#until their little mind breaks apart and the shattered remnants of what they once were are remade according to My will.

[reina-petrova]

A Wicked Game ・❥・ Kalijah

↳What if Elijah found Katherine at least once before Mystic Falls?

↳Katherine Pierce x Elijah Mikaelson

↳Angst, smut, dirty talk, blowjob, teasing, light dom/sub undertones, rough sex

↳5k words

↳Read on AO3🥀

・❥・You have to chase me・❥・

Katherine's fingers delicately encircled the crystal tumbler in front of her, the amber whiskey rolling around as she tipped it back between red lips. She placed the heavy glass back down on the lacquered bar top and signalled for another. The bar was alive that night; all sorts of walks of life come to release their stressors one way or another. Booze, drugs, sex... The alcohol was flowing, the air was hazy ,and the laughter was raucous, but Katherine had her mind on the latter.

It had been a while since she'd found someone interesting to string along, perhaps bleed dry if the night called for it. She was likewise in the mood to forget, and had no shortage of volunteers that seemed to vie for the opportunity. One man couldn't seem to take his eyes off her for a second. Katherine offered a small but devilish smile to a him, her gaze intent even as the bartender placed her a fresh drink in front of her. She could hear the man's heart beating even from across the bar, hearing it thud a little quicker in his chest the longer she looked at him.

He will do nicely.

Katherine picked up her drink, moving to slide off the barstool and onto her heels. She felt powerful as she walked towards her target, her pride swelling at the thought of a successful kill of the night. The alcohol burned warmly in her blood, and she couldn't wait until she tasted fresh blood to match. A predator stalking its prey, until she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes instinctively flashed to the door of the bar when a shadow appeared in her periphery. An all too familiar figure that she sensed the moment he appeared. Her heart fell, along with her glass. It was him.

The tumbler had completely slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor. People gasped around her at the sound of the crystal breaking, but she did not react. She could only stare in horror at as Elijah Mikaelson's eyes met hers. The din of the bar and her suitor fell away, leaving her to face her fate alone.

Elijah's face was as handsome as she remembered, but the coldness in his eyes, that was something she would never become accustomed to. The hatred that seethed beneath. Katherine swallowed dryly, her breathing becoming pitched as she stepped back once, twice. Run, run!

But she couldn't. She was frozen.

She had last heard Elijah was somewhere across the country, pointedly the other side of the country. That's why she was here. How could he have snuck up on her like this? How could she have been so stupid?

Elijah's eyes simmered with something else she couldn't read. He stood about ten feet away from her, far too short of a distance to make her escape. The witnesses meant nothing, he would tear the inside of bar out if it suited him.

Elijah seemed to notice her indecision, so he made it for her. He turned to leave the bar, inclining his head to signal for her to follow. Dread settled into her stomach like a brick, and she felt her body begin to tremble as it obeyed without her permission. She took a step forward, her heel crushing the remnants of the crystal on the ground. Another step, then another.

He'd already left, evidently confident that she would follow. Despite her instincts burning through her to run, to fight, she knew... If she didn't, she knew things would get much, much worse.

Once outside, the sun still glowing in its final moments, the haze and energy from the bar left behind, she breathed in the warm summer air.

Her eyes fell upon him once more, bathed in that golden light.

"Come."

・❥・You're meant to catch me・❥

The apartment was clearly outdated and out of use, but it was clean. The old hardwood floors were swept, the fine oak canopy bed meticulously made with delicate white curtains gathered to each of its poles. They blew in a soft breeze in tandem with the ones that hung on the open windows. The sun had begun to set in earnest where the city was beginning to fall dark but the sky was still alive with pinks and oranges. The room smelled like summer, the city a soft hum in the background. The two stood in the last remnants of the light, their vampire eyes seeing in perfect clarity.

It was evident that this was one of the old rooms that Elijah kept, undoubtedly one of a few across countless cities, wherever he needed to settle down for a night or two. The furniture looked dated but well cared for; like she had stepped back into time. But then again, she always did with Elijah. For better or for worse.

She'd followed him just across the street to the building, walking steadily behind but never faltering in her pace. He never once turned to see if she was following; he knew she was. Now she was here, and the tables had turned. The predator became the prey.

She watched him with careful eyes as he paced the length of the room, collecting his thoughts. He'd doubtlessly not expected this twist of luck to fall into his lap, as she had barely thought to be in the city that night herself, and now it was time for him to make the most of his opportunity. The air of sophistication he carried never dropped, not for a moment. It could only come with carrying a thousand lifetimes on your shoulders. In direct opposition to his calm demeanour, her body itched to run; she could almost feel the fear overtaking her body as she waited for him to do something, anything. Utter a single word that would let her know this was the last night of her life. Her nerves were practically electrified.

There was nowhere to run now.

"I can see you shaking. Thank you for understanding the gravity of your situation."

Katherine bit down on her lip, angry that he could see her fear plainly when she had been fighting it back for so long. Everything seemed to come undone inside of her at the very sight of him.

Still, she raised her head defiantly and hardened her eyes, fingernails digging into her palms until the indents threatened to bleed to control her trembling. She would retain as much dignity as she could. She had gotten this far. Elijah paced for a few more steps, stopping but a few feet away from her. The city lights spilled into the room, bathing the wall she was standing by in a faint glow. Her body stayed put against it, her curls brushing against the old wallpaper. For all her trying, once her eyes met his, her gaze fell to the ground in front of her.

"I didn't know you were in town." She said lowly, frustrated. In truth, she was more than furious with herself for letting the side down. One step ahead, always. So much for that.

She watched him from the small distance that separated them, her eyes further adjusting as the sunlight gave way to the moon. Darkness seemed to stain the corners of the room like ink, but she could see him perfectly. His suit was well tailored, as it always was, a fine silk tie at his throat and a crisp white shirt peeking out from behind his black suit jacket. His hair was shorter than she'd seen him last, brushed away from his face to accentuate his handsome features and the line of his jaw.

"It was a rather spontaneous decision, but let's call it fate, shall we?" He paused, making sure she met his eyes before he continued. They seemed to gleam in the nighttime with a dark promise. "We have much to discuss, Katerina."

"I think you know the story pretty well by now." Her irony slipped out before she could stop it. She realized her mistake but it was too late to react; Elijah appeared in front of her in a flash, drowning her in shadows as he blocked any of the light coming in through the windows. Everywhere she looked, he was there. The overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by him made her feel dizzy.

“When will you learn your place, Katerina?” His voice thrummed inside of his chest, carrying over to hers where she felt it vibrate.

“I have no place to mind.” She gritted from behind clenched teeth. Frustration flared within her, but the tension was what was most unbearable. He gazed upon her like he wanted to devour her and she looked up at him like she wanted to set him ablaze. Her eyes flashed with the thought, but his eyes stayed dark and heady. Complete control, always.

“That’s where you are mistaken. You know your place yet you refuse it. Shall I remind you of it?”

In a flash, he spun her around until her hands were splayed against the wall and he stood behind her. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, pressing her slowly into the wall. Her fingers bent and scratched against the wall, seeking for purchase in a situation increasingly out of her control. His scent enveloped her like a veil.

He pushed her hair aside roughly to expose the soft skin of her neck, then used his fingers to trace from underneath her ear down to the slope of her shoulder. Katherine felt herself shiver in response to his touch, familiar yet with an underlying tone of cruelty.

She swallowed against the dryness of her throat, feeling his body shift behind hers until his chest was pressed against her shoulder blades. His right hand came upon her right side, placing his hand directly onto her neck. His touch was light but beneath his fingers lingered something else. A warning.

The warmth of his body bled into hers, and despite herself, she felt the sting of desire in her lower stomach. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, breathing light under the weight of his hand on her. He seemed to notice her shifting and he chuckled lowly in his chest. His fingers shifted slightly so his palm was on the back of her neck, index finger pressing against the sensitive point under her ear where her jaw began. Her skin seemed to crave his touch, but her mind battled against it.

“It’s here, with me. Just like this.” One hand on her waist, the other travelled along her side and up her shoulder. With a precise and gentle hand, he grasped her jaw and slowly tilted her head so that her neck was exposed to him. Goosebumps rose all over her skin. “At my complete mercy.”

Katherine took a small breath and held it. A mixture of fear and anger seared through her. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let her guard down?

“So now what?” She said quietly, her voice thick with trepidation.

“Indeed, now what? How many more times must we repeat history, Katerina?" She felt him sigh behind her. "Perhaps now is the time to end it.”

Katherine felt herself spin around and only when she was facing him did she realize he had allowed it, his hands dropping from her neck. His body was still barely a hairsbreadth from hers; he didn’t need to be touching her for her to understand she was trapped. Her eyes met his, unable to look anywhere else but his face. She could no longer hide the desperation in her eyes.

“Elijah… please.”

Amusement slowly darkened his gaze.

“Begging, Katerina? That’s unlike you.”

“I’d only do it for you.”

His eyes flashed at that.

"How long will you continue to avoid the consequences of your actions?"

Katherine gave a mirthless laugh at that. "If you think I haven't been dealing with the consequences for the last 500 years, you aren't giving your brother enough credit."

"Then perhaps it is my consequence you should be worried about." He responded coolly. The way Elijah remained so unshakeable frightened her most. Klaus was predictably unstable, but no one could decipher Elijah, not truly, not even her. Though the fact that he hadn't ripped her head from her shoulders told her she still had some sort of power in this game. His eyes met hers and she thought she saw them soften, if only for a moment.

"Elijah." Katherine lifted her hand and delicately placed it against his cheek. His skin was warm to the touch and she could feel the lightest bit of stubble on his jaw. She hadn't touched him like this for centuries, and suddenly she was back to 1492 when the gallant Elijah Mikaelson was kissing her hand in the middle of the ballroom floor. Before everything had been destroyed.

"I am not a Salvatore, Katerina. This is not a game."

His hand caught her wrist and he lowered it for her, none too gently. She choked back the yelp of pain as her arm twisted in an unnatural way before she ripped it from his grasp.

"I'm not playing at one." She said harshly. "I know you remember."

It was Elijah's turn to laugh dryly. "Remember what, exactly? Your dalliance with Niklaus? How you fled into the night and snapped your own neck? When I swore to you that I would protect you?"

"You knew why he was courting me, Elijah. You know I never cared for him. I wanted more, I told you that! What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to trust me."

Katherine sighed quietly as she looked up into Elijah's eyes. He took a half step back from her, turning to face the rest of the room. She took a deep breath, realizing that she hadn't truly been breathing with him so close to her. His scent still lingered as he walked away, but the warmth of his body disappearing left her cold. When she spoke, she spoke to his back.

"I couldn't- I can't."

"I know, Katerina. All too well."

Silence fell upon the room as the night did, settling in slowly like frost. Katherine put her hands on her arms, folding them over her ribs. The room was cooling from the sun setting but the ice in his words chilled her more. All of this could still end with him delivering her to Klaus, not a single moment of her life was guaranteed since he walked into that bar.

But where there is hate, there was once love.

"I know you remember." She repeated. Her voice barely carried across the room but she knew he heard every word. Taking one slow step after another, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors, her instincts roiled against each movement that brought her closer to him. It felt so wrong to walk towards her death, and yet...

Elijah turned around to look at her, his face disappearing in the shadows as his back turned to the windows. Light brimmed around his silhouette like a dark angel. She took another step. Closer still.

"Don't, Katerina." His voice was a warning, low and dangerous.

"Remind me." She whispered, fighting the quiver in her throat as she closed the distance between them. She gazed up at him, his features dark but his eyes shining with... hate? Desire?

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "Remind you?"

This is too dangerous, her mind echoed. Don't be an idiot. He watched her with cool curiosity, allowing her to wander closer to him. She felt as though his jaws would snap around her at any moment.

"Remind me of what once was. What you once felt for me... and I'll remind you. All those moments we lost, Elijah."

Something changed in his expression then. The vitriol gave way to something else, something deeper as her words rang in the emptiness of the room. Perhaps it was just a hallucination borne of desperate to live, but she thought she saw his eyes soften, even for a moment.

That moment was enough. The tipping point.

Elijah's lips crashed into hers, his hands immediately circling her waist. Katherine's arms came up and around his neck as she matched the ferocity of his kiss, feeling all of the fear and panic transform into desire and passion. The frustration still broiled underneath for both of them as his hands dug into her skin roughly and her fingernails scratched along the soft skin at the nape of his neck.

Katherine felt his hands slid underneath her ass and she lifted her legs to encircle his waist. She could feel his arousal between her hips, and she felt her own heighten at the feeling, a delicious flame licking in her lower stomach. A mix of hatred and long-lost desire fueled the spark between them, giving way to a burning flame.

Katherine's breath deepened into pants as she fumbled with Elijah's suit jacket, pushing it away from his shoulders. He released her onto the floor and shrugged it off, then loosened his tie from his neck. The energy was frenetic between them, their lips immediately returning to each other's.

Elijah growled beneath his breath as he gripped the flimsy fabric of her top and tore it from her torso, revealing the lacy black bra she'd worn underneath. He paused at the sight of it, his broad chest rising and falling in soft pants, and a smirk appearing on his lips.

"Planned this?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Elijah cocked his head to the side as though challenging her, and she saw his smile grow despite himself.

"You've always been wilful, Katerina. It's time I taught you your place."

Katherine let a small laugh escape her as his hands returned to her body, but it quickly died in a sea of moans that he coaxed from her body.

He pushed her to the wall, nearly slamming her against it and she returned the favor, shoving him against the poles of the canopy bed. The hunger grew, his fingers knotting in her curls and the buttons of his shirt popping off as she tore it off with her fingers.

Elijah's mouth was hot and rough against the skin of her neck, his fangs scraping deliciously along the column of her throat. Her hands explored the bare expanse of his chest as she moved to step out of her heels.

"No-" She heard him grunt. "Leave them on."

She raised a brow with a smirk but acquiesced, stepping out of her black jeans until she was only in her underwear and the stilettos. Elijah was left only in his trousers.

Katherine didn't miss a beat before unbuckling them, leaving messy kisses down his throat, chest, and hips before lowering herself to her knees. She pulled the length of him out of his pants and licked from root to tip. Elijah's growl was amplified, his head falling back against the pole, fingers coming back to tangle in her curls.

"Mm. Can you take all of me?"

Katherine's jaw relaxed as she took his cock into her mouth fully, using her tongue to swirl around his thick member. She angled her face upwards and she felt herself growing wetter at the sight of Elijah coming undone above her. His brows were furrowed, eyes intent on her as he watched her every movement as though captivated.

"I know you're getting soaked for me. You love this, don't you?" He murmured softly, his hand coming down to trace his fingers along her jawbone. Katherine pushed him farther down the back of her throat, causing him to buck his hips in response. She heard him snarl at the feeling.

"Katerina." His low voice was a warning. "Tease me and you'll have a long night ahead of you."

Katherine hummed around the length of him, but then felt him tug on her hair as he pulled her back up to him. His lips found hers, and he flipped her around so that her back was to his chest. His hand immediately went between her legs, his other circling her waist like a vice. Katherine felt her knees give as his precise fingers rubbed through her underwear, feeling the patch of wetness grow beneath his touch.

"You did enjoy it, didn't you? Enjoyed being on your knees for me?"

She could only moan in response, her hips twisting in his grip, but he held her to him tightly.

He pressed her down onto the bed, her hips hanging from the bed and her palms flat as she moved her head to the side. He pulled the lacy underwear off her hips in one smooth movement, his hand coming up to cup her ass. He gave a slight swat, and she jumped at the warmth of the sting.

Elijah's body covered hers, his hand once more finding its way beneath her body and between her legs. She gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping between her wet folds, his fingers finding her needy clit with ease. With his weight on top of her and the bed beneath her, she had no choice but to endure the waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She muffled her cries in the soft sheets of the bed, her body beginning to tremble as her first orgasm began to grow.

"Does that feel good, Katerina? Do you want to cum?"

She whined in response, backing her hips up closer to his fingers as much as he would allow. The weight of him, the warmth of his skin, the scent of him, and the sound of his voice, low and deep in her voice, it was too much to bear.

"Yes, Elijah, please, please..."

Begging, Katerina? That's unlike you. - I'd only do it for you.

Their past interaction rang in her ears the moment the words slipped past her lips, but she was desperate for release. His fingers quickened against her soaked pussy, and as she came closer and closer to her release... he stopped.

"Fuck! Elijah..."

He removed himself from her body, the cold chill of the room drafting over her skin. Goosebumps rose over her body as she rubbed her thighs together, desperate for release. Her heels clicked together as she whimpered.

"Please, Elijah..."

"You haven't been very good, have you, Katerina?"

His hands pushed her legs apart, then he pressed one against her lower back, steadying her hips. "Have you?" He asked again, giving her ass another swat. She hissed at the feeling.

"No! No, I haven't."

He tsk'd behind her, and she felt her arousal dripping between her thighs and onto the sheets of the bed. With his other hand, he placed his cock at her entrance and rubbed the head of it up and down her pussy, collecting her wetness. She arched her back at the feeling, but every time she tried to move her hips back to meet his, he kept her firmly in place.

"Only good girls get to cum, sweet Katerina."

With that, he slid into her, the entire length of him right to the hilt. Katherine gasped at the feeling, quickly releasing a deep moan as he began to move against her hips, settling a ruthless pace against her.

His hips thrusted in and out, slowing down occasionally only to purposefully roll his hips against hers so that his cock hit every delicious point of pleasure inside of her. Her clit was left untouched, and she almost reached between her legs to avail herself of the need.

His hand caught hers, and he placed both above her head for good measure, locking her wrists in the grip of one hand.

"You'll take what pleasure I give you."

She sucked a breath in as he increased his pace, his fingers on his other hand leaving bruises on her hips from his desperate grip. Katherine bucked her hips back, trying to meet his insistent pace.

Once he'd had his pleasure, he slid out of her slowly so she felt every moment, then pulled on her hip until she turned and laid on her back, then he released her hands from his grip.

"I'll be good, I swear..." She panted as she gazed up at him, her eyes hungrily drinking in his toned stomach and chest, the chiseled V-line of his hips, the strength of his thighs. His arms were a particularly favourite appreciation of hers, and she watched as the lean muscles shifted under his smooth skin. His eyes were aflame with desire, and his lips shifted into a crooked smile. She watched as he stroked himself once, twice.

He slid back between her folds, their eyes connecting as he spoke,

"That's my good girl."

Katherine brought her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he thrust back into her. Her heels scratched against his lower back, clicking together as he moved in and out with vampiric speed. She felt as though she would come apart just from the feeling of him inside her, the sight of his warm brown eyes and feeling of his skin sticking to hers. That was, until he slid his hand down to where she needed him most.

She nearly screamed at the feeling of him rolling his thumb over her clit, coupled with his thick cock rolling inside of her just right.

"Please," She groaned. "Please let me cum, Elijah."

"Do you deserve it, Katerina?" She heard his voice shake the slightest bit, and she knew that his release was close. He needed her as badly as she needed him, even all these centuries later. "Do you think you deserve my mercy?"

"I need it, I need it." She panted. She closed her eyes tightly together, unable to control the impending release. His fingers were too precise, too controlled. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was becoming impossible to resist giving into the temptation. "Please, I can't-"

"Cum for me, Katerina."

The moment those words left his lips, she came undone around him. Her hands gripped his forearms so hard that to any mortal man, she would've shattered their wrists. Elijah's hips continued to piston against hers, fingers delicately rolling over her clit as she rode out her orgasm, her hips stuttering at the feeling.

She watched as euphoria over took him, his features transforming as his release neared, gripping her hips tightly to him as his thrusts became shorter and closer. She tightened her ankles around his hips, keeping him close to her body. Moments later, he came inside of her, the last of his thrusts languid and slow inside of her. She winced at the overstimulation, but his hand soon fell away from her clit as pulled out of her.

She dropped her legs from around his waist and allowed her limbs to fall slack, the electricity of her release still shocking her every nerve. She felt utterly spent.

Elijah was already dressing himself, trousers buckled and with his shirt in tatters, he reached into a nearby dresser and pulled out a fresh one. Katherine raised a brow at that. Perhaps he frequented this apartment far more than she knew.

He threw it over his shoulders, followed by his tie. Within moments, he was dressed while she lay naked on the bed.

"I'd hasten, Katerina. Dawn is breaking, and I'm only giving you a day's headstart."

Katherine pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking off the remnants of the pleasure in her muscles as the cold rush of reality poured itself over her. She slid off the bed, quickly gathering her underwear and jeans, and what shreds remained of her top.

"How long will this go on, Elijah?" She could hardly conceal the tiredness in her voice as she dressed, running her fingers through her hair to try and regain some dignity. Her makeup was certainly beyond smudged and the mess of her curls the result of a good fucking.

"A long time." He responded quietly, but she didn't understand the meaning of his words until much later.

As she finished buttoning her jeans, Elijah raised a hand and placed it delicately on her jaw, mirroring the gesture she'd done just hours ago. Katherine felt her breath hitch despite everything they'd just done. The way he gazed at her was far more intimate than any of it.

Then, his eyes hardened. The cold stare returned and she knew nothing had really changed. History was repeating itself, just as he'd said.

"The next time I see you, Katerina, it will be the last. Are we clear?"

She wasn't naive; a single night of passion wasn't enough to spare her life. She knew better than to test Elijah again, and she certainly knew no such mercy awaited her if she ran into either of the Mikaelson brothers again.

The dawn was indeed beginning to break, with the navy blue sky beginning to lighten with each passing moment. Katherine didn't need to be told twice; once she collected her belongings, she disappeared from Elijah's sight without another word.

Once outside, the city was sparse apart from a few who either rose early to go to work, or whose night had yet to end. Katherine took a small breath of the summer air, feeling the breeze gently brush against her curls. She'd survived one more night. That was something. As she stood at the edge of the road, telltale signs of her pleasure still tingling the deepest parts of her, she found herself turning around and gazing back up at the old apartment building.

Elijah stood at the window, the picture of elegance, watching her every movement. She turned away, and disappeared into the dawn.

・❥・But if I catch you, the game will be over・❥・

[westmoor]

the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

--

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

--

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

--

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar​ @elliestormfound​ @justjess94​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @honeysuckletook​ @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

[morganaspendragonss]

fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time. 

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating. 

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown. 

He wishes he could wake up now.

*

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it. 

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list. 

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

*

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again. 

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress. 

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

[capri-ramblings]

Ooh requests are open! Can I request some headcanons on how the yandere octavinelle trio + Malleus and Lilia would react to their s/o being poisoned and afflicted with sleeping death where the only cure is true loves kiss? And surprisingly, their s/o actually wakes up afterwards.

Excuse me,yansweet, how dare you have such a deliciously well thought idea? I didn't do Azul and Floyd because they ended up a bit too similar with Jade though,so I hope you don't mind! 💖💖

Please Refer to Pinned Post. [This post was set on cued!]

[ True love's kiss? ]

Malleus Draconia

- Malleus is furious at first.

- He's blundering the halls of his castle when he hears of the misfortune cursed onto you

- How dare anyone lay their hands on you? And who were the fools who were so incompetent to allow it in the first place?

- This Fae King is ready to tear down the walls of his ancestral home until Lilia comes to soothe his anger, reminding him that if it was a curse begotten by another other than himself that there would be a cure for it no doubt.

- So,he simmers down. Compels himself to unsheath his claws and fury for another day.

- For now, he must go see you

- He smiles lightly when he does; The mere figure of you laid atop his bed in what seemed to be a deep slumber dousing his rage of fire.

- What an odd feeling he has when you are present. This gentleness that you evoke in his core is something Malleus believes no other being could give him.

- You are his special bride. His soulmate.

- "A true love's kiss" He murmurs underneath his breath, earning glances from both Lilia and Silver as they stood on each of his sides.

- Malleus considers this notion thoughtfully, wondering if he'd be able to do so for he wasn't a fool (though he felt he was one for your love) and he was aware of how stoic and reserved you had been with him despite the closeness he's tried to build with you.

- If he had kissed you then and you remained asleep. It would shatter a great deal of both his pride and heart.

- How would he cope with such a rejection?

- Truly,if he couldn't have you then no one else would have the chance to be.

- But if he did not attempt this then you'd remain asleep forever, and that seemed a fate worst than death or rejection.

- For then you'd be further away from him. You would have your freedom,your peace and he would be left with just a remnant of your existence.

- No, Malleus didn't want that.

- He wanted you, your soul,your laugh. He wanted to see the glistening of life kindling in your eyes, the sound of your voice cooing in his ears.

- If you remained in deep slumber, he would have none of this

- And he'd go mad.

- The world would matter not to him.

- If you demanded a kiss to awaken, he will give it to you. And if you refused him, he would litter your body with each mark of affection he has to offer.

- For if the Fates denied him your love , he would deny the world of peace.

- "Leave."

- The words were an order,drawled out with enough demand that Lilia and Silver didn't spare a second to obey.

- Malleus strode to his bed and allowed his gaze to drink the sight of your serene beauty bared before him, the way the light sprites lingered around you reminding him of a star he saw when he was younger.

- He wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to have him. If you could find it in your heart to accept his twisted one.

- Surely, a life encased in a dream was far from what you wanted as well?

- He knew you always had a spirit for living, and that by keeping you at his side Malleus had taken that away from you.

- But he'd promise to not repeat his mistakes.

- He'd allow you the freedom you so wished for so long as you accepted him as your one and only.

- Your true love. That's what he wanted.

- Malleus takes the place beside you, his weight causing the bed to sink ever so slightly as he leaned down to your face.

- Your subtle scent of flowers and grass greeting his senses almost immediately.

- "Be mine" He cooed,coaxed. Voice as gentle as a summer's breeze, a yearning song from the woods. "And I will give you the world."

- His lips presses onto yours gently and without a hint of greed in it. The sensation of being ruffled by the wind causing Malleus to furrow his brows before he loosened his body and deepened the kiss.

- Once he pulled away and your eyes remained shut, Malleus gripped the sheets. Expression feral, like a wounded beast.

- But then, your chest heaved a fraction more than it did before and Malleus watched in awe as your eyelids began to flutter open and your lips parted in a silent murmur.

- "___?" Your name leaves him breathless as it slips from his mouth and you turn your head in his direction.

- The glazed look in your gaze slowly regaining its composure the longer you lingered on his expression.

- "Malleus..." You called,soft and gentle it has him craning his head over you like a shrine to be worshipped. His hands gathering yours as he lifts them up to his lips where he lets it linger on your skin.

- "Malleus,I...I was asleep..."

- "Cursed,my raven." Malleus cut in, the hint of aggression he held before returning. "Someone had cursed you into an eternal sleep"

- Your expression shifted,from dazed to disbelief as you looked around the room before returning to Malleus's grief stricken form.

- "Eternity didn't seem to change much of your room."

- Malleus's eyes widened.

- Then,he laughed at you for that. A sound so broken and worn,you had trouble believing it came from the very same Fae who you knew to be cold and proud.

- "You didn't reached an eternity yet. I broke the curse." He said, and you tilted your head.

- "How?" The question was a quiet one, as if you didn't want to stir up the silence in the room.

- Malleus looked you straight in the eyes then. Gaze still and unwavering.

- "With a kiss." He said "A true love's kiss."

- And if that didn't answer his pleas, then perhaps, you could tell him yourself. For now, he knew the Fates were on his side and nothing you say would make him think otherwise.

Jade Leech

- Jade is livid.

- The very seams of control and patience he's paid attention to uphold slips through his facade like sand and his fists feel cold.

- The rush of aggression coursing through his veins then makes him see red as he strides his way to you.

- Floyd and Azul are waiting on him there, each standing at either side of your bed. He wants to tell them off for it, to bare his jaws and tell them that he didn't need anyone to play nurse for you.

- He knows it's unreasonable to act in such a way but he can't help it.

- All that meticulous planning to keep you from others reach, wasted.

- And it's entirely your fault,isn't it? You and your stubborn will to slither away from your one and only. The ungratefulness has Jade seething with more rage than he could ever contain.

- If only you'd stay put and not run off...This wouldn't be happening. You wouldn't be hit by that curse and Jade wouldn't need to wrack his brain for a solution to this mess.

- His wrath is silent though. Not a single word escapes him as he takes in the sight of your sleeping figure.

- Floyd makes a chide comment about it, ignoring the harsh glower in Jade's eyes but ultimately saved by Azul who seemed able to read the mood and divert the topic towards another.

- It takes days for them to figure out the cure for your curse but even when it's laid on the table before him, Jade finds himself frowning.

- A true love's kiss? What kind of childish fantasy was this? How could a curse strong enough to keep you asleep for an eternity be broken by a mere kiss?

- Surely this was some sort of joke. Jade turns to Azul for another possibility, but the Octo-Mer simply shakes his head.

- Jade involuntarily clicks his tongue, something he rarely does so openly but he thanks Azul for the information and asks to be left alone.

- He doesn't need anyone telling him the consequences if his kiss doesn't stir you awake.

- Then again, if he doesn't at least attempt to do anything, you'd remained unconscious and that was practically a death sentence wasn't it?

- Jade applauds you for making him internally conflicted. The fact that you alone could make him want to tear apart the world was no small feat after all.

- He somehow feels entitled to answer this ridiculous demand of yours, seeing that if he does wakes you up then it will be something he'll use against you

- Because if Jade breaks the curse it means you and him were meant to be, and he'd have the proof for it.

- So,he swallows his rage and he leans down to kiss you.

- In that moment where you actually stir awake and let out this almost pained gasp, Jade finds himself staring at you in awe.

- The very chains of his possessiveness coiling around you as his thoughts gathered together in one single notion of acceptance.

- He was your true love's kiss.

- How fascinating. How rewarding.

- Safe to say after this little event, Jade's primal aggression over you heightens to a frightening degree. Though oddly enough, he lets you do whatever you wished, going as far as allowing you to live away from him.

- And this is because, Jade has the full assurance that no matter how far a distance you placed between you and him or how harsh you acted towards his affection, it doesn't change the fact that if you were to fall into a deep slumber, the only one to pull you out from it is none other than Jade himself.

Lilia Vanrouge

- Lilia's temper simmers but he isn't entirely mad enough to start a war.

- No,he's a patient man and one with boundless knowledge.

- He's quick to identify the curse as a traditional sleeping curse and finds the cure for it rather amusing.

- He doesn't know if he's your so called true love, knowing very well that the relationship he's put you in is one similar to eternal confinement, but his heart flutters at the thought of you waking up because of his kiss, even if he knows it will never happen.

- Lilia is enamored by you, so much that he's taken note of every single aspect of your life. From your lineage to the people you linger about with to that boy you've always been in love with ever since your childhood years.

- You can't really hide anything from him, can you?

- He wonders if he can cheat the little curse with a transfiguration spell but then laughs at himself for such naive thinking.

- Instead, he sings you songs, every night. Not lullabies or love poems, but songs of ancient Faes. The kind that spins humans into a web of submission both body and soul.

- Oh,he knows he isn't your true love but he could be the one you can't live without, and that's all the same for Lilia.

- The song weakens the spirit of a human, and in turn the body itself, and a curse will only last for either a certain amount of time or until the one afflicted by it is dead. So, Lilia pushes you into a near death state, lulling your senses so dangerously low until you're pale as death and he can barely hear your heartbeat.

- Then seconds before you die, he cuts the curse off and reverse the song, healing you completely. It's a flawless plan yet risky if not handled by the right hands. Lilia smiles at his success, and that smile broadens when he leans down to kiss you, minutes before you stir awake and find that the person you lifted your curse was none other than Lilia himself.

- You're confused, but relieved. You hadn't remembered how you were placed under such spell but you remember the death-like state you felt, the way your body seemed to grow weaker each passing day you kept your eyes shut, but then as immediately as it happened, the heavy burden disappears and is replaced by the most soothing sensation you've ever experienced.

- And it's all because Lilia kissed you?

- You couldn't actually believe it, but how do you doubt something that felt as gentle as the lips that saved you?

- Perhaps, you've misjudged him. Suddenly,Lilia didn't seem all that hard to love.

[kosmosguk]

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.  

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation,  mentions of suicide, gore 

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.  

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

[bjy-on-ao3]

Hi, I really love your writing on Ao3! I was wondering if you could write an Adachi x reader where Adachi slips it in while reader is sleeping? Maybe halfway through being fucked reader wakes up but pretends to be asleep anyway because they are enjoying it? I imagine that they'd probably already have a preexisting sexual relationship and have talked about the sex that they are okay with (that could be a creative choice for you tho idc. manipulative adachi sexy). best wishes!

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page)

Here you are, anon! This one really struck a cord with me, and I knew I had to fill it, eventually.

Summary 

Adachi gives Reader a pleasant morning surprise to indulge a desire they previously confessed to him.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Hair-Pulling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex

Rise & Shine (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

The early rays of morning scattered through the window blinds, bathing the otherwise dark bedroom in pale stripes of yellow and gold. The cloying spring heat had yet to creep in, some remnant of the coolness of night lingering, lending a refreshing feeling, rather than one hot and clinging. Tohru Adachi stirred on the bedsheets of the mattress next to the mostly shuttered window.

He started to disentangle himself lazily from the light sheets, but stopped. A look of confusion spread across his face when he noted sitting up wasn’t as easy as it should have been, the cause your prone form tucked so securely against him. He remembered falling asleep at your apartment after some drinks at Shiroku and a couple rounds of fun, but you had fallen asleep with ample distance between you. Adachi decided you must have unconsciously snugged up to him while the both of you slept.

Though he was confused, that didn’t mean Adachi wasn’t exactly displeased. Neither of you had bothered to re-dress at all before passing out the night before. That left you naked, pressed against him, at least before he tried to extricate himself from your grasp. His eyes roved unchastely over your bare skin, exposed where the sheets rode down past your hips. Lying flat on your stomach after he had escaped your cuddling, your arms splayed on the pillows, legs spread haphazardly. He eyed the swell of your chest pressing into the soft mattress and the tantalizing curve of your ass, his gaze lingering as his hunger was roused.

In that moment, Adachi recalled a conversation that had taken place between the two of you not long ago. You had opened up to him a little with your fantasies and wants, admitting with a thoroughly hot face and hushed tone how badly you wanted him to use you. You hadn’t described exactly how, though, only that your desire for him to use your body however he pleased existed. He remembered how excited the confession had made him, immediately diving into imaginations of how he planned to take you up on it. Somehow, though, the thought had slipped his mind until that instant.

The gears were turning in his head, and Adachi’s lips curled in a sinful, lecherous grin as he came to a decision. What better way to grant your wishes and use you only for his pleasure than to fuck you while you slept, when he had little reason to worry about your satisfaction or concerns. His cock jerked to life at the thought, and his mind was made up.

He drew the sheets the rest of the way off, flinging them to the side where they would remain unwanted and forgotten for some time. The full sight of your body laid out nude before him met him, and another punch of hunger seized him, his reacting in along with it. For a second, Adachi wondered if you would even notice. He couldn’t remember if you were a light sleeper who woke at even a hardly intrusive touch, or if you slept like the dead and would drowse through it all. But he was going to find out very soon. =============================================

It was the touch of something solid and cool between your legs that eased you from the warm, comfortable haze of sleep. It prodded at the soft pink of your cunt before slipping inside with little resistance. At first, you thought you were having some kind of vivid wet dream, but you recognized the strange dark line of half-consciousness, so it was no dream. Something had buried itself inside your cunt, wet and welcoming even while you dozed. The sensation of whatever it was wriggled and curled, easing in and out for a moment before withdrawing altogether.

The thick fog of sleep threatened to lure you back into its clutches with the retreat of whatever had been intruding; you had nearly convinced yourself even if it wasn’t a dream, you had  imagined it. Just a figment of your muddled, half-asleep mind. But whatever it was returned, clamping over your thighs and carefully prying them apart to spread your legs wider. The tip of something far more hot and hard poked at your slick lips, the sensation giving your growing consciousness a jolt. You froze, making yourself remain still despite coming further to, and the thick intrusion sank past your lips and your entrance.

A low, blissful groan caught your attention when the hardness filled you completely, and your cunt clenched reflexively around it. Several debauched noises longed to free themselves from your throat at the aching fullness, but you quashed them, forcing yourself to feign sleep. The groan no doubt belonged to the man you had fallen asleep beside the night before, there was no denying that. You were led to a conclusion even your hazy mind could make: Adachi was the one buried deep inside your cunt, basking in the tight embrace of your soft, wet flesh around his cock.

The realization didn’t alarm or upset you, though. In fact, it only made your cunt feel wetter, and your walls tightened around him again, eliciting another erotic, gravelly noise from Adachi, A wicked heat blossomed in your gut and made your heart drum in your chest, your pulse beginning to race. It almost embarrassed you how much being fucked while you ‘slept’ turned you on, and you wondered fleetingly if he noticed how readily your body responded to him. Would he think nothing of it and just assume you were still dreaming and none the wiser?

Any thoughts were drowned out, though, when Adachi’s hips pulled back and he thrust back into your heat, the start of a steady rhythm. He rocked his hips languidly against your backside, obviously in no rush. A series of small, carnal, and oh-so-arousing sounds drifted from his lips as he pumped his cock in and out of your core. Sounds quiet enough that if you had really been asleep, you doubted you would have noticed at all. You struggled not to react too noticeably to them or from the roll of his hips. But you couldn’t help squirming here and there, a muffled, sleepy whimper escaping every once in a while. You hoped Adachi chalked them up to simply unconscious and involuntary reactions.

Whatever the case, your wriggling and tiny, nearly incoherent gasps and murmurs spurred Adachi onward, and his pace increased, fucking you more thoroughly into the bed. Each deep thrust made you want to swoon and melt and moan. The weight of Adachi’s body pressed into your back, his skin already growing slick with beads of sweat, radiating heat against you.

“Y’know,” he growled casually in your ear, “you’re a really bad actor.” His pace didn’t stop, and he his came to tangle in the sheets beside your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your cunt more roughly.

You ignored him, unsure if he knew you were awake and was telling the truth, of if he was searching for some kind of conscious reaction to find out. Things were too enjoyable though to let them end so easily. Until Adachi could prove you were awake, you were more than pleased to let him have his way with you.

A moment of silence punctuated only by the sounds of sex passed, and then a low, contemplative hum droned beside you. “Well, I guess if you’re really sleeping through this, I can do whatever I want,” he said coyly, and to some it might have sounded almost like a threat. Right then, to you, it was a sinful promise you silently bade him to fulfill.

His hips snapped harder against you, and it was even more of a struggle to fight back the noises that wanted to break free, each thrust so deep it provoked a guttural response. He adjusted himself, tilting his hips and pressing his body more firmly against yours. You didn’t know if it was out of mere convenience for him, or on purpose to overwhelm you and shatter your charade, but the new angle brought on a greater ordeal.

Each rough stroke of his cock, besides sinking so deep, brushed against a much more receptive spot that made your gut twist in a distinctly pleasant way. You tried to disguise the way you turned your head to push it into the pillows as an unconscious reaction, though you unsure how long Adachi would continue to buy your act, if he didn’t already know the truth.

Each time he drove back inside, you lost more resolve to keep pretending, and to disguise and smother your moans and the way your body so badly wanted to meet his thrusts. The molten feeling that had grown in your belly served only to weaken you further, welling up inside and proving more demanding and wild than the sounds of pleasure seeking escape.l

You pressed your face into the pillows more as a particularly stubborn moan bubbled up, much louder than any of the others, trying in vain to stifle it. Though as soon as the sound left your lips, smothered as it was, your little game of pretend was over. A rough hand tangled in your hair, grabbing tightly and jerking your head back and away from the pillows. Your new position left you no choice but to moan freely into the air, already hot and thick with sex and sweat. The stubborn moan seemed like the bursting of a dam, and there was no stopping the myriad cries that followed it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Adachi hissed in your ear, amused and breathless. “Pretending you had no idea what I was doing and getting off on being treated like the little cock sleeve you wanted to be?”

With your act revealed, you had no reason to try to fool Adachi any longer. You gave into the carnal heat swelling inside you, crying out and finally slamming your hips back to meet his. “Fuck, yes! Use me, please,” you begged, and Adachi’s stinging grip in your hair tightened reflexively. “I want to be your plaything; use me however you want!” your voice broke with your admission, shattered by a stroke that stole your breath away and made your made briefly go blank.

The words were a catalyst, stoking Adachi’s already boiling lust to even greater heights. He rutted harder against you, feeling the urgency of an orgasm dawning on him, your shameless enthusiasm speeding it along. He relished the outpouring of bawdy shouts and moans bubbling from your mouth now that he had called your bluff. His fingered remained snared in your hair, pulling your head back almost painfully and ensuring there was no chance to muffle a single sound more.

You could feel Adachi’s desperation mounting behind each thrust, even through the lingering haze of sleep clouding your awareness. You felt it in the tension of his body, pushing yours so forcefully into the bed, and in his fingers, both in your hair and on your skin. But you were already ahead of him. The sheer excitement of being fucked in such an obscene fashion made your body tense and burn white hot. Each time Adachi filled you up again, it forced another cry from your lips, and the liquid heat wound tighter and more intense.

Your breathing hitched, becoming quickly ragged and sharp, and Adachi’s was just as labored in your ear. You bucked back against him mindlessly, seeking the last little push you needed and thinking of nothing else. When you came, his named rolled off your tongue in waves, interrupted by moans that pitched more desperate and airy as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He bent his head, and his teeth scraped the nape of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he could find to leave a colorful, stinging mark. The sharp sensations added to the ripples of pleasure dancing through you, and your voice cracked in your ecstasy. His tempo slowed, gaining force where it lost momentum, until the smack of his skin on yours was clear even through the chorus of groans and cries ringing out. When he finished, he bit down again, harder, so hard a moan turned into a brief yelp, even though he hadn’t broken the skin.

With each spurt of his cum that filled you, Adachi groaned, long and low, the noise feral and thick. The sounds made you shudder, and your cunt squeeze him tighter, even though your orgasm was wearing away and coming to an end. Finally, Adachi was spent, and you were left sweat-slicked and nearly panting, his grasp on your hair loosening. You couldn’t think beyond the feel of him still sheathed in your cunt, or the sound of his heavy breathing beside you. Even smothered beneath his weight, your mind had room only for the pleasures of the afterglow.

You rested limp and pliant against the bedsheets as Adachi released your hair, and when you lay your head on the pillows again, they felt blissfully cool. You were too tired and out-of-sorts to move when Adachi withdrew, vaguely noting the sensation of something warm and thick trickling down your thighs.Adachi didn’t bother laying back in bed, instead rolling to the side and getting to his feet. You summoned the energy to roll over and watch him as he went about getting cleaned up before searching for his clothes and re-dressing.

After several minutes, Adachi had sorted himself out and made himself presentable - or at least what counted as presentable for detective with his routinely messy hair, crumpled clothes, and crooked tie. By then, you had regained steady breathing, watching him lazily and propping yourself up on your elbow. He took one last glance over himself, patting the pockets of his slacks for his phone and keys and ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything, Satisfied everything was accounted for, he walked to the beside, bending down and taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger before tipping your head to meet his gaze.

“I’ve gotta get going now, sweetheart. Be good while I’m gone and maybe I’ll indulge more of your sick little fantasies the next time I come over,” he promised, punctuating his words with a kiss. It was a gesture that might have seemed sweet or affectionate, were it not for the sharp, hungry bite he left on your bottom lip.

Then, he was gone without another word, leaving you with a burning face, an aching cunt oozing cum, and many angry marks that would soon turn various shades of blue and purple. Yet, you were left also with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction that outweighed everything else. You slid back down onto the bed, recounting what had just happened. Even just the memory sent your arousing spiralling out of control all over again.

It was going to be torture waiting for the next time you could get together.

[senstia]

~That one time when Andrew thought Neil cheated and it caused a bunch of unnecessary emotional distress~

*andreil

*angst with a happy ending

“A-Andrew?”

“Just go Neil.”

“I don’t understand. This is just over for good? After all this time?” Neil said, his voice breaking.

“This was never anything. And now it’s done. Get away from me.”

Andrew couldn’t bear to look at Neil for another second. His heart felt like it was in a vice grip and it was about to shatter into a million pieces. He’d never felt this level of pain before. And the one person he thought he could trust... No. He was done. Neil chose to cheat on him. Neil ended this. He had no right to look so heartbroken. He had no right to have tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. Andrew stormed out of the dorm before he hit Neil. Or took back every word he had just said. He couldn’t handle another second looking at those blue eyes. He couldn’t handle the way it felt like he’d lost a part of his soul.

~

Neil’s mind was a kaleidoscope of memories blinding him by the second. He couldn’t help but go over everything that had happened in the past month, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Trying to figure out why Andrew had shattered his heart and left him with no warning. He came up empty. They had had no fights, no arguments, nothing of consequence had occurred. He’d been blindsided. And now it felt like he was drowning and there was no way to the surface. To live without Andrew by his side. He would never see those hazel eyes sparkle again. He would never get to feel Andrew’s lips on his skin again. He would never get to have a lazy weekend with Andrew again. He couldn’t bear it, didn’t know how he would be able to survive this. Maybe it would be easier if he knew the reason, but Andrew gave no explanation. He was just done. He knew he would be haunted by this forever. Knew the loss of Andrew would be a scar that never faded. The pain was excruciating.

And there was nothing Neil could do but try to survive without his heart, for it would always belong to Andrew.

~

It was a Saturday night when Andrew had felt his world shatter before his eyes. He had been going to see his stupid junkie. Because he missed him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course Andrew had assumed Neil would be alone. The first sign was the thong thrown haphazardly on the floor in the living room, and then the bra following soon after. Andrew had felt nausea roil in his gut at the sight. He knew for a fact no one else was here but Neil. No one else had been staying in the dorm for the past few days, all busy with different plans. And as he had walked closer to the closed door he heard a girlish voice, followed by Neil’s carefree laugh.

“Neil stop it,” the girl said playfully, giggling.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed.

“Damn Neil, you’re insanely sexy. This is perfect!” The girl exclaimed.

Neil giggled softly and Andrew could easily imagine the blush on Neil’s cheeks at the compliment.

“Do you have condoms?” The girl asked playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry,” Neil said.

That was the point of the conversation when Andrew couldn’t stand to listen anymore. The familiar feeling of betrayal ripped through him like wildfire, surprising in its intensity. Neil didn’t want him anymore. Neil had chosen someone else, someone better.

His instinct was to go up to the roof, but he couldn’t bare it anymore. The roof was drowned in memories of Neil. He couldn’t go up there without feeling the echo of Neil’s lips on his skin.

So he started driving. He drove until he buried the heartbreak as far down as he could. Until he felt only numbness. He wiped away the few tears that had managed to escape him. And then he came back and Neil was alone again. He couldn’t bare to ask. Couldn’t bare to hear Neil either lie or confess. He just ended it. Ripped off the bandage. And then it was gone. This light in the darkness. Andrew had been in darkness his whole life, just surviving. And then Neil had come along and it was like he could finally see again, as much as he didn’t want to. And now the light was gone. The universe had proved him right once again. There was nothing good for him here. Neil was and had always been, a pipe dream, and Andrew had finally woken up. It was more painful than he had expected it to be. The pain would linger, he knew. He would never be able to escape it. Because part of his soul was missing now, shredded apart, taken by Neil’s scarred hands and ice blue eyes and silver tongue.

~

It was movie night with the foxes. It had been two days since Andrew and Neil’s breakup and none of the foxes knew. Neil felt nauseous at the thought of having to tell the foxes, of having to be in the same room as Andrew again. He hadn’t seen him since that day. He didn’t want to cry again. For two days he had dreamt of Andrew. Andrew next to him, Andrew loving him, and both times he had woken up to remember the truth. It shattered him every time. He hadn’t expected to cry. But the tears flowed and overflowed and never stopped. Just the thought of Andrew made his throat tighten painfully.

~

Andrew knew he looked like shit. He hadn’t slept one minute the past two days. He hadn’t been able to smoke either, it reminded him too much of Neil. The nicotine withdraw mixed with his grief caused headaches, lack of appetite, nausea. He had already vomited his guts up twice today. He had told Bee what happened, but her advice had just sounded like ringing in his ears, faraway, insignificant. He was drifting off to sea and there was no one to pull him back. And now he had to see him. He had to sit in the same goddamn room as Neil for hours, pretending to care about movie night, pretending to be some form of a capable human being. It was going to be agony to be at a party when he felt like an open wound, raw and bleeding out.

Neil wasn’t there yet when he got in. Andrew dragged his tired body to a beanbag and plopped down, not acknowledging anyone. Normally, he would have stopped to get ice cream first, but he knew he would vomit if he so much as smelled it. Normally he’d be sitting with Neil up against him, his warmth seeping into him like honey. Nothing was normal anymore.

Neil finally appeared in the doorway and it was a slight consolation to Andrew that Neil looked like shit too. His eyes were puffy, red, and bloodshot. He had deep dark circles under his eyes. His hair looked greasy and disheveled, like he hadn’t bothered to wash or brush it in days. His eyes were lifeless, like chips of ice so cold they could burn. Neil’s eyes caught Andrew’s for a moment and his entire body froze. Andrew felt nausea roil in his gut at the feel of Neil’s eyes on him. He looked away quickly.

“Hey... woah Neil. Are you okay? You look like shit,” Matt said.

Neil’s eyes barely flickered in recognition of Matt’s words. He didn’t even look at Matt, his lifeless eyes were glued to the floor.

“I’m fine,” Neil said, his voice cold, dead. Matt looked deeply concerned and he exchanged worried looks with Dan and Nicky. Neil just trudged over to his beanbag on the opposite side of the couch and plopped in it, staring at his hands like he was searching for something there.

“Neil? Can you tell us what’s wrong?” Allison asked, leaning over Neil.

Neil didn’t reply, just flicked his eyes to Andrew for a moment and then went back to staring at his hands.

All the foxes looked to Andrew then.

“Andrew?” Nicky said tentatively.

“We broke up.”

All the foxes froze at this. Eyes jumping between Neil and Andrew over and over, most likely cataloging how miserable they both looked.

“W-what happened?” Nicky asked looking to Neil.

Neil snapped his eyes to Andrew, fire flickering there once again, “He dumped me,” Neil said, his voice like steel. Andrew wanted to bury a knife in his gut in that moment. How dare Neil make him out to be the bad guy?

Andrew snorted, muttered under his breath, “You’re pathetic.”

Neil seemed to freeze at the words, and then deflate. He looked so broken and defeated in that moment that Andrew almost felt regret. No. Neil cheated. He deserved this.

Allison went over and sat next to Neil, wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Mind if I sit with you for the movie?” She asked kindly. Neil just smiled weakly and rested his head on Allison’s shoulder. Nicky gave Andrew a scathing look before flicking the lights off for the movie. By the end Andrew’s head was pounding and he felt one second away from vomiting all over the floor. Nicky, Allison, Matt, and Dan had all been fawning over Neil the entire movie. Bringing him food and drinks, hugging him, whispering words of kindness in his ears. Aaron and Kevin had been cautiously watching Andrew throughout the night but hadn’t said a word. They had looks of concern in their eyes though.

When Nicky flipped the lights on Andrew immediately got up to leave, but he swayed on his feet. He paused, closing his eyes, trying to gain equilibrium. Neil had trudged off to the bathroom so at least Andrew could leave the dorm in peace. Andrew almost didn’t say anything, but he felt their eyes on him, angry and accusing. Because how dare Andrew hurt their perfect little Neil. Andrew paused in the doorway on his way out, turned to look back at the foxes.

“You can stop treating Neil like a broken victim.”

“Why?” Nicky said sharply.

“Because he cheated on me,” Andrew said with a cold grin, saluting the foxes with a hand as he left the dorm.

Andrew felt Aaron on his heels as he was leaving the dorm. He turned around to face him. Aaron looked confused, distraught.

“He cheated on you?”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?” Andrew said, raising a brow.

“How do you know?”

“I heard them. I saw remnants of their clothing on the floor,” Andrew said honestly.

“Another guy?” Aaron asked, sounding afraid.

Andrew swallowed the tightness in his throat, “A girl.”

Anger and disgust flashed in Aaron’s eyes, “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that bastard,” Aaron said venomously. Andrew just laughed coldly and walked away.

“Don’t follow me.”

~

Aaron stormed back into the dorm, ready to rip Neil’s throat out.

“Where’s Neil?” He demanded.

“He just left to go on a run... why do you look like you’re about to commit homicide?” Matt asked cautiously.

“Because that piece of shit cheated on Andrew.” Aaron said.

“I thought Andrew was kidding,” Nicky said.

“Holy shit... Neil actually...” Kevin muttered under his breath.

“Wait. Wait. Are you sure?” Dan asked, looking to Aaron.

“What? You think he’d lie about that?” Aaron asked scathingly.

None of the foxes had a reply to that. They were all standing in shocked silence. Morning practice tomorrow was going to be rough.

~

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hand against the goal, trying to fight against his nausea. He knew he was going to vomit again. He just didn’t know when.

Neil hadn’t shown up to practice yet. He was 30 minutes late. All the foxes had been silent throughout practice, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Wymack had asked what the hell was going on so Nicky went up and whispered something in his ear. Wymack stayed quiet after that.

Andrew walked over to the water jug, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. And then Neil walked onto the court. Andrew physically gagged at the sight and had to swallow back his vomit. Neil looked even worse today, if that were possible. He didn’t look at anyone as he trudged towards the team. He looked dead inside, like a ghost of himself.

Before anyone could react Aaron had Neil slammed against the wall. Aaron punched Neil in the jaw and Neil’s head snapped to the side at the impact but his expression barely changed. He didn’t even fight back. Everyone was frozen, not knowing what to do.

Aaron slammed him harder against the wall, “I should kill you. I should rip your throat out right here.”

Neil just laughed, his expression dead, “I won’t stop you.”

Aaron seemed to pause at Neil’s tone. Because Neil meant it. If Aaron had actually tried to kill him, he wouldn’t have fought back. The lack of fire, the lack of care in Neil’s eyes, it was terrifying. And even though Neil had shattered Andrew, the thought of Neil dead, the thought of Neil wanting to be dead, made Andrew sick. And finally the vomit he’d been holding back all day came out. Everyone turned to Andrew in shock. Andrew was on his hands and knees on the ground now, dry heaving, choking and spitting. He had barely eaten in days, his stomach had nothing left to reject but the feeling of his heart shattering over again.

“Andrew,” Neil said breathlessly, breaking apart from Aaron to run to Andrew’s side. Andrew kept dry heaving, didn’t have enough energy to push Neil away when he settled next to him on the ground.

When Andrew finally stopped dry heaving he turned a scathing look to Neil, grabbed his shirt with a fist and pulled him closer.

“You piece of shit. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to want to die. Don’t you fucking dare Abram.”

Neil’s eyes widened, he shook his head, over and over, “I can’t... I can’t do this Andrew. It hurts too much.”

And for some reason at those words Andrew paused, realized something. Neil had never once looked guilty. He had never once looked regretful. He had only looked heartbroken and confused. Either that meant that Neil was much more heartless than Andrew had thought, or... No. There’s no way Andrew was wrong. He knows what he heard. He knows what he saw. But some instinct inside of him made him pause. He knew Neil better than he knew anyone or anything, and if Neil had really cheated on him this wouldn’t have been his reaction. Andrew went over what he had seen and heard over and over in his head, and realized... there could be another explanation. The hope that flared in his chest pissed him off so much that he shoved Neil away as hard as he could. Neil just steadied himself and blinked at Andrew. He had noticed Andrew’s thoughts changing direction.

“Drew?”

Andrew glared at him, “Don’t. Don’t fucking call me that right now.”

Andrew’s thoughts were going a mile a minute, trying to discern the truth from what he had assumed. He knew he should just ask Neil, but he didn’t want an audience for that conversation. He looked in Neil’s blue eyes and only saw fear, confusion, hope, and such deep, unending sadness. No guilt. No regret. Had Andrew truly been wrong? Did he break up with Neil for a reason that didn’t exist?

“What is it?” Neil asked.

Andrew just shook his head and walked off the court.

Andrew went to the roof of fox tower. Smoked a cigarette, smoked 3. He called Bee. Told her his predicament. Of course she just said he needed to have an honest conversation with Neil. Andrew rolled his eyes at the thought. It had been a while and he was sure practice was almost over by now but he was tired of waiting. Andrew drove back to the court and waited in the parking lot. When the foxes saw Andrew waiting they all paused. Andrew just looked to Neil and gestured for him to come over. The foxes stayed back, watching, but just out of earshot.

Neil walked up to Andrew, he looked nervous.

“When I came to the dorm Saturday night there was woman’s undergarments thrown of the floor. I heard you with someone in the bedroom. She told you you were sexy and she asked if you had condoms.” Andrew said calmly. Neil blinked. Blinked again. He dropped his bag and racquet on the ground like he was in shock.

“You thought I cheated on you!?” Neil half-shouted.

“Didn’t you?” Andrew asked.

“No! Andrew I would never- I can’t believe-Oh my God.”

Now Neil was making Andrew feel stupid for ever thinking it, and that really pissed him off.

“Explain,” he bit out.

Neil rubbed a hand across his face, disbelief and frustration written all over his face.

“One of the girls in my math class. We were assigned a group project together so she came over a few times to work on it. Her clothes were on the floor because she spilled her coffee all over her on her way in. I let her borrow some of Allison’s leftover clothes while hers got washed,” Neil cringed, “While we were working on the project she said my hair looked long and I needed a haircut. I agreed and she trimmed my hair a little. She called me sexy because I guess she thought it looked good,” Neil’s cheeks flushed and he twisted his hands together, “She knew I was seeing you later that night, thats why she was talking about condoms. I’m sorry Drew.”

Andrew stared at Neil, took all this information in, repeated it in his head. He knew Neil wasn’t lying. Neil’s words were genuine, his expression was genuine. He felt like an idiot. Of course Neil wouldn’t cheat on him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Okay.”

Neil took a step closer to Andrew, looked at him with those big blue eyes.

“Does this mean we’re back together?”

Andrew scoffed and looked away. Neil just took another step towards Andrew and lifted his hand to Andrew’s cheek. Andrew nuzzled his head against Neil’s hand and sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. Andrew’s heart felt so happy, so light. The relief of having Neil back was almost enough to bring him to his knees. His Neil. The light was back brighter than ever before.

Neil stared and stared at Andrew. His Andrew. He understood now. He felt horrible, thinking of the way Andrew must have felt the last few days. He wish he would have known. If he had known Andrew had thought he was cheating, of all things... The thought of Neil ever cheating on Andrew was laughable. Neil would rather die than be with anyone else. All Neil wanted to do now was wrap Andrew in his arms and never let go.

“I thought i’d lost you,” Neil said softly, still caressing Andrew’s cheek.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Andrew whispered. The confession broke Neil’s heart.

“Yes or no?” Neil said and right when he saw Andrew’s nod he wrapped him in his arms, holding him tightly.

“I love you Drew. You’re all I will ever want. Every day for the rest of my life. I only want you. Always.”

Andrew had his head buried in Neil’s neck, breathing him in, soaking up the words Neil was saying.

“I love you too. And yes junkie we’re back together.”

Neil laughed lightly and pulled back, “Promise me if you ever think I cheated on you again you’ll talk to me about it first before dumping me?”

Andrew snorted but still saw the phantom pain lingering in Neil’s eyes, “I promise. But Neil? Why did you think I broke up with you?”

Neil frowned, “I didn’t know. I thought you just got bored of me like you said you would.”

“I never meant that. I want to be with you forever.”

Neil sighed and his lips quirked up, “That’s good.”

“Yes or no Neil?”

“Yes,” Neil said breathlessly and then they were kissing, slowly, languidly. Andrew pulled Neil closed and wrapped and arm around his waist, the other going to his hair. Neil tangled his hands in Andrew’s hair as they kissed and all the pain of the last few days disappeared.

When they broke apart Neil traced Andrew’s lips with a hand, “I love you Drew. Only you.”

Andrew kissed Neil once on the forehead and flicked his eyes to the foxes. They all looked thoroughly confused. Probably all wondering why Andrew was taking back Neil if he cheated on him. Neil glanced back at the foxes and then looked to Andrew, frowning.

“They all think I cheated on you don’t they?”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, his lips tugging up at the corners.

Neil snorted, “Well that explains why Aaron punched me.”

Andrew’s grin faltered, he examined Neil’s jaw but only saw a small bruise there. Neil’s eyes softened.

“I’m okay. And besides if I had cheated on you I definitely would have deserved it.”

Andrew snorted and gestured for the foxes to come over to them. They all cautiously walked up and waited for Andrew or Neil to speak.

“I didn’t cheat on Andrew. But I appreciate your defending him. If I had cheated on him I would have deserved much worse.”

“Oh thank god. So you two are back together now? Because it was really horrible having you both so unhappy.” Nicky rambled.

“Wait. Andrew you just assumed he cheated and dumped him without even asking him about it?” Kevin asked.

Andrew just shrugged, “Oops.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes at Neil, not fully believing him. Andrew caught his eye and nodded. Reassuring Aaron that he knew what he was doing.

“We’re leaving now. Bye,” Andrew said, taking Neil’s hand and dragging him to the car.

Once they were alone in the Maserati Neil smiled softly at Andrew. Andrew just stared back.

“What is it junkie?”

“I love you,” Neil said, grinning widely.

Andrew rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. He leaned in and kissed Neil softly on the lips, “I love you too.”

[honeypirate]

making cookies Soulmate AU

Obi Akitaru x reader 

The first words your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your wrist.. Those words disappear if the other one dies. 

After the great cataclysm soulmates were few and far between, less and less people were born with the marks, so it was rare that you were one of the few blessed with the mark... although sometimes it didn’t seem like a blessing

Being the captain of Company 8, he hears those words countless times a day, “Yes Sir” so many times that he stopped thinking it was important. Those two small words on his wrist that, growing up, meant so much to him. But now they seem like just words. 

The words on your wrist, caused you a lot of confusion growing up, “welcome to company eight,” it said in small type script. You’d lay awake at night and trace over the letters with your finger, paying attention to the small comma. You knew where company 8 was, you lived just a few blocks away from it. But you didn’t want to be a fire soldier, you thought about going to company 8 once, a few years ago, just to see who worked there, but you didn’t, choosing instead to trust in fate. So you tried to live like those words didn’t matter. You became a baker like you always dreamed, opening a shop in your childhood town, living in the small apartment that resided above the shop. You happily served the people of your town, making a few friends who even worked in the 8th but you didn't tell them your secret, you always wore a bracelet which covered the words. 

Your soulmate was a fire soldier, and that terrified you. Every day you check your tattoo, to make sure it’s still there and your soulmate didn’t have an accident at work. Every morning the first thing you look at is your wrist, gently kissing the tattoo before you start your day, sending good omens to him, praying that Sol protects him, and then heading downstairs to start baking and open up the shop. 

“Good morning!” the familiar boy's voice rings through the shop as he walks through the door “good morning Shinra! The usual?” you ask as you walk out from the kitchen with a smile “yes! But i would like to order a couple dozen of those chocolate cupcakes as well” you chuckle “you got it!” you watch him as he looks out the window, waiting for you to be done boxing up the croissants and getting his coffee, he was dressed in his usual fire force get up with his bare feet like always, the first time he had found your shop he ate one of your cupcake samples and then told you if you needed a hero just to call his name because he would not allow you or your shop to be harmed. You laughed but at the same time your heart swelled, it made you feel amazing when people loved your food.

You placed the box on top of the counter and got him a coffee to go “here you go! It’s on the house today. For being my best customer” as he walks to the counter it’s like your world goes in slow motion, a flash catches your eye out of the window behind him, it’s racing right towards you shop, it doesn't take you any time to realize that it’s an infernal, “SHINRA” you shout just as it collides with the window, breaking through the windows and door, glass shattering and raining down, you only have time to gasp before Shinra has you in his arms and flying out of the way, taking you down to the company, setting you down and then disappearing inside to tell the rest of the team, leaving you shocked on the street for about four seconds before the entirety of company eight came running from the building “Shinra who is that?” a deep voice asks, when you turn your head to look at him you pause for a moment, he was tall with broad shoulders, short dark hair with shaved sides and brown eyes. ‘what a gorgeous man’ is all you can think.

 “That's y/n she owns the shop I bring baked goods from. The one that was just destroyed.” Shinra answers, hopping into the truck. Before he closes the door the gorgeous man looks at you for a moment before saying “welcome to company 8, Stay here” your heart stops for a second, your hand grabbing your wrist as you force yourself to say anything back to him “y-yes sir!” you stutter out and then curse yourself, that was so dumb why did I say that. He just looks at you, stunned for a second, part of his heart lighting up with a small glimmer of hope, hope that this beautiful human turns out to be his soulmate, before Shinra yells “captain!” and he looks away from you, his ears turning red, and drives off in the direction of your shop that was currently burning to the ground. 

“Wait,... what am I doing?” you say before taking off running in the same direction. 

You keep a distance, watching in shock as they work like a well oiled machine, fighting the infernal in the destroyed remnants of your shop and home. You can't help the shocked tears that flow down your cheeks, sure you had savings and insurance and could rebuild, but this was your life, the things that made your home a home were burning down before your eyes. You didn’t even really register that you just met your soulmate, it didn’t really matter when you just lost everything, in the moment when he said the words you recognized it but after that it was pushed to the back of your mind. 

You’re standing in the middle of the street, just a block away, and you hear the words of the prayer whispered as it floats down to you on the wind along with the smoke. Then in slow motion a blonde guy uses a sword to put the infernal to rest. You slowly walk up to the building as they put out the fires, tears still running down your cheeks. You end up standing next to Shinra “this was all I had” you whisper. He looks at you and his face slowly breaks out in his tense smile, he watches you for a few seconds, your tears streaming down and your arms hugging your body as you look at the wreckage, the sign above your shop barely hanging on by it’s last nail. 

Shinra quietly slips away, running over to the Captain. “Captain we have to let her stay at the company. The infernal was targeting me and she has no where else to go.” Captain Obi thinks for a moment, considering the options, if you really didn't have anywhere else he wouldn't turn you away, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. “Okay. She can stay with us and we will spend the next few weeks rebuilding for her. She can stay with us until we finish rebuilding.” 

Shinra finds you again, now talking to Maki in the same spot he left you. She hugs you and  says something he doesn't catch but it seems to make you feel a little better

“Y?n!” he says as runs over, “I talked to Captain Obi, he said you can stay with us until we’ve rebuilt your shop!” your heart starts to race and you cock your head and look up at him “really?” you ask, brain a little foggy from the shock of it all still. He nods “of course. It’s the least we can do” you wipe away the rest of your tears and nod “Thank you Shinra. That is so nice of you guys” Maki gets excited with that information “this is perfect! What do you say about going shopping for a few things since.. ya know.. And then i'll show you around the place!” you chuckle at her excitement, her personality already making you feel better “that sounds good” you nod and she squeals, running off to get Iris and Tamaki as well. You sent Shinra into your house to check and see if your wallet by your bed was burned, which it was, but your bank card thankfully wasn't, the fire that melted the plastic of your wallet being put out before it burned the last pocket. You kissed the card when Shinra handed it to you, you really hated calling the bank. 

You went down to the few shops in town and got a few replacement outfits as well as replacing some other necessities. Shopping with them was easy, they came into your shop a lot and you were only 6 years older than Maki, the longer you all talked the more it was like having sisters. During the middle of your shopping trip HInawa had called Maki asking about your insurance provider “you guys take care of that?” you ask, a little shocked, you half expected a day of phone calls trying to get them to cover that accident. “Yeah! Obi likes to make sure the people are taken care of” you felt butterflies enter your heart, you haven’t even met him yet but all you have been told about him has been really good to hear. 

“If i am going to be staying there for a little bit can you tell me about who else also lives there?” you felt genius for this, a way to learn more about Obi without being obvious. “Of course!” Tamaki said, “we will skip Shinra and Arthur because you know them from your shop and Vulcan and Lisa because we already talked about them” it’s true, for thirty minutes they were all they talked about because of how cool Rhee were to them since they was the newest to the team. You didn't really pay attention to what they were saying about Hinawa, a little impatient, trying to use your thoughts to get them to move on to Obi now. You felt your heart rate quicken when Iris said “on to our captain!” you felt your cheeks get warm so you turn to a different clothing rack to avoid them noticing. Maki still noticed though, and she grinned when she saw your reaction.

 Iris continues talking though, looking through the rack next to you “he’s really kind and does not tolerate anything except respect for those bereaved or grieving. He’s very courageous! He doesn't have an Ignition Ability but he doesn’t flinch or hesitate because of his responsibility to his teammates” she talked about him like he was her personal hero, you can tell she respects him. Maki is on your other side and she pipes in “and he is insanely buff! Always working out at any opportunity, lifting weights during a meeting and doing pull-ups while having casual conversations. He can be serious and strong-willed, but still likes to joke around. Also” she leans in closer to you “he doesn't have a soulmate” you gasp as your face turns red, its clear Iris didn’t hear and for that you’re thankful. “Hey guys should we get this for Hinawa?” Tamaki says with a laugh and holds up an entire cat outfit along with ears. Maki gets distracted then, leaving you to go join in the laughter with Tamaki. You let out a breath and  try to calm down before going to join them, changing the conversation to learn why exactly they would get weird things for the poor man.

After showing you the offices and the kitchen, Tamaki shows you where you will be staying, “you will be at the end of the hall, Maki and Iris share a room at the opposite end, followed by Me and Lisa, Shinra and Arthur, Vulcan and Viktor, though Viktor usually stays in the lab, then there is Hinawa in the next room with you in the last room and Obi’s room the only room on the left side of the hall across from yours, with the bathrooms being around the corner.” She helped you carry your bags to the room and put away your new clothing in the dresser and closet. You looked at the small bedroom, a single bed off to the side, it looked bare and empty, you wished you had your normal pillows and blanket but you guessed they were destroyed. “We usually have dinner around 7 together, if you want you can shower and rest before then. It’s been a long day.” “thank you Tamaki. You all have been so kind I feel like I’m with family” her cheeks flush a little “it’s no problem!” she says and smiles before she leaves you ask her if you could use the kitchen after you bathe, to bake something. “Of course! We all want you to feel at home here. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

After you shower, you head to the kitchen, happy when you find it empty. You decide to make your favorite dessert along with the cupcakes Shinra likes and some flan that he sometimes used to get for his team. You were fluid in the kitchen,able to make all three different desserts at the same time while singing along to your favorite song, the one you always listen to when you're stressed. What you didn’t know was that someone was watching you from the crack in the door, a small smile on his lips as he watched you in your zone. As Obi walked away he was absentmindedly humming along to the tune you were singing and heading to go see if he had it on a record.

The flan was in the fridge, your favorite dessert was cooling, and all of the cupcakes were frosted perfectly, you wiped down all of the counters, washed the dishes, and you were now finishing drying and putting the dishes back in their places when the door opens and a stiff man came in, pausing when he sees you. You are using a towel to dry off a bowl and you meet his eye with a smile “you must be Lt. Hinawa. I am told you do a lot of the cooking. I hope I didn’t mess up any of the order in here, I made sure to put everything back when I found it.” you place the bowl in the cupboard and hang up the towel on its rod “No worries, it’s nice to finally meet you y/n. I hope you are comfortable here” he says and then starts to cook dinner, you move your desserts out of the way and then leave the kitchen to get out of his way, accidentally leaving your bracelet by the sink without noticing. you decide to go find Maki and see what she is doing

You find Maki with Tamaki and Iris in Maki’s room, Lisa was with Vulcan and everyone else had things to do. You end up hanging out with them talking until dinner. Tamaki notices your bracelet was gone when you ran your fingers through your hair as you listened to Iris telling a story about being a fire soldier. “Where is your bracelet?” Tamaki asks and you gasp and look down at your hand, your fingers going to cover your tattoo at that moment. “Shoot, I must have left it in the kitchen when I did the dishes” Maki gasps “. Do you have a tattoo? Do you have a SOULMATE” she exclaimed excitedly “oh please be quiet please keep it a secret'' you plead with them and they calm down “why? What's wrong?” Iris asks and you sigh looking down at your hands ``because I think it's Obi” you whisper and then show them your tattoo “welcome to company 8 comma” Tamaki reads aloud then grins in recognition “what did you say to him first?” She asks and you blush in embarrassment “he told me to stay here and I said ‘yes sir’” you say and bury your face in your hands “so lame” you add muffled against your palms. 

“Oh my god Obi’s wrist says yes sir” your head snaps up and you look at Maki “really?” you ask and she nods with a grin. You chuckle and then smile “ will you guys keep it a secret? I want to tell him at the right time” they nod with smiles on their lips and your body floods with excitement. 

During dinner you had to keep sending pointed looks to the girls so they would act normal in front of Obi who happened to sit next to you at the table. They kept looking at you with grins and you would put your fingers to your lips. “I've been meaning to come by your shop for a while, I'm sorry this is how we would meet.” Obi says after everyone sat down to eat and talk you smile at him, making sure you keep your wrist in your lap and covered, “Don’t worry about it!.. uhhh... do i call you captain?” you ask and cock your head at him, he chuckles “just call me Obi” he says and nods once “well Obi, thank you for letting me stay here and helping me rebuild. I appreciate it more than you know” your voice is kind and sends tingles down his spine “it’s the least I can do” his ears turn a little pink which doesn't go unnoticed by Tamaki who is sitting across from him. 

“Did you always want to be a Fire Soldier?” you ask and he laughs “originally i was just a firefighter, I realized that the Companies have a lot of weak points and i felt responsible to fix them” you nod “You sound like a good respectable man” you say with a nod and take a drink of your water. “Did you always want to bake?” he asks, trying to hide his obvious fluster to your praise. “I did. I debated being a FIre Soldier, just to prove I could, but that wasn't my fate” he fights a smile at your choice of the word fate, thinking back to the fact that your first words to him matched his soulmate tattoo, but he is failing at finding out if you had a soulmate tattoo or not since you’ve kept your wrist hidden. 

When Obi got distracted talking to Hinawa you took that opportunity to study him, his strong arms and his large hands, his handsome face and the curve of his jaw, his adam's apple and the veins in his neck. Tamaki and Maki watching the whole ordeal with stars in their eyes. 

You start to clear the table “I made dessert for everyone, if you want some i can bring it out and we can eat together” you feel a little shy until Shinra gets excited “you DID? YES!” he’s up and gone before you, taking the dishes form your hands on his way. Before you can even follow he's back with the desserts and more plates. You chuckle and help pass around plates of flan and your favorite dessert, the cupcakes being just set in the middle of the table. “You are the best y/n!” Shinra and Arthur exclaim, everyone else taking what they want quick before the two start in a competition like usual. You knew what they were like when they would come in and each order an astronomical amount of strawberry tarts just to see how many they could in a row tring to best the other, they usually ended up sick. It's why you hid some of the dessert in the kitchen.

“This is amazing y/n” Obi says and takes another bite. “I also like those cookie frosting sandwiches you make, Shinra brought some back once and I stole one. Amazing.” you blush “thank you Obi. I’m glad you liked it.”  After everyone is done, they all slowly break away from the group, heading to get ready for bed or do paperwork. You head to the kitchen to help clean up, mostly unsure what you were going to do about your soulmate situation. You thought he deserved to know but at the same time you were nervous. After the dishes were done you head to your room to try and sleep. 

When two am rolled around and you were still awake and thinking about Obi in the next room, you sighed and got up, deciding to do some more baking, it helped you think. 

You were chopping up chocolate bars for the cookies, deciding to make frosting filled cookies since Obi said he liked them, you had all the ingredients measured and ready to go, the recipe memorized. You were just getting the chocolate ready and not really paying attention, you did this so often you got into a rhythm. But you were a little distracted too, thinking about the best way to bring up soulmates. It was a little taboo after all, since not a lot of people had them. You gasp out in pain when the knife drags across your fingertip, you look down at the cut, watching as blood emerges and it starts to sting “shit” you say and sigh, getting a towel to hold against the bleeding. 

“If I was a first aid kit, where would I be?” you whisper quietly as you look around in all the cupboards. You sit on the ground, letting out a huff as you decided to lay down on the cold floor. A chuckle makes your eyes flick open and up to the sound “Hi” Obi says and waves slightly “what’s going on in here?” he asks with an amused expression so you sit up and turn towards him “do you have any bandaids?” you ask and he turns immediately concerned. “What happened?” he asks and then fetches the first aid kit, in a cupboard that you had already checked cashing you to frown. “I was making cookies because I couldn't sleep and I cut my finger. I'm just glad I didn’t get any blood anywhere. No food contamination.” You furrow your brows at the feelings in your heart. You barely know him but you feel like you could talk to him about anything, like he was always with you to begin with. You felt comfortable and you knew without a doubt that you could trust him with anything. He sits down in front of you, stifling a yawn as he holds out his hand for yours. You gently place your hand in his own and he gently peels away the towel. “It’s not bleeding anymore and it isn't too deep. What cookies are you making?” you blush and watch him as he cleans and bandages your finger, grateful for your long sleeve hoodie for covering your wrist, but still nervous as his hand gently holds your wrist over the words, it could slip at any moment. 

“I uh..” he looks up into your eyes and you feel your cheeks get warmer “I was making those ones you mentioned earlier” your voice quiet from his proximity. He smiles warmly “you were?!” you nod shyly “That really makes me excited. But you should be more careful. Your hands are too pretty to be hurt” he blushes as he speaks, his hand still holding your wrist even though your finger was taken care of already. “Why are you awake?” you ask and he shrugs “I felt like something was off so I decided to just look around and make sure everything was fine. I guess I was up to take care of you” he chuckles softly as you blush, you felt your neck getting hot as well from his words, it was like he knew you were hurt and needed to find you, you really were soulmates there was no denying it. 

 “Obi, I need to tell you something” you whisper and look down at your lap “what is it?” his brows furrow but his hand doesn’t release your wrist, secretly hoping to somehow move your shirt to see if you had a mark. “Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” you ask, his heart stops, realizing where you were going “welcome to company 8 stay here” he whispers and you nod  “and do you remember what i said to you?” you take his other hand, “yes sir” he says and you mouth the words along with him, your fingers brushing over the mark. He uses his thumb on the hand holding your wrist to brush your sleeve up, exposing your mark. 

You sat there for who knows how long, his left hand in your right as you stare down at the words, your fingers brushing against his skin, running from his mark up to his elbow in swirls. Your left hand was being held in his right, his eyes on the mark and his thumb moving softly back and forth, the ingredients on the counter forgotten about for the time being. 

“I figured” his voice cuts through the silence and you look up at his face, not stopping your movements on his arm. He clears his throat and then meets your eye, a smile on his lips, “I figured that yours had to be something specific since mine wasn’t at all” you chuckle “ ‘yes sir’ when you're a captain means little” and he nods with a chuckle “I wanted to come here before, to just see, but I didn’t want to mess anything up. I let it just be what it was supposed to” he nods “that was my guess, I know how it can be when not a lot of people have soulmates anymore” you chuckle and reach up, cupping his cheek “I still worried about you, every day, sending you good luck through my mark.” You tilt your head and smile “you don’t have a safe line of work if you didn’t know” he laughs at that, leaning into your touch “I know I know, I’m sorry for making you worry, and i'm sorry for the worry i will most likely put you through in our lifetime” your heart races “at least you can really have my good luck kisses now” you say with a chuckle, your cheeks flushing as you look into his eyes. 

He leans in slowly, his eyes flicking down to your lips, you wrap your free hand under his arm and grip his strong back, the muscles rippling under your palm, as you pull yourself closer to him, smiling and closing your eyes as his lips connect with yours. 

“What. the. Fuck. is happening in here?” Hinawa says, a glass in his hand and sleep still evident in his eyes as you break apart and look up at him in the doorway. “We’re making cookies” you and Obi both say at the same time in the same way and then look at each other and bust up in giggles like you weren’t two grown adults sitting on the floor kissing like teenagers

[secret-engima]

hamelin-born

@secret-engima

It is. A very grim comfort to take (no pun intended), but Oscar’s sole almost-solace during that terrible time of blood and pain and (literal) soul-wrenching agony was that Salem hadn’t lied when she called his ‘Ozma’s son’. It was a truth that cut into him like barbed wire, a truth that lashed him with pain and grief and sorrow - but a truth that, as you said, he clung to.

He was son to a murdered father, he was a child of the Infinite Man, and it was - it didn’t bring him comfort, it brought him pain, but it kept him from shattering, it gave him the resolve he needed to hang on.

(And oh, but Salem would have laughed as she shifted the aim of her experiments, her torture - because Oscar was Ozma’s son, so Ozma’s son he would be in every way she could devise, ever similarity she could wrench into his body, down to his scars and to his limp - scars that, one day, Ozpin would take one look at and blanch because he recognized those scars from his own past.)

And Salem would. Salem would have poured her own magic into Oscar, not only to see what happened, not only to triumph over the memory of Ozpin one last time, giddy with the victory of finally killing her one-time husband for good. No. Salem would have set out to make Oscar her son as much as Ozpin’s as well, because she would take everything Ozma had, taint even the memory of him that lingered in the world - Ozma’s child would be her child as well, and best of all, to her? It would hurt Oscar so to know it. To be forced to acknowledge it. To have to call her ‘mother’.

Forget thunderstorms. Oscar might, in a panic, summon a full-on cyclone in an attempt to launch whoever’s pressing the issue as far away from him as possible.

...in a slightly fluffier vein (how did this get so dark?!) just. During their first meeting, or maybe a little later. Imagine Oscar hesitantly asking Ozpin if he’s his dad, because She said he was, but - there’s a difference between being a father and being a Dad.

And Ozpin, not hesitating for a single moment as he says ‘yes’. Yes, he’s Oscar’s dad.

(And that - that might just make Oscar break, for more reasons than one. Break, and *hug* Ozpin like there’s no tomorrow. Because he has healed, he’s worked hard at it, he has his family, he has his Torchdad and his friends/siblings and his magic, but this - this is something old and precious, the most tender of old scars, and now - now it’s split open so it can finally, finally heal clean.)

(He breaks, and goes in for a hug).

...also, Ozpin+Team Gremlin are willing accomplices in unceremoniously ejecting  anyone from the room who thinks to ask Oscar about his ‘mom’ or guilt-trip/interrogate him for being ‘Salem’s child’. They will eject the individual at high velocity, preferably from the nearest window - hey, Ozpin is known for dropping people off of cliffs.

Me: Once again plopping this here because the reblog chain was getting super long XD-

It is a very dark comfort indeed, but it was what got him through to the other side in enough coherent pieces to help destroy her once and for all.

(But yessss, oh how she laughed as she shifted her efforts to remaking this child, this remnant, into being the most perfect child copy of Ozma she could make. The perfect *son* in her mind and all that entailed)

Salem wove her magic into Oscar’s and it save his life, but oh what an agonizing price. She took glee in *claiming* one of the few things that could have been once considered solely his and gloried in tainting the last pieces of his legacy (and in the end, isn’t it ironic that her own torments are what undid her, both in the future and in the time rewritten that would come later)

FLUFFY VEIN YES PLEASE. Your comment finally spurred me to actually write that scene btw. And it came out ... angstier than intended but I’m so pleased and I won’t post the whole thing yet but HERE HAVE A SNIP:

...

     “Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

     If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

     Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

     His child.

     The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

     It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

     Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

     A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

     Had he really said-?

     A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

     “Dad.”

     The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

[jengajives]

Alright so Finrod tho

Finrod squinted beyond his line to the mass of dark, tarnished metal boiling on the horizon.

There were so many. Too many.

They couldn’t hold. They were going to lose the pass.

He raised his spear, the silver banner flapping loudly from its haft, and roared a rallying cry. It was answered by the guard around him, and the rest of the army behind.

They could not lose the pass.

On the other side of the river, Orodreth’s infantry were holding, but Finrod’s own forces were taking the brunt of the assault and being crushed beneath it. A wedge of orcs was starting to plunge between the ranks, forcing himself and his company against the river and the others to the hills. Soon the goblins would have the two forces separated and come down on them like a hammer against an anvil.

Finrod didn’t fancy the idea of drowning in all this armor, nor of being cut down and hewn in the shallows of Sirion, so he shouted for horns to blow, for the company to push back toward the hills with all their might.

He took the forefront of the assault with his guard around him. The soldiers needed someone to follow.

He wasn’t nearly as fearsome in battle as some of his cousins, but he was no terrified youth, either. He was a foe the orcs knew to fear. And he would lead his people to triumph or fall in the attempt.

There was so little left. They couldn’t lose the pass.

Rising to meet them was a shield-wall of steel and wood, bristling with spear tips, weeping arrows. The Elves fell on it like waves against a cliff.

Finrod batted shields aside, shattered wooden hafts of spears against his mithril-coated arms, and plunged his own ringing weapon in wherever armor looked soft. Black blood spattered the banner his spear bore until it hung heavy and dripping. His fingers struggled to grip a handle so slick with gore. On every side, his people fell.

The orcs crushed them back. No matter how many they killed, more would swarm forth and rally, clashing against the Elves with more ferocity each time, like the sight of their fallen brothers heightened the natural goblin bloodlust and drove them mad. Soon Finrod’s host was losing land. Slowing being pushed back to the edge of the water until even the King’s heels were damp and they were fighting in the shallowest flow of the river.

Screams faded into the sound of a heartbeat. A shield crashed into Finrod’s chest so hard his breastplate buckled, and he went wheeling to the ground in a breathless flash of red and white. When he landed on all fours, before he could scramble back or reach for his fallen spear or even think about catching his breath, a jagged blade took him in the side and screeched against his armor until it caught the weak part beneath the arm and pushed right through.

White-hot pain erupted in Finrod’s side. He screamed, twisted to grab the blade and yank it free, shooting sparks from the metal-clad palm of his hand when the sword jerked back on its own, slicing him even through the protection.

He managed to turn and look into the yellow eyes of the goblin that was going to kill him before the stroke fell, just so he’d know what was own death had looked like.

The orc grinned with metal teeth, and a hatchet took it suddenly in the throat.

With a scream that turned rapidly to a gurgle, the creature feel, and from the midst of shrieking orcs came a new shape in a spray of black blood.

The newcomer had no heavy armor, just a leather breastplate with thick layers of chainmail beneath, and wore no helm on his head. Instead, his dark auburn hair flowed free about his shoulders, and his dark eyes gleamed as he held aloft a dripping sword in one hand and another small throwing axe in the other. The orcs fled him like he was a specter, and soon others emerged from the ranks like him, hardy and wielding stout weapons of iron and steel. Men, come to fight alongside their immortal brothers. Finrod felt lightheaded.

The first Man offered a large hand that was certainly plenty calloused beneath leather gloves.

“Your Highness. Can you stand?”

Finrod could only stare, entranced, as this new company of Men hacked a perimeter around them. His throat felt dry.

“Who are you?”

“Barahir, my Lord. Son of Bregor of Bëor’s house. My people are here to help in whatever way we can, sir.”

From somewhere in the direction of the mountains, horns sounded, but they weren’t Finrod’s. He recognized the orcs’ screams of terror.

Barahir moved his outstretched hand closer to remind Finrod it was there.

“Your Majesty, can you stand?”

It was then Finrod realized he was bleeding, heavily enough to see it drip from his silver armor. He spoke unsteadily with this new knowledge very, very close to the forefront of his mind, but tried to smile.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good. We must move quickly to get you and your people to safety.”

When Finrod accepted the hand, he was shocked by how warm and firm its grip was. Immediately his trust was given to this Man in its entirety.

“I can manage,” Finrod said when Barahir offered him an arm to lean on, despite how much he wanted to take it. He could walk on his own and it was best not to further hinder a soldier so obviously capable as Barahir. Finrod watched him draw back and fling his second hatchet into a break in his line with exceptional speed and accuracy. Men closed in to fill the gap as soon as the hatchet passed them by.

“We can cut a path back to your main force,” Barahir said with alarming calmness. “Stay close to me. I’ll protect you.”

If Finrod had been any prouder, he would have insisted he did not need protection, but he was a practical creature and an honest one, and he knew he was too weak to stand his own now against even the smallest orc. And Barahir to him seemed mighty and sure; deep in his heart Finrod knew he would come to no harm in this Man’s care.

“Lead on,” he said with a solemn nod.

Remarkably, Barahir grinned at him. There was a gap between his front teeth. Somehow Finrod’s knees grew weaker.

Barahir raised his sword. “Protect the King!”

Around him, the lightly-clad soldiers gave an answering shout. Like a fluid machine they closed ranks, putting shields on the outside of the ring with pikemen behind them, keeping Finrod and the last remnant of his guard in the middle. Barahir stayed close, too. Every once in a while he’d venture to the edge of the guarded circle to shout orders and provide support for the wounded, but as the ring around them tightened and the soldiers providing protection thinned, he began to spend more time in the center at Finrod’s side.

When Felagund stumbled and his mouth began to taste of iron, Barahir was there to catch him.

“Nearly there now,” he said in a low, steady voice. “Hold on, your Highness. I’ve got you.”

Finrod wanted to say something back but his head was spinning, so he let himself lean on Barahir as the sounds of battle dimmed around him and each shuffling step brought an ache to his head.

“Take it easy,” Barahir said. There was an edge of nervousness to his voice; blades hacking to get in on every side.

The few remaining Men formed up tight, a thin line around Finrod and Barahir. The Elvish guards with any strength left to bear weapon joined them and together they cut at the incoming enemy with horrible ferocity.

Just as the ring began to be battered apart, the main part of Finrod’s host fell on them like a silver tide, and Elvish swordsman washed around them with blades white and fell.

Several glittering soldiers rushed to retrieve Finrod from Barahir’s arms, though he wasn’t happy to go. He spit a mouthful of blood and stood unsteadily, forearm braced against a soldier, to face the Man.

“You must retreat south down the river.” Barahir pointed as if he worried Finrod had forgotten where the river actually was. “We can cover your retreat.”

“I won’t stand by while others give their lives fighting our battles,” Finrod said weakly. His attempt to stand up straight didn’t work out all too well; soon he was nearly staggering into the other guards, though he did manage to keep his footing. “We’ll stand with you, Barahir.”

“No.” The remainder of the Men gathered around, the horns of their host blew loud just to the east. “Many of your soldiers have fallen. You don’t have the strength to hold the pass.”

“I won’t-“

“King Felagund,” Barahir said almost pleadingly, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need medicine. Your people need respite. Leave this to us, and return to safety while you still can.”

The look in his muddy eyes was so steadfast that Finrod cracked almost immediately. His voice warbled.

“When will I see you again?”

“If I have been blessed with any luck,” Barahir said fervently, “then it will be soon.”

He smiled again, but this time it was remarkably sad.

Finrod looked on him and loved what he saw, and at once he was stricken by the need to do something to thank this Man, this valiant hero who had paid much to save his life. He fumbled to unbuckle his gauntlet.

“Here-“ Beneath the silver armor upon his slim finger he wore the ring crafted for him back in Valinor- the one set with green emeralds that sparkled like the deepest pools. He pressed it firmly to Barahir’s hand, and folded his fingers around it.

“If ever you find yourself in need,” Finrod said, “Nargothrond is open to you. I owe you a life debt, Barahir son of Bregor, and I will not quickly forget it.”

Barahir looked at the ring with the astonishment of one who had never beheld great riches. After a moment, he managed to shake his head, slack-jawed.

“I cannot take this!”

“It is a gift.” Finrod nodded to himself. “A poor symbol of my gratitude, but all that I have to give.”

He hesitated.

“Save one thing...”

Then with shocking nervousness, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on the lips of Barahir the captain of Men, before the two of them went their separate ways.

[jubilantwriter]

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 7: I hope to see you soon one day.

(AO3)  (First)  (Previous)  (Last)

Word Count:  7059

////

She despises the loops.  The memories never seem to be wiped clean anymore, and her awareness only grows stronger as they continue to tear the cycles apart.  So of course the world would start lashing out violently.  Mono comes to rescue her from the Tower as he always does - bag missing and tinier than she remembers.  But he also seems… more different than usual.  Twisted and broken as she is, even her monstrous form can see the obvious signs of harm.

A severe limp.  Hand clutched to one side.  And blood.  Blood on the corner of his mouth, an ever growing haze clouding his eyes as he struggles to stay upright and conscious.  Brows furrowed in pain as the last of his adrenaline drains away.  He staggers forward and collapses against her form, almost comically sliding down her raincoat as she cries out in her broken voice.  

The music box is her treasure, her one comfort in this room- but no, no that's not true.  She pushes it aside for the moment and carefully cups the boy in her hand.  He's hurting, he needs help, he can barely move.  Thoughts and thoughts push through the haze of her mind, her moment of escapism fading away as she stares down at his broken body (a girl in yellow is falling falling falling into the ocean never to be seen again until a boy in olive is falling falling falling as he’s dropped into the abyss by her hand just as a man in blue is falling falling falling until he's broken into pieces, broken and mangled and bent in all the wrong ways and she screams screams screams-).  

Reality is always a harsh wake-up call, but it's the wake-up call she chases.  Safety means nothing if the little boy with the paper bag isn't safe with her.  The music box continues to play, but she pushes herself forward.  It plays and plays and plays and coaxes her to stay, won't she stay?  Please, please stay, it's so nice and safe here with no monsters in sight (except for her), and she’ll never have to worry ever again.  She’ll have everything she needs and more!

It's tempting.  So very tempting.  But the little boy gives a harsh wheeze, and her mind turns to Mono Mono Mono Mono he's hurting he's dying why why why why-

She breaks down the door with ease and shuffles her way out into hallways and doorways and more hallways with brightly colored lights, and she's lost, so very lost and Mono is dying, she has to get him out of here-

"Th-there."  He points feebly towards a door, and she follows his directions without a second thought.  The Tower shakes around her, annoyed by her attempts as they try to escape.  Each exit morphs the Tower around them as the walls turn to Flesh with eyes bulging out to watch their every move.  More hallways lead to more Flesh Walls protruding through the cracks.  Mono gives a wet cough as the Tower shakes around them until the walls become nothing more but Walls.

Her shuffling grows frantic as the Tower collapses around her, intending to trap them in this prison covered in ever-watching eyes (eyes, always eyes, always always always eyes watching, mocking them, and she hates them, she wishes they’d leave them alone, leave them ALONE-).  There's a bright light ahead of her and- the exit!  So close!  She forces her bent limbs to move faster, holds Mono closer, and she can feel the Walls closing in on her, grabbing at her and trying to pull her back even as she crawls ever closer to the exit-

But reality is harsh.  Just as she's about to make it through, the Walls collapse around her, pulling and dragging at her limbs as she screams and thrashes against it as Mono yells and feebly struggles and-

-disgusting, slick and fleshy, audible wet blinks that stare and convey a smugness she wants to destroy, the Walls pulse and slide and separate him from her grasp and she screams and fights as that tiny warmth-

No!

No!

Give him back!

She's spat out, gangly and monstrous and twisted with empty hands into an apartment too small for her size.  A music box follows after her like a taunt.

Play with this instead of the boy.

It's not the boy.

It's not Mono.

It’s nothing but a beautiful lie.

She screams as she smashes the music box with her bare hands, metal splintering with a wretched laugh, and it hurts, it hurts so much, like she’s being smashed into pieces, but it doesn’t hurt as much as having him ripped from her hands so easily, so she slams her fists down over and over and over again and she screams give him back, give him back-

Metal cuts into her hands as she screams.  The contraption is bigger than her now, her anger and rage cutting her out of the fantasy completely as she stands before the remnants of that saccharine dream.  And what does she have to show for it?  Only cold hands and broken sobs.

As she hugs herself, her Shadow appears before her, morose and quiet and a reminder that she has to keep going.  Her stomach growls, and her Shadow looks down at a poster by its feet before nodding to her.

Move forward and satisfy the Hunger.  It disappears without a word as Six approaches the poster with heavy, mechanical steps.

The girl travels and becomes a woman.  She becomes the Lady with her right hand man, the Caretaker.  He stands besides her, watching anxiously as she presses her palm uselessly against the glass.

Memories upon memories upon memories never prepared her for this.  The Tower did something to her Thin Man.  Did something that turned him more into a monster than he'd-

("...they took control of my prior iteration and turned him into more of a monster than he was ever meant to be.  Or perhaps, what he was always supposed to be, but could never fully realize.")

"...Caretaker."

"Yes?"

"How close are you to working things out with the Ferryman?"

"Well," he flips through his notebook quickly, fingers twitching nervously as he scans the pages, "it looks like he's confirmed the island is habitable, but he's unsure how safe it'll be and for how long-"

"It'll have to do."  Her voice trembles with an unrestrained emotion as her fingers curl on the screen.  She misses him terribly, so how dare they, how dare they.  "I will do what I can to bring back our dear friend."

"...Odd that he's our friend when I didn't get to meet him this time around."

“Yes," she says through gritted teeth, "a true shame."

"...Six?"

"Yes?"

He rests a hand on her shoulder, eyes glinting from under his bangs.  "Don't let them win."

Quietly, she removes her mask just enough.  Just so he can clearly see the fangs in her smile as she feels a familiar hunger for vengeance dig its claws into her being.

"I don't intend to."

The cycles end as they are to continue.  Mono is viciously, horribly, violently taken from her each and every time, and the Thin Man is no longer a familiar silhouette in the television screen who offers companionable conversation and eager hope for a change to come.  The Tower laughs at her efforts, laughs at how she tries to save the boy that had her imprisoned over and over again, laughs at her efforts of trying to take him back over and over again.

It laughs when she claws at the Flesh with broken nails, struggling and tearing at disgusting meat with bulging eyes as she tries to protect her friend, only to have him ripped away again and again and again.

It laughs when she pounds at the television screen with monstrous fists, distorted screaming shattering windows and destroying the device to pieces before she turns her rage onto the object that was supposed to calm her.

It laughs when she lashes out with her powers, too far away to harm the Tower itself, but still trying to somehow warp the television in her quarters and forcing it to work for her like how her friend once willed it to work, glass shattering and smoke curling into the air as she howls with anguished frustration.

The laughter is agonizing, echoing and repeating as she feels the lingering leers from the Eye, judgmental and chastising as if to accuse her, claiming it to be her fault.  If only she’d stay in her role, continued these torturous cycles without trying to escape like frantic rats trapped aboard a sailing ship.  If she were a lesser woman, she would have succumbed to the jeers aimed at her.

But she’s not.  She has no room for misplaced guilt when revenge quickly fills in the gaps that her anger and grief cannot.  A new goal arises besides their goal to escape, and she’s determined to see it through.

(They made a promise, and promises aren't made to be broken like this.)

When brute strength fails to work, when her hands are covered in too many scars to justify her failures, she turns to the plethora of books in her bookcase.  Pages and pages are turned at terrifying speeds as she searches for answers that the various grimoires may hide.  The Caretaker comes in with meals and reminds her to eat, to calm her Hunger lest it overtakes her, but she refuses in the midst of her research.  There is her cursed Hunger, but there is also her hunger that takes precedence over most everything else.  She will eat once she sees his face again, his silhouette, his familiar words rolling across the screen.  Her hunger motivates her to keep searching, keep looking, keep hunting.  

The only time she pauses is to make time for her Caretaker, pausing to speak with him and his discoveries, drinking in his presence before she loses him too.  They both make progress, inch by little inch, cycle by cycle.  Even with all the time in the world, she finds herself growing more frantic as the cycles continue and she sees less of the Thin Man that whispers from her broken memories.  Books are tossed about, left scattered on her floors as volume after volume fails to present her with the solutions she needs, the steps she could possibly take to free the Thin Man.  Piles mark the passage of each cycle, books left to gather dust as she abandons one shelf for another.  Her library is mostly scoured and it leaves her frantic with ever growing anxiety as the books continue to pile uselessly around her.  What was the use of collecting knowledge if it couldn’t aid her in her time of need?

Hope nearly escapes her as she grabs an old, worn out book too thin to be considered part of her usual collection of tomes.  She’s about to discard it, denounce it as useless as her eyes quickly skim the pages.  And then.  

A picture catches her eye - a description that’s so unlike what she’s used to reading fills her with a rare sense of hope.

A little breakthrough.  It’s an excitement she hasn’t felt since she was a child and had (found that little hat for Mono, the dingy sailor cap that looked like it had seen so many more better days before her little fingers plucked it out from under a desk and thought ah, perhaps Mono would like this little gift of hers) explored apartments with Mono looking for edible treasures left forgotten by the previous residents.  She glides gracefully to the Caretaker’s room, looking around once before kicking open his door rudely.  The man inside yelps in surprise, notebook dropping from his hands as she barges in and slams the door shut behind her.

“SIX!”  He’s already scolding her before she even gets a word out.  “I thought you grew out of doing that!  Don’t you remember the last time you did that you broke my door?!”

“Yes, and who replaced it?”

“I did!”

“Doesn’t matter.”  She brushes off his offended squawk and slams down a book on his desk.  Papers go flying everywhere as he yelps and runs about catching what he can.  Ah, just like the good old days of pestering one another endlessly.  

“Six!”  His offended yelling does nothing to stop her.  “For fuck’s sake-”

“Cursing already?  I haven’t even shown you my antics yet.”

“Your an-”  He sputters and looks at her wide-eyed from under his bangs.  “What have you done now?”

“To be more precise, what will I do soon?”  She quickly opens the book and flips to a bookmarked page.  Tapping on a picture brings the Caretaker closer as he leans in to see it better.

“...A charm?”  He leans back out and frowns.  “Since when were you into charms?”

“It’s not any charm, you ignoramus.”

“That’s a big word coming from a small person.”

“Shut.  It.”  She ignores his giggling in favor of looking over the charm.  It’s quite simple in design - a small pouch is tied up with a drawstring with patterns sewn into the fabric, the pouch holding something inside.  The book claims that it holds sacred inscriptions on paper in it but… 

“Hm, how old is this book?”  The Caretaker takes it from her and flips to the front, only to frown in disappointment.  “No year.”

“Does it really matter?”  She takes it back and opens it to the selected page.

“No, but also yes.”  He taps on the picture of the charm.  “The description says it holds sacred inscriptions, which typically means holy.”  The Caretaker glances at the shadows that curl around her feet as he continues.  “I don’t think there’s anything like that in this world anymore.”

“Then we’ll just have to make our own.”

“Six.”  He turns to her fully and braces his hands on her shoulders.  A knowing but sympathetic gaze keeps her from brushing his hold off.  “Your powers aren’t exactly like that.”

“I know that.”  Still.  Her eyes linger on the charm’s description, reminding her of that feeling of gentle, kind protectiveness that she’s ever been so blessed to feel not once, not twice, but thrice now.  It’s a well-meaning, warm feeling that she’s terrible at creating herself.  The dark arts are denoted dark for a reason, and everything about this charm is completely unlike her very essence.

Still.

("You're the spiteful spitfire who will last the longest out of all of us.  And we're depending on you to bare your teeth and fight when we can't."

"Who else would be strong enough to strongarm a change like this?"

If there’s anyone who could force the impossible to happen, a small voice says within her, it’s you.)

She takes hold of the Caretaker’s sleeve and tugs in that childish way she hasn’t done in years.  Begs for his attention in the smallest of actions even when she already has all of it.

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”  The sound of mirrors shattering echo in her memories of loops upon loops upon loops of fighting.  “Maybe all I have to do is make my fire the stronger one.”

He squeezes her shoulders with a nod.  "Alright, but don't burn yourself in the process."

"I will do what it takes to take him back."  Still, she reaches up to give his hands a reassuring squeeze.  "But I promise not to destroy myself in the process."

"Good."  He smiles and pulls his hands off her shoulders.  "Whatever it is you figure out, please don't test it out on me."

"No promises."  Ignoring his aggrieved sigh, she picks up her book just as he pulls his notebook out and flips through the pages.  Come to think of it, how much farther has he gotten with his discoveries?  She teleports behind him in a single blink and tiptoes to see over his shoulder.  The notebook is opened to a page filled with scribbles that look... more like entries than the usual diagrams and notes she's used to seeing.  The phrase "Thin Man" catches her eye as it repeats over the page, and-

The Caretaker snaps the notebook shut with a barely restrained shriek and glowers at her over his shoulder.  "Don't.  Do that!"

"What are you reading?"

"None of your business."

Hm.

"You mentioned the Thin Man a lot in your entries."  She tilts her head to the side.  "Were those past ones?  You haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet-"

"Yes I was rereading old entries for very important, specific reasons related to- you know, to our freedom, so stop being a bother and get out!"  He points to his door as she giggles behind him.  "You have your... tasks to do that I’m sure are just as important!"

"You're blushing."  A guffaw nearly escapes her as she pokes his cheek.  "Please tell me, why are you blushing?"

"Hhhggh- out.  Now!"  He grabs her by the back of her kimono as she squawks in protest - he's wrinkling the fabric! - and practically tosses her out of his room.  "Shoo!"  The door slams in her face as she straightens up with a prim "hmph", the book safely tucked under her arm as she makes her way back to the quarters.  Whatever secrets he keeps in his notebook, she'll be sure to suss out later when she has the time.

For now though.

For now, she needs to go through her collection of old kimonos and fabrics in hopes of finding something suitable for her charms.  There's no telling how many she'll need to make before she gets it right, but she's willing to dedicate as many loops as possible to make her plan work.  

Time has never been one to run out on them.  This she knows from experience.  But as each day drags on, as each moment passes with no change, the anxious feeling builds and crawls under her skin.  The buzz of static that should be familiar no longer sounds in her quarters.  Instead, the snip-snip-snip of scissors takes up the empty space as she carefully sews and stitches and creates these little pouches meant to hold blessings.  It's a shame they cannot do what they're meant to do.

It would have made her life easier if she truly could make a ward to fend off evil spirits and energies, or even to just cast a protective spell.  But the nightmarish world they live in fails to allow such liberties to exist.  She takes up a brush and tries still to make some sort of protective inscription.  She takes up the needle and tries to sew a pouch to hold such hopes and well wishes.  She takes up an art that was never meant for her, still trying and persevering.

Despite all her hard work, despite replicating the pouch and its design to near perfection, the charm refuses to work as intended.  No matter her intentions, no matter how hard she tries to dampen the darkness inside her, dark magic will always be dark magic.  Her power taints the paper and instead houses a destructive force that would rather harm the holder than protect it.  But still she tries and tries and tries.  Against all odds, she fights to work with cards dealt to her.

Dark magic cannot be used to protect - it works better to destroy, to manipulate, to change.  But such things have workarounds.  For instance: those nomes that shamble about her ship.  True, they never will resemble the little children they used to be and are doomed to a life where communication is near impossible, forced to labor away until a paradise is found for their hopeless little lives.  But there’s a little twist to their story -  they will never be hunted by adults ever again.  Otherwise ignored by the forces that would have killed them at a single sighting, these little creatures can live an otherwise safe life, so long as they stay out of the way.

A twist.  It's all she can depend on as she imbues the small sheet of paper with her power.  The power to drain the lifeforce of anything around it.  This tiny sheet is dangerous - it could drain the holder's lifeforce if she's not careful.  Her little Guests are proof of that as she watches them writhe uselessly at her feet, charm clutched in their disgusting, meaty hands as she tests it out on them.  With each fallen Guest, she adjusts the potency of her little “charm” and tries to make it focus on a specific type of energy.

The Signal Tower works on frequencies that are otherwise untouched by her.  But the insides are just as fleshy, just as meaty as any other living creature.  It is both alive but not - a paradox she can exploit, much like how the loops have constantly exploited herself and the Thin Man.  One little charm won't be enough to kill an entire building, but it may be enough to weaken the surrounding area enough to prevent whatever brainwashing or mental torture it could inflict on her Thin Man.  The next problem she has to fix is the duration - it has to last for as long as possible.  Past the midlife of a loop, until the end of their lives.  A quick drain, one she's accustomed to, won't work.

It needs to be a slow, gradual drain.  And it needs to be focused on one particular entity to keep it from harming the children.  There's no way of knowing if it will work unless she tosses one of her Guests into the Signal Tower's domain, or if she somehow manages to attach it to one of the Viewers in the Pale City just before they are sucked in.  But it feels like she's running out of time - each minute passes by her like a haunting whisper, a silent taunt that she may never save her dear friend from his fate, and that they will forever be stuck in the loops as a result.

Her final product is nothing short of simple - made from the brown fabric of her kimono, the golden thread she manages to find is used to very carefully stitch in the characters that she's seen in her books.  "Safety" is what she hopes it denotes.  The back of the pouch has her mask embroidered in.  Whether it can heighten the power of her charm, or simply to show the Tower just whose power is slowly draining it from the inside, she doesn't care.  All that matters is that the little boy is protected to an extent.  Perhaps the life force or energy taken by the Tower will be directed to him; perhaps it will help in keeping him lucid enough to fight off the Tower's influence.  Or perhaps it will help in building some form of resistance against the Tower if he has some of her power within him.  No matter what, all that matters to her is that the boy grows into a man who can keep his wits about him.

Of course, the charm is big for a child, but she accounts for this and makes the little drawstrings into straps of sorts so that he could choose to wear it on his back (under his coat, if he has the sense to do that), keeping it like an extra layer of protection.  The little charm sits innocently on her palm.  

Perhaps this will do it.

The last thing she needs to do is find a way to actually get the charm to the boy.  Pocketing the tiny thing, she finds herself once again barging into the Caretaker's room without a care.  He startles with a yelp, notebook juggled in his hands before he catches it with a relieved sigh.  The old thing is tattered around the edges, but the leather bounding looks carefully maintained, almost lovingly so.  If she could count all the tallies he's made, would she be able to figure out how long they've been at this impossible task already?

"Six?"  Irritation drops from his posture as he looks over her form.  "Is something wrong?"

"I'm at an impasse."  She presents him with the charm and wonders if she needs to give him context.  How many loops have passed?  Just a few?  More than that?  Less than?  Keeping track was never really her thing.  "I don't know how I'll get this in the hands of the boy."

"Hm."  The Caretaker steps forward and takes the charm from her hand.  "A charm?  Ah."  He keeps it looped on a finger as he quickly flips through and scans his notebook.  With a nod, he closes it and puts it away.  "It wouldn't be easy for us to simply go on land and hand it to him."

"If only."

"But."  He smiles as he hands it back to her.  "We can certainly try mailing it out."

"To the boy?"

"No.  To Roger."

"Why him?"

"My notebook tells me that the Thin Man once told me a story of how he, as a child, handed a package to a resident in the Pale City.  It was one of the few times a resident didn't try to kill him.  Likewise, when I am working with Roger, he's ah, said to me, so to speak, how he got here.  A little messenger gave him a package from the Maw that told of his accepted employment."

"Oh I do recall sending a package out to him long ago."  Replacing employees she killed as a child was always quite the surreal feeling.  "Even with you around, we still need a Janitor.  Or maybe I should mean, especially with you around."  She gestures to his disorganized room with a poorly hidden chuckle.

"Uh huh."  He rolls his eyes at that before turning back to his desk.  "I suggest we keep the charm with the package and leave a note for Roger.  Tell him to hand the charm to the little messenger as a tip for his services."

"Do you think it'll work?"  She wanders over to the Caretaker's side as he sits down to write the note. 

"I don't see any other option."  He takes out his brush and quickly writes it out.  After the ink dries, he folds the letter up and puts it in an envelope.  She places the charm into his waiting hand and watches as he drops it in with the letter.  "Only thing we can do now is hope it works.  And if it doesn't, we try again."

She takes the letter from him and holds it against her chest.  All bets were on Roger now, and if the monster was anything, he was at least... reliable, to put it simply.  The Caretaker quickly scribbles something down in his notebook before waving her away.  

"I suggest getting that package made ahead of time before our time's up."  He looks up from his writing and smiles.  "Methinks the clock's already begun to tick on my end."

As his words sink in, her heart sinks as well.  Her glide forward has her embracing him close, mask buried in his hair as she sighs.

"How can you be so calm about your death?"

"How can you be?"  Always like him to deflect.  Still.  She hugs him closer and refuses to let go for as long as she can.

A few days later, after she has the package ready with a note to her future self to mail it, she sees a familiar blue blur fall past her with a chilling scream.  A glimpse over the railing has her finding his broken form splayed out in a growing puddle of blood.  She'd think that after experiencing loops of the same tragedy, she'd have run out of tears to shed.

But things always manage to surprise her as her hands reach shakily under her mask to feel the moisture that gathers underneath it.  Soon enough, her loop ends without a whisper from her Thin Man as she closes her eyes in tears. 

The loops continue as they are wont to do.  Very little changes as they go on.  Mono still gets beaten and bruised beyond what his little body can cope with.  The Thin Man still remains silent and unreachable beyond the screen of her quarters.  But Six notices the differences.  

Or at least, her Shadow does.  The little thing whispers in the Lady's head as she continues about her business, fashioning a new charm as per the notebook in the Caretaker's hands, as well as the Shadow's little guidance.

Bits and pieces of memories help guide her hands through the motions, her sewing fervent and desperate as she bites her lip.  Each attempt is aided with a little change the Shadow had noticed - he walked without a limp, he could drag the hammer, he could manage a single sentence.

Small victories, but not enough to make it end.  Still, the Shadow continues to list each accomplishment. 

"He managed to walk by himself to the bridge this time," the Shadow whispers, filled with childish hope and confidence.  

The memory of a boy holding her monstrous hand as his staggers fill her mind, and nothing of the scene fills her with that same amount of hope and confidence.  Instead, it fills her with a heartbroken pain as she recalls how his hand slipped from hers, how he tried to push and save the monster that she was with a pained smile before the Walls claimed him again.  The Flesh had crashed down on him, stealing him from her yet again even as she cried and screamed for him, hands desperately clawing at the Flesh before she was tossed out unceremoniously.  He hadn’t even tried to reach out for her, didn’t even ask for help.  As always, Mono’s main goal was to protect her and never himself.  How the Shadow cries with excitement at such a scene leaves her wondering how much it has seen to find this cause for celebration.  

"It's working!"

"But not enough," she mumbles to herself, mask removed so that she can bite the thread off.  The pouch is put aside as she reaches for the paper and ink.  As soon as the writings are inscribed, she focuses all her energy and power and spite into the sheet, teeth bared and gritted in anger as she channels all that rage into the sheet.  Take her friend away from her, and she'll take more from the Tower.  More and more and more until the boy can grow into a Man, a Thin Man who can fight back against whatever torture the Tower puts him through.  Shadows dance and swarm around the page as she forces the essence into the paper.  More and more and more.  She puts more and more into it until she can practically feel the cursed energy that drips from the paper.  Quickly, she folds it up and slides it into the pouch.  As she's about to tie it off into its signature straps, she grips it tightly in her fist and imbues it more with her dark magic.

Just in case.

Another sheet of paper is grabbed as she quickly scribbles out the familiar note for Roger, setting up the letter and package necessary for the Janitor's employ.  It's gotten to a point where the motions of setting up the package are as familiar to her as going through the motions of killing the Hunter, or being caught at the school, or burning the Doctor alive - now it's preparing the package for the Janitor she will later kill as a child.  A weary sigh escapes her as she slumps undignified in her seat.

How long must they keep this up without him?  The thought of leaving him behind in pursuit of their freedom disgusts her and feels too unlike the guilt that still lingers in the back of her mind.  Even without asking the Caretaker, she knows he’ll refuse the concept as well despite having never met him in loops.  But how long can they keep this up?  What if they run out of time before the Eyes try to disrupt them more aggressively?  What if they have more to contend with than the Maw jostling itself violently, or the Tower destroying and manipulating a boy into a monster?  Whispered memories from repeated conversations with children whose names she will never know remind her of the other monsters that still linger out there in the world.  What if they come to ruin everything they’ve struggled to prepare so far?  What if, in the name of survival, in the name of their sought after freedom, they have to-

A loud bang startles her out of her reverie however as the Caretaker howls with excitement.  She quickly covers her face with her mask as the Caretaker closes the door behind him.

"Six!"  He practically barrels into her as he grabs her by the shoulders, pulling her out of her slump and onto her feet.  "Six, I think I will die today!"

"Could you not be so enthusiastic about your death?!"

"I think I'm allowed to, given the news I have for you!"  He pulls her away from her desk and drags her towards her bed.  Once he sees her seated reluctantly, he pulls out his notebook and plops down next to her.  With a wild speed, he flips through pages before settling on a rough sketch of an island.  Bushes and trees that look to be laden with fruits grab her attention, but more so is the sketch of the monster- man, who continues to take her younger self to the Maw.  The same man that the Caretaker has taken detailed correspondence with.  The Caretaker jabs at the sketch enthusiastically.  "We found it."

She straightens up as the soft voice in her mind coos with excitement.  "The safe haven?"

"More or less."  He shrugs as though it can't be determined, but the hopeful gleam in his eyes says otherwise.  "The Ferryman finally found the island.  A place for children that is safer than whatever it is the Maw has to offer."

No adults.  No monsters.  Food for as long the little ones may need.  

"Home," the little voice breathes out like a saving grace, "a real home."

"What about shelter?"  She hates to rain on his parade, but she knows that even with food and the lack of adults, the children can only manage so much on their own.  "It's a bare island with only so much."  

"I'm going to try and smuggle items down to the drop-off."  He turns to another page where a list is compiled among the tallies.  Blankets, pillows, tarps, buckets, even spare basins-  "Children are clever.  I'm sure they'll be able to figure something out with these."

"It can last for only so long," she murmurs, and she recalls the books in her library that are otherwise untouched.  "Perhaps, a few of the books may have something about survival in the wilderness."

"I've checked."  The Caretaker shakes his head but lacks any disappointment despite his declaration.  "Nothing in your library except the dark arts and manuals for running the Maw, books of old traditions long since gone-"  He pulls torn out pages from the back of the notebook and reveals diagrams of baskets and techniques for weaving.  Her eyes quickly glance over the pages, her excitement still bubbling despite the words of doubt that pour from her mouth.

"But there's no guarantee that the children will have bamboo-"

"They can improvise.  See what they have and do what they can."  He stows the papers and the notebook to take her hands, squeezing them tight.  "Everything is set.  All I have left to do is try and sneak as much as I can off the Maw before I die.  And while I do that, you focus on the Thin Man."  His eyes soften at the mention of a man he's never gotten to meet in… so many loops.  "You always talk so highly of him, and my notebook has pages and pages of entries that make me wish I could remember those conversations I once shared with him.  He sounds kind, funny.”  A sad smile crosses his features as he fails to grasp the kind of nostalgia the Lady carries.  It’s unfair, truly.  The two men must have gotten along before in the past - apparently when she wasn’t around to witness it much to her chagrin - but having to read about it and never really know what it’s like to be graced by a presence they both yearn for…  “I'd really like to meet him again one day."

She squeezes back, her mind set and determined as she meets his gaze.  "I'll ensure it.  I just need to keep trying.  We're so close, I can feel it."

"Good."  He pulls her into a hug and digs his fingers into her kimono.  "I want to finally be free of all these tragedies." 

She buries her face into his shoulder and clings just as tight to him.  "We'll make it.  I want to know what it's like to live."

A sigh escapes him as they remain like that.  Precious minutes tick away, and she takes the moment to reeducate herself of his warmth, his scent, the way he huffs when he doesn't want to let go, a habit he's never grown out of since they were children.  Hugging always seemed to soothe him, and letting go was always something he loathed to do.

No wonder the children took so quickly to his comforting presence.

Ever so reluctantly, they pull apart, and he reaches over to readjust the pin in her hair carefully.  "There," he says with a huff, "now you look as regal and elegant as you should be."

"Try not to let the Maw kill you off so soon."  She takes his sleeves and tugs on them lightly.  A soft chuckle escapes him as he pulls her into another embrace, tucking her head against his neck with a sigh.

"I'll try not to."  He rocks them back and forth on the bed, humming lightly as they take in each other's warmth.  How did she manage to survive these loops without the Caretaker's comfort nearby?  There is no doubt in her mind that being so close to him has made her softer, but.

Perhaps this softness is what changed her from wanting to stick with that sorry excuse of "survival", and made her crave for something more.

Something just as soft as the Caretaker's smiles and warmth.  Something that could be shared with another person.

She closes her eyes and hums with him.  Whatever time she has with him, she'll take.  

The clock ticks on, and the loop continues.

He falls, as he always does.

But not before she notices that the nomes have diminished in number.

A little girl in yellow stands above her, anger radiating from her as she screams and roars at the Lady in tears as blood drips from her mouth.  The Lady smirks, and hopes that the anger festers in the little girl as a boy in blue drags her away, a power newly inherited within her soul.

The loop ends as it begins, and the new Lady of the Maw comes across a package so drenched in dark magic that she nearly drops it from the sting.  Still, at the behest of that small voice in her mind, she sends it out and continues her task of growing stronger, more powerful, pieces of memories falling together quickly as she recognizes the picture for what it is.

More and more and more.  That's what she does until her fingers bleed from how often she still manages to prick herself on the needles.  Scraps of fabric litter her room, kimonos snipped to pieces as mannequins lie bare in another room.  The stench of ink permeates the air as her brush continues to write character after character, stroke after stroke.  Her motions move with a remembered fluidity, nothing like the mechanical actions she took to arrive at the Maw.  There’s an importance to what she does, a quiet desperation that pours into her work as she puts her hopes and prayers into this tiny little thing she creates over and over again.  Her fingers sting, little drops of blood mingling with ink as she carefully makes the straps for a charm that is yet to be sent out.  Dark magic flows into it, flows until it overflows, flows until she grits her teeth and growls, flows because she won’t stop, can’t stop, not until he’s safe again, not until he’s safe with them, and she pushes and pushes and pushes until-

Suddenly.

In the corner of her quarters, where a television is left almost forgotten for decades and decades and decades.

It turns on.  And an unfamiliar but familiar hum of static greets her.  The charm falls from her grasp.  It barely makes a sound as it hits the floor, the Lady rising up slowly from her work area with shaking breath.  A wordless cry escapes her as she rushes over and presses her hand against it as familiar habits resurface.

Wait.  Wait and watch as the signal tunes itself.  The static turns and straightens out into an image.  She holds her breath as the screen twitches and stutters, as if threatening to end this little moment before it can begin.  But of course, her old friend is oh so very stubborn.  The screen refuses to shut off, continuing to persevere as the image fights to straighten itself out.  With a low, tuning whine, the screen makes a soft pop as finally the television does as it is supposed to and.   

And there.  In the middle of the screen.

There sits the familiar silhouette of a familiar man.

A sob escapes her as she presses her masked forehead against the glass.  Fingers curl in a half attempt of grasping a hand she's only felt in her childhood.  No hand presses back against the screen, but warmth still radiates from the screen as the figure straightens with awareness.  Alert.  Present.

Words pop up beneath the figure, and she nearly collapses from pure rapture as she shrieks her ecstatic sobs.

"Hello, Six."  

Warmth.  So much warmth.

"Mono...!"

She has her beloved Thin Man back.

[cursed-and-quirkless]

Chapter 1 - The Curse

Hello all! Welcome to my first MHA fic! This is the first part of a series about if Izuku was a quirkless vigilante, because I really love that trope.

TW: This fic, the first part especially, has some themes of injury, death/being on the verge of death, and ideas of suicide. No suicide is attempted, however. If these ideas bother you, please be cautious. To skip the first part, do not read until the first “~” symbol. There is also weird church stuff (that’ll make sense when you read), so if that makes you uncomfortable please be cautious. Thank you, hope you enjoy!

Ao3: queenofliterature

They say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Izuku never thought that was accurate until now.

There had been plenty of times he had almost died. When a shot rang and the muzzle of a gun flashed, the only thing Izuku thought was run, dodge, never anything about who he was, or how he got here.

Now though, now he understood.

Izuku blinked his tired eyes, focusing on the grey sky. The city was surprisingly peaceful, though maybe that was the falling snow coating the sounds of the bustling life under him. Or the ringing in his ears.

Eyes swollen with exhaustion refused to close for too long. If he fell asleep now, he would never wake up. And as much as he lied to himself, Izuku wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Hypothermia was settling quickly into his bones, his shallow breaths obvious against the cold night. But the gentle flakes tickled his nose, and all he felt was relief when they touched his fevered skin. Besides, he wouldn’t be dying of the cold tonight, the pools of blood gathering steadily underneath him was a testament to that.

Maybe if Izuku tried hard enough, he could roll off the edge. The rooftop had no railing, and if he stretched his arm just enough, he could dangle his hand over the streets below. But that wouldn’t do, he wanted to see the sky when his body finally let go, and his eyes closed and never reopened. Besides, Izuku could barely even move his fingers, let alone roll his entire body. No… he was stuck here.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Perhaps it was the fact that his blood was sluggishly trailing out of his body this time instead of the threat of instant death but…

His mind began to drift.

~

He was happy.

The middle class apartment he lived in with his mother and father always had the drapes thrown open, rays of sun keeping the apartment a comfortable temperature and bathing the bright green house plants.

His mother would playfully yell and scream, the damsel in distress. His father and him were the heroes.

He doesn’t remember much of his father, but he remembers the warm feeling of his chest, of the hot and smoky breath that would tickle his ears and ruffle his hair.

His father’s hands would hold him in the air as he flew to rescue his mother from the villains that had taken her.

Most of his peers probably wouldn’t want to spend their 5th birthday in the doctor’s office, but to Izuku it was the best present his parents could give him. He should have had a quirk by now, Kaccan said so. But if it was taking this long, it should have been cool and powerful! Just like Kaccan’s!

Izuku buzzed in excitement as the doctor read his file and looked at the x-rays they had taken in the big machine they put him in. Maybe he’d get telepathy, or fire, or a combination! Kaccan and him would grow up and be an unstoppable team and they’d share the rank for Number One hero (no matter what Kaccan said) and they’d save people and fight villains and-

“Quirkless.”

And just like that Izuku’s world shattered. The doctor’s uncaring drawl barely pierced his mind as his stomach lurched.

“W-what?” His mother questioned tearfully. His father simply sat there, eyes clouded with something Izuku would never understand. Sure 20% of the world was quirkless, but most were old and that number was dying out everyday. Only .01% of Japan’s population remained quirkless. And Izuku was now one of them.

When Izuku awoke the next day, his father was gone, and his mother wasn’t surprised.

There was no explosion, no shouted words, no hits or screams. His father was simply gone, any traces of him lingered like a ghost. Sometimes Izuku thought he had made up his father, the only proof he had that the man existed were the pictures Mom had kept in the trunk beside her bed.

It was raining the night he got diagnosed, as if the heavens were weeping for the shattered dream of a crushed child. He sat for hours watching the video of All Might saving all those people at the factory, hitting the replay button until his fingers hurt.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

Izuku heard the door creek softly behind him, but he didn’t turn around, he didn’t need to. “S-see that Mom?” Izuku’s tiny voice cracked, and he finally turned around. His mother already had tears springing to her eyes, and Izuku would realize later that’s the moment he would never see his father again.

“He always has a smile on his face, no matter how bad things get.” Izuku’s voice was slowly breaking down along with the little boy. “Even when things seem impossible, he never gives up.” Izuku will never forget the look on his mother’s face, the pain and the sorrow.

“Do you think… I could be a hero too?” Izuku already knew the answer to that question, he saw the answer in his mother’s eyes. His mother rushed forward, gripping him tightly and nuzzling into his hair, murmuring apology after apology. Her touch burned and the ache in his chest choked him, but Izuku didn’t bother to fight her off.

Izuku doesn’t even remember his father’s last words to him.

~

Izuku and his mother went to church the next day.

His mother was aching for a sense of normalcy, and some foolish part of Izuku believed his father would be there waiting for them.

His father was half japanese, but he never told Izuku what his other half was. Hisashi’s parents and siblings chose to follow the Christian faith, though what branch Izuku also didn’t know, he never paid attention. There was a small church half an hour away from the Midoriya apartment, and Hisashi thought it would be good for the small family to have a sense of community.

His mother must have opened up that day to the pastor before Sunday Service, because that was the first time Izuku was called a curse to humanity.

The little boy sat in the pew, hunching over as every word the pastor said pierced his heart.

“The quirkless are a scourge, a curse, a remnant of the days of old. They are a reminder of the sins of man!” Izuku’s eyes pricked at the cheers coming from around him. “We must stay strong in the face of adversity!” The cheers were stronger this time. Whatever his mother told the pastor must have sunk deep into the man’s skin, because they spent the next hour listening to the talks of plagues and scourge and punishment that were the quirkless population, all while he looked at the little green-haired boy.

After the service, all Izuku wanted to do was disappear. Going home would mean facing the unnatural quiet that now suffocated the once bright household, and staying here meant facing the lingering glares and whispers. His mother was in the restroom preparing for the semi-long trip back when Izuku heard footsteps approaching.

“Hello, Izuku.” The pastor greeted with a soft smile. He supposed it should be comforting, but all Izuku felt was fear.

“H-hello.” A meek voice greeted back.

“Your mother told me of your condition. I just wanted you to know I meant every word I said. But I can help.” The pastor offered, and despite the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes, Izuku perked up.

“You can?” Izuku asked cautiously. Maybe this would make Dad come back! And he could make Mom happy again! Izuku’s heart clenched when a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Come, child, it's not your fault. The children of God are innocent, you are being punished for the misgivings of your ancestors.” The gentle words of the pastor did nothing to ease the bile growing in Izuku’s throat. The more Izuku fought, the tighter the bruising grips became.

“W-wait.” Izuku protested as he was dragged away from the restroom. “My Mom! She’ll wonder where I am!”

“It will be a nice surprise for her, don’t you think?” The pastor ignored the protests and continued dragging the boy through the church.

“What-what’s gonna happen?”

“Simple, child. We’ll get the Devil out of you. It may hurt but I promise you’ll be better for it.” The pastor reassured. Thi wasn’t right. Mom and Dad said never go with strangers! But… the pastor wasn’t a stranger, he said he could help?

“Can we ask my Mom, p-please?” Izuku gave a powerful tug, and that seemed to be the last straw.

“Foolish child! Your mother does not understand what needs to be done! I do!” The others in the church startled at the noise, but turned away when they saw what was happening.

Izuku didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t like it! In a last attempt, Izuku lashed out and bit the man’s hand, pulling away with a gasp when the pastor yanked his hand back.

“You evil child!” The pastor screamed as Izuku ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He remembered the way to the restrooms, he just hoped his mother would be there. He wanted to go home! He wanted to play hero and be held by his dad and be tucked in by his mom when he fell asleep on the couch!

“Mom!” Izuku screamed when he spotted green hair. The woman quickly turned around from the couple she seemed to be frantically talking too. Izuku’s own eyes matched the tears that were streaming down his mother’s face.

“Izuku!” Inko yelled in relief as her little boy crashed into her. “Baby, where were you? I was worried sick!” Inko cried.

“M-mom, the p-pastor, h-he, a-and-” Izuku couldn’t get any of the story through the spasming of his little lungs. Through hiccuping sobs, Izuku heard the frantic footsteps of the pastor approach him, and he buried himself further into his mother’s neck.

“Pastor? What-what happened?” Inko hesitated at the teeth marks on the hand of the pastor. Her little boy wouldn;t do that for anything.

“H-he said.” Izuku’s little sobs broke her heart.

“Said what, Baby?” Inko coaxed, ignoring the man above them.

“G-gonna get the Devil out.” Inko’s heart dropped, knowing the implication.

“You were gonna beat him?” The horrified whisper reached the poster’s ears and he scoffed.

“Not him, the scourge. The boy may feel pain, but it would make him better.” The pastor declared. Perhaps if Inko hadn’t already been in pieces, she would have yelled at him. Perhaps if her husband hadn’t left and her son wasn’t falling apart she would have defended her son, but for now she had enough.

“Izuku, we’re leaving.” She said to the pastor just as much as her son, and Izuku saw the glance towards his blackened wrist.

It was the first time his mother ignored a bruise, but it would not be the last.

The drive home was quiet, and Izuku didn’t think he would ever get used to the silence that now permeated his new life.

“Mom?” Izuku spoke up, his timid voice uncomfortable with breaking pure silence. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” He just needed to hear those words as his world was crumbling beneath him, ‘It will be okay’.

“Izuku, my baby, there will be many more like him. From now on I want you to walk to and from school with Katsuki. No detours, nothing.” Izuku nodded at his mom’s serious voice. “We’re gonna get you a phone, I want you to text me everyday at lunch, and before and after school, and when you get home.” Izuku nodded again, and kept doing so as more rules were given to him.

When they got home that afternoon, his mother shut down. From afternoon till night, Inko Midoriya held an empty tea cup, not having the energy to fill it. She sat at the table, and tried to remember the deep voice of her husband that floated around the kitchen like embers, and the light and airy voice of her child that bounced against the walls.

Now all she heard was the stone cold silence of a shattered household.

Meanwhile, Izuku sat at the computer. Mom didn't bother to enforce computer time. So he watched the video, over and over again until it somehow pierced the unfeeling void that was beginning to set in. It never did.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

He realized that night with a bitter numbness he was already forgetting what his father’s laugh sounded like.

~

Izuku was finally beginning to understand, he knew he was a plague on his mother and father’s life, an infestation in his own skin.

He knew he was a curse.

~~~

Disclaimer: Nothing against any religion. Just as long as you don’t use it to hurt others I don’t care what religion you are/aren’t, this specific church, however, was very radical and was based loosely on unfortunate experiences I had in churches with some personal issues of mine. I just thought it would be interesting to explore how radical groups like this would see quirklessness.

I don't usually do this, but each chapter is gonna have a song I think that fits it!

Chapter Song: i can't breathe by Bea Miller

I have a Discord, and this fic has a channel! Same with Tumblr

Discord: https://discord.gg/UpWvDzKC5R Tumblr: cursed-and-quirkless

[celestialmark]

Solitude - Part 5 (finale)

Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct

Category: sniper! mark, mafia au

Word count: 15.8K

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, blood, violence, drugs, guns. 

Navigation: preview | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue 

Author’s note: hello hi! it’s been soooooo long, how are you guys? I hope you’re well and healthy! so after how many months of working on this series, I am so happy to share to you the final part! I'm so sorry for the wait, life really does come at you full blast at times hahaha but I had so much fun writing this series as a whole and I just want to thank you for patiently waiting for each part to come out regardless of how long it took me to write it ;; thank you so much for journeying with me and the characters throughout the whole five parts! all that’s left is the epilogue now! I do hope you enjoy it! and once again, thank you all so much <3 ilysm!!! 

“What happened?”

Mark is the first to come through the door that’s barely hanging off its hinge. He sees Taeil pacing back and forth the hallway, phone in his hand, his distraught eyes scanning all the furniture that’s broken to pieces and overthrown to the floor. Johnny and Jeno are the ones to follow after, walking past Mark and examining the damage behind Taeil.

“Mark!” Taeil exclaims. Mark can see his fingers shaking. “They, they took her. She’s gone.”

“Who took her?” Mark asks calmly just as Johnny and Jeno fall beside him. He’s trying to stay calm but on the inside, Mark is anything but calm knowing you were somewhere they didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” Taeil says weakly, his voice faltering. “I woke up and y/n wasn’t in her room anymore.”

Jeno looks upwards and scans the entirety of Taeil’s house. “Do you have CCTV around the house?”

Taeil is quick to nod, “I do. But they destroyed the cameras too. I’m not sure if there’s anything there.”

“Can we have a look?” Johnny asks.

Taeil leads Johnny and Jeno away while Mark makes a conscious decision to stay behind and look around the place a bit more. In his mind, he’s already pointing fingers to potential suspects but he knows he can’t act without solid evidence first. His thoughts drift to you as he steps over the remnants of the damage, feeling worried all of a sudden with the thought of you being scared.

Mark bends down when a shattered picture frame catches his attention. When he picks it up, carefully removing the broken shards of glass, you’re the first one he sees on the picture, along with Taeil who’s grinning widely beside you, an arm slung around your shoulder. There’s a date stamped on the bottom left corner and from what he recalls, it’s the date of your birthday. You look so happy in the photo, your smile travelling to reach your eyes and it saddens him that the last memory he has of you, was when you gave him a sad smile yesterday, both of you unknowing and unsure of what’s ahead.

“That was the last birthday she ever celebrated before her parents died,” Taeil pipes up from behind Mark when he sees him holding the photo. He bends down beside Mark, smiling somberly. “The last time I’ve seen her smile like that too.”

Mark’s heart clenches at the thought of you having to go through so much suffering in the absence of your only family. You had such a blinding smile in the photo, it literally pains him to think that even that, had been taken away from you.

“She’s been through so much,” he says quietly, feeling too helpless and clueless of where even to start.

“You know,” Taeil starts, averting his eyes from the photo and onto Mark. “Yesterday, she told me what happened I felt really relieved when she said she’d found her soulmate and that her soulmate was you.”

Mark looks at Taeil. “Taeil, I almost killed her.”

“But you didn’t,” Taeil corrects and he smiles. “Mark, do you know the exact percentage of the amount of people who get to meet their soulmate?”

Mark blinks.

“A little less than forty percent,” Taeil points out. “Even though we’re all pretty much born with one, with a mark on our skin, it doesn’t guarantee we get to meet them. Hell, I’ve never even met mine and I don’t think I’ll ever will.”

“But you…” Taeil pauses and claps a palm on Mark’s back. “You’ve found yours. You’ve found her,”

“And I find great comfort in that because there’s someone out there who will for sure look after her for the rest of her life.” Taeil stands and extends a hand out to Mark who takes it, pulling him up. 

“You’re the closest thing to family she has left, Mark.”

On the return to the loft, Mark is the last to enter when Johnny and Jeno lead the way with Taeil trailing right behind them. Mark is about to enter the door when someone grabs a hold of his arm and pulls him backwards. What meets him next is a hard fist to his cheek causing his whole body to sway to the side, a groan coming from his throat. His head spins momentarily and when he regains his balance with much difficulty, he sees Donghyuck who’s in the middle of swinging another fist at him, this time landing on his other cheek, sending him flying to the opposite direction. Mark grunts lowly again, feeling his lower lip split open. His fingers fly up to examine the damage and it comes in contact with his blood, the stinging on either of his cheeks so raw and painful. It’s expected, Donghyuck had always been the strongest one when it came to physical fights.

Mark doesn’t get enough time to process the whole situation fully when Donghyuck grabs him by the collar of his shirt, hauling him until his face is mere inches away. “How dare you fucking betray Taeyong?” he hisses. “What’s gotten into you Mark Lee?”

Johnny rushes back outside when he hears the commotion, immediately breaking the two apart. “Hey quit it!” He blocks Donghyuck from Mark, who’s panting from the blows, still trying to recover from the impact of Donghyuck’s fists.

“You have no sense of loyalty whatsoever you traitor!” Donghyuck growls, trying to push past Johnny, pointing an accusing finger at Mark. “After all that Taeyong’s done for you!”

“Donghyuck stop it,” Johnny advises as politely as he can. Donghyuck may be strong, but Johnny was definitely stronger.

Donghyuck gasps for air, his screaming not ending soon, “And all for what? For a girl? For a pathetic girl who’s going to die anyway? Wake up Mark! She’s not worth—”

“Donghyuck she’s my soulmate,” Mark interferes quietly, eyes imploring his angry ones, hoping he would somehow understand, hoping that his best friend out of all people would console him.

But he doesn’t.

Donghyuck frowns and attempts to push past Johnny again but to no avail, “What the fuck? That’s the reason why you turned your back on Taeyong? That’s a lousy excuse. That doesn’t mean anything! She’s still supposed to die—”

Mark doesn’t hold back, walking up to Donghyuck and swatting Johnny’s arm away in the process. With Mark’s already balled fist, he swings back and lands a forceful blow on his face. Still, Mark isn’t content, giving Donghyuck another blow when Donghyuck stumbles backwards. Mark is about to swing again if it wasn’t for Johnny who has to use all his might to pull the younger back. Mark is fuming and Johnny can feel it in the way his chest rises and falls heavily along with the shaking of his shoulders.

“You don’t know shit Donghyuck!” Mark roars. “You can’t say shit about me or y/n when you have no fucking clue what’s happening!”

Donghyuck spits blood to the side, his eyes glowering as they fall on Mark. “Look how pitiful you’ve become Mark,” he gestures at his friend, scoffing at him as he rests his hands on either side of his hips. “You think saving a girl will make your life a whole lot better? What did you say? A soulmate? How fucking ridiculous.”

Jeno and Taeil emerge from the doorway and watch the scene unfold quietly. Donghyuck catches sight of Jeno and scoffs once more, shaking his head, “And you’ve gotten Jeno to join you in the dumb ordeal.”

Donghyuck turns around to leave, but not before sparing one last look at Mark and the rest,

“Good luck to you, bastard.”

“Based on the footage caught in Taeil’s CCTV just moments before they destroyed it, it was definitely Kun’s doing,” Jeno announces, spreading out screenshots from the CCTV footage onto the coffee table minutes after the commotion outside settles.

Mark studies the pictures and frowns, “How do you know that? These guys are masked.” He switches from one picture to another until he comes across a blurry screenshot of an unmasked Kun in the middle of trying to make his way into Taeil’s house. 

“What do these people want from y/n?” Taeil, who’s sitting on the couch asks, frowning at the pictures.

“Revenge,” Jeno replies curtly.

A sudden lightbulb goes off in Mark’s head. “Taeil, y/n’s mentioned how she was nearly stabbed before, if it wasn’t for you. What happened that day?”

Taeil nods and shivers as he recalls the memory. “I was supposed to pick up something from her house when I found her front door open which was really unusual because she always made sure to extra lock her doors for safety ever since she began getting threats. I went in and found someone with a knife literally metres away from her. When the stranger realised I was there, he ran away but not before slashing me with his knife.” Taeil lifts the hem of his shirt until a scar located to the side of his lower abdomen comes into view for the three to see.

Johnny grimaces as Mark forms a fist.

“Can you remember what he looked like? What he was wearing?” Johnny questions.

Taeil taps his chin with his index finger, “He was wearing all black, really tall guy. We couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a hood too. But I did see a tattoo of a wolf all over his middle finger.”

Jeno frantically types away in his laptop the moment Taeil finishes talking and not even three seconds later, he’s already turning his laptop around so that the three can see his screen. “It was Lucas.” On the screen shows a picture of Lucas as well as the tattoo Taeil described on the said finger.

“Lucas is under Kun,” Johnny explains to Taeil. “Kun was the person behind the death threats.”

“For what reason?” Taeil questions.

“Y/n’s parents owed him a lot of money,” Jeno says, returning his laptop in its original position in front of him. “Same goes for Taeyong and the main reason why a lot of people are after her life.”

“So does that mean one of them is behind the murder of y/n’s parents?”

Mark shakes his head, “Not sure. It’s not Taeyong. And we don’t have evidence Kun did it.”

Jeno pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Wait. You said Yuta wanted y/n as well right? In exchange for the proposed deal?” Mark nods. “Did he give you a time limit or some sort?”

“A week.”

“From what Jeno has been telling me about this guy, I don’t think he’s the type to sit around and do nothing for a whole week,” Johnny suggest, crossing his arms just as his brows knit together in utter concentration. “You’re sure Kun’s behind y/n’s kidnapping?”

Jeno nods and firmly and gestures to the pictures, “Taeil’s CCTV says so.”

“And who is this Yuta guy?” Taeil asks, dumbfounded, scratching and tilting his head upwards.

“Some mafia guy from Japan who also happens to want y/n’s life,” Johnny replies with a frustrated sigh, nothing was adding up.

Taeil’s eyes widen, “Just exactly how many different people are after y/n?”

“Just the people we’ve mentioned,” Jeno answers and clucks his tongue after, “So far.”

Mark suddenly stands up from the couch and grabs his jacket in the process. Taeil and Jeno watch him and when he’s about to walk past Johnny, the elder stops him from going further by placing a hand across his chest.

“Woah, where are you going?”

“Kun’s,” Mark replies. “I want to see if she’s there.”

“Are you crazy? We don’t even know where they’ve kept her,” Johnny reasons, brows knitting together in the middle. “They wouldn’t keep her somewhere so obvious, Mark. Why don’t we do a little more research.”

“Johnny, I have to start somewhere,” Mark defends, eyes hard. “Every second that passes is making me worry so much it’s making me crazy.”

Johnny nods understandingly and drops his arm, “Okay but let’s not act so irrationally. We have to—“

“Johnny, I have to go,” Mark insists. “I have to know she’s okay.. I, I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”

Johnny sighs and nods after a few seconds of finally giving in, “Let me go with you at least.”

You’re hungry, thirsty and beyond exhausted. You don’t even know what time of the day it is or where you are because of the blindfold that’s been covering your eyes the moment you were snatched out of your bed this morning. There’s fear running through your veins as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face, too helpless to do anything with your hands tied harshly to your back with a rope that feels painfully aggressive on your skin. You couldn’t even scream for help, the cloth tied around your head to cover your mouth, feels too bitter on your tongue. But what you do know is that you’re in a moving vehicle, in a corner of what you imagine to be a container van, the occasional bumps along the round making you sway in your seat. But more than fear, you’re preparing yourself for the worst, for the probability of the end because you’ve been running for as long as you can remember and at this point,

you just wanted it all to stop.

Someone grabs you by the shoulders when the van comes to a complete halt. There’s indistinct yelling in the distance but you don’t make out the words, the growing pains in your body you didn’t notice before, becoming too prominent it makes you groan involuntarily as you’re forced to stand. You’re led out the van and when your feet comes in contact with the ground, you hear multiple footsteps coming in all directions.

“Bring her to the back,” one of them says and your head immediately snaps to its direction before you’re being pulled away again. Whoever was clutching on to your arm, was definitely not the most gentle, their grip on you sure to leave marks on your skin later or maybe even bruises. The more you squirmed under their hold to signal how uncomfortable it’s becoming, the more they seemed to clutch you tighter.

You know you’ve reached your destination when the stranger shoves you away from them, finally letting you go. The sound of the door shutting rings in your ears and not long after, you hear the door being locked. With no concrete plan in mind, you walk around aimlessly, hoping to find at least something, or even just get a feel of where you are. Minutes of shuffling only bring you to a conclusion that you’re most likely in an empty desolate room with the lack of furniture you thought you were going to bump into, only ever coming in contact with walls in all directions you’ve possibly covered.

You heave a sigh, falling to the ground when the exhaustion catches up to you. You scoot blindly until your back comes in contact with the nearest wall, your shoulders drooping instantly when it relieves the pressure. You’re panting, the energy left in you becoming depleted with each passing second and you’re sure you’ll pass out soon, the subtle ache in your head beginning to pound against your skull.

The click of the lock becoming undone awakens your senses with the door emitting a screech as it opens following a second after. Your head is directed straight ahead and you vaguely estimate the door’s located to your right, judging from the footsteps that are coming from that direction and towards you.

You feel someone in front of you and they say nothing when they’re reaching for your mouth cover, pulling it down until it falls around your neck to set your mouth free.

“Who are you?” You demand, your throat dry and your voice hoarse from not having spoken all day. You know you’re not going to get an answer though and your futile attempts of trying to guess who’s behind all of this becomes tossed aside when they don’t speak to answer your question. Instead, you feel fingers graze your chin, tilting it upwards. You feel the tip of what you guess is a bottle touching your lips.

“Water,” they say, voice low and deep and you know it’s belonging to a man. You down the water straight after, the temporary hydration making you feel a little better. He lets go shortly after he’s sure you’ve had enough. You hear him move away from you then but you feel his lingering presence, eyes on your helpless state.

He says nothing more, the only sound getting lost in the suffocating air being the door shutting and locked.

“Renjun?”

Almost everyone’s heads in the room follow where Mark is looking the moment he calls out the said person’s name. Renjun is there, standing awkwardly by the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he grows too conscious by everyone’s questioning eyes.

“H-hi,” Renjun utters quite lowly, a complete contrast to his usual demeanour that exuded confidence.

Mark tears his eyes off Renjun and shifts his attention to Jeno who had been staring at Renjun just a few moments ago before redirecting his focus to his laptop. “We could do with a bit of help,” Jeno mutters when he feels Mark’s eyes linger on him.

“Wow, you knew about this too?” Renjun asks when he sits beside Johnny. Johnny nods and ruffles the younger’s hair with a brotherly smile. Renjun’s eyes fall on the stranger sitting across him, “Renjun.”

“Taeil.”

“So I’m guessing Taeyong told you guys?” Mark asks cautiously, still pacing back and forth the floorboards in poor attempts to keep calm.

Renjun nods, “Yeah. He isn’t happy. Which is expected, I mean, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What about the others?” Jeno questions.

Renjun shrugs, “Donghyuck stormed off to somewhere and Jaemin… I don’t know where he is. I tried to get him to come here.”

Johnny points at Mark, an unamused expression on his face, “Well, Donghyuck stormed here and punched Mark a few times.”

Renjun blinks, “Sounds like him.” He leans forward and laces his hands together as he rests his elbows on his thighs. “So what’s your plan?” he directs the question to Mark who takes a moment to stop his legs from taking further steps, contemplating Renjun’s question too hard.

“None yet,” Johnny answers when Mark doesn’t.

Renjun raises a brow, “None? That doesn’t sound like you,” he genuinely sounds confused, still directing his words to Mark. “You always have a plan.”

At a loss for words, the silence drags on for seconds, everyone now blinking up at Mark. Johnny and Jeno silently agree with Renjun, thinking back to all the times Mark had conjured up excellent plans even under pressure and even under lives were at stake. Mark knows Renjun is right and the lack of concrete plans even after hours of brainstorming proves how much he fears for your life; any wrong move, and it can cost everything he’s trying to protect.

And even when Mark doesn’t say anything, just excuses himself to get some fresh air, Renjun understands. And so does Johnny and Jeno when they see the confusion and dread in Mark’s eyes before he leaves. Renjun releases a sigh. In all the years he’s known Mark, never has he seen the member be so stuck in a predicament and now that he’s confronted with a Mark who appears so helpless, he isn’t so sure what he can do to help ease the burden on his shoulders. Renjun runs a hand through his hair in frustration before staring directly at Jeno.

“Okay, so what do we have so far?”

Jeno and Renjun are discussing amongst themselves with the occasional pitch in of ideas from Johnny and Taeil, their chatters resonating in Mark’s loft along with the tapping of Jeno on his keyboard. Johnny takes it upon himself to begin sketching helpful diagrams and notes they would find useful in the future while Renjun and Taeil analyse the situation over and over again while trying to think of potential events that could go wrong once they do try and attack.

All of this comes to a halt when someone, Jaemin, bursts through the door in a panic. Renjun can already tell Jaemin is going to bring nothing but bad news by the way he’s panting and from the distraught on his face.

“They have Donghyuck.”

Kun is smirking when he sees his desired target sitting helplessly on the chair before him, hands tied to the back to render him powerless and defenceless. Donghyuck’s  face is dotted with bruises, glaring up at Kun the moment he was forcefully pushed down to take a seat. Kun’s smirk grows wider by the second, taking too much pleasure in the defeat of the enemy in front of him.

“We can do this the easy way,” Kun announces menacingly, “Or the hard way if you choose not to cooperate.”

Hendery, Lucas and Sicheng are standing behind Kun, watching the scene before them unfold. Hendery and Lucas are enjoying just as much as Kun is, having been the ones who had made all of this possible.

Donghyuck stays silent on the chair, the loathing in his orbs intensifying, his hands behind his back twitching and aching to land a fist to Kun’s face.

“Alright, let’s get started shall we?”

Kun circles Donghyuck’s chair once, an arm folded across his chest while he uses the other to tap a finger on his chin. “How much has Yuta offered Taeyong in exchange for that arms and drugs deal?”

Donghyuck doesn’t bat an eyelash nor does his features give way no matter how surprising it might have been for him for Kun to have some knowledge about their overseas affairs.

“Well?” Kun asks a moment after when silence ensues, bending down to meet Donghyuck’s eye level. Donghyuck’s eyes are seething and it only heightens Kun’s amusement. Kun doesn’t hesitate though, delivering a forceful blow on Donghyuck’s left cheek, making the hostage swing to the side.

“You asked for the hard way, you’re getting the hard way.” Kun straightens up briefly, rubbing his knuckles with his palm. “I’ll ask you again,” his voice rigid. “How much did Yuta offer?”

Donghyuck raises a brow and spits out blood pooling in his mouth from the punch before smirking up at Kun, “And how come you just can’t seem to ever mind your own business?”

Kun clenches his teeth and strikes at Donghyuck again, this time on his stomach, making him groan in agony yet still managing to smirk afterwards. No way was Donghyuck going to give Kun the satisfaction of seeing him suffer no matter how many blows he was going to get.

“What is it? Too incompetent to even get that info without needing to take one of us hostage?” Donghyuck challenges, as the corner of his lip begin to swell. A mocking laugh emits from his mouth after, “How pathetic,” he grins but his eyes piercing. “As usual.”

Kun is about to come for him again when he stops himself, realising how easily he’s been biting Donghyuck’s accusations. He takes a step back, a stoic expression finding appearing on his face as his brow arches upwards, “Alright, let me change the question.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him.

Kun grins.

“How much did Yuta offer for y/n?”

You don’t realise you’ve fallen asleep, for who knows how long, until you’re being jolt awake with the feeling of someone bumping into you. You gasp in horror as the stranger groans beside you, doubling over in pain after he’s thrown to the ground.

“Wait!” he yells rather loudly as he scrambles in his spot and what you hear next is the door being slammed shut again. You scoot away from him, suddenly feeling extremely cautious of the unknown man in the same room as you. Though you figure he’s being held captive just as you were.

“Y/n?” he calls out toward the direction you’re resting yourself against the wall which, apparently isn’t too far from where he is despite your efforts to move away. You jump in your spot slightly at the sound of your name being called. It’s a voice you’ve never heard before. It wasn’t Johnny and most definitely not Mark.

You listen as he scrambles again, trying to pull your hands apart in hopes of snapping the rope into two so that you could defend yourself for the danger you felt was about to come your way. Your efforts are in vain and before you know it, you feel his presence right next to you. You hold your breath as your heart hammers against your ribs, preparing yourself for the worst.

“One sec,” he mumbles and even when his voice comes across as reassuring, you don’t let go of the breath you’re holding. You feel him move even closer to you and you grow weary with the way you feel his breath tickle your skin. You feel him swerve away from your face and settle onto the side of your head as you stay completely still, too scared to even move an inch. But then it dawns on you what he’s doing when your blindfold is lifted away from your eyes, the faint light of the bulb above, too harsh on your eyesight for a few seconds.

A moment passes and you’re successful in readjusting your vision to your surroundings. That’s when your eyes land on the person in the same room as you, dropping your blindfold to the ground, that had been in between his teeth seconds prior. His hair is messy, strands sticking out in all directions and face mottled with bruises and cuts, hands tied to his back in the same way as you. He looks like he’s about to pass out anytime soon with the way he’s panting hard to catch his breath but he doesn’t, only stares at you.

“Shit, you really are alive,” he says, eyes growing wide.

You frown, trying to add bits and pieces together from his statement but nothing’s coming to mind, the possibility of who he might be, too wide. “W-who are you?”

The boy with brown hair opens his mouth but doesn’t speak and you know he’s hesitating. You have a small inkling that he knows you too well than you might have expected. “Donghyuck,” he answers not too long after.

You don’t even need more than a second to remember who he is. This guy is one of the people who wants you killed. No wonder he looked oddly familiar, you had caught a glimpse of him at the day of your shooting and he was the one beside Mark in that photo you came across. Instinctively, you move further away from him, the thought of what he could do to you right now drilling into your head despite the tie around his hands.

“You know who I am?” he asks carefully, eyes too gentle to even want to kill you at this moment.

You nod slowly, “You were there, when I was shot.”

Donghyuck blinks and confirms your answer with a nod of his head. You watch as he scans you from head to toe wearily and slowly. “Did, did they hurt you?”

You don’t remember criminals to be this concerned about their target’s wellbeing but then you remember how Mark and Jeno proved you wrong. Donghyuck sounds genuinely concerned and he doesn’t stop searching your body for any signs of injuries even when you eye him in suspicion, too doubtful of his kindness. “No, they didn’t.” You swear you see him sign in relief.

“Why are you here?” You ask, not really sure whether he heard you or not with how quiet your voice came out that originally intended. “And what happened to your face?”

Donghyuck grins mockingly, “Kun’s boys don’t exactly like me.”

“Wait, this is Kun’s doing?” you ask, finally getting an answer to what you’ve been pondering ever since your abduction.

Donghyuck nods, then raises a brow. “How do you know Kun?”

“Kun is after my life,” you reply curtly. “That’s why I’m here.”

Donghyuck raises a brow, “How did Kun find out you’re alive?”

You shrug your shoulders, “No idea. Jeno says it’s got something to do with Kun tailing you guys’ backs since day one.”

Donghyuck smirks again, “Well, we take pride in that.” The smirk disappears just as fast as it appears when he leans forward. “Wait, why does Kun want you killed?”

“Apparently my parents owe him money. It’s for the same reason as Taeyong. Revenge, they said.” He nods slowly then, letting all of it make sense in his head. “Donghyuck, what day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Woah, okay I’ve been here for a day.”

“Yeah, I heard the guys are going crazy trying to figure out how to get you out of here,” Donghyuck points out, looking around the empty room.

“Guys?”

“Johnny, Jeno and Mark.”

You think of Mark then, your heart clenching at the reminder of missing him.

Donghyuck smiles at you when he catches you blinking into nothing.

“No worries, y/n. We’re going to get out of here, I know how.”

Jaemin and Renjun are busy trying to develop a plan on how to get you and Donghyuck back with Jeno and Taeil in the living room while Mark has excused himself out of their sight to give himself time and space to think and re-evaluate the whole situation. Nothing is making sense and it’s making his head ache, the pounding of his brain against his skull only worsening with the mere thought of your life in danger. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this worried nor determined to save someone else’s life, not even the guys. It’s an unusual feeling for him, foreign almost, to put someone else’s safety and life before his own. All Mark remembers ever feeling is the sheer conviction of staying alive from all the other times he’s been so close to actually losing his life. 

He figures he’s fought greatly up until now so he could save yours. 

Mark lower his head from staring up at the sky in his conservatory when he feels a presence step in his space. He finds Johnny beside him, an ice pack held out in his hand. “Gotta look after yourself too before you can save y/n.” 

Mark musters a small smile as he takes the ice pack from Johnny, thoughts of you making him momentarily forget about the hard blows he received earlier in the day. When the cold finally sinks in his skin, he feels relief wash over him for the first time ever since you were gone and it soothes the pain on his cheeks he didn’t even notice until now. 

“She must really mean a whole lot to you, huh,” Johnny says, looking straight out the window. 

Mark snaps his head to the side and finds Johnny smiling slightly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. Mark redirects his gaze ahead when he repeats his words in his head a few times to grasp what they mean. “I.. I guess.” 

“I don’t think I've ever seen you this worked up about anything, anyone before,” Johnny adds, his tone friendly and coated with ease, an utter contrast to how Mark has been all day. “It’s... good to see.” 

Mark raises a brow but lets out a scoff, “Y/n being in danger isn’t good to see, Johnny.” 

Johnny finds the strength to laugh, trying his best to lift the younger’s mood, knowing painfully well just what he's feeling. “I meant seeing you care for someone else this much is good to see.��� 

Mark lowers the ice pack from his face and purses his lips as he dips his head low, his eyes now meeting the floor. Johnny’s right. Mark felt it. The short span of time he isn’t around you is enough proof of that. And he knows it’s not just because you’re his soulmate, though it’s somewhat a big part of the reason. 

“Y/n... I don’t know,” Mark begins although unsure of what to say next. “Just, I just, I feel the need to protect her you know? No, I want to protect her. And it’s not just because I’m the reason why she’s in this mess, even though that’s a part of it too. I just, I,” Mark stops to catch a breath when he feels the words getting caught in is throat. He lifts his head upwards before exhaling, “I just, want to keep her safe. By all means. Even if it costs my life. And I can’t think about anything else but her, and getting her out of there.” 

Mark shakes his head after he utters his final sentence, wondering just when he began to feel this way. “Is this what soulmates do to you?” 

Johnny chuckles with a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe.” 

Mark rolls his eyes and nudges Johnny’s side with his elbow. “Thanks for the advice.” 

Johnny falls silent, his thoughts taking him to Ari, a sudden gush of longing overtaking him. He smiles fondly to himself at the thought of her, at the realisation of seeing himself in Mark when he was once put in a similar situation some time back. He remembers how good it felt, how exhilarating everything had become and how everything appeared a lot more colourful somehow whenever Ari was around. 

“I think,” Johnny smiles wider at the memory of Ari smiling at him blissfully, “It doesn’t take much for you to eventually feel like you’ve lost all control. One day, you’re living your life normally like you always do, and then the next, it all changes, everything you thought you knew, you’re suddenly questioning.” 

Johnny turns to Mark who’s now staring at him with curious eyes, “We’re all born with a soulmate and beyond our reasoning and understanding, it just... happens, loving them becomes second nature even before we know it.” 

Mark half smiles, his thoughts drifting to you as Johnny speaks, feeling the words fit all too well. “I think it’s crazy how the universe works sometimes.. How can it just know, how can it just know Y/n is the one for me from the beginning.” 

“There will always be things we will never understand and sometimes, I think, not knowing is better,” Johnny smiles again, “We just gotta be thankful.. To be given someone in this lifetime you feel in your bones you will love for the rest of your life.” 

Mark runs a hand through his hair and lets out another chuckle, “I don’t even know if she feels the same. She probably hates me right now after all that’s happened.”

“So you love her?” 

Mark blinks. 

Then he turns to Johnny again, a frown now evident on his face, “Do soulmates guarantee.. that the other feels the same?” 

Johnny laughs, feeling all too relieved to lift Mark’s spirits up briefly during such a challenging time. “There’s only one way to find out Mark.” 

Mark’s shoulders droop almost instantly at the reminder of your absence and at the reminder of the impending danger if he didn’t act soon. Johnny sees it and senses the younger’s anxiety shoot up even more. He claps a palm to Mark’s back, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. 

“We’ll save her, alright?” Johnny reassures, earning a small smile from Mark. 

There was no way Johnny was going to let Mark experience what he did. 

You watch in awe as Donghyuck frees himself from the rope that once held his wrists together. You’re not too sure how he’s done it, only ever seeing him wriggle here and there for what seemed like a few short minutes before he’s moving over to you to get rid of your restraints. You heave a huge sigh of relief when your wrists finally become free, your fingers immediately flying to rub the now burning skin. Donghyuck takes both of your hands to haul you up on your feet, dusting off your dirty clothes when you find your balance.

Donghyuck surveys the empty room, its dirty white washed walls not really giving much option for an escape. He examines all four corners, until his eyes stop on the rectangular glass windows lining up a portion of the far wall, opposite the door. Donghyuck walks closer to it and draws a conclusion this room must be basement from being able to make out the ground through the blur of the dirt of the panes. The windows look too small for two people to escape through, the height of it seemingly a bit too high with a width that’s almost too narrow, meeting the ceiling and Donghyuck isn’t too sure either where this route will lead to nor is it guaranteed there is no one keeping watch on the other side.

But they’ve got to try. And they’ve got to try quick.

“Step back y/n,” he warns lowly, mentally calculating the mechanics of what he’s about to do. You don’t say anything when you follow as Donghyuck says, secretly growing weary of the dark glint in his eyes you didn’t see before.

Donghyuck takes two steps backwards before he’s charging forward, his right arm drawn back fully with his hand forming a firm fist. His fist meets the glass in less than second when he pulls his arm forward, the momentum he’s gained from his short jog adding to the strength in which his arms could muster. You wince in your spot when you hear a bang, the mere sight of Donghyuck trying to dismantle the glass making you feel the pain on your own wrist. You turn around to look away when Donghyuck charges again, the glass merely deflecting his efforts the first time around.

The glass cracks the second time and on the third, Donghyuck uses all his might to finally break it, shards of glass falling to the ground, some falling outwards on the ground. Donghyuck hisses when his fist begins to bleed, small pieces of glass digging into skin. He’s shaking his right palm as blood trickles down his fingers at an alarming rate.

“Donghyuck!” you exclaim as you run up to him and study the damage on his hand. Bright red blood gushes in more than one spot on his bruised skin and you’re extra careful when you gently pick at the shards that had sunk into his skin. Donghyuck stays still and lets you do what you’re doing as he continues to investigate the gap he’s made. It’s dark outside and the lack of light coming from outside makes Donghyuck hopeful that no one is out there to guard.

When Donghyuck looks back down, there’s a cloth wrapped around his knuckles and he realises it’s the blindfold he once took off your eyes. “Donghyuck we have to wash it,” you absentmindedly say when you finish tying a knot to keep it in place.

“Y/n, that’s the least of our worries right now,” Donghyuck says sternly. “We have to get out of here.”

He pulls you towards the window then and your eyes widen with the idea that’s now beginning to unfold in your mind. “I’ll go up first so I can help you from up there,” Donghyuck is already moving before you can even process his words.

Donghyuck climbs with ease, stealthily sliding himself through the gap, broken glass dropping to the floor when he does. In no time, he’s successfully made it outside and stays lying on his stomach with his hands outstretched to you. “Come on,” he urges. “Run towards me and jump and I’ll catch you.”

You nod in determination, wanting to get out desperately and feeling the need not to disappoint Donghyuck. You do as Donghyuck says and when you jump, he catches your hands as promised. Donghyuck uses his incredible strength to haul you upwards and you begin to worry when you see his knuckles bleed through the thin cloth. You purse your lips together as you use your feet to scramble against the wall just as Donghyuck grits his teeth hard to pull you out.

But you’re screaming the next second when you feel being aggressively pulled from the wall, strong arms wrapped around your body until your hands are no longer grasping Donghyuck’s. You’re thrashing around, kicking your legs into the air to try and rid of the body that’s keeping you from leaving, but they’re way stronger than you and already carrying you out through the door you didn’t notice had become opened during your attempt at escaping.

“Keep still,” the man carrying you growls into your ear and you recognise him as the same man who had given you water yesterday.

You catch a glimpse of Donghyuck when you look back and he nods firmly at you before he’s getting up on his feet to make a run.

Donghyuck won’t let you down. His eyes said so.

Donghyuck runs frantically for his life, his legs having no sense of direction with the only focus of escaping to bring help to you before the worst can happen. He’s relieved when he comes across no one in his path, but skeptical with the lack of people guarding the opponent’s headquarters. Nonetheless, he sets that thought aside and exerts his remaining energy in seeking refuge.

Donghyuck falls back on the ground when his body collides with someone else’s after a sharp turn. He groans inwardly, his head spinning as he lands on his injured hand, feeling a new gush of blood seeping out the cracks of his skin. Donghyuck can only see a silhouette when he looks up, eyes squinting to adjust to the light behind the stranger after having ran in the dark for so long.

“Hyuck!”

He recognises that voice anywhere.

“God— ow, that hurt like a bitch,” Donghyuck curses under his breath, letting his guard down completely when Mark helps him up off the ground. “Watch where you’re going idiot!”

Mark rolls his eyes, “I should be the one saying that to you.”

Behind Mark, Johnny emerges who is now staring at Donghyuck. “What happened to your face?” Johnny asks, eyeing the younger from head to toe. “You look horrible.”

Donghyuck swipes the back of his hand across his swollen lower lip, “Kun happened.”

“Jaemin said they caught you,” Mark says, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened?”

Donghyuck shrugs, “They took me on the way home from yours earlier. You know, Lucas, Xiaojun and Sicheng?” Mark and Johnny nod. “Yeah, them lot. Thought they’d just taken me for the fun of it, since you know, they hate our guts. Turns out they wanted information from me.”

“Information?” Johnny asks.

Donghyuck rests his palms on either side of his hips. “Yeah, about Nakamoto. Didn’t budge though, that’s why they beat me up.”

“Wait, they know about Yuta?” Johnny questions, the pieces of the puzzle seemingly not adding up to make up a picture that makes sense.

Donghyuck nods, “Y/n’s in there too, Mark. I tried to get her out with me but Xiaojun caught her just in time.”

At the mention of your name, Mark’s hands balls into fists, chills covering every inch of his skin at the thought of you hurting under their mercy. Mark purses his lips in sheer anger, mentally promising to get rid of anyone who dared lay a finger on you.

“What are you guys doing here anyway?” Donghyuck inquires.

“We came as soon as we got the news about you,” Johnny answers. “And because we had our suspicions they had y/n too. We were going to get you both out.”

Mark doesn’t hear a word Johnny says when he pushes past Donghyuck, the thought of saving you the only thing running in his mind, the hours of structuring a plan flying out the window. Every moment that passes where he’s unsure about your safety, the more impulsive he becomes into compromising his life just to save yours.

Donghyuck is quick to get in Mark’s way, succeeding in stopping him in his tracks. “Mark, going in there isn’t a good idea.”

“What do you mean! She’s in there Hyuck— I have to save her.”

Donghyuck firmly stops Mark again with a palm to his best friend’s chest. “Stop,” he calls out and looks at Mark straight in the eye. The desperation in his friend’s eye is devastating because it spoke of just how much he was willing to give up just to save you. “I need you to listen to me. And I need you to listen well.”

Johnny steps in beside Mark to make sure he doesn’t move an inch. When Donghyuck is sure he’s gotten all of Mark’s attention, he begins but not before drawing in a deep breath, “When I was in there, Kun asked me about everything I knew about Yuta and Taeyong’s proposed deal. Mark, they know about our shit. Somehow they’ve found out. Now is the time to be careful and not take any careless chances.”

“Hyuck what are you trying to say—“

“Kun asked me how much Yuta offered in exchange for y/n,” Donghyuck’s voice suddenly lowers, as if to save the remaining intact parts of Mark to refrain them from shattering.

“Mark, I think they’re giving y/n to Yuta for money.”

“It’s happening tomorrow, Kun’s boys are leaving their headquarters one by one to secure the the port they’re meeting at tomorrow,” Jeno announces, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“We have to get to them before they can even meet Yuta,” Mark insists, his hands clasped tightly together, sitting on the centre of the counter table, the rest of the boys sitting on either sides in front of him.

Johnny leans forward into the table and shakes his head, “They’re on high alert Mark, they know as much as we do, how dangerous of a person Yuta is. Going in there to snatch someone they could get millions for is basically a death wish.”

“But wouldn’t it be more dangerous if we go in there at a later time?” Renjun points out, tapping is chin. “Intervening when Kun and Yuta’s guys is the biggest death wish to me. We’d be outnumbered,” Renjun pauses and glances at everyone around the table. “By a lot.”

“And knowing Kun’s boys and how much they hate us, they definitely wouldn’t hesitate to kill, especially if there’s a lot of money on the line,” Donghyuck adds, his bruised and wounded face now all patched up thanks to Johnny.

There’s silence for a while, everyone getting lost in their own thoughts. As much as Mark hated to admit it, everything his comrades had said was right and as much as he wanted to save you, he didn’t want to put anyone’s lives in danger like that, even though his job literally meant risking his life every day. He wanted as little casualties on his end as possible. It was the least he owed his friends for being in on this despite it being against their will and against Taeyong.

“Jeno is there any way we can meet Yuta before tomorrow?” Mark asks lowly, his eyes hard and directed at Jeno.

Jeno blinks once before he’s typing away again, all eyes now on him, “He’s supposed to be arriving sometime tomorrow in the morning and according to my sources, he’s supposed to be leaving the day after. I think we can possibly meet him if get in contact with him now.”

“And can we do that?”

Jeno nods and cranes his neck towards Renjun, “Renjun and I will trace his contact.”

Mark nods gratefully. “Thanks.”

“What do you plan on telling him?” Johnny asks, looking up from where he sits on the couch.

Mark draws in a breath, “I don’t know yet. I just have to talk to him before they do.”

“You don’t want to get through to Kun first?” Jaemin asks curiously.

Mark spares a glance in Donghyuck’s direction, guilt seeping in him to see his friend in such a state. Mark shakes his head firmly, “No. He has his eyes set on Yuta. He’s never gonna settle for anything less than what Yuta would have offered him, and I’m guessing it’s a lot.”

Jaemin nods slowly, realising how much Mark must have thought this through in his head.

“But I’m going to need eyes on Kun,” Mark continues, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger. “Just so I know they’re not harming her while I negotiate with Yuta.”

Johnny volunteers as he nods, “I’ll do that.” He turns to Taeil beside him, “Taeil will help me.”

Taeil blinks unsurely at the mention of his name but nods after a good five seconds when Johnny’s words finally sink in. “Yeah, we’ll keep an eye.”

And no one sleeps for the rest of the night. Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin study the blueprint of the port Jeno has somehow managed to get his hands on, locating potential hideouts to put themselves in until they can execute their plan. Johnny and Donghyuck are in a corner teaching Taeil some of basic self defence, knowing he’s never fought anyone in his life ever while Mark is busy readying his guns for tomorrow, a sick feeling coating the pit of his stomach when he realises he’s in the room you came across that day you realised he was the one who had shot you. He sets his sniper down and turns to find your picture still pinned on the board. He takes it and examines the picture in a way he has never before. It’s a random photo of you he had gotten off the internet, but taking a closer look now, it’s one of you smiling, your smile reaching your eyes. You looked beautiful, he thinks and the guilt of putting you in more danger than you already were in seeps in stronger than ever. Mark swears he’d never be able to forgive himself if there was anything to happen to you.

Mark continues to long for you as he keeps gazing at your photo, he doesn’t notice Donghyuck sliding in the room until he’s beside him and craning his neck to look at where Mark’s attention is focused on.

“H-Hyuck,” Mark calls out as he clears his throat, setting the picture aside.

Donghyuck throws him a knowing look before picking up a small gun previously laid on the table, “Miss her already?”

Mark is about to shrug Donghyuck’s question off knowing he wasn’t usually the one to talk about these things, but Mark feels it’s okay to be vulnerable tonight, especially to the friend who knows him the best. “Yeah, I do,” he finally admits, dropping his head low.

Donghyuck smiles a little, satisfied Mark trusts him with this side of him, a rare side one would never think he possessed because with what Mark did for a living, there was almost always no room for emotions or second guesses.

“We’ll save her, okay?” Donghyuck attempts to console his friend, the feeling unfamiliar to him for the mere fact they’ve never been put in this situation before. “We really will.”

Mark smiles gratefully as he glances at Donghyuck. “Hyuck, what really happened today? How did Kun catch you like that?”

Donghyuck disassembles the gun he’s been holding with ease before he turns to Mark, an already apologetic glint in his eyes. “I, when I left after screaming at your face earlier, I thought about what you said. And Kun’s boys aren’t exactly the discrete type of people so I found out about them having y/n earlier. and,” Donghyuck sighs, “I realised just how important she was to you.. you know after you punched me like that because you’d never do that. You’d never do that to any of us. Never. So I knew I had to do something.. I, I don’t want what happened to Ari happen again.”

“So I went in there, without a plan in mind, just the thought of needing to do something. And I thought I had it, I thought I had her. Turns out Kun needed me for other reasons too and made their job of abducting me a whole lot easier for them,” Donghyuck stifles a laugh.

“You were there to save y/n?”

Donghyuck nods. “Not sure what I was thinking, it was really irrational. But.”

“I realised she might just be what you have left..” Donghyuck trails off. “I mean you have us, you’re always going to have us. But, soulmates are different I guess, even though I literally said they meant nothing earlier. I guess I needed you to punch me a few times before I could finally understand.”

Donghyuck sighs and turns to Mark, “Look, I’m sorry for what I did to you earlier and for all the things I said. I guess, I was just too angry at the thought of betraying Taeyong and keeping everything from us but after thinking about it now, I think I understand better why you did what you did.”

Mark breaks out into a small smile. “I’m sorry for punching you too.”

Donghyuck grins, “Nah, I deserved it.”

The two chuckle together, bruised cheeks lifting into smiles.

“She’s gonna be okay. We’ll make sure of that.” 

And Mark believes and holds onto his best friend’s words. 

Mark kicks at the ground outside his parked car just when the sun is about to peek from behind the horizon. The air is cold and crisp, the occasional breeze blowing towards his direction making him ball his fists deeper into the pockets of his jeans. The sound of the water hitting against the shore echoes into the stillness of the air and it offers Mark some sort of comfort, his mind unconsciously bringing him back to the time he confessed to you, to that morning he explained just why he had tried so hard to save you. And just when his mind is about to completely become filled by thoughts of you, his chest tightening at how much he just wants to see you, the sounds of cars pulling up in the distance snapping him out of his trance. Mark instinctively straightens his back and pulls himself from against his car, twisting his body to greet the oncoming cars coming his direction. He lifts his wrist to view, the time on his watch reading seven forty in the morning, the exact estimated time Jeno and Renjun had predicted in the earlier hours of dawn during the planning process.

Mark steps in the middle of the road when the series of cars drive nearer to him until they eventually come to a stop when he impedes their path. Mark lifts his chin up in full confidence, inhaling a breath of hair to prepare himself of what’s to come. Securing a meeting with Yuta was impossible despite Jeno’s skills and so interfering like this to buy even five minutes of his time had to do.

The driver of the first car opens the door of the van and steps outside, eyes trained on Mark with a frown. Mark spots the gun tucked underneath his belt but doesn’t cower. “Who are you?” the stranger, a big man, inquires, coming forward but far enough from Mark as a precaution.

“I need to talk to your boss,” Mark replies calmly. “I know he’s in the car behind yours.”

“My boss doesn’t see just anyone,” the man replies sternly, crossing his arms across his chest just as another man, who had been sitting on the passenger seat, exit the vehicle also. “And it really isn’t a good idea for you to be out here either.”

Mark scoffs and tears his eyes off the two men momentarily, darting them to the ground before looking back up at them again. “Is that a threat?” Mark was going to do anything to spare a few minutes of Yuta’s time but it didn’t mean he was going to submit to them so hastily, knowing all too well how quickly they’d be in control of the situation if he lets them.

“You decide,” the second man replies, slightly smaller in build than the other. “The fact that you know who we are, should be enough for you to decide.”

Mark makes sure the two sees him roll his eyes, to ensure they know he’s clearly mocking them. “I think I’ll decide once I’ve gotten a word with your boss.”

“And how many times to we have to remind you it’s not possible?”

Mark mirrors the man’s actions by crossing his arms across his chest. “Tell him it’s Mark Lee. Either you do that right now or we stay here like this all day.” Mark’s voice shift in an instant, his tone lowering and deepening just as his eyes darken in the same way. “And I'm sure neither of you,” Mark leans to his side and eyes the cars lined up before standing straight again, “Or everyone else here has the time.”

The two exchange unsure glances until one of them eventually walks away to make his way to what Mark can make out to be car behind the one in his view. Mark taps his foot at the ground as he waits impatiently, the man left behind watching him closely.

It isn’t long before Mark hears another car door opening and shutting in the near distance and another moment that passes further before Nakamoto Yuta comes into view, a small smirk already playing at his lips. He walks forward, two of his men following closely behind him.

“Ah, Mark Lee,” Yuta greets with a sinister smile when he stops in his steps, a metre away from Mark. “I haven’t heard from you since.”

Mark shrugs his shoulders, “We couldn’t get through you for some reason.” The only reason why Yuta severed ties was only because he knew you were in someone else’s hands now, shifting his focus completely to whoever had a hold of you, despite attempts of making negotiations with Mark first during the initial encounter in Japan, a fact that Mark knew very well, getting a good grasp of who this Nakamoto Yuta really was.

Yuta breathes a laugh, “I’m a busy man. I must have missed you,” he tries to shrug off even though he knows Mark isn’t buying it. He shakes his head a raises both of his brows, “Well, what brings you here today?”

“I’m here to propose a deal,” Mark replies instantly, refusing to beat around the bush.

“A deal?”

Mark nods firmly. “Double of what Taeyong initially proposed you.”

Yuta arches a brow, the corner of his lips turning upwards. “That’s quite a deal Mark. Does Taeyong know about this?”

Mark ignores the question and keeps his eyes trained on Yuta. “Are you going to take it?”

Yuta lands his palms on either side of his hips and swipes his tongue across his lower lips. “In exchange of what?”

Mark looks at Yuta directly in the eye and without missing a beat, he replies,

“Y/n.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

All heads turn in an instant, Donghyuck’s mouth hanging open in the process. Mark tightens his grip around the duffle bag hanging in his hands as he lets go of the door he has just locked. Johnny and Jeno exchange weary looks towards one another while Renjun, Jaemin and Taeil blink at the uninvited guest.

“To get y/n.” Mark breaks the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

Taeyong smirks mockingly and kicks at the ground mindlessly, his gaze shifting to somewhere else in the distance before returning it to Mark. “With this amount of people? With what reinforcements exactly?”

Johnny raises a brow, “What are you doing here anyway?” His tone of voice rigid, his jaw taught, an unpleasant taste in his mouth at the sight of Taeyong.

Taeyong stuffs both of his balled fists in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs his shoulders, “Trying to stop you all from getting killed.”

Johnny laughs, but he isn’t amused. Renjun cowers at the sound that leaves Johnny’s lips, knowing that whatever was about to come out of it next won’t be anything good. “Brave of you to talk about preventing ourselves from getting killed when killing has been the only thing you’ve been doing all your life.” There’s a menacing glint in Johnny’s orbs as he speaks, his eyes directed straight at Taeyong, making sure every single word jabs at him directly.

Taeyong inhales a sharp breath as he shuts his eyes for a few seconds, already expecting this hostility from his once best friend. He tries to compose himself in the silence in dire attempts of looking for the right words to say to convince them of his genuine intentions to help.

Mark watches the scene unravel and when it appears that the current situation wasn’t going to improve anytime soon, especially not when Johnny and Taeyong are around one another, he takes it upon himself to get moving first, walking past Taeyong without saying a word as the younger ones follow behind him.

Jaemin and Donghyuck glance at Taeyong sadly just when they’re about to pass him and Taeyong catches it, nodding at them both reassuringly before they’re out of his sight, following Mark to his van. Taeyong also catches sight of Johnny’s glare when he’s the last to walk away from him, his anger clearly indicated in the way he purposely bumps his shoulder against his.

When Taeyong hears the doors of the van slide open behind him, he inhales another big breath, clenching his fists tighter than ever, still contemplating if the words he’s about to say are the right ones.

“I want to help.”

The six halt in their tracks again, Taeil’s leg hanging in the air just as he’s about to get into the van first. Mark sees Johnny frown from where he stands on the opposite side of the van, eyes hard trained on the roof of the van. Mark looks past Johnny and sees Taeyong still standing there, his back facing them.

Before Mark can even speak, Johnny beats him to it, “The last time you offered to help, you killed Ari.”

A loud sigh gets lost in the wind when Taeyong finally turns around at the same time Johnny does. Taeyong looks furious now as he storms towards Johnny, steps heavy and desperate.

“How many times do I have to keep telling you that wasn’t meant to happen,” Taeyong almost yells, his shoulders now heaving with anger. “How many times do I have to fucking apologise for that one fucking mistake!”

The raise in Taeyong’s voice only aggravate Johnny further and the rest of the boys are quick to divide themselves between Taeyong and Johnny in order to prevent an impending fist fight that’s waiting to happen.

“Why are you the one all worked up?!” Johnny practically yells even though Taeyong is a mere two meters away from him. “You’re not the one who lost her!”

“Because you’re being unreasonable!” Taeyong retaliates as Renjun and Donghyuck stand closely beside him, hands on either sides of his shoulders to stop him from trying to advance. “Because no matter how much I apologise to you, no matter how much I try to make up for it, you still act like I wanted it to happen!”

“Hell you have no idea how much—“

“Of course I have no idea!” Taeyong exclaims exasperatedly, throwing his hands in the air in utter frustration. “I’ve never been in your shoes before! I can only fucking imagine how much it must have hurt but shit, how many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry until you finally—“

“Until it no longer fucking hurts!”

Taeyong stares at Johnny, shoulders drooping low when he sees the hurt in his eyes that have now brimmed with tears. The boys switch gazes between the two helplessly, despair and disappointment running through their veins when they watch the two people, who were once the best of brothers, go at each other’s throat.

“Until... I forget it ever happened,” Johnny’s voice is cracking but he’s gritting his teeth in futile attempts not to crumble. “Until I get the image of Ari dying right before my own eyes, out of my head.. because, that’s all I see before I sleep, all I think about when I remember her..”

Taeyong drops his head low, the sight of a broken Johnny for the first time ever in all the years he’s known him, too much for him to see. He feels his heart breaking, knowing all too well the immense damage he’s caused because of that incident, yet not fully realising how much it has ruined his friend all these years. Johnny was a friend, he always has been, in fact, one of the closest Taeyong ever holds close, and man did it hurt to see strong friends like that crumble.

“I.. I really am so sorry, John,” Taeyong breathes, his eyes sad and hurt as he looks up again. “I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s eyes are blank as he gazes towards Taeyong,

“Me too.”

Mark has never seen Johnny this quiet before but he knows he’s following well even when it appears as if his eyes are blank and staring into nothing. Taeyong speaks fluidly, the steps in executing his proposed plans flowing out one after the other with so much ease, as if he’s already mulled the situation over a million times before, having even constructed alternative plans in the event that something does go wrong.

The younger ones keep silent, letting Taeyong do all the talking, only ever nodding when the elder clarifies if they’ve been keeping up with everything he had just said. Renjun and Jaemin are too stiff in Mark’s eyes, and he figures it’s gotten something to do with how Taeyong initially exploded when he found out about him saving and hiding you, too afraid and too cautious to say or do something that might upset the alpha who hasn’t stopped talking ever since he sat down on the couch, drawing everyone’s attnetion to various maps and blueprints of buildings with the help of resourceful Jeno.

“You know it would really help if I got some feedback from all of you,” Taeyong suddenly says, pausing midway his evacuation plan when he notices everyone avoiding his eyes.

Taeil purses his lips as he fiddles with the loose threads of his ripped jeans, Taeyong’s presence still sending chills down his spine, remembering he’s the one who was after his best friend’s life in the first place. He feels the hairs on his skin stand when Taeyong cranes his neck to look towards his direction and when he meets his eyes briefly, Taeil’s heart drops, the sensation alone making him turn his head somewhere else in less than a second. Taeyong’s eyes were too much, too intense, and too scary, no wonder everyone in the room fell silent when he spoke.

Mark, who’s standing by the edge of the table, overseeing every plan spread out on the coffee table, crosses his arms across his chest and raises a hand to grasp his chin as he envisions the plan coming to life. When he’s about to speak, Renjun beats him to it unconsciously, “The plans sound good. Better than the ones we’ve come up with honestly,” he glances towards Mark wearily who only nods at him encouragingly, silently agreeing with him. “But those plans involve a lot of manpower. We only have, like, what? Eight of us?”

“You’re not the only ones in this mafia, are you?” Taeyong asks lowly.

Donghyuck raises a brow inquisitively, “Wait, what? You mean-”

“I’ve already told everyone else. All transactions and activities are on hold right now to focus on this. We have way more manpower than we need.”

“Everyone?” Jaemin clarifies.

“Everyone.” Taeyong confirms.

Jaemin, Renjun and Donghyuck smirk amongst themselves, already feeling the success of their plans, knowing all too well how brilliant Taeyong’s people were when put altogether. Taeil nods silently, relief washing over him, the thought of you coming back to safety seeming more and more possible.

“So let me get this straight,” Johnny says abruptly, leaning over the table, too lost in his own thoughts all this while as the others conversed amongsth themselves. Taeyong directs his gaze at him, a hint of comfort bubbling inside of him after years of being invisible to Johnny’s eyes. Johnny meets Taeyong’s eyes when he looks up from the table and he sees Taeong with expectant eyes, his eyebrows arched upwards to urge him to talk. It feels foreign, Johnny thinks, to be speaking to someone he considered gone for years.

“You want to propose another deal to Yuta in exchange for y/n?”

Taeyong nods.

“And what makes you think he’d agree?”

Mark knows Johnny isn’t mocking Taeyong, though his tone of voice and the blank expression on his face could easily make anyone else think so.

Taeyong doesn’t sway though, deciding that he’d put up with anything Johnny decided to throw at him if it meant earning his forgiveness.

“Because it’s a deal he won’t be able to make with anyone else,” Taeyong answers confidently, straightening his back. “We’re the strongest mafia in Korea. That, combined with what I’m about to offer him is something only an idiot would decide to pass on.”

Johnny falls silent, the conviction in Taeyong’s eyes and words enough to tell him he means it.

“This deal...” Jeno starts carefully. “What kind of a deal is it?”

Taeyong pauses before answering, “Remember that time you went to Japan? Remember what we initially offered him?”

Renjun, Jaemin, Donghyuck nod as Mark raises a brow.

“Triple that price. More drugs. More arms. A formal alliance between us and them.”

Mark frowns while the three widen their eyes. Johnny looks up from the floor and up at Taeyong. He doesn’t know the actual price or the amount, but knowing Taeyong, anything that was double or triple anything was a lot.

“Taeyong, that’s a lot you’re putting on the line,” Mark points out. Even though he wanted to so badly save you, he was unsure Taeyong risking his livelihood for someone he barely even knew, would be something that would benefit not just him, but the entirety of his mafia in the longrun. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Taeyong nods firmly with no hesitation whatsoever.

“We can always think of other plans, we can come up with other deals,” Mark reasons, knowing hell would literally come upon them if they made permanent alliances with someone as manipulative as Yuta.

Taeyong breaks into a small smile, appreciating what Mark was doing. “He's rejected your proposal already, Mark. There’s nothing else as good as this one that Yuta would even consider thinking about. It’s the best we can offer.”

“But-”

“Mark, I’ve made up my mind. There’s no changing it.”

Mark’s shoulders droop in defeat, knowing that it was completely useless arguing with Taeyong once he made up his mind.

“Are you sure?”

Taeyong glances at Johnny for a second. And then he looks back at Mark.

“Very.”

The sun is up high in the sky when Taeyong’s troop arrives at the agreed meeting place; a deserted factory by the docks at the edge of the town neighbouring theirs. As planned, Taeyong, Donghyuck and Jaemin are the only ones who appear in the open while the rest set up camp in isolation on either sides of the factory, in order to position themselves in their designated locations. Taeyong rolls down the window of the van a soon as he hits the brakes when he’s stopped by Yuta’s men just outside the gates of the meeting place. Taeyong doesn’t speak, even when two big men scrutinise his face for a good two minutes and even when one of them stick their head in through the window. Donghyuck fakes a salute with a smirk on the passenger seat while Jaemin raises a brow to feign confidence.

The stranger nods at the other men impeding the entrance and they eventually part from each other, the gate sliding open, the bars separating from each other from the middle. Taeyong rolls the window back up and drives straight through.

“We’re in,” Donghyuck speaks into his mic that’s concealed very well, no one would suspect it ever existed, just like the others’. “Taeil, status?”

“We’re in position,” Taeil’s voice rings in their earpieces. “Not sure about the other side though, we can’t see them from where we are yet.”

“Renjun?” Donghyuck calls out just as Taeyong comes to a halt when he finishes parking. “You guys good on the other side?”

“Yup,” Renjun replies. “We see them now.”

Taeyong unbuckles his seatbelt but doesn’t exit the van. He ducks his head between the gap of the steering wheel and the windshield to inspect the location, a tall, rundown building with cracked windows greeting him. It’s exactly like Jeno’s blueprint, he thinks.

“Mark, I need a visual,” Taeyong inquires.

Mark, who has the highest point of visual due to the mere fact he’s situated on the rooftop on the building next to the factory, aligns the viewer of his sniper left and right. “They’re preparing to leave. They’re packing up as we speak.”

“Right,” Taeyong answers. “Alright everyone, the goal is to prevent them from leaving. I need all potential exit points secure and as soon as anyone gets a visual on y/n, report immediately. Do not shoot unless extremely needed.”

Taeyong, Jaemin and Donghyuck begin to set out from the van and into the building after having their identity confirmed by the men manning the main entrance into the factory. Once in, they’re escorted by another five, who surround them as they lead through the corridors and walls of the place. Donghyuck and Jaemin play dumb even when they know this place like the back of their hand, having made many transactions here in the past with Taeyong. Taeyong does the same, mindlessly following the man in front of him until they come to a complete stop in what he remembers to be what used to be the main packaging area of the old factory.

Taeyong sees Yuta in the middle of the room, examining the last remaining boxes that are being packed by his men, of contents he presumes to be from Kun. Yuta turns around when he feels company enter the room and he greets Taeyong with a smile for show.

“Taeyong,” Yuta’s voice echoes as he walks up to them to meet them halfway. “Your guys sure are persistent.”

Taeyong lets out a breathy laugh and tips his head forward slightly. “We don’t stop unless we get what we want.”

Yuta smirks, “And that’s a vital quality in our world, isn’t it? Persistence.”

Taeyong shrugs, “Depends if it gets you what you want in the end.”

Yuta laughs and it booms through the empty room. Once he’s gotten a hold of himself he holds his palms out and gestures over to the three. “So what can I do for you today?”

“A deal.”

Yuta arches a brow. “Another one? Mark proposed one to me yesterday as you may know.”

Taeyong nods, unfazed. “A better one.”

Yuta holds a hand up to stop Taeyong from going further. “So let me get things straight. Mark wasn’t able to settle a deal with me yesterday, so now Lee Taeyong, the alpha of the group is stepping up to try and seal another one?” Yuta grins and rubs the palms of his hands together, a dark glint coating his orbs. “Well this should be one heck of a deal then.”

From the corner of Jaemin’s eye, he sees Taeyong clench his fists and he knows Taeyong is about to submit himself into something that’s potentially going to be the cause of their downfall as a mafia.

“Triple the price of what we initially offered. Triple the amount of arms. Triple the amount of drugs. And a formal alliance between you and me.”

Taeyong doesn't skip a beat nor does he breathe as he speaks his words and everyone else listening on the line are holding their breaths, already preparing themselves for what’s to come in the near future once the deal does go ahead.

Donghyuck shifts uncomfortably in his spot when silence follows. Yuta’s expression doesn’t change as he continues to eye Taeyong who doesn’t cower away either. Yuta presses his lips into a thin line and exhales a breath before asking the next question.

“And in exchange for what?”

And Taeyong doesn’t hesitate.

“Y/n.”

Yuta breaks out into a smile immediately, his teeth coming to full view. He shuffles in his spot until he’s comfortable and rests both of his hands on either sides of his hips. “Wow,” he exclaims sarcastically. “What the fuck does y/n have for her to be in such high demand?”

Taeyong remains stoic and Jaemin and Donghyuck behind him remain quiet.

“First, it was Kun, yesterday, Mark and now you? Lee Taeyong? Lee Taeyong, also known as the strongest and most powerful mafia leader in the country, willing to basically give his life away for some damsel in distress?” Yuta taunts with so much hostility dripping from his words. He steps forward and keeps going until he’s a mere inches apart from Taeyong’s face. “Tell me, what does this girl have for you to go this far? Surely, it’s more than just money, more than what her net worth is.”

Taeyong can feel Yuta’s breath against his skin and if it were another day, he would’ve already punched him once or twice for invading his personal space. But today was different because your life was on the line and he had to do everything in his power to behave, even if it meant letting go of something as small as this.

“Like you said, she's worth millions,” Taeyong calmly replies, meeting Yuta’s eyes. “A person worth that much doesn’t appear very often.”

“But you tried to kill her,” Yuta questions.

“Her parents owed me money. They died before I could kill them so I opted for her instead.”

“And what made you change your mind?”

“For the same reasons you want her. Money.”

If there was one thing Taeyong took pride in, it would be his lying skills, something he's mastered overtime for having been involved in businesses like this for years. It’s a skill no one questions and one that his peers usually are confident in, but knowing how notorious Yuta was, and how his skills may just be on par with Taeyong’s, he’s suddenly questioning whether Yuta can see through his lies no matter how hard he’s tried to conceal the truth.

Yuta shrugs and steps away for what feels like decades. “I have to thank you then, for not killing her completely in the first place. Otherwise, you would’ve left me with no choice but to come for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Yuta laughs again and shakes his head, his hair swaying along with the motions of his head. “No, I’m not,” he smiles. “But it is my way of politely saying no to your deal.”

Taeyong frowns.

“The deal is off Taeyong.”

Taeyong is about to retaliate when a gunshot is heard in the distance, making everyone in the room jolt in their spots. Two of the men behind Jaemin and Donghyuck leave the room immediately while the remaining three are quick to grab a hold of them each.

“Fucking hell, some bastard just tried to shoot me,” Johnny speaks into the earpieces.

Yuta curses under his breath and signals for his men to drag Taeyong, Jaemin and Donghyuck away and before they know it, they’re already being pulled from the room. Taeyong grits his teeth together, his jaw becoming taught.

“Johnny, people are coming over to where you are now,” Mark points out. “Ready yourselves, and we’ll send backup. Renjun?”

“We’re on it,” Renjun answers and orders half of his guys with him to head onto Johnny’s location.

“Taeyong? Status?” Mark calls out.

When Taeyong, Jaemin and Donghyuck are some place quieter, along a corridor that appears to be deserted, Taeyong is the first to fight by pulling himself away from the man who had been holding him, elbowing him squarely on the face, catching him off guard and leaving him no time to recover as he stumbles backwards with a groan. Once the other two men let go of Jaemin and Donghyuck to assist their comrade, Taeyong has already pulled the man’s gun from his stow, shooting him in no less than a second, followed by the other two, knocking the three down in a glimpse.

“We’re good, but that won’t be the case for long,” Taeyong answers. “Alright, Jaemin and Donghyuck I need you both to search the entire area and find where they’re keeping y/n,” he instructs just as the two finish taking the abandoned guns from the two unconscious men. The two nod before they’re out of Taeyong’s sight in search for you.

It’s not long before a series of gunshots resonate in the distance and Taeyong runs in the opposite direction in hopes of finding you. Mark from where he’s located on the rooftop, try to block incoming enemies heading towards Johnny’s direction by shooting at them one by one, not missing a single target. Johnny and his troop do a good job of securing their hideout by defending and while all the attention is drawn on to them, the rest of Renjun’s troops that were previously left behind to man their area, move in slowly to infiltrate and secure the inside of the factory while it remains unguarded.

“Movement by the South,” Jeno speaks. “They’re heading for the factory.”

“We’re moving in,” Johnny declares when he takes the last man down. “Any signs of y/n yet?”

“None yet,” Donghyuck breathes into his earpiece. “We have two more locations to check, she should be in one of those, but I think we’re going to need backup, that place is probably guarded too.”

“Coming Hyuck, I need a location,” Johnny says.

“Basement. There’s a room by the clearing after the second corridor, we’re keeping watch here. A lot of them are evacuating to see what the commotion is outside. Be careful on your way in.”

“Copy.”

“Mark and Jeno, stop anyone from coming in the factory, I need Renjun’s troops to come in easily,” Taeyong commands as he shoots a stranger in his path.

Mark and Jeno do as they’re told and switch their target to those incoming the factory. Mark shoots the first of the lot coming in from the gates and when the rest of them try to figure out where the bullet is coming from, Jeno takes advantage of that time to begin his shooting spree with an eighty percent success rate.

“Jeno, we’ve checked everywhere in the basement, she’s not here,” Jaemin admits when two minutes pass. “Is there anywhere else we could have missed?”

“There’s nothing on the first floor,” Taeyong adds.

There’s silence on the line as Jeno racks his brain and tries to recall even the most minute detail of the blueprint he’s studied for four hours straight. “Unless they’ve taken her out of there already.”

“Shit,” Taeyong hisses.

“Secure all exit points guys, we cannot, and I repeat, we cannot let them leave,” Mark announces loudly and firmly so make sure everyone hears.

Taeyong ducks down immediately when he hears a gunshot in his vicinity and judging by the way the bullet penetrates the wall beside him, that it was intended for him. Taeyong shuffles behind the said wall as he huffs, “Renjun and Johnny, I need backup on the first floor.”

“Got it.”

“I have a visual on Yuta coming out of the factory from the back,” Jeno confirms.

Mark squints his eyes and attempts to get a visual through his viewer towards the back, “I see y/n with him.”

One of the other groups within the area are quick to act on their feet and begin shooting once localising Yuta’s whereabouts, taking down the men guarding him in one blink. This prompts Yuta to head back into the shelter of the factory, aggressively dragging you with him.

“They’re headed back inside,” Mark warns. “Johnny and Renjun, keep a lookout. Jaemin and Donghyuck I need you both to come back up the first floor and help Taeyong and the rest. The rest of you all, stay on guard outside and intervene as appropriate.”

Once Mark and Jeno secure the outside and see no unusual movements, they both pack up to leave the rooftop and set down to infiltrate the factory themselves. Meanwhile Taeyong keeps hiding behind the wall, knowing all too well he’s outnumbered by the enemies who are gradually coming closer to him. He scans his surroundings and in all directions, is a dead end, leaving him no option but to stay put for the meantime.

Johnny and Renjun are just in time when they come across the crowd trying to target Taeyong, shooting at them relentlessly and succeeding with major ease as their troop falls behind them in assistance. Taeyong emerges from behind the wall when the gunshots cease in less than twenty seconds. He nods at Johnny as a token of gratitude but falls to the ground straight after when a bullet penetrates his body. Taeyong’s world spins in the process, meeting the ground so harshly in a blur.

Renjun and Johnny immediately shift their focus to the right and there stands Yuta with you held as hostage, his gun now pointing dangerously close to your temple. Taeil, who had been hiding behind another wall, as per Johnny’s instructions, see everything happen and retreat behind his shelter to report. “Taeyong is down, I repeat Taeyong is down. Yuta is here and y/n is with him. First floor, main hall.”

Taeyong at this point is struggling to breathe, the bullet in his neck making blood gush out faster than anything else. He finds the strength to lift his hand in attempts of stopping the gush, using a piece of clothing he’s teared off from his shirt as a makeshift gauze.

“Put your guns down or she dies,” Yuta taunts, eyes glowering, an arm wrapped tightly across your neck. “Down!” He growls when no one does as they’re told.

Renjun and Johnny are the first follow his commands, slowly lowering to the ground and putting their weapons on the ground and raising their arms in the air shortly after as the others behind them follow suit. Johnny keeps a close eye on Taeyong on the ground and sees that Taeyong is by now, barely moving, the colour of his skin becoming drained of colour at an alarming rate.

Your hands are clasped on Yuta’s arm, tears brimming down your face at the sight of Taeyong struggling to keep his eyes open. There’s a piece of cloth covering your mouth and any noise you make comes out in inaudible muffles. You try to break free from Yuta’s grip, tugging down at his arm every now and again but his strength only seems to grow with each passing minute. Johnny is the only familiar face in the crowd but even seeing him, doesn’t give you much comfort.

When Mark and Jeno enter the scene from different ends of the room, they immediately position themselves in a secluded corner to prepare for what’s to come. Mark sets up his sniper on the ground, his eyes locked on you the moment he catches sight of you. His heart breaks when he studies you, even as he crouches down to align his sight to his viewer. You looked exhausted, your hair disheveled and sticking up in various places, your body looking as weak as ever as you desperately try to cling onto Yuta just to hold yourself up, your sunken features evident as ever behind your tears. Your clothes are dirty and splattered with dirt and when Mark takes a closer look, he can see blood stains on your shirt.

Jaemin and Donghyuck arrive at the scene and just when Donghyuck is about to run over to Taeyong to help him, Jaemin stops him by holding him back when he sees Yuta in the middle of the room.

“Yuta we don’t have to do this,” Johnny warns lowly, inching a little closer to Yuta in the most subtle way possible.

“You all started this,” Yuta spits and tightens his grip around you even more, making you tilt your head further up just as to not restrict your airway. “If you had taken my no for an answer, we wouldn't have gotten to this.” He gestures at Taeyong with a nod of his head.

Mark aligns his viewer to Yuta, who now has his back facing him, still oblivious to his presence.

“Yuta-”

A gunshot is fired and it’s followed by a scream.

You let out a muffled scream when you see the person beside Johnny crouch down in pain when Yuta’s bullet penetrates his leg. “Renjun!” Jaemin exclaims and flies out of his spot to help the his friend. 

Yuta fires his gun up in the air once again and it startles you so much the shaking of your limbs don't stop. “I said no one fucking move!” 

Renjun groans in pain as Jaemin presses his palm to his wound to stop the bleeding. “Somebody help Taeyong!” Donghyuck screams when he looks to see Taeyong suffering by himself, a pool of blood beside him becoming bigger with each second that passes.

“One more person move and I'm killing y/n!” Yuta screams, his gun now pointing back at you. “I mean it! I’m serious! No one fucking move!”

“Taeyong needs help now,” Donghyuck snarls under his breath loud enough for Johnny to hear. Mark hears this over the line and aims for the back of Yuta’s head stealthily.

“Johnny, help Taeyong,” Mark speaks in his mic quietly while Johnny listens without moving an inch. “If Yuta shoots, Jeno and I have visuals. We’re right here with you. Everybody else, be on guard your surroundings, there may be some of Yuta’s men left.”

Not withstanding the sight of two injured people right before your eyes any longer, you gather the last remaining bit of your strength your body can muster and lift up your leg only for you to stomp in on top of Yuta’s foot forcefully. Yuta groans in pain and that’s when you take your chance to elbow him in the gut, making him let go of you momentarily as Johnny uses this opportunity to dart to Taeyong who’s just on the verge of passing out.

Donghyuck holds his breath when Yuta grabs a hold of you again and that’s when you come into full view in Mark’s direction, your whole face appearing in his viewer, his target now becoming you as Yuta keeps a hold of you again across the neck, ready to pull the trigger. You yelp loudly, the cloth falling off your mouth after having the chance of tearing it apart from your mouth in the short seconds that passed. Mark’s skin grows cold as he shuffles to slightly shift his sniper to Yuta who’s face is dangerously close to yours, making it almost impossible to penetrate through him without harming you.

“Shit,” Mark curses under his breath.

You continue to struggle under Yuta’s hold and you’re sure he’s going to shoot you when you hear the faint sound of the trigger clicking. Jaemin’s attention shifts to the group when the remainder of Yuta’s men flood in, everyone suddenly shooting in different directions to get rid of them.

And it all happens in no less than a second.

Half a second is all it takes for Mark to make his shot, heart racing and sweat running profusely down the side of his face, the feeling of nerves flooding in like waves just like that time he had tried to shoot you for the first time as he lets go of the trigger he’s been trying to hard save for the right moment. Half a second is all it takes to make get his target. All the successful critical shots he’s fired before didn’t matter to him anymore because all that mattered now was if this one saved your life. 

Either he succeeds by taking down Yuta or blames himself for the rest of his life for killing you instead. 

You drop to the floor, your knees landing first, your ears ringing, your head pounding against your skull. You’re sure you saw the bullet whizz past you and you’re not quite sure if you’re the one hit. But Yuta falls right next to you, his whole body collapsing to the ground, face first, blood streaming out of his head like a waterfall. 

Mark just killed the person responsible for your parents’ death. 

Your shaking hands are trying to block out all the gunshots that don’t stop even when Yuta falls, every single one causing you to jolt. And when you realise what had just happened, you croak out a weak sob, the utter fear and exhaustion getting the best of you.

Someone’s yelling in the distance, but you can't make out what they’re saying when the ringing in your ears don’t stop. And through the blur of your tears, someone’s running over to you, the sun that’s shining in your eyes making it impossible for you to decipher who it is when the person’s silhouette is the only thing you see.

But then he holds you. And that’s when you know who it is.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Mark’s exclaims, his hands grabbing a hold of either of your shoulders, lightly shaking you to bring you back to life. Your eyes finally refocus and that’s when you see him, Mark Lee is there, eyes so worried and features still as perfect as you remember them to be. “Y/n! Are you okay?”

You don’t say anything, too overwhelmed from having missed him so much, from having wondered days on end if you’d ever get to see him, from having been so incredibly scared for you life. So when your words betray you, your waterworks take over. You lower your head down, too ashamed and embarrassed for Mark to see you in this state. But when the gunshots die down until they completely halt, Mark moves closer to you and uses his index finger to gently lift your chin upwards. “Hey look at me,” he says quietly, his features softening. And you do, you look at him even when your tears are making it difficult to do so. “You’re okay now. You’re safe,” he comforts you, pulling you into his embrace. 

“I am so sorry for being so late.”

And you break down in his arms, for so many reasons.

But the biggest one being that,

It was all finally over.

[kryptsune]

Till Death Do You Part {Part 3} (UF Frans)

Part 1  Part 2 

She couldn't see his face as he turned on his second eldest brother. Her ears could only hear what he was saying not truly Red’s own disdain for speaking them aloud, "That's so dull brother, but perhaps you should meet her. Her blood is sweeter than any honey." 

Frisk knew nothing of his brothers but she did hear two separate voices within the room. This one sounded a touch older than the rest though it was difficult to tell, "Practically glowing little brother are you sure you don't feel something for this frail human? You know how father sees them. Could it be that the wolf has fallen for the little rabbit?" It was Gered who was currently teasing him as their family tended to do. 

Red had retained remnants of his humanity over his course of eternal life but the other two had this stigma about humans and how superior vampires were above all else. They had power, looks, wealth, and knowledge. None could rival their prowess. 

All of course vampiric propaganda instilled through all three of them by their tyrant of a “father”. Not biological of course but their fealty to him was absolute. A sire. Even if he wanted to disobey him the hierarchy of their affliction it was a near possibility as a vampire of his standing. While his two other brothers were master vampires, he was not. He would have to break that hold and that was no easy task. 

Frisk felt herself slowly slipping down the wall unable to gain the will to get to her feet. Her heart had been torn asunder and hearing that sweet voice that she so loved talking about her like she was some sort of pet, shattered it even further. In her heart, she wished that he had been open with her, honest. Just as she had been with him.   

Carthus rolled his eyes at the comment, "It's hardly dull and perhaps maybe I will. I cannot promise my restraint of course. I am sure the little thing was terrified of you were they not? They always are~" He had taken to sitting upright in his chair once more eager to see this new catch. 

Red slipped one of his hands into the pocket of his tailored black slacks so that he could hide with how much force he was balling his hand into a fist. Did he want to punch Carthus straight in the mouth, no, but if he pushed this any further he just might take a swing. No one would suspect his rage however as he used his opposite hand to gesture nonchalantly, "Of course but she is quite a sweetheart." He did not hide the glare that he shot the two as he replied. 

Gered on the other hand had been quiet for a time only to set his glass down on the side table. It was currently empty, "Well let's meet your blushing little witch bride, shall we?" He would push a meeting like that. 

Frisk didn't know if she could muster the energy to remove herself from where she had fallen. She felt defeated and yet there was a spark in her that gave her enough will to force herself to stand and head back up the stairs. Even if the pain persisted she managed to make it to her room, wiping the tears from her eyes. She wanted to hear his duplicity from his own lips. It may kill her in the process but she was far more headstrong than even she realized.

There was no telling what would become of her if they caught her snooping on their private conversation. The magic inside of her would not be able to best three vampiric brothers with an unknown number of lifetimes over her own. 

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

Carthus chuckled, "Of course I have a distinct interest as well. The more you talk about her the more I am inclined to feel curious. Are you keeping her from us brother?"

Red just shook his head, "Of course not." Carthus and Gered were his older brothers and therefore had the say. He stood up and led them towards his room where his beloved rested. That pain that he felt before still struck his chest, "Come right this way." She would be surprised by the soft knock that he made against the wooden door. He wanted her to know to be prepared. Unfortunately, she was already far too aware of her visitors, "Frisk, Dear... are you well enough to receive company?"

The words that were running through her mind were 'keep up the act' as she curled under the covers. She wanted to try and run far, far away but it wouldn't do much good. Every part of her felt like it was going to fall apart. It was a marvel she was keeping the emotional pain in as well as she was, "I am. Please come in."

Red opened the door, stepping aside to let Carthus and Gered entrance into the room, "My Dear, these are my older brothers, Carthus and Gered Fontaine," he explained in introduction as he came to sit by her. 

Gered’s bold nature had him coming to take her hand, kissing the back of it as he formally introduced himself, "Charmed of course Madam. My such a beautiful young lady that is wed to our little brother." There was no hint of jest or mockery in his tone, only polite respect. 

She put on her best smile as she rose from her reclining position against a mountain of goose down pillows, "It is a pleasure to meet you both. I did not know Red had siblings until a few weeks ago." Well, you could give her this, she was a good actress.

Gered nodded in return twisting to eye his brother with a hint of a grin forming on his lips, "Ahh Red, one would think you were embarrassed by us~" He teased, chuckling softly. She hated that he had just as much charm as her husband. Not to mention the same blonde hair, pale complexion, and these stunning golden eyes. 

Red made his way to her. His brothers she could handle but she could not meet his eyes, "Never brother.. I just wanted to enjoy being married to the most wonderful woman I have ever laid eyes on."

No. She could barely hold it together as it stood but now he was giving her compliments. Her heart ached within her chest and so too did his own. 

Carthus did a little bow, "Our brother even kept you from us. Perhaps because he's afraid we would try to sweep his beautiful bride away~" He just smirked, wine glass still in hand.

Frisk shut her eyes, "You flatter me, my Lord, but I'm afraid my heart belongs to only one." Even saying it caused that pain to increase. She just noticed off to the side that Red’s fingers were digging into his chest. Ih had her wondering if he could feel the pain festering inside of her. How heartbroken she was to learn his love was all a lie.

It made his heart flutter to hear such a confession from her, "Ahh... you flatter me, my Love." He moved to brush her hair from her face. His eyes resting on only her, swirling with admiration and concern. He hated these interactions. It made him feel like they were subtly dehumanizing her more. 

Gered had pulled away from the two keeping a close eye on his younger siblings tells. There was something off just by the way he looked at his mortal girl, "Indeed. Such a loyal one you have here little brother. A rarity in this day and age. I am quite impressed." It was the truth. His brother had found a rare one.

Carthus raised his glass in a toast, "I agree dear brother. I can see why you love her so much. A toast to your long and happy marriage." Those that kept their glasses clinked them together in celebration. One, of course, she was not participating in. Gered even offered the bedridden lady a sip from his glass to which her dutiful husband respectfully declined for her. He knew what was mixed within.

"Here here~," Gered said softly, clinking his glass taking his place beside Carthus. Red made sure to give his thanks in the wake of his brother’s praises, "You both are too kind of course."

She opened her eyes only to feel Red’s fingers near her face. It took everything in her not to pull away. Her soul just crumbled under the emotional weight, "It's something I don't feel I do enough. You take care of me and love me so. I could never ask for anything more." 

He glanced at Frisk curiously a moment before he sat back. She was acting strange, "Oh my Dear enough of that. I told you I would care for you for as long as we both lived." 

Her smile faltered for a moment, "Of course. I am sorry. I only meant that it is rare that a husband would care so much for his ill wife without asking anything in return." What was she supposed to say?

Red kissed her forehead gingerly trying to inject some levity into this backward situation, "I am unlike any other of course~” Her hand slipped into his gently, "Please forgive me." That stunning smile seemed off and filled with a deep sadness. He liked to believe that he knew her better than anyone. She was in a great deal of pain. 

There was not a thing in his mind that would overshadow his concern. "Ahh, you must be tired still my Dear, do rest. I shall see my brothers out and perhaps they could visit again when you are well. You can grace us with your bright beautiful smile."

All she could manage to do was nod, slipping her hand away from him, "Yes, thank you my Love." Her eyes never met his. Not once.

Red stood and ushered the older two out, closing the door. He was happy that the tribulation had passed. It would be some time before they reappeared enjoying their endless game together. One that he no longer was going to participate in. His eyes fell to his chest. 

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

Frisk placed her hands on her face, shaking before sinking down into the covers. How long could she look at him and not see his betrayal? That once sweet smile hurt her soul so much, something that as she lay there, he would feel a stabbing sensation.

No longer could she keep that pain from spilling over as tears slipped through her fingers. She felt hopeless and beyond repair. Why would she ever think that someone could love her, truly? Now that she knew what was wrong she used her magic to ease her pain. Even now that she felt physically better it didn't change anything else.

As he made his way back to their shared room he caught that faint smell of salt in the air, tears, "Frisk dear?” First, it was the pain in his chest but now he could hear those faint sobs.

She ripped her hands away from her face and quickly pulled the covers over herself so that she could try and hide those tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, "Y...yes?"

The scent increased as he neared the door, opening it to see her cowering under her bedspread, "I came to check on you, my Love." He stepped inside coming to reside by her side and sit on the bed, "I do hope my brothers weren’t a bother.”

Why was he even trying? It was all just an act after all, "No, of course not. It is nice to meet your family." Not only was she lying but she also was still trying to hide her face. Something that was suspicious on its own.

He hummed softly and pulled the sheet from her shaking hands, "My Love...” Her eyes were red and puffy, lips trembling as her eyes finally met his. It broke his heart. One that he thought would never return, “Why are you hiding away and crying?" 

He was far too strong for her to resist as she turned her head slowly to look at him. She looked like her entire world had fallen apart, "Did anything you ever say to me... Was it true... Or just more of your games?"

Every muscle in his body tensed at once. That was why he felt that pain burning a hole in his chest. She had overheard the conversation he had with his brothers. It was time to tell her the truth, "Yes, perhaps but not at first. I knew the moment of our wedding night. You have grown on me. It’s why I have kept you alive, rather than kill you as I...” He paused letting a sigh escape from him, “have so many others before you.”

She just looked off to the side, "Why... Why would you pretend like you cared? Do you even know the extent of physical pain I've been in these last few months? To find out it's because..." The words stuck in her throat she couldn't speak as her eyes started to water once more.

She was right and yet he still tried to justify his behavior, "My Dear. I am over 400 years old, I can act well, but caring even for my brothers is very difficult to do. So while yes, I am aware you are in pain, it is not my intention in the first place. Our... games do not usually keep a human alive so long." It was the truth but she had to know what he now felt. How different it had become. 

Those words did not form according to plan, "I do care, hence why I haven't torn your throat from you, it is also why I did not tell you what I was, to begin with." He slid his hand through her hair feeling her apprehension. It was alright he understood why. How could he blame her for it?

Tears continued to slip down her cheeks as she tried to listen to him. He sounded so cold and methodical. She had given him her trust, her love, and her life, "Then you are 400 years an idiot. I so desperately desired that you put your trust in me as I had in you but instead you erase yourself from my memory. A vampire… such a thing is but gothic fiction and yet you are before me.”

His head tilted to the side as his thumb brushed away those still falling tears. Do not cry any longer. Please, "Oh, my Dear, I have been twice burned in that regard. Two women in the past that I believed I had fallen for, told others what I was. I confided in them only to end up nearly staked and burned. I pray you forgive me if I am not keen to visit such a circumstance again. So you have discovered what my true affliction is. I knew so bright a mind would make the correct conclusion.”  

Her eyes screwed shut unable to look him in the eyes, "I would never do something like that even knowing the truth. I can not deny that it frightens me but... I would do anything for you." She raised her face before inky lashes parted to reveal deep sapphire eyes. Finally, she had the courage to look at him directly, "I love you... So much it hurts. Even after your deceptions."

She still loved him and wanted to be with him? After everything? Now she was the wiser. The memories he had taken from her did not alter that deep and genuine feeling that resided in her heart. How could someone cursed like him love and find it with someone so beautiful, inside and out, "We will see then my Dear. I shan't wipe your memory further, but I require your blood tonight. Prove your words to me, and we may continue our... arrangement. It would be quite a shame to lose you.” Why did his words always come out so cold? That was honestly the best she was going to get in terms of a love confession from a 400-year-old vampire. For now.

Her hand rubbed at her arm gently, looking away. She didn't know if she could live like this. It was practically a lie, "Now that I know why my health was deteriorating I have been able to heal myself. It will no longer be an issue. I... I have no choice. As heartbroken as I am...my desire to prove myself to you far outweighs my fears"

Ruby eyes fell on her as she spoke. The truth was that he could just wipe her memory of actually having learned all this, continue like always. It made something deeper within his chest ache to see her so... heartbroken. This was his fault. Everything was far easier without a conscience.

He looked at her, sure, but that didn't change how she felt. She wanted to beg and plead, "I don't know what I am going to do..." All she wanted to hear was that someone, anyone, loved her. That she wasn't just some kind of disposable human being. A toy. Her heart ached more than she could even explain.

Perhaps she would soon think of it from his perspective. He was detached from human emotions, a defense mechanism. So perhaps... she could get through to him. The way he looked at her didn't change at all of course. Could she hold her own against her to his brothers?

She could tell he was detached as she struggled with her own mind. Her hand rose to gently caress his cheek if he would let her, "I would never do anything to hurt you. Please believe me."

He touched her hand to his cheek gently doing his best to reassure her that his intentions for her were only from the heart, though his speech may have given her the impression otherwise, "I want to believe you, my dear. I truly do but I must protect myself. I am sure you understand. I kept you alive when my brothers expected me to kill you after our first night."

Her voice was strained but she did the best she could, "I understand." She watched as his face twist in pain. That was the first time she had ever seen that expression from him. Was she getting through somehow?

He pet her head gently. "That alone should tell you much, my dearest Frisk. I have not dealt with human emotion for nearly 3 lifetimes.” 

A little shimmer of hope began to grow, “Then... it’s not that you do not care? You have forgotten how to do so?” He would be able to hear her heart skip a small beat at this new information, “I know it is selfish but... I want your love... so badly even after everything. I can not deny my heart.”

Her voice was soft and quiet as she pulled him closer into a kiss. She poured all her emotions in that single act before resting her head back on the pillow, “What do you want me to do, Red?”

She noticed how vibrant his eyes were, far more stunning than the brown ones she had grown accustomed to. His voice was at a low whisper, "Rest for now. You may ask me questions, but for now, you will rest, and heal."

Frisk grasped for his sleeve gently, “Will you stay with me while I do?”

He settled into bed with her, "Of course." His worry of her keeping her distance after learning the truth was once again unfounded. She curled up close to him even if he could hear that faint pitter-patter of a heartbeat, “You need not be afraid of me. I promise. I will never do anything to hurt you any longer.”

Why did she want him to love her so desperately? He was everything she had ever wanted, dreamed of. The truth didn’t deter her, “What... would I have to do... for you to love me?” Her voice wavered as she spoke for it was the only thing her heart truly wanted.

How was he supposed to answer that question? He already knew deep down that no one could ever replace the hole in his heart if he lost her, "That is a  loaded question my Dear” he replied with hesitation as he stroked her hair. His lips ran over her jaw gingerly, "It is not a matter of what you can do, but rather what I am able to project. In my mind, that fact that you remain so close to my side proves how...important... you are to me."

She sighed painfully and curled up again. It was a lost cause. Of course, it burdened her heart like a lead weight but there was nothing she could do. No longer did she want to cry in front of him. He just didn’t understand.

He kissed her forehead letting her drift into a peaceful sleep. The poor thing had been so tired. His brothers had come to call and had ruined their loving relationship. Was that truly what it was? Or was it more like a facade of one? He had told her he required her blood that evening but he could not bring himself to do it. She had been through Hell and back being toyed with emotionally. He loved her that much he was certain but if he projected weakness then she may be in danger. 

Little by little he would show the full extent of his feelings but for now even he felt weary. The dawn would bring many questions he already knew. What she did not understand is that he had done these things for her. He wanted her happiness as he stared at her peaceful sleeping face, falling to sleep beside her. 

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Seven

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

The Interview

THURSDAY

Your alarm going off for the third time is like Hell’s bells itself.

Groaning like you’ve just risen from the dead, you fling your arm out, trying to find your phone amongst the covers. Did you go to sleep holding it? Did you drop it somewhere? Did you put it on the beside tabl─ No, there it is.

Scooping it up, your thumb taps across it, trying to find the section on the screen that will get it to stop, eventually finding it.

Releasing a long, slightly steadying breath, your eyes remain closed as you take stock.

There’s a dull ache in your head, uncomfortable and constant, the champagne and cocktails betraying you. Your skin still feels strange from where you scrubbed it. And...

Today’s the fucking day.

You’ve been dreading it all week. Shoving it to the back of your mind, despite the seemingly constant reminders from everyone around you.

And you know you’re already irritable, a concoction of hungover irritable, barely any sleep irritable and just fucking plain I hate this shit irritable. You’d tossed and turned all night, going over and over and over in your mind what they could ask. You’d thought about Marise, too, about the car attack, about Steve.

Opening your eyes, you roll onto your back and look up at the ceiling.

Marise.

The paint.

The car attack.

Steve has stalkers.

Someone had tried to break in.

That’s a lot for one gal to take in.

Humour is a good coping mechanism... for now.

I wonder if SHIELD will cover my therapy fees.

You want to laugh, but you no longer find any of this ridiculous or dumb.

And today’s the fucking day.

If you don’t get up, Nat will probably just burst in and get you up.

I wonder how she’s doing with all of this.

You make a mental note to actually ask her, and shove the covers off, slowly pushing yourself up in case your head or stomach protests. Thankfully, neither do, but the ache lingers in your mind.

Padding into the bathroom, you turn the light on and inspect the remnants of the night before.

Your outfit, blue and piled on the floor, the blue-tinged cream towels in the sink, and the smell of the paint that lingers in the air. You kick the outfit aside, not wanting to deal with it right now, and take the towels out of the sink, dropping them down onto the floor, too.

That’s this evening’s problem.

You picture yourself getting in later, the interview over, the day done, and you hold onto it, hold onto that, after today, there’s just two days left. Two days and then it’s all over.

— 

After showering, and trying to get the last, lingering stains of blue off, you dress and step out of your room. You expect there to be a horde of agents again or a PR team or a stylist or someone like that but... it’s quiet.

All you can hear is the gentle sound of a spoon stirring in a mug.

Moving down the stairs, you glance into the kitchen and there’s Steve, dressed in black jeans, a light blue button up tucked into them, his hair perfect.

It’s always fucking perfect.

He meets your gaze as you reach the bottom step and smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” you answer, a lot less brightly, and slide into one of the stools at the island, resting your chin in your hands.

  A corner of his mouth lifts a little higher as he folds his arms, leaning back against the counter. “How’re you feeling?”

You look up and meet his gaze.

He chuckles and nods. “All right, copy that. Can I get you anything?”

Do you really want to eat? You feel a little queasy, hungover-queasy and nervous-about-an-interview queasy, though you don’t want your stomach to rumble throughout the whole thing. Ugh... Maybe just a drink, then.

“I could do with a glass of water.”

“All right. Let’s get you hydrated again.”

You exhale a long breath as he turns and opens a cupboard, pulling a glass out.

“Where is everyone?” you ask after a moment as he fills it with water.

“I told them not to come until 11.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. That gives you about half an hour of peace, then. You smile your gratitude as he places the glass before you, and you take a long drink as he returns to his position, his arms folding across his broad chest once more.

Slightly breathless, you lower the glass and lick your lips, then look back up at him.

You both smile, his easy, yours a little tight.

There’s that awkwardness again... and that feeling that he’s trying to stay up beat and protect you, that you’re fragile and will shatter at a moments notice.

Well... After yesterday...

“How are you feeling?” you ask before he can have the chance to.

He nods, his tongue running behind his teeth. “Fine. Well...”

You pause, watching him.

He sighs and rests his hands against the edge of the counter behind him. “... Same as you’re feeling, I imagine.”

You give a small smile, playing with your hands in your lap. “Absolutely shit, then?”

He chuckles, raising his eyebrows. “Somethin’ along those lines.”

You nod a few times, looking down at your hands before glancing up at him, a wider smile pulling at your lips. “... We could just run away, you know. You’re an expert at being secretive, I’m dying to go on holiday.”

His smile matches yours. “You think we could make it to the airport before anyone notices?”

You pull a faux face of annoyance. “What, you don’t have a private jet?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, it’s the least SHIELD could give you.”

He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the ground as you tap your fingers against your glass, you’re smile lingering.

“Are you nervous?” you ask quietly.

He glances up at you, slightly surprised. “Me? Uh... Yeah, a little.”

“Why? You’ve done interviews before, you did those school videos, and you were part of that show in the 40s.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This isn’t any different.”

He blinks slightly, then shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, I—”

“No,” you interrupt with a sigh, your heart sinking as you close your eyes for a moment before looking at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it into some kind of a competition or invalidate how you feel. Or snap. I know this is just as shitty for you.”

He looks at you, the smile returning to his lips. “It’s all right, I get it. At least we’re in this shittiness together, huh?”

You give a smile, wrapping your hands around the glass.

... Except we’re not. I’m the one finding things out last, I’m the one getting abuse and paint thrown at me, I’m the one who... well, all of that pales in comparison to someone wanting to kill him.

Unreasonable. That’s what you’re being.

God, I hate being irritable.

And you’re going to have to spend the next three hours acting like you’re the happiest person in the entire world.

It’s three hours. We’ll be fine.

—

You don’t fucking feel fine.

In yet another SUV, heading, speeding, more like as Nat’s driving, towards the America Today studio, your stomach is twisting and turning.

I should’ve said I felt sick. Should’ve said yesterday was too much and I can’t cope with today, everyone would have understood.

... Yeah, they would have, and it’s fucking true, you don’t think you can cope with today... but you wouldn’t have been able to forgive yourself. This is the last big chance to find any more suspects.

Suspects, hang on...

Licking your lips, you look at Nat.

“What happened with the person who rammed me and Sam? Where are they?”

“In SHIELDs custody.”

Your eyebrows raise as she doesn’t go on, and you glance at Sam sat beside her. “... So... What’s going on with them, who are they?”

Nat answers. “They’re being interrogated, but they’re not giving up much.”

Sounds like someone I know.

“Are they recognised on any databases, though? Or anything like that?”

Sam shifts in his seat slightly.

“No, they’re not. Not yet.”

You look at her, your stomach sinking. “So...”

It’s Steve who answers this time, your gaze darting to him. “So we might not find out who we’re dealing with and have to rely on guys like the one in custody to give their buddies up and work out the network from there.”

His expression is open and honest, but you wonder how his own words make him feel; that they don’t know the people who want to kill him, that this is a new threat and they might never be able to find them all.

Because it’s made your fucking heart race.

“Right.” Well, I did want honesty. “... Well, guess today’s pretty fucking important then, huh?” you smile, wanting, needing, to lighten the tone.

Steve matches your smile as Nat keeps her eyes on the road and Sam lets out a good-natured chuckle. You glance at Nat.

Yeah, I need to ask her how she’s doing.

The SUV starts to slow and, oh, fuck we’re here. In yet another underground parking lot, I’m sick of these things.

As the guard at the barrier checks Nat’s ID and registers you all, you stare at the back of Sam’s seat. It’s terrifying that they might not know who they’re dealing with, but it’s also the motivation you need to make today go well and smooth and without anyone suspecting anything.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this...

After you’re waved through, Nat parks on the next level down in a designated space of the quiet, filled lot. As you all get out of the car, Sam the only one staying, there’s the quiet sound of an elevator arriving at the level and the doors sliding open. Heels on concrete echo across the lot and as you round the SUV you’re greeted by the sight of two burly security guards and a beaming woman with brown hair in a tight bun wearing a mint-green pant-suit.

“Good afternoon!” she announces, striding towards you all. “On behalf of America Today, I’d like to welcome you and thank you for choosing us to tell your story!”

You smile automatically as Nat says, “Thanks. Shall we go up?”

She’s already heading towards the elevator and the woman appears briefly flustered before she beams again and gestures for you to follow her. “Of course, everyone’s ready and waiting for you!”

Oh, fuck...

You swallow and your heart pounds against your rib-cage as you all move to the elevator. Then you feel Steve’s hand taking yours, lacing your fingers together. You glance up at him and a corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile which you manage to return.

Right, happy couple.

Or did he do that to comfort me.

I don’t know anymore.

There’s space for you all in the large elevator, you and Steve standing in the middle, your hands still linked, and the woman, Maeve, she introduces herself as, rattles on about there being a small buffet set up if you’re hungry with any kind of drink that you want, to let her know if you need anything, they can run out and get anything, anything at all, everyone’s so happy and excited, this is going to be such a big and historic day and...

As she goes on and on, you stare at the back of one of the security guards, trying to keep your breathing under control. You wouldn’t be surprised if they could all hear your heart. You feel like you can, it pounding in your ears.

You don’t realise that if Steve was an average man, your grip would be considered uncomfortably tight. Instead, he just keeps ahold of your hand, glancing at you, his jaw moving.

He hates that he can’t say anything to comfort you. Then he thinks, hang on...

The elevator slows to a halt, and the doors open. People walk about, talking on phones, talking to each other, you can hear other people calling to each other, the sound of equipment moving. Stepping out of the elevator behind the security guard, you realise you’re on a set, a horde of cameras to the right, obscuring what must be where the interview will be, to the left is a small foyer area and four doors leading into other rooms.

“Righty...” Maeve says as she turns to you all, still beaming. “Steve, if you could follow me, Y/N, Emma here will help you get ready.”

Hang on, what...

Steve’s hand leaves yours as Maeve gestures for him to follow and a woman with a warm smile and short, black, coiled hair approaches. You turn to Steve to give a small smile and maybe crack a joke about never seeing him again, when his hand lifts and settles on the back of your neck. Blinking, you don’t move as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See you in a minute, sweetheart,” he says as he draws back with an easy smile, his hand dropping and his eyes twinkling, and all you can do is stare at those fucking broad shoulders as he follows after Maeve because, what.

...

...

... uh...

Your brain might have actually disappeared. 

Happy couple.

Or did he do that to comfort me.

I. Don’t. Know. Any. More.

Emma clears her throat quietly and your gaze darts to her as Nat says, “Y/N.”

“Sorry, what?” Your gaze now darts to Nat, who stands with her arms folded, an eyebrow raised and... oh, no. A faint smirk on her lips.

“Go with Emma.”

Your face warm, you nod and look to her, smiling widely as she does the same. “Sorry, yes, lead the way.”

Hoping she’ll just chalk your moment there down to love-sickness, you follow after her as she takes you to one of the doors.

“How are you doing?” she says as she opens the door for you, letting you go in first, and you raise your eyebrows slightly as you consider the question.

I can be nervous. I can show that I’m nervous. Real fiancée or not, I can be nervous.

“I’m pretty nervous, actually.”

You take a seat in the closest comfortable-looking chair facing a large mirror as she closes the door, and it muffles the sounds of the set.

Thank God.

She smiles empathetically as she opens one of the many bags on the table under the mirror and searches through it, meeting your gaze in the reflection. “I can imagine it is. That’s perfectly normal, though, and everyone here just wants you to be comfortable.”

Everyone but my own brain.

You just return her smile, though, clasping your hands together on your lap. “That’s comforting. How are you?”

Her smile brightens. “I’m fine, thank you, I’m excited. I’ve always been a Cap’ fan, and it’s nice to meet you, too.” Emma’s smile falters a little as her features soften. “I’m so sorry to hear about what happened yesterday.”

As she starts to apply foundation to your face, your gaze shifts to the mirror, looking at yourself. Even you can tell your demeanour changes slightly at the memory. “Thank you.”

The brush on your skin is gentle and light as she blends the foundation in. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you feel that everyone hates you, but I can tell you that’s not true.”

You glance at her in the reflection, quiet.

She sighs softly, leaning back and meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Oh, girl... The world doesn’t hate you, all right? My friends and I were talking about it this morning, hoping you’d be okay and know that that was just one person’s feelings... and from what I’ve read, she’s not exactly... stable.”

As she resumes brushing the foundation on, moving down to blend it into your neck where you know there’s still some patches of faint blue, you swallow hard because 1) you’re hungover and therefore more sensitive than usual, and 2) you forgot how kind people can be.

One negative, albeit horrible, experience has made you forget that.

“Yeah, but, you know... It’s the classic thing of you can hear nice things but you focus on the bad,” you murmur, your hands twisting together in your lap.

“I know. I’m not gonna name-drop but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had people, people who would surprise you, sit in this very chair and think that the whole world hates them after hearing just a couple of bad things.”

You look at her as she straightens and roots through another bag. Part of you thinks you shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t be telling her these things because she works for the studio and could tell someone and then it’d be a whole news story that you wouldn’t be able to escape and... But, no. Your feelings are right on this one, and you trust her.

She pulls out a small box of powder and takes another brush, starting to swipe it onto your skin. “My friends and I are huge fans of yours, anyway.”

You exhale a faint laugh as your eyebrows raise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she beams, brushing at your jaw. “I know we don’t know you, but, I don’t know, we just like you.”

“Well, thanks,” you say with a smile, even though that makes you feel a little strange.

“You’ve got some people in your corner, don’t worry,” Emma nods, straightening up. “Now...” Placing the powder and brush down, she places her hands on her hips. “... Can I do a little eyeshadow?”

“Sure, why not.”

At this moment in time, you’d let her do anything because she’s just so bloody nice.

And maybe it’ll make me look more alive.

You close your eyes as Emma chats away about a TV show she’s been watching, and it’s a nice distraction. For a little while you can pretend you’re having your make-up done and that’s all. She even gives you a head massage, files your nails and paints a clear polish over them, and brushes your outfit down with a lint-roller.

Of course, it doesn’t last long, though.

“... and there we go,” she announces as she stands back, and you open your eyes and look at yourself in the mirror.

Your skin looks smooth, there’s a little blush on your cheeks, she’s swept some eyeshadow over your lids that compliments your eye colour, added a little mascara and eye-liner, and, most importantly, there’s absolutely no blue paint to be seen.

I definitely look more alive.

Looking up at her, the corners of your mouth lift in gratitude. “Thank you, Emma, I look great.”

“Ah, you looked great before, I just added to it.”

As you rise out of the seat, she returns to the door and opens it, holding it for you. “I want you to remember what I said, all right? There are people in your corner.”

Your smile widens as you nod, crossing the room. “I’ll remember it. Thank you so much.”

She inclines her head with a beam. “Don’t worry about it, you’re gonna do great.”

Fuck, I hope so.

The noise of the set returns as you pass through the door, and all your anxieties come flooding back.

Don’t. There are people in your corner.

Nat stands outside the room, her hands clasped together. Turning to you as she hears you and Emma, her lips lift. “Hey, you look good. You want something to eat?”

You had in fact had a little something to eat back at the penthouse, Sam and Nat having arrived at 11 on the dot with a huge box of pastries, and the four of you had sat tearing into them for about half an hour as Sam had gone on about how Christmas shopping got more and more difficult every year, and then you’d gone over potential interview questions.

The thought of eating now, though, just makes you feel queasy. Shaking your head, you join her at her side, folding your arms, almost hugging yourself.

“No, thanks.”

“You want a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“You wanna get out of here?”

You glance at her, a faint smile on her lips, and you exhale a breath, your own lips twitching a little. “Nah. Steve and I talked about running away this morning already, but we reasoned it’d just be too much of a hassle.”

“Ah, that’s sensible.”

“Yeah, annoyingly.” 

Nodding at the nearby couch, she moves to it. “Come on, let’s sit down. Gotta rest my legs while I can.”

Sitting beside her, you finally seize your chance. “So, how’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, thanks, how are you?”

“No, I mean, how are you really?”

Nat side-eyes you, an eyebrow arching a fraction. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but really—”

“Y/N!”

Fucking hell.

Jolting, you look up to find Maeve beaming down at you.

“Wow! Look at you! Emma’s great, isn’t she? Would you like something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, she is. And, no, thank you.”

“All right, can I get you anything at all?”

She’s just doing her job, she’s just doing her job, she’s just doing her job...

“No, thank you.”

“Oke doke, let me know if you do, I’m just gonna see how Megan’s doing.” With another wide beam, she’s then trotting off to the set.

“Who’s Megan?” you murmur to Nat.

Nat inspects the nails on one hand idly. “The interviewer.”

“Oh.”

Because I’m here to do an interview, that’s right.

“You’re gonna be fine.” It’s like she can read your mind.

Glancing at her, you blow out a breath, looking down at your hands. “I just can’t wait for today to be over.”

“I know. It’s just a twenty minute interview, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Your gaze darts back to her. “What? I thought it was an hour?”

A corner of her mouth twitches. “It was. But then they wouldn’t tell me what they were gonna ask so I cut it down. It means essential questions only.”

I love you.

Your smile widening a little, you nod. “All right, I think I can handle that.”

“Good.” Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she taps on a message, answering swiftly.

Looking down at her phone before quickly looking away before you see anything you’re not meant to, you lick your lips. “... So how’s it going outside?”

“Fine.”

“Is there a big crowd?”

“Yeah.”

“The biggest this week?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” She puts her phone away, her arms folding across her chest. “Means there’ll be better cover for anyone wanting to blend in. We’ve got plenty of agents on site, too.”

“Well... That is good.”

She’s about to reply when she looks beyond you and raises her eyebrows. “God, you took your time.”

Turning your head, you pause as you see Steve approaching.

“Sorry, I was signing a few things, filming a few birthday messages, you know...” He looks sheepish and you smile quickly to console him, even as your stomach flutters.

You kissed me.

Technically.

Looking between you both, he returns your smile. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, so do you,” you answer automatically, even though he looks exactly the same because his skin is always smooth anyway and his hair’s always perfect and he’s always fucking gorgeous—

Slow down, stop it.

He opens his mouth when Maeve suddenly appears, again.

“Look at you both! Wonderful! Now, there’s about five minutes to go, so if you’d like to follow me, Megan’s ready, too.”

Five minutes.

You take a breath as you push yourself up, meeting Steve’s gaze. He smiles lightly, almost secretively, then holds out his hand to you.

A fucking life-line.

Sliding your hand into his, you return his smile as he squeezes it gently. Then, you both turn and follow after Maeve.

Nearing the set, your heart is pounding again, your eyes darting about, watching the crew set up and laugh and chat together.

It’s live.

It’s gonna be fucking live.

And I have to convince these people and the world that I’m happily engaged.

“Megan?” Maeve steps away a little as you round one of the cameras, and there the set is.

There’s a large Persian carpet in the centre with a small glass table on it, with three bottles of Fiji water, and three grey, fabric armchairs, one on the left side of the table, two on the other, and a few potted plants. The large window behind it provides the back drop and lighting, though there’s plenty of lights beside the cameras, too, and you can already feel the warmth of them. You suspect this isn’t where they’d usually conduct interviews like this; Nat had probably requested they do it here and this has been thrown together.

The interviewer, Megan Owens, smiles gracefully as she rises from her seat at Maeve’s voice. She’s dressed in a light blue, sleeveless dress with a red belt, coiffed, chestnut hair, and a radiant white smile, and you steel yourself.

 Steve’s hand leaves yours as she extends her hand to him, and he takes it. 

“Captain Rogers, it’s an honour to meet you,” she enthuses, her voice honey-warm.

“Just Steve is fine,” he insists as he shakes her hand with a smile, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Megan.”

If her perfect beam could have gotten any wider it would have as she simpers, “The pleasure is all mine.” Dropping his hand, her gaze then turns to you, her beam fixed in place. “Oh, and you must be Y/N.”

Duh.

“Hello,” you say brightly as you shake her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Who am I.

“And lovely to meet you, too.” She shakes your hand lightly before pulling her hand back and raising it, gesturing at the studio. “What an honour it is to have you both here, thank you so much for choosing America Today for the interview, we’re so honoured, really.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve answers, surprising you by his hand returning to yours, lacing your fingers together.

Oh.

Megan gestures at the two grey chairs that are side-by-side. “Please, take a seat, you there, Y/N, and you there, Steve. Get comfortable.”

Hilarious.

As you sit, you in the one closest the window, Steve the one closest to the camera, you clasp your hands together in your lap without thinking.

Megan smiles at you as she crosses her legs. “I take it this is your first ever interview, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows rise as you manage a smile. “What gave it away?”

She laughs lightly as a man appears to smooth down her already perfect hair. “Oh, nothing, we just didn’t find any interviews in our research.”

You feel strange again, and try not to think about strangers searching you on the internet. Two women appear to mic you all up, and Megan continues as if they’re not there. “You’ll be fine. I suppose you can imagine what I’ll ask and the answers will just be about you or Steve so it’ll be nice and easy.”

Oh, I wish.

The woman finishes adjusting your mic and moves away, and you watch the other woman fit a device to Megan’s ear. So the producers can communicate with her, probably. They’ll be sat in a room somewhere, watching, excited. You’re surprised you haven’t met them, then again maybe it’s Nat’s doing. Maybe she’s tried to keep it as underwhelming as possible.

Nice try, but I’m still overwhelmed.

Another woman’s voice suddenly sounds from behind one of the many cameras as the mic woman moves off the set, and your gaze darts over automatically to find the source. “All right, everyone, quiet on set! Megan, you’re on in 5, 4—”

Silence descends. Your eyes dart back to Megan as your mouth dries and your stomach flips and you feel hot.

“ — 3—”

Suddenly, Steve’s hand finds yours in your lap and you grip his tightly, not caring if it’s for comfort or for show.

“— 2...”

Megan tilts her head as she looks into a camera, her hands folded on her lap. “Thank you, Andy and Jean, and good afternoon to you, America, and the world. Here with me today is a couple that needs no introduction. All week, right around the world, we’ve all been discussing them and their upcoming wedding, and now, in an exclusive interview, they’re here with us today to tell us the truth and details in all the speculation.” She looks to you both, her smile widening. “Steve and Y/N, thank you so much for joining us.”

“Thank you for having us,” Steve says as you just smile, hoping to whoever’s listening that you look relaxed.

“I’ll start with what we’ve all been dying to know, how did you two meet?”

Oh, fuck, I’m gonna have to take the lead on this one—

“Well,” Steve begins and God, thank you, “after I finished my rehabilitation with SHIELD, I wanted to find a place of my own for some sense of normality, and I wanted to be closer to the Triskelion, so I moved here and I ended up moving into the same building that Y/N would happen to.”

He’s told this story before, it’s nothing new, so you feel yourself relaxing a little... Except he glances at you, and you know in that split-second he’s judging whether you want him to carry on or whether you want to talk.

Well, I can’t just sit here like a lemon.

This is easy, you know this.

“I moved here after accepting a job offer and just took the first apartment I could,” you say, your voice mercifully steady, looking to Megan with a smile. “The landlord just happened to leave out that Captain America would be my neighbour.” 

You’re bolstered suddenly by the surprising sound of quiet laughter from some of the crew.

Megan laughs, too, though hers seems to be more out of politeness. “So no pressure, huh?”

It’s your turn to laugh politely. “No, not at all. But I still didn’t know that when the evening I moved in I did what any good neighbour would do and I knocked on his door to introduce myself.” There’s more quiet laughter again, okay, I’m doing okay. “And he was very polite and kind as I just stared at him for about a minute thinking I’d lost my mind.”

That’s true... Except you leave out the part where you’d babbled in introducing yourself and had practically given him your whole life story out of nerves and embarrassment and just plain not being able to be quiet. He’d listened attentively the whole time and had even asked you, having gently cut off one of your ramblings, if you wanted to come in and sit down.

You’d said no, in horror, before quickly back-pedalling your tone and saying that you just didn’t want to disturb him.

He’d given you that smile and said you weren’t disturbing him at all.

The memory makes your stomach flutter.

“So, you two became friends after that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, “We just kept bumping into each other and then during one conversation we realised we were both classic film fans so we decided to watch one that was on TV that night together and then it became a weekly thing, and then we were going out for walks, having dinner together and just enjoying each others company.”

... Well, that’s not wrong.

“When did you two realise you were in love?”

You’re prepared for this but it still makes your stomach flip as you take the lead. “I think we just knew, you know? We spent a lot of time together and felt something change and now... here we are.”

You’d all agreed you couldn’t make every answer detailed, so you’re very pleased that you’d decided to make this one vague.

Megan smiles and hums in agreement before her gaze shifts to Steve as her smile widens. “Now, go on, Steve, what is it about Y/N that made you fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches in your throat slightly and Steve releases a polite laugh.

Oh my God, we didn’t prepare for this.

Remembering you’re on camera, your fixed smile widens a little more as you make yourself look at Steve. He glances at you, his eyebrows raising with a smile, before he looks to Megan.

“Well, as Y/N said, sometimes you just know, and who can explain love, right?” Megan hums in agreement. “... But,” Steve continues, his gaze returning to you, “... I think it was her empathy and kindness, her sense of humour, the fact we can talk about absolutely anything until about 2AM, and... just how easy it is to be with her, really.”

You can’t look away from him, your lips slightly parted, your face warm, and he’s not looking away either.

“And what about you, Y/N?”

You blink and look at her, before back to Steve. “Well, I, I would say it’s how comfortable he makes me feel. I can always be myself around him and I don’t feel judged, and he makes me feel valued.” Your smile softens as you look at him. “It’s so easy to be with him, too, there’s honestly no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

Oh. Oh, no.

That last part just slips out, but that’s fine, that’s absolutely fine because you’re meant to be in love, that’s fine.

Looking away, your face so fucking hot, you smile at Megan, who looks suitably charmed. 

“That’s so lovely. What do you do for work, Y/N?”

Right, this is an easy one, that’s good.

“I work at June & Mayflower Publishing, I’m the Head of Marketing for the branch here in D.C.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh, I love it. I’m very lucky to have such great colleagues, too.”

And they’re probably screaming, ‘you’re damn right’, at the TV in the staff-room right now.

“And how do you feel when Steve has to go away for work, Y/N?”

Oh, fuck.

This was something you’d never, ever spoken about, either of you. You’d never told him that it’s always there in the back of your mind when he’s away that he could be hurt, could be captured, could die. How can you say that now, though? On live television and in front of him?

Keep it light, Nat had said when you’d discussed the probability of any difficult questions.

Smiling, my God, my cheeks hurt, you shrug slightly. “I know what I signed up for. His sense of duty and honour is one of the things I love about him, too. Yes, it can be hard being away from each other, sometimes for several weeks, but Dolly always says—”

“Dolly?” Megan interrupts gently.

Your smile is easy now as you nod. “Oh, sorry, my friend Dolly.”

“That’s a lovely name.“

“Yeah, her parents are huge Dolly Parton fans, which, who isn’t, she’s an icon, so they named her after her.”

Megan laughs, and it feels real. “Yes, she is an icon. But do excuse me, please continue.”

“Well, Dolly always says that if it’s right for you and something you really want, then it’ll work out, and Steve and I have and do make it work.”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently as you nod, and you assume it’s to tell you you gave a great answer.

Megan nods. “Well, absolutely, Dolly’s right.”

You all laugh politely, and then Megan’s smile is replaced by a gently sympathetic expression. 

“Now, there was an incident last night at the The Venue, wasn’t there. what happened?”

You have to suppress a sigh. “Oh, I was there having a few drinks with two friends, one of them Dolly, the other Bridget, and someone threw paint on me.”

“Paint?” Megan responds with a tone of quiet shock, though you all know she already knew that.

“Yeah, blue paint.”

... For some reason, you’re smiling... maybe because fuck this, you can’t be bothered to spin a sob story.

There are people in your corner.

“I looked like a member of the Blue Man Group.”

Megan laughs, as do some of the crew, and Steve chuckles, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders.

If I laugh, they haven’t won. In fact...

Waiting for Megan’s laugh to finish, you start to speak before she can. 

“In all seriousness, though, I think what happened last night displays an issue we have in our society about how we treat people that we put on a pedestal, the people we consider celebrities. The way we’ve been hounded this week, it’s not healthy for anyone. I’ve had things shouted at me, and thrown at me, from people who don’t even know me but feel entitled to expressing an opinion that they believe is fact, formed from what strangers have written in papers and online and their own assumptions. They don’t know me or Steve, they’re assuming, and as last night showed that can be so dangerous, in fact history has shown it does get dangerous. There’s an obsession that people develop with celebrities that we have to ask ourselves how and why it gets to that point and who’s enabling them, because people have this sense of ownership over people they don’t even know and it’s not right.”

You kept your eyes on Megan as you spoke, so you don’t see the way Steve’s been looking at you.

With pride.

Megan looks quietly impressed, her eyebrows raising a little as she nods. “Wow, there certainly is a discussion to be had there. We’ll have to get you back for that one another time.”

“I’d love to.” You smile and incline your head, finding that you actually would.

“For now, though, you’re both going to be attending the Stark Christmas Party tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve takes over, and his hand is still held in both of yours, “We’re both really looking forward to it, it’s been a while since I’ve been to New York.”

“Will it be your first time at the Tower and meeting the Avengers, Y/N?”

“Uh, yes, it’ll be my first time there, and, yes, I suppose so, with all of them together.”

Oh my God, I haven’t even thought about that.

“What a sight that’ll be,” Megan gushes, “Will you be considering the Tower as a venue?”

You glance at Steve, watching his lips twitch. “Ah, no, no, we will not.”

You recall Nat having told you Steve had called it ‘ugly’ right in front of Tony.

“Are you looking for somewhere in Washington, then?”

“Yeah, we both like it here, and it means a lot to us ‘cause it’s where we met, so.” His hand squeezes yours and you look up at him, matching his soft smile.

We’re both acing this looking in love thing.

“Of course. And as for the dress, Y/N...?” She trails off with an expectant smile, and you feign a coy one as you look at her. 

“Oh, I can’t speak too much about that, we all like a surprise.”

Don’t we bloody just.

“Oh, how unfair, I guess we’ll all just have to wait for the big day, then,” she laughs. “You were spotted at The Pearl, though...?”

“Yeah, I have been trying some dresses from there, and it’s such a lovely place, the staff are absolutely wonderful, I can’t praise them highly enough.” You smile widely, delighted you could give Sally and the assistants a shout-out. “Oh, and they have just as many dresses and suits in-store for those who are considered ‘plus-sized’ so I can’t recommend them highly enough.”

“Ah, yes, a story got out yesterday about you having to leave a store that didn’t cater, is that true?”

Your lips twitch at the memory. “Yes, it is, which is such a shame because from a business point of view they’re really missing out, and it just makes them look like idiots, to be honest.”

If Megan’s shocked at that she hides it well, and just nods. “Quite right. Well, The Pearl had better be ready for plenty of clients now,” she smiles, raising her eyebrows. 

Then, she tilts her head and clasps her hands together on her lap. “Now, and I suppose this follows on from what you were saying about, as you say, people making assumptions, earlier today we did an interview with a co-worker and an old flame of yours.”

You freeze.

“Really?”

Megan nods and points towards where the cameras are. “For our audience, it’ll be airing later today, although it’s up on our website now, but if you could just both watch that screen, I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.”

You feel cold all of a sudden as you look at a TV screen, knowing the world is going to watch you watch your ex-boyfriend and whatever the fuck he has to say.

The screen goes from black to a clip of Joe, in a white button-up and navy tie, hands clasped together on his crossed legs, loose, relaxed, in his element, sitting across from Megan in what looks like a nicer room than this one.

He’s obviously just been asked a question because Joe takes in a breath as he looks up, considering his answer. Smiling almost sympathetically, he looks back to Megan.

“Y/N’s great, she really is. She’s really smart and a lot of fun, she was an absolute sweetheart... but she was quite insecure when we were together. She was quite quiet, and didn’t have much confidence, you know? She was always doubting herself and her work, and I tried to be there for her as much as I could, but there’s only so much you can do. She liked to be with her friends a lot and I just... I got a great job opportunity and had to do what was best for both of us, so I ended it.”

The clip pauses, but you remain staring at the screen, a surge of rage coiling within you.

“That’s classy,” you mutter.

Except you don’t mutter it, because it’s picked up by the microphone and everyone on the planet and universe will have heard it along with everything your ex has just said.

Megan’s eyebrows raise as she looks at you. “Classy?”

You look at her.

Fuck you, Joe.

Licking your lips, you shrug. “If I was all those things or came across that way it’s because that’s how Joe made me feel. He certainly didn’t make me feel happy, or satisfied.” You hear some quiet gasps and laughter. “It’s nice to now be with someone who makes me feel good about myself, despite and because of who I am.” Looking at him, your other hand now covers Steve’s. “He sees all of me and he still loves me.”

“Yes, I do,” he answers without missing a beat, without pausing.

Your breath catches in your throat as your stomach flutters. You hold each others gaze as Megan hums, and it’s only when she speaks that you both finally look away.

“That’s wonderful, that really is. So, I take it you disagree with everything Joe said?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He went on to suggest, as some people have, that you might be using Steve to further your career, what do you say to that?”

You feel Steve stiffen beside you but you just laugh. “Further my career? In publishing?” You look at him with a grin. “I didn’t know you had any pull in the publishing world.”

A smile blossoms across his features as he chuckles. “What can I say, you gotta have some secrets in a relationship.”

You laugh, the tightness in you chest gone, and as it fades you look back to Megan. “Look, I’m very happy where I am, for now I don’t want to progress any higher. I think it’s Joe who wants to further his career here.”

Despite your laughter, she seems to sense the rage that’s gently simmering in you and nods and smiles brightly. “Well, just one more question, then... When’s the big day?”

Steve answers this time. “We’ll be announcing that very shortly, not much longer to wait, I promise.”

Yeah, two days and then you’ll all find out.

Megan tuts good-naturedly, her smile still fixed in place. “I guess we’ll just have to trust you! And, unfortunately, that’s all we have time for.” Tilting her head, she raises her hands slightly. “Thank you once again for joining us, it’s been an absolute pleasure, and on behalf of everyone at America Today we wish you the warmest of congratulations.”

“Thank you very much,” Steve says as you force a smile, and Megan looks into a camera.

You stare at Megan because she doesn’t say anything else, and then the woman from earlier calls out, “And cut! Thank you, everyone!”

Voices erupt as people call out to one another and some people even clap. Looking up to try and find them, you just smile slightly, and then Megan’s rising out of her seat.

“You both did great,” she says as a woman rushes over to remove her earpiece and her mic. “And, Y/N...” You raise your eyebrows slightly, and she gives a light smile. “... Not bad for your first time.”

You feel yourself relax a little as someone else removes your mic and then Steve’s.

Steve.

Looking to him, he’s looking at the woman removing the mic, smiling and nodding his thanks before she moves away. Then he’s looking at you

His hand is still in yours.

He smiles softly, and you return it.

“Steve! Y/N!”

Oh, Maeve, you’re so good at your job but please leave us alone.

You both look up at her, beaming at you as always.

“That was fantastic! Can we just get a photo of you both and Megan?”

Nodding, slightly dazed because it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, you stand and Steve’s hand slips out of yours. Clearing your throat, you move down the set where Megan’s talking to who you assume is the woman who called out, possibly the director. 

Her beam is back in place as she turns to you and stands between you and Steve. You just stare at Maeve’s phone and smile whenever she takes a photo of you three, and she takes several. Three people, two women and a man, come out of another room, and they’re introduced as the producers, and you shake their hands and say hello and receive their thanks and congratulations, and then you take a few photos with them as they thank you over and over again and say how great it was.

Then, thankfully, Nat’s there, talking over Maeve and thanking her and everyone and ushering you and Steve towards the elevator.

Oh my God, we get to go home now.

That was it.

The hardest thing is done.

You’ve done it.

You’ve done it.

Getting into the elevator, you feel lighter than you have in days, a breath leaving you. The doors slide shut, Maeve and the two security guards in there with you again as Maeve has insisted on seeing you down.

Looking at the doors, you don’t realise there’s a small smile on your lips.

Steve glances at you, and give a small smile of his own.

Then, you feel his hand on your back, rubbing gently. Looking up at him, you share your small, relieved, secretive smile, and you can’t stop your cheeks from warming. Looking away, your teeth grazing over your lower lip, you don’t notice him watching the movement.

The elevator slows to a halt, it chimes, and the doors slide open. As you step out, you spot Sam leaning against the SUV and give him a beam and a wave. He grins and gives you a thumbs up.

Turning to Maeve and the security guards, you, Nat and Steve take turns shaking her hand.

“Thank you so much, really,” she gushes, and, all right, she’s won you over and you’re beaming now. “This was such an incredible day for me, I’m so happy I could look after you and I hope you’ve had a good time.”

Why not.

“We did, Maeve,” you say before either Nat or Steve can answer, and you tilt your head. “Would you like a photo with us?”

Her mouth opens but nothing comes out, and then she’s scrabbling for her phone in her pocket. “Well, I, I wasn’t going to ask, it’s not professional and I’m not really allowed, but seeing as you offered I would absolutely love to.”

Catching Steve’s eye, grinning, you stand by Maeve’s side as Nat takes her phone and lifts it, her lips pressed together.

“All right, ready...”

Maeve’s arms go around you and Steve and she beams at the camera.

Nat taps the screen a few times before lowering the phone and stepping forward, handing it back to her. “There you go.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” she says, almost hugging her phone to her chest. “That’s so kind, thank you.”

As you go to say your goodbyes, you hear the elevator chime again, signalling it’s arrived, and out of instinct you glance over her shoulder to see who it is. The doors slide open and Joe—

Joe steps out with a man in a suit, laughing at something he just said.

You stare at him.

Why is he still here.

Oh... He must be doing other interviews.

... Pure rage surges within you once more.

You don’t hear Steve saying your name as you stride past Maeve towards him. Upon hearing your name, Joe lifts his head, his eyes land on you, and they widen.

“Oh, hey—”

Your hands slam against his chest, gripping the front of his jacket, and you shove him back, pushing him against the wall beside the elevator.

“Why the fuck did you do that, Joe?!” you hiss, “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

You don’t see it, but Steve, having stepped forward, puts an arm out, halting the security guards and the man with Joe from going to his aid.

Joe stammers as he looks behind you for help, then back to you. “L-Look, I’m, I’m sorry, okay, but I don’t think I said anything that wasn’t truthful—”

“Really?!” You don’t realise you’re practically yelling. “You humiliated me, you told the whole world my insecurities like it was nothing, like you had the right to.  You’re a fucking asshole, you always have been, and you didn’t deserve me.”

Releasing him, you step back, your breaths coming quickly, your jaw tight. You go to turn away when he quickly says, “I needed the money, Y/N.”

You scoff as you turn back to him, watching him straighten his jacket. “No, you don’t, Joe, you’re a manager—”

“I lost my job.”

You stare at him, your brow dipping. “What?”

He swallows, one hand going into his pocket, the other playing with his tie. “I was fired. A month ago. I moved back here to stay with a friend and find a new job. Yvette wouldn’t give me my old one back, so...”

You shake your head, your eyebrows raising in incredulity. “So, instead of finding another job, you went on television and humiliated your ex-girlfriend?”

“No, I, well, I didn’t mean to...” He trails off, looking at you helplessly, wanting you to give him an out, the benefit of the doubt, throw him a life-line, like you used to.

Your tongue running over your teeth, you shake your head. “You’re a fucking asshole, Joe.”

Turning away, you smile tightly at Maeve, and say as you pass, “Thank you so much, really, you’ve been great.”

You don’t hear her reply as you carry on striding across the lot, Steve right behind you. Sam gives you a gentle smile and opens the door for you so you can climb straight in. Sitting back, you secure your seat-belt as Nat, Sam and Steve slide into their own seats.

No one speaks as Nat drives to the barrier, and then you’re waved out and onto the main roads.

You’re glad you said that to Joe. So relieved. It’s like a weight off your fucking shoulders, everything you should have said when he dumped you.

But you’re so fucking mad. Fucking livid... at everything. Maybe it’s the hangover. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the fucking week. All three is a deadly combination. You don’t care about peoples opinions, you don’t, you try very hard to not pay attention to them or let them get to you and you succeed most times, but Joe has presented an image of you to the world that isn’t you, that you can’t control, and... It’s like the last straw on top of a lot of last straws.

You realise, then.

Even when this is supposedly over, it won’t be. People will still know who you are. You’ll still be Steve’s friend, his neighbour. People will still have an opinion of you. People will still be able to make an assumption about you, scream things at you, throw things at you.

And you thought you’d done well in the interview, but depending on what people want to believe, Joe could have undone all of that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Nat says suddenly, “I didn’t know they had interviewed Joe, they fucked us over.”

“It’s not your fault, Nat. You’re the one keeping this fucking thing together, you’re doing your best, you all are.”

"You are, too.”

You lift your gaze to Steve. You make yourself take a breath and exhale it as he smiles, and you return it but it’s an effort.

What will we be like after this.

Stop it.

God, I hate hungover, irritable me.

You’d said the night before that you would take all of this if it meant you got to be his friend. And you still would.

So you widen your smile and exhale another breath.

His own features relax as he nods slightly, maybe understanding a little.

“... Man, I was really hopin’ you were gonna knock that guy out,” Sam says, and you glance over at him.

Then, you burst out laughing.

Steve chuckles as Sam looks back at you, his eyes wide. “I’m being serious, I was just waitin’ for it, we can turn around if you like? Finish the little rat off?”

“No,” you insist through your laughter, “As tempting as that is, I just want to get back and nap this hangover off.”

“You sure? I’ll be your second?” Steve chimes in.

“No.” You’re grinning, even as you narrow your eyes at him. “Yelling let me get it all out.”

“All right, all right...” Sam grumbles good-naturedly, then reaches into his jacket. “Here’s your phone, by the way.”

Sam had offered to keep it in the car for you so it’d be one less thing for you to worry and you accept it with a nod.

“Thank you very much.”

Unlocking it, there’s messages from Bridget, Dolly and Aaron, all having responded to things while watching it, and all ended by saying what an asshole Joe is. You spend the rest of the drive replying to them, telling them you’re okay and just looking to have a quiet night in. 

You pause before locking it, then you message Yvette, asking if she knew Joe had been fired.

She replies within seconds.

I did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, didn’t want to upset you, he was fired on the grounds of incompetence basically. At least the whole world knows he’s an idiot now. You were fantastic.

Incompetence. Ha, sounds right.

You tell her not to worry, that you miss her, and thank her.

You’re welcome. And I suppose I miss you, too.

Smiling, you lock your phone just as you arrive back at the penthouse. Leaning over his seat, you hug Sam goodbye, then get out with Steve and Nat, the latter only wanting to go with you up to your door. In the elevator, she leans against the back of it and folds her arms. 

“So, how do we feel?”

You and Steve nod in unison, and both say;

“Yeah, good.”

“Fine.”

She nods, her lips twitching slightly. “Good. I think we’re all relieved that’s over. And I’m sorry again about what happened, Y/N, I’m gonna call them later and yell at them.”

“It’s fine, really,” you answer with a slight shrug. “I get they needed to make a story and make it exciting. I’m okay, really. I’m glad I got to do some yelling myself.”

Nat’s lips lift. “Yeah, that must have been very cathartic.”

You can’t stop a smile. “It was.”

The elevator slows to a halt and the doors slide open. She waits until Steve opens the door and she knows everything’s okay inside before she leaves, waving you off and saying she’ll message you later.

You close the door, kick your shoes off, and head down the short hallway, and pause, looking at Steve stood in the living room, his hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his lips.

“So.”

“So...” you answer, your own smile widening.

He inhales a breath, his eyebrows raising a little. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Yeah.” You fold your arms as you move closer. “It was okay, though, wasn’t it? We did okay, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, I’d say we did. More than okay, actually.” He lifts a hand out of his pocket and gestures at you. “You were great.”

You scoff, shaking your head slightly, only a step or so away now. “Me? What about you, when she hit us with the ‘what made you fall in love’ curveball you were great, you said some really good stuff.”

He shrugs slightly. “Well, they are the things I do like about you, so.”

You look at him, your stomach fluttering and your breath catching in your throat and your lips parting and your heart beating faster and, oh.

His gaze is lingering on you, and he watches your tongue wet your lips.

“Oh.... Well... What I said is what I like about you, too,” you say quietly, watching him.

There’s a pause. Then, he takes a step closer, opens his mouth and—

The sound of his phone ringing makes you jerk and his lips press together, his jaw tight. Clearing your throat as he slides his phone out of his pocket, and he glances from it to you.

“I’m sorry, it’s Buck, I gotta take this—”

“No, no, that’s absolutely fine, take it—”

“You sure? I can—”

“No, take it, it’s fine.” You’re smiling far too widely as you head for the stairs. “I’m gonna take a nap, anyway. Say hello from me!”

“Yeah, I will do.”

You fix your gaze ahead, moving swiftly up the stairs, and he keeps his eyes on you as he accepts the call and raises his phone to his ear.

“You have impeccable fuckin’ timing...” he mutters into it as you disappear into your room and close the door, his gaze finally dropping.

—

After washing your face and changing into more comfortable clothes, you’d closed the curtains and climbed into bed, groaning with relief.

You’d fallen asleep almost instantly, your body and mind delighted to now be able to rest undisturbed. You hadn’t set an alarm so you sleep for a few hours, and by the time you awaken, it’s already getting dark. Hungry and thirsty, you roll out of bed and rub at your face, pulling the door open.

You hear the sounds of the TV, and as you move down the stairs you see Steve sat on one of the couches, his long legs stretched out. Lifting his head, he smiles at the sight of you.

“Hey. Feelin’ any better?”

You yawn even as you nod. “Mhm. Or maybe I’m more tired now, I don’t know. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” He watches you as you move into the kitchen, finding something to eat and drink. “Buck’s comin’ over in about half an hour, by the way. He’s bringing alcohol.”

He chuckles as you look up at him and pull a face.

“Hmm, don’t think I could handle any alcohol for a little while. I think I’ll leave you two to it. Just have a bath and then maybe watch a little of something.”

He nods as he rubs at his jaw, watching you lift your glass to your lips and take a sip. “That sounds nice. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

You swallow, his eyes drifting to your throat, before rising swiftly to meet your gaze. “Uhm, shopping for a wedding dress, and a dress for Saturday. Turns out my glad-rags aren’t so glad.”

A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Okay. How about I cook us dinner tomorrow, we have a quiet night in. Change Thursday Night Classic Movie Night to Friday Night Classic Movie Night just this once?”

Oh... a taste of the past, of normality.

Your lips lift high as you hum. “Mhm, yes, please, that sounds so great.”

His smile widens. “All right. It’s a date.”

You hum a slight laugh as you move to go to the stairs, then your gaze darts back to him.

What.

He’s back to facing the TV, his eyes on it, and you stare at him.

...

Was that just a figure of speech.

It had to be.

We’ve said it before... right?

We must have.

I can’t ask him to confirm what he meant, I’ll look insane.

You carry on moving to the stairs.

Once in your room, you close the door and pause.

It was just a figure of speech.

That’s it.

Moving into the bathroom, you shake it from your mind and turn the taps on on the bath. You find some bubble-bath in the cupboard under the sink and pour some in.

Undressing and getting in, you lie back with a gentle sigh, closing your eyes as the warm water soothes you. It’s nice and quiet, the only sound the gentle sloshing of the water whenever you move slightly.

Date.

Date.

Date.

Stop it, it’s just a figure of speech. How many times do you say it to Bridge’ and Dolly?

Except today he kissed you on the forehead and said that all the reasons he listed for pretending to be in love with you are actually all the reasons why he likes you.

Stop it. The kiss was just for show, as was the hand holding, or to comfort me, either way, whatever, and the reasons he listed... well... 

...

Stop thinking about it.

You spend the next ten minutes in the bath just thinking about anything but today; wondering what dresses you’ll try on tomorrow, what dresses you liked from before, how fun it’s going to be, what you can watch later.

After getting out and draining the tub, you pat yourself dry, moisturise, and change back into comfy clothes. You want to get another drink and more food so you head out again, this time to the sound of masculine laughter.

You’re already smiling by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, finding Steve and Bucky stood in the kitchen, opening bottles of beer.

“Well, hello there.”

Lifting his head, Bucky smiles as you approach and start rooting through cupboards.

“Hey, kid. How’re you doin’?”

You and he aren’t huggers, but the gentle affection in his smile, tone and his nickname for you is enough.

You turn to him as you close the cupboard, a bag of cookies under your arm. “Oh, you know, living my engaged dream.”

Steve chuckles as Bucky’s smile widens and he leans against the counter. “So I’ve heard. I thought you did really well at the interview, though.”

You snort, setting the cookies on the counter and making yourself a drink.

“No, seriously.” You look up at him as his insistence, and, oh, he is lovely. “You were yourself. Very warm and friendly. Loved what you said about fame and Joe, too.”

You incline your head, giving a slight curtsy that has him smiling again. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Could’ve cracked a few more jokes, though.”

You side-eye him as your lips twitch and you grab your drink, heading for the stairs. “I’ll bear that in mind for next time. I’ll leave you two to it for a while. Have fun.”

“Yep, see ya.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Steve says a second later.

“Oh, I will,” you say with raised brows as you climb the stairs, “Got plenty of episodes to catch up on that duty has kept me from.”

Steve’s smile lingers on his lips as he watches you disappear out of sight. Taking a breath, he then starts to turn back to Bucky.

“So, how’s the—”

“What’s goin’ on.”

His gaze meets Bucky’s as he pauses at his quiet question, his friend’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“... What d’you mean?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise higher. “With you and her, what’s goin’ on.”

Steve blinks, then lets out a slight scoff, a hand going to his hip as his other settles on the counter. “Nothing.”

“God, you’re still such an awful liar—”

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit—”

“You’re tellin’ me the truth, then?”

He presses his lips together. “... It’s complicated it.”

“Is it?” Bucky says, raising his bottle to his lips.

Steve’s jaw moves slightly, and he shakes his head a moment later. “Buck, I... After that letter threatening Y/N, I just—”

“What letter?”

Two sets of eyes dart to you at the top of the stairs, your own staring at them.

You’d forgotten the cookies.

If you’d been a second earlier you’d be having an entirely different conversation.

Bucky straightens, a quiet breath leaving him as Steve’s eyes remain on you, watching you move down the stairs.

“Y/N—”

“What letter, Steve?” you cut in, reaching the bottom step and moving closer, your arms folded, features expressionless.

His jaw moves minutely but he doesn’t look away. “... Six months ago I received a letter about you, threatening you because of our friendship. We had good reason to take it seriously so, don’t worry, we’ve had someone watching you to keep you safe—”

You scoff slightly, as your gaze darts between them, a coldness sweeping over you, not knowing what to process first. “Wait, wait, wait, hang on... I... You’ve had some stranger watching me for six months?”

There’s a beat of silence... then Bucky raises his hand. “Not a stranger, kid.”

You stare at him, your mouth moving slightly. “Every day?”

He shrugs a shoulder as he lowers his hand. “Nat and I take it in turns. As fascinating as you are, I need a day off sometimes.”

You let out an incredulous, slightly dazed laugh, because what the fuck. “Wow, okay... Wow, right, Fury must hate you both, giving you this kind of job when there are more important things out there.”

Silence. They shift slightly.

You look between them again, your smile fading. “... What?”

Steve runs a hand down his mouth with a small sigh before it goes to his hip, his gaze gentle on you. “There were a couple more letters after the first one. With pictures of you going to and from work, out with friends. and, uh... well, some not particularly nice things written with them.”

“Oh.”

Part of you wants to ask what. Part of you wishes you’d never forgotten the damn cookies and come out of your room.

Steve’s features soften as he moves around the counter, taking a step towards you. “Look, you—”

“Uhm...” You look at the ground, feeling slightly sick.

Someone had threatened you. More than once. Because you’re Steve’s friend. And that would hurt him.

So many different emotions are swirling and roiling inside of you, and somene had threatened you and you’d had no idea.

Are you comfortable with that? With that being kept from you?

You don’t know anymore.

“... I think i’m just gonna go to bed,” you say, looking up at them, because you don’t know what else to say. “Have a nice night. It was nice to see you, Buck.”

“You, too,” he answers gently as you retreat back upstairs.

As you climb, you glance at them, and see Steve bow his head, his eyes closed.

—

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[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 14

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations

Summary: With Wei Wuxian on the mend, Wen Qing sends him into town with A-Yuan, Lan Wangji, and Wen Ning to keep him out of trouble. They run into someone unexpectedly.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link | FFN link (no smut)

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

-----------

Wei Ying seems happy to be in town for the first time since his near-possession, cleared after nearly a week by Wen Qing. Lan Wangji is of the opinion that the surplus of radishes and need to sell them was more the reason for her clearance, along with the fact a bored Wei Ying was dangerous. 

The musical acupuncture helped him heal rapidly for someone without a golden core, according to Wen Qing. And Wei Ying had started to theorize about ways this could potentially be adapted to help Wen Ning—apparently one of the concerns was whether spiritual energy used in such a way would hurt him, or if using resentful energy could damage Wen Ning’s control. He didn’t feel ready to experiment just yet. 

There was only so much Lan Wangji could do to keep Wei Ying distracted once he was recovering, though the tidy rewritten notes thrilled his husband. After the third small explosion while he worked on the Compass of Evil, Wen Qing decided he’d do less damage selling radishes with Wen Ning in town, and insisted they take A-Yuan with them so Granny could rest.

Damage is a perhaps relative idea, when a fake Yiling Laozu disciple sets up shop next to them to hawk his counterfeit wares. 

Lan Wangji is surprised when Wei Ying finds the whole thing amusing, and says nothing when he steals the charlatan’s Compass of Evil, replacing it with a radish. Truthfully, the theft satisfies him; it grates on him to hear the lies gossips spew, to see people slander his zhiji for their own gain. 

The day is otherwise long, with Wen Ning too shy to effectively call attention to their radishes. Adorably, A-Yuan is a bit of a help there, enthusiastically calling the attention of young women who find him adorable (but at least purchased radishes), but he grows bored easily and needs redirection. 

It doesn’t help that Wei Ying keeps rubbing his hand over his collar with a dreamy expression, which more than once leads  Lan Wangji to recite the Lan precepts mentally lest he act inappropriately in public—Wei Ying is wearing his ribbon at his crown, so that restraint is absent. 

Under his collar is the evidence of his lack of restraint—a bruise in the shape of Lan Wangji’s teeth. 

He is careful, on the whole, given Wei Ying bruises easily in his unhealthy state, bruises that take too long to fade for Wangji’s comfort. But with Wei Ying straddling his lap and moaning obscenities in his ear, moving his hips just so, as he was tasting the sweat on his collar, his control had broken. 

At the bite, Wei Ying had come with an exultant “yes!” Their stomachs slick with it between them, his nails scraping at Lan Wangji’s back, clenching so hard around him his vision whited out with the force of his own orgasm. He can’t think about the bruise without remembering. 

Wei Ying likes the bruise, to Lan Wangji’s mortification. Likes being marked by him, little reminders of their every day.

“I know you’d never really hurt me, Lan Zhan,” he’d said, his voice filled with a trust Lan Wangji didn’t feel he deserved. “And I liked it, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Watching Wei Ying rub it here in town is a special kind of hell, him at arm’s length and too far from their bed. 

It becomes worse when Wei Ying glances his way and catches him looking, immediately reddening as though he knows exactly what he is thinking, which makes restraint all the more difficult. He looks beautiful, blushing. But he has always looked beautiful, and Lan Wangji had previously managed restraint—that was, however, before he had acknowledged their relationship, before they had consummated. Somehow the longing, the dreams and fantasies, had been much more manageable before he knew how Wei Ying’s sweat-slick skin tasted, how he felt coming apart. 

The sale of the last of the radishes is a relief, but they still need to purchase items on Wen Qing’s list before returning to Burial Mounds. He lets Wei Ying focus on A-Yuan, who insists on being carried, and walks alongside him without touching him. A-Yuan is practically hanging backward from Wei Ying’s arms, giggling at silly faces he’s making. Wen Ning takes up the rear with the cart, where he’ll have Wei Ying sit if his strength fails him. 

He is so focused on Wei Ying beside him that he doesn’t notice Jiang Wanyin in front of them until he halts, the smile on his face freezing, his stream of nonsense conversation with A-Yuan trailing into silence. 

Jiang Wanyin does not look happy.

But, then, he rarely does. 

Lan Wangji has to steel himself, doing his best not to look at the lower dantian where Wei Ying’s core now rests. Instead he bows politely.

“Sect Leader Jiang.”

Beside him, Wei Ying bows as best he can with A-Yuan in his arms, and he can sense movement behind him that tells him Wen Ning has followed suit. 

Jiang Wanyin’s lip curls, but he just silently tosses his head in a beckoning gesture. 

He can hear the way Wei Ying’s breath quickens, the bit of perspiration on his upper lip. Can sense his nervousness over what is to come, what he has decided to reveal. Lan Wangji takes a breath to calm himself. His husband needs him steady now.

The moment Jiang Wanyin turns to lead the way to wherever he intends them to speak, Lan Wangji puts a steadying hand on Wei Ying’s elbow as they follow and receives a wan smile in response. 

Lan Wangji is relieved he is wearing the clothing the aunties sewed for him today, wearing a simpler guan Wei Ying had carved for him personally after he had expressed reluctance to continue wearing the one he had worn to befit and show his station. Wei Ying had carved two rabbits on the guan, one wearing a forehead ribbon and the other stained a darker color with leftover dye from the dock root. The craftwork had distracted him nicely for a while. 

The clothing is of a heavier weave than he is used to, but he doesn’t mind it. If the plainer clothing has distracted Jiang Wanyin from noticing Lan Wangji is not wearing his forehead ribbon, that it is woven around Wei Ying’s crown and plaited with his red ribbon down his back, it is a relief. Jiang Wanyin is not known for an even temper, and his inattention has staved off what might be an argument until they are out of public. 

Wei Ying will find the coming conversations stressful enough in private. He doesn’t need it to start publicly and draw attention from the locals. 

Despite all the rumors about Wei Ying floating around Yiling, none of the regular citizens seem to know what he looks like. Any rumors imported speak of him as a demon or monster, and so any talismans purporting to show his features show him as such—talismans Wei Ying had decorated his cave with, and which Lan Wangji has successfully convinced him to allow him to remove. As infamous and reviled as Wei Ying is, he has managed to stay anonymous outside the gentry, anonymity that affords him some safety, and Lan Wangji would rather it not be shattered by one of Jiang Wanyin’s temper tantrums. 

They are led to a courtyard, and though Jiang Wanyin first tries to close the door to keep Lan Wangji and Wen Ning out, he is able to stop this by blocking the shutting door with his sheathed sword. The Jiang sect heir must see something in the narrowing of Lan Wangji’s eyes, because he doesn’t attempt it again, instead closing and locking the door behind them. 

Aside from a single figure in a long black cloak, they are alone, and Lan Wangji is unsurprised but pleased when it turns out to be Jiang Yanli in her wedding robes and headdress, come to show Wei Ying so he is not completely left out—he has seen his husband’s pain over this, how much he misses the sister who raised him, knows she is as close to his blood as can be, and he hopes this eases it somewhat. 

Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying’s arms drooping under the weight of A-Yuan, so he carefully takes the boy from him so he can greet his sister.

“A-Xian,” she calls him, untying the cloak and letting it fall. “What do you think?”

He’s close enough to hear Wei Ying’s breath catch, and is taken back to his disappointment over being excluded from the wedding. He himself is reminded of seeing Wei Ying in red following the Sunshot Campaign, in his underrobes after waking for a coma, the only time he has seen him in only in red. He realizes with a pang he will never see his husband in wedding robes. 

“What, she’s not marrying you.”

Jiang Wanyin’s snide tone grates on Lan Wangji, but Wei Ying responds in kind, and he recalls watching them snipe verbally at each other during the lecture in Cloud Recesses, back before the world fell apart. 

Jiang Yanli calms them, and he marvels at her ability to bring them together as they try to convince her she looks lovely in her wedding garb. 

“You’ll only believe it if he says it,” Wei Ying says, faking petulance. “Lan Zhan, what do you think?”

He had been trying to avert his eyes politely, but even Jiang Wanyin seems to be watching for his reaction, so he studies them, the delicate stitching, the fall of the layers. 

Lan Wangji wishes he could see Wei Ying in wedding robes. 

“Elegant,” he says with a nod.

“Zhan-gege, who’s Pretty-jiejie?” A-Yuan asks, twisting in his hold.

Wei Ying smiles at the boy, taking him back.

“Even A-Yuan knows you’re pretty, shijie, so you don’t need to worry.”

Jiang Yanli folds the cloak and gestures to the nearby table. 

“Come now, I’ve made soup.”

When Wei Ying sits, Jiang Yanli’s expression shifts to surprise, and he notices her looking at his forehead ribbon in his hair. She looks to him, a question in her expression, and he simply nods. Her responding smile is filled with relief, but also regret. 

He is surprised when she doesn’t address it immediately, instead gesturing to him to sit and opening the basket. He takes a seat beside Wei Ying. The smell of the soup fills the air, a scent unfamiliar to Lan Wangji, but one that reminds him of his husband. This, he realizes, must be the lotus root and pork rib soup he has heard him talk about. 

“I apologize. I only have three bowls,” she says, sounding truly disappointed. “I did not expect…”

Lan Wangji is about to demur and insist he does not intend to eat when Jiang Wanyin, surprisingly, pulls out a pouch of money.

“We can purchase a couple from the market, A-jie.”

Wen Ning bows.

“Jiang-zongzhu, Jiang-guniang, I can g-go for you.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns at Wen Ning with thinly veiled hostility that baffles Lan Wangji, but hands him some silver.

As Wen Ning flees, he wonders if it is to avoid Jiang Wanyin, or to avoid being present for at least part of the conversation to come. 

He knows Wei Ying would prefer to flee, and he strokes his arm briefly with his thumb. The smile he receives from his husband is tremulous, but he can see his determination. 

Jiang Yanli smiles at A-Yuan, her attention drawn by the movement.

“Who is this little one?” she asks, crouching slightly so she’s at the child’s height.

“A-Yuan is A-Yuan, Pretty-jiejie!”

Wei Ying shifts, catching his hand briefly and squeezing it; Lan Wangji realizes he’s decided to start here, with A-Yuan, in the multitude of revelations that are to be made. 

“A-Yuan, this is my shijie,” he says softly. “You can call her guma.”

Jiang Yanli gasps in delight when A-Yuan dutifully calls her guma.

“A-Xian, is he yours?”

She is obviously unable to take him into her arms, wearing her wedding robes as she is, but she reaches out to take A-Yuan’s hand. 

“Not by blood, but he started calling me a-die.”

He offers a wan smile to both his siblings.

“Meet Wei Yuan. Or he will be, once I’ve introduced him properly to my parents.”

“He’s a Wen,” Jiang Wanyin states.

Lan Wangji levels him with a stare, though it’s unclear in his tone how he feels. 

“He’s an orphan and he’s three years old,” Wei Ying shoots back.

Jiang Wanyin’s face softens, but Jiang Yanli looks alarmed.

“A-Xian, he was at the work camp? At Qiongqi Path?”

Her face hardens when he nods.

“The children, the civilians, all were supposed to be let go. How could they…?”

Lan Wangji stays silent, knowing Wei Ying would prefer to shield her from some of the uglier realities of the war, but is reminded of coming upon Jin Zixun shooting unarmed civilians in chains, and his lie that it was sanctioned by the Lan and Nie clans. 

“I couldn’t leave them there, shijie,” he whispers. “Wen Ning and Wen Qing sheltered us, and the others were held as Wen Ruohan’s hostages against her during the war.”

A-Yuan is watching Wei Ying quietly, with the same air of concern he had at the restaurant in Yiling not so many days ago. Lan Wangji shifts again to put the child on Wei Ying’s lap, watching as the boy hugs him.

Wei Ying manages a smile for him, then leans his head close to him and points to Jiang Wanyin.

“And the fussy gege is your shushu,” he says conspiratorially. 

“You—!” 

Jiang Yanli silences Jiang Wanyin with a look.

“Like Ning-shushu?” A-Yuan asks. “Do I call him nao-shushu?”

“That’s your Jiang-shushu,” Wei Ying clarifies before Jiang Cheng can take offense, but nearly chokes on the title and falls quiet.

Lan Wangji remembers abruptly that Wei Ying had once referred to Jiang Fengmian by that very name, and he watches his husband in concern. He has expressed feeling as though the attack on Lotus Pier was his fault, and he can see the guilt and grief Wei Ying is struggling to hold back. 

“Yes,” Jiang Wanyin says, his voice strained as though he is fighting his own emotional turmoil, ending an awkward silence. “You can call me Jiang-shushu.”

When A-Yuan does, it is perhaps the closest Lan Wangji has ever seen Jiang Wanyin come to smiling. 

Wen Ning returns with several bowls and soup spoons, an inexpensive wooden variety they have at the Burial Mounds. He tries to give Jiang Wanyin his change and is waved off.

“You can use it to get something sweet for… for my zhizi,” he says, his tone brusque. “Or a toy or something.”

Wei Ying smiles, his posture relaxing just slightly—A-Yuan’s acceptance by his siblings as their nephew has eased his nerves somewhat. But this is only the first of three difficult revelations that must be made, and arguably the easiest of them. 

Jiang Yanli serves each of them, putting a generous portion of meat in A-Yuan’s bowl, and takes a seat. She herself is not eating, likely concerned about staining her wedding robes. Instead she seems content to watch them eat.

Wei Ying alternates between himself and A-Yuan, one spoon each.

“Be sure to chew the lotus root,” Wen Ning tells the boy softly. 

A-Yuan nods enthusiastically, clearly enamored of the flavors; Lan Wangji can’t blame him. Though there is more spice than he is accustomed to, as is the norm in Yunmeng cuisine, the flavor is somehow warm and comforting. He completely understands how this soup is his husband’s favorite. 

“You’re not eating,” Jiang Yanli says. 

Wen Ning jerks in surprise.

“Oh… I was going to save this for jiejie so she could try it.”

Jiang Yanli smiles warmly.

“We will be coming to Burial Mounds, once I change at the inn. I brought enough ingredients to make some for everyone.”

Wei Ying nearly chokes on a bite of soup. She pats his back until he’s recovered.

“Wen Qing sent me a letter. We have things to discuss.”

Jiang Wanyin looks sour about this.

“Speaking of, Zewu-Jun sent an interesting letter. Said you have news to share. I’m assuming it has to do with why Hanguang-Jun is here?”

Wei Ying puts his soup spoon down and hands A-Yuan off to Wen Ning with his bowl. Wen Ning doesn’t seem surprised by this and takes over feeding him. 

He tries not to be nervous over his husband getting the boy out of the potential line of fire. He rather hopes it is unnecessary, but he has seen Jiang Wanyin’s temper.

“About that,” Wei Ying says, then pauses, glancing at Lan Wangji. “Um, well… We’re married.”

For a moment, there is stunned hurt on Jiang Wanyin’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by wrath, powerful enough that zidian sparks.

“You couldn’t even invite us?!”

Lan Wangji will not have him blame Wei Ying for that. He knows there will be enough of that when they get to the next revelation. He would rather the focus be on him.

“He did not know we were married until recently.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes snap to him, and he carefully keeps his gaze cool in response to what is almost a volcano. He sputters, almost too angry to speak, zidian sparking even more dangerously, leaving the scent of ozone in the air. 

“You— Without his consent?! This, from the honorable Hanguang-Jun?!”

“Jiang Wanyin!”

Wei Ying’s voice is low and cutting, startlingly powerful despite the lack of volume. It’s enough to startle his brother out of his anger, at least momentarily.

“He handfasted me in the Cold Spring cave,” he explains. “Lan Yi’s guqin was attacking me because I wasn’t Lan.”

Jiang Yanli stands and levels a look at Jiang Wanyin that somehow makes him quail; Lan Wangji only understands why when she levels it at him—the fury of a mother figure.

“Please explain, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Her voice is clipped in the same manner it was when she chastised Jin Zixun at the Phoenix Mountain hunt, and leaves no doubt that she will find a way to harm him if his explanation is deemed unsatisfactory. She is mildly terrifying.

“Wei Ying was being attacked with Chord Assassination,” he says. “The headband would afford him protection. I did not expect Lan Yi’s appearance. Or that we would bow. Regardless, I did not regret it.”

“You married him by accident?” Jiang Wanyin mutters, the rage gone and replaced with confusion.

“Lan Yi did not disapprove.”

“And you never told A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asks.

She also seems more confused than angry now. 

Wei Ying sighs tiredly.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng, shijie… When would he have had time? When we were searching for the yin iron? Indoctrination? The Xuanwu cave? After—”

He breaks off. His siblings look pained, remembering the fate of Lotus Pier, though they don’t know what came after for Wei Ying. Yet. 

“There was never time,” Lan Wangji agrees. “I did not expect my regard for him to be reciprocated. But now, with the danger to Wei Ying… even were it solely political, I could help protect him.”

“It’s not solely political,” Wei Ying chirps, his tone almost smug. “It’s very reciprocated—and can’t be annulled now!”

Lan Wangji can feel his ears heating. Just under Wei Ying’s collar lurks the proof of that, as he’s been acutely aware all day. He has to avoid looking at him for a moment—not out of embarrassment, but because if he does, if he sees the heat in Wei Ying’s gaze, he might lose control and kiss him in front of his siblings. 

As much as his husband might prefer the distraction, he doubts it will help much. 

“I didn’t need to know that, ever,” Jiang Wanyin grouses, making a face. 

Jiang Yanli takes her seat again, her face serious.

“A-Xian is in danger?”

Lan Wangji nods. 

“The rumors make him out to be a monster raising an army of Wen cultivators, as though he is an enemy. The truth is quite different. The lies Jin Guangshan has spread to imply he disrespects Jiang Wanyin were meant to isolate him. They want the amulet.”

“Wait, what’s this about me not respecting Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying demands, clearly affronted.

“One of the claims made after Qiongqi Path,” Lan Wangji tells him. “That you were speaking ill of Jiang Wanyin at the Phoenix Mountain hunt.”

Wei Ying looks stunned, and his gaze darts to his brother. He evidently doesn’t like what he sees, his expression shuttering. 

“I see,” he says, the words heavy in the air. “And you believed them.”

Jiang Wanyin has the decency to look ashamed. 

Jiang Yanli seems at a loss. Lan Wangji suspects she has heard none of this. Had she been aware, he has no doubt the offenders would have regretted speaking ill of Wei Ying. 

“Maybe you’re right not to trust me,” Wei Ying murmurs finally. “I’ve lied to both of you.”

The admission startles a flinch from his siblings. Lan Wangji can feel the tension in Wei Ying, like a guqin string stretched too taut, ready to snap at the slightest touch. He reaches for Wei Ying’s hand under the table and places his on top of it. He is relieved when his husband relaxes slightly, a slight tremor running through him. 

Wei Ying’s hand, when he laces theirs together, is clammy and cold, his grip tighter than normal. As much as Lan Wangji wishes he could do more, the best he can do is be here for him. 

The quiet stretches, seeming to freeze them in time, broken only when A-Yuan asks Wen Ning for another bite of soup. 

Jiang Yanli reaches forward, touches Wei Ying’s arm. 

“About what, A-Xian?”

She looks concerned and a little afraid, and the same look lurks on Jiang Wanyin’s features. They know, Lan Wangji realizes that Wei Ying has been hiding something, maybe even suspect how terrible it is. Whatever they might imagine, he knows the truth will be much worse. 

Wei Ying swallows hard, his fingers tightening. He seems to be trying to find the words, deciding how to say it in a way that might soften the blow. 

But there is no way to soften it. 

“I didn’t know how to find Baoshan Sanren,” he admits finally.

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

The conversation is a lot longer than I expected it to be, and this is a good stopping point, even if it is a bit of a cliffhanger. This went in directions I didn’t always expect, in part because Jiang Yanli is terrifying.

Lan Wangji has feelings about Jiang Cheng. They’re not always the nicest feelings, but he has them regardless. It’s ok, because Jiang Cheng has similar feelings in return.

It might take me a bit to pick this up again. I’m participating in the WangXian Lunar New Year gift exchange, so I’m working on my piece for that and putting my other fics on hold for a little while. Also, the new semester just started, and I’ve probably fielded about 50 emails from panicked students today alone.