.

“Nothing I do makes a difference to you, does it?” he asked, his voice low. “No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to prove to you that I…”

You tried to fix your breathing. “You what?”

A dry laugh climbed up his throat and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

You could feel your eyes burning but you tried to focus as he ran a hand through his hair, then clenched his jaw as if trying to pull himself together.

“You’ll make a great boss,” he rasped out and your head shot up, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards.

“…Thank you.”

A painful smile pulled at his lips. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and he shook his head slightly, grabbing his jacket off the hanger.

“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met in my entire life,” he told you. “And there’s no one you wouldn’t waste just to get what you want. You’ll be the best among us, I’d say.”

An ache appeared in your chest. “Bucky, can we please—”

“You wanted to be business partners?” he asked as he put his jacket on, his piercing gaze pining you to your spot. “Fine. But don’t fucking come crying to me when I treat you like one.”

With that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving you there frozen.

Chapter 32

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bigfan-fanfic · 2 years ago

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The Clinic (Male!Reader x Mafia!Bucky and Steve)

Requested by @jayfeather965 for Your response to the captain and batdad ask has my creative juices flowing. The captain and iron arm Barnes are equal partners in a mafia, lovers and stuff. But then one of them, Bucky or Steve gets shot and separated from from the gang. Ends up going to a street clinic, with doctors who don’t ask questions. And naturally he’s fascinated by the doctor who helps him but calls him out for his arrogant attitude and takes no nonsense. Could you write a long story on this? Lmk please

Trigger warning blood, crime, mob au, etc.

"Babe."

"Yeah, boss?"

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

The Captain grips Barnes' chin in his fingers, tilting up his face. Barnes knows better than to resist.

Barnes is shirtless, the bandages wrapped around his chest and over his shoulder where he had been shot. His cheekbones still have the stitches in them.

The Captain is impeccably dressed, their states incongruous.

"What can I say, pal? It's hard to find a man that ain't afraid of me."

The Captain lets go, grabs the tumbler of whiskey in Barnes' hand, and tosses it aside.

It shatters in the fireplace and the alcohol makes the fire burst in a roar, but neither man hears it, because they are locked in a bruising, harsh kiss.

Barnes' hands frame the Captain's waist as the big man straddles him, clutching Barnes' face, his thumb brushing over the not-quite-healed gash in a way that is painful, but also grounding.

Cap growls, knowing that even with the pretext of healing, another man has touched what is his.

Only Barnes has been able to calm the raging beast inside him, this thing that makes him the most feared boss in the city, The Captain, and his iron right hand, Iron-Arm Barnes.

But maybe he's too hard. Like a callus that grows from overuse and dulls sensation. Maybe this sawbones has a tender touch Barnes has been missing.

For his part, Barnes has always been given to obsession. If the Cap had never had that growth spurt and hit the gym like a train crash, Barnes knew he'd have taken him. The little punk would be his precious little pet instead of his boss. But they would be together no matter what.

For Barnes, his blood wasn't his own, it flowed in the Cap's veins. So there wasn't a question of loving instead. They were parts of the same organism.

Barnes remembers you.

He dragged himself to your clinic after being shot, after his men had gotten away and he had been left for dead.

It's attractive, he won't lie, to see a man cool in a crisis. You get him on a table, strip him of his dirty and bloodstained clothes without a hint of lust or a sneak at his body, and you get to work picking shrapnel out of sensitive areas and stitching him up.

Barnes waits for a while after he wakes up post-op, knowing that he's not at full strength, before he reaches for his gun.

And you slip it out of his reach.

"No guns in my clinic."

"Do you know who I fucking am, sweetheart?"

"I don't care who you are. Bullets left at the door, or I let you bleed out on the floor."

"So much for the damn Hippocratic Oath."

"Fuck you. I have my license, and I don't ask questions. So maybe lose the attitude."

"Touché, sweetheart."

"Wipe that grin off your face. You lost a lot of blood."

"You gonna pump me full of morphine?"

"Bold of you to assume we have that kind of funding. The bullet passed through you clean. We're gonna need to change your bandages regularly for the next ten hours or so, and you're out of commission the next six weeks, at least."

"Really? I feel like a million bucks. A million bucks with a big hole in it."

You shake your head and take his gun, locking him in the room behind you.

"You gonna call the cops?"

Nope. That's not what you did.

"Name's Bucky."

You didn't tell him yours.

He talks incessantly, you answer some questions, remain silent for others

By the time the next morning rolls around, he's head over heels. "You're a shithead, Bucky. I don't wanna see you in here again, OK?"

He can hear the concern in your voice. You don't want him injured like that again. There's a connection there. A dangerous man, the battlefield angel.

And now he wants. And he wants his other half to want too.

They break their steamy kiss. It was a claiming, but Barnes is already owned.

"You still love me?"

"To the end of the line, pal. Never a question."

"You want the sawbones?"

"I'm yours, punk."

"Not what I asked."

"I want him."

"Then you'll have him."

"We."

The Cap grins. "I never met a guy with more heart. You think I have it in me to not get murderously jealous?"

Barnes kisses him. "Stevie, you're gonna be as head over heels as me. We're a team."

"I don't get you, pal, but I love you more than life."

"Then let's get us a sawbones."

#male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky x reader #marvel headcanons #headcanons #marvel x male reader

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mcytblraufest · 5 months ago

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*Smacks pinch-hits on the table*

So! When you have a hundred and eighty people writing stories, you get more people whose lives explode. We have ONE more pinch hit coming up, hopefully the last list!

PH25 is a DSMP au, focusing on Ranboo & Technoblade, with background Dream & Ranboo. It's a Parkour Civilization AU with two images, and the artist is an adult who's good to work with all ages. They're good with major character death and graphic depictions of violence, as well as body horror, unhappy endings, gore, and for the other end of the spectrum— fluff! So you have potential. CLAIMED

PH26 is a Hermitcraft AU focusing on Geminitay & Joel Smallishbeans, and it's a Murder Mystery/Time Loop au! The artist is a minor who's good with working with all ages, and they opted into graphic depictions of violence, major character death, and a broad list of fandom themes ranging from adoption to family dynamics to body horror! Your options are open! CLAIMED

PH 27 is a DSMP au focusing on Dream/Tommyinnit, with character reference sheets and a 3-page comic! It's a modern mob (organized crime) au, and the artist has okayed a broad spectrum of content, from graphic depictions of violence, to fluff, to kidnapping, to non-consensual touching, to body horror. The author is an adult and they are looking for a team of adults. CLAIMED

PH 28 is a Hermitcraft AU focusing on Zedaph & zedeath & wormman (all as part of the same DID/OSDD/etc system). It's a the magnus archives crossover, and the artist has okayed major character death, graphic depictions of violence, body horror, torture, and open endings, in addition to varian pronouns and neurodiverse headcanons, for a full spectrum of options! The artist is an adult who is open to working with all ages. CLAIMED

PH29 is a 3rd Life AU focusing on Scott Smajor & PearlescentMoon & ZombieCleo, and it's a Post-canon isekai deity au. With themes of religion, death and fire, the artist oped into Graphic Depictions of violence and a decent list of fandom themes, and the artist is a minor open to working with all ages. CLAIMED

PH30 is a hermitcraft AU focusing on Bdubs & Impulse OR Bdubs/Impulse, Scar/Grian, with the au being "A Happy Home Designer inspired Au where the Hermits are building houses and their town for local minecraft YouTubers kind of a crossover(?) but not really it’s more of a slice of life "! The artist does not want major archive warnings attached to their work, but they opted into a significant list of fandom themes like variant pronouns, disability heacanons, and characters from other fandoms being used as side characters. They are a minor who's open to working with all ages. CLAIMED

Are either of these you? We need 5k written by Midnight EST on August 9th, so these artists still get to participate in the event. If you think you can help, join the discord here, and talk to the mods!

#pinch hitters #pinch hit

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emberfrostlovesloki · 1 year ago

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Mean It [Emily x Reader]

Photo credits: (Left) @coffeefirstpleaze (Center) @amekeii (Right) @flowersforfrancis

Prompt: Character accidentally dumps their coffee on someone in a very dramatic fashion; aka when Emily and the reader have their first date and it does not go to plan.

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 4.5K

Content Warnings: Minor language and mention of drinking.

A/N: This is just some pure Emily x reader fluff! The prompt is another from @imagining-in-the-margins and her lovely Meet Cute Writing Challenge. You could read this as a standalone or as a sequel to my story Moschino and Muddy Water. (linked). I hope you enjoy this story, and if you do, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you all have a good rest of your week. - Levi

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_f/c_= your favorite color

_y/f/s_ = your favorite senator

_y/f/h/m_ = your favorite horror movie

As Emily walked outside to the terrace, the rest of the ladies from the team semi-stood and ushered her over. Em’s chunky heels made small clicking sounds on the smooth cement floor. When Emily had pulled out the sleek metal chair, JJ leaned over and gave her a hug, quietly asking, “How are you?” Emily smiled and said, “Pretty good given everything that happened on Friday.” Penelope had overheard the comment but stopped the question she desperately wanted to ask due to the fact that a waiter was walking over to them. The waiter pushed Emily’s chair in for her and asked, “How are we doing today ladies? Are we here celebrating anything?” There was a choruses of, “Goods,” and one “Fantastic!” from Penelope. Emily answered the second question stating, “We’re not celebrating anything in particular today. Just a girl's afternoon out.” The waiter nodded at Emily’s response and then replied, “Well thank you for joining us this afternoon? I’ll start you all with some still water. Has anything on the menu caught your eye, or do you need another moment?” JJ, who had been looking over the menu stated, “Yes, actually. Can we start with a bottle of Chablis -- the 2009 Au Revoir Simonne and the charcuterie board?” Emily and Penelope nodded their agreement. JJ always knew the best things to order at a wine bar, and they trusted her judgment. The waiter nodded and said, “Wonderful choices. Is there anything else I can get you?” Penelope spoke up, saying, “Yes, Can I also get a shot of espresso?” Again the waiter nodded and added the coffee to his list for the table. At the mention of coffee, Emily cringed but waited to jump into why. Inevitably the story would make a full appearance while they were together.

Once the waiter had gone, Emily turned to Garcia and asked, “How was your day in the office, Pen?” Garcia smiled and replied, “It was fine, but honestly when the team isn’t on a case it can be so boring. If the BAU isn’t needing my magnificent services, I can’t ethically ignore Stevenson’s Tax Crimes team. Stevenson’s research only requires me to code break and unencrypt, and as good at that as I am, it’s just boring. That’s junior hacker stuff and it rarely pushes me.” JJ smiled at that response and teasingly said, “Oh come on Penelope, you can just say that you miss having Morgan in your ear all day.” At this, Emily and Garcia laughed. When they had laughed it out, Garcia turned to JJ and asked the blonde agent, “Soooo, how is Will doing these days? Any updates for us?” JJ gave a small sigh and said, “You know I love him dearly, but he can be so uncertain at times. He’ll have an idea about where our relationship is going and then when I bring it up, he’ll backtrack. I know he loves me and wants to be with me, but it gets annoying you know?” Both of the other women nodded their understanding. Emily responded empathetically, “Maybe you should go and see him in person again soon? Even if you’re talking on the phone, tone can get mistranslated, and forget about texting. But I can tell he’s a good guy, and I hope it works out in the long run.” JJ smiled at her friends and their support of her and Will’s burgeoning relationship.

The waiter returned and set down three plates and a bucket of ice on the center of the table along with three long-stemmed wine glasses. The lean man then said, “I’ll be right back, ladies.” Emily, JJ, and Garcia refrained from talking about anything super deep because they knew the waiter would be back in a moment which he was. The man set the charcuterie board on the center of the table, then placed Garcia’s espresso in front of her, and finally poured each woman a glass of wine. He then nestled the half bottle of wine into the bucket of ice. The man took a step back and said, “I’ll leave you all to your conversation, and if you need anything, just call me over.” The women thanked him and watched him as he moved back inside. Garcia, Emily, and JJ took their glasses and clinked them at the center of the table saying, “Cheers!” They all took a sip of the dry wine and passed the glass plates around. When each of them had some food on their plates, JJ turned to Emily; who quite frankly, they were all here to listen to. After a moment of anticipatory silence, Garcia said, “Alright Em, are you telling us or what? I personally can’t wait much longer.” Emily chuckled, appreciating her friend's concern.

This whole girls' day had happened because on the Monday of that week, she had come into the office particularly gloomy. JJ noticed it immediately and asked what was up. All Emily had said was that she had had a bad date. That was all she needed to say apparently because due to that, JJ had asked Garcia if she had heard anything about this terrible date? By 5:00 p.m. that afternoon, Emily was being badgered by Garcia and JJ for details. Emily had acquiesced and agreed to tell the story of the date over drinks on Friday, but not before then. And now it was time to dish. Emily took a breath, and another sip of wine before saying, “Well. I had a date planned with someone.” Garcia could tell Emily was being evasive and said, “Come one Em, at least tell us their name. I promise not to stalk them online.” Emily gave Penelope a questioning glance to which the technical analyst said, “I pinky swear not to look this person up.” With this promise made, Emily said, “Well her name is _y/n_. We met sort of by accident in the Moschino dressing room. JJ, you were actually on the phone with me at the time.” JJ took on a look of understanding and said, “Wait, that’s the person! I didn't know you met her again!” Em nodded saying, “Yup. I actually ran into her again after the dressing room incident. She got me a coffee and we talked for a bit. It felt really natural, and I asked her out for a real date. Which happened last Friday.” At this point, JJ and Garcia were hanging onto her every word. It was a pleasure to have such attentive friends, and Emily continued, “Well we had a day and time set up, and I was really looking forward to it…” At Emily’s hesitation, JJ moved a hand over Emily's wrist saying, “But it didn’t work out with _y/n_? What happened?” Em gave her friend a soft smile and said, “No. It wasn’t _y/n_. She was great, but fate threw a few wrenches in my plan for a perfect date. I’ll give you all the details…”

Flashback to Friday Afternoon

Emily had secured a reservation at Noir 75th. It was one of the hardest spots to get a table at in D.C. She was getting ready in her Moschino dress to meet _y/n_ in half an hour at her apartment. This was when the first of the minor disasters had started. Emily heard her phone ping, and she swiped up to her messages. It was _y/n_ and the text read: “Hey, Emily. My car has a flat. I’m calling a cab and hope to be there in around twenty minutes. Sorry if I’m a bit late.” Emily blushed at the consideration and replied: “No problem. Sorry to hear about your car. See you in a bit. I’m looking forward to it.” Emily wasn’t worried about _y/n_ arriving on time. There was a leeway for their scheduled reservation and as long as _y/n_ was actually on her way, it would be totally fine. Emily turned back to her own pre-date ritual. She sat in front of her vanity and she pulled out her assortment of makeup. The next setback was when the restaurant called her, informing her that they had accidentally overbooked their reservations for the evening. Emily asked if there was any other way for them to get a table at the restaurant, but the maître ‘d had told her that he was extremely sorry, but there was nothing he could do. Em really had no backup plan for dinner. She knew that _y/n_ wasn’t expected to be wined and dined, but it had been so long since Emily had been on a real date that she wanted to make it special not only for herself but for _y/n_ too.

Emily decided that she would ask y/n_ if there was a place she liked that they might go to instead. There was really no reason to tell _y/n_ about the cancellation while she was on her way over. With a final swish of her lipstick, Emily finished her makeup and put away the cosmetics in their proper place in the cabinets near her sink. Just as she was closing the drawer, there was a knock on the door. Emily did one last check over her face and moved to the front door and opened it for _y/n_. _y/n_ was standing outside with a bouquet of roses and the most beautiful expression Emily had seen in a long time. _y/n_ was wearing black form-fitting pants and a _f/c_ turtle neck with a charcoal grey coat that accentuated her shape. It took a moment for Emily to realize that she was blocking the door, and she composed herself saying, “Sorry, please come in. You look amazing.” _y/n_ blushed and said, “So do you, Emily. I got these for you. I know roses are cliched, but all the other flowers at the store were wilted.” Emily nodded and took the flowers from _y/n_’s hand. As their skin brushed against each other, there was a jolt that shot up Emily’s arm, and from _y/n_’s expression, Emily could tell that her date felt the same thing she did. Given the chemistry they felt for each other, Emily leaned down slightly and kissed _y/n_ on the cheek before stepping back and saying, “Nothing is cliched if it’s coming from you _y/n_. You could pick some weeds from the sidewalk and I’d still be overjoyed to have them.” At the compliment and the kiss, _y/n_ flushed and said, “You’re so sweet, Emily.” They stood there for a moment, each transfixed on the other. Finally, the spell was broken when Emily moved to put the flowers in a vase with water. As she did this, she said, “I have some bad news.” _y/n_ who was now walking around the sleek space turned toward Prentiss and said, “Oh? What is it?” Emily sighed and said, “The restaurant accidentally overbooked tonight and our reservation got canceled.” _y/n_ let out a breath. For some reason, she had been expecting something worse. She replied, “It’s okay. We can go somewhere else.” At this point, Em was done with the flowers and had moved to _y/n_’s side. _y/n_ was looking at a picture of the team Emily had framed on a bookshelf that was half knickknacks, half Zadie Smith books. Emily was relieved that _y/n_ was cool about having to change plans on the fly. Not that Emily had expected her to throw a tantrum or anything; it was just that she personally had a hard time when plans didn’t work out. With the news shared, Emily asked, “Is there someplace that you like that we could go to instead?” _y/n_ thought for a moment and replied, “There’s a great Thai spot about five blocks from here if you like Thai. Their curry is unmatched.” Emily smiled at _y/n_’s enthusiasm and replied, “That sounds amazing. It is the perfect weather for some comfort food.” _y/n_ wanted to ask Emily about the photo. She wondered if the people in it were part of her family or extended family. None of the six others in the still looked much like Emily. She held off on the question, just in case their conversation stalled at dinner. Then she would have something to fall back on.

The two women made it down the hallway at to the elevator which was the spot of the next misfortune. With three floors left to the ground, the elevator jerked to a stop. _y/n_said, “Wow,” a bit out of surprise at the sudden stop. Emily and _y/na_ waited a moment, expecting the doors to open and someone from floor three to join them. However, after a few minutes, Emily softly said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” _y/n_ looked over to her date realizing that they might be stuck in the elevator. Emily moved to the litany of buttons near the doors and pressed the open door button with no response. She pressed it multiple times with the same result. Emily then pressed the help button. There was a momentary silence and then there was still nothing. Emily turned to _y/n_ and let out a small laugh at the ridiculous nature of their evening so far. _y/n_ joined in the laughter. Emily returned to _y/n_’s side. They both leaned against the railing and _y/n_ jokingly asked, “You’re not claustrophobic are you?”That got another laugh from Emily, and she was sincerely glad that _y/n_ was taking this all with a smile. Emily replied, “Thankfully not. I am, however, a bit upset that the elevator gave up the ghost right now. My neighbor told me it’s been finicky the last week, but he’s always complaining about something in the building so I didn’t really believe him. Maybe someone on the third floor will try and use the elevator and the doors will open?” _y/n_ nodded along and thought of something, saying, “There was a doorman that let me up to your unit? Could you call the front desk or something?” At this, Emily facepalmed and said, “I’m such a dummy. Why didn’t I think about that before.” Emily pulled out her phone and dialed the front desk. For a moment it seemed that the call was going through, but then it dropped. Emily tried once more and the call didn’t go through again. She took her bottom lip in her teeth saying, “The reception must be bad in here.” It took a half hour before someone on the third floor pushed the down button, releasing the two trapped women. At this point, Emily and _y/n_ were a bit tired and very hungry. Emily proposed just getting some takeout and staying in, to which _y/n_ readily agreed.

Things seemed to be looking up when their Chinese takeout arrived and they were happily eating with chopsticks and talking about whatever suited their fancy. _y/n_ swallowed a bite of low mein and looked back at the picture from before. She asked, “Can I ask who those people are in that photograph over there?” Emily’s eyes turned to the aforementioned picture. Seeing it brought a smile to her face, and she replied, “That’s my team. We took that picture at Friendsgiving last year.” _y/n_ nodded and asked, “I guess in your line of work you kind of have to be close-knit, huh?” Emily pondered the question for a moment as she took a bite of her egg roll. She wiped the sweet and sour sauce which she had managed to drip on her chin off with a napkin before she said, “Not always actually. The BAU team works well and we are friends, but it takes a long time to get close like we have. Even if we do spend a good bit of time together. Our team has integrated well, but I know other teams have lots of internal conflict and don’t get me started with inter-office relationships. I’m very lucky to be where I am at the Bureau.” After a moment, Emily said, “I assume it’s not the same dynamic at _y/f/s_’s office?” _y/n_ laughed hard at the suggestion, almost choking on her sip of water. Once her throat was clear, and she had wiped away the few tears that had escaped her eyes. _y/n_ said, “Are you kidding me? Even being cordial to some of the people I see every day is hard. I’m sure you have to work through a lot of bureaucratic red tape at the FBI and get annoyed with it. Well, I am that red tape. Being attached to a political party is a surefire way for half the people you're working with to hate you.” _y/n_ paused for a moment then clarified, “I don’t mean hate, hate. It’s just that you're working against them and there are inevitable winners and losers in politics. And the scandals, Emily. You have no idea how much we have to run around these people to stop them from ending their own careers.” Emily chuckled at this and said, “That bad?” _y/n_ nodded saying, “Talk about it. If you read the paper and you think that’s bad, the real thing would terrify you. It’s shocking we even have a semi-functioning government.” The conversation continued through the meal.

Emily took the empty take-out containers from the table and threw them in the trash can. She turned to _y/n_ and asked, “I’m going to make a cappuccino, would you like one?” _y/n_ said, “Yes please.” Emily moved to her espresso machine and got the grounds set up while steaming some milk. When the drinks were finished, Emily carefully moved to the couch where _y/n_ was seated. Unfortunately for Prentiss, she did not fully notice where the carpet and hardwood floor met. The lip of her sandal caught in the rug and she fell forward spilling the contents of both cups on _y/n_. _y/n_ was not expecting to be sloshed with the hot liquid, but she was more concerned about catching Emily before she fell into what looked like a very expensive glass table. Emily gave a little grunt as she fell into _y/n_’s arms. There was a moment where _y/n_ just held Emily who seemed to be a bit stunned. After that moment, Emily snapped back to herself, righting herself saying, “Oh my God, _y/n_ I am so sorry? Are you hurt? Did I burn you?” Her words were coming fast, filled with worry and concern. _y/n_ assessed her condition. She felt hot and wet and her skin was a bit red, but the pain had mostly gone and she replied, “I think I’m fine. Are you okay, Emily?” Prentiss nodded and said, “I’m fine, just a bit embarrassed. God, I am so sorry _y/n_” _y/n_ gave her a soft smile and said, “It’s okay, Emily, it’s just clothes.” Emily nodded and asked, “Do you want to borrow something of mine for now?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “That sounds nice.” Em stood and gestured for _y/n_ to follow her to her bedroom, which she did. Emily turned on a lamp moved to her closet and found one of her oversized sweaters and a pair of sweatpants. She offered the clothes to _y/n_ who took them and moved to the bathroom to change. As _y/n_ stripped, a loud crack of thunder rang around the room. _y/n_ was feeling cozy in Emily’s sweater, cozy and tired. She wasn’t sure how much longer the night would be, but she felt like relaxing and called to Emily through the door, saying, “Em. Do you mind if I take off my makeup? It kind of got smudged with the coffee.” From the other room, Emily said, “Of course. There are some clean towels in the drawer under the sink. The drawer on the left.” There was a contented, hum, and Emily heard the a drawer opening and the sink running. Emily took the moment to change herself. It felt a bit silly wearing a fancy dress at home when she could be in something comfortable instead. Just as Emily was finished changing, _y/n_ headed back out to the bedroom.

Emily looked over at _y/n_ and flushed. _y/n_ in her oversized shirt and pants was so cute. Emily moved forward and said, “Hey there.” _y/n_ took Emily’s hands and tipped her head up to which Emily leaned down and gave her a kiss. When they pulled apart, _y/n_ asked, “I’ve had such a lovely time tonight, but I don’t want to impose? Would you like me to head out soon?” Right after she asked this, there was another spectacular clap of thunder and lightning so bright that it momentarily filled the room with light. Right after this, the skies opened up in a torrential rainstorm. This wasn’t just a few drops or even a shower. This was rain pounding hard against the window. Rain that even with an umbrella trying to get in one’s car, the individual would get soaked. Emily looked out the window, and then replied, “_y/n_, you're not imposing. At all. Why don’t you stay the night? I don’t love the idea of you being in a car in this weather.” _y/n_’s eyes widened slightly as Em made the suggestion, and she asked, “Are you sure?” Emily nodded and said, “Of course. Why don’t you go to the living room and pick a movie for us to watch to wind down the night while I take off my makeup?” _y/n_ agreed and moved back to the living room. _y/n_ found a towel in the kitchen and cleaned up the spilled coffee as much as she could. She also moved the dropped cups to the sink. While Emily was washing off her makeup, _y/n_ asked, “How do you feel about horror?” While she patted her face dry, Emily responded with, “It’s okay with me, _y/n_.” Emily grabbed _y/n_’s stained clothes and hung them up so they wouldn’t wrinkle on a clotheshorse she kept in her closet. After a few minutes, Emily returned to the living room. She grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and then moved to the fridge and got a bottle of wine and some glasses. She settled next to _y/n_ and set the blanket over both of them. With a glass of wine for each of them, they started watching _y/f/h/m_.

Just as they were settling in and getting ready for the scary part of the movie, the power shut off. Emily had her arm around _y/n_’s waist and was enjoying the warmth coming from her date. This time she couldn’t hold it in anymore and said, “Are you freaking kidding me? What do the fates have against us having a nice date?” _y/n_ chuckled again and said, “Em, I’m here to spend time with you. I’ve been happy this whole time, even when we were stuck in the elevator. Getting to know you and spending time with you is what’s important to me.” _y/n_ took Prentiss’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Emily took a moment to calm down and said, “I appreciate that, _y/n_. You really know how to handle these situations with grace.” _y/n_ hugged Em softly and said, “Thank sentator _y/f/s_ and his staff.” This had Emily laughing and when she regained her voice she said, “How about we head to bed? I don’t think anything too bad can happen there.” _y/n_ agreed saying, “Sounds good to me.” Both women disentangled themself from the blanket and Emily put the half-finished bottle of wine back in the fridge. With their phone flashlight to light the way, they made it to Em’s bed. Emily pulled the covers back and _y/n_ slipped off her socks before getting onto the mattress. Doing this, sleeping in Emily’s bed for the night had not been how she had expected this night to go. However, she didn’t mind. She was being bold, and putting herself out there, and doing that with Emily felt good. _y/n_ was surprised that Emily hadn’t taken her socks off, and she jokingly said, “Are you sure you’re not a psycho, what with you wearing socks in bed?” Emily replied back, “Hey. My feet get cold alright?” _y/n_ smiled in the darkness and said, “Well I could help you with that.” There was another comfortable silence as Emily moved closer to _y/n_. Em started slowly by grabbing _y/n_’s hand, and when _y/n_ nestled closer to her body, she pulled her into an embrace. They didn’t need to say anything. In the simple act of holding each other, they said all they needed. Before, _y/n_ and Emily fell asleep, _y/n_ ran her foot up Emily’s leg slightly and Emily sighed at the feeling. Emily hoped they would have other nights like this. Hopefully with a better start to the evening. When sleep took them, the rain lightened slightly, and the whole night felt okay, no matter how many bumps in the road there had been.

Back to Present

Emily had told it all, minus the fact that _y/n_ and slept together in her bed. That was a bit too private to share yet. Garcia was staring wide-eyed and asked, “So… are you seeing her again?” JJ, added on, “Yeah, that sounds like a pretty rough night for both of you.” Em finished her sip of wine and said, “We are actually. The date didn’t go as planned, but we both had a good time getting to know each other. She’s really nice and kind.” At hearing this, Garcia gave a little squeal, and JJ asked, “What are you doing for your second date? If you tell us will you jinx it?” Emily laughed and said, “We’re doing something very safe. I’m going to her place and we’re ordering pizza and drinking beer and finishing watching that movie.” ‘And we might just get snuggled up together in bed,’ Emily thought, which brought a blush to her face. Garcia clocked the color rising in her face and said, “JJ look, she’s blushing! When do we get to meet her?” Emily rolled her eyes and said, “Y’all, It’s too early for that. I’m still just getting to know her.” Garcia pouted slightly and said, “But we met Will for the first time with JJ.” Emily, slightly exasperated said, “Garcia, we were on a case.” Now JJ laughed and said, “And what a case that was. But to echo what Penelope said, if or when _y/n_ is ready, you know we’d love to meet her.” The ladies continued their conversation and got another bottle of wine, and in the cool afternoon, Emily felt that life might just be okay; and she really meant it.

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