#they keep bringing up sex trafficking whenever we say sex work is work

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

Do SWERFs not realise work can be exploitative? Do they think sweatshop workers are having a great time? Do they think people human trafficked into forced labour are doing fine? Do they ignore that in Japan there's a literal word for death by work (Karoshi)?

[that-disabled-radfem]

Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies. 

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch. 

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible. 

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women! 

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays. 

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (4/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.6k words

Warning: 18+ (discussion of assault, nervous breakdown, anxiety attack, just don’t read this whole series if you are a kid)

You woke up to a night of dreamless sleep like you always did, but then the events of the previous night hit you. You wished it was a dream, but one look in the mirror and a bruise running along your cheek was enough to confirm. Not only that, but you remembered asking your boss to stay over, but you didn't expect him to. The blanket on your living room’s couch and the bowl of fruits and a glass of juice situated out for you on the kitchen counter proved that he did stay.

And then the reality sunk in, you have a decision to make. You can either go to the cops or let that guy get away. The latter sounded not so great, but you knew going to the cops isn't going to be great either. You've seen enough detective shows to know that. You've had enough, and you just wanted to forget it. 

What did Mr. Barnes mean when he said you were going to talk about this? Are you supposed to visit him before work? Is he going to come to your place?

You decided to work on your book but ended up not being able to concentrate, so you started watching a show and fell asleep while watching it. Maybe some Chinese take-out could make you feel better. It didn't. Nothing made you feel better. You wished you had some friends in this new town because you didn't want to burden your work friends. 

After a horrible day of trying to cope, when you finally made your way to the club, you noticed the security was increased. Usually, security guards weren't present inside the club, but today it was different. Everyone was so vigilant and you felt a little safer. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Barnes did it for you, but again he would have done the same thing for any other employee. 

"Boss wants to see you," Pietro told you. You were about to head for Clint's office when the blond twin spoke again and pointed his finger towards the stairs." The boss."

Okay, well maybe playing naïve couldn't avoid this meeting, so you slowly walked upstairs. How bad could this go, it's not like he saw you in your most vulnerable state? Oh, wait, he did. 

You knocked on his office door, wanting to rip the band-aid and get over with it. 

"Hey," you said, faking a smile. "Thanks for getting me home last night and for breakfast today. I didn't even know I had fruits and juice at home because let's be honest, I'm a toast and coffee kinda gal."

Mr. Barnes didn't say anything, he just looked at you as if you were a confusing puzzle that he couldn't solve. He raised a hand towards the seat in front of him and you took it, nervously fiddling with your fingers under the table.

“You do that a lot, you know?” he asked, it wasn't a question, it was merely an observation.

“What?”

“Deflecting a serious issue by using a joke.” Mr. Barnes observed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What are you? My therapist?”

He arched an eyebrow, indicating that you were literally doing the thing he pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, it's called having a healthy coping mechanism. You should try getting one, brooding is only gonna help you this far."

 "It's not healthy if you're not dealing with it," Mr. Barnes pointed out. 

You scoffed in incredulity and you felt very, very attacked. 

What is it? Attacking y/n day?, you thought. 

"Anyway, I think I want to press charges," You changed the subject to a more serious conversation to avoid him calling you out on your bullshit. 

"Okay, I understand.” 

“You do?” You asked, bewilderment clearly written all over your face. “I mean, letting an employee go to the cops is not gonna be great for your club's reputation and yours too. And, you know, considering the shady business, you do-” 

"What exactly do you think we do?" He asked.

And that's when it hit you, you didn't know what he did or mob bosses do in general. All your knowledge about it came from movies and Wattpad, both of them are not a great place to gain knowledge.

“What exactly do you do?” you pondered.

 He obviously wasn't expecting you to directly ask him, nobody has directly asked him or even made it known that they are aware of his work. It was kind of like a silent pact that everybody signed for, everybody except you, apparently. 

“Um, you know, I've been working for almost 2 weeks here now, and I haven't seen any drugs around here, so it's obviously not drugs. You don't look like the sex trafficking types-”

 "Jesus, woman!" He exclaimed, offended by your assumptions. 

"Then just tell me what you do."

You expected him to tell you something, but he just kept looking at you with a face void of emotions.

 "Fine, don't tell me," you mumbled, raising your hands dramatically in defeat. 

“So you don't mind me ruining your reputation by going to the cops?” 

“I told you I don't care. Your safety is my utmost priority,” your face might have given away the surprise you felt because he quickly backpedaled. ”I mean, the safety of my employees.”

“The safety of my employees is my utmost priority,” he told you, providing an extra emphasis on the word employees. “Anyway, one of my people would take you to the police station near-"

You cut him off immediately. 

"No, you can't tell anyone else. I don't want everyone hopping on the pity train. I'm already ashamed that you know about it," you pleaded but your voice was firm, telling him that this was not up for a discussion.

At this, his eyes and features softened. Bucky didn't want you to feel guilty or ashamed for somebody else's actions, but clearly, you did. 

"Okay, then I can take you. You just had to explain to the officer last night’s events, and they'll ask you to recognize Rumlow and then we can-"

Mr. Barnes’s voice faded into the background when it finally hit you.

"You know what, I changed my mind. It's too much. I don't want to press charges anymore. I didn't think this through," you backtracked. You did think this through, but now all the factors were adding up in your brain. You'd have to explain the details to a cop who is probably going to be another man and a stranger, and then they'd ask you to identify the guy. You didn't think you had it in you to face him. At least not now. 

He interpreted your thought process and promptly changed the topic. "Okay, we can work with whatever you want, and at least let Peter escort you home after work."

"What? No!” You quickly declined.

“It's for your own safety,” Bucky tried to reason. He wasn't letting you get off this easily.

 “I'm a strong, independent woman and I'm not scared of anything.” 

That was a lie. You were scared of many things like heights, dark, spiders, confrontation and the list goes on and on. 

You remembered all the lectures your mom gave you telling you that women should be scared because men are monsters, and you'd lose your honor if you are reckless and some other patriarchal crap that you didn't pay attention to. But you weren't scared, you were just always careful. You'd always put the keys between your knuckles when you went home alone. In your previous job, you used to laugh it off whenever your coworkers made a sexist joke. You'd ignore the subtle shoulder touch that your previous boss did. You told yourself that this is what it takes to make it. If you were to run away every time someone eyed you in a wrong way, then you'd spend your whole life running. 

Women usually shrug this behavior off as it is what is, but the truth is it shouldn't be like this.

“Please, I insist.” 

“I'm very capable of taking care of myself. Just because one bad incident happened doesn't mean I'll fucking break!” You stated, your voice louder than your regular voice to get across your point.

That was also a lie. You were walking on a thin line and you were ignoring your emotions. You were one outburst away from a breakdown, and you just couldn't bring yourself to feel anything. 

Mr. Barnes tried to call your name, but you were already bolting out of his office. 

You needed a drink. No, fuck that. You needed multiple drinks. It wasn't exactly wise to get drunk during work, but it couldn't get any shittier than this, right?, you thought.

Right?

 Wrong. It could get way shittier than this. Now it was almost midnight, you were kind of tipsy, and you could see two Mr. Stark, your regular customer, in front of you. 

Did he have a twin? Is he and his twin brother one of those identical twins that dress up the same? Because that's what it looked like.

 “Earth to y/n," Mr. Stark said, or was it his twin? It was getting hard to keep track anymore.

 And that's when you noticed. 

“Holy, Shit. You're triplets, Mr. Stark," you announced. 

"Okay, kid, close my tab.”

“Hey, y/n. Are you okay?” Peter asked, noticing the concerned look Mr. Stark gave him before leaving.

“Yes, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.”

***

Turns out you were not fine. You've been pretty much hammered for the past week, and you could barely get a sentence out without giggling or slurring. Your colleagues took notice of your state and whenever someone pointed it out, you'd just shrug it off as a bad day or a bad week. There was no concept of time in your drunk state.

You couldn't concentrate on your book, you could barely look at someone without squinting, and you've been eating takeout and leftovers for the past few days. 

James would have fired if someone working under him was this irresponsible, but he knew your reasons. He knew you clearly weren't coping with the trauma well. Your work ethics were shoved down the trash that even Clint asked why you weren't fired yet.

Bucky didn't want to talk to you, he thought that maybe giving you some space would do you good, but clearly it wasn't working. Usually, the mob boss didn't interfere in the affairs of his employees, it was Clint's job, but when you smashed a bottle on the head of a customer, he had to interject.

“I TOLD THIS FUCKER NO!” you yelled, Peter’s hand around your middle from behind. Another empty beer bottle was in your hand, ready to be smashed across the face of the drunk dude in front of you.

Pietro and Wanda were enjoying the show. Peter, being the peace lover he is, held you back when you smashed a bottle across a drunk customer's face. Even though Peter was younger than you, he was stronger, and he was not only holding you back but also himself. He didn't want to cause a scene and that is why he was mulling comforting words in your ear like, he's not worth it, you're gonna kill this guy.

Damn right I am, you thought.

It was ironic because everyone in that club had killed someone except you.

When Bucky walked into the room, the drunk guy turned towards him and pointed at you. ”You are hiring crazy bitches now? Just called her baby girl and she went psycho!!!”

Bucky didn't understand what was happening. He told the security guards to take that man outside his club and he walked towards you. He firmly yet gently took a hold of your left arm, signaling Peter to let go of you. Without a word, he started walking in the direction of his office, dragging you along with him.

Once near his office, he lightly yanked your hand and shoved you inside, making you stand in front of him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he inquired, having had enough of your incompetence.

You were seething with rage. "Wrong with me? I told him no, but he didn't listen."

Bucky stepped forward, his anger dissipating into sympathy. " I know, he mumbled, "and I'm so-"

 "No, you don't know!" you yelled, body trembling and tears welling up in your eyes. "I told him no multiple times, I even tried to push him off me, but he just kept coming back."

Bucky's eyes furrowed in confusion. He didn't understand your words, the drunk customer didn't touch you. And that's when he realized, you weren't talking about the drunk customer. He cognized that the drunk guy purely triggered something that you've been suppressing for days now. Bucky was aware that you needed to get it out of your system to cope healthily.

“I told him no, you know? But he just wouldn't listen,” you stated, trying to convince yourself that you didn't lead him on. ”And he was so…. so strong and… and then he hit me and everything just went blur, I couldn't see but... but I could still feel him with me.”

Not realizing that you were not in that place anymore, you wrapped your hand around yourself to seek some sort of protection and comfort, bottom lip quivering, the welled up traitorous tears were streaming down your face and all you could think about was that night. 

“I… I can't get his touch out,” you stammered. ” I shower, multiple times a day, but I still can't get his touch out.”

With that, you broke down completely and shattered on the floor, sobbing ferociously. Your knees ached because of the position you were situated in, but the emotional pain was enough to overshadow the physical one.

For once in his lifetime, Bucky did not know what to do. Cautiously, he made his way towards you and knelt down in front of you. He did not know what to say or do to make you feel better.

You launched your body towards him, snaking your arms around his shoulder to settle on his neck as if he was the only thing grounding you. You lurched onto him like he was your anchor, and maybe he was. It took a minute for Bucky to register your actions, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around your middle and closed the minuscule distance separating you.

He surprised himself with the way one of his hands automatically reached for your hair and whispered words of comfort in your ear. He caught you as you crumpled physically and emotionally. 

”You're going to be okay, doll,” he whispered and kissed your temple with sincerity. ”I will make sure of that.”

The second part was barely audible, it wasn't meant for you, it was a promise he made to himself.

Bucky held you tightly yet gently while you sobbed on his shoulder.

 He didn't know how long he held you, it felt like an eternity to him with the way he could feel the guilt and rage inside him. When you passed out in his arms, he gently placed you on one of the comfortable couches in his office and draped a blanket around you that he had for when he would work late at night.

An office chair might not be the most ideal place to spend the night in, but it didn't matter to Bucky. All that mattered was you.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​  @rivers-rambles21​  @emmabarnes​@goodcleanfunsis​ @valsworldofcreativity​

[atlafan]

Juvenile and Family Law, is it something that a kid dreams of practicing? No, not really. Is that where the big bucks are if you’re not interested in taxes and wills? Yes, it is. College is expensive, and so is law school; gotta pay it off somehow. It takes a while to build your clientele, a lot of it is word of mouth. You work your way up, and slowly but surely, build a good reputation for yourself. And if you’re lucky, you’ll make partner.

Harry Styles is good at his job, and is on the brink of making partner at his firm. Gallagher, Hilson & Associates Family Law is a great place to work. Isaiah Gallagher and Maria Hilson are two incredible lawyers, and the other associates Harry works with aren’t too bad either. He doesn’t always love working nearly sixty hours a week, and some of the cases he handles have caused him to see the bottom of one too many bottles, but other than that, he’s happy.

Family Law means working all kinds of cases. Custody, spousal support, paternity, and divorce. All of those cases are messy, rarely are they clean cut. Harry happens to specialize in divorce, which in turn can lead to all of the other things listed above. What’s worse is that a lot of his clients will often flirt with him, so he’s started to wear a fake wedding band to ward off any and all inappropriate behavior. It doesn’t happen every time, but it was often enough that he decided to find a way to just avoid the unwanted attention.

Due to how many hours he works a week, Harry’s social life is a little lackluster. By the time he gets home work, all he wants to do is kick his shoes off, plop down on the couch with some greasy Chinese food, and catch up on some television. He lives in a nice enough building in the city. His apartment has one bedroom, and one and half baths. On Friday nights, he’ll go out with some of the other associates for a drink, so he gets a bitof social time in. He’s not lonely, he actually quite enjoys the quiet and solitude. He’s got a cat, Gerry, short for Geraldine that he takes care of. He has what he needs, and he’s perfectly content.

Whenever he dates, people always want to talk about his work. The last thing Harry wants to talk about after a long day at work, is more work. So, he sticks to meaningless hookups, and his own hand, when he needs that type of release.

He doesn’t have too much to complain about. He’s thirty, and massively successful. Some of his friends still live at home while working retail jobs, not that he’s judging. He was twenty-six when he moved out, and he’s grateful his parents let him stay rent free so he could save up for his own place. He doesn’t like to compare himself to others, but it makes him feel good to know he’s all set. He works hard, yes, but it’s all worth it.

//

With how quiet his personal life is, it’s hard to imagine Harry being a shark in the courtroom, but he is. He’s a master in the art of persuasion and rhetoric. Having been a communication major in his undergrad career, and all. He knows how to read a room, and how to read people. The jury is just an audience waiting to watch a live performance. His theater minor also comes in handy here. Being a lawyer is an act, a role he plays. He knows how to play the part when it’s in a large courtroom, or when it’s just a small meeting in a conference room to divide up assets. It’s not always easy, but he makes it look that way. Harry typically wins most of his cases, and when it’s something small, he’s usually able to get his client the majority of what they asked for. Every customer leaves happy.

These skills can’t all be taught and learned. Some people are born with natural talent, skills they learn to hone in on and perfect. It’s a craft that Harry has worked on for years. Again, he’s only thirty, but because he has such precision and talent, it makes him the hot commodity. The office is constantly getting calls for him. It’s why they want him to become the next partner. Having his name on the plaque as you enter would surely put people at ease. Isaiah and Maria saw potential in Harry from the beginning, and they feel lucky that he’s one of their associates.

There other very qualified associates as well, like Niall – who specializes in custody cases – he’s well on his way up. There’s Candice – who specializes in prenuptial agreements – she got into the lawyer game a little later in life, but she’s as sharp as a whip, and shouldn’t be underestimated. And lastly, there’s Byron – who specializes in paternity cases – he thinks he’s going to be the next partner because he’s a bit full of himself.

Harry and Niall are the closest in age, so they hang out more often. They both really like baseball, and will go to a game or two during the season. Candice is the surrogate mother figure. She has no children of her own, she’s the fun aunt to her nieces and nephews, but she feels oddly maternal towards Harry and Niall. The boys often call her “Ma”, instead of her actual name, and she loves it. She looks out for them, and there when they need someone to listen. She’s fifty-seven, and enjoys baking in her free time. She often brings the boys homemade muffins on Monday mornings, and they adore her for it.

Byron…well…Byron is a forty-year-old womanizer who totally clashes with Harry. Does Harry have one-night stands? Yes. Does he ever lie to his partners? No. Byron enjoys playing the game in all facets, and Harry never takes part in it. Needless to say, Harry hates when he has to partner with him on a case, and avoids it when he can.

Isaiah and Maria each have their own executive assistant, or para: Michele and Kyla. They’re both in their late twenties, and rocking it. Harry only interacts with them over email. He, Candice, Niall, and Byron all share the same administrator: Ronnie. Ronnie is twenty-six, friendly, and organized. She doesn’t have time to help everyone on their briefs, but that’s what interns are for, and there’s an abundance of them circling throughout the office.

Harry has a nice office. Plenty of natural light from the windows, he has a desk riser so he can stand up periodically, and he even has his own mini fridge. (He’s often paranoid about people taking his Bubbly, so he just brought in his own fridge.) He’s got a decent enough view of the city; he likes it best at night when the twinkling lights come through. It reminds him of how lucky he is to be where he is in life. He knows he’s more fortunate than others, so he tries to be grateful. He gives back when he’s able, donate to different scholarship funds and whatnot.

Harry is a good man.

//

On a particularly cloudy morning, Ronnie lets Harry know his 10AM consult has arrived. He didn’t know much about his new potential client, but he was always willing to hear someone out. He stands up from his desk, and waits for the woman to enter.

In walks a young woman wearing an expensive, red pantsuit, black heels, and a dark red lipstick. She gives a soft smile to Ronnie before she closes the door. Harry walks over to her, extending his hand.

“Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Mira.” She shakes his hand.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the two seats on the other side of his desk and they both sit. “What brings you to my office today?”

“I heard you’re a pretty good divorce lawyer, and I need a divorce.”

“Is your spouse aware that you’re seeking counsel?”

“No.” She shakes her head and swallows. “I…I’d be putting myself in danger if he knew I wanted to leave him.”

“What kind of danger? If he’s physically abusive, then you need to- “

“He doesn’t put his hands on me like that. It’s…I don’t love him, and I never have. I was essentially…I was sold to him; it was an arranged marriage. I thought maybe I could learn to like him, to love him, but it’s been three years, and I can’t stand him. I need legal help.”

“What do you mean you were sold to him? Were you a child bride? Were you sex trafficked?”

“No.” She chews on her bottom lip. “He made a deal with my father. Thomas got me in exchange for…something. I can’t get into what exactly with you just yet.”

“Does he think you’re happy?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Well, for the most part. I do my thing, and he does his. His job keeps him pretty busy, and I often pretend to be asleep when he gets home. He doesn’t satisfy my needs, so to speak, and I’ve given up on trying. I want to be freed from him.” She pulls out a packet of paper from her purse, and gives it to Harry. “That’s a copy of the contract he and my father signed when they made the deal. I’m not great with legal jargon. I thought maybe if you decide to take me on you could look that over and tell me if there’s any way, I can get out of this.”

“Are you over eighteen?”

“Yes, well over.”

“And were you over eighteen when you were married?”

“Yes.”

“Then how could your father barter you?”

“Where I come from…it can just be like that. The goods we get in exchange for my hand outweighed my happiness.”

“I’m so sorry.” Harry frowns. “My services aren’t exactly cheap.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be. I can pay top dollar, if that’s what you require. I have money of my own.”

“Alright.” Harry sets the packet of papers onto his desk. “I’ll take a look at that soon, and give you a call.”

“Does that mean you’re taking me on?”

“I hate to see such a nice person be so unhappy.” Harry frowns. “I got into this business to help people, so I’ll help you, Mira.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” She smiles. “There are going to be some things in that contract that may shock you, so please don’t hesitate to call me directly with your questions.” She takes out a business card from her purse. “There’s all of my contact information. If anyone other than myself contacts you regarding all of this, don’t say a word.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping things confidential.”

“I heard you’re a very trustworthy attorney.” She nods, and stands to her feet. Harry does the same. “Thank you for taking the time to listen.” She extends her hand, and he takes it to shake.

“Of course, it’s what I’m here for.” He smiles and opens the door. He watches her leave, maybe for a little too long.

[DARK SIDED, COMING TO PATREON ON SATURDAY, OCTOBER 2ND @ 8AM EST] [Ask]

[angelisverba]

closer

in which y/n wants to be closer to her savior, mafialeader!h, and harry has never felt such intimacy

word count:  5.7k

pairing: y/n and mafialeader!h

warnings: descriptions of an abusive relationship, mentions of abuse, drugs, violence, and sex.

author’s note: you can all thank @floral-suits for this. (and yes, I did describe tattoo roulette harry :))

Y/n wasn’t exactly a virgin when she first met Harry, but she also hadn’t been exposed to the extreme pleasures a woman could experience at the hands of a man who cared. Cared enough to devote attention to the needs and wants of her body rather than just using her for his own pleasure.

Harry more or less rescued her from a toxic relationship for a lower-scale drug dealer (who was working for Harry at the time) and who never told her what he did for a living. Their entire relationship was built off of lies, and  and power. Maxwell-- that was the scumbag’s name-- would always use strength to get his way, and it was getting to the point where he would  use his physical advantage in the bedroom. Y/n was in a position where she was physically and mentally weak, and Harry caught note of that when he met her for the first time.

“This is my girlfriend, boss,” Maxwell had gripped her bicep and squeezed painfully as he shoved her forward to a confused Harry. He wasn’t quite sure why Maxwell was handling a woman in such aggressive ways, and why she looked  so...scared.

He’d caught a whiff of what was going on the moment she flinched at the word ‘girlfriend’ and played as smoothly as possible to not make the situation worse for her once he left. But he knew when they made eye contact, and her eyes were slightly glazed over in fear, that she was calling out for help. “Lovely to meet you, what’s your name?” He said, voice notably softer than what he usually spoke.

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but Maxwell said, “Her name’s y/n. And she can leave now so she’s not bothering us.” 

An uncharacteristic flicker of protectiveness flamed inside of him, and his face turned a stone-y reserve. “Tony. Paul.” The two men standing in the back of their small living room apartment stepped forward with arms crossed. They were easily three times y/n’s weight, with biceps the size of her head to vouch for it. “Take Maxwell outside and keep him out there until I call for him.”

Y/n didn’t have it in her to straighten or worry about what would happen to her then-boyfriend or where they would take her, but he did. Maxwell gulped and furrowed his eyebrows, a ‘what the fuck?’ expression taking over his face. What he didn’t have in him, though, was the ability to fight back against the all-mighty Harry Styles. He was only left to wonder what the kingpin could want with his girlfriend. Something that not even he knew clearly, only that there was something very, very wrong going on between his employee and this girl, and he couldn't stand the endangerment of women (it was one of the reasons why be spent millions of dollars buying sex-trafficked women whenever he could, and sending them to all-expenses paid facility for they would be checked and rehabilitated if they needed it.)

“Now, love,” he started, voice tender and body language comforting. He’d retreated to their loveseat, patting the seat next to him with a warm smile on his face, two dimples showing. He knew that was what she needed. A friendly, comforting face. He knew because he was sued to reading people to get what he wanted, or to catch them off-guard and do a large number on them. “What’s your name?” 

Timidly, y/n walked over to his side and sat, a shaky breath leaving her before she mumbled, “Y/n.” 

“What was that? You said?” Harry wanted so badly to reach out and caress her shoulder, but he knew it was better if she opened up on her own terms. The girl was cowering from him and he hadn’t done anything to her. It seemed as if she’d grown a fear for all men. Not just Maxwell.

“Y/n, yes. I’m sorry for mumbling. Maxwell says I shouldn't mumble...I’m sorry.” She plays with her fingers in her lap, the cuticle of her right thumb an angry red color on the verge of bleeding. 

“It’s alright. Maxwell isn’t here right now, so you can do what you’d like.” Harry stated, chin in his palm as he observed her. She was (is) really pretty, with pouty lips and lashes that were wet with stressed-out tears. Distressed, but breathtakingly beautiful.

“But Maxwell will-” she stopped then, sure that what followed isn’t exactly something you tell your boyfriend's boss. Too much detail. 

“Go on, you can finish your sentence.” He brought his hands down away from his mouth to clasp them at his lap, and that’s when she looked up to fully look at him. 

His hair was shoulder length at the time, thick and rogue chocolate curls that framed his face and made him look even more so manly if that was even possible. It swirled at the top of his head, and fell to the right in fluffy swoops. He’d been wearing fitting, black slacks and a baby blue shirt what was open all the way to the start of his strong abdominal muscles, where y/n could see the tips of butterfly wings peeking out. Two swallows decorated the area underneath his collarbones, a silver cross necklace swinging gently between his pectoral muscles. Y/n remembers thinking-- even though her broken train of thought- that the blank ink looked so good against his tanned skin. 

“No, uhm, I’m not sure I should.” Her eyes dropped from him to the armrest, where a black suit jacket rested. It was Harry’s. “Maxwell wouldn’t like it.

“Do you always listen to what Maxwell says?” Harry questioned, his word choice careful. He never had to speak to any of the women he rescued, so these were uncharted waters for him. He figured he better be very light on the accusations if he didn’t want her to get defensive.

“Y-yes, he’s my boyfriend. Actually, do you think you could bring him back into the room? I’m not sure he’ll like me being alone with you more than needed.” He’ll call me so many nasty names once you leave.

“Is that what you want y/n?”

“I-” She hadn’t been asked what she would like in so long, her opinion bypassed and unimportant. The fact that this man in close relation to her boyfriend hadn’t also belittled her like his other friends had was...well, it was enough to make her start crying. 

She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what there could be to want. What there was past Maxwell, or what there would be with Maxwell. It was all a mess in her brain that hadn’t been used in so long. ‘Don’t wear that it makes you look ugly’ ‘She’ll have water’ ‘Doctor could she have the shot instead of pills?’

Harry knew his suspicions were correct when the first tear slipped past her eyelashes to taint her cheek. Only, he wasn’t sure where to go from there. He wasn’t sure if to touch her, or to give her space. He was fucking lost. 

So he got up, went to their kitchen and reached for a glass that was in the drying rack. The soles of his boots hitting the wooden floor of Maxwell’s kitchen was the only thing heard along with y/n’s sniffles. Pressing the glass into the slot for water in the fridge, he cursed under his breath. What the fuck is he supposed to do? 

He was out of time when he sat next to her and offered her the glass like an idiot saying, “I don’t want you to get dehydrated, love. Have some water and take a few deep breaths, alright? I wont hurt you.” 

And he hadn’t. Harry was true to his word all through their relationship. Never once did he lay a hand on her when she didn’t want it, or harm her emotionally, mentally. Not from a negative mindset.

Y/n told him everything. To a certain extent. It was as if a corkscrew had been twisted into the bottle of her emotions and unplugged open with his intimate questions. 

“Be honest with me y/n, does he hurt you?”

“Does he insult you?”

“Does he hit you?”

“Do you want to be here, right now, with him?”

“If you’re honest with me, if you really want it, I can take you away. I can help you build a new life, away from him. He won’t hurt you anymore.” Harry was holding her hands in his at this point, knees pointed towards her and shoulder slumped as he tried to get close to her. He could see he was doing good, she was holding eye contact for more than a second now.

“You can do that?” Her eyes widened, and her heart caught in her throat when he started to rub small, soothing circles into the juncture of her thumb and pointer finger.

Harry nodded, licking his lips,“of course I can. All you have to do is say the word. You can leave today. Right now. This instant. You just have to say it.”

“Okay.” She whispered, biting into her bottom from the nerves. Was she really going to leave Maxwell? Right now? With this man she’s never met? And although her gut and his words are telling her she can trust him, he could be anyone. He could do all sorts of things to her, but he looks, sounded, and felt sincere. 

Anything was better than the prison that was Maxwell.

“Okay what, y/n?” Harry needed to know that she was fully on board. Verbal confirmation. 

“I want to leave Maxwell. Today. Right now.” She was breathless when the words left her. And Harry was nodding with a proud smile on his face. 

He barely knew this girl, but he could feel the way his heart was chipping away by her hands, plunging the pieces into her chest and taking out a matching piece of her own heart to fill the empty spot.

“Okay. If there’s anything you’d like to take with you before we leave you should take them with you now.” Harry stood, and grabbed the suit jacket on the couch next to him, lifting his arm in the air to put it on.

“No, there’s nothing I’d like to take. Maxwell picked everything. I don’t want it.” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself, preparing for what’s to come.

“Would you like to say anything to him or would you like me to do the talking?” He was still adjusting the suit, popping the collar and lifting his shoulders so everything settled nicely. He ran a hand through his hair, and shook it out. It was cute, y/n thought.

“No. I don’t want to speak to him. I’ve got nothing to say to him.” She shrugged. 

“Very well. Let’s go.” He started walking towards the door, and when he sensed that something was wrong he turned to see that she was still seated on the couch, her lower lip trembling in a way that had become so familiar to him in the few moments they’d known each other. She was scared. “There’s no need to worry, love, my men will assure that he doesn’t lay a hand on you. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” He sent her a comforting smile, and stretched out his hand for support, hoping that she’d grab onto it. 

She did.

They walked out together, not even bothering to close the door behind them. Out in the slim hallway, Tony and Paul had Maxwell up against the wall, one standing on either side of him. When he saw that y/n and Harry were holding hands, he stood up in a frenzy, and Harry lifted a hand as a signal for him to still his motions.

He did.

“Maxwell, I’m not sorry to inform you that I will no longer be requiring your services. Tony will come by at the end of the month to pick up all the money owed as well as what you still have to dispense.” Maxwell opened his mouth to protest, and Harry raised his hand again, voice rising momentarily to speak over whatever it was he was going to say. “In addition, you’re a piece of shit. You don’t deserve a woman like y/n. Never seek her out again, or there will be consequences. Understood?”

Harry didn’t wait for a response, and Maxwell didn’t give one because his throat had gone dry. You don’t fuck with Harry Edward Styles. 

“Paul, please ensure that Maxwell makes it into his apartment and doesn’t try to follow us. Tony, you come with us.”

“You got it, Harry.” Paul spoke, clapping a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and shoving him into the apartment. 

Harry, still holding her hand, y/n, still holding his hand, and Tony, knowing very well what would come out of this, walked out of the shitty apartment complex and into a blacked-out car. Inside, y/n questioned Harry a bit more about where she would go, if he would leave her, and how he could be so sure that Maxwell would stay away. It hadn’t clicked in her brain yet what her ex-boyfriend’s job was because she’d been so caught up in getting through that moment. If she had been paying attention, she’s sure she would have blushed at Harry coming to her defense.

Harry assured her that she was safe, and told her why.

“I am a drug dealer, sweetheart. The biggest one here in London. People know not to fuck with me. As long as you’re under my care, you’re safe as can be. And I told you in there that I would take care of you. I’m a man of my word.” He turned to face her, “You’ll be safe. I promise you that.” 

From there, Harry took her to his house-- the kind with gates and men with ear pieces-- and told her to make herself at home. He had a few things to attend to before they could go a step further in their plan. 

Strangely, the news of him being a drug dealer didn’t affect her as much as it should’ve a normal person. 

The first thing she did was eat. She was starving, and Harry just so happened to have the best cooks in his home. Plate upon plate upon plate. She ate until she plopped down on his couch, fell asleep, and woke up to him taking her up to a guest room. 

She nodded off again in his arms, and he’d pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead when he set her down. 

After buying her clothes-- really fucking expensive ones-- Harry sat her down to talk to her about a rehabilitation center. One up in the mountains in Switzerland, where she’d be at peace with the company of sheep and silence. There were therapists on the site, ones she’d meet with everyday to talk through her trauma. 

And the cold would encourage the bodily need to stay warm. To huddle close...together. The both of them.

And y/n agreed. With one condition.

“Would you be able to take me there?” She had asked meekly, fiddling with the threads of her brand new, 5,000 euro sweater. 

“Of course. I’ll walk you through those doors myself and see that you’re comfortable if that’s what you’d like.” He laughed at the end of his sentence, pulling her hands away from the sweater and engulfing them in his large one. Y/n started at their union, and noticed he had a cross tattoo on his hand. 

She thought this was funny, and laughed once through her nose. Tilting her head upwards so she might remark on it, she was frozen in the spot at the intense gaze that met her. 

Vibrant, emerald green eyes saw her. They saw her. As a person. As a soul. As a woman. There was repressed hunger in them, and the added longing sprinkled static into their moment; intensity levels so high, y/n could only breathe out, “I’d like that.”

She’d like so many other things but she wasn’t sure the time was right.

*             

                      *                                   *

“Harry! It’s beautiful up here!” She was giggly with happiness. 

Y/n hadn’t giggled in so long. She hadn’t been this happy so long.

On their plane ride to Switzerland, y/n had been too anxious to sleep, and Harry was more than willing to stay over and have a conversation with her. 

He found that she was even more enchanting that he thought, telling innocent, forgiving stories of going to the petting zoo on a rainy day or how her friends broke her nose because they smashed it into a still-frozen ice-cream birthday cake. He found that he loved the way she’d blush when he brushed a hair away from her face. He found that he loved the way she would lean into his touch. 

Y/n found that she really wanted Harry to kiss her. That she loved the way he spoke, in a slow, deep drawl like he was hand picking every word that came out of his mouth the moment before he had to speak. That she loved the way he looked at her, like she was important and interesting. That she loved when he would brush away a strand of hair from her face, or the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers. 

Through a mix of knowingly and unknowingly, she let her walls down. She let him in, and she wanted him to want to be let in. It was absolutely crazy, the way she felt about him considering what she just escaped. Her brain was full of images that hadn’t been there in forever, illicit and heavy with him.

“Right? ‘M jealous of you. Wish I could stay up here, too.” He wished he could stay up here with her. With her company, getting to know her mind, body, and soul. He yearned for her and it’d been less than two weeks. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” y/n mumbled to herself. She was a few steps ahead of Harry, standing at the front of the car and looking out into the place where the sheep roamed while he shut the door behind him. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and get you settled.” 

A woman greeted them at the door of the home-- although it was just shy of a mansion label-- that was a wood and brick mixture in structure. Several chimneys poked out of the roof, with smoke coming out of all of them.

The woman’s name was Matilda, she was a groundskeeper and had moved there shortly after her husband died when she was 40. She took Harry and y/n up to her room that faced the center of an indoor greenhouse in the middle of the house, and left them there for her to unpack after Harry said that he’d show y/n around himself. 

He owned it after all, and had overseen it’s construction. He’d even helped with the births of some of the sheep.

“How long will I be staying here?” she asked him, looking over her shoulder as she placed a hanger in the closet. 

“‘S long as you need, love.” He was taking things out of her suitcase, placing them on the bed for her to relocate. “Days, weeks, months, years. ‘S long as you need.” 

“Really?” She squeaked, returning to the edge of the bed and picking up the neck item. A cream colored silk shirt that had a black ribbon around the neck.

“Mhm.” Harry picked up a blush tinted pair of trousers.

“And where will you be?”

Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach. It hadn’t occurred to him that she may rely on him for comfort, and it made him feel strangely warm inside when her tone of voice changed to an uninterested interest. 

After his short, stunned silence, she mumbled again, “will you stay? At least for a few days?” 

Harry cleared his throat. He was sure that if any of his men were to see him then, he’d lose all sense of authority, “Sure. I’d love to.” He was suddenly unsure of everything he used to be sure about. His reign, his title. It all left him when he was with her.

She whispered, “Thank you, Harry. For everything.” Y/n was clutching a shirt to her chest, eyes welling up with tears of gratuity.

At this, Harry felt his heart clench in his chest, stealing his breath at the sight of her. “C’mere, love.” His arms stretched out for an embrace, and she immediately ran into them. His arms stretched out for an embrace, and she immediately ran into them.

Eyes shut, she pressed into the juncture of his throat, and held her breath, tensing at the strong, male contact, she could feel ever flex of his arms as she wrapped them around her frame, ever rise and fall of his chest, and the fleeting brush of their thighs. 

He ducked his head down to his mouth was pressed against the crown of her head and whispered, “y’don’t have to be scared anymore, y/n. You’re safe. I’ll never hurt you.”

She moved her head so she was looking up at him, and suddenly became aware of how close they were, the tips of their nose a hair away from each other. “I know. I know.” She tried to tell him. Tried to tell him with her eyes, looking down at his lips and then to his burning eyes. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.

He knew immediately what she wanted, could see it in the gleam of her eyes. “S’this okay, love. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m okay. More than okay. And it’s because of you. Will you kiss me?” Her eyes were nearly shut with their dreamy haze. She felt happy, content, light, free. Because of him. Because of Harry. And she knew she was in full control here. It wasn’t because she felt she owed him anything. Y/n knew there was a connection between then, she could feel it every time he looked at her.

She knew because she looked at him the same way too. 

With no response, Harry moved the final inch to her mouth, and reached the stars. Her lips were softer than they looked as they molded to follow his every movement. Languid and submissive and warm and her. And good God the noises their mouths made together. Quiet, suckling noises with every near-disconnection as they opened up to each other, y/n being the first to flick at his bottom lip with her sweet tongue. 

“Baby, we have to stop or this is gonna get really fucking heated,” He murmured against her lips, his words with an intention to stop their actions, but the way her leaned into so they were closer to each other, they way his hands came up to her face to pull her closer to him, they way he didn’t bother to pause their kiss to speak, said otherwise. The front of his pants was embarrassingly tight, and a tension in his groin had begun to build, cock pulsing.

Y/n responded with the same vigor, her hands coming to clutch at the curls that brushed his shoulders before combing through his scalp and grasping the hair at the nape of his neck, “Please. Want it.”

Harry stopped then, opening his eyes and pulling her back to fully look at her face. Her lips were slick with spit and slightly swollen with a darker tint. “Y/n. Are you sure about this?” 

Y/n shook her head so fast she could hear the ticking noise of her brain moving in the back of her head. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. She was ready. She wanted what Harry had already begun to give her. “Yes. Please. Please. Haven’t felt this good in so long, I need it.”

A slow smile spread on Harry’s heart shaped lips, voice low and gravelly. “Pretty girl. Need me to make love to you? Make you feel good? S’what you need?” His thumb traced circled underneath her wild, bleary eyes, and he held back a grunt when she whimpered out her response, need heavy and abundant in her voice.

“Will you say I’m yours, Harry? I’d like to be yours. Will you have me?” She was babbling, lost in her senseless need, but her words held truth. She wanted him, and she wanted him to want her. 

Harry cooed at her, his heart full, “I’ll take you, my love. I’ll take you only if you’ll take me.” 

“Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for anymore, all she could feel was the warmth of Harry’s body against hers. “I want you. I’ll take you. Hold me?” 

“So polite. C’mere. ‘Gonna take you nice and slow, baby. Like you deserve,” his hands traveled to her waist, and he kept his grip tight as he walked them towards the bed, the back of her knees hitting first before she was lowered gently by Harry. His hold on her was ever-present as he saw her through, his lips placing open mouthed kissed underneath her jaw.

Y/n tilted her head back to grant him access to her throat, and soft, wet gasps left her mouth at the spikes of energy that went from his mouth, to her skin, and down to her pussy. Electrifying. Deadly. 

“Gonna take this off, my love.” Harry’s hands tugged at the ends of her light blouse, and y/n nodded instantly, raising her hands above her head to help him get it off. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the moment her breasts were exposed and Harry’s eyes fell on them, she bucked upwards, needing his touch, needing her damn pants off. “Easy, baby. I’ve got you, okay? Hey, look at me.” 

Harry pinched her chin and shook her slightly to get her to open her eyes and look at him. She did, eyes wide and wild. “Need you to use your words in the bedroom, y/n. I want you on board with what I’m doing the entire time and I need to hear your voice in order to know that you’re with me. Got it?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He was still holding onto her chin, and her lips were slightly puckered as she spoke. 

Harry shook his head, an awed smile on his cherry lips, “nuh-uh. None of that. You did nothing wrong. No more ‘I’m sorry’s. We’re here to love on each other, not to say sorry. We’ve done nothing wrong to each other. Now tell me something you’d like for me to do.”

“Need my pants off, please.” She mewled and bucked again, eyes shutting and head thrown back.

“So fuckin’ polite. A little gem you are.” Harry said to himself as he unbuttoned her pants, and patted her thigh so she could lift her hips.

He couldn't believe that someone had let her slip from his fingers. She was a goddamn wonder.

After he’d tugged her pants off her ankles, he leaned back into kiss her, hands on either side of her face and head with his hair trailing down on the side of his face, but she pushed him back with a pout on her lips. “Take your clothes off, too.” 

Harry laughed, “so demanding.” And leaned back on his knees to take his shirt off, unbuttoning the last three buttons of his soft cream shirt so his silver cross necklace came free, swinging at his chest with the momentum. 

Y/n marveled at the tattoos that decorated him, wondering if he could get any sexier than this, and upon seeing him unbutton his pants. She decided that yes, he could.

A thick bulge at the apex of his thigh strained against his black boxers, begging to spring up against his abdomen.

“You can say no, right now, and we’ll stop.” Harry murmured, rubbing a hand up her thigh and thumbing at the seams of her cotton panties. His voice was strained and filled with the same urgency that fueled her. 

She shook her head, “no. I want this.” Y/n thrust her hips up against his hands, and Harry took that as a signal to take her panties off. 

“Good.” He said, ripping away at her panties and surging forward for a heavy kiss, “‘cause I do, too, baby.” 

“Make love to me, Harry,” she begged, her hands coming to feel at the strong muscles of his back, digging into where they dipped and this caused him to groan both at the feeling and at her words. 

Swiftly, he took of his boxers, and his cock sprang free, an audible slapping sound heard when the swollen tip hit the skin underneath his belly button, and a hiss leaving him at the sudden, momentarily relief.

She looked down between them, and bucked again at the size and thickness of him, already yearning for the feeling of him inside her, stretching her. Her warm, slick, hole caught the tip of his cock, and she moaned at the contact. “Please. Please.”

Cursing under his breath, Harry took hold of himself and pressed into her, a slow heat beginning to encompass him and the intense pleasure coaxing him to continue, but a pained whimper stilling his movements.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He panted, searching y/n’s eyes for meaning. She shook her head, her hands coming up to brush his hair back. 

“Want you closer to me,” She whimpered, eyes watery. Her pert nipples brushed against Harry’s dewy chest, her hands traveled down his back again. 

“Closer, baby? Want me to hold you? Is that it?” His brows furrowed, and he let go of his dick so he could rub at her sides.

She nodded, “Yes, please.” 

She arched again, enough so Harry could sneak his arm around her back and hold her snug against his check, his silver necklace biting into their skin as it was squashed between them. His other arm was above her head, holding himself up so his weight wouldn’t smother her. 

Her legs came to sneak around his waist, and the movement titled her hips up the remaining inches of Harry’s dick, filling and stretching her to the brim. Moaning and bucking up as best she could, her nails dug into his back, urgently. Ardently

“Fuck me. So good, baby. You’re so good.” Harry pulled his hips back and thrusted, the both of them panting at the sensation of being warm, and tight, and full, and fucking hell love.

“More. Harry more, please.” Her words were hot at his ear, and her head fell back against the pillow when he listened, thrusting again and again and again into her. His fingers dug into her back, and scrunched the fabric of the sheets, veins seeping through his skin from the strain. 

“Keep squeezing me like that and I won’t last, my love. Need this to last,” The space between their chests grew damp, and y/n was in a frenzy as her orgasm built in her tummy. The pressure rising to a bubbly froth at the brim, one soda-can shake away from an explosion. 

“I can’t. Can’t. Y-you feel so good,” She swallowed a thick gulp, and let out a strained moan, the feeling of being unable to close so painfully euphoric. Harry was hitting all the right places and all the right times. And it felt so good to be warm and held, his arms a constant restraint on her, not letting her go even though a burn was developing on the arm that was holding her up. He wouldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t because she asked him to, and because he wanted to. 

Harry hadn’t felt the importance of such an embrace until then. It was affecting him just as much as it was fulfilling her. Every place their skin touched, he felt, ever moan and shudder, he heard. Ever gasp, every whisper. And never had it felt so good to give someone what they wanted before. Even if it was just as simple as being held. His heart was going to explode. He was going to die. 

“Baby. My love, oh sweetheart you’re amazing. God, I’m gonna cum, my darling. Does it feel as good for you as it feel for me? Hmm? Got me unraveling at the goddamn seams, fuck!”

He dipped his head into her throat and licked her, savagely searching for the taste of her skin as his back curved with the force of his hips. 

“I’m there. I’m there, please, lemme, lemme, please-,”

“Let go, my love. I’ve got you.” He kissed her roughly, and held himself snug at her core for longer periods of times every time he thrusted, moving his hips in a circle. He was so close, that y/n could feel his movements on her clit, her sensitive swollen button being stimulated throwing her over the edge, giving her the last little shove that she needed. 

She arched into him, mind going blank and mouth going slack against his, no longer kissing back because of the intensity of her pleasure, but Harry continues licking ito her, his tongue sliding against her and teeth nipping at her bottom lip before he snapped back into his senses and pulled out to release hot, white spurts all over his and her abdomen. His face scrunched up into one of seeming pain, his lips mouthing fuck fuck fuck but no sound coming out. 

There was no need, but y/n reached down and gripped him, sliding her hand up and down his cock to ride him through his orgasm, milking the remaining cum from his dick so it spurted onto her tits.

“Fuck me. Baby, you’re perfect.” Harry laid her back down and kissed all over her face slowly. On her cheek, her brow bone, her nose, her forehead, and finally her lips. “So sweet, so good. You undid me, darling.”

She was quiet, but leaned up into his touch, her body still buzzing. Y/n was too tired to speak, her eyes heavy with the fatigue that usually came in a light dose after she got herself off. Her entire body felt spent.

“Tired, baby? Time for a little nap?” He brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed her again, a plushy pec tenderly placed. 

Y/n nodded, and whined when she felt his weight shifting on the bed.

“What is it?” He said, stopping and turning to look at her.

She breathed a quiet, “stay.”

“M’not going anywhere, y/n. ‘Specially not after this. Gonna go get a washcloth to clean up my mess. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

There was the warmth in her chest, the warmth of his cum drying on her skin, the warmth of the soft towel ridding her of his mess, and the warmth of his arms around her as she fell asleep.

[hecohansen31]

Hey, babe! I'd like to submit a request for a Roman Godfrey x female reader work. He and the reader are still in high school, and food friends (with benefits) but nothing more. He normally drives her back to his house after school once a week to 'study' and then maybe spends the weekends at her house when her parents/family aren't home (maybe some car sex as well?) but when he sees another guy (anyone, either character or hypothetical) start to talk to her more and more often he gets possessive.

(A/N): Hello lovely!

Thank you for this ask, it low key got me quite good and exploring some darker side of writing...

Also since I know that I low key might have gone a bit outside of this ask (you said “car sex” and I was like... fainting at the ground), so please if it sucks or anything, just let me know and I’ll write something better!

Thank you for the ask, I honestly loved it!

And keep them coming!

WARNINGS: Rough Jealous Unprotected (You know the drill boys: no condom, no sex) Sex, Creampie, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Light Choking, Restraints (hands restraining) and just generallly car sex and Roman being an asshole, but we love him for this!

Whenever you would wear that skirt, Roman wasn’t able to contain himself.

And you knew it.

So, he knew that whenever he would see you with that black pleated skirt, you were teasing him to his death.

But that day, after he had graciously put his hand under your skirt, you had immediately screeched and backed up, in the little space of his vintage car, which you loved almost more than Roman, himself.

You had sent him a glare that usually would have frozen anyone on the spot, except Roman, who had grown some kind of immunity to your glares, since he received many, each day.

He tried another attempt, but this time you slapped his hand away, before humming annoyedly something about an appointment.

“… what is that, sweetheart?” he asked jokingly, raising your chin to meet his eyes, staring deep into you, seeing your annoyance, although he could totally also see some kind of interest on your part.

“I can’t fool around today, I have a project to create” you repeated, spelling anything slowly, as if you were explaining to a child, which got Roman to roll his eyes, but what gave him an heart attack were the following words you spoke “… Jim should come by in a few minutes”.

He wasn’t sure her had heard you right and sent you a dumbfounded look.

“What is it?” you asked, adjusting yourself, since before he tried to sneak his hand in your panties, you had been making out passionately, since he was sure you would be continuing this in her home, since your parents had left for the weekend, and you had an empty house.

It was tradition for him to spend every night when your parents were out, at your house, at first just as friends sharing a pop-corn bowl and watching a movie, but as soon as he had noticed you growing up and blossoming into a woman, your plans together where certainly less chaste.

You had always known each other since you were just children, since Roman had been pulling on her braids and he kept on doing that, but in a much more pleasurable way…

“You are having a boy over?” he asked, clearly hoping he hadn’t heard right.

Their relationship wasn’t exclusive, but half of the school knew better than to bother who was universally recognized as “Roman Godfrey’s girl”, and the other half didn’t seem interested in you or had been threatened by Roman, himself.

Also, since your “agreement” had started, Roman, himself had stopped hanging out with any girl that wasn’t you, although flirting wasn’t off the limits, and he still felt your annoyance, whenever he would be doing it, straight up next to you.

But it was all worth it, whenever you would push him, almost jumping on him, in the first secluded area, you could find.

“I am not having a boy over” he breathed down a big huff of relief, but before he could bring himself to breath properly again, you spoke again “… he is just coming over this afternoon so that we can work on a project”.

“What kind of project?” he mumbled, harshly, although he knew which project Jim, or whatever his name was, wanted to work on: nobody dared to make a move on you, because Roman was there but he knew that you were one of the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

“… the English Literature project” you huffed out, a bit annoyed, as if you didn’t sense Roman’s jealousy “… you were paired with Peter, so I had to choose another, and Jim seemed to need help, so…”.

He could detect, still, a bit of jealousy on your side, mostly because he had been working a lot with Peter, lately, not because he actually liked spending time with the werewolf (well he did, but he didn’t want to admit it) but because he was actually busy trying desperately to solve the mysteries around the murders happening in Hemlock Grove.

That was also why, he didn’t want another male near you, knowing it might end up being the murder who was targeting girls mostly.

“Are you jealous of Peter?” he tried to tease you, to alleviate the annoying heavy mood which had set through his mind, after the news about Jim.

You simply rolled your eyes and shot him an annoyed look, mumbling:

“No, I am not” and then you, as the little minx you were, moved your hand towards his crotch, in a teasing attempt, meanwhile Roman was too taken aback “… why should I be jealous, when you always come back to me?”.

And then you leaned in for a soft kiss, just a chaste push of your lips against his, and as soon as it had started, it was over, and you opened the door to Roman’s car.

He thanked his strange reflexes, for his ability of reaction.

He grabbed roughly your wrist, making you whine at the rough grip, and pushed you back into the car seat, locking with his other hand the door of the car, meanwhile he crowded you against the door.

It took you a moment to react, screaming at Roman about what the hell he was doing.

“I have an appointment in five minutes with Jim” you reminded him, trying to push him away, kicking and twisting your arms, now in his strong grip “… you better release me before I kick you in the balls, Godfrey”.

“You aren’t going nowhere, (Y/N)” his voice had gripped a dark point, but as he moved a knee against your legs, to prop them open, he found a pleasant discovery: wetness coated your thighs, meaning that even more coated your core “… you are soaked, and certainly not for Jim”.

“It is very bold of you to assume that it is for you” your blush showed your true emotions, and as Roman brushed his knee closer to your molten core, you tried to straddle it, in a useless attempt to relieve the pression inside yourself, just to hear a dark laugh leave Roman’s mouth.

“And you still manage to rut on my thigh as a bitch in heat…” the blush on your pretty cheeks became even darker, and he felt the warmth on them as he leaned down for a kiss, much less chaste than the one you had shared before, pushing his tongue in your mouth and biting roughly on your upper lip, drawing blood.

It hurt, and it showed on your eyes, but you didn’t seem to care, spitting on his face, which got him to react roughly, switching the grip of both your arms to one hand, so the other could push itself between your legs, finding your panties full of wetness, and your core definitely warm and aroused.

You pushed yourself against his hand, moaning softly, rutting indeed like “a bitch in heat” into him and his hand.

“… you say have an appointment, but I don’t see you dying to meet your beloved Jimmy” he made fun of you, finishing his discourse, delivering a sound slap to your clothed core.

You whined lowly, trying to keep your tone down, due to being in an extremely public space.

You were thankful your little black skirt covered Roman’s big hand; the road wasn’t trafficked mostly at that hour, since everyone was either at their work or already at home, but you didn’t want to show yourself to a noisy neighbor.

But you weren’t able to contain the following moan, high-pitched and free, when Roman moved two fingers into your womanhood, slipping them easily due to all the slickness he had collected, setting a rough pace, but that kept you unable to breath, only able to groan gently into Roman’s ear, meanwhile he teased her both with his fingers and words.

“Are Jimmy’s fingers making you feel good, right now, sweetheart?” he stated, puncturing each word with a sharp thrust of his fingers, which hit you deep and teased that spot inside of you that got you mewling of pleasure, biting your bloody lip.

The taste of iron in your mouth made you ecstatic, but it was Roman who was looking at you as if he hadn’t seen anything more delicious.

“I am going to make sure that it is only me you are going to yearn for, from now on”.

And before you knew it, his fingers were out of you, and you pouted, just to be pushed onto Roman’s laps.

His hand went around your throat, loosely, and his other took himself out from his pants and boxers, after he had barely pushed aside your panties.

You welcomed him warmly and certainly, if the hiss he let out was any indication, he appreciated it, almost as the startled but pleasured moan that escaped your lips, before your hips started bouncing on their own on him.

As he got back from the initial shock, he pushed into her with much more violence, his grip around her throat becoming tighter and he smirked at you, eyeing the way your body was reacting to his thrust, the only thing that could be better was your naked body against his.

But running against time, you didn’t have the luxury of undressing, completely.

“You should be studying with dear Jimmy Boy, and you are here,  bouncing on my cock, like the little pretty whore, I know you are” he taunted you, pushing himself deep inside you, in a slow thrust that made you feel each inch of his adored length “You better hurry up, or he might catch us”.

The thrill of it had you almost coming in that moment, but you were stopped by Roman’s dark glare, and an intimidation of his words, ushering you to come back before you went too far.

“… don’t you dare finishing without me” and he pushed you closer to him “… you are here just for my pleasure don’t you forget it”.

And you couldn’t help but nod, into his grip, pushing yourself to slow her rhythm, completely feeling him against her, in a slow dance, till he indeed let out an hazy whimper, falling and pushing himself over the edge, but worst of all coming in you.

You screeched and immediately pushed him out of her, taking advantage of the loosened grip on her throat, and saw half of his cum leave her center, staining his expensive pants, meanwhile he looked at her sheepishly.

“Did you just cum in me, asshole?!” you replied, angrily, seeing half of his seed, falling down her legs.

“Thank God, you are on birth control!” he mumbled jokingly, meanwhile he reached out for his lighter and his pack of cigarettes, just getting a roll of eyes from you, before you grabbed him by his shirt, regaining the upper hand and forcing him to face you.

“You are nothing but a jealous spoiled boy” and you bit his lip, before pushing yourself off of him, trying some kind of damage control on your body and clothes with your paper tissues, before you readjusted your aspect, checking yourself in the mirror of the car.

Roman stared at you for the entire time, amazed by that daily ritual, but he was snapped back by the deaf sound of the mirror of the car being put back in its place and the car door being opened, meanwhile she put her backpack on one shoulder.

“At what hour, tonight?” he joked, just to receive the infamous “bird” and for her to move away, meanwhile he laughed, trying to clean himself up, although the stain would have stuck till it got washed, but it got him an infinite amount of satisfaction to know that you had some of him inside yourself.

He spied in the mirror on your side, you meeting with a disgruntled boy, who immediately lighted up as you smiled at him, but what got him to smirk and leave happy and satiated, was the little trick of cum he saw on her inner thighs, as she moved to go up the stairs.

His work there was done.

[toxicxxmyth]

The Truth Untold; Sebastian Stan -> II

.Previously 

Summary:  Y/n Y/l/n, born and raised in south side Chicago. Now raising her five younger siblings, she’s not even sure if some of them are actually related to her. But she takes care of them nonetheless, as best as she can. While her drunk father continues to make their life harder. And her drug addicted mother comes bursting through the door once every to years. Its a chaotic life for a 23 year old, but she made it work. Until one day, the most notorious mob leaders of the country  shows up to do some business in the south side.

Au: Shameless!Au, Mob!Seb

Warning(s): Cussing, smut(fingering), violence, and tiny mention of domestic abuse.

Word Count: 5.9k

Authors Note: I said i wasn’t going to make a second part but here we are, 1 month later lmao.

@chims-kookies @superdrysuperfry

a doua întâlnire

Sebastian Stan; An enticing enigma.

As people come to learn—he comes and goes whenever he pleases—takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants. And no one says a word, too afraid to face him. God forbid anyone say a word. He’s a walking dynamite ready to explode. A man of his word, and many duties. The devil in sheep’s clothing. If you were to cross his path, you outa be afraid. His gaze was intense, cold, almost. But if you stared just a little longer, you’d see the lost hope and dreams swimming in his ocean blue eyes. It was impossible though, no one would dare look him in the eye, too afraid to stir the beast he contains. Women of the evening which his trusted cohorts would provide for him—they never cared enough to look deep into his eyes to notice. Not that he cares. Hell, he didn’t even know it himself. Too invested in his business—and his business only. If you’d do him wrong, no amount of praying will save you from him. Some would call him a sociopath, owning to the fact that he was completely deadpan when it comes to killing or torturing those who don’t follow his rules. He’s a drug lord. He cannot be contained. He vanishes at the forbidden hour — only returning when the aubade is at its highest peak.

He was toxic. Lethal. Everywhere he walked, a trail of pain and fear followed. One might say he feeds off it, he lives off it. He was a beautiful yet wicked soul nature spit out. A wise man who everyone knows not to mess with. He was astute, fatal and leery. A true nightmare.

So why did meeting you somehow made him feel something? Was it because of your troubled life? Nah, couldn’t be. He has met thousands of people with troubled lives and had no issue and making their situations worse.

Maybe it was because you didn’t throw yourself onto him like most females and males did. He was especially surprised at the fact that didn’t become responsive and enticed when he pulled his money out. Yeah, maybe it was that?

He almost felt like he knew you. What type of person you were. So he knew for a fact, that you wouldn’t keep the money he had sent to help you and your family. He sent some of his men to watch over you just in case something wrong happen, even though he knew you were capable of taking care of yourself. But finding him wasn’t easy. He just wanted to see at what extent you’d go just to tell him off. It was only a matter of time before you went after him.

“Has it been delivered?” Sebastian asked as he rose an eyebrow. Making the tattooed boy avert his eyes elsewhere. Anthony, his best man, couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

“Yes, Sir” The boy nodded, hands behind his back. Eyes everywhere but his.

“Good, now get out.” Sebastian groaned as he got up from his seat and walked over to his mini tray of alcoholic beverages. Watching as the younger male hurriedly left the room.

“You ain’t gotta be so harsh on the boy” Anthony couldn’t help but chuckle, accepting the drink Sebastian was offering him.

“I wasn’t being harsh” He scoffed, turning toward the spot where the boy had been.

I just think that you should go a little easy on your men” Anthony muttered while bringing the glass full of scotch to his lips, brows raised.

“That’ll only give em’ a reason to walk all over me. And I can’t have that. I’ll kill em all.” Sebastian defends his posture, his tone all too serious for Anthony’s liking.

Although Anthony was just as dangerous and powerful as Sebastian was, he was, to many peoples surprise, a pacifist. Which is almost impossible to be in a business so parlous. He just didn’t believe in violence, completely opposite from Sebastian himself.

“See now you’re just far fetching” He pointed a finger at the man, brow raised as he got up from his seat.

“So this girl? You paying child support?” He laughs. “I knew one of these days you were gonna knock up one of em hoes” (I am so sorry. Long live hoes. Be proud of your hoeness)

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh at the comment, shaking his head as he sat on his wooden desk.

“Nah. Just a beautiful girl who needs a little push” He shrugged, eyes trained on his glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the whole room. He was just hoping he’d change the subject.

“Her name?” Anthony led on.

“Not important” Sebastian breathed out, eyes meeting his as he raised an eyebrow. Adjusting in his seat as he fixed his tie. Hoping he’d change the subject.

“Whatever” Anthony laughs. “Anyway, I gotta go. Have a meeting in half-hour”

Sebastian nods in understanding, glass pressed against his lips. Watching as his best friend leaves his temporary office.

After a few seconds of sitting there, skimming over the papers scattered over the desk. He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, shaking his head at the thoughts that consumed him. It was almost unbelievable how his thoughts could change from what his next deal was to how you’d be doing, and if you were safe.

He knew damn well that there were bad men at the club that night, he knew they were watching. And it worried him that they’d take it the wrong way, causing you to be in danger.

“Well it seems like you know everything about me, so why don’t you tell me about yourself. I bet it’s much more interesting than my shitty life” She chuckled, though I could barely hear it due to the irritating music that was being played throughout the club. It was adorable, actually. Before I could come up with a lame ass excuse for a profession, I noticed a couple of men in the vip area whispering to one another each other, their gaze firmly on her.

“It’s really crawdad in here, let’s go outside” I lied, wanting to get her out before something happens.

“No” She simply stated. Causing me to stop my movement, I was shocked. I let out a cough as I recomposed myself at the unexpected answer.

“This is how things work. I walk out with you, you tell me your oh so tragic childhood which causes me to pity you. Soon, once I’m under your spell, you chloroform me and a white van appears out of nowhere and I’ll be part of an illegal sex and drug trafficking ring” She gave me an innocent smile. There was no reasoning with her, so I moved closer as if to protect her.

“I’d actually be much more creative in kidnapping people”

“Y/n, it’s been a week. I can’t believe it’s taken you this fucking long to find one guy” Jeremy hisses as he passes back and forth in the kitchen, where you sat in one of the stools.

“It’s not easy, okay. This guy literally just disappeared in midair. It’s driving me crazy” You groan, elbows resting on the table as you ran your fingers through your hair in frustration.

It’s been exactly a week since you’ve received that money, and you were growing desperate everyday trying to find the mystery man who dropped it on your front door. By the fourth day you kind of gave up. Juggling three jobs and taking care of all your siblings was stressful enough, and playing Where’s Waldo was not how you decided to spend the rest of your days. So your only choose was to tell Camille about the whole situation. You put your faith in her, she was the closest thing to an FBI, and so you were certain she would find him.

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re going to have to use that money eventually” Your head shot up and the sound of your other brother, Cameron.

“What-“

“I told him” Jeremy sighs while leaning against the counter, one arm resting on his hip.

“We are not going to use that money.” You firmly say.

“Why not?” Cameron snickers in disbelief.

“We’re running out of food, there’s no water and I’m pretty sure Ethan is selling drugs. Jeremy’s tuition is up his ass and we just got an eviction notice. We have no other choice, Y/n” He finishes, his eyes sad.

“Give me some time and we’ll find a way to pay off everything.” You sigh sadly. He was right, this money could help with at least some problems you had. Before you could make another promise, your front door opened and shuts with a loud bang.

“I found that motherfucker” Walks in Camille with a piece of paper in her hand. Her brows raised and lips pursed.

“Him? As in, him, him?” I asked hopeful, brows raised as I got up immediately walking over to her.

“Yeah, but, I think we need to talk first about your...plan” She sighs, causing you to shake your head in confusion at her change in mood.

“What about it? I’m going to give it back, just like we talked.” You confirm, looking at her, then back at Jeremy and Cameron, confused.

“Yeah well, it won’t be as easy as we thought.” You could already tell she was hiding something.

“Why not?” You press on. Suddenly confused as to why her chocolate face turned pale, or her tongue pressed against her cheek as she looked down at the piece of paper still her hand.

“Well the guys you hooked up with happens to be Sebastian Stan.” She sassed, hands on her hips and a brow raised—a posture a mother only a mother would give at her disobedient child. Which made you feel slightly uncomfortable—but the confused laugh that ripped from your throat only caused her to stare harder. By the looks of the two males still in the kitchen—they seemed to know exactly who it was.

“So who the hell is he?” You sigh, throwing yourself on the couch, a head starting to form. You rest you elbows on your knees—staring blankly at the black tv.

“Only the most dangerous man in the whole damn country. Goddamn it Y/n, what the hell where you thinking?”

“I-I don’t know” You couldn’t help but stutter. You were disappointed in yourself, and you could tell that he was too. And there was no worse feeling than the feeling of letting your family down. You felt like a child being scolded. Their eyes piercing into your tensed frame. You could feel the disappointment in Jeremy’s eyes, the shock in Cameron’s, and the sympathy in Camille’s. It was overwhelming, you feel like you just committed the worst crime—or maybe you were just overthinking the whole situation —all of you were. All you had to do was give the money back.

“I’ll fix it” You closed your eyes while taking a deep breathe. “I’ll fix all of this” You confirmed, mostly to yourself. “Just tell me everything you know about the guy-“before you could finish your sentence, the phone in your pocket started to ring, startling you in the process.

“It’s a private number” You whispered once you took the phone out and read the ID caller. You looked at Camille—as if asking permission. But all she gave you was a shrug, brows furrowed in confusion. You took a deep breathe before answering in a rush.

“Hello?”

“I hope you put that money in good use” Came a deep raspy voice. Confusion filled your body, but your mind went back to that in the club—his soft lips against the shell of your ear as he whispered profanity’s in the dirty bathroom. You breathe hitches in your throat, eyes wide in shock.

“Who the hell is it!?” Hissed Cameron, clearly worried.

“What the hell do you want?” You spat as you recomposes yourself. Jeremy seemed to know exactly who it was due to his reaction. It’s like his whole body shut down as he ran his fingers through his hair letting out a breathy fuck.

“Whoa there dragă, not need to get so defensive” His calm voice only seemed to fuel you even more. “That’s no way to speak to the man who sent you very generous gift” He finishes, and you could almost see the smirk on his beautiful face.

“Oh so this is a privilege?” You scoffed. “Well guess what, dipshit, I don’t fucking want it, so both you come and get it or stop hiding behind *67 and tell me where you are. We don’t need your goddamn charity” You finished your rant, anger radiating off you at the nerve of this guy. You felt proud of yourself, but your confidence faded into thin air when you looked at the three people still in your living  room who’s faces where drained from color.

“Tsk tsk tsk. You really hate people trying to help, don’t you?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress needing saving, Sebastian”

“Fine, come find me. I’ve been itching to see you again, if I’m being honest.” It was pitiful of you, but you swear you just felt your heart skip a beat at his words.

“How do I do that” You spat, not letting the words affect you the way you knew he wanted them too.

“Looks like your friends got that covered” He says seriously while hanging the phone up.

“He’ll kill you” Jeremy says while shaking his head, walking toward the saris, Cameron following hesitantly behind him.

You sigh I defeat, like your whole body just shut down after the comment.

Here you are, fucking your family over once again.

“This is not a good idea, Y/n. In fact, this is a very, very bad idea.” Camille speaks, eyes focused on the road but you could clearly tell how worried she was by the way her forehead wrinkled as her brows furrowed in worry.

“God, I don’t need this right now. I would’ve brought Jeremy if I wanted a freaking lecture about my shitty choose in decision.” You sigh as run your clammy fingers through your hair.

“And all for what? Because he left you some money? Now that’s some bullshit right there.” She scoffs, obviously ignoring your obvious annoyance at another lecture.

“Yes, Camille. Because he left some money. I mean, who the fuck does he think he is? My knight and shining armor? No, fuck that. Him and his money.” You spat loudly, index finger pointing at the windshield as if he was right there. Noticing your best friend’s eyes softening, you immediately cooled off.

“This is very dangerous. Just, don’t let your temper get the best of you while you’re with him. IF you even get to see him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” You smiled softly, reaching out to grab the hand that was firmly gripping onto the steering wheel.

“Plus, he said he told his ‘men’ to escort me in or whatever” You chuckled as you shook your head at the silly thought. Completely missing the flash of worry crossing Camille’s eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You demanded bravely. The room was dim, you could barely see your surroundings other than the middle, where you were met directly with his back, his very sweaty back. The cries of pain that came from his front caused you to lose your composer, just slightly — enough for you to regain it before he noticed. Sebastian stopped his movement slowly turning around, seemingly confused at the sudden interruption. Blood covered sleeves rolled up to his elbows, knuckles bruised and a half unconscious body lying motionless on a broken chair, face so beaten you could hardly identify the person. Which is what Sebastian was going for.

You were aghast, to say the least. Your eyes winded in shock, gripping your cross body bag (where you kept the money) tightly, your body shaking slightly at what you were witnessing.

A smirked formed on his lips as he watched your frightening state. He was amused at your bravery, hearing you walk in like you owned the place. Cussing at every single man that tried to stop you from walking any further. Of course he knew none of them would hurt you because of his orders. But he liked it. Liked your fierceness. But seeing you shocked with terror made him go somewhat soft on the inside. Wanting to cover your eyes from the brutality that was in front of you as if you were a kid.

“Come, let’s talk outside so you don’t have to see any of this” He coughs out, motioning you to follow. Without question, you did. Not standing the sight of the poor man who laid half dead in a rusty chair, his pleads and cries of terror would surly leave a mark on you.

“Why’d you do that?” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat roughly, almost sure he heard it. You fought hard against the tears that were threading to spell out, you hated to admit it, but under your tough girl act you were sensitive. And seeing an innocent man (to you at least) lay so helplessly made your head shatter.

“He stole from me” He shrugged. As if it was the most normal think ever. As if he does this once a freaking week, as if he was play miniature golf with his high school friends.

“And who the fuck are you? Pablo Escobar” You replied sarcastically, pulling yourself together, not wanting him to smell your fear. He let out a short laugh, shaking his head while stopping in front of a large door.

Well his laugh made him sound less intimidating. It almost made you forget the sight of him killing a person only seconds ago. Almost.

“Come on in. We’ll talk in here.” He gives an attempt at giving you a small smile, you appreciated it. But then you remembered why you were here in the first place. And whatever you were feeling at the moment was replaced with anger.

“What are you trying to do here, huh? Some charity work? You took pity on me and now you wanna be the good fucking guy and help out? No, fuck that and fuck you. I can handle my own shit and I don’t need a stranger coming to my rescue. I’ve done this my whole life alone and I’ve been fine, we’ve been fine. So you can politely fuck off.” You were out of breathe, you were angry, completely forgetting the fact that he was extremely dangerous. Menacing.

After a long pause, he spoke.

“Did my men treat you right? There wasn’t any hassle?” He furrowed his eyebrows. Clearly changing the subject.

“Don’t you fucking dare” You tilted your head to the side, finger pointing accusingly at him.

“I was just trying to do you a favor.” He sighs, hands up in surrender.

“Well I don’t need your favors. I don’t even know you. Just because you took a lucky guess on how shitty my life is doesn’t mean you know me either.” You went from pointing at the ceiling, to him and then to you. “So here’s your money back. I don’t want it” You spat, hands harshly opening your bag and pulling out the stacks of money. Your hair was all over you face, but you could tell his hands were crossed over his chest. Lips pursed in hilarity.

“Don’t do that.” He sighs as he lays his enormous hands on the stack of money that was placed next to him on his desk, reviewing it. After a few seconds he looks at you, eyes squinting as if he was trying to memorize every detail. He then proceeded to walk toward you slowly, as if taking his time. It made you feel small.

You looked at the ground, once again, swallowing the lump in your throat as you felt his body heat on yours. You were faced to face with his chest, refusing to look up. His breath dancing over your forehead. And it took everything in you not to lean in, even though he wasn’t touching you.

Then you dared speak.

“Where you even telling the truth?” You whispered, the words barely audible. But by the way his breathed hitched in his throat, you knew he heard.

“What do you mean?” He gritted his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes as pulled away from you, making you whine at the loss of heat. But he didn’t notice, lucky for you. He crossed his arms over his chest. You didn’t even think about your next words, or the consequences that would follow—but you didn’t dare hesitate.

“The night in the club. Your mother. Was she really sick? Or was that some bullshit excuse. Did your dad really leave you and your mother to die? Or was that also part of the plan. Fuck, is your name even Sebastian?” You snickered. Even though the situation was far from funny. The disbelief of the situation you had gotten yourself into was so unbelievable that you couldn’t help it when the noise escaped past your lips. And just like that, he was red. You could practically see the smoke coming from his ears as his eyes changed from a light blue mischief to a dark blue hatred.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” He yelled, letting his temper got the best of him. You jumped back in surprise, not expecting the outburst at all, but you knew it would happen. “I never lied to you, Y/n. I’d never joke about my mother’s sickness just for a fun story. My father did leave us, he left us for dead. And he paid for it. Just like every single person that was with him.” His breathe was uneven, he clearly had more to say—he was struggling to keep calm and you didn’t know why.

“What did you do, Sebastian? You killed him? Huh, is that was you did? Is that how you solve all your messes?” You raised your voice—edging him on. His outburst caused your own anger to bubble up in you.

“Yes. I fucking killed him, is that what you want to fucking hear, Y/n? I’m a fucking killer, a murderer. I sell drugs and guns. I’m a fucking drug lord. It’s what I fucking do. Don’t you get that?” His face was red due to all the movement he was causing and yelling, the vein on his neck prominent. You finally caught a glimpse of his belt. You froze in fear as you saw the gun that was tucked neatly under his leather belt. All the possibilities of you being killed ran through you mind and the fact that he was confessing to his crimes made it worse. “I kill people, I’ll kill anyone who stands in my fucking way.” His eyes where dark, intimidating. He confessed his dues even though you were already aware. But you didn’t get the answer you quite wanted. You were stepping on dangerous grounds, but you chose to ignore the gun that was tucked away in his belt, in a position where he could swiftly grab it and shoot you dead before you could even scream. But you continued, because you were just like that.

“How’d you kill him?” You spoke softly. His eyes immediately lit up as a sinister smile crept on his lips. And he spoke slowly, as if taking his time in remembering each detail.

“I chopped off each of his limbs off one by one as he watched in horror, not being able to do anything other than scream in agony. Started with his hands, cut off each finger before cutting his whole hand off. He didn't deserve them anyway.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. But it made your skin crawl. “I’d watch him beat my mother countless times, and I was unable to do anything; to defend her. But when I knew the power I had, I did something. Something I dreamt of doing for years. Then, I chopped off his feet. And you know what I did next? I ripped his fucking heart out while he was barely conscious. And I don’t regret a single thing.” He smirks while shaking his head, sinful tongue poking out just slightly out of his now dry mouth. His once perfect hair messed up by all the times his ran his dried bloody hands through it. Face red and sweaty as he calmed down from his outburst. Your brows were furrowed—fist clench tightly as you looked up at him. You somehow knew he was missing details.

Before he could even think of speaking (only adding to you infuriated mood) you jumped on him, legs poorly wrapped around his waist, arms holding onto his broad shoulder and lips smashing into his. Surprisingly, he did not hesitate to kiss you back just as aggressively. You couldn’t help but moan at the taste of his mouth. All you could taste was alcohol, weed and a hint of mint. Normally you’d be repulsed by this, but all you could think about was how amazing his lips felt on yours, how amazing his tasted in your tongue.

You could feel his smirk against your wet lips—and just for a second did you realize what you were doing—how desperate you must look right now. His smirk against your mouth infuriated you, causing you to bite his bottom lip harshly with a moan—causing him to growl animalistic. And god you could come right then and there. Small drops of blood seeping out of the cut your teeth made only made him look even more ravishing. Your tongue darts passed your lips as you took a slow lick over the wound, collecting the little blood that was shown—and wince coming out of him.

The heat in your core intensifying. Your short spell on him quickly vanished as soon as his rough and bloody hands went up to grab your ass giving it a tight squeeze. The moan that slipped out of your mouth only seemed to fuel him. Cautiously, he walked both of you toward his desk, careful not to break the kiss—and careful not make both of you fall. Your lips trailed desperately along his stubbled cheek, sharp jawline and neck, immediately licking a stripe up the vein that was popping out. His eyes closed momentarily, swallowing harshly as he relishes the feeling of your warm, wet mouth worshiping his neck.

Lazily, he cleared the area while dropping you on top. Wasting no time in taking your jeans off—buttons barely off, you were certain he broke them, but his face buried between your breast wouldn’t allow you to think. Once your pants where off, he forcefully opened your legs, causing a loud moan to slip past your lips as you felt your legs stretch deliciously. You could feel him chuckle against your cheek, a hand coming up to squeeze your chin between his finger, while the other didn’t hesitate to harshly slip under your underwear.

Wasting no time in separating your lips with his index and pinky finger to have a better angle to use his middle and ring finger and rubbing your clit harshly. Letting out small whimpers as you desperately bucked your hips into his hand. He moaned as he felt your warm pussy pulsing into his hand. It was heavenly, never had a man been so rough with you, and the fact that this wasn’t just a random man, but a feared mob boss. His dick was hard, fighting against hid dress pants, it was thick, extremely. The mere thought of having it in your mouth made your mouth water and your pussy wetter. This whole situation was dangerous. The hand of killer as buried deep in your underwear and all you could think about was sucking his dick.

“Fuck baby, you’re getting wetter by the second” He groans as dips his middle and ring finger down to your slit, collecting the juices that shameless fell out of you—only to bring his wet fingers back up to your clit, making it easier for him to rub. You couldn’t help but laugh at his words.

“God, i wanna suck your dick so bad” You let the pornographic moan out, causing him to let out a growl—then a snicker. Your face was red in embarrassment at the sudden confession, but you didn’t give a fuck at this point. The hand that was still tightly wrapped around your chin, forcefully pulled you into a kiss. Teeth clashing against each other, tongues exploring each other mouths. It wasn’t even a kiss due to how desperate it was. It was an erotic scene.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll be sure to put this sassy mouth to good use” He smirked. And if it weren't for your immense attraction to him, and in the current position you were in. You probably would've slapped him. But his words were nothing but hot and provocative.

And in just minutes, you felt your orgasm approaching, just by his fingers. Pathetic. You knew he could sense it just by the way your clit kept pulsing on his fingers.

“Oh, is my baby gonna cum already. Just by my fingers.” He whispered while licking your parted lips. A cockily look on his sweaty face. All you could do was nod pathetically as your head rolled back, brows knitted together and eyes shut tightly.

“Open your fucking eyes.” He growls as he hands harshly grabs your chin once again. This only caused an even louder moan to come from you. It made you 10 time horny at how rough he was being.

“I’m-i th-im about to cum-“ You whined rather loudly, hands that were once gripping his wooden desk reached up to his clothes shoulders, gripping at them desperately. And you felt it, your climax just around the corner. But before your orgasm could wash over you, a loud, obnoxious knock sounded throughout the whole office. His fingers immediately stilled on your beating clit, causing you to lean forward with a cry.

“No!” You couldn’t help but whine. You could feel how tensed and angry Sebastian was at the sudden interruption.

“Come in!” He shouted—making your eyes go wide in shock, and mouth agape. Especially since his hands was still inside your underwear. You tried to move away from him but he held you still, fingers still roughly placed on your sensitive clit.

“Sir we-“The built man stopped abruptly in his track, eyes wide at the sight. Sebastian only turned lightly to get a good look at his face, his face was unreadable, completely emotionless, making the man squirm under his gaze.

You could only imagine what you looked like. Sweaty, hair stuck to your face with euphoric yet embarrassed features. You wrapped your arms around Sebastian’s neck, burying your head in his neck at an attempt to cover yourself from the man. You could feel his smile as he kissed the top of your head. You would’ve thought it was a sweet gesture if his hand wasn’t buried in your underwear. In front of another dangerous man.

“Yes?” Sebastian asked—clearly irritated by the sudden interruption and the lack of information he was giving.

“Um—the-the crates, they’re here, sir” The man coughs, eye everywhere except Sebastian’s eyes, afraid he’d piss him off. And eyes definitely not on you. Knowing the consequences if ever looked at his girl.

“I’ll be right out.” Sebastian says irritably, making the buff man leave quickly.

With a sigh, he softly took his hands out, making you whimper at the loss of contact. His hands were wrinkled due to your juice, but with the cool air, they began to dry. That didn’t stop him from sucking on them as if it were frosty on a cake. You bit your lips at the sight.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t finish you off properly, dragă.” He says sadly. You couldn’t lie, you were disappointed yourself.

“But if you give me a chance, I’d love to take you out to dinner. Then I can fuck you like you deserve.” He ran his tongue across his bruised lip. You couldn’t help but blush at how explicit he was, even when trying to be romantic.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it” You shrugged—smiling innocently at him as you hop off his desk. The wetness in your core started drying up, making it uncomfortable to even stand. Sebastian smirked as he nodded his head, leaning against the same spot you were sat on as he watched you pull your pants back up.

“I’m not an easy man to contact, how will I know your answer?” He bit his lips.

“You obviously know where I live and have my number” You teased. Walking back up to him and pulling him down boldly for a much more passionate and slow kiss, completely different from the ones you had moments ago. It felt nice—having his warm lips against yours. One hand draped lazily around your waist while your arm was draped lazily around his neck.

“I’ll see you around.” You whispered breathlessly while slowly dragging your hands from his neck, down to his chest as if to pull him away. Your foreheads still touching, lips caught between your lips. He was so intoxicating, it almost made your head throb. None of you finding the strength to pull away from each other. Weirdly enough, you felt safe in his arms, warm and it just felt right.

“I have to go” You whispered; nodding mostly to yourself — reminding yourself.

“Okay, baby” He nods, yet made no effort in pulling away. So you mustered up all the strength you had in your drained body and pulled away, his hands reaching for yours as he gave you one last kiss. Letting it linger around. And cue the butterflies. You felt like little school girl when her crush finally notices her. But you didn’t care at all.

“I’ll be waiting for that response” He hollers, arms crossed over his chest. Yet again, that infamous smudge look took place on his beautiful face.

“You just have to be patient, Stan” You winked as, not sparing him another glance as you walked out, immediately being met by one of his many bodyguards to escort you out. But not before Sebastian have them a murderous look.

Once out, you ran straight toward the abandoned warehouse where you had left Camille parched just in case something happened. Ready to tell her everything that had happened. The thought of him being a mafia leader far from forgotten.

“You just have to be patient, Stan” You winked as, not sparing him another glance as you walked out, immediately being met by one of his many bodyguards to escort you out. But not before Sebastian gave them a murderous look.

Once out, you ran straight toward the abandoned warehouse where you had left Camille parched just in case something happened. Ready to tell her everything that had happened. The thought of him being a mafia leader long forgotten.

“Hey, Vince” Sebastian calls, phone pressed tightly on the phone, one hand crossed under the arm that held the phone.

“I need you to keep an eye out on Y/n Y/l/n, 24/7. Her and her whole entire family. No- I don’t fucking care. Yes, even the fucking cashier at her local supermarket. Just keep an eye on her. Yeah, she knows too much, we can’t risk it.” He sighs, staring at the spot where you once stood.

[bloodfcst-a]

alright, so. i beat remake last weekend, but i didn’t want to come out with my newfound yufi information + meta right off the bat. i think this is an appropriate time to do so now, though. naturally, i’ll tag as spoilers, but if you need anything else, let me know.

also, my verdict? i am so glad i went into this blind, without any hype or expectations or people from fandom whining about it. yet again, i am so happy + i had an incredibly joyous experience.  this game fed me + also took over my life in a way i’ve not been possessed in some time so like......... good for it.

also no, i truly don’t miss hearing everyone’s hullabaloo +  i don’t wanna hear ur complaints of “ it didn’t say when part 2 is ” so like miss me with that. 

also warning: if u didn’t know already, fandom is WILD towards y.uffie for some reason and i also addressed that, so like if you’re from vii fandom u might seriously wanna read this bc... it’ll be pertinent to u understanding my feelings behind it.  i did address some questionable topics like the underaged oversexual portrayal + beastality that’s popular for her and i am NOT HERE FOR IT so if u came for that................. issa no from me dawg. when i say unbearable.... i mean it. fandom grossed me out. y’all wild.

anyway. thoughts below !

some things that were CONFIRMED for me were:

> midgar is lax around its anti-wutai rhetoric in its most important parts ( namely, hq, wall market, and avalanche ). for propaganda’s sake among the common people, it stands to create a united front. but in consumerism & in strength, they consider the wutai equals just as anyone else. 

see: tseng in the turks; madam m in wall market; the supplier for avalanche.

i would even argue that sector 5 / wall market is the safest place in midgar for wutaians, given don corneo’s obvious fetishism ( and that really............. isn’t saying a lot ).

i’m not going to entertain that it’s an “ admiration for culture and architecture ” in true weeaboo fashion given that of all positions he could give madam m to hold, her duties are to screen women that would be appealing to his aesthetic and to run a massage parlor where the highest bidder gets to have a happy ending. she is literally the “ asian parlors are actually fronts for brothels ” stereotype except in this sex trade, all women go to don corneo. i will have no apologists in this house. 

i have more developing thoughts on madam m like how she might be doing the sex trafficking part in her own self-interest / as a type of self-preservation, like the don might say “ well if u don’t want to be a wife then u better find some for me ” but... 1) this isn’t the post for that and 2) that logic does not explain why chocobo sam and andrea rhodea are also apart of the ring. but in my opinion, you can tell she’s not crazy about it bc as soon as aerith mentions it to her she becomes so wildly upset that she breaks character. i don’t think she’s a sell out. i think she’s an exploited and fetishized woman in a tough place, and i feel for her.

despite this, it’s clear that because of his obvious ‘ preference ’ they’re [ wutaians ] held at a higher standard ( i.e., he doesn’t dispose of madam m immediately like he does with every other woman who is unfortunate enough to meet him ), so i’m willing to go out on a limb and say despite the high amount of shinra foot traffic that goes through wall market ( and we know this bc everybody who is everybody from SOLDIERS to Turks go to honeybee inn ), a wutaian would probably be fine there.

> wutai is the strongest world power by natural means. without SOLDIER s & g programs, midgar’s biggest claim to fame is to reach first-world status as a metropolis by siphoning mako via its reactors. without its reactors, the whole town would either be: 1) slums, like below the plate; or 2) as common as every other area in the nearby vicinity ( i.e., kalm, costa del sol, nibelheim ). by siphoning mako energy, midgar truly is unnatural, so... hm... 

corel could have been a contender ‘cause they use fossil fuels ( and look at how successful gold saucer is! ), but the failed reactor really threw them out the loop. costa del sol + icicle inn are both partially shin-ra owned / managed, so i’m not counting them.

> infiltrating midgar / shinra isn’t difficult. nor is navigating throughout the sectors. while there is the mention of the ID scan on the trains, we see this is not applicable on foot ( freely able to walk through sectors 5, 6, 7, and 8 as party; jessie + co are able to go above the plate to go to her parents’ house despite already being listed as AVALANCHE and that their fake IDs had already expired ). given that yufi entirely travels on foot because of her airsickness / motion sickness, she’d be undetectable. also note that the first 59 floors of shinra hq by stairwell are not monitored... and neither was the front door, so she could easily sneak in whenever the need called for it.

> established multiple points of contact between rufus + yufi ( and by extension, the turks + yufi ). i’m really going into this in the next section ‘cause... their dynamic became so much more interesting. but we already know that at minimum, there was contact bc she had the phs rufus had provided to godo + was using it to communicate with zack for treasure.... but let me hold off on this bc there’s one more thing i want to add here.

regarding the turks: it’s established that even if a person is someone of interest to shin-ra, they won’t necessarily act on attacking or abducting immediately ( see: aerith ). we already know they’ve known yufi since she was a child, and if they’re working with rufus they’d know what she looked like as she aged, so the excuse of “ she looks different than when they worked with her in wutai ” is out the window. it’s more than likely that they’re enabling her to continue her business with rufus + have probably assisted her with not being caught. 

> yufi’s clothes are absolutely normal for her age. it always annoyed me that somehow tifa’s clothing was like considered “ impractical but acceptable ” because she’s a legal adult and because cishet men were too drawn to the boobies to complain. but then yufi was either like HELLA sexualized as a minor ( the amount of ecchi / hentai that exists of underage y.uffie despite there being of-age content [ i.e., her portrayals in advent children + dirge of cerberus ] is.......................................... ridonk ) OR she was like hella slut-shamed and i’m out here like.... hello??? what kinda anti-wutai rhetoric is this? anyway. i’d like to call attention to kyrie, who looks like she’s wearing like 60% of y.uffie’s dirge of cerberus outfit. if anything, this only reinforces that yufi’s fashion choices are.......... legit normal, age appropriate, and anyone who wants to argue otherwise can shut the fuck up.

if you’re really gonna ask “ how come her shorts are unbuttoned ” like go check your privilege. the short answer is probably that rufus stole all of her damn belts to make into his coat. the long answer is that a youth traveling the world SOLO she is probably slim on money to be frequently shopping for clothes ? and the clothes that are available in the slums vs on the plate are probably not great quality ( idk if y’all have ever shopped at a freesized open market before but like... buttons pop off INSTANTLY sometimes and those seams will tear if u stretch the wrong way. like fast fashion but like........ hella wild ). she could find better clothes above the plate, but given the anti-wutai rhetoric up there... probably not a wise choice. 

since you’re looking at her outfit anyway.. can i bring your attention to her sweater, and have you note that it’s made of the same material as cloud’s? i.e., she’s wearing shin-ra/SOLDIER brand quality? ( need further proof that it’s SOLDIER? zack and angeal wear the same one ) probably gotten from either a trip to hq or........ someone on the inside............ but obviously cropped to fit her. she might’ve even had it for some time. now let’s keep looking.... i’m willing to bet the latter, and here’s why! ( prepare for galaxy brain time )

now for standard SOLDIERS, they’re assigned colors. we know third class / infantrymen are blue; second class are burgundy / red ( think kunsel ); and black / dark blue for first class. don’t nobody wear green.... in this whole damn universe.... as a main character.... except child y.uffie. HMMMMM. here’s the sweater again to compare. 

i’m just saying.

now, the ideas INTRODUCED to me were:

> there is only one AVALANCHE, but it is splintered into different factions.

now i always wondered like, how come they just picked up the name AVALANCHE when it was established already. like idk i don’t think people would be like “ ah yes we’re the n.azis and we’re different than the other ones, but we wanna evoke the same fear ” u know what i mean?? usually u would carry the same ideology... but it was always so apparent that barret held different views and goals than elfe, so i was always so confused.

but not anymore. now it’s established that they’re the same group, begun in midgar + just carrying out different methods of “ fuckin’ shit up for the shin-ra ” over the last 10 years, spreading the word about the danger of reactors + it’s suckin’ up the lifeblood of the planet to anyone who would hear. now that makes sense. in the same chapter that this is established, however, they also claim...

> yufi as a benefactor to AVALANCHE.

now this shit had me like AAAAAAAAH. now there is no damn way you and i played the same game if u didn’t see this. they literally say “ AVALANCHE is being provided weapons by someone to fuck shit up, in return for all the materia in midgar. ”

who would want all the materia in midgar? HMMMMMMMMM.

> with that point established, let’s go back to rufus + yufi having multiple points of contact. so i already introduced the idea that rufus clearly has to have contact with yufi bc he’s the one spouting all the secrets to shinra treasure via the PHS. and yufi has claimed ownership of the phone by literally labeling it as “ treasure princess ” so there is no question that he thinks he’s talking to godo versus yufi. 

but we also know that rufus is the person behind AVALANCHE. my man has TIME on house arrest, obviously. we also know that he’s on house arrest in junon, not midgar. now, if he’s out here giving them logistics like places to go to spout their rhetoric, and yufi is providing weapons ( remember, wutai is the strongest power by natural means, and apparently hq is free real estate to explore, so she’s got multiple ways to provide gear without it being an inconvenience to her ), so it’s.........pretty obvious to say that the way she would go in connection to AVALANCHE would be through rufus. also, remember she has bad blood with AVALANCHE because of their actions in wutai, so... she’s not gonna be keen about them anyway. it seems much more practical for someone who already views them ( and tbh, lots of people ) as tools ( rufus vc: “ i own you ” ) to accomplish one’s tasks to help her connect with meeting her own goals ( “ all the materia in midgar ” ).

this would also explain why yufi is found hanging outside junon.

if you opted to grab her outside nibelheim... you might argue that it’s because nibelheim is obviously suspicious + truly the evidence at how shady shin-ra is, given the whole place was rebuilt + is filled with actors to hide the fact that the whole place burned to the ground + was once the site of jenova + currently remains the site as hojo’s secondary lab + other secret, vincent valentine with the protomateria slumbering. she could have been tipped off by rufus as “ there’s another treasure here ” but like... there’s no way she would have known it was vincent. even zack is like “ idk wtf is happening here so i’mma leave this alone. ”

also, i love that rufus uses “ heir to the throne ” verbage, which is so akin to yufi also being “ heir to the throne ” & look at them: spiteful children rebelling against their useless ass dads to create new world order + to destroy the old shin-ra company.  i love that for them.

so in conclusion........ this game FED ME. god i wanna play it again and again. i beat it on normal and got everything except 1 treasure and 1 task from chadley. i also need to do all the combat simulators. but given i did what i could in.... 3.5 days, i’m not too upset by it. this game has so much replay value and... i can say i’m glad i bought it twice.

g.amestop give me my freaking shinra badge i’ve damn well earned it.

oh and two more things going forward:

> nanaki continues to sound old as hell. which duh, given advent children. but u know how they established him as a young teen in the og + so it made sense for y.uffie and nanaki to be friends ‘cause they were mentally the same age? i don’t...... see how that works now. 

also.....y’all could have missed me with this shit already but STOP SHIPPING HIM WITH YUFI. NOW UR ONLY ARGUMENT IS GONE. STOP. i saw some art of nanaki & y.uffie fucking in the tags + floating around google and i was like....... WHY!!! and then there’s also weird hybrid art like what if they had a kid or something and i just........  STOP.

i have flashbacks of when i first started writing on tumblr + how i was bombarded by furries wanting to fuck bc of this. like deadass king dedede from kirby. later on i also saw sonic & even alligators ( not an alligator man.... tho i did see king k. rool + donkey kong as well........ i hated y’all for a hot minute ). it’s not even “ monster fucking ” it’s bestiality and I’M BEGGING YOU TO STOP. y’all can truly MISS ME WITH THIS.

however, u know, bigby wolf + everyone from castlevania could easily get it. stardust platinum where ya at. if i had to pick it would be....... more humanoid than a penguin or a “ lab rat dog ” u feel? 

> i am not crazy about y.uffentine. look. i know it exists. i know it was big bc fandom was like “ optional character ship ftw! ” + then dirge of cerberus came out and y’all went wild ( to be fair, i get it, it was the only ship outside of NANAKI and BEING KIDNAPPED/ASSAULTED BY SHINRA SOLDIERS AS A CHILD that people could feasibly comprehend for y.uffie for some reason............................................................... it was an actually “ NORMAL ” person........ ) but like. i’m sorry. it’s not doin it for me. i’ve seen like two other y.uffie blogs out here that actually stick to canon so like if u want your y.uffentine that bad, like maybe ask them. but please don’t ask me. 

ok i’m done for real now! thanks for reading !

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (9)

CHAPTER 9: It’s a Different Dawn

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: some old stuff is dug up, a new place is visited, a new stranger is...met?

Warnings: not much really...but then again...not much really :P

Word count: I am in such a weird phase right now. Like a trance. I can't seem to make my mind come to this very moment sometimes. Often, actually.  But this place such a weirdly comfortable escape I keep wondering if things would’ve been different had I known about this site ages back.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The one time you like the city you have hated so much for so long, you are leaving it for another place- continent, in fact- and are somehow surprised by the streaks of flawless orange, red, pink and purple paint the sky the most colourful for the first time. The roads are empty when the car leaves from The Hidden Grim. The forests give way to barren lands outside the city walls and the concrete jungle is but a side view to your journey to the airport.

Robert was supposed to play the role of your chauffeur till the terminal but you are being escorted by another man today. The same man who, according to you- had perfect yet eerie timing for saving you that horrendous night.

"Everything okay back there?"

His voice. Yes, of course, that is one of the reasons you are so wary of him whenever he is around you. His voice seems to have a gravity of its own, moving the things around him in order, according to his elemental force. Maybe that is why even though he has been nothing but a gentleman, he just does not seem to rub you the right way. Which answers the question of why your boss does not like having him around. No two stars with such strong force fields can survive in such close vicinity.

"Didn't realise you cared so much about me."

Ah. Right . You had nearly forgotten Loki's presence beside you. Nearly. Hard task but it happened for- you look down at your watch- twelve seconds.

Even at five in the morning, he is dressed with the intention of taking over the world. The black suit does not seem to disappoint the looker- in this case, you- when you wonder what all had Gustav packed for you.

"The question wasn't for you," Heimdall admits with an irritated sigh and a raised brow.

You are clearly sitting on the edge of a black hole waiting to be formed.

"Hm," Loki sighs, closing his phone, "here I thought we were finally getting warm."

From the corner of his eyes his watches you smile at his- what he thinks is ill-timed- joke, feeling this strange flutter take form inside his chest. He feels better watching you smile after the night you had. But the moment he remembers the horror and the tears on your face, his fingers close themselves into a fist, calculating all the ways to find out the source and theorise what could possibly be done with them.

I'm watching out for my own interests , he even tries to convince himself. If she isn't in the right frame of her mind, it will affect my work. There is no other reason.

"Everything's fine, Mr Heimdall, sir," you admit, breaking the cold trance of his thoughts that Loki is swimming in, resurfacing at the call of your tired yet soft voice.

"Okay, good," Heimdall acknowledges with a nod, swerving smoothly towards the private terminal, "just wanted to make sure your boss wasn't being the reason for your silence."

You brows converge as you turn to face Loki in confusion, him doing the same but ending it with an eye roll and a slight shake of his head. "He has a tendency to mock my skills as a host ever since the beginning."

You let your tired eyes go a little wide to show the dawn of realisation engulfing your sleep-craving brain while Heimdall scoffs from the driver's seat.

Ten minutes later you sit in the most comfortable little jet you have witnessed in your life, your hope of getting a shut-eye in the back of the plane seeming impossible as you are shown to the comfortable soft leather seat facing Loki while Heimdall and Robert- who was responsible for the vehicle bringing the luggage- sit at the back.

Oh well, might just make good use of it.

"The marketing and finance floor each sent in a list of investors for the new subsidiary of agro-plant and machinery."

Loki- already settled in his seat, his jacket resting in the closet at the back, his sleeves rolled up just enough for you to think how used to he is hiding his scar- looks up at a fidgety you trying to find a comfortable angle to sit as you open up your laptop and turn it to show him the list.

"Tell them to run their respective checks," he concludes, taking the champagne offered by the hostess who is looking at him with the most suggestive look, ticking something off inside your mind.

"Uh...they already did," you mention, your fingers curling into your palms, trying to stop you from saying anything further.

Loki has learned to read that look you have on your face right now. The look of having something to say but letting anything out for the fear of something awful.

"And?"

He watches you blink, take in a lungful and sit straight in your seat before finally speaking.

"It...um...there are a couple of things that I...what I'm trying to s-"

"She made me run an intense background check on the list. None of them is worth letting into your business," Heimdall finishes all your anxiety for you and creates another tide nonetheless.

Loki eyes you with curiosity first and you are still trying to make sense of what he is thinking before he pulls your laptop towards him and eyes the list.

"What's wrong with the Silvercombs?"

You turn to Heimdall, who simply tilts his head to let you take charge on this one.

"The heir to the business is the elder son. He's..." you tilt your hands in the traditional gesture of 'that's how it is', "a known socialite who has been stealing money from the company's charity to fund his extravagant parties."

You can hear Loki click and swipe on your machine, watching the stills and captured CCTV footage of the man being involved in everything that is wrong.

"Okay," Loki's brow does a little wave, letting it seep in, "what about Dante and Bradburn?"

"Involved in sex trafficking," you say softly, wrapping one hand on your opposite arm, rubbing your thumb over the skin that can feel the goosebumps come in waves over the surface.

"Smith and Darby?"

"Darby is renouncing the partnership soon. He is leaving the empire to settle with his new wife in the Himalayas after they lost their daughter in an accident. Smith doesn't know about the decision yet but Heimdall thinks he will grow suspicious of the fund flow within the next month or two which might not be good for the employees if there isn't a contingency plan that can bear Smith's temper."

"Would you like anything else with your champagne, sir?"

The hostess practically coos at Loki, making you wish you'd just taken an economy flight, never having to witness the ridiculousness that you were seeing right now.

"No, thank you," Loki sits up to look at you, not even breathing in that woman's direction, who- you admit to yourself- seems like Victoria's Secret model on her off days, "so no one on that list is clean?"

"How about some s-"

"Excuse me," Loki breaks the woman's coy composure with just a thread of iciness, "I am trying to have a conversation with her, do you mind?"

It is hard to look at the poor lady trying to keep herself together as she goes away but not that hard when you realise you are the only one on the plane without any refreshments.

"There are two companies we weren't able to find much about. Anvil Corp and Goliath Inc. Nothing is given about the owners on the company's website. The VPs are ordinary people and are as clean as a human can be but I still have my doubts."

The captain of the flight welcomes every passenger by their name before announcing take off, making you the first one to fasten your seatbelt as the engine comes to life.

No further conversation is made as you see the gravel move back from outside your window.

What your mildly anxious heart does not notice is the three pair of eyes discreetly glued on to you, looking for any signs of discomfort that might need external aid.

Loki can see your eyes shut close- partially due to the uneasiness of the flight, partially due to the heaviness in your head thanks to a sleepless night- while your fingers try to dig into the leather of the armrests. He cannot help but notice how your breathing accelerates with every second as his mind counts the gap between every inhale. You open your eyes just for a few moments, making the mistake of looking outside just as the plane tilts and the dew in your eyes is clearly visible to the man sitting opposite you.

Without wasting another bit he reaches into his pant pockets and takes out a silver strip of some medicine.

"Here," he calls out to you, "John recommended me this for my...travelling sickness. Take a tablet."

You look at the silver strip, sending its reflection everywhere inside the plane, wondering for a moment about the medicine before throwing every precaution out the door to take it from his hand and popping one inside your mouth.

The little tablet tastes sweet on the tip of your tongue, readily dissolving in your mouth. Within minutes you start feeling your nerves relax, your breathing ease up, and your hands unwind. That's what it takes to finally have slumber engulf you in its embrace.

"What did you give her?" Heimdall whispers at Loki with a hint of anger, frustration and worry swirling inside his voice.

"An SOS for anxiety," Loki whispers back, looking at the unconvinced face of the watcher, "oh relax! Her doctor recommended it. And I know that you know."

Heimdall does not counter him. Instead, he watches him get up and take the seat next to Robert and Heimdall, swivelling the furniture towards them in order to face them more comfortably.

"Did you find anything?"

Heimdall watches Loki's gaze go further than where he sits, following it to see Robert produce a file for both the spectators. He takes the file and opens it for him and Loki to see. Inside is the entire life of a man that goes by the name Harrison Wardwell.

"There is a five-year timeline from about ten years ago when he was in the same city as Kira," Robert whispers, pointing at the activities of the man during that time along with pictures of him from every source that is at his disposal. "It looked like coincidence first until I found out he used to work with her mother's sister. According to the photographs on her social media, they dated for a while before he decided to end things and move away."

Both Heimdall and Loki study the timeline intensely, letting the information be etched in their brains.

Loki's eyes wandering eyes pause over Robert when he watches him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"What is it?"

Robert breathes in before turning to look at you sleeping, hearing you snore lightly.

"During that time, Kira frequently visited her family doctor for various ailments," Robert hesitates a bit before continuing, "her doctor had coded her file with symptoms of depression. And...more."

Both spectators looked on at the copy of notes Robert had put inside the file.

*Patient shows symptoms of depression...family not been able to catch up...Does not express anything...as if...in shock...unable to register her surroundings...avoids talking to the male staff in the hospital...*

The flip of the page forces Robert to glue his eyes on Heimdall and Loki, reading every minute change in their expression when they see what seems like a family photograph with a recognisable Harrison and barely identifiable- not to mention too young- Kira not smiling for the camera while the former keeps his hand on her shoulder.

.

"I was not expecting this."

"It's Tony Stark. What else were you expecting?"

You look at Loki with a mixture of confusion and frown.

What the hell do you mean 'It's Tony Stark...'

"But...it's an expo ..." you try to reason with yourself than with Loki as the cars that picked you up from the airport now slowly take you through the gates of what seems like a little heaven made right in Anthony Edward Stark's city.

There are cars coming in and going out through this estate that is covered in more green than the entire New York City combined. Striking villas lineup two streets, nearly making you miss the lake right in the middle of lush green golf grounds lying at the back of those too-good-to-be-true houses.

Wait. Will we be staying in one of these...mansions? you wonder through the window when another lane filled with better villas named after a flower passed by. But I just left a mansion!

Turning another lane, the driver stops the vehicle after just a few meters.

"The reception, Madam, Sir," he announces.

You are trying to let his words seep through your brain when the door on your side opens with fair greetings.

"Welcome to Potts Sunrise Estate," the concierge greets, indirectly urging you to get out of the car.

The air smells of grass and something sweet and sensational that you cannot put your finger on. The sun is brighter and the sky is clearer than you'd seen eleven hours before. There are birds chirping somewhere in the distance while a few people are going in and out of the reception, some of them meeting up like long lost friends, which, a part of you envies for a withering moment.

"I'll go see what Stark's kept in store for us," Loki mentions, adjusting his jacket before turning to Robert and Heimdall- getting out of the car behind you.

You see them exchange a nod before Robert takes out the luggage and Heimdall excuses himself, telling the former to go ahead while he 'takes care of some business'.

Great. I'm invisible I guess.

The reception is nothing too over the top but a decent room of glass supported by wooden beams and decorated with plants, vines and windchimes- housing a place for the people who are responsible for helping out the guests. By the east side in the present shade sits a statue of Buddha in meditation and opposite to it in the lawn is a swing chair in white. The windchimes strike a duet with the breeze that puts your soul in a happy mood.

"No, but you don't get it, Hope. I'd love to stay in one of those mansions because it's day time. But the moment the sun goes down I'd be running around for the smallest box to hide in because my brain won't stop playing 'Tip-toe by the window'. It's the monkey brain, hon. Can't do nothin' about it."

You turn around to watch a fair-skinned man with eyes filled with so much light, you think they might start shedding tears of pure sunshine at any moment. The woman with him is his total opposite. Filled with grace and composure that dances with her hair bouncing off her shoulder, away from the collar of the white pantsuit she is dressed in.

"All I asked you was whether you picked the key of our chalet from reception or not," the woman decrees, walking away, the man following her like a puppy lost in love.

"Also I don't get half the people arriving here in three-piece suits. The expo doesn't start till tomorrow. What are you guys, business jocks?" He raises his hands in question, making eye contact with you halfway when he sees your eyes light up at the topic.

"Oh my God," you chime, "right?"

Like a hundred light bulbs turning on at once, his face lights up as he points his index finger at you in the friendliest 'hey, she gets me!' gesture.

"See?" he tries to show Hope another human who agrees with him before turning back towards you to shout, "love your shirt."

You look down at the Lord of The Rings themed blue shirt matched with black cotton palazzo pants, smiling at the thought of looking anything near decent in this. That too after an eleven-hour flight.

"Thank you!" you nearly yell back, turning towards the reception with a huge smile on your face, nearly bumping into a very curious Loki.

You try to hide the joy on your face so as to compose yourself in his presence, clearing your throat to try and explain the reason for this absurd goofiness.

"Twenty."

"Hm?"

"The chalet booked for us. Number twenty."

"Oh. Okay."

You both walk behind the concierge helping you out with the luggage.

Wait.

The chalet booked for us. Us. Us-us?

How many rooms does a chalet have?

What even is a chalet?

.

"Ah, rooms," you sigh with relief on walking in another room on the upper floor. With three rooms in all- two bedrooms with attached bathrooms on the first floor and one of similar nature downstairs apart from the cosy living room with an open kitchenette- you are already falling in love with this place.

"Keep these in the room upstairs and the rest in this room," you hear Loki's voice from the living room downstairs.

Your belongings have been moved to the room attached to the hall while his stuff has moved up to the supposed 'master bedroom'.

When did chivalry die to make him the boss of all decisions?

You feel the jetlag catalyse with this microscopic bitterness rising inside you. Is the same man who comforted me- in his own way- last night?

The bell breaks the heaviness rising around you.

Loki looks from behind the kitchen counter as you walk towards the main door to open it.

An attendant with a kind smile stands with a letter over a box of chocolates in his hand.

"Invitation from Miss Potts and Mister Stark," he announces ever so politely, inclining Loki to take a few steps towards the door but not come any closer for that man to directly hand him the letter.

"Oh, what for?" you ask excitedly.

"Welcome dinner in honour of all the guests gathered here in the name of the brighter future with Stark Industries," he responds with a little bow.

You are looking in the plain yet elegant invitation in your hand- clearly Pepper's choice- too overwhelmed by the thought to finally meet her after such a long time.

"We will be awaiting your presence at dinner tonight," the attendant seems to conclude, again with a bow, "Mr and Mrs Odinson."

You hear your soul scream while it dies and rises from its grave simultaneously.

"W-ha-no-uhhh...I-we are...no...uhh..."

Words have abandoned you in the forest drowned in the thickest blanket of snow. The animals are all looking at you with pure judgement in their eyes while you're trying to explain that one arctic monkey you are not made for an ice-water lunge as he continues to look at you in confusion.

And through all this chaotic silence, Loki is that one sane fox who lets go of a tired breath and steps forward to close the door in that monkey's face, finally putting a stop to the verbal stroke you just suffered.

.

"It is supposed to be dinner!"

"With the most influential people in the world!"

"So?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...hello?"

"You and Loki truly deserve each other-"

"Gustav!"

"-s company!"

You look at your phone screen with the urge to break through it and shake Gustav by his collar.

"I am not wearing that thing to dinner tonight."

"So you're letting all those hours of sweat and tears of mine go to waste?"

"This is pure blackmail."

"Is it though?" you can clearly hear that rusty teasing edge in his voice.

"Come on, man, this...this thing," you hesitate before lowering your voice to a whisper, "it's too revealing!"

The knock on your room's door is slight but that doesn't mean it isn't enough to make you jump where you sit in your bathrobe, nearly throwing your phone away.

"Kira, are you decent?"

I'm fucking terrified if that matters!

"Y-yes," you declare, letting Loki turn the handle to your door and step in.

You have to catch your breath in order to not blurt out what all you feel when you see him at that moment.

Loki has cleaned up nicely. The three-piece suit- sheen black over the smaragdine shirt- fits him a bit too perfectly. The pants around his long legs are just the right length to complement them. The shirt is loose enough to look comfortable but not loose enough to feel shaggy on him. His hair has been swept back quite thoroughly and his presence smells of jasmine wrapping a street in a village that sells its freshest herbs and spices.

"You...are not ready yet," he mentions after a quick scan of you, head to toe.

"You look nice," you are finally able to speak, now realising what he just said. "Oh, yeah. I'll um...don't worry. You go ahead. I'll catch up at the villa," you assure him, trying to breathe in between words to keep your brain working.

Loki gives you a thoughtful look before turning around to go towards the door. "Don't get lost on your way."

Just this once you excuse his insult and go back to the call you were concerned about a few seconds ago.

"Uhh..."

"He looks riveting, doesn't he," Gustav states in the most casual way.

"...that would be an understatement," you whisper, fearing he might be hearing you from somewhere close by.

"You don't have to fight with me, dear. Just ask yourself what you would like to feel tonight."

Feel? Feel.

And like the unforeseen monsoon winds hitting smack in the middle of a hot summer, your wet dream starring you and Loki flashes right before your eyes.

You look at yourself in the full-length mirror next to the bed, thinking what you are already feeling right this second.

"I want to feel..." you do not realise you are thinking out loud saying the words as they form.

"I want to feel that dangerous spark tonight," you conclude.

"Well...?" Gustav's voice reflects all shades of excitement.

Filling your lungs with air, you straighten your back, watching those callow eyes turn a shade darker to reveal something that has been long asleep.

"What footwear do you think would look great with that dress?"

[didanawisgi]

“...I think it is possible to outline a list of features that are typical of what I would like to call Ur-Fascism, or Eternal Fascism. These features cannot be organized into a system; many of them contradict each other, and are also typical of other kinds of despotism or fanaticism. But it is enough that one of them be present to allow fascism to coagulate around it. 

1. The first feature of Ur-Fascism is the cult of tradition. Traditionalism is of course much older than fascism. Not only was it typical of counter-revolutionary Catholic thought after the French revolution, but it was born in the late Hellenistic era, as a reaction to classical Greek rationalism. In the Mediterranean basin, people of different religions (most of them indulgently accepted by the Roman Pantheon) started dreaming of a revelation received at the dawn of human history. This revelation, according to the traditionalist mystique, had remained for a long time concealed under the veil of forgotten languages – in Egyptian hieroglyphs, in the Celtic runes, in the scrolls of the little known religions of Asia. This new culture had to be syncretistic. Syncretism is not only, as the dictionary says, "the combination of different forms of belief or practice"; such a combination must tolerate contradictions. Each of the original messages contains a silver of wisdom, and whenever they seem to say different or incompatible things it is only because all are alluding, allegorically, to the same primeval truth. As a consequence, there can be no advancement of learning. Truth has been already spelled out once and for all, and we can only keep interpreting its obscure message. One has only to look at the syllabus of every fascist movement to find the major traditionalist thinkers. The Nazi gnosis was nourished by traditionalist, syncretistic, occult elements. The most influential theoretical source of the theories of the new Italian right, Julius Evola, merged the Holy Grail with The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, alchemy with the Holy Roman and Germanic Empire. The very fact that the Italian right, in order to show its open-mindedness, recently broadened its syllabus to include works by De Maistre, Guenon, and Gramsci, is a blatant proof of syncretism. If you browse in the shelves that, in American bookstores, are labeled as New Age, you can find there even Saint Augustine who, as far as I know, was not a fascist. But combining Saint Augustine and Stonehenge – that is a symptom of Ur-Fascism. 

2. Traditionalism implies the rejection of modernism. Both Fascists and Nazis worshiped technology, while traditionalist thinkers usually reject it as a negation of traditional spiritual values. However, even though Nazism was proud of its industrial achievements, its praise of modernism was only the surface of an ideology based upon Blood and Earth (Blut und Boden). The rejection of the modern world was disguised as a rebuttal of the capitalistic way of life, but it mainly concerned the rejection of the Spirit of 1789 (and of 1776, of course). The Enlightenment, the Age of Reason, is seen as the beginning of modern depravity. In this sense Ur-Fascism can be defined as irrationalism. 

3. Irrationalism also depends on the cult of action for action's sake. Action being beautiful in itself, it must be taken before, or without, any previous reflection. Thinking is a form of emasculation. Therefore culture is suspect insofar as it is identified with critical attitudes. Distrust of the intellectual world has always been a symptom of Ur-Fascism, from Goering's alleged statement ("When I hear talk of culture I reach for my gun") to the frequent use of such expressions as "degenerate intellectuals," "eggheads," "effete snobs," "universities are a nest of reds." The official Fascist intellectuals were mainly engaged in attacking modern culture and the liberal intelligentsia for having betrayed traditional values. 

4. No syncretistic faith can withstand analytical criticism. The critical spirit makes distinctions, and to distinguish is a sign of modernism. In modern culture the scientific community praises disagreement as a way to improve knowledge. For Ur-Fascism, disagreement is treason. 

5. Besides, disagreement is a sign of diversity. Ur-Fascism grows up and seeks for consensus by exploiting and exacerbating the natural fear of difference. The first appeal of a fascist or prematurely fascist movement is an appeal against the intruders. Thus UrFascism is racist by definition. 

6. Ur-Fascism derives from individual or social frustration. That is why one of the most typical features of the historical fascism was the appeal to a frustrated middle class, a class suffering from an economic crisis or feelings of political humiliation, and frightened by the pressure of lower social groups. In our time, when the old "proletarians" are becoming petty bourgeois (and the lumpen are largely excluded from the political scene), the fascism of tomorrow will find its audience in this new majority. 

7. To people who feel deprived of a clear social identity, Ur-Fascism says that their only privilege is the most common one, to be born in the same country. This is the origin of nationalism. Besides, the only ones who can provide an identity to the nation are its enemies. Thus at the root of the Ur-Fascist psychology there is the obsession with a plot, possibly an international one. The followers must feel besieged. The easiest way to solve the plot is the appeal to xenophobia. But the plot must also come from the inside: Jews are usually the best target because they have the advantage of being at the same time inside and outside. In the U.S., a prominent instance of the plot obsession is to be found in Pat Robertson's The New World Order, but, as we have recently seen, there are many others. 

8. The followers must feel humiliated by the ostentatious wealth and force of their enemies. When I was a boy I was taught to think of Englishmen as the five-meal people. They ate more frequently than the poor but sober Italians. Jews are rich and help each other through a secret web of mutual assistance. However, the followers must be convinced that they can overwhelm the enemies. Thus, by a continuous shifting of rhetorical focus, the enemies are at the same time too strong and too weak. Fascist governments are condemned to lose wars because they are constitutionally incapable of objectively evaluating the force of the enemy. 

9. For Ur-Fascism there is no struggle for life but, rather, life is lived for struggle. Thus pacifism is trafficking with the enemy. It is bad because life is permanent warfare. This, however, brings about an Armageddon complex. Since enemies have to be defeated, there must be a final battle, after which the movement will have control of the world. But such a "final solution" implies a further era of peace, a Golden Age, which contradicts the principle of permanent war. No fascist leader has ever succeeded in solving this predicament. 

10. Elitism is a typical aspect of any reactionary ideology, insofar as it is fundamentally aristocratic, and aristocratic and militaristic elitism cruelly implies contempt for the weak. Ur-Fascism can only advocate a popular elitism. Every citizen belongs to the best people of the world, the members of the party are the best among the citizens, every citizen can (or ought to) become a member of the party. But there cannot be patricians without plebeians. In fact, the Leader, knowing that his power was not delegated to him democratically but was conquered by force, also knows that his force is based upon the weakness of the masses; they are so weak as to need and deserve a ruler. Since the group is hierarchically organized (according to a military model), every subordinate leader despises his own underlings, and each of them despises his inferiors. This reinforces the sense of mass elitism. 

11. In such a perspective everybody is educated to become a hero. In every mythology the hero is an exceptional being, but in Ur-Fascist ideology, heroism is the norm. This cult of heroism is strictly linked with the cult of death. It is not by chance that a motto of the Falangists was Viva la Muerte (in English it should be translated as "Long Live Death!"). In non-fascist societies, the lay public is told that death is unpleasant but must be faced with dignity; believers are told that it is the painful way to reach a supernatural happiness. By contrast, the Ur-Fascist hero craves heroic death, advertised as the best reward for a heroic life. The Ur-Fascist hero is impatient to die. In his impatience, he more frequently sends other people to death. 

12. Since both permanent war and heroism are difficult games to play, the Ur-Fascist transfers his will to power to sexual matters. This is the origin of machismo (which implies both disdain for women and intolerance and condemnation of nonstandard sexual 8 habits, from chastity to homosexuality). Since even sex is a difficult game to play, the UrFascist hero tends to play with weapons – doing so becomes an ersatz phallic exercise. 

13. Ur-Fascism is based upon a selective populism, a qualitative populism, one might say. In a democracy, the citizens have individual rights, but the citizens in their entirety have a political impact only from a quantitative point of view – one follows the decisions of the majority. For Ur-Fascism, however, individuals as individuals have no rights, and the People is conceived as a quality, a monolithic entity expressing the Common Will. Since no large quantity of human beings can have a common will, the Leader pretends to be their interpreter. Having lost their power of delegation, citizens do not act; they are only called on to play the role of the People. Thus the People is only a theatrical fiction. To have a good instance of qualitative populism we no longer need the Piazza Venezia in Rome or the Nuremberg Stadium. There is in our future a TV or Internet populism, in which the emotional response of a selected group of citizens can be presented and accepted as the Voice of the People. Because of its qualitative populism Ur-Fascism must be against "rotten" parliamentary governments. One of the first sentences uttered by Mussolini in the Italian parliament was "I could have transformed this deaf and gloomy place into a bivouac for my maniples" – "maniples" being a subdivision of the traditional Roman legion. As a matter of fact, he immediately found better housing for his maniples, but a little later he liquidated the parliament. Wherever a politician casts doubt on the legitimacy of a parliament because it no longer represents the Voice of the People, we can smell Ur-Fascism. 

14. Ur-Fascism speaks Newspeak. Newspeak was invented by Orwell, in 1984, as the official language of Ingsoc, English Socialism. But elements of Ur-Fascism are common to different forms of dictatorship. All the Nazi or Fascist schoolbooks made use of an impoverished vocabulary, and an elementary syntax, in order to limit the instruments for complex and critical reasoning. But we must be ready to identify other kinds of Newspeak, even if they take the apparently innocent form of a popular talk show. On the morning of July 27, 1943, I was told that, according to radio reports, fascism had collapsed and Mussolini was under arrest. When my mother sent me out to buy the newspaper, I saw that the papers at the nearest newsstand had different titles. Moreover, after seeing the headlines, I realized that each newspaper said different things. I bought one of them, blindly, and read a message on the first page signed by five or six political parties – among them the Democrazia Cristiana, the Communist Party, the Socialist Party, the Partito d'Azione, and the Liberal Party. Until then, I had believed that there was a single party in every country and that in Italy it was the Partito Nazionale Fascista. Now I was discovering that in my country several parties could exist at the same time. Since I was a clever boy, I immediately realized that so many parties could not have been born overnight, and they must have existed for some time as clandestine organizations. The message on the front celebrated the end of the dictatorship and the return of freedom: freedom of speech, of press, of political association. These words, "freedom," "dictatorship," "liberty," – I now read them for the first time in my life. I was reborn as a free Western man by virtue of these new words. We must keep alert, so that the sense of these words will not be forgotten again. UrFascism is still around us, sometimes in plainclothes. It would be so much easier, for us, if there appeared on the world scene somebody saying, "I want to reopen Auschwitz, I want the Black Shirts to parade again in the Italian squares." Life is not that simple. UrFascism can come back under the most innocent of disguises. Our duty is to uncover it and to point our finger at any of its new instances – every day, in every part of the world. Franklin Roosevelt's words of November 4, 1938, are worth recalling: "I venture the challenging statement that if American democracy ceases to move forward as a living force, seeking day and night by peaceful means to better the lot of our citizens, fascism will grow in strength in our land." 

Freedom and liberation are an unending task. Let me finish with a poem by Franco Fortini: Sulla spalletta del ponte Le teste degli impiccati Nell'acqua della fonte La bava degli impiccati. Sul lastrico del mercato Le unghie dei fucilati Sull'erba secca del prato I denti dei fucilati. Mordere l'aria mordere i sassi La nostra carne non è più d'uomini Mordere l'aria mordere i sassi Il nostro cuore non è più d'uomini. Ma noi s'è letto negli occhi dei morti E sulla terra faremo libertà Ma l'hanno stretta i pugni dei morti La giustizia che si farà. (On the bridge's parapet The heads of the hanged In the flowing rivulet The spittle of the hanged. On the cobbles in the market-places The fingernails of those lined up and shot On the dry grass in the open spaces The broken teeth of those lined up and shot. Biting the air, biting the stones Our flesh is no longer human Biting the air, biting the stones Our hearts are no longer human. But we have read into the eyes of the dead And shall bring freedom on the earth But clenched tight in the fists of the dead Lies the justice to be served.) – poem translated by Stephen Sartarelli

[inyournightmares97]

The Innocent Criminal (Pt.3/3)

Part 1  Part 2

Im Jaebum, the infamous leader of GotSeven has committed murder, stolen money, tortured people and broken all sorts of laws. But most importantly, he destroyed your heart. You once decided never to become a criminal lawyer if it meant defending men like him.

But years later, when it appears that Jaebum is going to be locked away for the one crime he didn’t actually commit, you’re forced to make a decision. Where does one draw the line between innocent and guilty?

Warnings: Strong language, mafia!au, MAJOR violence and trauma mentions.

Word Count: 6.8k+

The Mafia (Masterlist)

Your phone rang at 5 am.

You jumped at the sound after awakening from a fitful sleep. It was only once you’d reached your dark and silent apartment the previous night that you regretted turning down Jaebum’s offer to send you protection. You couldn’t sleep because of the constant feeling that somebody from BTS might be in your home, lying in wait to kill you. You had actually screamed when your cat knocked over a glass.

So when the phone rang loudly, you nearly had a heart attack. You calmed your rapid heartbeat down, switched on the light and then answered the unknown number hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“You’re the lawyer defending Im Jaebum in court tomorrow, aren’t you?” a female voice asked you without any greeting. You froze, silent. Was this to do with BTS? You felt the urge to put the phone down and call Jinyoung for help but the female voice continued to speak despite your silence. “Relax. I’m a police officer. I can’t tell you my name at this point, but I’m a detective and I’m also part of a task force that hunts down organized crime and human trafficking in the city.”

You felt your shoulders relax. “Oh. You’re the rogue cop GotSeven has on the inside?”

The woman sounded annoyed. “What? I am no such thing. I might have tipped them off about Im Jaebum’s arrest because he wasn’t allowed to call for a lawyer according to proper procedure, but you should be careful about throwing words like rogue cop around. Some of us have made a lot of sacrifices to maintain our integrity and serve this country.”

You felt like a small child being scolded. “Uh, okay. Sorry. I understand.”

“I need your help. This is highly confidential police information and I shouldn’t be sharing this with you but there’s no other way. Listen to me very carefully. Im Jaebum cannot go to jail for the human trafficking ring. I need you to make sure that doesn’t happen. We both know he’s not really the one behind it. BTS is selling those girls into slavery, and my task force is inches away from finding solid evidence to prove it. If Jaebum is convicted for this crime then the investigation is closed, my task force gets shut down immediately and I won’t be able to prove who really did this. I don’t give a fuck about what happens to him, personally, but I do care that the right people get put behind bars for this.”

You bit your lip. “I don’t understand. I thought the police were the ones trying to accuse Jaebum.”

The woman sighed. “I’m not working for GotSeven. But there are cops working for BTS around here. They figured out we were getting close, that’s why they planned to frame Jaebum and GotSeven for the whole thing and have our investigation shut down. Who better to frame than someone who also has a lot to hide? The witnesses who came forward to identify Jaebum were all planted there by BTS. Those poor girls are too terrified to come up to the police and identify the real victim, but they were coached to point at Jaebum so that’s all they do.”

“I can’t believe they make that work,” you whispered.

“BTS have done this before. That gang didn’t become powerful because they’re smart or efficient. They’re actually surprisingly sloppy. But whenever they get close to being caught, they simply frame someone else for the crime. It’s a strategy that works well for them. I have an entire list of crimes that I know for a fact were committed by BTS, but somebody else has already been convicted of them.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine. You suddenly remembered your own father. In the wrong place at the wrong time, convicted for a murder he hadn’t committed because the evidence against him was too strong. You had no way of knowing if BTS had been responsible for your father’s arrest but they might as well have been. And now it’s happening to Jaebum too. Are you going to sit by and let it happen? Are you going to let another man in your life get put behind bars for something he didn’t do while you sit on your ass?

“I don’t know how to stop this,” you admitted to her desperately. Your voice was shaking. “I know Jaebum isn’t responsible for the human trafficking. But he’s done a lot of other bad things that he deserves to go to prison for. If any of those come out then it’s going to be difficult to extricate him from the trafficking. It’ll spiral out of control, all of GotSeven’s dirty laundry will get aired out and it’ll be so much easier to make them responsible for the trafficking once they already have convictions for murder and robbery and smuggling on their plate.”

You heard her sigh. “I know that. That’s why we need to keep Im Jaebum innocent for now. Hopefully he’ll pay for his crimes at some point. But BTS is expanding their trafficking ring every day and more girls are being raped and tortured and sent to foreign countries as sex slaves. This needs to stop immediately. And for that, I need Jaebum to come out innocent during this particular trial. I need to make sure that my task force doesn’t get shut down and the trafficking investigation is allowed to continue. I am the closest anyone has ever gotten to nabbing BTS. Please help me.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, feeling your mouth go dry. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied quietly. “And about the bail hearing today… you should know that BTS doesn’t want Jaebum out on bail. Anybody who’s in the loop knows that Im Jaebum is what keeps GotSeven together and that their group is falling apart every day that he sits in prison. Park Jinyoung is smart but he doesn’t have the leadership or presence to handle them. Jaebum needs to get out if he’s going to protect his gang from BTS.”

You nodded. “You don’t have to worry about the bail hearing. I have everything in place. No rational judge could deny Jaebum bail after the arguments I’m going to make.”

“I hope that’s true. Don’t underestimate the lengths BTS would go to in order to keep Jaebum behind bars,” the women replied firmly. You heard a brief noise in the background and then her voice became quieter. “I have to go now. Remember what I said, and if you see me around or at the trial, pretend you don’t know me.”

“I actually don’t know you-“ you began, but she’d already hung up. You let the phone drop and fell back into bed, closing your eyes.

What am I going to do?

--

“Is the bail money ready?”

The girl standing beside Jackson nodded and gestured towards a black bag that Jackson was carrying over his shoulder. “I brought everything you asked for and more. Don’t worry. I took it purely from legal sources, it’s all traceable back to Jinyoung’s legal bank account where the profits from their business consultancy firm are deposited.”

You nodded before glancing at the others. All the GotSeven members had insisted on coming to court to attend the bail hearing although you told them that it was a stupid idea, and that you only needed Jinyoung and Jaebum’s sister. The younger girl in question was holding hands with Yugyeom while looking around the courthouse nervously. People were walking up and down the corridor rapidly, and the courthouse was bustling with activity. She’d clearly never been in a place like this before.

You turned to Jinyoung. “You remember everything I told you?” you demanded.

Jinyoung nodded firmly. He’d come well-dressed and you had to admit that he was probably the most reliable of the group, which was why you’d chosen him as Jaebum’s surety. “Of course. He’s my best friend, I’ve known him for years, he has vested business interests in this city so he would never run and he’s an upstanding citizen. You said to throw in some stuff about regular charitable contributions to cat shelters if I could.”

You turned and glanced at Jaebum’s sister. “You remember what you have to say?”

She blinked and nodded. “Yes. You told me to say some sentimental stuff about how my brother raised me and that we grew up together so he would never do anything to put me at risk. And to shed a couple of tears about how I couldn’t live without him because I didn’t have anybody else in my life. Sounds a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

You frowned at her. “Are you the lawyer?”

She bristled. “No. Fine. Whatever, if it gets Jaebum-oppa home then I’ll do it.”

You turned to grab your files, glancing at your watch. Jaebum’s bail hearing was due to start in ten minutes, the police were probably bringing him in right now. You had just picked up your files when you heard an audible gasp behind you. It was Bambam that had made the noise and he let out a small expletive. You whirled around to follow his gaze. Two tall, handsome men were walking down the long corridor. They were well-dressed, in suits and one of them nodded briefly at Jackson before they both entered the courtroom. You bit your lip and turned to see everyone’s white faces.

“What’s happening?” you demanded.

Yugyeom turned to you with big eyes. “That was RM and Jin.”

“Should those names mean something to me?”

“Kim Namjoon, commonly known as RM, current leader of BTS. He was the one wearing dark glasses,” Jinyoung explained to you in a hushed tone. You felt a chill run down your spine as you realized who had just passed by you. “He deals with external affairs and runs the human trafficking ring, he’s probably the one who framed Jaebum for all of this. The other one, Kim Seokjin, Jin, is his right hand man. He handles internal BTS affairs, mostly recruitment and keeping order within their group. They’re the highest ranking people in the gang.”

You felt your hands tremble. “Why are they here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Relax. They’re just here to intimidate us,” Jackson reassured you. “I know Namjoon. He’s never around when anything major is about to go down, he just waltzes around to scare people. Don’t let him get to you. And don’t make eye contact with him, he has really gorgeous eyes and you might get distracted.”

Jinyoung gave him a disgusted look. “Wang, seriously-“

“What? It’s the truth-“

You cut off their argument before it could escalate, trying to remain calm. Okay. Two of the leaders of the biggest mafia group were here, a mafia group that had warned you not to defend Im Jaebum in court. And yes, they were powerful and had no morals and would probably kill you at the slightest provocation. Yet there was no fear coursing through your veins, only anger and disgust. Your conversation with the police officer from this morning still echoed in your mind. Whenever they get close to being caught, they frame someone else for the crime. You shook yourself of your spiraling thoughts. No. Forget that. Forget everything. Right now, all you need to concentrate on is getting Im Jaebum out on bail.

“I’m going inside. You guys come in when you’re ready,” you mumbled, walking into the courtroom.

--

“We picked up the accused near a known hang-out for some shady folk,” the police officer sitting in the witness stand explained. You twirled your pen between your fingers as you listened to him. Jaebum was sitting beside you stiffly, hands still cuffed and his head bowed towards the floor. He hadn’t said anything to you since the hearing started. He looked like he didn’t even want to be there.

You raised an eyebrow at the police officer. “A known hang-out for some shady folk? Can you please explain that, officer? It sounds rather vague to me.”

“We’ve made multiple arrests at that club in the past. Drug dealers, smugglers, stuff like that. A lot of criminals use it as a meeting place.”

“But it is, after all, an ordinary club. Where any person above the age of 21 is legally allowed to enter, grab a few drinks and look for a hook-up? There were at least a hundred other people there that night who were not criminals, am I correct? ” you pressed. The officer frowned at you and nodded reluctantly.

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Thank you, that’s all from me.”

You sat back down as the officer climbed down from the witness stand. So far, the hearing had gone rather well. Jaebum’s sister turned out to be a surprisingly good actress and started crying so hard on the stand that the judge actually handed her some tissues to help her calm herself. Jinyoung did his job well too- he came off as a responsible, well-to-do young man that was vouching for his friend. You showed the judge evidence that Jaebum had been running a business here for four years and that he was unlikely to leave behind his sister and run. He was also willing to pay whatever amount the court set. You were almost positive that the judge would grant him bail, when the prosecution lawyer finally stood up.

“We have one last witness. We’d like to call Im Jaebum’s defense attorney to the stand, please.”

You stiffened. What?

“Are you talking about me?” you demanded, heartbeat thudding.

“Yes. We have evidence that the accused and his lawyer were in a romantic relationship for at least four years, Your Honour,” the prosecution attorney insisted, turning to the judge with a smirk on his face. “They used to be lovers and she’s now his attorney. I think she’s as good a character witness as any. We’d just like to ask her a few questions about Im Jaebum’s past to establish his character.”

You bristled. “He has no criminal record. What more could you want to know about his past?”

“We’ll tell you if you would kindly take the stand.”

You bit your lip and realized that the judge had already nodded his approval and was watching you expectantly. You felt your hands tremble. Fuck. You couldn’t keep refusing without looking like you had something to hide. What could they possibly want to ask you? Was this legal? How could you have overlooked something like this? You turned to look at Jaebum, who was staring at you with wide eyes.

“Can they do that?” he whispered.

“The judge seems to be okay with it. I don’t see how I can refuse without making it look like I have something to hide,” you whispered back. Jaebum reached out and squeezed your hand gently, nodding at you.

“It’s okay. Just go answer their questions. I’ll be fine.”

You slowly climbed up to the witness stand and took the oath that they asked you to. As you looked around the courtroom carefully, you realized that you could see everyone from this point. Jinyoung and Jackson were sitting a few rows behind, Jinyoung biting his fingernails nervously. You could see Yugyeom and Jaebum’s sister holding hands tightly as they watched you. Near one of the back rows, there was a female police officer that was staring at you intently. To the right were RM and Jin, both watching you with smug looks on their faces.

And right in the front was Im Jaebum. Jaebum who looked worried, but forced a reassuring smile in your direction.

“So, I hear you met the accused while you were in law school, am I correct? How long did you date him?”

You gritted your teeth. “Four years.”

“And why did you decide to become his lawyer? It seems rather odd for the accused to go to his ex-girlfriend of all people, when his financial position shows that he could probably afford to pay for a decent lawyer himself.”

You turned and looked at the judge. “Your Honor, I can’t answer a question like that. Anything regarding legal advice I gave Im Jaebum is privileged communication and protected by our attorney-client relationship. You can’t just put me on the stand and expect me to reveal things he might have confided in me as his lawyer.”

The prosecution attorney raised an eyebrow. “All right. Then let’s stick to events before you became his lawyer. When did you break up with Im Jaebum?”

“Three years ago.”

“And why?”

You blinked and bit your lip. “W-what?”

“I’m asking you why you broke up with him. Did the accused maybe do something unpleasant? I hear you were in the hospital for a short while around that time. We’re just asking why you decided to end a relationship of four years.”

You felt your heart sink into your stomach. Yes. Yes, he killed around 30 men because they kidnapped me. Because he couldn’t pay them on time so they wanted to teach him a lesson by beating me up.  From the smirk on the prosecutor’s face, you could tell that the man knew. He knew that you couldn’t explain that breakup without admitting that Jaebum was a criminal, he knew that that the moment you spoke, Jaebum was as good as condemned for life. If they find out that he killed an entire Russian gang then he’ll never get bail, he’ll never survive before a jury. He might even get convicted of the crime in a matter of weeks.

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I don’t know how that’s relevant-“

“We called you here as a character witness. You dated the accused for four years and we’re asking why you broke up. There’s nothing irrelevant or complicated about it, it’s a simple question.”

The female police officer was staring straight at you. You could see her sitting in the last row, her eyes fixed on you. Her words from this morning echoed in your mind. I need to make sure that my task force doesn’t get shut down. Please help me. I am the closest anyone has gotten to nabbing BTS. If you told the truth about Jaebum then her entire investigation would get shut down. The police would have all the evidence they needed to charge Jaebum with a myriad of crimes and BTS would get off free.

BTS. BTS who were sitting to the right and looking at you. You felt disgust bubble up inside of you as you looked at the two gang leaders. They were smiling, the smug smiles of men who knew that they had won. You were Im Jaebum’s weak link, the odd-piece out in his life full of crime. They knew you had principles and that you would never commit perjury or lie on the stand. You were a lawyer. To you, the entire legal system was sacred. The system. The system that you had spent years studying in school, the system that you had been taught was designed to put guilty men in prison and help innocent men go free.

The system that BTS manipulated every day of their lives. Whenever they get close to being caught, they frame someone else for the crime.

The system that had sent your father to prison, and was now going to convict Jaebum in place of the people who had actually committed the crime. If Jaebum is convicted for this crime then the investigation is closed, my task force gets shut down immediately and I won’t be able to prove who really did this.

The system that was a failure.

Fuck this system.

“Im Jaebum and I broke up because I cheated on him,” you lied confidently. You stared the prosecution attorney in the face and he stood a startled step back at the furious expression in your eyes. Then you turned and made eye contact with RM. His smile had dropped. As you stared at him, you felt a sudden realization dawn upon you. He thought he could use my principles to his advantage. I won’t let that happen. I won’t become a pawn in his game. Playing by the rules is a weakness in their world and that’s what they count on. The moment we break away from the system too, they lose their advantage.

The prosecution attorney blinked at you. “You cheated on the accused?” he repeated, confused.

“Yeah. I slept with one of his friends. Right there,” you replied, pointing in the general direction of where Jinyoung, Jackson and Mark were sitting. All three of them were staring at you with wide eyes, but you were too busy glaring at the man asking the questions. “Why? Do you have any evidence that suggests otherwise?”

The prosecution attorney frowned. “No, no I don’t.”

“Then I’ve answered your question satisfactorily, haven’t I?”

The prosecution attorney nodded. “Yes. I don’t… I don’t have any other questions.”

You stepped down from the stand and walked back to your seat, your mind feeling blank. Jaebum was staring at you with his dark eyes fixed on yours but you couldn’t even look at him. You couldn’t look at anyone. You just stared down at your trembling hands while the judge finally declared that Jaebum would be granted bail and read out various conditions that he needed to follow as well as the amount of money that he needed to deposit with the court. The hearing was dismissed and you stood up when the officers came over to remove Jaebum’s handcuffs. The first thing he did was grab your hand.

“Why did you do that?” he hissed.

You jerked your hand away from him, aware of the fact that RM and Jin were still in the courtroom and were watching you with narrowed eyes. You gathered your things and walked outside, ignoring the high-five that Jackson tried to give you and Jinyoung’s attempts to say something. You practically ran past them, jogging out of the courthouse and finding a small garden outside where you finally dropped your bag and files on the grass and fell to your knees.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick. What have I just done?

You were retching into the bushes, your head spinning when Jaebum and the others finally caught up to you. Your hands were trembling and you felt the reality of what you had just done hit you like a brick. I just lied on oath. I told a blatant, fucking lie on oath. What was I thinking? Jaebum helped you to your feet and handed you a bottle of water. You took it and drank, your hands shaking. Your entire face was white and you could feel your knees growing weaker.

Bambam was standing a little distance behind Jaebum and grinning at you.

“That was awesome. Was it the first time you broke the law? It’s pretty thrilling, isn’t it? Yugyeom and I started with drug dealing to be honest, but I think perjury’s a pretty awesome place to start. You should have seen the look on RMs face, they never imagined she would lie-“

Jaebum snarled. “Shut up, Bambam.”

“He’s right,” you whispered. Your voice cracked as you looked up at Jaebum helplessly and felt your entire life flash before you. Your heartbeat was racing at an inhuman rate. “I committed a crime. Perjury is a criminal offence, Jaebum, it’s two to five years in prison and I could be disbarred and lose my license to practice law. What was I thinking? How could I do that, how could I lie?”

Jaebum cupped your face in his hands. “Hey. Breathe. I need you to take a deep breath.”

You took a deep breath but you didn’t feel much better. Tears began to leak out of your eyes as you continued to panic. “It wasn’t even a good lie. What if they really do have evidence about why we really broke up, what if they bring it at the next hearing? I’ll be discovered, I’ll go to jail and my entire life will fall apart-“

“It won’t. It won’t, I won’t let that happen.”

Jaebum wrapped his arms around you and pressed you to his chest tightly, trying to calm you down. You inhaled his familiar scent and clutched on to him, seeking comfort. Your entire body was still trembling and you closed your eyes as you tried to come back to your senses. The confidence and the anger from back in the courtroom was gone and now you were scared and worried. “This is all your fault,” you mumbled into his chest. “You dragged me into this. You’re the one that went and got arrested and became and a target for BTS and made me lie… and…”

Jaebum gently stroked your hair. “Babe. We both know that I never expected you to lie on that stand for me.”

You felt your heart sink into your stomach. “I know.”

“You did that on your own. Do you regret it? If you could go back there and tell the truth about why we broke up, then would you do it?” Jaebum demanded. His dark eyes pierced down at you as he stroked your cheek lightly. “You wouldn’t. You know why? Because you know that if the truth about my killing the Russian gang gets out, then BTS will be able to pin just about everything they’ve ever done on me. That’s how the system works. You know that no jury will believe I’m not responsible for the human trafficking after they find out about all the other crimes I’ve committed. To them, there’s no difference. A criminal is a criminal. You’ve seen it happen to your father.”

You looked up at him. “You can’t go to prison for their crimes. That’s not right. But if BTS gets their way, then you will.”

“Exactly,” Jaebum replied. “So why are you feeling guilty about cheating a system that you never had faith in, in the first place?”

You looked at Jaebum, taking a deep breath. His dark eyes were staring down at you calmly, his hands cupping your cheeks. For the first time in your life, you felt like you could understand why Im Jaebum did the things he did. You could understand how he and his gang could steal and rob and kill with complete disregard for the law. Because the only way to deal with groups like BTS is to stoop to their level. You can’t shoot at them from your moral high ground. You have to sink to their level and get eye to eye with them. That’s what I did today. I sank to their level and I won.

“You’re right,” you whispered. You bit your lip. “BTS needs to be taken down. And the law isn’t going to do it for us.”

Jaebum smiled down at you softly. You hadn’t seen that smile in a long time and you suddenly realized that you’d underestimated Im Jaebum. Yes. He was a criminal, he did terrible things and he’d killed three men in front of your eyes. But there was a different sort of strength in him that you lacked. Im Jaebum wasn’t afraid of a world where there was no system. He wasn’t afraid of a life where there were no morals or rules to guide you as to what was right or wrong. He decided the rules he lived by himself.

Jaebum was free, in a way that you could never be.

--

You followed the others to the parking lot silently. Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure what to do. You’d never broken so many of your own rules and principles in a single day. You weren’t sure whether you detested yourself or of you were proud of not letting BTS take advantage of you.

“Hey,” Jaebum whispered softly, squeezing your hand. “Want a ride home?”

You clasped his hand tightly. “Jaebum.”

“Yeah?”

You took a deep breath and looked up at him. He seemed shocked by the passion in your eyes and he stopped in his tracks, looking down at you as you spoke firmly. “Let me defend you in court until the police can prove that BTS is the one behind the human trafficking. I want to do it. I can’t make them pay for their crimes, but I can make sure that nobody else goes to jail for them.”

Jaebum looked down at you. “I deserve to go to jail.”

“Not for this,” you replied. “You didn’t do it this time. And even if someday, you get arrested for something that you did do… then you deserve a defense attorney who will fight for you.  That’s how the system works, remember? Even the worst criminals deserve a lawyer. And I want to be yours.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked you softly.

You bit your lip and took a deep breath, before nodding up at him. Jaebum was worried for you. You could see it in his dark eyes, in the way his hand squeezed yours tightly. He had always been worried about you. And there was guilt in his eyes too. Guilt because he knew that your inner turmoil all led back to what he had put you through three years ago. “I can handle it. I trained my entire life to be a criminal lawyer and then the moment I encountered some crime in my own life, I turned to corporate tax like a coward. I think the answer my problems isn’t for me to hate you and the profession. The answer to this is for me to accept that I can defend you, while not being responsible for your crimes. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

He smirked lightly. “So no more perjury?”

“No more perjury.”

“Are you going to confess to having lied on the stand?”

“Someday. Someday, when you go to prison for your crimes then I’ll do my time for mine.”

Jaebum gently stroked your cheek with his thumb and smiled. It had been a long time since you’d seen that smile on his face and his eyes were shining as they stared into yours. Jaebum didn’t move for a long time and you were left looking at him, unable to resist a small smile on your own face.

“Why are you smiling?” you demanded.

Jaebum shook his head. “Nothing. I just remembered how passionate you used to be back when we were dating. You wanted to defend criminals, you wanted to give everyone a voice and you used to say all these things about justice, I just… I just hated that I broke that passion of yours. But I feel like it’s coming back, and I missed it. I missed you.”

You closed your eyes. “I missed you too,” you admitted honestly.

Jaebum’s lips brushed yours lightly and you felt your heart flutter. This man had broken you for a long time and brought you to the lowest point in your life. But he was also responsible for all your highs. You remembered how happy he’d once made you and how he was the only man you’d ever loved. Jaebum’s arms felt warm and comfortable and like home, a feeling you hadn’t felt in years. You wrapped your arms around Jaebum and let him kiss you. You let yourself forget the trial, and crimes and the courthouse and BTS and you just kissed him back because if the entire world disappeared, and it was just you and him, that would be your paradise.

When he pulled away, he gave you a soft smile. “I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips.

You let your hands slide down from his shoulders and stepped back. You could hear loud voices coming from a little distance away and you saw that some of the other GotSeven members were talking loudly near Jackson’s car. Before you could say anything else, Mark came over to you and he looked at Jaebum with a hint of panic in his eyes.

“We have a problem.”

Jaebum released you. “Huh?”

“I just got a phone call. Remember the police officer who was investigating the human trafficking? She finally got one of the witnesses to crack this morning. The girl confessed that it was RM who was running the trafficking ring and that she’d been shown a picture of you and told to identify you in front of the police if she didn’t want to die.”

Your heart leapt. “That’s great! So we finally have a witness-“

Mark cut you off. “No, not great. BTS kidnapped the girls from police custody barely half an hour ago.”

“What?”

“The witnesses are gone. And BTS is probably going to kill them.”

--

“Do it faster!”

“I’m trying!” Youngjae snapped angrily. He was clearly annoyed with you and he barely looked at you as he typed rapidly into his laptop. You were sitting in the backseat of Youngjae’s car with a gun in one hand and a cellphone in the other as he tried to track BTS’ location. The others had already gotten into their cars and headed out to all the possible locations where they could have taken the witnesses. Youngjae was trying to track down their cellphones and he finally sat up with a grin.

“Got it! They’re at an old warehouse behind the railway tracks. This is where they meet up with some of their buyers. These girls might not be dead yet, it’s possible they’re just going to sell them. Get me Jaebum-hyung on the phone. He and Mark are the closest to that location.”

You dialed Jaebum’s number rapidly and handed Youngjae the phone.

“Hyung? They’re in the warehouse, you and Mark are pretty close to it. I’m tracking you both now, you just need to get on the other side of the railway lines.”

You sat back in your seat as Youngjae directed Jaebum and Mark to the location. You’d wanted to go with them but Jaebum had flatly refused to take you. Not only did you not know how to handle a gun or defend yourself, you could also possibly become a liability to them and slow them down. His blunt words hurt you a little but you had to admit that he was right. You weren’t much use in a rescue operation. You’d agreed to stay with Youngjae as Jaebum insisted. You had been worried that he would get hurt, but Jaebum had only given you a small smile.

“They wouldn’t kill me. They need me, remember? I’m their scapegoat.”

Those words were not as comforting to you as Jaebum had probably intended them to be. You bit your lip and stared down at your hands nervously. No matter how aware you were of the fact that Jaebum was not a good person, you still didn’t want to see him die. He meant a lot to you, and the last thing you wanted was for BTS to hurt him. You clenched your fists in anger. Those bastards. How could they force innocent girls to commit perjury for them, and then kidnap them once they cracked? Your heartbeat was thudding as you wondered how terrified those poor girls must be. The horrible lives they must have led while in the hands of BTS.

“Okay. You guys go in. I’m hanging up now, I’ll call Jinyoung and Jackson and tell them to back you up.” Youngjae replied, before hanging up the call. You sat up and looked at him, eyes wide.

“Jaebum and Mark are going in alone?”

Youngjae glanced at you. “There’s no other option. BTS already has the girls and it will barely take them seconds to kill them, if they haven’t already. We can’t afford to wait for the whole gang to turn up there. I’m calling Jinyoung and Jackson to send them back-up now. All we can do is wait and hope things go all right.”

You glanced at Youngjae with a frown. “Is that what you normally do?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your job sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

--

“The girls are safe but Jaebum got shot in the arm. Meet us at the hospital.”

You paced up and down the corridor nervously. Jackson and Jinyoung looked surprisingly calm. Jackson was playing a game on his phone and Jinyoung was sitting and reading a book as you all waited for Jaebum to get out of surgery. RM had tried to kill the girls the moment he saw that GotSeven had arrived… apparently he’d rather they be dead than survive to possibly testify against him. Jaebum had taken the bullet in the girl’s place. According to Jackson, it wasn’t an accident.

“RM doesn’t miss,” Jackson had told you simply as they wheeled Jaebum into surgery. “If Jaebum-hyung got shot in the arm then it’s because RM wanted him shot in the arm. They both know that killing Jaebum would only cause bigger problems for BTS. They wouldn’t have a scapegoat for the human trafficking anymore and the investigation would close in on them.”

You couldn’t believe it. “Even if he knew RM wouldn’t kill him, it was a reckless thing to do, taking a bullet for someone.”

“I think we both know who he really took that bullet for.”

You couldn’t stand their nonchalant attitude about Jaebum being in such a serious surgery, so you left the two men to their pastimes and paced down a separate corridor. You paused in your tracks when you a saw a pair of familiar figures in the adjacent waiting room. Mark was sitting there, talking quietly with the female detective that you recognized from the bail hearing. The moment they both saw you, they moved a few inches apart. Then Mark stood up and gave you a small smile of greeting before leaving the waiting room. The detective smiled at you weakly.

“Hi,” she greeted.

You blinked at her. “Hi. You’re the one that called me this morning, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about the early morning wake-up call. I was in a bit of a panic. There are more cops that BTS bought than I realized, and it’s hard to tell who I can trust. Turns out I failed, after all. One of my most trusted colleagues was the one who helped BTS kidnap the girls.”

“I’m sorry. How are they doing now?”

“They’re in witness protection. I sent them out of the country until I can gather enough evidence to prosecute BTS and then I’ll bring them in to testify. Probably in a couple of weeks. Don’t worry, they’re safe. I don’t make the same mistake twice,” she reassured you. You had to admire how strong this woman seemed. There were bags under her eyes and she looked like she had barely slept. But there was a different kind of sadness in her eyes and you had to ask.

“Are you okay?” you mumbled.

She forced a smile at you. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine. I guess I’m just finding it difficult to accept that after all these years of tracking down BTS, I might finally get them put away for something major. I mean, it’s almost done. The whole reason we constituted the organized crime task force would be in jail in a month or so.”

You blinked. “I see. So they’ll dissolve the task force, then.”

“No. We just come up with a new target.”

Your heart skipped a beat when you realized the reason behind the pain in her eyes. “Oh.”

“Once we get BTS behind bars, our next target is GotSeven.”

--

It took a while for Jaebum to wake up from the surgery. They got the bullet out and he was stable, but he still looked rather drowsy from the anesthesia when you went in to see him. He gave you a small smile as you sat down beside his bed gingerly, trying not to touch the various IV fluids and antibiotics stuck into his arm. He looked weak but he still smiled at you.

“Hey,” he greeted you softly.

You bit your lip as you looked down at him. It broke your heart to see Jaebum lying so weakly on a hospital bed like this. He was human too, after all. He got hurt and suffered pain just like everyone else did. You let him shakily reach out and take your hand. “How are you doing?” you asked.

Jaebum chuckled. “I’m fine, I’ve been shot before.”

You winced. “Let’s not go there.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t believe you took a bullet for one of those girls,” you mumbled, trying to hold back your tears. Jaebum was still smiling at you, and seeing him look unaffected by the pain was making you feel miserable. You sniffled and quickly blinked your tears back. “Even if you were sure that RM wouldn’t kill you, why would you do something like that?”

Jaebum opened his mouth to speak, but then he shook his head and held back.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I’d rather not,” he told you softly. His eyes avoided yours. “I’m pretty sure that the last time I gave you this answer, it messed you up pretty badly.”

“Huh? Don’t be stupid. Just say it.”

“I did it for you.”

--

[thatoneloser-kid]

Jester x Beau x Yasha? beau is having nightmares after watching molly die but feels like she cant bring it up because of what Yasha and Jester went through?

Beau knew that after what happened there would be some sort of lingering effects.

In the space of two days they lost and found three of their friends, made three new friends and watched one have a sword driving into their chest.

There had to be some lasting effects.

Beau just didn’t expect it to be her, she wasn’t exactly the closest with Molly.

She thought it would have been one of the three taken, Fjord already coughed up water in his sleep, and what they went through in those few days, the state they were in when they found them, that should have been the ones waking covered in sweat and panting.

Or even Caleb, who killed many people in the space of days with fire, he should be having PTSD.

Not. Beau.

Beau went through nothing, not really.

She watched Molly die then did what she always done, found comfort in the arms of a stranger. Well, not necessarily a stranger this time but someone who she knew wasn’t sticking around.

But she got Jester and Yasha back, and then she offered to do the first watch the first night because there was no way she could sleep after everything that had happened.

She had gone way over her time, spending all of it just staring at her friends, giving them a much needed rest.

Yasha was the first to wake, silently sitting herself down beside Beau. They were there, in silence, for a good half an hour before Jester sat herself down on the other side, much closer than Yasha had.

“No one has asked how you are, Beau.” Yasha commented after a little over an hour.

“Huh? Yeah. I’m fine, dude, I’m-“ Beau shrugged. “I wasn’t taken by a human trafficker.”

“It’s okay to not be okay, Beau.” Jester assured softly.

“You watched a friend die, that isn’t easy.”

“I’m okay,” Beau said, and she had to be, because her friends had been tortured, both mentally and physically. She had to be okay. For them.

Yasha nodded, her large arm encircling around the both of them as she shuffled closer.

“If you say so,” Jester said in that playfully singsong way, nuzzling against Beau’s side before placing a hand on her cheek and forcing her to look at her. “But it would be okay if you weren’t.”

Then Jester kissed her, quick and hard on the lips, and all Beau could do was nodded quickly.

Things didn’t really change after that.

Jester acted like they didn’t kiss and Yasha acted like she didn’t see it, or maybe they just acted the same because why change? Why talk about it?

Beau didn’t sleep much for the next few days, which everyone noticed but no one commented on, until day three and Beau was stumbling as they made their way back to Zedash.

Yasha scooped her up out of nowhere, causing Beau to speak in surprise.

“Yasha,” Beau frowned, glancing at Yasha them to the group that were a few feet in front of them, bar Jester, who was walking along side them like nothing had happen. “What are you doing?”

“You are exhausted, Beau.” Jester answered.

“You need to sleep,” Yasha agreed.

“You can’t carry me like this for long.”

Yasha scoffed and Jester laughed.

“Yasha is super dooper strong,” Jester said, grinning almost proudly up at the barbarian.

“I’m fine guys, I can walk.”

“No need,” Yasha assured, holding Beau tight against her. Beau went to argue, but before she could Yasha kissed her, softer than Jester had, and Beau tensed up, glancing at Jester who was bouncing along side them, a soft smile on her lips as she looked at them.

That was when Beau realised that maybe the two woman she had found herself tumbling head over heels for actually like her back, and maybe liked each other?

It was something they should probably talk about. It was something they definitely wouldn’t talk about.

The first night they stayed at an inn she ended up sharing with Jester and Yasha.

They were with Ophelia so they stayed at a fancy big Inn with huge beds, big enough for the three of them to fit in.

Beau had no excuse not to sleep, they didn’t need someone to keep watch, she had no option but to get into bed, in between the two strong woman.

There was something safe about it, being curled against Yasha chest, Jester pressed against her back.

Then she slipped, her mind blank, then it wasn’t.

The first thing she seen was Molly’s face, his stupid jewels on his horns. his red eyes were an endless black, blood trickling from his eyes, nose and mouth. He was lifeless, dead, and Beau couldn’t help but think it was partially her fault.

Why hadn’t she got a hit on Lorenzo before he had impaled Molly? Why hadn’t she protected her stupid, dysfunctional family?

She failed to protect Fjord, Yasha and Jester from being taken. She failed at keeping Molly alive.

Beau woke with a gasp, and when she opened her eyes Jester and Yasha were already awake, watching her with worried eyes.

Beau swallowed thickly, avoiding their eye as she sat up.

“You aren’t coughing up water, are you?” Jester questioned and Beau had to chuckle.

“No, Jester.”

“Beauregard,” Yasha voice was more serious, her eyes soft and caring. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry if I woke you guys.”

Jester shuffled right up against her, her fingertips trailing up and down Beau’s side. “You were saying his name, Beau.”

“It was just- bad dream.” Beau chuckled, more on reflex than anything.

“Beau,” Yasha said her name with such a commanding tone that Beau could only look over her shoulder at her.

Yasha didn’t say anything, she didn’t really need too, there were so many questions in her eyes.

Are you okay?

What was it about?

Talk to us.

What are you wrestling with?

Beau didn’t answer any of those questions, she just reclined back, letting her forehead rest against Yasha’s chest, taking comfort in Yasha’s strong around the two of them and Jester’s soft tickling of her side.

“We are here, Beau.” Yasha whispered.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Jester added.

Beau didn’t talk.

Beau did what Beau did best, used a warm body as comfort.

But this time it wasn’t a stranger, or dwarf that was inevitable going to leave.

This time it was Yasha and Jester.

They had been drinking, the group finding comfort and laughter in each other, but Beau was distant, spacey, drink in one hand her chin in the other.

Beau didn’t ever realise Fjord, Nott, Caduceus, and Caleb had left until Jester’s fingers tickled down her jaw.

Beau startled, her eyes focusing on Yasha across from her, now on the bench alone.

Yasha slid her hand up Beau’s  head to her forearm, her eyes not leaving Beau’s. “Would you like to go upstairs?”

Beau nodded, she knew that look in Yasha’s eyes.

Jester traced the tip of her nose up Beau’s cheek before whispering into her ear. “She means for sex,” she clarified, kissing the spot just below Beau’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah.” Beau could fell her body quiver and she subconsciously tilted her head to give Jester more room to work with. “I got that.”

They tumbled into the large, comfortable bed together, Beau feeling a little overwhelmed at the attention.

Beau tried to take some kind of control, give Yasha and Jester the attention they deserved, but they didn’t allow it, both of their attentions entirely on Beau.

Beau was exhausted in the best way come the end, Jester’s horned head resting in Beau’s stomach while Yasha was propped up on her side, watching both of them.

Things changed after that, Jester draped herself over either Beau or Yasha, Yasha always seemed to be touching Beau or Jester in some way, and they kissed in public.

If the Nein were at all surprised by this development they didn’t show it, at least at first.

It took about a week for Nott to snap.

They were in a small tavern in a shady town and Yasha got up to get them more drinks, a soft smile on her lips when Beau tilted her head back. Yasha dipped down, pressing a lingering kiss on Beau’s lips.

Nott had been hunched together with Jester, probably conspiring about something, when Jester just stopped mid-sentence, her eyes drifting to Yasha when she stood, her eye softening at the display of affection from the girls.

“Are we just pretending this isn’t happening?” Nott huffed, looking from Fjord to Caleb.

“Nott,” Fjord warned.

“No, Yasha is all mushy, Beau is smiling.” Nott pointed accusingly at Beau before turning to Jester, pointing at her. “and you, you are getting distracted during detectiveing.”

“We love each other,” Jester shrugged, like it was obvious, and, though none of them had said it, it was blatantly obvious for the group. “And we are having lots and lots of sex.”

Nott’s face morphed into a look of disgust, “Ew, no.”

Beau looked proud of herself when Nott looked at her, nodding smugly at her.

“I’m sorry I asked.” Nott grumbled, taking a swig of her flask.

Beau kept waking with nightmare, even with the comfort and strength of her companions surrounding her.

It was one night after sex that Beau brought it up.

“Are you guys having nightmares?” Beau questioned, tracing her fingertips distractedly up and down Jester’s horns.

“I do,” Yasha agreed, and both Yasha and Beau looked at Jester, who was drawing little patterns on Beau’s stomach.

Beau thought back to the talk she had with Fjord, about Jester, about how she had dealt with being in being locked up.

Jester glanced at them, doing a double take when she saw them looking at her. “Oh, of course I do.” Jester’s voice was too preppy for the subject matter. “I watched them beat and hurt my family and I could do nothing.”

Beau was a little taken aback and felt a little stupid. Jester was always so forthright, straight up with them, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of just asking Jester how she was holding up.

“You were always so happy, trying to make us feel better.” Yasha sighed, stroking down Jester’s cheek.

“If you force a smile it will make you feel better.” Jester shrugged. “Put on a happy face and don’t let what you can’t control get you down.”

There was a softness on Yasha’s face, probably the same softness that was on Beau’s.

“But we are going to be okay,” Jester assured, and sounded like she genuinely believed that, giving a hard nod. “We’re a family, and we lost someone we loved, but Molly would want us to get on with it, to be happy and remember him as the man who left every town better than how he found it.”

Beau found herself staring over at Jester with a soft smile, a feeling of love blossoming in her chest when Yasha pressed a lingering kiss to Jester’s lips.

Jester grinned widely, her tail wrapping around Beau’s ankle as she settled in again. “We should have been doing this from the beginning.”

Beau scoffed. “Yasha wouldn’t even hold me at the circus.”

“You were obnoxious,” Yasha commented. “I wasn’t about to give in to your dump flirting.”

“Hey!” Beau argued.

“You are kind of obnoxious, Beau.” Jester said. “But when you get attention back you are a mess, totally useless.”

Yasha had a little grin on her lips at Jester’s words.

“Not true! I bagged Keg.”

“Sure, but how many more woman did you hit on before Keg?” Jester tilted her head back to look up at Beau.

“I- that’s irrelevant.” Beau huffed, a little frown on her face.

“It’s okay, Beau.” Jester assured while Yasha smoothed her thumb over her crinkled brow. “You’re a disaster, but we still love you.”

Beau grumbled, “You guys suck.”

Jester wiggled against her, dancing. “And you love us,” she sang.

[sasspiria]

(The Odds Of This Are) Astronomical - Chapter 6

Fandom: Far Cry 3

Ship:Jason Brody/Vaas Montenegro

Tags:Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics,True Mates,Alpha Vaas,Omega Jason,Biting,Grant Lives,Accidental Bonding,Angst and Porn,Porn With Plot,Scenting,Rough Body Play,Don't Examine This Too Closely,Canon-Typical Violence,Intercrural Sex,Claiming Bites,Snowballing,Deepthroating,Excessive Drinking,Buck Being Creepy,Knotting

Summary: Omegas were uncommon but they weren't rare by any means. True mates, however, were an entirely different story. The odds of any person having one were astronomical at best. When Jason finds that he does have a true mate, he should feel amazing about being so lucky. A part of him wants to feel excited, damn all the consequences, but at the same time it just feels like the universe is giving him a hard smack to the face when his true alpha comes in the form in a psychopathic, murdering, drug addled pirate that kidnapped him and his friends. All Jason can hope is that he can use Vaas' manic affections towards him to his advantage and save the rest of them.

Part 6/?

((Read it on Ao3 right here))

Grant returned to the temple, smelling like pot and covered in run off fuel from the flamethrower that he had been brandishing all day. It had been frighteningly easy for him to get back into the swing of things – running around the island, helping the natives and doing everything in his power to destabilize every bit of power that Vaas and his pirates held over the island just came much too naturally to him.

Occasionally, his mind would wander to the uncomfortable thought that Jason was fixed in with the pirates – he had no idea what the hell they were doing with him or how he could be bonded with someone like that pirate. It wasn’t just that it didn’t make any sense to him, but that he didn’t want to think of Jason like that. Grant didn’t want to think that his brother would just be the type of person that he would have avoided like the plague during his tours through Iraq, even when they were the ones on his side. Come to think of it, especially when they were the ones on his side.

“Grant!” Dennis exclaimed as he called him forward into the temple, “Did you find what you were looking for yet?” He asked, seeming agitated – or maybe even a little drunk. As he came closer, the scent of alcohol on breath confirmed Grant’s suspicions.

“…in a sense.” Grant replied tentatively, “I met this man, hiding out in Badtown. I think he’s supposed to be a spy or something? I’ve been working with him.” He doubted that Willis was going to be as much help as he needed, but he was sure the CIA agent would do something for him in return. A quid pro quo, he thought, with a small smile spread across his face.

“Funny, I have never heard of such a man.” Dennis replied with a curious sort of tone of voice. “Citra would like to meet with you, if you would come along with me.” He directed, motioning for Grant to follow along with him.

“He might be able to help me take down Hoyt.” Grant commented in a casual sort of tone,“If I can take him down, if I can bring this whole thing down, the island would probably be safe from here on out. Right?”

“Oh, no. Grant, you do not want to deal with Hoyt.” He warned, “If you think that Vaas is crazy, then you have no idea how bad Hoyt is. He controls everything on this island, the trafficking, the drugs, even the natives. It would be smarter to get your friends and just go.”

“Yeah, well. If I don’t take him down, then who else will?” He replied in a dismissive tone of voice,“Will you?” He added in a challenging sort of way. He didn’t think that the natives were helpless or anything, but he could understand that they weren’t exactly in a great position to fight back. Grant had experience with combat, he was capable enough to help take down Hoyt without getting himself killed in the process.

Dennis frowned at that, “I suppose that that is true…” He acquiesced, though he did not seem entirely convinced that Grant would be able to pull it off. The two of them dropped the subject as Citra came in sight once again, both of them became quiet out of respect and deference for her.

She smiled easily at Grant as she addressed the two of them in a polite manner before she decided to call Grant back into the private chambers of her temple. Grant had been a little confused as to why she was taking him somewhere private in the first place, but he figured that he was better off playing along with whatever the Rakyat wanted or needed him to do.

Citra handed him a small glass filled with a gold colored, thick drink and urged him to drink from it. Though he was wary of it, he did as he was told and tipped the glass back – a calm feeling coming over him almost immediately.

He found himself eased down onto what felt like a slab of concrete – the thought crossed his mind that it was almost like something that he might be tied down to and sacrificed upon – as Citra sang his praises once again. She told him what a good warrior that he was, how much he had helped her tribe out and other calming, soothing statements like that. He was so relaxed that her words just washed over him gently, allowing him to just accept the praise for what it was.

When Citra tried to kiss him, it took him by surprise and Grant snapped back to reality. He practically jumped back to avoid allowing the contact to happen. “Uh, woah! That’s not-” He exclaimed, a very sudden uncomfortable feeling coming over him. He awkwardly tried to explain himself but he ended up just changing the subject. “So, is there anything else you need me to do, while I’m still here?” He asked, if for no other reason than to occupy the silence that was swallowing up the atmosphere of the room they were in.

Citra’s expression darkened for a fraction of a moment before she recovered from the rejection and – at least on the outside – she maintained a calm and measured sort of expression on her face. She was about to say something when Willis’ voice came out loud and clear over the radio – telling him about some intel that would show him where Oliver was. “I should go then.” He said, his focus narrowed down to doing whatever needed to be done to help his friends.

“Yes.” Citra said, doing a complete one eighty so that she was suddenly all buttoned up and business like in tone. “Save them. Then return here. We have much more to discuss.” She spoke magnanimously, with a pleasant expression on her face as Grant ran off to the village – playing the hero once again.

Citra’s pleasant demeanor immediately turned icy as soon as Grant was out of her sight. Grant was her Warrior. He had to be. She had for seen it, she had done the rituals to make sure that she was correct. But if she couldn’t keep Grant at her side, if she couldn’t keep him kept and loyal, then she wouldn’t have any of her goals achieved. She called for Dennis – he had been so loyal to her, ever since he had washed up on the island years ago – she was sure he would be able to figure a way out to fix this for her.

***

Spending some time in the cave with his friends every now and again kept Jason grounded and reminded of who he was, why he was here. It was way too easy to get caught up with Vaas and all of the drama that was surrounding him, Grant, Vaas and all the rest of the Rakyat that were fighting that he might end up losing sight of himself if he didn’t.

And he couldn’t afford too lose sight of himself – for the sake of his friends and family that were trapped here on this island, he had to make sure that, until they were all safe and ready to leave Rook, he kept most of his focus on them whenever he could.

Jason wandered into the cave, taking notice of what everyone was doing. He gravitated towards Daisy first, as she seemed to be the most busy. “Hey. What are you working on?” He asked her as he noticed the tuning up that she had been doing on a rusty, piece of crap looking boat. Daisy smiled at him as her hands were preoccupied with trying to make it sea worthy, “This is what’s going to get us out into the ocean.” She replied in a chipper tone.

Daisy had spent most of her child out on the ocean, just by virtue of experience she had developed knowledge.“Yeah, and straight into the ocean.” Jason teased her as he curiously watched her work on the rusty and dangerous looking boat. He couldn’t be sure that that thing was safe to just be sitting in this cave, let alone sailing them halfway across the world, back home to Santa Monica.

Daisy snorted derisively at that, “Yeah, says the boat expert.” She replied sarcastically. “Hey, while your here, maybe you can make yourself useful-” Jason laughed at that, “And find me an engine piece.” At his look of confusion, she showed him the broken part. “It should look something like this. There’s a lot of wreckage here, so there’s bound to be one down there that actually works.”

“Alright. Fine.” He hummed quietly. The omega was happy to help. He had always been athletic and he had always been a strong swimmer – though he was definitely not as strong as Daisy was. He could handle rummaging around looking for spare boat parts for her. Once he came back up with the boat part in hand, he was still dripping wet with lake water. He handed Daisy the part and told her that he went through some trouble to get to it, so it had better be worth it.

Daisy saw him off with a show of her middle finger and he decided to sit with Liza by the makeshift fire that she had made for herself. “Hey,” Liza said in a quiet, personal sounding tone of voice. She sat down next to him and handed him a tin box, “I’ve been foraging around, these herbs might be useful for… medicine or something. I don’t know.” She wanted to help but she wasn’t sure just what she could do.

She would be no good in a fight, if anything she’d make it worse, but she felt so awful just sitting there like a lame duck while Grant and Jason ran around the island, causing havoc all around. She felt the need to help. Even in just small, insignificant ways like helping them out with supplies. “Thanks, I’m sure it will help.” Jason replied, mirroring her nervous smile. He could tell something was on her mind and he decided to just nip it in the bud and ask her, “So, uh, what’s going with you?”

Liza’s thoughts came out in the worst way possible when she asked what Jason thought he was doing with Vaas. After a few moments of deliberative silence, Jason finally replied. “I’m playing the long game.” He explained, “Well, I… you need to understand that if I work well with Vaas, then I can get us all out of here without risking our lives. At least without risking our lives any more than necessary.”

“But you’re going to leave with us, right?” She asked, “When this I all over, you’re not seriously thinking of staying here?” The answer that Liza was hoping for – the one that made the most sense to her, given everything that had happened – was obvious. She wanted Jason to say that he wasn’t going to stay but he wasn’t so sure that that was a promise that he would be able to keep. “Jason?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He replied after minutes of pointed silence, speaking in an exasperated tone of voice. He had a feeling that this was not the last time that this sort of talk would come up, and as it stood now Jason had no real answer. He was caught at a crossroads – between Rook and California, between Vaas and Grant, between his instincts and between what he had always known.

“I guess it’s not a really simple choice is it?” She replied sympathetically, “For better or worse. Vaas is, well, he’s your Alpha. What you two have together, it’s… intense. Life changing. I can’t imagine what kind of stress you’re under about this.” Liza rambled on a bit and Jason let her speak. “I… never mind, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was wrong of me. Just forget the whole thing.”

“Hey, Liza don’t worry-” Jason was in the middle of reassuring her when he noticed Grant walking in and all of his attention was focused on seeing his elder brother again, after so long. “Grant?!” He exclaimed, practically jumping up right as he saw him.

Jason crashed into the older, pulling him into a crushing tight hug. “I haven’t seen you in- shit, it feels like it’s been years.” He commented in a breathless sort of way. Even though he had only been on the island for the last few weeks, it felt like ages since he had been at home in California with his brothers.

“You seem different.” Grant commented in a wary sort of tone, as his own thoughts were mirroring Jason’s own. Everything had changed and he doubted that any of them would ever be the same after all of this had happened.

Jason gave him a small, uneven smile in return. “Really? You seem the same.” He commented in a casual sort of tone. “Well, you look a little tired, I guess. But other than that? You seem completely the same.” He shrugged and that was true. On a physical level, this Grant seemed very different from the one that had been sitting with him in that club in Bangkok, telling them all ridiculous stories of his time in Iraq.

But, emotionally? In that visceral, unseen way, he was still the same person. He was still his older brother – who had practically raised him for years, who had always been so loyal to him and Riley and who had always been dedicated to making their lives growing up easygoing.

Grant hadn’t needed to say anything about him changing, because he knew well enough that he had changed so much already. The Jason from before they had landed on Rook and the Jason that he was now were so insanely different from each other that they may as well have come from entirely different worlds, different lives instead of being the same person.

The two of them talked for some time, catching up with each other about the things that they had done. Jason spoke about living with Vaas and his pirates – though he was careful not to bring up the incident that he had had on one of his first days there, he didn’t want his brother thinking that he was a murderer– and Grant talked about all of the work that he had been doing for the natives – though Grant tried not to bring up directly that he had been trying to take down Vaas and Hoyt as he didn’t want Jason thinking he was going to murder his alpha.

The two of them expertly danced around the full truth of what they had been doing, managing to keep the whole exchange amicable the entire time. They only stopped when Jason noticed that it was turning to dusk outside and he needed to go if he wanted to be back by dark and see Vaas. “Well, this has been fun.” He said, much to the disappointment and surprise of the occupants of the cave. They all took to asking him some variance of, “Can’t you stay?” Even though he was sure that they knew that he couldn’t just stay, otherwise he would be staying instead of rushing off.

“No, I have to go.” Jason said, in a tone that broke no arguments. “Vaas will be expecting me back at camp soon and I don’t – I can’t disappoint him like that. He’s given me a lot of trust.” Grant had an odd look on his face, disbelieving that he would so easily choose one of the men that had gotten him in this mess in the first place, over his own family, his own friends, his old life. “I’m not going away forever. I’ll be back I just… he’s my alpha. I can’t just run away from him like that.” He gave Grant a small half smile and picked up the small tin of herbs that Liza gave him, “That’s not how this is going to work.”

While Grant had not wanted Jason to leave again, he had understood well that Jason was going to do whatever he wanted, the thoughts and feelings of everyone else be damned. He had always been like that – he had always been a little selfish and more than a little impulsive – and there was no reason that he would change just because their situation was more drastic. If anything, Jason might have gotten worse – with someone like Vaas egging on and enabling all of his worse attributes.

***

Jason had been sitting in his and Vaas’ quarters by himself, guiltily dipping into Vaas’ weed stash, when the pirate lord had burst in to the room. Vaas noticed him smoking and laughed, “You dipping in my stash, Mi Amante?” He asked, though he knew the answer already. The whole room smelled like pot and Jason’s eyes were red and bloodshot – it would have been laughable if Jason tried to deny it now.

“I…” Jason trailed off, trying to think of something to say when he noticed the look on Vaas’ face. It was a look that told him not to lie – so he didn’t. “Sorry. You weren’t here and I was so bored I needed something to do.” Vaas laughed and took the joint out of Jason’s hand and puffed on it himself.

“You didn’t fuck with anything in that little tin box over there, did you?” He asked, pointing towards said box – where he stashed his coke and dope, he didn’t want Jason touching that. At least not if he wasn’t there with him to keep him steady while he was tripping. Maybe they would soon, he thought.

“No, of course, I wouldn’t do anything like that.” Jason denied immediately with a brisk shake of his head. “I figured that it was just pot, you know, and you wouldn’t mind sharing at least pot with me.” He spoke in a quiet and coy tone of voice as he edged ever closer to the alpha.

Vaas kissed him in a way that was unaccountable gentle, “Jason, you are fucking lucky you’re mine.” He warned Jason as he pulled back, “Otherwise I would have fucked you up for doing something stupid like that.” Jason responded with a halfhearted shrug, as if he was trying to say; “Well, I haven’t thought about the consequences of my actions before and I’m not going to start doing it now.” and it showed.

Vaas pounced on the omega, his affection suddenly turning aggressive. He pressed kisses all over Jason’s throat and on his face until the omega was giggling stupidly and begging him to stop in between gasping laughter. As soon as Vaas pulled back off of the omega, Jason made his own move and straddled the alpha’s hips, grinding his crotch down on Vaas’ own clothed erection.

By the time that they got their clothes off of each other, the two of them were panting and moaning from how worked up they had become grinding on each other. Vaas laid back, allowing Jason to take the lead. The omega sighed and forced himself to relax as he speared himself on Vaas’ dick. He rode him gently for what felt like hours, stroking his own cock slowly in time with the movement of his hips before Vaas came onto Jason’s stomach. The alpha grabbed Jason and pulled him close before he took the omega’s leaking cock in hand and brought him off to his own orgasm.  

Jason sighed with pleasure as he winded himself down from the high of his orgasm. He slowly settled himself down with the alpha, curling up close to him in a needy sort of way. Vaas wrapped an arm over the omega’s chest and pulled him in close. His fingers trailed over a thick cut on Jason’s hip,“I got practically got fucking mauled by a tiger on my way back here.” Jason muttered in response to the alpha’s unasked question, closing his eyes – already half asleep. “Probably gonna scar…”

Vaas laughed, “You better watch out, bonito, you keep running around like that you’re gonna end up with a whole fucking lot more scars all over you.” He teased, “More than half of them are gonna be from me,” He added, “Gonna fucking mark you up all over, til you got me branded under your skin.”

The omega really liked the sound of what Vaas had been implying, and if he wasn’t already more than a little sore, he would be egging his alpha on for another round. He squirmed his way out of Vaas’ grasp and straddled the alpha’s hips again. He found himself distracted by the sight of a deep scar running along the side of Vaas’ head. And he was feeling much too elated and high to stop himself from saying anything potentially stupid about it, “Speaking of scars,” Jason commented in a dreamy, soft tone of voice. “I’ve been wondering how you got this one,” His fingers trailed along his scalp, “It looks like it came out of a brutal battle.”

“Oh, that?” Vaas questioned as Jason’s fingers traced curiously along the thick scar. “That, fucking whore… Citra gave me that before I left.” He explained, his mood souring just from the mention of her name. He hated her. He hated her so much, but he didn’t want to set Jason off or scare him by going into a rage at the memory of her.

Citra had ruined him, she had set him down a path of drug use, fighting and killing for kicks. Jason’s curiosity peaked at that, “Citra?” He asked, never having heard that name before.

“My sister.” He growled, “If you ever meet her, you don’t trust a fucking word out of her lying, whore mouth. Understand me?” It was so obvious that Vaas hated her that Jason couldn’t do much else but drop the subject completely. “She’ll fuck you up, Jason, she fucks everything and everyone that she so much as looks at up.” He spoke clearly, desperate to be sure that he had emphasized his point clearly.

With no more arguments or conversations left in his head, Jason rested his head back down on Vaas’ chest and the last thing that he felt was the pirate lord’s fingers roving through his hair, soothing at his scalp, before he fell back to sleep once more.

***

After hearing Citra’s request to see what had Grant so devoted to these people, Dennis had taken it upon himself to find out exactly what had him so invested. As far as he had been concerned, the jungle had called Grant to them and he could not understand why he would be so willing to disregard his own destiny. And for what? For a handful of weak people that couldn’t protect themselves, even if they had tried, Dennis just couldn’t see why he would put himself through that.

So he followed Grant, shadowing about a half mile away from him as he made his rounds around the island. He hadn’t found anything of interest until Grant ran into a tiny cave under the house of Dr. Earnhardt. He still kept his distance, right up until the moment that he saw one of Grant’s people wander out of the cave.

Dennis was not at all sure that he had ever seen him before, but it was insanely clear that he was another outsider. He quickly came to the conclusion that Grant was more devoted to his family than he was to the Rakyat’s cause. While that was not ideal, he was sure it was something that they could work with. Maybe if they got this one on their side, Grant would be more amenable, more willing to listen to all of Citra’s demands and wants.

He followed him all the way back, until he was deep in pirate territory – though, thankfully still not in Vaas’ island. He would not have followed him that deep into his territory – no matter how much he wanted to make Citra happy.

Jason had been wandering around a shallow lake, his pants rolled up to his knees as he tried to catch a few shallow swimming fish for dinner, when he noticed that someone was following him. He looked around at the jungle, finding it beautiful as well as too ominous for his tastes. “Hello?” He yelled out tentatively, “Is anyone there?” There was no answer and Jason gave out a shrug, deciding that he was probably just being paranoid. He wondered if maybe he should stop saying ‘yes’ so much when Vaas offered to share whatever drug he was snorting and smoking at that moment.

He continued on working for a few moments, before the sneaking feeling of suspicion hit him once again. He eyed the area around him warily, picking up his bow and drawing it tight as he searched around for the source of his suspicions and shot five arrows in the area that he had targeted.

There was a sound of a quiet groan and a man appeared out of the woodwork. He was an African man of about average height that seemed to be nearly middle aged. He held his hands up in surrender, trying to appear at least nominally nonthreatening to the American.

Jason was immediately cagey about the other man, he had never seen him before and even if he had, anyone that would follow him around like that was not worth even the barest scraps of his trust. “Who the fuck are you?” He snapped, reaching for his machete – as he figured that it was just safer to have a weapon out when it came to any strangers on this island – as Dennis was about to speak, he cut the other man off. “Actually, I don’t care. Get the fuck away from me or, or I’ll gut you.” his expression darkened slightly, “Or maybe, I’ll call Vaas up and you’ll wish that I had gutted you.”

Dennis was taken aback by the mention of Vaas, and how casually the American had brought him up. It was almost like he and Vaas were on friendly, or more than friendly terms. If this American had somehow aligned himself with the pirates, that did not bode well for Citra’s needs.

There was nothing that she despised more than her estranged brother – and the hateful feelings between them was completely mutual. There was no doubt among the Rakyat, that if Vaas ever saw Citra in person again, that he would have his hands around her throat in moments. He would kill her, snuff her life out, the fact of her destiny and her duty to the tribe be damned.

Vaas would see the Rakyat burned down to the ground just to get what he wanted, that’s why he was so dangerous. That’s why he was an outsider and why he always had been, his betrayal had been foreseen years before it had ever been a thought in the pirate lord’s own mind.

He tried to be gentle and to seem like he was kind, so at least the American’s guard was down and he would be willing to listen to reason. “My name is Dennis.” The man spoke in an easygoing tone, holding a hand out in deference towards the omega.

“That’s nice.” He smiled thinly, “To be honest with you, I don’t really care who you are.” Jason replied in a stiff and sarcastic tone. He was entirely untrustworthy of anyone on the island that wasn’t his alpha or part of his group. “Now go away,” he snapped, “Before I

“No, you don’t need to be afraid.” Dennis said as he cautiously approached Jason, “I’m not going to hurt you-” He tried to be reassuring to the omega as he slowly approached. All he needed to do was get close enough to him to hopefully bring him back down to Amanaki, then they could figure out what exactly to do with him afterwards.

As Dennis took a step forward towards him, Jason took a step back, and then another step forward and then another step back until Jason was right at the edge of a cliff over a waterfall. Infuriated, Jason started to curse at him, “Oh, you fucking duplicitous little cunt.” He snapped at the man, immediately thinking that it was his plan to throw him off of the cliff.

His patience run thin, Dennis wrestled Jason back off of the cliff’s edge. The two of them fought for some time – Dennis with the idea to get him back to Amanaki, even if he had to put the crazy omega in a coma first and Jason with the intent to kill the asshole who gave him a terrible feeling, one that set all of his newly hypersensitive instincts on edge.

Jason punched Dennis in the face, cracking the mans’ glasses and running off in the direction of Vaas’ island. He got several feet away when Dennis grabbed his ankle, dragging Jason back down onto the forest floor once again. It had occurred to him, with how much the omega was fighting him and how desperate he seemed to get back to the pirates, that maybe it would work out better for him to just get rid of him once and for all – he would probably be less of a problem for them if he was dead rather than alive and coaxed back over to their side.

Jason rolled over, or Dennis rolled him over the action had moved to fast to tell who was actually at fault for this, and found himself halfway dangling off of the cliff’s edge once more. “Shit.” He muttered, trying to scramble back to safety. It was incredibly difficult, as the stony ground was crafted of smooth rocks and wet, to make things even worse for him. Dennis did not bother to help him, deciding that sacrificing the omega would be worth it, to cement Grant’s loyalty to them fully.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Jason babbled as his fingers lost purchase on the edge of the cliff’s face and down into the cavernous and deep cistern below. He screamed in panic as his body scrambled down, desperately searching for purchase upon… something, anything to stop himself from crashing to his death. At first, Jason had been falling – drowning into the depths of the ocean until he was blue in the face and water was practically filling his lungs.

He swam up as fast as he could, desperate and eager to survive, and clawed himself out of the lake and pulled himself up until he was sitting in a musty cave. Jason crawled forward for a few steps until he collapsed onto the cave floor. He gasped for breath and shuddered as he regained his composure – at least enough that he didn’t feel like he was going to die.

Jason curled up on the floor, huddling up in on himself for warmth as he tried to rest himself up after the near death experience that he had just suffered. It wasn’t until hours later, Jason pulled himself out of the cavern –wounded, drenched and covered in twigs and moss. He felt like crap – he was exhausted, he felt betrayed and he was angry. He was so, so angry. If he ever saw that guy who attacked him ever again, he was going to kill him.

[xxjayjay14xx-blog]

Authenicity

Jadyn Thornock

Perspective is key when it comes to a real life story. Everything happens for a cause, good and bad; “I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they are right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes fall apart so better things can fall together,” says so Marilyn Monroe herself.

Something is always more focused than something else around it, there is always going to be something or someone better, more different, more “perfect”, and so on, and something will always have more attention and stand out more. Looking at the photographs; you see things that are commonly put into our heads where they don’t belong. Makeup and a starfish don’t belong in a pile of snow. Then again, it makes a great photo, doesn’t it? I say this for a reason, we can relate topics like that to people, maybe people in stereotypes, maybe people in your community, or maybe people in general in the society.

To give an example; let’s talk about the society of teenagers. Okay, well they all are just stuck up, selfish, have terrible hormonal attitudes,  annoying, dumb, disappointing, lazy, addicted to social media, picky, and whatever. They’re dangerous, yet they need more protection, they are immature, but they also are on their own. It’s tough standing out nowadays for teenagers and adolescents. We don’t know what to do or what to think, we don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong because people are always telling us different, and we could only stop to assume that nobody gives a damn either.

It may sound selfish, I’m only saying “we” as it may be seeming as the perspective and standpoint of me, but it’s teenagers in the generation. We were born into a world of hell. Pollution, sickness, judgment, bullying, war, disagreement, etc. We all point out the negativity; Donald Trump is building a wall, “don’t go outside you could get kidnapped,” “Haven’t you heard of the sex trafficking,” “it’s just a phase you aren’t gay, you aren’t emo, you aren’t this, you aren’t that,” every action, every movement, every thought, every decision, everything is wrong in our parents eyes, our teachers eyes, our elders eyes, everyone’s eyes. So how would we know what’s right for us, because now all we could think on ourselves is wrong. We can’t know what's right and wrong if everyone is speaking their own opinions on us.

We’re unique, and confused. Everything tends to seem like it’s as simple as black and white, but behind the two basic tints is imagery of different stories and reasons behind every little thing we do, say, think, and decide. You wonder why these stupid teenagers are hating everyone and starting rumors, doing drugs and breaking the law, when simultaneously some are looking beautiful and getting straight A’s and getting scholarships. Comparison is all it’s about when it comes to humanity.

We leave people behind, bring new people in, later on we leave them too. That’s what happened when a little thing called “change” decided to show up. It’s something that’s hard to describe and explain, something hard to put into a sentence maybe even a book. It’s all up to your own individuality. What do you think change is? Is it something you choose, something you want, something you're scared of?

But, you know what we hate. We really hate when you call us dramatic, selfish, maybe immature because we don’t want to talk. We really hate when you say we’re overreacting, or we’re crazy because we are following these stupid dance trends or prank trends. We also hate when you say we’re just making stupid excuses to make bad decisions whenever we're in pain, or whenever we yell, or whenever we cry. But then again you don’t even notice that’s the reason we don’t cry, all you’ll ever do is assume is we are just another hormonal teenager. See, it’s not as easy as black and white is it.

It’s not as easy when high school is terrifying. Thinking we will never find someone true, no true friends, no true relationships, no true career. It’s all just, fake. Fights are broke out, rumors are spread, drugs are dealt, and grades are failing. It’s like you're in a complicated maze but there wasn’t even a start so you can’t believe it’ll even end. We have to follow our limitations and rules and expectations. Stay relevant, don’t miss out on anything. Be smart, listen to everything. If you don’t understand it, and if you don’t show your work. You’re stupid, you’re gonna fail.

We’re afraid of everything around us. Simple things like going outside, like talking to our parents about school, or like asking a teacher for help. It’s so popular for a girl to have a rape story, we go into Walmart, and we walk into a wall of young children’s pictured being hung up as missing. Years later half of them are dead or still gone. Yearly we hear about these school shootings with a number of casualties, and every September we think about 9/11, we can’t even go a day without thinking or even joking about crimes, drugs, suicides, self harm, anything that’s an actual issue in the real life world, and small things like conspiracies of Bush setting up the 9/11 has the entire nation wondering if we can even trust our own government.

Maybe I’m just being stupid with wasting my time on writing this paper. I mean, what’s the point of it. How will it affect anything, or anyone. I mean, I’ve already put so much time into it, but who’s going to look at it. Every word and every letter doesn’t mean anything, it’ll all be forgotten by the time Summer rolls around. I’m not even going to think about it. I’ll just be running around with my friends making memories at the park and not listening to anything my parents say.

It’s just so stressful, all this seems so small, but we can’t find a way to resolve it. We can’t take out our feelings of sadness or stress or anger without being called crazy or being threatened.

“Nobody wants death cause nobody wants life to end, am I the only stressed and the only of tired of having fake friends.” -Xxxtentacion

We all have addictions, something that helps us keep our mind off of reality and harsh humanity. We’re addicted to the idea of feeling okay, and addicted to ignorance, and we’re obsessed with our imagination. We stick with ones who hurt us because we are gripped onto the idea that when they lie, or manipulate us that they mean what they say. They do care, and they do love you, because they said they do. They treat you badly sometimes, just because they “love” you. They know for the fact that once they earn your trust you’re weak. Making you feel like you're doing something wrong constantly. And if you don’t believe them, they play pity so you feel pressured you just need to trust them. Then realizing, you're dumb for falling for their white lies and hidden truths. .

What are you afraid of anyways? Love? Thinking you're wasting your time? Trust? Commitment? Don’t be so paranoid. Unless; you're afraid you're not being conscious enough.

I don’t have much to say about it. Nothing to say that would help, but I want everyone to focus more on themselves. Making sure that they’re happiness can change everyone around them positively, but not letting others change your smile, although they make it easy. Stay strong. Be confident. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, think about yourself other than what others think about you.

So with the photography at the top again. They don’t fit with the snow, but it makes art, and something beautiful. Something that people love and want. And with people; some of us really don’t seem like we fit in, we just stand out and feel awkward. But, we’re all human, and we are all beautiful. People want us, people love us, people care, and people are always going to be here for us. Friends, classmates, school, and most importantly, our family.

Extras-  : )

“When it comes to drugs, pill-pushers and takers, we are a country virtually out of control. If you're feeling depressed, to get relief, take a pill. Most of us are addicts.”

“Some girls get all done up, lose their face to repair. They attend every party but it takes them nowhere.”

“Real World” Topics/Problems-

Loss and Grief- It’s hard hearing when someone has passed. Even if they aren’t as close as family or friends. Hearing about someone's young or old, someone you’ve met before, someone who’s a family friend. Knowing the fact that you’ll never speak to them ever again, or get to know them anymore than you do personally, sticks with you. And when they are close, it’s hard knowing that they are gone forever. Never holding their hand, hugging them, talking to them, etc. Knowing the fact that you had never thought you would have a final speaking goodbye. And knowing that you’re really scared you’ll never get over their loss, but also afraid you think you’ll never let them go.

Trust (Issues)- From young ages and growing on. We all have a wall of trust. Losing and gaining it day by day, and it’s something we do unintentionally. And our trust and feelings could be easily triggered, especially when you have one person whom you look up to towards and for every situation. You feel they are there for you, and you’re here for them. Telling all your secrets and feelings and thoughts and jokes, and they do the same for you, but when days comes. They go to seeing and talking to you every day, to every other day, to every week, to just drifting. So you wonder who else is going to just walk away that easily without a care? All to say is for all days in your life you're going to have someone, and that someone is you. You can trust you, and you can be here for you.

Conclusion ::  I understand. You take in every negative, it’s easier than taking in positive things. You feel like nobody cares, you feel no hope, no use, you want to give up. You feel like you're just on autopilot. Like you're here but you're not. You see yourself, you hear yourself, but you don’t feel in control. And you feel like nobody is going to reach out unless they feel like they have to. Like nobody cares unless they think it’s a life or death situation. You want to reach out to someone or anybody, but you're scared of judgment and the misassumings that you just need to be put into therapy or put on pills. Which makes you feel special but not in a good way, and if someone does reach out. You don’t know if you can believe you can trust them with your personal issues and problems, because you don’t want to put weight on their shoulders, and you know for a fact even if you tell them one situation that bothers you; it’s not like they can fix it. They’ll say something and give you pity and empathy. But it won’t resolve the issue. Which is why you got to be who you need to have, you look for people to help you but maybe you just need to help yourself. You’re looking far out for someone when you’re standing right there and you always have.

You don’t need drugs, you don’t need a boyfriend or girlfriend, you don’t need money, or food. You just need to relax and think. Be there for yourself. Take a day off and sit on the couch and watch Netflix all day. Get everything off your chest. Call someone, write, do your makeup, go out, do your hair, go on a walk, learn something interesting, dance, sing, cook, play video games, whatever helps you. But don’t hurt yourself cause that won’t help anything.

Teenagers are insecure, hating their appearance and looks but how would it make you look better when you’re cutting up your skin. Especially when you were already born so beautiful. You will just be making scars to actually be insecure about. And there isn’t anything you can do to just make yourself what you want to be. Desperate for beauty, and for small things like freckles, and dimples, and straight teeth, and a big butt, and to look “thick” like the Instagram models and the famous Kardashians. All you need is to know the fact that you’re worth something to someone. Even if it’s just one person, and you are 100% worth something to yourself. All your life you’re going to have yourself from birth to death. And you may not want that, so before loving people you have to tend to love for who you are. We all have our flaws, and we all have something that stands out, but self-love and esteem is what I would say is something majorly important. Taking care of yourself is something that should come before anything ahead of you. It may seem selfish at some points, but it’s something that needs to be taken into hand for everyone in this world.

Everything happens for a reason, we all do stuff for a reason. That doesn’t make it an excuse to make bad choices, I’m mainly saying that this entire nation needs to get everything together. We need people to talk to, and we need to start thinking about others and ourselves. We’re raising children on social media, and teenagers are living on four different lives; social/online, home, school, and personal. Maybe even two different homes or maybe just none at all, at young ages we get overwhelmed of having to have so many personalities in public and at home in order just to satisfy the people around us and it mixes up who we are and what are “true colors” are. Showing off our trendy clothes and devices, being funny by making stupid jokes that could either amuse people or upset them. We don’t know what to do, when we make people angry we try to make jokes or laugh it off hoping they don’t stay mad at you forever, because when one person gets mad all our attention focuses on them. We either ignore them, or we threaten them, or we just look down at our own selves and think about how “bad” of a person we are because we may have just ruined their mood and day. We either watch the fire burn until it eventually simmers down, add more gasoline to it, or we just keep adding matches and do nothing while it stays lit for an infinite amount of time. By the way, that’s a metaphor, just think about it. Some people get “triggered” over small things, getting disgusted that there’s a hair on our food, so we won’t eat it. Our shirt is wrinkled, so we have to rewash it. McDonalds took forever to get my food, so I refuse to pay for it and so on. Alternatively, there’s quiet people we don’t even notice. They don’t care about food or clothes or how nicely their handwriting is on their homework. They don’t say anything, they don’t bring up their opinion on everything.

That’s what makes people unique, we all have our own background past, we have our own goals and future, our own family, our own friends, our own looks, our own style, and passions, our own thoughts and opinions, our own story and our own views and perspectives. That what makes humanity amazing.

We’ve grown to accept things our nation wouldn’t even accept one hundred years ago. From laws and clothing, to sexuality and race. That’s how drastically our generations have grown and changed. And like people, our generations have personalities too. We have to grow more of self-expression. Time isn’t a pattern, there’s something new every day, like intelligence, jobs, people, friends. Traditions go on from group to group, but we always tend to mix things up sometimes. Acceptance is not a requirement, it’s something that’s encouraged for a better future and a better you. Along with confidence and self-control, and personal management. You are amazing, along with everyone else around you. Everyone has their own religion and opinions. Let them, don’t make them feel bad for disagreeing with something that you might like. Even if it’s just a sport, or even as major as gay marriage. You aren’t worthless, and you aren’t dumb. Just focus on yourself. Be selfish sometimes, live a little, and try to love a little; including yourself.

[siriuslycollins-blog]

Untitled Dadmonger

CH. 1

“Bianca, what the fuck you mean you pregnant?” There is no way this is happening to him, of all people, this has to be some horrible alcohol-induced nightmare. Things like this don’t happen to Erik Stevens, the pull-out king of MIT, yet here was his flavor of the semester, Bianca Logan telling him she’s pregnant with his baby, bringing evidence in the form of ultrasound pictures. No one at MIT knew that Erik and Bianca had a thing going on; for one thing, Bianca is already with a nerdy ass white boy named Shawn in the mathematics department. “And you sure it’s mine?”

In the back of his mind, something told him to stay away from this light-skin ass devil, that this was not going to end well for him but of course he didn’t listen. Even his roommate had warned him, but Erik shrugged it off; if he saw what he liked then he was going to take it, and he definitely liked Bianca. The first time he had seen her was in the library when she was working the front desk in the student center. Fast forward a few months later before Thanksgiving break and they were fucking any chance they got away from prying eyes and whenever their schedules would permit.

Bianca had told him there was no way she could get pregnant due to a medical condition, and with Erik being a “pull-out king” he thought they were cool. Fast forward another couple of months, a few days before the school closed for Thanksgiving and Bianca and Erik were fucking in the bathroom of the campus bar as if they’d never see each other again. That was the second mistake; the third was not pulling out in time. “Duh, nigga of course it’s yours.”

Erik looked at the black and white images. He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to be looking at, the pictures looked grainy, low quality, but soon enough he saw it; a small kind of circular shape. “Damn.” Erik couldn’t deny it any longer, it was his, and he knew that he was fucked. “Does your man know?”

“Nah, I ain’t tell him yet, but he knows something is wrong. I’m telling my parents after I tell Shawn.” How the hell is he supposed to take care of a damn kid when he doesn’t even like them? Hell, Erik doesn’t even want kids. Whatever he had to drink last night must’ve been strong as hell because Erik still felt as if was still asleep in his dorm. “So whatchu gon do?”

Bianca looked at him as if he lost his mind, and Erik was lucky they were alone in a parking lot, because she started to yell at him. “Nigga the fuck you mean what Imma do?! You had a hand in this too dumbass!! My parents are gonna fucking kill me!” Judging by the ultrasound pictures, she was at least two months along, way too late for an abortion. Erik knows damn well she better pass that baby off as Shawn’s cuz ain’t no fucking way he’s running after no damn kids.

“You can’t pass it off as his or some shit?” Bianca looked even more pissed off and there was fire in her eyes, Erik didn’t want to admit it but he was lowkey scared. “What if this kid comes out darker than me, and then what Imma say?” So she can’t blame it on recessive genes? He wanted to tell her that but he was scared that she would do some crazy shit.

Erik was definitely not a religious person, but in this moment he was praying to every god known to man that this kid would come out light-skinned so no one would ask questions. “So break up with him! Change schools if you got to!” He knew she would be able to transfer elsewhere, her parents were practically rolling in money, that much he could tell by the BMW she drove. “Even if I do, I still have to tell my parents and then they’ll cut me off!” “So what the fuck you want me to do then?”

Erik really didn’t get it, here she was yelling at him, hoping he’d have all the answers. “We need to have a plan in place in case things go south? Adoption maybe?” That pulled him up short; Erik had been in the system and knows what it’s like, especially for black children. He’d seen the white kids picked first when he’d been there longer. Erik was also aware about what happens to little black girls in the system.

They would be sold into sex trafficking, sexually assaulted by so called “loving fathers”, beaten. Would he be able to live with himself, knowing he could’ve prevented it? What would his father say to him if he were here? N’Jobu had done a decent job of raising him as a single parent, made sure Erik had his homework done and did well in school, kept him off the streets. Even if he was in the foster care system, Erik had turned out okay.

But of course he knew he was lucky and there were some not so lucky. There were kids he grew up with it, whose funerals he attended. Dead because of gang activity, abuse, drugs, organ harvesting. Erik couldn’t put an innocent kid through that, and his father would be so disappointed him. His mind was made up.

He knw damn well he wasn’t ready for a kid, the responsibility of it. He can barely wake up just long enough to hit the snooze button, how the hell would be able to wake up long enough to tend to a baby? If he pulled out now, he’d be a big ass punk, and Erik “N’Jadaka” Stevens ain’t no punk; he supposed he could be like his dad. If his dad could do it and do a decent job, why can’t he? “Nah, you ain’t puttin’ my kid up for adoption, I know how that shit goes.”

Bianca had calmed down and was sniffling. “Y-you wanna keep it?” “I ain’t sayin’ we gotta shack up and shit, you said you wanted a back-up plan, now you got one. I was plannin’ on movin’ outta here anyway, and I got my eye on a couple places. If ya parents cut you off, call me.” She agreed and told him she’d call him in a week with an update, and to keep a copy of the ultrasound pictures. Erik looked at them closely under the light of the streetlamp. 

In seven months that’s going to be a whole ass person, someone who would be counting on him for once, something he’d be responsible for the rest of his life. Erik thought he had a basic understanding about babies, you feed them, change them and leave them alone, like a cat or some shit. Oh, how he was wrong.

taglist: @killmoncoochie @killmongersgurl @uhlxis @killmongurl @brianabreeze @killmongerdispussy @blackbxbe @ourwakandanerik

[voightsgirl]

crossfire: volume i - chapter one

a/n y’all it’s finally here!! i’m sooo excited to share this with you, and i really really really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i’ve enjoyed creating it. it’s a long journey, but hopefully it will be worth it :)

☆ one day ☆

[november 2018]

She got the call as she and Jay were driving to work that morning.

"Nat?" Erin yawned in greeting, still drowsy from the early wake-up call Hank had dealt her despite their late night the previous evening.

"Hey, Erin."

"Hi, Natalie," Jay chimed in, just to let her know that she was on speaker in case this was a particularly urgent, and private, conversation. Erin grinned at him in thanks.

"Jay," his brother's fiancée acknowledged warmly.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" Erin asked her friend.

Although Erin and Natalie had begun to see a lot more of each other recently – a combination of both of the girls’ relationships with each Halstead brother and the correlation between Natalie’s shift at Med and Erin’s shift at the twenty first district – they weren’t quite close enough for 6am phone calls. Not just yet.

"So, um,” Natalie sounded worried. “I feel awful having to ask you guys this. I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment with your case and all, but Will and I are supposed to be going out for dinner with the parents tonight, and Helen just rang to say she's caught a virus and doesn’t want to pass it on to Owen, so she can’t watch him...normally I'd postpone, but my parents are only in town for a few days and I don't want to make them -"

"We got you covered," Erin cut in, although Jay noticed the color draining from her face. "Right Jay?"

Jay nodded enthusiastically. Erin gestured at him, reminding him that Natalie couldn’t see him, and he added, "Totally – I can't wait to spend some quality time with my future nephew!"

"We’ll babysit the little guy. What time do you want us there?" Erin asked.

"Seven-thirty, give or take. Thanks so much for doing this, you guys, you're lifesavers!"

When she hung up, Erin turned to face her partner, a look of absolute horror on her face. She had felt her stomach drop the minute her friend had mentioned Owen. She loved the kid, sure, but she'd had exactly two experiences in babysitting. And, both times, that was because the kid had been a victim of a sex-trafficking ring and needed to stay in protective custody overnight. Somehow, she didn't think babysitting Natalie’s seven year-old was going to require quite the same skill set.

She looked over at Jay again, peeling her eyes from the road in the hope of some reassurance.

"Owen's a great kid. It'll be a piece of cake," he tried.

Erin just nodded and swallowed, as they pulled into the car park of the twenty-first district.

☆

It wasn’t that she didn’t like children. She did. Nothing made her heart swell up with hope and happiness more than when she saw kids laughing or playing in the park a couple of blocks away from their apartment or when she got to reunite missing kids with their parents at work. In fact, she’d always envisioned her and Jay having kids of their own one day, and the thought of baby “Linsteads” (as Will had taken to calling them, after he nearly choked on his beer one time when Erin had come home early, and, expecting to see only Jay in the kitchen, had barked, “Halstead! Can you stop moving my shoes?” He found it hilarious that when they were getting annoyed or sassy with each other, they slipped back into calling each other by their last name. Something Jay had evidently picked up from his army days, and it had started to rub off on Erin) running around the house made her nearly giddy with longing. Sure, she wanted kids. And she wanted them with Jay. But not now.

She hadn’t had any experience in childcare, and she couldn’t exactly rely on her own upbringing to guide her. Something told her that Natalie wouldn’t be too impressed with her if she resorted to snorting coke in front of her seven-year-old as Bunny had apparently deemed appropriate when Erin was growing up.

Not only that, but she wanted this friendship with Natalie to work out.

Since Natalie and Will started to date officially about two years ago, Erin had found herself spending much more time with the doctor, as well as her colleagues, much to her pleasure. She often found that, being a cop, she didn’t get enough female company, and so when Jay had suggested that she and Nat grab some drinks after shift some time, Erin willingly obliged. Originally, she’d just gone along with it because she knew that Will and Natalie were getting serious, and, Will being Jay’s brother, she’d have to get along with the potential in-laws sooner or later, but after their third or fourth drinks date – which had, by this point, transformed into lunch dates, when Natalie could squeeze in an hour during her shift and Erin didn’t have a particularly heavy case load, to save Natalie the trouble of finding a babysitter for her son – they’d really started to click. Soon after that, Erin had insisted Kim, Gabby, and Haley join them, and Natalie brought along April and Sarah.

In no time at all, they had monthly girls’ nights, and even though Erin had initially complained to Jay about them sometimes, saying she’d rather just have a night in with him, she secretly loved the company once she got there. Maggie started to come, too, which prompted Gabby to bring along Stella and Sylvie, and soon enough, after the Intelligence Unit had started to work even closer alongside the team over at the State’s Attorney’s office, Anna Vasquez and Laura Nagel had begun to join in from time to time, too.

They would drink and chat and laugh together, and talk about the things that you could only really talk about with a group of women around you, and Erin had learned to lean on these ladies almost as much as she leaned on her unit at work. Some of them liked to talk about things openly – especially Gabby, Erin had noticed, who loved to let off steam whenever she’d had yet another run in with one of her superiors – while others just preferred to keep their personal lives very much that, like herself.

She’d become more accustomed to sharing, especially after she and Jay had moved back in together a few months back and they’d promised never to lie to each other, or to hide things from each other, again – but the idea of confiding in multiple people at once was still pretty daunting. So usually, when she had something she wanted to get off her chest, it was on one of her weekly lunch dates with Natalie. And Erin didn’t want to ruin this, albeit still new, friendship that they were forming, and screwing up while looking after her new friend’s child may end up doing just that.

☆ 

Jay had noticed her dread at having to look after a child, and he couldn’t quite understand why. He remembered a case they worked a few years back, where they discovered a nine year old girl tied up in her foster home, covered in bruises and the apparent victim of sex-trafficking, and Erin had been so shaken by the incident that she didn’t let the girl leave her sight for days. This was before Jay had moved in with her the first time, and Erin had insisted on letting the girl – Avery, he remembered her name was – stay with her until Erin could personally help DCFS to sort out a suitable foster placement.

She had been amazing with that little girl. Avery hadn’t had any possessions of her own, so Erin had given her an old CPD T-shirt of hers and let her keep it, as well as buying her, at no small expense, a suitcase full of clothes. She’d let her sleep in her bed, and Erin had taken the couch, because she wanted the girl to be as comfortable as possible after her ordeal, and Jay remembered a frantic phone call he’d gotten from her at two in the morning, when Avery had had an awful nightmare; she’d woken up screaming and crying and refused to go anywhere near the bed afterwards. Erin had called Jay the second she heard her stirring in the other room, and he’d rushed over, worried, not just about the nine-year-old who was having a full-blown panic attack, but also because Erin had been practically sobbing down the line for his help. She couldn’t bear to see this kid in so much pain.

When he got there, however, it turned out that his dramatic rescue attempt had been futile. Erin had taken Avery into the living room and they were sat on the couch together, the soft glow of the television illuminating Erin’s face as she looked down at the sleeping, fragile girl that had nestled her head into Erin’s lap and had fallen back asleep, with the tear tracks still fresh on her pale and innocent face. Erin was humming softly, staring into space instead of actually watching the documentary on the television, and she turned her head to face Jay as he opened the door using the very secret key under the front doormat.

She’d put her finger to her lips and pointed at the body curled up next to her, rising and falling softly with the stable rhythm of sleep, and she’d just nodded her head at the documentary playing.

“Works every time,” she had whispered, and his eyes, too, had nearly filled with tears, remembering the first night he was the one in Avery’s position, and, not knowing what to do to calm him down, Erin had guided him into the living room and together they had curled up, watching David Attenborough, until the sun peaked over the skyline and they had made it through another night together.

Jay smiled, remembering her dedication to this girl whom she barely knew. He just had to open his eyes to see what a wonderful mother Erin Lindsay would be one day, so he couldn’t work out why she was so nervous about babysitting Owen. He wasn’t going to have any panic attacks. He was only seven – he’d probably be in bed when they got there, and besides, all he’d want to do if he wasn’t would be watch TV or play with stuffed animals or something. That’s what seven year old boys did, right?

"Psst!"

Jay snapped out of his thoughts and looked up from where his head had been buried in an ever-mounting pile of unfinished paperwork.

He rolled his eyes at how dramatic she was sometimes. "What's the matter?" He asked, ducking into the room with her.

"Just pretend we're making coffee," she instructs him, and stands facing him at the counter, angling herself perfectly so that if one were to walk past, they would only see Jay's back.

"Okay...?" Jay was now entirely confused.

"So. I downloaded a guide on how to take care of young kids and it said that if we've never looked after him before, we should try bringing something as a gift that he would like. A sort of peace offering?"

"Erin, you know we're only babysitting for a couple of hours, right? All we've gotta do is make sure he doesn't break anything. Or himself."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "Jay, Will and Natalie are engaged. Owen is going to be your nephew. That means we have to get him to like us, or else Thanksgiving is not going to be fun."

"Okay," Jay breathed. "I take your point. But I've spent loads of time with Owen. He knows me. Last time he even called me 'Uncle Jay'."

Erin smiled at how at ease her boyfriend seemed with this whole situation. "But I haven't. I've never been trusted with anything like this before, okay? It's kind of a big deal. And I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. What if we completely screw up and Natalie never wants to talk to me again, or something goes awfully wrong, what then?"

"Erin," Jay says firmly, but she carries on.

"What if I'm really bad at it?"

Jay frowned. "At what?"

"Parenting," Erin whispered, and Jay finally understood where all this was coming from.

He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them gently. It was the closest they ever got to PDA at work, but he needed her to know he understood. "Erin, it's only a couple of hours. No one is asking you to be his parent."

"That's not the point, Jay," she sighed. "What if nothing goes wrong?”

He frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she almost looked ashamed as she said it. “I’m used to broken households. I’ve spent my whole life clearing up their messes. I can deal with drug addicts, and alcoholics, and abusive boyfriends and panic attacks and absentee parents. I don’t know how normal families…you know. Work.”

He took a sharp intake of breath at her words. He’d never thought about it like that. She was always so strong, especially recently – she’d had to be strong, for him – that he sometimes forgot that she was just as broken as he was. “Erin, listen to me. You’re not Bunny.”

She just shrugged sadly. “But if I’m not there to fix things, then…”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to rely on them liking me, instead of just being grateful to me, or indebted to me somehow…I don’t know.”

Jay practically scoffed. “Trust me, babe. I don’t think Owen is gonna have any trouble with liking you.”

She nodded, although she seemed unconvinced by his words. Jay looked over his shoulder to see if anyone in the bullpen was watching, and seeing that the coast was clear, wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“Trust me,” he whispered into her hair.

She pulled back, and although her big, soft, hazel eyes still looked a little sad, her mouth had turned into a pout, and the corners were threatening to turn upwards into a small smile.

She handed him the mug of coffee she’d made him. "Thanks,” she pouted again. “I love you. Here's your coffee."

He grinned. He couldn’t actually wait for the evening. Not just because he wanted to spend some quality time with his nephew-to-be, but also so that he could show Erin just what a wonderful mother she’d make one day.

One day. When the time came.

☆ ☆ ☆

thank you for reading!! if you’d like to be notified when it’s updated either head over to my ff.net account or message me and i’ll tag you at the end of the post :)

@allenting