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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader

#simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #mw2 smut #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #simon ghost riley fic

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kingsblaze · 2 years

Text

I SAW THE EPISODE!!!!!

OKAY, SO-

From a pure spectator stand point, the episode was fucking AWFUL. Missing over HALF the battle to find some lost ocs was disappointing as all hell. Cynthia taking up so much screen time for no plot reason was also pretty oof. Truly, since I’ve been skipping passed non battle content whenever these episodes even come out.

ON THE BATTLE AT HAND!!!

I know why people were so angry!! You missed all of the action!! And that blows!! You didn’t see how a single gorilla could take out over half of Diantha’s team. But I can tell you because just looking at Rillaboom’s opponets and the line up, Leon was running an edited popular moveset! It’s nearly the same exact one I gave to Leon’s team on Pokemonshowdown!

Mine Vs. What Leon Probably Ran

Drum Beating (for speed control and STAB) / Wood Hammer (for manger damage) Acrobatics (for coverage) Drain Punch (for coverage) Knock Off (lots of damage and coverage)

We all know Leon changes moves to meet his opponents on equal footing. These moveset was absolutely designed to take out two if not three of Diantha’s pokemon straight up.

Looking at her team, there is one thing very apparent. They Pokemon Rillaboom fought were SLOWER than him. Meaning he could potentially K.O. them with out ever taking any damage regardless of anything Diantha could do. I bet that Goodra was the one who did the most damage to Rillaboom simply because it’s tanky as all hell on all fronts, and hits hard. That Fire Blast made it possible for Gardevoir to come in and knock it out with a single Psychic.

Her Tyrantrum being knocked out so early actually ensured she’d lose. I’m half sure a Head Smash while Charizard is dynamaxed would’ve knocked it out EASILY. I would rather chalk that up to a choke, an honest misplay rather than call her a bad Champion, because she’s not. Especially with the team she had for Leon’s. If she just played differently, then I think she could’ve gotten so much closer to that win if she brought out Gardevior and Goodra immediately after Hawlucha went down.

In the end, SHE SURPRISED LEON!! GENUINELY!! THAT’S SO COOL! Gardevoir redirecting that Wild Fire was super fucking cool dude. Mega Evo is nothing to sniff at and I think she did a wonderful job of showing what it can do. The only advantage Leon had in that moment was the fact Charizard’s health was DOUBLED.

(It sucks that it happened this way but watching a monkey one shot three pokemon was probably not worth watching, but also neither was that missing girl arc)

#ooc #mun talks your ear off mun talks your ear off mun talks your ear off mun talks #chewing and biting at the bars of my brain

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

break my mind’s eye I — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings: drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution

Authors Note: finally i was able to conclude that bmme can be reposted!! please welcome back this precious gem of mine

The first time she saw was before one of her fashion shows. Small event compared to the likes of Gucci or Louis Vuitton but for her the biggest night of her life was about to happen. Unfortunately minutes before the show started, Belle got a call from her uncle to pick Taehyung up from their place and his tone sounded utterly bleak.

Walking away from a highly angered manager she rushed off to pick him up only to find him sitting outside on the porch in the cold wind, laughing a little to himself before swearing at no one. It was the first day Belle found out the things he had been taking.

Weed, ecstasy…she even found a small bag of cocaine hidden in his hoodie after getting him cleaned up.

“Where the hell did you get money for cocaine?” Belle tried to search his expression but Taehyung was too busy stumbling as he finally fell onto her bed.

“I know a guy. I promised to pay him back soon.” Taehyung mumbled turning to rest on his back, his limbs refused to stay still to a point where Belle started to get annoyed.

“Tae, how much do you owe this guy?” She asked, heart thumping a little knowing cocaine especially was not inexpensive and that mixed with other drugs…

His body being ruined was one heart-wrenching thing but she dreaded the amount of money this all cost.

Her brother stayed silent closing his eyes to let out a few breaths which caused her blood to boil even more.

Belle understood why Taehyung turned to something so putrid to relieve him of their recent troubles. There was a moment in time where she even thought to do so, maybe to ease some of the pain of they both went through. But it was getting out of hand.

The next morning Belle fixed him up a proper breakfast to distract him from taking another dose of the things he bought. Or was loaned anyway since he didn’t have a job or savings to pay for any of the products she found.

Taehyung didn’t even come to the table.

Instead as she walked towards the bedroom, she found him shirtless snorting something up his nose as he quickly threw his head back. Just hearing his sigh of relief made Belles’ stomach churn to near sickness.

Fuming, Belle grabbed whatever pieces of his stash she could find on the table and threw it in the bin pushing it away when he tried to savor anything that could be fished out. She saw his eyes widen so much that it almost seemed his eyeballs were going to fall on his hand.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Taehyung yelled, voice growly while his nose still had remnants of white powder dripping and his eyes bloodshot more than ever. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get shit like that?!”

“I don’t care, you’re done with this!” Belle stood her ground but kept her voice calm, her own glossy eyes fixated on his.

“You don’t fucking get it!” Taehyung winced, face contorting it looked like he was about to cry. “I need it, okay? And I got that shit from a guy that works in the Jeon Cartel!” He gestured over to the entrance of the apartment. “I can’t ask for anymore, I haven’t paid for anything.” He yanked at his hair whining under his breath like a spoiled child not getting the toy he wanted.

Belle shook her head slightly, tears forming at the brim of her eyes. “Tae…” Her voice grew shakier now. “How much do you owe them?” Her bottom lip quivered watching his chest rise and fall heavily.

He stayed silent averting his gaze.

“Taehyung.” Her tone quickly turned firm though her heart pounded painfully. “How much do you owe them?” Belle truly hated acting like the oldest between the two.

Taehyung used to take care of her every single day almost more than her own parents since they mostly focused on their oldest son because he had ‘a lot more potential’. Her stomach ached looking at all the potential slowly going down the drain right in front of her eyes.

“A few hundred…six…maybe seven…” Taehyung muttered trying not to look directly at her when he spoke. He probably knew exactly the kind of shock gripped her face and he was damn right.

Belles’ entire body turned cold, her fingers almost wanting to fish out the substances herself just knowing how much money it cost to get it. But she curled them up into fists wanting to look strong. “I don’t…know how it feels…I do know it hurts and I know why you’re doing this but…I can’t lose you too.” She whispered, vision getting blurry as a lump grew in her throat. “You’re my big brother, you’ve always looked after me.”

Taehyung bit down his bottom lip lowering his head in slight shame.

“Please let me look after you.” She pleaded in a whisper trying to search his expression, to see any sense of softness or thought.

Her brother sobbed a little, running his shaky fingers through his matted hair before nodding but still trying not to meet her gaze. “Okay.”

Belle let out a trembling sigh of relief, a tear escaping slowly down her cheek when she finally relaxed. “I have savings you can use to pay for the drugs you asked for.” She stated in a gentle tone this time as Taehyung stared at her, shaking his head.

“That’s your boutique money, you can’t—”

“Yes I can.” She forced a smile across her face to reassure him. “My boutique can wait. I want you to get better.”

Taehyung gulped down carefully padding over his sister before leaning his head on her shoulder at an attempt of a lazy hug. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered against the fabric of her sweater, a light whimper under his breath. “Thank you.”

The chill that spread through her body now warmed up as she wrapped her arms around her brother, feeling like the younger sister if only for a second. “Who do we have to pay?” Belle asked sniffling a little.

“My debts’ too high…” Taehyungs’ grip tightened around the girl. “…the guy who gave me the drugs tells me I need to go straight to the boss for questioning if I come back again.”

Oh god, Taehyung…what did you get yourself into?

Much to Taehyungs’ discontent, Belle insisted on coming with him with the envelope of the payment in her hand. She figured cash would be more believable instead of bank transferring especially since there was so much money piled up for just debt. Her older brother looked at her a little surprised at how well she knew how to maneuver these things. “Being in the fashion industry doesn’t just mean I draw and sew clothes, you know.” She replied simply as she drove the both of them to the address Taehyungs’ guy told him to go.

During the trip she wanted to mention how sneaky it was to just give them the address and not come along. But then again…this wasn’t exactly an ethical business to begin with.

Of course it wasn’t difficult in the slightest to find the Jeon household considering it was on the outskirts of the city. A large sandstone colored mansion with vines growing off of the sides and golden detail on the windows and pillars. They drove in front of the closed entrance where Taehyung told them his name and that he was being expected which thankfully caused the large gate to slide open with a painful screech sound.

Heart pounded so hard it could have ripped out of her ribcages, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and her palms a little sweaty. The guards lined up in front of the door with their suits and shades making her homemade white floral dress look like peasants work. Even from here she could recognize that those uniforms were not made from some random ordinary designer. Even though the design itself was quite ordinary.

Taehyung walked out of the car first before Belle followed suit.

As soon as she walked out, one of the guards held his hand out.

“Ma’am, the boss requests that you give away your car in the duration of the meeting.” He spoke in a robotic tone.

Belle wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her directly since the shades were so dark but she gave him her car keys anyway. The feeling of emptiness eerily seeping through her already nerve-wracked body. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Taehyung must be feeling around all of this.

They were led into the mansion by three guards. The entrance was really just a big hall that stretched across the whole expanse of the building. When they passed a large open archway then Belle could see the furnished details; a few couches circled around in the middle of the large space with the fireplace behind the sitting, a bar on the far right with some maids tending to the dust while there were stairs on the left leading to the upper level.

Why would they want meet them personally for a few hundred dollars? It looked like a small loss looking at the quality of this whole building down to the outfits their guards were wearing.

Maybe it was more greed than the amount of the money.

“Please be seated. Master Jeon will speak to you shortly.” The same guard declared before moving back to his post and standing there like a statue.

Taehyung and Belle sat at the couch that faced the fireplace. Thankfully the maids were kind enough to turn it on since she hadn’t realized how cool it was going to be in the house. They offered them tea which they both turned down. An empty stomach meant less likely for her to throw up from the anxiousness. Taehyung, on the other hand, lost interest for food altogether barely eating anything but crumbs.

She noticed the hollowness of his cheeks and the darkness under his eyes. How long had it been since she saw a smile stretching across his lips? Taehyung used to be filled with light and passion beyond anything Belle had ever seen. He was the reason she pushed herself to pursue her own dreams despite the side-eyes from their parents. He defended her passion. He protected from unfair treatment always giving her shine he thought she deserved.

Now Belle had to repay the favor. She needed to encourage her brother to restart his path back to one that made him happy instead of one that slowly destroyed him to the core.

Footsteps brought her back out from her thoughts, eyes trailing over to the stairs. A tall built figure dressed in an all-white suit with a button-up shirt to match, loosely done up so his gold necklace could glimmer in the light. Belle noticed the gold cufflinks shimmering from his wrists. Hair styled somewhat neatly with a side part and strands hovering his eye when he moved, lips a rosy hue and his face looked for younger than she expected.

When people said ‘drug lord’ she imagined a stumpy old creep with similar attire except traditionally unkempt with facial hair and untrimmed chest hair that hung over their shirts.

Despite his pleasant appearance, Belle was not going to be blinded to the fact that this man thrived off of her brothers’ suffering.

The man finally met her gaze after only glancing a little at Taehyung before sitting down on the couch in front of them. Legs spread apart ever so slightly, he leaned back with one of his arms extended out. “Mr. Kim.” He spoke in a soft tone, eyes going back to her older brother now. “Do you recognize who I am?” He searched his expression.

Taehyung kept his head lowered but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Who am I?” He pressed on like a father calmly scolding his child.

“M-Master Jeon Jungkook…” He muttered helplessly almost glancing up to meet his gaze but quickly looking down once again.

“So you do know…” Jungkook nodded, pressing his lips together. “Here I was thinking you consider me a joke. Taking bags and bags of my products while assuming I won’t try to track you down. Is that you what you thought of me?” His tone grew firmer.

Unlike Taehyung, Belle kept her head up, maintaining her gaze on the stranger. It seemed like Jungkook had a good eye for noticing when he flickered over to look at her instead.

“No, sir.” Taehyung shook his head frantically. “I-I just n-needed to get my money together.” He explained in a shaky voice not noticing that his precious ‘sir’ was staring at Belle a lot longer than she was comfortable.

Maybe he was waiting for her to duck her head down like her older brother.

The urge to do so was stronger than ever but Belle persisted. Until Jungkook glanced over at Taehyung again.

Her brothers’ fingers trembled violently at this point. Belle itched to comfort him somehow but she wanted him to try and face on his own to some extent. Coming here and sitting next to him was already being far too lenient but she couldn’t let him do this completely alone. Not when the healing process was so fresh and people like Jungkook would do anything to make sure he stayed addicted.

“Where’s the money?” Jungkook gestured towards him.

Belle took a small breath, placing the envelope on her lap onto the glass coffee table. “One of your men said he owed seven hundred.” She spoke up now trying to keep her voice as steady as possible even though her heart was beating out of control. “The envelope has eight just in case he wasn’t accurate.” A chilly feeling brushed over her body when her savings just sat there on the coffee table. Nothing but petty money for Jungkook but to her, it was the only way she could afford the vacant building in the city for her boutique.

“And you are?”

“His sister.” She muttered, glancing over at Taehyung who let out a deep sigh.

Jungkook stared down at the thick envelope for a few minutes with a raised brow. “Jongho…” He curled his fingers in towards a guard who quickly rushed over to stand beside him. “Please escort Mr. Kim to the second living room for a moment. I’d like to have a word with Ms…”

“Belle.”

“Belle…” The corner of his lip curled up before he gestured again towards the man called Jongho and he immediately led Taehyung away from them.

Belles’ heart raced seeing his helpless face looking back at her not sure if he was trying to apologize or if he was terrified of why they were being separated. “Why’re you taking him away?” She asked, being as polite as possible but her tightening fists told a different story.

“I’m not going to hurt him.” Jungkook murmured. He leaned in to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes searching her expression closely. “I thought it’d be better if I had a private conversation with a more steady minded person rather than your brother.” He nodded behind her.

Her brows furrowed glancing down at the closed envelope before staring up at him. “We got you the money, why do we need to have a conversation?” Belle’s voice was low just enough for only Jungkook to hear and no one else. Not that she could raise her voice even if she tried from how closed up her throat was.

“Because I’m honorable to an extent but I also hate people taking advantage of my kindness.” Jungkook shrugged lightly. “Your brother had been freely given all the products he consumed and he waited three months to give me my payment.” He let his sentence linger in the air to add more effect. “Three months of losing product and receiving no profit in return is not a risk I like making, Belle. Nor do I want to make it again.”

“So…what’re you saying?” Belle thought of the worst possible scenarios. Would they take Taehyung away and punish him? Or kill him? Was he being punished right now and Jungkook was just lying to prevent a scene? She watched his soft eyes trail up and down her form trying to be subtle but Belle caught it immediately feeling the urge to hide away into the couch.

“I’m saying the deal’s changed.” Jungkook declared in the most casual way like you would cancel a simple outing to the mall. “Look I can get money anytime I want to…you know that, don’t you?” He tilted his head a little searching her features. “I asked for this personal meeting on the basis of principle. Taehyung and many people like him need to understand that we stand by codes just as much as anyone. I’m not a money pig that just drools and accepts cash when it’s given to me.” He raised a brow.

Belle winced lightly, shaking her head. “Then why are we here? What do you want?”

Jungkook did nothing for a minute and gave her a soft smile. “Something he can take a little more seriously than cash…well—someone.”

Blood drained from her body from her aching head to her toes. Belle pierced into his smug gaze hoping…praying that he didn’t meant what she thought. The last thing she ever looked to be afraid of but now became the ultimate bane of her visit.

A visit thought to be quick and sweet with cash exchanged. How could she be surprised? These people wanted so much but still asked for more. What more could she expect from the man that took just to have the power to take some more? “Taehyung’s a good man.” She whispered. “He won’t do this again.”

“That’s what a lot of people tell me for years about their relatives or friends, Belle.” Jungkook murmured under his breath keeping the conversation to themselves despite the maids and guards standing around. “My grandfather heard it…my father heard it…every single time those people come back begging for more and then we get blamed for the dead bodies.” He sighed in slight defeat but she didn’t buy it in the slightest.

There was nothing noble about this request. If he were any other man gaining the audacity to say something like this, he would expect a hard punch on his nose. Except now it wasn’t just her own safety in question. Nor was Jungkook any ordinary man who could be taken by police or a punch looking at his build. “What am I supposed to do?” Belle murmured, heat flushing in her body making her more exasperated than grateful at the running fireplace.

Once again, a smile stretched across Jungkooks’ rosy lips. If it were taken out of context you’d think he was some sweet boy admiring something. But the reality was far from that lie. “You’re not going to be my prisoner, if that’s what you’re asking.” He smiled a little wider, eyes glimmering. “I’m not that evil.”

Debatable.

“You’re a lot more intelligent than you let on.”

“You just met me.”

“But I meet a lot of people…a little too many. So I tend to rely on first impressions and hope I’m right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“And if you’re wrong?”

He chuckled under his breath gesturing over to his guards. “They’re not there for decoration…and I don’t always negotiate like this. I’m just having a good day.” She saw his expression grow dark but the smile still remained making him look utterly sinister.

Visions of Taehyung tied to a chair, sobbing flashed across her mind making her mentally slap herself back to reality. She couldn’t look weak in front of him of all people. That’s what he wanted…for people to cower in front of him as he spewed his threats around to get everything he asked for. But denying him completely and storming out wouldn’t exactly be the smartest decision either considering she didn’t actually know where her brother was. The mansion was still mystery to her and Jungkook could easily hurt any of them as he so subtly stated with that stupid, fucking smile.

“So…what do you say, Belle? Do we have an accord?”

Taehyung was led back into the main living room, slightly yanking off of Jongho’ grasp and giving him a glare when he walked away. He looked over at Belle, her back facing him standing in front of Jungkook. “Belle?”

Belle looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile as she walked closer. She let out a sigh of relief seeing no sign of injury on the older male.

“Did he do something to you?” After the longest time, Taehyung sounded like an older brother again looking after Belle whenever she looked the slightest bit distressed. “What did he say?” He whispered.

She stayed silent, gaze lowered to look at his T-shirt before flickering up to force a smile at him. “It’s going to be okay.” Belle murmured. “He even offered to pay for your rehabilitation and get you back on your feet.”

Brows furrowed now gaining the urge to glance over at Jungkook but he couldn’t seem to stop searching his sisters’ expression. “Why would he want to pay for—”

“I told him to.” Belle gulped, smile fading away into a small frown.

“Belle, we can’t pay him back for all of that.” Taehyung held onto her bare arms feeling the cold skin underneath his.

She nodded. “Yes we can. He’s only asking for one thing.”

“…What?” He whispered.

Belle bit down her bottom lip, chin quivering a little before she smiled again even though her eyes grew glossy. “He wants me.”

Taehyungs’ heart plummeted making his whole body feel heavy. “No…” He shook his head, grip tightening around her arms as if she was going to disappear if he let go. “He can’t do that.”

“I agreed.”

“Belle!” It was more a loud whisper than anything but it managed to turn a few heads. “He’s going t—”

“I know what he’s going to do.” Belle rubbed his chest soothingly. “But this is the only way I can help you.”

“You have the money, why won’t he take it?” He gestured towards the envelope on the coffee table which now looked long forgotten.

Belle lowered her gaze. “Because he thinks you’ll just do it all again. He doesn’t trust you.”

“And you trust him?” Taehyung retorted causing heat to bubble up inside Belle.

“I trust you to do your part in this promise.” She tightened her jaw, wincing as the lump in her throat grew painful. “Unless you have a better idea to escape a pissed off drug lord then you will do this.” Tears flooded at her eyes threatening to escape but her gaze persisted on him. “Please promise me you’ll try to get better from now on.” Her lips quivered. “I didn’t know how else to help you. But now you need to help me. You need to heal and get back on your feet.”

Taehyung brushed against his fingers through the hair rested on her shoulder. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Belle shook her head as an attempt to reassure him but he didn’t look at all convinced. “I’ll be fine.” She smiled faintly, a few tears escaping down her cheeks which he wiped off gently.

“I’m so sorry…” He whimpered, fingers curling around her hair. “This is all my fault, I should’ve just come here on my own.”

“He would’ve killed you.”

“But you’d be happy.”

Belle chuckled sadly. “You really think I’d be happy if I lost you?”

“But you wouldn’t be here.” Taehyung side glanced over at the guards who looked completely unfazed by the whole ordeal while Jungkook had his back turned to them, gazing out into the garden outside.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” Belle wasn’t sure if that was directed at her brother or herself. Was this meant to be her big fork in the road? The path she was supposed to determine her whole life. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was amount to only one thing… but she’d be caught dead before she cowered begging before people like Jungkook. If he wanted her then he could have her. But he’d be an idiot to think she wasn’t going to use that to her own advantage one day. “We’re allowed to see each other so you’re not losing me, okay? I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

Taehyung sighed in frustration averting his gaze, boring holes in the back of Jungkooks’ head with his glare. “I want to kill him.”

“Then we’ll never get out of here.” Belle replied simply.

Finally Taehyung succumbed to his sisters’ wishes, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead before letting go, physically deflating as he was led out of the mansion by one of the guards.

One of them, same Jongho walked over to her. “I’ll drive him back safely, Ms. Kim.” He gave her a reassuring smile before following Taehyung out of the mansion.

The double doors closed blocking out whatever light that came from it leaving her empty.

“Taehyung will call you when he gets home. So you know he’s safe.” Jungkook spoke up now in a gentle tone but Belle kept her back to him. “And your personal belongings will be moved here in a few days.”

She licked her lips before lowering her gaze, letting a few silent sobs before wiping the tears away. “Where can I freshen up?” Belle looked down at her fingers seeing the light mascara smudges, trying to wipe at the corners of his eyes to wipe any traces away.

Jungkook seemed like he gestured towards one of the maids because a kind looking woman padded over and touched her on the shoulder.

Her grey hair wrapped up in a bun and the smile lines around her face showed when she gave her a sweet grin, making her look like the only person that seemed somewhat trustworthy in this building. “Let’s go upstairs, dear.” She held onto her arms and led her towards the stairs. “I’ll get some new clothes sent up as well.”

Belle didn’t glance at Jungkook but she could feel his gaze on her when she was led up the stairs to the now shared master bedroom.

Similar to what a hotel suite would look like, the master bedroom adorned a modern design with an opaque black curtains drawn to keep the room cool and ambient with the warm lights. A king-sized bed with classic white sheets with some gold detail matching the aesthetic of the whole mansion itself. There was a marble partition that had a small gap on the bottom with a modern looking fireplace on to keep the room warm, situated on the immediate left when they walked in.

On the other side of the partition was a desk with a closed laptop and some files. Another open archway on the right that led to a walk-in-wardrobe with lit up shelves that accentuated all the different shoes and shirts.

Upon walking through the archway into the wardrobe, on the right, there was the private bathroom just as big as every other small area in the monster of a bedroom.

Belle was led into the bathroom by the kind maid where she saw a shower that could have been the size of her laundry room, a sink just in front of it with a bathtub on the far end. The white bathtub contrasted against the grey marble floor with a large window that showed a forest-like view.

“It’s an illusion.” The maid explained as if to reassure her that her baths were not going to be displayed out into the world. “The Master asked for a glass case that held shrubs but the foggy forest is an intricate painting by one of the familys’ personal artists. He likes the feeling of being disconnected from the modern world when he’s relaxing.”

Normally the design would impress her greatly. The idea of having the illusion of a calm forest without the hassle of actually moving to one was genius and the greyish light gave the bathroom a relaxing morning feel. Right now however it made her feel more trapped than ever. Even the view outside was just an illusion in her new cage. Nothing felt solid and real at this point like Belle was a ghost floating around in a dream that never seemed to end.

“Your towels are over on the stand there, dear. I’ll have robes and a change of clothes brought to you outside soon.” The maid smiled patting her lightly on her arm. “Don’t fret too much, darling. I don’t think the master has any intention of hurting you.”

“It’s not him hurting me that’s making me nervous.” Belle smiled sadly, grateful that the woman even cared to reassure her somehow.

“Ah…” The maid smiled and nodded knowingly. “I’ll get you some of my special tea…it calmed me down on my wedding night.”

Belle’s heart sank seeing the woman smile at her a little sadly too. “Is the secret ingredient whiskey?” She tried to lighten the mood which successfully made the woman chuckle. Somehow seeing the way the woman helped her in her own way reminded her of why she was in this glass case in the first place. She remembered Taehyung smiling again, throwing away all the things that tarnished all the peace in his heart and being free. She needed to be strong.

“Not really but…I’ll see what I can do.” She whispered the last bit with a cheeky smile before turning on her heel to leave Belle in a few moments of solitary freedom at the very least.

It may have been dark by now.

At least when Belle peeked the slightest outside the curtained window, the sun had been dipping into the hills to give the sky a pinkish hue. Her heart pounded at the lack of notifications from her brother. Her body felt fresher now that she had a comfortable long white nightie with a thin robe to keep her arms somewhat cozy. But skin still heated up significantly with her anxiety.

Then minutes passed before her phone buzzed and her heart released a thousand sighs of relief seeing Taehyung’s name.

“Belle?”

“Yes it’s me.” Belle whispered with a biggest grin on her face from the sheer relief. “You went home okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

“No, no they were just… fine.” Confusion trailed in Taehyung’s voice. “That guy has way too much fucking power, they just dropped me off and left saying they’ll come back to drop me off at the rehab center. Normally his men tried to rough me up whenever they saw me.”

“That’s because they knew you’re the guy that doesn’t pay.” Belle cringed mentally hearing herself defend their actions but…she was a little too good at considering perspectives, she guessed.

“I guess…also I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking you if you’re okay.” Taehyung corrected but Belle let his words linger in the air for a moment.

Sitting in the luxury bedroom wearing a clearly quality robe with people working at her beck and call, in a first glance people would call her lucky. Digging deeper into the surface and seeing that Belle was manipulated into being in his position then people would call Jungkook a monster.

Was it only one of them? Was it both? Was it neither? Was this just a game that Belle had no choice but to play for a time until her brother got better? How far did Jungkook even think this through? Why was he so interested in manipulating Taehyung the most? Did he do this to every sister, brother or parent that came around? Did they even come this far?

“Belle, you still there?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay. I’m just sitting.” She quickly explained.

The thoughts crowded in her head making it ache but thankfully the maid—her name she found out was Nana—gave her a piping hot cup of tea apparently laced with some herbs that helped calm anxiety and nerves. It was an ancient herb given to young girls so they could go through their wedding night without having an anxiety attack or breaking down. Blowing away some of the steam, Belle took a few sips ignoring the bitter taste on her tongue.

“I don’t know what he wants yet but I think I have an idea.” Belle spoke solemnly.

“You really don’t have to do this, Belle.” Taehyung whispered desperately.

“We don’t have any other choice.”

“You could just come back home and I’ll just handle it.”

“You had three months to handle it.” Her voice grew firm quicker than she even expected but she kept her head cool. Silence ran on the other end of the line making Belle sigh to calm herself down. “We just need to keep our heads. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t mean to make her tone sound so dreary but this wasn’t exactly the cheeriest of moments in her life. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of her soft nightie trying to empty her mind for a little while. “I need to go, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay…Belle…”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you. Be safe.”

The lump in her throat grew again suffocating her when she forcefully swallowed it down. “I love you too.” Belle whispered before hanging up. Taking longer sips from her tea now, it took a few seconds for her feel her limbs loosen like ice melting near a fireplace. Her body cooled down from her heated anxiety to a comfortable warmth she could melt into without the worries of the troubles around her.

For a moment, she could close her eyes and relish in the new found relief wanting to silently thank Nana for providing her this cup of momentary tranquility.

The door opened with the familiar white-suited man walking in giving her a glance as he shrugged his blazer off. “Nana got you some clothes…good.” Jungkook muttered, walking into the walk-in wardrobe and placing his blazer back before taking off his cufflinks when he walked back in the bedroom. “Is it comfortable?”

“Yes.” Belle replied, brushing her palms across the smooth sleeves of the robe. She never worked with satin a lot but whenever she felt it under her skin it gave her the tingle of pure luxury. “I just spoke to Taehyung…he came home safe.”

“I told you he would.” Jungkook murmured, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulder before placing into a hamper for the maids to take care of.

Belle noticed the stencil like silhouette of a phoenix etched into the right side of his chest as he walked over to his side of the bed. “You kept to your word. Thank you.” Not that you deserve it but…common courtesy.

She caught a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips while he unbuckled his belt and threw it on the floor.

“Do I sense a little bitterness, Ms. Kim?” Jungkook mused.

“Why? You don’t like a little bitter taste on your tongue?” Snakes must get used to it by now, she thought.

“I know you’re not a fan of me.” He stated the fucking obvious. “But you could say no anytime. I’ll just deal with your brother without bothering you again.”

Belle tightened her jaw, gripping onto the fabric of her nightie averting her gaze forcing a long silence to plunge into the room.

Jungkook finally sighed. “I didn’t mean that.” He muttered but Belle was mostly trying to focus back on the relaxation the tea gave her again. “Our accord is as solid any other contract so I’m not allowed to touch your brother…while you’re still with me anyway.”

“Is this how you get all your girls?”

He chuckled walking over and standing in front of Belle, forcing her to look up at him. “Would you be pleased if I said no?” Jungkook placed an index finger under her chin while his thumb hovered for a moment over her lips.

“Only if it’s the truth.” Belle replied simply, her knees melting into the surface of the bed.

Jungkook smirked moving his hands into her hair. “I don’t invite just anyone in my bed, no. But you’re not just anyone.”

“Why do you think that?” She asked as he slowly leaned in closer, fingers sliding down the crook of her neck letting the sleeves of her robe and nightie slip down with a mere touch.

“Because you were the only one brave enough to come this far.” He whispered pushing down the other side of her sleeves to leave her shoulders exposed. “Girls love the bad boys but never seem to understand what they’re asking for.” Cold fingers brushed against her collarbones, across her chest up her neck until he finally caressed her bottom lip with his index finger.

They want a fairytale. Beauty and the Beast. But eventually they find out that the Beast was never a prince in the first place. They realize that a mere kiss won’t break the curse.

“You know exactly what you’re asking for… don’t you?” Jungkook asked in a tone of a warm coo.

I’m not asking for this, Belle bit her tongue. But I do know what I’m getting myself into. What you gave me no choice but to get into. She stared at him determined to keep his gaze no matter how much she wanted to close her eyes. He wasn’t going to overpower her, not in that way. I received a beast instead of a prince…but you’re not getting any vulnerable fucking princess either. Keeping her eyes on his, she parted her lips and took his finger into her mouth barely waiting for Jungkook to make any move before she began suckling on it.

“Of course you do.” The mere action was enough of an answer for the male as his smirk grew darker. Jungkook took his finger away pushing down her nightie and robe further down until her breasts were displayed to him.

Belle was grateful for the warmth from the fireplace spreading through the room at his point. But in mere seconds Jungkook used his glistening finger to brush across her nipple causing it to stand erect almost instantly. A light gasp caught in her throat as she pressed her palms on the surface of the bed making her chest push out a little. When she threw her head back a little, he quickly took the opportunity to devour her lips, tongue pushing against her teeth which she kept clamp shut.

Long enough for him to get impatient and bite down her bottom lip a little. Then she allowed him to push through and explore her mouth. Jungkook knelt down but kept their lips locked as he sneaked his hands under her nightie, pushing the soft fabric, nails grazing against her skin causing a tingle down her spine.

Belle lifted a little to let him push the dress further up until he completely pulled both pieces of clothing off over her head. Before she could even comprehend her exposure, he picked her up a little and shifted so she could rest her head on the silk pillows. Her heart raced against her ribcages but she stopped being sure of why at this point, instead she thought about the herbs Nana gave her. Maybe thinking about how it can help would psychologically increase its effects? Stupid but maybe.

When she looked down at the male out of curiosity, she saw him discard his pants and boxers before climbing back onto the bed.

Belle kept her legs closed loosely before he pushed them apart, hands gliding down her inner thighs to her panties. His thumb pressed against the clothing right against her hiding nub making her jerk her hips a little at the suddenly awakened nerves.

He didn’t waste any time to hook the hem of her panties and strip it off her before dipping down in between her legs. His mouth feasted on her clit, tongue licking around her slit before sliding in teasingly slow and moving back to suckling on her bundle of nerves.

Her chest rose and fell as her eyes focused more on the ceiling, biting onto her bottom lip, light whimpers emitting from under her breath.

Jungkook released her clit with a pop sound before settling his hips between her legs. His already hardened shaft teased her slit a little more, wet sounds tickling her ears before she felt him stretch her out.

A moan finally erupted from her throat, clenching around him making him groan.

“It’s okay…” He whispered in her ear when she turned her head to the side. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Belle’s head felt like it was trying to find a straight line in a completely scribbled piece of paper. Her core ached for a moment. She felt Jungkooks’ thumb rub at her clit making her walls relax a little as she focused on the light wash of pleasure rushing across her lower body. Slowly she shook her head moving back to face him again. “No…it’s okay.” She whispered, meeting his gaze when he still wasn’t moving. Leaning up she pressed a shy kiss on his lips.

It took mere seconds before Jungkook began moving in and out of her, still slowly rubbing circles on her erect clit.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, their foreheads pressed against each other as he grinded into her slightly nudging the spot that sent sparks through her body.

His pace quickened, both hands pressed down on the surface of the bed as he thrusted into her in a steady pattern letting the sounds of skin slapping linger in the air.

Belles’ skull felt numb, her mind locked up all her thoughts and allowed her body to succumb to his consistent pounding. Head threw back against the pillow as he chased his own orgasm, her own juices spluttering onto his lower belly. She hummed lightly under her breath which seemed to encourage Jungkook to go faster until the bed started to shift.

Jungkook lowered down a bit more, pressing wet kisses on her neck, trying to muffle his moans against her skin as his thrusts grew sloppy.

Belle felt a gentle wave of pleasure before Jungkook quickly pulled out with his release splattering all over her belly. She let out a small sigh, rubbing circles on her clit again to prolong her small climax before her bundle felt too sensitive to touch making her legs close up again. She watched the other male catch his breath still kneeling in front of her before crashing on the space beside her.

Whatever piece of physical satisfaction swirled around her body melted quickly into her chest clenching painfully. It didn’t take too long for her to notice all too clearly what spilt on her skin but Jungkook had already pulled out a wash cloth and wiped her clean. The traces still burrowed in her mind now.

Jungkook threw the wash cloth away before resting back on the bed again, shutting his eyes for a moment. Both of them catching their breaths and finally dwindling back to their fucked up reality.

“I can’t break this deal.” He murmured looking up at ceiling similar to her. “If I do, I’ll have to kill your brother.”

Belle swallowed the lump in her throat, a small tear spilling from the corner of her eye. “Am I supposed to be your sex toy until you’re done with me?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not allowed to have…sex toys.” Jungkook sighed. “There’s another reason why I changed the deal.”

She finally turned her head to face him, brows furrowing. “What did you not tell me?”

The male took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. “My uncle and aunt have been forcing me to get married to someone of their choice. It’s gotten so pressing to a point where they’ve paid them to seduce me so it doesn’t look arranged.” Jungkook explained, running his fingers through his hair before resting on his head on his arm. “My rejections have stopped working. So I thought I should get a courtship with someone I choose before I’ll have to succumb to my uncle and aunts’ wishes.”

Belle could practically hear her own heart slamming out of her ears, more tears burning in her eyes. “So… you just…saw me and decided that you were going to make me your wife?”

“Did you want me to ask for your parents’ blessing or something?”

She averted her gaze back to the ceiling. “My parents are dead.”

“…I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t fucking know, we don’t know each other.” Belle inhaled a shaky breath before closing her eyes to calm herself down.

You are a fucking beast.

“Darling I gave you a chance to turn back.”

“So you wouldn’t hurt my brother.”

“Your brother was already dead if he kept going the way he did.” Jungkook winced a little before sighing in frustration. “I told you I’m not trying to be evil. A lot of people look at me when they want to see power. The world I live in chews up people who are too merciful.”

“My brother is innocent.” Belle sobbed lightly, forcefully biting down her bottom lip.

“He’s vulnerable to what I offer. Did you really think he was going to stop taking drugs just because he paid the money?” Jungkooks’ question lingered in the air for a while. “Correction: just because you paid the money.”

“So you want me to be your wife…” She swallowed thickly. “…or you’ll kill my brother.”

“When you say it that way, I do sound evil.” Jungkook pondered. “But yes. Everything else in the deal still stays the same. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“Except leave you.” Belle corrected.

“Except leave me.” Jungkook confirmed in the most casual fucking tone ever.

Belle did nothing but stay silent and turn to her side, back facing him making the male sigh in slight defeat. She felt his hand on her shoulder squeezing slightly as if it was going to give her any kind of comfort.

“A lot of marriages can be worse than this, you know.” He squeezed it again. “You’re going to have to work with me for this to run a lot smoother, yeah? You did so well today.” Jungkook pressed a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “I promise it won’t feel so bad after a while.”

She knew now. Kissing the beast didn’t break the curse.

It made one.

NEXT CHAPTER >>

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #tw: smut #tw: dubious consent #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Oh, Alpha mine.

Kim Taehyung x OC

ABO Dynamics !

~~~~~~~~~

Summary : Childhood enemies Kim Taehyung and Park Somi can’t stand the sight of each other .It’s been that way in the two decades they’ve known each other. And Although Somi’s brother Jimin and Taehyung are best friends , the feisty omega really , really hates the handsome alpha who refuses to take her seriously.

Now, as adults, Somi is the inquisitive reporter, covering the notorious serial killer, Vulcan who has a penchant for gutting and beheading omegas. And Kim Taehyung is the Homicide Detective leading the case.

Alpha Kim Taehyung x Omega OC !

Rated : 21 + Violence, Gore, Angst, Romance Explicit Sexual Content.

Everyone presents between the ages of eighteen to twenty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue :

For as long as I could remember, Kim Taehyung and I had been at loggerheads.

He was a year older than me, my brother’s best friend and easily the biggest pain in my ass. We grew up together , back in Daegu, when my father worked in his family farm and when his family offered to pay for both my brother’s and my education, I had been forced to follow the pair of them to Seoul. Taehyung and my brother enrolled in the Korean National Police University.

Meanwhile, I got into SNU and majored in Journalism. Presented as an omega soon after.

A year later he presented as alpha and that’s when our (mostly ) playful skirmishes turned into something serious. Taehyung thought he could control me and it pissed me off no end.

Don’t go here, don’t wear this, don’t talk to him , Don’t eat with him.... It made me want to strangle him. My own brother was an alpha and didn’t give a shit about what I did. So what right did this no good, alpha have, trying to control me like I was his mate.

Stupid fucker.

And right now, standing in the rain, drenched and cold and shivering, I hated him more than ever.

“Its a statement, Taehyung. You’re the lead officer you need to just give me one lousy fucking statement... is it that guy? Is it Vulcan?” I screamed into the night, struggling to be heard over the sound of the deluge raining down on us.

Kim Taehyung glared at me.

He wasn’t even wearing a coat, the filthy bastard. Dressed in just a white shirt that was almost completely transparent thanks to the wetness, showing off his toned , alpha body and it only made me madder. He was such a beautiful mother fucker, could he not keep his attractiveness down to normal levels so the rest of the world could just fucking function???

“Somi, go home.” He yelled and I groaned, pushing forward till I was pressed right up against him.

“Please, alpha.” I batted my wet lashes at him and he scoffed.

“That didn’t work when you were three and running around naked. Sure as hell won’t work now.”

I mumbled under my breath. But i knew a lost cause when I saw one. Taehyung wasn’t in the mood to indulge me and I was so freaking cold. it was also a little past two in the morning. I wanted to get out of my wet clothes and crawl into bed.

Taehyung was talking to the other Inspector on the case, voice muffled and I peered over his broad frame, catching the forensic people zip up the body bag, my throat going dry . Even from the distance I could see the darkness of the blood stains on the girl’s pale mauve dress.

This was the third murder this month and the rain had likely washed away most of the evidence. If there even was any. So far the monster prowling the streets of Seoul, hunting young omegas, had proven to be meticulously careful.

I shuddered.

Biting my lips, i motioned to Beomgyu, my camera guy to pack up. I could probably accost Taehyung in the police station tomorrow morning. I turned around myself, ready to head back to the van.

“What’s that?” Taehyung asked sharply. His voice made me stop in my tracks.

“What, sir?” His subordinate asked and when I turned, Taehyung was running to the scene, boots sloshing dirty water everywhere.

I stepped as close to the police tape as possible, squinting into the rain and watched as he bent over the scene, reaching into a small pothole in the alley, filled with rainwater. It took me a second to realize that there was something lying into the pothole.

Taehyung straightened , holding up what looked like a length of rope.

I blinked as he grabbed something at the end of it.

Something clicked in my head as I watched him.

“A lanyard. That’s a lanyard. For an identification card..” I said softly.

And then as I watched, all the blood seemed to drain out of Taehyung’s face.

I watched as he turned to me, holding it up for me to see.

I felt my heart drop to my knees.

It was a familiar charm. A little locket with the Police Insignia on it... Jimin had bought it for me and I’d always worn it around my college Identification card.

My throat went dry as I watched him walk over to me.

He opened his palm, showing me the familiar worn out laminate card with my smiling face and personal details. It was a decade old and looked it.

Except for the red X drawn on my face.

That was recent.

“Tell me that this bastard did not just leave my photo at a crime scene.” I whispered faintly.

“You’re coming home with me.” Taehyung’s voice was rough and angry. “ And when I get my hands on this bastard, I’m going to gut him like a fish.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Please comment if you’d like to be on the taglist !!! I’ll start this soon.!!

#taehyung smut #bts smut #bts fanfics #bts taehyung #taehyung fanfics

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Rock ‘N’ Roll People In A Disco World

Part 4- Your Disco Needs You.

Intro: Paul adjusts to life at home post the shooting.

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+) A heap of angst and feelings. He’s a soft, lil bean…

Word Count: 8k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 3

Three weeks. He'd been home three weeks and with each hour that passed Paul felt less like himself. He was frustrated, angry, irritated and irritable. Upon his discharge from the hospital, his attending physician explained that the road ahead wasn't going to be easy and so far that had proved correct. He'd spent eight days in ICU, not to mention the few after in the recovery ward, and according to the medical team at his disposal, each day spent there in ICU was a full week of added recovery at home. Eight fucking weeks. He wasn’t even half way through. Physically, bar his vocal chords, there had been little lasting damage. Something he should be grateful for, apparently. The wound in his neck had healed well so far, leaving an angry raised pink scar behind, but other than that, to look at, there was no physical signs he’d been moments from death at all. Emotionally, however, well, he was a wreck. If it weren't the continued nightmares as his mind rehashed the horror inflicted in the line of duty, it was the constant desperation to be himself inside and out, to feel like he was HER Disco. For the first two weeks post the shooting, he'd been reduced to writing things on a notepad for Y/N and others as he couldn't speak more than a word or two and at a faint whisper or angry rasp. Over the last week, it had improved a little but still, holding a prolonged conversation was painful and he often as a result found himself reaching for that fucking notepad as a means to an end when it simply became too damned much to bear.

He hated it.

Not only was socialising his forte, but his and Y/N’s relationship usually operated with a lot of conversation as they would talk over dinner, joke when watching TV, chat or whisper to each other when laying in bed at night. And not being able to indulge in those simple things properly with his fiancée was killing him. And don't even get him going on his thoughts and anguish over the way they'd not been their usual intimate selves. From touches and sweet kisses, to sex and general intimacy, there had been none, not due to anything she'd done, but all down to him, and how he viewed himself, felt about himself. He pulled open the fridge, reaching in for the eggs and bacon before he moved to the stove, coffee brewing in the pot to the side. As he set about making them breakfast, he lost himself momentarily, concentrating on whisking the eggs ready to scramble before he heard the bedroom door click open as Y/N shuffled out into the bathroom. A few minutes later he heard her footsteps hit that squeaky board in the small hallway as she headed down to their kitchen. Soon he felt her arms around his waist, hands hooking over his chest and shoulders. Her lips pressed to the back of his shoulder. "I can take over." Quickly, Paul twisted out of her hold and raspilly said, "I can manage." She stepped back from him, and he was immediately crushed with guilt as he took in the look on her face. The way her eyes were downcast and how hard she swallowed. He watched as she blinked hard, moved her lips to say something and then she simply sighed, her shoulders dropping as she turned and left, back the way she came, down the hall and back into the bathroom. When he heard the slam of the door echo across their small apartment, Diskant threw the wooden spoon across the counter and leaned against its edge, a silent curse across his lips as let out a deep sigh.

For the last three weeks, this was how their days had started and ultimately set the tone for the hours to follow. He didn't know where to begin to try and as for Y/N, well, she couldn't try any harder.

**** The door shut behind you with a little more force than you’d meant, having slammed it by accident in your haste to escape quickly before the tears of frustration and hurt spilt from your eyes. You were trying to rationalise his behaviour, you knew he was frustrated at how his recovery was progressing, more so because physically he looked okay. But he wasn’t. He was weak, sleeping a lot. He struggled to talk for more than a few minutes at a time and the simplest of tasks seemed to leave him drained. But you could cope with that, hell, you expected it. What you hadn’t expected however, was what hurt you the most- the fact he seemed to be shutting you out. Your relationship had always thrived on the fact you had no secrets, there wasn’t a thing the pair of you couldn’t talk about but now, it was like he’d put up a wall to keep you out. And it hurt.

You turned on the shower and whilst you waited for the water to warm, you stripped off your pyjamas and made sure to pile your hair out of the way to avoid it getting wet. Once it was at the right temperature you stepped into the cubicle, closing the glass screen door behind you and tipped your face up to greet the warm spray as the water washed away your silent tears… The day had finally come and he was going home. Things were set and the car was running and waiting. He'd been able to dress in a pair of sweats, his trainers and a button down shirt, sighing as he couldn't just walk out but had to be rolled out. Words were few, and very soft, a stark difference to his typical boisterous laugh and toothy grin. But you were all thankful, thankful he was alive, thankful he was okay and healing. His parents offered to take you both home, yours and Barnes waiting for you to arrive back at the apartment. Your parents had worked diligently at deep cleaning for you, taking one less thing off your list to do, knowing the first few days home would been an adjustment period, learning how to move with one another and go about a new routine from at home therapy to outside appointments, no doubt eventually a steady stream of visitors. You honestly were fine with whatever Paul had wanted. In reality, he hadn't said much or written much on his pad of paper all morning. But you went along with it anyway. The nurse wheeled him out and you walked along his side, the feeling of relief washing over you as you stepped over the threshold of the hospital entrance and watched him breathe in his first breath of fresh air in ten days. You held back tears, thankful for your Wayfarers covering your eyes. But you didn't miss his, the way he was desperately trying to keep himself together around everyone else. He gave a nod in thanks to the nurse and slowly sat down in the back seat of his parents' SUV whilst you moved around to the other side to settle yourself in. Nothing was said, it didn't need to be, but you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as Big Jim pulled away from the curb and headed towards home. When you went to move your hand away, he gripped it tightly, looking at you with those deep pools of blue.. You wanted to reach out to him, touch him on the one place you knew comforted him, made him melt, tell him he'd be okay, reassure him, but he was to your right, therefore his sutures and bandages were along the left of his neck and you couldn't touch him there, it was still painful, raw and frail. So you let him grip your hand the whole way home, the top of it reaching his lips a few times, just so, you thought at least, that he knew you were there, reminding him he was going to be okay. That he had you. As the four of you made your way into the apartment, you remembered that Barnes, your parents and by now no doubt Sam were there waiting for you all. Sure as you'd guessed, a thundering cheer and smiles came from the living room and filtered into your kitchen. The one bedroom, small space at capacity with guests. It was not the time for a 'Welcome Home' party. As Paul gathered a moment to himself, he looked to you and signalled he needed to write something down, so you grabbed the nearest note pad and a pen, the items you always had on the coffee table that collected your lists for groceries and to do items. His 'Honey Do' list as he liked to call it. He scribbled hastily and practically shoved the pad back at you. 'Can't do this. Need time.' "Okay," you looked at him after reading, "okay." You ushered over to Big Jim and Dotty, gently telling them that he was asking for some space, and they quickly understood, saying their goodbyes as you made the rounds, hoping neither of you looked like assholes in asking everyone to leave. With deep understanding, everyone left, allowing the two of you time together. You went to the kitchen to get water for you both, sighing as you saw the fridge stocked full and a freezer full of meals. Dotty and your mother, no doubt having done all that. When you returned to the living room, just a dozen steps away, Paul was sitting on the couch, hands on his thighs, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, I should have stepped in and said it was better to have people see you when you were ready. I didn't think...." A deep sigh interrupted you and what was an empty hand was now jotting a note again. He turned the notepad in his lap. 'I just need you.' Your lip quickly quivered and you gently leaned in to kiss his lips softly. "I'm right here." He gave you a small smile as you sat beside him.

“Do you want to shower? Eat? Sleep?" Paul frowned deeply at each of your asks. He shook his hands at you, trying to tell you to slow down. Then, you sat in silence. He slowly stood after a long stretch of nothing between you and headed down the hall to the bathroom, albeit a bit wobbly at first and when you rose to help steady him, he shrugged you off. You gave him his space, but worried about him on his own. Then you heard the click of the door and the shower running… A knock on the bathroom door dragged you from your thoughts and knowing it could only be Paul, you turned the shower off for a moment so he didn’t have to shout. “Yeah?” You cleared your throat and listened carefully. “Breakfast is waiting when you’re done.” His voice was croaky, but you picked up his words easily enough through the thin door. “Okay, give me a moment. Be right out.” You called back, no longer wondering why he didn't open the door anymore or why he locked it when he was inside. You turned the shower back on, quickly lathered up your gel before washing and stepping out, towelling down before you slipped on a lightweight robe and opened the door.

*****

He waited for her at their small kitchenette, their places set, food already plated. He admired her, how she was dressed in her robe but as his eyes moved to hers, he noticed those beautiful orbs that he loved waking up to each and every day were red and puffy, despite her shower. He watched as she moved her food around her plate, eyes cast downward at the yellow scrambled eggs, slightly runny just the way she liked them. He tried to clear his throat but it stung so he reached over the tiny table-top and touched her hand. When her eyes met his, he spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” The words died in his throat as his voice gave out and he gave an exasperated gesture mouth, a frustrated noise escaping from his nose. "It's okay," she replied, her own words catching in her throat. His chest heaved with a heavy breath and his hand flexed into a fist, redirecting his frustration to have more control of his feelings, a shake of his head. It wasn't okay. None of this was okay.

She didn't speak, she just slowly popped a shoulder with a shrug and tilted her head to the right to meet it. He could tell she was grinding her teeth, that flex in her jaw evident. She cleared her throat and shook her head, "I can't eat right now." She scooted away from the table and took her plate with her, setting it in the fridge and escaping to their room. When that door shut, Diskant rubbed his hands over his face. Things weren't going to improve between them if he didn't try to get his words out but it was fucking near impossible. And God damn it he was downright exhausted at writing it all down. He had so much to say, so much he wanted to be able to tell her but he didn't want to waste the ink. He wanted his life back. The dishes were done before they'd sat down to eat, so, wanting to give himself time and continue to give Y/N her space, he slipped into the bathroom for his own shower.

Taking a moment to figure out what exactly he was doing, Paul sighed. Shower, then figure it out with Y/N. They needed to talk, properly, even if it made him hoarse. Three weeks of struggling to just.... live and move on were enough. He brought his eyes to the mirror as his stood with his palms flat against the basin, his scar peeking out the top collar of his white tee.

He'd grown to looking in the mirror more often than when he'd first come home. His reflection made him feel somewhat of a beast, a man no longer what he once was but something of fright. The scar by no means was earth shatteringly grotesque, and Paul wasn't naturally a man of conceitedness, however, it was still a shock to see.

Not for the first him he'd wondered how it looked to Y/N. It was hideous in his mind, and he was afraid she was grossed out because of it too. The bullet had pierced through one of the places on his body where he simply relished her touch. From the friendly and tender tickle on the couch as they watched TV to the desperate way she would cling to it as she lay under him, it was just something they had shared since the start and now he held a million worries. It might hurt, maybe her touch would have lost the ability to drag the reactions it normally did, that he would have lost that special place that she only she knew about and could use to make him melt.

He was scared of his own girl’s touch, and while it was an absolute ridiculous notion, it flat out petrified him. It petrified him for the very fact that he couldn't feel ANYTHING there. Not the water that touched it, the feel of his own fingers ghosting over it or the bite of a pinch he'd given himself just to test the nerves.

He felt nothing.

He stared at his reflection, running a hand over the month long beard that had grown as of late. He wasn't supposed to shave, having been on blood thinners since his surgery, but those ran out a few days ago. Turning his head to the right, and then to the left, he sighed. Maybe he'd feel a bit better if he did…more like himself.

With a sigh he pulled the trimmers from under the sink and plugged them into the outlet. Then he started filling the sink with lukewarm water, preparing a fresh razor for use. Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he took a good look at himself, eyes burning into the mirror as he took in his pale colour, his sad eyes, the dark circles under them, no doubt result of the nightmares waking both he and Y/N in the night, and then that ugly line. He sighed as his mind travelled back to their first night home from the hospital… He hadn’t meant to push everyone away but it was overwhelming. He just wanted her. His second chance at life was handed to him and all he wanted was her, time with her. Everyone and everything else could wait. He was a little unsteady on his feet, a weak wobble really that would surely pass the more he moved but he wasn't his entirely strong self either. He felt weak, looked pale and was sporting a near two week stubble that was itchy, but there was nothing he could do about it. More pressing than the ever increasing facial hair, however, was the fact he was craving a shower. Having suffered the indignity of nothing but sponge baths and body washes in the hospital, he simply wanted nothing more than to stand under the steam of their surprisingly powerful shower, in their little bathroom and clean himself off, wash away the clinical smell of the hospital that seemed to cling to his skin.

He turned the water on first, the sound of it spraying from the shower head a joyful sound. He knew he'd have to go slow, take it easy and be gentle on himself. Paul slipped his sweats down over his narrow hips, the material pooling at his feet and he kicked them away to the corner of the space. Then, with trembling fingers, he started on his button down, swallowing back a nervous knot painfully in his throat.

By the time he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, there was a covering of steam on the mirror and he swiped at it with his hand. Then gently, ever so gently, he began to peel back the medical tape holding the gauze to his neck, knowing he’d have to replace the dressing once he’d showered. Not that it mattered, he’d been sent home with what felt like enough gauze, dressings and surgical tape to patch up a fucking army.

What he saw was not his own skin. Gone was his St. Christopher medallion on his favourite chain, one his parents had gotten him when he graduated from the Police Academy, and near where the chain would lay against his collarbone and neck was the repair hours of surgery and a week and a half in the hospital had caused him. Still, he was alive. When all was said and done, a chain could be replaced and his wound would heal.

With a final glance at his wound he carefully stepped into the hot water, and a soft moan escaped his mouth as he relished the way it felt on his skin, searing the back of his legs, his ass and lower back. He took a half step back and the water moved up to just under his shoulder blades. As the water beat down on him, he grabbed a bottle of his favoured shower gel and lathered a good amount all over himself, before rinsing and repeating the motion several times. Then, with a movement that was more reflex than conscious, he picked up Y/N's gel and turned the cap, taking a long inhale of the scent that comforted him. He felt his throat tighten and he started to panic, but quickly realized he was swallowing down a cry rather than there being a problem with his wound. He placed the gel back and turned his face into the stream of water, blinking fiercely as the tears welled and bled from his screwed up eyes, mingling with the steady droplets that hit his cheeks from the shower.

He leaned into the stream farther, allowing it to wash over his head, literally drowning out the sound of everything around him. His palms rested flat against the tile, a stretch and pull from his muscles that had atrophied during his stay. Awakening muscles and tendons that were mangled and manipulated to heal.

How long he was in there, he had no idea, but eventually, he felt the temperature starting to drop a little, signalling he'd been in there far longer than he'd intended. Reaching out, he turned the shower off and then stepped out, grabbing a towel which he ran over his head, almost snorting when he remembered his hair was no longer as short as it had been, realising that Y/N had never really seen him with hair as such before.

Because yeah, that’s what she was going to be looking at. His hair, not the huge three inch gash on his neck that made him look like some kind of fucking Frankenstein monster.

With a roll of his eyes, Paul wrapped his lower half in a towel and opened the door to the bathroom, stepping across the hall. When he entered the bedroom, he found Y/N sitting in the edge of their bed, a familiar necklace in her hands like a rosary, her knees bouncing up and down. He noted how cautiously she lifted her eyes to look at his, and didn't miss the way they quickly flicked to his wound and back to his. He felt that painful lump in his throat for again. She rose to her feet and took a step toward him.

“The chain, well... they had to cut it.” She said quietly, holding out her hand where the necklace sat. “So I got you a new one.” She held it out to him and he paused, his hand reaching towards the chain “The pendant was fine so...”

He reached out to take it, his fingers softly brushing her palm as he clasped the metal in his hands. He turned the small, silver disk over and gave her a small smile before he placed it on his nightstand.

“Do you want me to put it on?” She asked, moving to pick it up. “I can-"

With a movement that was a little harsher than he’d meant he reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it still a few inches away from the chain. She turned to look at him, a combination of shock and puzzlement on her face as he hastily shook his head.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Taking a deep breath, Paul ran his hand over his face and shook his head at her. “S’okay.” Were the only words he could manage to rasp out. His eyes bored into her as he desperately tried to make her understand he wasn’t angry at her.

"I'll uh... You start getting dressed and I'll grab the bag from the hospital."

“Bag?” He half spoke, half mouthed at her, his brow creasing in puzzlement.

"The one with the bandages."

He shook his head, waving his hands. “I can-“ his voice broke and she smiled.

“Paul, it’s fine, let me...”

He once more shook his head.

“Baby...”

At that his fist slammed on the nightstand and making her jump.

Her breath was shaky and her lip quivered, her eyes instantly watering. He knew for a fact he'd scared Y/N for he'd never reacted like that in any situation with her.

Backing away from him, she held her hands up defensively and shrugged, "Okay, I'll just go get it for you."

As he recalled the memory, his head hung in disgrace, much the same as it had that evening when she’d left the room, tears in her eyes. He hadn’t meant to push her away like he had, but since that first time he’d continued to do so. And the more he did, the harder it was to stop. And she took it, never biting back or losing her patience. She accepted the fact that he showed her less affection, took everything he threw at her and then some, because she loved him. And damned it, he loved her, he loved her so fucking much it truly, physically hurt. And the thought that he was hurting her because of his inability to sort the jumbled mess in his head was killing him.

Taking a deep breath, he set out on the task he'd started. A shave and a shower. The vibration of the trimmers hummed against his cheeks and neck, trimming away the longer hairs, creating a stubble he then fully removed with his cream and razor. Then, he showered, taking his time, losing himself in his thoughts and playing back the last month in his mind. It was no walk in the park and a frustration and anger bubbled just beneath the surface, it was like he'd recognized he wasn't the same. And was fighting a never ending battle with himself to pull out of the darkness that had overcome him so he could let her light shine in. Fuck it, he needed to do it. He needed to rip the proverbial fucking band aid off and own up to his shit. Because losing her, that was absolutely not an option.

But how? Would she be willing? After all he'd put her through. He was still scared, and he knew his own limits were still there. But they had to start connecting or he was going to lose her. He felt it.

Towelling off, he disposed of his laundry in the dirty hamper and wrapped his towel around him. He looked in the mirror and again wiped off the condensation. He nodded at his reflection. Now he looked like Diskant. HER Disco. He smiled a little to himself and left the bathroom, feeling a lot different than when he'd entered.

When she wasn't in their room, he dressed in jeans and a tee, flip flops on his feet and headed down their small hall. He saw her tucked into the couch, a slouched long sleeve over her taught frame, denim shorts on those hips and legs that made his mouth dry. He could see the smoothness of them and his fingers tingle to touch them. Deep red painted toes balanced on the edge of the coffee table as she read the book she'd started recently.

He sat down next to her, garnering her attention. She looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers. Those eyes that make him weak. Make him purr and melt and feel like he can conquer the world all at once. Those eyes that make him feel like a man above himself.

At the risk of losing his voice entirely, he began with, "I feel cooped up and it's driving me crazy. Can we go somewhere?"

A smile so genuine spread across her lips that it twisted his gut and sped up his heart. "Yeah, okay. Any idea where?"

He shook his head, "I just want to go. I want us to get out of here." He made sure emphasize the us in that reply, even if it didn't sound as so.

"Okay, let's go," she tossed her book on the coffee table and stood, grabbing her bag by the door and slipping into flip flops of her own.

****

You humoured his request, just to go for a drive. And you drove for hours, all over the place. But little did you realize where you'd end up eventually.

It was late in the day and the parking lot was emptying out. You'd pulled into a spot and turned to him, the Ferris wheel and various stands along the pier behind you. His eyes were covered by his own Wayfarers but his smile was soft and sweet.

"I'm kinda hungry, are you hungry?" You said to him, a humorous tone to your voice. Your words echoing ones he'd spoken to you so long ago, words that had become an inside joke between you.

He chuckled lightly, softly and replied with a nod as the two of you exited the car. You waited for him to meet you on your side. The second he joined you, he took your hand in his and together you walked the bike path until the steps up to the pier were accessible.

He stood at the railing, about halfway down, as you ordered two beers, two hot dogs and fries to share. The sun was just at the horizon, painting the sky in watercolour sherbet, and Paul's silhouette stood out against it. He saw you approach and grabbed his dog and beer from you, lightening your load. The two of you shacked up at a table near the games, almost the same table the two of you sat at on your first date.

“You know, I was suckered into a first date here? Guy was a total swindler, stalker too."

He swallowed his bite of food and washed it down with beer before he smiled and rasply said, "you were willing to go with me. I didn't sucker you."

“You totally trapped me.”

"You needed help, I offered," he pointed to himself, then to you and smiled, "willing participant."

"However you spin it so you can sleep at night," you sighed. "I'm just glad I fell for it."

Paul nodded, "me too." He perched his sunglasses on top of his head. "I love you, so much." He took your beer from your hand and set it on the table top, whilst pulling both of your hands into his.

You couldn't hide the obvious hitch in your chest at the outward affection. The lump in your throat hurt to swallow as your eyes welled up. "I know, I love you, too. More than anything." You fought the emotion in your words, the way they were starting to make your voice quiver.

He sighed at your emotion and shook a deep breath. “This isn't easy." He stalled, allowing his voice rest a second in order to keep trying to get his words out. "I'm not easy." He paused again. "I’m sorry.”

"It's okay," you shook your head.

"It's not." His voice was starting to give way again and you saw the frustration on his face.

“Hey...” you squeezed his hand, “I’d rather you did take it out in me than bottle it all up. I don’t like it when you don’t tell me how you’re feeling.” It broke you to watch him struggle, each and every day it broke you. And you were at the end of your rope, frayed and tired of keeping it together. You sighed. “Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Text me for Christ's sake!”

He chortled a bit and shook his head, "it's not the same." He brought your hands to his lips and you closed your eyes at the feeling it gave you.

You shook your head, if he wasn't going to make the first move then you needed to try. "Do you trust me?"

He frowned and nodded. “Always.”

Without words, you leaned forward, scooting yourself onto the edge of his seat bench and leaned the forearm to your left arm against his right shoulder. Your fingers scratching behind his ear. Gently you brought your right hand up his chest, slowly, delicately, over his shoulder and he flinched away from you. "Paul, please," you whispered. You could see the way his body started to shake, his breathing laboured. "It's just me, baby."

The closer your fingers got, the more his hands twitched to pull you away. You didn't know for certain what was going on on the inside, but you had a pretty good idea. On the outside, his eyes shone back at you with fear as he tried to just breathe. Then your fingertips brushed the raised pink skin that just peeked over the edge of his tee…

The pads of her fingers felt like red, hot needles the way his skin was reacting. But that was nothing compared to what was firing in his brain.

He clenched his teeth together, tried to keep his breathing calm and regular as those gentle fingers that could make him purr and sing moved delicately over the raised edges of his scar, her eyes never once leaving his. Quickly, the feeling of red hot needles dissipated and he felt nothing but a relief that washed over him from his scar to his toes. He could just feel her and that was monumental.

A deep, shaky breath rumbled his chest as he painfully swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing it all twitched under her touch. It felt the same. Nothing had changed, that familiar tingle he usually felt at her touch sparked something deep inside. The involuntary little shudder he always emitted when she hit that little sweet spot, shot up and down his spine and he felt his lips curl up on a smile as his girl beamed at him.

“See.” She whispered.

“How...” his voice croaked and the words died as he took a deep breath, giving himself a moment. “How did you know that was...” another pause before he shook his head, gesturing to his mouth.

“Because, Paul Christopher Diskant, I know you inside out.” She delicately touched him still, her nails just at that spot that made him quiver. "This doesn't change anything. Not now, not ever."

He let out a strained sob, pulling her close, his lips harshly on hers.

“Tell me about it, Stud.” She smiled against his lips.

"Let's go home," he managed before his voice cut out again.

“Is that an order or a request?” She teased.

He grinned and popped a shoulder in response.

The drive from Santa Monica to home was the most comfortable you'd been in weeks, and you could tell Paul was too. As you drove, he couldn't stop smiling, like this weight had been lifted and the fog between you cleared. His eyes didn't leave your profile, his fingers entwined between yours, never letting go.

****

His hand never left yours as you walked the short path from the garage to your little one bedroom shack, even single-handed unlocking and opening the door. You couldn't even step through the threshold before his lips were on yours, soft and slow, gentle, his tongue gliding through the opening you gave him. A kiss so deep you were sure the two of you were ethereally floating. You tossed your bag on the couch as you passed it by, toeing off your sandals as Paul gently tugged on your hand, an instruction to follow him.

Down the narrow hall you went, directly to your bedroom tucked off in the right corner at the end of it. Again, his lips are on yours and if you didn't know any better, you'd detected a slight tremble in his touch as his hands came to hold your face close to his. Your hands rested against his chest as he kissed you breathless. There was no rush or desperation behind his kiss, if anything a wanton need crept through the both of you but you weren't going to push him, no. You knew Paul needed to set the pace, for whilst you could read him like a book, this terrain was new and navigating his new emotions and fears needed to be on his time and terms.

You were just happy he was touching you again, allowing you to touch him. You missed him, missed the way the two of you were. This had by far been the longest the two of you had been intimately separated since your beginning.

His hands left your cheeks and gently gripped at the bottom of your top. You stepped back a little, raising your arms so he could pull it straight over your head. You watched his eyes soften as he looked at you, almost like he was seeing you for the first time again. You reached for the hem of his own shirt, but he took a half step back, freezing you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, “if you’re not ready, leave it on or... it can wait, we can wait.”

He swallowed hard and quickly his hand gripped the back of his collar, pulling the tee over his head. You took care to keep your eyes locked on his, knowing exactly what was making him nervous- his scars. As his eyes searched yours, your face broke into a smile and then he was back on you, his hands on your hips, pulling you close as his mouth claimed yours. His hands felt warm on your skin as they travelled up your sides, only letting go to move to your jaw and neck. His thumbs across your cheek, his fingers splayed around your neck and into your hair.

He kissed you with all tongue, his lips massaging against yours as he changed the position of his head, tilting it the opposite way. And for a moment he pulled away, his hands still on you, the burn of his eyes lustfully blown as they bore into yours. Then, he moved in on you again, his nose bumping against yours as his thick, flat tongue filled your mouth fully, yours submitting against it, allowing him to devour you. It was as if he was opening up your soul, tasting feeling and seeing every colour of the rainbow. You felt as if your body was going to explode with the feeling sheer desire and love flooding hours state, but above it all, happiness that he was kissing you like this again.

It left you breathless and wanting more. You actively fought the urge to rip his belt buckle open and shove his jeans down, trying hard to leave him to set the pace. But, as always, he could read you like the pages of a well-worn novel and that maddeningly smug, cheeky school-boy grin crossed his face. It twisted your insides and made your skin tingle.

His fingers wound through your hair as he backed you towards the mattress. As the crook of your knees hit the side of the bed, he kissed you again, his fingers moving to the button of your denim shorts. Your mind was excited, your body fully responding to his touch, his movements. You’d missed this. His fingertips touched your tummy and you shivered, the denim quickly falling away as you fell onto the mattress.

You watched as he undid his button and flies, the zipper echoing in the stillness of your room, bouncing off the exposed brick and vibrating in your ears. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his denims, strong thighs, arms and taught abs flexing as he crawled over you, his hands planting either side of your head. The muscles of his shoulders twitched as he lowered himself over you, his lips claiming yours in a slow dance, his tongue leisurely tangling with yours, a soft sigh escaping him.

You continued to resist the urge to touch him where you have always shown him you're there with him, that part of him that makes him sing and shiver. That spot that only you know of that makes him melt against you, submit to his lust and desires for you. Instead, as his tongue felt every part of yours, his hands caging himself over you, you tilted your hips, your hands grazing the underside of his biceps, curling around the raised skin of his tattoos. At the feel of your pelvis bumping his, he gave a little grunt, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing to yours as he returned the gesture, his own grinding into yours, the hardness of his arousal unmistakable through his boxer briefs as it brushed against the thin cotton and lace of your panties. His words hit your ears, "need you, Sugar, so bad." You practically purred as you heard your nickname clearly and for the first time in weeks, not strangled by pain, or muted by frustration. His voice was his own once again and it caused a sting in your eyes. Your hands moved along his torso, from his ribs down to his hips, the waistband of his boxers bent by your fingertips. All whilst his lips moved over your jaw, behind your ear where you gasped before he moved down your neck, nestling soft kisses against the tops of your breasts. “You got me, Stud. Always.” At that, he crashed his lips to yours in an attempt to hide the sob you could faintly feel against your own lips.

Your hands gently cupped his jaw, holding his face to yours as the kiss grew desperate, his hips rolling into yours again. Suddenly, he moved back, kneeling between your legs as his hands hooked into the waistband of your panties. “Off.” His voice was raspy once more as he issued the instruction, yet the undercurrent of desire was unmistakable. Obliging to his instruction, you raised your hips off the bed and allowed him to pull them down, his body shuffling along the bed as he glided the garment down over your legs. His heavy hands caressed up your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles over your skin. God, did your skin burn in delight at his touch, you had to wonder and think if he felt the same. There was no denying he did, or you wouldn't be here, you'd still be at the pier, figuring out how to navigate his feelings, his fears. His body led over you, your sex and his barely touching, but yet twitching and pulsing with deep desires of need. His hand pulled down the cup of your bra, his mouth taking gentle nips against your breast as his mouth moved to your nipple, where he gently rolled it between his lips before his tongue swirled the sensitive nub. Your back arched in pleasure, one hand twisting in his hair, the other fisting in the sheets besides you. His free hand slipping behind your back to expertly unclasp your bra, allowing it to loosen around your arms. "Paul...." you moaned. His free hand reached for yours that was fisted in the sheets, pulling your fingers apart and taking your palm against his, entwining your fingers. You were more than ready for him. Like he needed you, you just needed him too. It took one rock, one hip thrust and he slid right inside. "Oh fuck," you both let out, his a good rasp and yours a whimper. It felt so good, beyond good, the way he filled you, stretched you. You wasted no time in flicking your hips up towards his as he thrust down. Your insides fluttered as you joined together each time. God, did it feel... so... fucking... good. Again and again he rocked into you, his movements needy but not harsh, as a desperate need filled you both. You lightly nudged him with a knee and together you rolled, him to his back and you over his hips, still with him settled inside you. Tossing your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes, you rocked against him whilst he reached up and held your bouncing breasts in his hands, a gentle tweak of each nipple. The sensation sent ripples to your middle, warmth pooling at your core and you gave a soft moan of delight before you bent forward, your lips on his. The kiss was sloppy, his hips still rocking up into you as your pelvis rolled against his. You were close, you knew he could feel you twitching around him. Your lips were covering his as you slowly bounced and rocked on top of him, a pressure to your clit that was blissfully crippling.

In a sudden exertion of strength, Paul sat up and his arms wrapped around your back, holding you close to his chest, his lips moving over your collar bone and down your sternum. He was as deep inside you as he could go, bottoming out as the angle changed and he was clearly hitting a new spot that erupted your insides like a volcano. Your body shook as your orgasm boiled at its peak, with each jut of his hips against you. With one hand around you, the other moving hair away from your eyes and keeping it back by his fingers, his nose rubbed against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he brought your lips to his. You were going to come and it was going to be absolutely amazing. Deepening your kiss, your fingers scratched at the back of his neck, just at the nape of his hairline and you started to feel him quiver. There he was, right there, like always. Your lips broke free from his and nipped at his strong jaw before kissing at the joint where it met his ear. You were careful now, despite the throws of your own orgasm starting to crash around you, to weigh your moves with precise care as you gently, delicately kissed down his neck. Your lips hit that pinkish-red raised mark and your world exploded. The blood surged to your ears, deafening you as you came, hard. Your eyes fluttered closed but the noise he made broke through clear as day, and they flew open again. Those beautiful blues were locked into your gaze as his broken whimper of your name blew into a loud groan as he clung to you, his hips stilling, his eyes fluttering shut. His noise died down, catching in his throat, his chest heaving as you felt him twitch inside of you, the after-throws of both your orgasms pulsing together. Tenderly, your hands slid up to cup his face as you kissed him softly, feeling him sag a little, and you gently pushed on his chest. You didn’t want him to release his hold but you knew he was going to be exhausted. He didn’t take much persuasion, his body boneless as he sank onto the soft mattress behind him. You went with him, your head tucking under his chin as the pair of you recovered, the only sound in the room the dying pants as you both eagerly drew breath.

His hand slipped into your hair, cradling the back of your head as you shifted and pressed your lips to his jaw.

“You okay?” You asked.

He nodded, swallowing hard as his other arm ran up and down your spine, fingers gently tracing a path along your still touch sensitive body. His lips pressed to the crown of your head.

When you'd regained the feeling of life back into to your body, you sat up, rolling off of Paul's hips, garnering a look of confusion from him. He loved when you would keep him inside you, and continue to feel the warmth of one another's bodies. You smiled softly at him, sleepily. You saw the look on his face, the look of contentment but of need and seeking comfort. It was a look you'd come to memorize as his 'I'm tired' look. Soft features, heavy eyes. Blissed out from love making or not, Paul was exhausted and you read every hint of it you memorized over the years.

"C'mere," you now rasped, your voice rattled by emotion and dry from moaning.

His lazy smirk crossed his lips and he knew that tone. He knew what was coming next. He rolled to his left and pressed his lips to yours gently before laying his head on your chest. You traced your first two fingers gently up and down his neck, along his shoulder and back up, a repeated pattern you only you had the map to.

A combination of a contented sigh with a little hum left his throat as his weight over you grew heavier, like the comfort of a weighted blanket. You blinked back the tears, because although you'd heard it time and time again, right then, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever made.

**** Part 5

#rock n roll people in a disco world #paul diskant x reader #paul diskant x you #Paul Diskant #paul diskant fan fiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #street kings fan fic

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angellesword · 4 years

Text

YOUR EYES TELL | JJK (08)

Summary: You live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It's simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if...Jeongguk, your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?

Alternatively:

"A future without you is a world without color."

Genre: soulmate au, e2l, slow burn, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Artist!Jungkook x Lawyer!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Series: CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 9

warnings: unrealistic court happenings i am not a lawyer ok mention of physical abuse, drinking problems, child trauma, mental illness, and infidelity. I want to build a whole new world in this fic that’s why i also didn’t research about divorce trials I’m sorry. OC is kind of annoying/disappointing in this chapter (?) or not (?) Young Choi Soobin of TXT is the kid in this chapter’s moodboard

Jeongguk was the ex-boyfriend Red was talking about.

You figured this out when you were at Seokjin's party. Frankly, the way your soulmate was looking at Red was already a giveaway, but then you had to confirm it yourself.

The only way to do that was to either confront Jeongguk or your assistant.

You chose neither and it was because you were afraid to hear what they would or wouldn't say. This being said, you resorted to your last option.

"Come on..." It was hard to sit on the floor when you're wearing a damn long dress, but this didn't stop you from rummaging through Red's personal things.

It's the middle of the night. You left Jeongguk at your apartment right after he reached his high.

You just wanted to teach him a lesson for being a brat. He was always so rude to you and you honestly thought that he was just in denial—that soon enough, he would realize that you two were really destined to be together.

Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

You went to your office at one in the morning just to find something that would verify your speculation. You got what you wanted. The photograph of Jeongguk kissing your assistant confirmed it.

Your tears fell.

You didn't know why you felt betrayed. It wasn't like they wanted this. They hadn't done anything wrong. Fate was just cruel. Why didn't you meet Jeongguk first? You couldn't blame him for falling in love with Red—she was sweet, beautiful, and smart. Anyone would definitely like her, so you had no choice but to swallow the lump in your throat and accept this.

You just had to pretend like everything was alright.

It wasn't.

The divorce trial was near and there were still so many things you had to fix. Work was seriously draining the hell out of you and it wasn't like Jeongguk was helping. He was actually adding up to the stress you were feeling.

Jeongguk was giving you the silent treatment and no—it wasn't the type of silence you were used to. Before Seokjin's party, your soulmate was quiet, but not really. He would occasionally huff to let you know that he was annoyed at you. He would also stamp his feet and slam the door just to spite you.

You didn't mind. You knew he was just being a brat; however, things were different now.

After the night of Seokjin's party, Jeongguk changed. He was eerily silent, always avoiding eye contact with you.

You tried talking to him. Regrettably, you were only greeted by stillness.

"You want pizza, Gukkie?"

Nothing.

"Have you watched the latest episode of Start-up?"

Still nothing.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

Nope. Nothing. Nada.

"Wanna make out on the couch?"

Jeongguk's head jolted to your direction. His eyes were wide, cheeks turning crimson because of your bold statement.

"Hey!" You giggled, clearly happy with his reaction. "You finally looked at me!"

Jeongguk shook his head and then he went straight to his room.

You were unbelievable.

You pouted your lips, giving up. You had a feeling that he would come around.

He did. Days later, Jeongguk surprised you when he stood right in front of the door of your apartment. He was blocking your way out.

"Gukkie, I'm going to be late." You sighed. He reminded you of Miri, your cat that's always trying to stop you from leaving.

"You can't leave." His jaw clenched.

You let out a breath once again.

"Don't do this please. Mr. Kim needs me,"

The trial was happening today. You needed to run down a few things with your client before you go to the court room.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Jeongguk folded his arms over his chest.

You stared at him.

"I don't get what?" It was hard to keep your composure when the thing you had been trying to avoid for so long was being rubbed in your face. You knew exactly what Jeongguk was implying.

"—that you want me to drop this case because you want Red all to yourself?"

Jeongguk froze. What was the point of staying silent when you always knew what was running inside his head?

You just always knew.

"You don't have to pretend that you care about Soobin's well-being. I have enough people doing just that," you slightly pushed Jeongguk to the side so that you could pass through the door.

Ah, people.

They're all the same, always trying to conceal their self-interest by pretending that they care for others.

You liked Jeongguk—actually; you were convinced you loved him. He was your soulmate after all, but sometimes love wasn't enough to just give into what he wanted.

This wasn't about your relationship. This was about Soobin's welfare. He's just a child. You were a lawyer who swore an oath to protect the oppressed and incapable. You were their voice.

It sounded cheesy, but this was the type of person you aspired to be. The world was already dark, it wouldn't hurt to be someone's light.

Jeongguk didn't understand your reasons. It was evident when he showed up in court to watch you defend Kim Seokjin.

At first, you thought your eyes were failing you. Was he really here? Was he really the man at the back of the room wearing that big hoodie?

It was him. The familiar scowl on his face said so. Jeongguk was the only person who looked at you like you had offended his whole family.

"All rise!"

You turned to your client upon hearing the bailiff's demand.

"It's going to be alright," assured by you.

Seokjin smiled. He was looking at Red instead of you. He needed the comfort of his soulmate.

Red grinned back. She wasn't worried. She trusted you. She was certain you would succeed. Soobin wasn't going to be taken away from his father.

The first few minutes of the trial went smooth. You had your story straight and with the way the judge was nodding; you instantly knew she was in favor of your side.

Unfortunately, things started to go ugly during the cross-examination of witnesses.

Jung Hoseok was the first one to take the stand. He was the expert witness.

"You are the marriage counselor of Mr. and Mrs. Kim for months now, right?"

"Yes." Hoseok answered the opposing counsel. It was weird seeing him this serious. Your friend was always grinning, but you told him to try to keep a neutral face. This way, the judge and the jury wouldn't know if he was caught off guard by the question of the other side's attorney.

"Mr. Jung, is it true that marriage counselors rarely suggest divorce to their clients?"

"Depends—" Hoseok bit his tongue. You told him to simply answer yes or no. Be responsive to the question and never explain. "I mean, yes."

"And yet here we are..." Ms. Choi, the opposing attorney, shrugged her shoulders.

"Objection!" You stood up. "Relevance?"

You didn't understand why Ms. Choi asked that question to Hoseok when she's just shrugging it off now.

"Sustained." The judge felt the same way.

Ms. Choi raised her hand as if surrendering.

"My bad. I'm just curious, you know? If Mr. Jung is indeed an effective counselor, then why did he suggest that the Kim couple push through the divorce?"

Ms. Choi was furrowing her brow at Hoseok.

"Isn't that true, Counselor Jung? You told Mrs. Kim that it's better to end her marriage with Mr. Kim?"

"Yes." The expert witness answered truthfully.

The opposing side's attorney smiled mockingly.

"It's because you feared for Mrs. Kim's safety, right?"

"What?" Jung Hoseok was lost.

"Come on, Mr. Jung you know exactly what I am talking about! You found out that Mr. Kim is an alcoholic and you are scared that he might harm Mrs. Kim and Soobin, right?" Ms. Choi pointed at the five year old kid who was busy coloring books in the far corner of the room. He was with Seokjin's mother.

"Objection, Your Honor! Compound question!" You glared at Ms. Choi.

"Sustained." The judge clenched her jaw. "Ms. Choi, separate your questions. You are misleading the jury..."

Ms. Choi was flustered, yet she still held her head high. She knew she had the upper hand here.

"Is Mr. Kim alcoholic, Mr. Jung?" She tried again.

Hoseok cleared his throat.

"He had a history of abusing alcohol years ago."

"And you know this because you're also a licensed alcohol and drug counselor, correct?"

"Yes..."

"And Mr. Kim Seokjin also told you about his issue with regard to alcohol abuse?"

"Yes." Hoseok swallowed hard.

There were papers that could attest to Hoseok's claim. This was a win for Mrs. Kim. You could see her growing sarcastic smile that was directed at Red.

You inhaled deeply.

"Mr. Jung, can you please tell us the rate of patients going through alcohol relapse?"

"Uh, it's sixty to ninety percent after the first year of treatment," answered by Hoseok.

"I see. How long has it been since Mr. Kim sobered up?"

"As far as I know, it has been three years."

"Huh." Ms. Choi crossed her arms. "So is there a possibility that Mr. Kim would experience an alcohol relapse?"

"Yes."

"What's the statistical probability, Mr. Jung?"

"About fifty percent high." Hoseok looked dejected. He wanted to help Seokjin win the case, but he couldn't lie.

"I see." Ms. Choi was smiling as if she had already won the case.

"Can you tell us now the effects of experiencing an alcohol relapse? Or a slip?"

Hoseok's palms were sweating. Slip was one episode of drinking alcohol after trying to stay sober. Relapse, on the other hand, was the return to unhealthy behavior. Slip wasn't always followed by a relapse.

Hoseok also explained that there were different stages of relapse. Emotional relapse could cause suppression of emotions, becoming more isolated, trying to blame other people, and aggression, especially when they were confronted. There's also mental and physical relapse which included glamorizing alcohol and compulsive desires to drink.

"No further questions, Your Honor." The corner of Ms. Choi's mouth turned up upon realizing that the jury was in favor of their side now.

You had to step up your game.

The next witness was Son Chae-young. She was Soobin's babysitter. Chae-young had been living with the Kims ever since Soobin was born. She's a witness testifying against Seokjin.

Chae-young cleared her throat when your eyes landed on her. She already felt uncomfortable because of the way you were looking at her.

The way you stand up—shoulder down, neck long—was intimidating.

"You have a really nice necklace, Ms. Son."

Chae-young flinched upon hearing your compliment. She was confused. Mrs. Kim and Attorney Choi told her that you were scary, this was evident by the way you present yourself, but then...the way your eyes light up made her feel at ease. Your voice was soft too.

"Ah...thanks," regardless of your sweet persona, Chae-young still couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Why were you looking at her as if she was important? As if you were here to protect and not cross-examine her?

"Is it from Cartier?"

"Yes!" The babysitter beamed at you as she touched her pretty jewelry.

You smiled warmly at her.

"Did you buy it yourself?"

"Objection! Relevance?" The opposing lawyer clenched her fist. She was shaking, causing you to smile bigger. Guess she knew what was coming to her, huh?

"I'm getting there, Your Honor," said by you. Your expression screamed confidence that the judge was compelled to believe you.

"Overruled."

You continued.

"So...Ms. Son, did you buy that necklace? Or is it a gift?"

"Uh..." Chae-young's lips trembled. She was looking at Mrs. Kim, as if she was asking for her boss' help. "I-I bought it for myself..."

"I see." You nodded. Humoring her. "Do you have any other job aside from babysitting Kim Soobin?"

The nanny shook her head.

"N-No. I'm a full-time nanny of Mrs. Kim's son." Chae-young's lips were still shaking; her eyes were quivering as well.

"Hm, interesting..." You went closer to the witness. "That means you're earning what? Two hundred fifty dollars a month?"

"Objection, Your Honor! I still can't see the relevance of this!" Ms. Choi was losing her mind.

You turned to glare at her.

"Can’t you really see the relevance of this or are you just scared?"

You heard the judge's hit the gavel; she was calling your attention.

"Get to the point right now." The judge demanded at you. It was this or your statement was going to be sustained.

"I am merely establishing my point, Your Honor." Your voice was rough. "The necklace Ms. Son is wearing is worth four thousand three hundred dollars.��I know because I have the same necklace and it took me, a lawyer, months!" You paused for a while just to emphasize the word months, "to buy it."

You turned to Chae-young when the judge remained silent.

"So tell me, Ms. Son, how can a full-time nanny like you who's earning minimum wage buy that kind of luxurious jewelry? Huh?" You were standing too close to the witness so Attorney Choi used this as an opportunity to object.

"Your Honor, she is badgering the witness!"

"Overruled." But the judge wasn't having any of it. "Answer the question, Ms. Son."

"I'm sorry!" The nanny's face twisted in fear. "Mrs. Kim bought it for me—"

"It's a gift!" Mrs. Kim blurted out, unable to contain her anger anymore. God. She hated you. "I bought it for her last month! It's my birthday gift for her!"

You smirked. Attorney Choi was panicking. She was caressing Mrs. Kim's hand, telling her to calm down.

Sadly, Mrs. Kim could not be stopped.

"Why am I explaining to you when you have no right to question my intention! It's my money so I get to decide what to do with it!"

She was yelling at you and it almost made you laugh. Why was she so defensive?

"May I remind you that you are a married woman, Mrs. Kim? You have to consider your husband's decision when it comes to spending that amount of money." You said this while glancing at the jury.

Base on their expressions, you knew that they agreed with you. This was a win on your side. One of the valid reasons of Seokjin for wanting a divorce was this. Mrs. Kim didn't know how to manage their assets.

You weren't done, though. You had to discredit the witness. You had to win the jury's side in all aspects.

"And you said you bought it last month for Ms. Son's birthday?" You shook your head, focusing your eyes at the nanny.

"Tell us, Ms. Son, when is your birthday?"

Mrs. Kim's face became pale upon hearing your question.

"January seventeen...”

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Kim again.

"Your birthday present is many months late, Mrs. Kim. Either that or you're just lying to hide the fact that you gave Ms. Son the necklace in exchange of testifying against your husband—"

"Objection—"Attorney Choi tried to stop you, but you cut her off too.

"Isn't that right, Ms. Son? You are bribed by your boss to say that you always see Mr. Kim Seokjin drinking alcohol—"

"Your Honor—" The opposing attorney was losing control, her objections were drowning because of how loud your voice was.

"Mrs. Kim wants you to lie! To say that her husband isn't a good father! That he isn't a good influence to Soobin!"

"Yes!"

You stopped trying to pressure Chae-young because it already worked. She admitted the truth.

"Mrs. Kim bribed me!" The babysitter sobbed, looking at you like you were the Lord and she was a sinner.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I can't say no, please...please...I need this job!"

"You bitch!" Mrs. Kim abruptly stood up. She wanted to attack you; fortunately the security officers were able to stop her.

The jury was surprised to see Mrs. Kim's violent reaction. You, on the other hand, didn't even flinch.

You were used to this kind of scene. Besides, you couldn't get sidetracked. You still needed to prove your point.

And so you faced the jury.

"Is this the kind of person that you want to raise a sweet, innocent five year-old kid?"

One of the members of the jury clutched her chest. She was affected by what you had said. Truthfully, they were almost decided to grant the sole custody to Mrs. Kim; however, upon seeing the latter's behavior, the jury was having second thoughts now.

"Just look at her!" You pointed at Mrs. Kim who was still seething with rage.

"She constrained an adult! Imagine the bad things she could force Soobin to do! Mrs. Kim is a manipulator!" You raised your voice dramatically.

"My actions are nothing compared to what that asshole is doing!" Mrs. Kim screamed as she angrily pointed at her husband.

She was crying.

Kim Seokjin was quiet. He was shocked by your responses. He didn't expect you to be this bold. You were different from the lawyer he thought he knew.

You didn't have any limit. You didn't know when to stop just to prove a point.

"He's teaching my son that it's okay to be unfaithful to your wife! Jury, please!" Mrs. Kim was desperate. "Don't let him come near my son! He's a drunken bastard!"

The judge was hitting the gavel again. There were too much drama and unnecessary comments from Mrs. Kim.

You shook your head. You couldn't stop now. The jury was undecided. They changed their minds from time to time. You could see sympathy in their eyes as they looked at the wife.

"Mr. Kim Seokjin is sober! You should be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Kim! You keep blaming your husband when you're the reason why he turned alcoholic in the first place—"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Attorney Choi glared at you. "The attorney is assuming facts!"

You disagreed before the judge could say sustained.

"Am I?" You smirked at the judge before turning to your table to get your evidence.

Seokjin looked at you nervously.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," groaned by your client.

You were blinded by your role as a lawyer, so you ignored Seokjin's plea.

"Don't do this..."

Seokjin was already too late.

"I have here the evidence that will prove that Mrs. Kim is the reason why her husband turned alcoholic."

You brought out the printed photos of Seokjin's beaten up face. Bruises, cuts, and other physical injuries were seen.

The jury gasped. Attorney Choi was groaning as she told the judge that these photos were not entered into evidence.

You were playing dirty, but so were they. Ms. Choi told you that they wouldn't bring Mr. Kim's sobriety issue in this court. She lied.

"These pictures are given to me by Mrs. Kim Sunghee, Seokjin's mother." You glanced at your client's mother.

"She knows that her son's wife was assaulting him. Seokjin didn't want to feel his wife's punches so he resorted to drinking the pain away. Mr. Kim just wants to be numb."

"N-No..." Your client's tears streamed down his cheeks. He was calling your name, begging you to stop.

It felt like everyone was begging you to stop; even Sunghee was shaking her head.

It was wrong. This was a mistake. Seokjin's mother realized this when Soobin began to cry. He was silently crying at first, but when the little boy saw the photos in your hand, he started hyperventilating.

"Appa!" Soobin's eyes dilated. He could barely breathe.

Mrs. Kim stood up to attend to her son.

"Soobin!" Mrs. Kim was wailing.

Things were becoming messy.

You didn't understand what was happening, so you just stood there.

"Appa! A-Appa is hurting!" Soobin was losing it; his eyes were rolling in the back of his head.

"Call 911!" Red shouted.

The noise was deafening.

You still didn't get what was happening.

Seokjin went near you.

"I told you not to do it!" He shouted, snatching the photos away from your shaky hands.

"This isn't about me or my wife!" Seokjin continued to scream at you.

You were stunned.

Your client was blaming you.

This is your fault! Seokjin said.

You were wrong. You didn't have to bring out these photos because apparently, Soobin knew.

He witnessed how his mom used to beat up his father.

The poor kid was traumatized.

He had to get some help.

His parents thought he had recovered.

It had been years.

The thing about trauma was, it never went away. It was there—silently sleeping and waiting for that one thing that would trigger it.

You triggered Soobin.

"I-I didn't know..." Your voice was low as you stated your excuse.

No one wanted to hear your lame excuse, not even Jeongguk.

You looked at your soulmate once.

You looked at him desperately.

You looked at him hoping that he would understand—like he would comfort you.

He would never.

Jeongguk had this look in his eyes, the kind of feeling that expressed disappointment.

Jeongguk was disappointed in you.

It was clear because right now, he was shaking his head as if you had done the most horrifying thing in the world.

He shook his head before leaving you all alone.

No one wanted to be with you.

You were a disgrace.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jungkook enemies to lovers #jungkook roommate au #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkoon x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook sugar baby au #bts jungkook #bts jeon jeongguk #jungkook soulmate au #jungkook friends to lovers #jungkook e2l

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astro-rain · 3 years

Text

delicate; b.barnes

chapter seven - “the king is dead”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: shuri has awful news. the reader is terrified but bucky is strangely calm. the world is turned upside down, and not in a good way.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: this was so fun to write omg get ready it’s finally getting interesting!!! (as always, OC on my wattpad @ / typicaldaze)

Months had gone by since that day at the lake. Countless therapy sessions had been endured, several hard questions asked, many many issues worked through. Bucky suffered through a few more anxiety attacks along the way, but they never hindered his resolve, thanks to (Y/N). They had made progress, good, solid progress. Bucky was pleased; (Y/N) was thrilled. It's hard to see change when you're the one going through it. However, to the person guiding that change, every step forward is recognized. She was proud. She was genuinely proud of him. He wasn’t “fixed,” he still had struggles, but he was a lot better off then before.

There was something peculiar, though. Their relationship was strictly professional, (Y/N) knew that. However, she couldn't help but feel as though along the sidelines of their progress, they had grown to become friends. She knew that, clinically, this was not appropriate, but there were no corporate guidelines she was working under. She was helping him. So, what would it matter if after all this was over, they were friends? What would it matter if his therapist also operated as his friend? Hell, she didn't even have an official therapist position here! Sharon just sent her to help. (Y/N) had decided she didn't care about the boundaries being crossed. Nothing ever went wrong with someone gaining a friend. It's fine.

Regardless, the two of them had thoroughly addressed the anxiety and the PTSD, and he now officially had both diagnoses. He understood himself and his brain so much better, and with (Y/N)'s help, he not only acknowledged his disorders, but accepted them. She taught him to not see them as the enemy, not something that was wrong with him. They were just a part of him, same as his brown hair or blue eyes.

Bucky was so much more open now. He was less on edge and more comfortable, especially around her. In all honesty, he was usually his most comfortable with her. He had coping skills and everything!

This was all grand and good, but (Y/N) hoped with everything in her that it wouldn't be ruined by the present disaster.

"I thought he was automatically supposed to be king?" (Y/N) asked, confused.

She was at her weekly meeting with Shuri for Bucky's treatment plan, and the young genius had just told her she couldn't make it next week due to T'Challa's coronation.

"He is," Shuri started, "but it's Wakandan tradition to open the position up to a dual. So, his rule isn't set in stone."

"Oh... What if someone... challenges him?"

"Then they will fight! However, I have no worries. T'Challa is a great warrior, and though I doubt anyone would challenge him, he would win if they did."

(Y/N) admired the faith Shuri had in her brother. She could tell their bond was strong.

"Couldn't you technically challenge him?"

Shuri revealed a kind of devilish smirk that only a sibling can muster. "Oh, I have thought about it. But I am much more useful in my lab, and T'Challa wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't in charge."

(Y/N) looked back on the memory anxiously as she stared in horror at the look on Shuri's face. A wicked mix of fear, grief, and stress drained all the color from the princess' normally dark, beautiful skin. Shuri had always radiated confidence and composure; seeing this change worried (Y/N) deeply.

"The King is dead."

Her face became void of any expression and all she could process was fear. She thought she gasped but she couldn't remember breathing out again. Her brain was frozen. (Y/N) was in a foreign country that just lost its monarch. She was alone, and all the people she was relying on to protect her just had their kingdom invaded and taken over by someone with the word kill as part of their nickname. She was almost certain that this would be her end.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)?" Shuri said unsteadily. "Did you hear me?"

"Y-Yes I... What are we going to do?" her voice was weak and small. Pathetic and afraid.

Then, thoughts of Bucky crossed her mind. What would happen to him? He could fight, she supposed, but he doesn't have any weapons or gear and he'd be against an entire regime. What if they killed him? What if they tortured him? Different scenarios quickly flashed through her brain, but she could only one concrete thought.

I have to find him.

"My family and I have a plan, but we can't take you with us."

Any remaining semblance of hope dissipated from (Y/N)'s body, and she swore she could feel her veins quiver with apprehension.

"What?"

Her voice felt far away.

"It is not ideal, and I'd never leave you unless I had to. But Agent Everett Ross is here. It's a long story, but as you know, he can't find out about Sergeant Barnes. He can't know that either of you are here. If we take you with us, it could compromise everything we've been working for," the nervous princess explained.

"So... what of me and Bucky?"

"Again, it's a long story, but there's a... sort of fallout shelter - I guess you could call it - that was built years and years ago when the first tribes of Wakanda were constantly at war with one another. I will give you supplies and directions, and you two must go there and remain hidden until this is all over."

Fantastic. (Y/N) would get to play Cold War nuclear fallout in Wakanda.

"How will we know?"

Shuri gave her a somber look. A look of uncertainty and immense guilt.

"I wish I could apologize enough, my partner, but I do not know. I promise I will try to contact you as soon as I get any information, but for now we must hurry. We do not have much time."

With that, Shuri took (Y/N)'s arm and quickly led her her outside. It was late afternoon and the air was beginning to cool. They ran, locked together, until they met the Queen under a large tree among the outskirts of a nearby forest. The woman looked just as shaken up as Shuri.

(Y/N) could see bags of different shapes and sizes at the base of the tree. She could only hope whatever was in there was sufficient for survival.

Shuri immediately embraced her mother, but the moment was short lived as she then bent down to gather the bags.

The Queen placed her hands gently on the sides of the psychologist’s face. "I am so sorry, child. This does not involve you in the slightest yet you are swept up in the middle of it."

Shuri handed her mother the bags and they both geared (Y/N) up with all her supplies. It was heavy. Really heavy. She realized she was carrying supplies for two. Then, there was panic.

"What about Bucky?"

"Barnes doesn't know about any of this yet. I thought it best he heard it from you," Shuri expained, "and we cannot afford anymore delays. Us or you. You must go now, tell Barnes what is happening and go. I wish I could be more help, but we simply don't have the time."

(Y/N) nodded, trying to process all the chaos. She was internalizing every bit of it. As a result, she was once again, frozen.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)!" Shrui exclaimed.

Her head shot up, snapped out of it.

"Go! You must go!"

And with that, (Y/N) took off. She had been in Wakanda long enough to know her way around the castle's surrounding land. Her speed didn't last very long as she was carrying for two, but she tried all she could to keep going as quickly as possible.

Eventually she found herself outside of Bucky's living quarters. She didn't know what to do, so she knocked.

An array of different emotions went through Bucky's face. At first he looked pleased, but then he saw the horror etched into (Y/N)'s features, and the bags she was carrying. He could tell something was wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, surprisingly calm, while immediately taking some of the bags from (Y/N). He still only had one arm but that really didn't seem to matter to him.

She was out of breath, face flushed and eyes wide.

"The King is dead," she said breathlessly. "Someone... someone killed him a-and took over."

Bucky didn't look as scared as (Y/N) felt. In fact, he looked... totally fine? She was so out of it she wanted to curl up in a hole and allow natural death. How was the anxious man she was accustomed to so at ease? The world was flipped upside down and (Y/N) had no control. She wished there was a word stronger than fear because she couldn't even describe what she was feeling.

"Okay," Bucky said, gently taking another bag, leaving her with only one to carry, "What did Shuri say? What do we have to do?"

She shook her head, trying to regain her breath and her composure. "There's um - there's a fallout shelter thing we have to go to. Here."

She handed him a crumpled up piece of paper that Shuri gave her. A map with directions. (Y/N) knew he would've been better at locating it than she could at that moment.

"Alright," more of the calm voice filled her ears. "Anything else?"

"There are more details, but - we don't have time," she sighed, restlessly. Her voice began to shake ever so slightly. "Bucky, I'm so sorry. We have to go now. I promise I'll tell you everything."

"Okay," he said again. He bent down slightly, looking her directly in the eyes. " (Y/N), we're fine, okay? We're good, and we're gonna be fine. I will get us there. Are you ready?"

She nodded, steeling herself.

Bucky looked at the map, then glanced up in the direction of the shelter. He took (Y/N)’s forearm firmly. She gave him a look, confirming she was ready. And off they went.

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky headcanon #marvel #steve rogers #bucky reader insert #bucky blurb #bucky drabble #bucky fic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #winter solider edit

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greenygreenland · 3 years

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The Floor Is Lava: (Platonic) 501st x Jedi Reader

-saw something about the floor is lava and imagined this in my head at like 3am

-note, you are a jedi padawan of shaak ti’s with your own squad (who are actually my ocs lol). They are called the Nebula Squad (the squad is actually from Wannabe, another one of my Star Wars fanfics)

-basically, you are someone who acts alone (without your master) and goes on special ops missions. you team up with anakin a lot

-CAN BE READ WITHOUT HAVING TO READ WANNABE

Summary: The floor is lava.

Spring came early. Too early. Maybe it was the fact that this planet had short winters, or the fact that you just weren't used to the warm breezes and scorching heat. After being stationed on Hoth for a good two weeks, you adjusted to the climate. With that came the curse of low heat tolerance.

"I'm going to die." you grumbled.

Your mission was in the more civilised (that was how one of your boys put it) regions of the planet. For some strange reason only the Force knew, your ship broke down in the worst place: a deserted village. Why was this the worst place? Because there was no way you could repair a broken ship without spare parts.

And where were spare parts located? In the city you were supposed to land in. Great, just great.

“(Y/n), can’t we contact General Skywalker for assistance?” inquired Nova. “We are supposed to RV with them anyway.”

Nova was your friend and assigned clone Commander. He, like you, had a knack for getting into sticky situations. Usually he was the one with the plan B, not you. “I can ask Grav and Nimbus if they can get a signal out over there.” He pointed to the mountain on your right. It was tall with a jagged top, where thick forests of luscious greenery sprouted out all over.

Yeah, good luck getting through that.

“You mean to tell me there’s no signal here?” you inquired. “Just how remote is this place?” Even with that bucket over Nova’s face, you knew he was frowning and holding back a long sigh. “Intel said--”

“Intel’s always wrong.” cut in a voice. You peered over Nova’s broad shoulders and met gazes with another member of your squad, Icee. He was just as tall as Nova, sporting the Squad’s signature purple stripes and it’s logo--a nebula. Over his shoulder, he held tight to a sniper rifle. The thing was a beauty, as well as his baby.

“The three things you can never trust are the weather forecast, the canteen menu, and intel. Plain and simple, vode.” Icee added. You shook your head, swatting a few mosquitoes away with a wave of your hand. “If that big ‘ol mountain is the only place we can get a signal from, then I say we go. All of us.”

Nova nodded in agreement. He shouldered his pack, adjusted a few straps on his kama and weapons, and motioned for the rest of the squad to move out. “Is there anything we should know about the wildlife here?” he inquired. “My HUD’s picking up the usual birds and rascals. I’d rather not risk it though. Remember Felucia?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of that jungle-hell. Everywhere you walked lay a deadly plant in need of its next meal. They snuck up on you too, striking out of nowhere like the silence of night. Your number one rule there was not to touch anything.

“There are a few carnivorous plants south of here,” answered Nimbus. “Besides that, all we have to worry about are the birds.” You admired the way he was able to brief everyone so quickly. The only other clone you’ve met with such a well of info was Tech, a member of Clone Force 99.

“What do the birds look like?” you inquired. Nimbus scrunched up his face under that bucket of his. “I don’t think you wanna know.” Grav squinted at the screen and pushed his brother’s head with the back of his hand. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but you sensed a lingering annoyance in the air after.

“What, you scared of some little bird Nimbus?“ he teased. Nimbus wordlessly flipped over his datapad for everyone to see. The screen displayed a large bird-like creature with long fangs covered in drool. Its eyes were beady and bloodthirsty, as if it wanted you to be its next meal.

Nimbus scanned over the heading. “This is a...uh...Kah-rah...Kahl-ram-dah-lahm-dahl...?”

“Kara’dalamb’da.” corrected Storm. He pulled off his helmet, the low ponytail of his fanning out in the warm breezes. “I’ve read about them once. They’re not the type of creatures I’d want to run into. They drag you to their caves, pull you apart limb, and then chew you alive. The worst part is that they don’t eat you.”

Nimbus knitted his brows together. “So we’re like chewing gum to them?”

“Exactly.” Storm affirmed. “They come out at night time, then stay around till dawn before hiding in their caves.” Icee blanched and you couldn’t blame him. You were all heading towards the mountains, where plenty of caves and labyrinths lay. There were probably tons of those Kara-whatevers waiting for their dinner.

You folded your hands together with a tight frown. “Is there another way of getting a signal to Anakin?” George shook his head sadly. You sensed an overwhelming amount of resignation rolling off his shoulders. “No. Even if I tried use long-range comms, it wouldn’t work. There’s too much interfering with the signal.”

There was a chance you could telepathically contact Anakin. He’d answer in an instant and personally come to find you. But that would drain your energy. Your boys needed you more than you needed to contact Ani. If you became dead-weight then it would compromise the mission.

“Alright,” you decided. “We have twelve hours to scale that mountain and hurry our shebs to the ship. If we don’t make it back in time, consider ourselves toast.”

You wished you’d consider yourself toast from the start. If that were the case, then you wouldn’t be running for your life. The mission up was a success. You managed to reach the highest point on the mountain in less than eight hours by ways of a local trail (Nimbus noted that this was a popular tourist spot in autumn). Then you contacted Rex, who promised to RV at the foot of the mountain.

The way down was a different story.

It was dusk when you made your descend. The moon rose into the sky while the sun shied away, and if it weren’t for the boys and their helmet lamps, you wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. At first, the walk back was completely fine. The boys were in good spirits and you weren’t hungry for (favourite food).

But then it didn’t go well.

It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t see the giant jaws of death looming over you, or Nimbus, who started arguing with Grav. Again. It also wasn’t you fault that George so happened to trip over a rock and slam into Sapnap, who tried breaking his fall by grabbing onto Halo’s arm. The three went down together, and with the heavy clanking of katarn-class armour, you were sure the whole animal kingdom heard the show.

And that was how the Nebula Squad found themselves in this mess, fleeing from the horrifying Kara’dalamb’da.

“This is your fault Grav!” cried Nimbus. They bumped heads and it took all your willpower not to join the screaming match. “Shut up,” replied Grav. “You were the one who started it!” Nimbus gritted his teeth. “You who else started this?” he seethed. “Them!” He pointed over his shoulder at Halo, George, and Sapnap. They were the ones who had fallen, after all. Why else did the beast wake up?

“It wasn’t my fault!” cried George. Sapnap scoffed and it was lost to the screech of the oversized bird above. “No one said it was your fault anyway! You just have a guilty conscious!”

You eyed the bird with a sharp scowl. It flew higher, into the haunting light of the moon and across the stars. It gave a great screech again. You covered your ears as a shiver ran down your spine. “Is there any place we can hide from that thing? I’m pretty sure it can smell us from klicks away!”

“That’s correct Commander!” Nimbus congratulated. By the light aura around his shoulders, you guessed him and Grav already made up. They always had petty arguments anyway. “The Kara’dalamb’da has an incredible sense of smell and a wingspan of about ten meters! That’s pretty cool.”

Storm stared at his brother in bewilderment. “How is that cool?” he demanded. “You want to be chop suey for that thing? Be my guest.” Halo laughed a little. You knew he was doing it to shake off his nerves. “Why’d you have to go on and say that? Now I’m going to start singing.”

You scanned the forest. For miles, it seemed to be only forest, wildlife, and bare nature. A flicker of...something cut through your senses. Calculating, at the ready, and deadly. You paused in your step, Storm mimicking you. He met your gaze. “You sense it too?”

“Maybe it’s them.”

You heard them before you saw them.

“Blast that bird out of the sky!”

A squad of 501st troops rustled through the trees. They were silent as the night, save for one trooper who decided to whisper-shout a ‘hi’ to your squad. Their formation, lame as it was, worked in their favour. They raised their blaster, lighting up the sky with bright bolts of blue.

“Can we get a rocket launcher over here?”

“Yes, sir!”

The bird dropped out of the sky with a cry, razor-sharp teeth bared and claws at the ready. It was coming closer, diving faster. You pulled out your lightsaber and thumbed it on.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

You heaved in a deep breath and leapt into the moonlight. Your robes fluttered in the wind, and your hair whipped in arc of (hair colour). It was like you had wings. Time slowed and you raised your lightsaber. It came down in a neat slash across the beast’s neck.

You tumbled through the air and met the ground in a roll. The beast fell behind with a loud THUMP!. You turned off your glowing blade and stashed it away on your belt. The adrenaline keeping your nerves hidden away was slowing, and the realisation that you just murdered a beast settled into your mind.

Part of you wished things could have been different. But what choice did you have?

“Commander!” called Nova, stopping by your side. “Are you okay?” You smiled and he heaved out a sigh of relief. “That was some jump, but now look.” He pointed to your dirt-covered robes. It wasn’t a big deal, but to someone like Nova, it was an issue.

“Here.” Nova helped you dust off the robe with a few pats. “That’s better.”

“Oh, it didn’t look bad.” you stated. He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what you always say (Y/n).” You grinned and bumped shoulders with him. He replied by playfully shaking his head with a sigh.

A familiar boy made his way towards you. Even through the moonlight struggling through the thick canopies, you saw the chipped blue paint. “Rex,” you greeted. “Thanks for the assistance. Although, I wish you toned it down a bit. You made my squad look like a bunch of young fools.” A loud ‘hey’ sounded from your boys, but you elected to ignore it with a grin.

“Your squad did a phenomenal job in staying alive that long.” Rex said with a chuckle. “And besides, you stole the show in the end. The boys had fun watching your display.” You three shared a warm laugh that reminded you of the sun.

Speaking of sun, was it just you or did it get brighter outside? You looked up to gaze at the moon. It still stood high in the sky, just as before. The stars were out too, bright and clear as ever. So why had the temperature risen so quickly? It was at least another eight hours till dawn. That was more than enough time for the moon to stay out.

A scattered cluster of birds flew from out of the trees. Was it just you or was the forest getting really silent? Owls refused to hoot, those kara-whatevers weren’t screeching from their caves, and crickets stopped chirping their calming songs.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!”

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS HERE!”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS IN THE SOUTH!”

You spun around so fast that you could have gotten whiplash. Sapnap, George, and Halo sprinted from out of the thick trees with their helmet lights on the highest setting. You squinted behind them. Something had to be chasing them, otherwise they wouldn’t be sprinting like track stars.

But you didn’t see any deadly animals, nor did you sense them. All that was left was an...

...an eerie silence.

You thought back to the briefing. Back to the meeting you nearly fell asleep in. If it weren’t for Icee kicking your feet every now and then, then you would have passed out completely.

“On this outer rim planet, I suggest you be careful,” Obi-wan had said. “The locals reported the activity of volcanoes erupting unexpectedly. They believe it has to do with an angry spirit plaguing their land, but we’ve found out the Separatists have a hand behind this.”

“Do you know where these volcanoes are, General Kenobi?” inquired Grav. He shook his head. “No, but I’m sure you won’t have to know. The city under siege is our main objective. You will rendezvous with Anakin there.”

Sapnap, George, and Halo motioned for everyone to move. There was a flicker of movement behind them. Fives emerged from the bushes in a frantic sort of panic. “LAVA!” he cried. “THE FLOOR IS LITERALLY LAVA!”

That was all it took for everyone to run. As uncoordinated as the retreat was, having lava behind you wasn’t exactly something anyone could stay calm about. The glowing magma was faster than it was supposed to be, and you had a feeling it was because it had a nice flow coming out of the planet’s core.

“Talk about an intense game of ‘the floor is lava’!” Hardcase shouted with a laugh. Jesse ‘pffted’. “I thought being chased by lava would be worse! This isn’t nearly as bad as last mission!”

Last mission? Oh, what was Ani doing to these poor souls? Your shoulders slumped in defeat. They were so nonchalant. How? Burning to death in lava was said to be the most painful death, and you’d rather not be Gollum in his last moments on Mount Doom.

“Why don’t you turn that frown upside down?” inquired Fives. You hadn’t even realised he’d caught up with you. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just a bit of lava!”

You threw a hand over your shoulder and pointed to the glowing, hot mass. It burned through everything it touched. A fire was beginning to catch too, and all the smoke and ash from it wasn’t doing you any good. “Just a bit of lava? Well how would you feel running into that?”

“I don’t know!” he retorted. “Never tried it!”

“If you did, then you’d be dead!” Kix shouted. You face-palmed. “That’s a bit of a no-brainer!” Fives pulled off his helmet. The grin smacked upon his lips didn’t leave. “Who’s up for a round of ‘the floor is lava’?”

“Me!” said Jesse.

“And me!” added Hardcase.

“You guys need to cool it.” Kix said. “But don’t leave me out, I want to play too.”

You let out a long sigh. The 501st may have saved your skin today, but tomorrow? They’d probably get you killed.

TIP JAR <--- (if you’re feeling nice)

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars x reader #501st legion #Clone Troopers #clone trooper rex #clone trooper fives #clone trooper kix #clone ocs

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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary: This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

********

The paper sliced across the skin before any action could be taken to avoid it. A high pitched hiss followed by a short whine. The flap of skin that had been separated was being dyed red.

Gwen stuck her index finger in her mouth to sooth the stinging. It helped a little bit. Still sucking on the appendage, Gwen stumbled over to the supply closet and opened the thin metal doors with the other hand. She kept this feat up as she opened the first aid kit and pushed around the different types of bandages, trying to decide which one to use. The cut was right on the tip, right where you never want it to be. It was hard to get a band aid on that kind of cut. Eventually, she found a smaller version of a standard design and ripped the paper covering opening. She wrapped the band aid around her index finger before heading for her desk. It was back to the files that had injured her in the first place.

The pile was tall; by her standards, at least. Gwen had been dealing with it for the past hour. The dates on the files needed sorting, separating the ones could be sent to long-term storage. She almost gave out another whine, but she didn’t want the others to hear and start the relentless teasing. Her coworkers were quick and very witty.

It was a friendly floor. Everyone joked and played around without the fear of feelings being hurt. If Gwen didn’t have to do the actual work that came with the office space, she wouldn’t mind staying here forever. But dealing with these files and demanding customers and meeting quotas was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Not that Gwen knew exactly what it was that she did want to do. She’d tried a lot of things over the last few years in her slow going college years. Marketing, history, education - hell, she even took several makeup courses and skincare lessons that focused on natural resources. None of it stuck, none of it held her interest, though the information could be recalled if needed.

“You alright there, Gwen?”

Drudging up from the bowels of her thoughts, Gwen looked up at Kimberly, who had stopped at her desk on the way back from the printer.

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded with a sigh. “Just… ready for the week to be over.”

“Ain’t that the consensus,” Kimberly laughed.

“How are the dogs?” Gwen was seizing the opportunity to distract herself from work. Kimberly owned two dogs with opposite personalities. One was the well-mannered older brother, the other was the skittish, hyper younger brother. She loved to talk about them and there was never a shortage of entertaining stories.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Kurt is back to back to demanding his breakfast at five a.m. Oh, but Kent now does this thing where he walks backwards. Whenever he starts doing that, we’ll beep at him. You know, like the garbage trucks? Then he gets all shy and hides his head.”

Gwen couldn’t stop giggling at the thought. “Oh, the poor thing!”

“You’ll have to see it next time you come over.”

“I can’t wait.”

As Kimberly walked away, Gwen sighed. She didn’t get out too much and the humor that most of her socializing outside of work was with one of her coworkers wasn’t lost on her. Just another dart to throw at the board that was Gwen Sinclair.

It wasn’t like her life was a complete disaster. Really, it could have been worse. She could imagine a thousand different scenarios that she could be living right now that were worse off then her current situation. Truthfully, if glanced at from the outside, Gwen’s life was simply... mediocre. She was blessed with tolerable roommates, an okay job that provided a nice paycheck for a twenty-three-year-old who had yet to finish college. But… the loneliness was killing her and overall, she was craving for something more.

She was exhausted from obligation and responsibility. She wished to go back to the days where she read about adventure and intrigue and imagined some day living that out herself. After having those words in her hands, she felt empty in her reality. Somehow, each day felt even more draining.

With the end of another workday, Gwen packed up the files that still needed to be sorted, locked up her cabinets and tugged on her coat as she waved goodbye to Kimberly and the others. A few other coworkers were chatting excitedly about the solar eclipse happening in a few minutes. Gwen, however, was annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that all anyone - online or in person - could talk about was the solar eclipse, as if it was the only one that had ever been seen in this generation. When one person mentioned the eclipse, it was fine. When it was every post and every comment and every conversation, it felt a little ridiculous. Gwen couldn’t care less about the event. Getting home was her current priority. But escaping wasn’t that easy.

For the millionth time, Gwen rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the newsfeed, waiting for her car to warm up in the parking garage. The weather was cold and dreary, slowing down her progress on getting home. Puffs of steam escaped her lips in the below freezing temperature. Other employees hurried past the back of her car to get to their own tiny sanctuaries. An alert for a new email popped up at the top of the phone screen. From the quick scan of the notification, she saw that it was from her eastern history professor. He wanted to go over the latest paper from class. Oh, no. That was never a good sign.

Gwen huffed, threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. First the papercut, now this.

Since all her classes were online, Gwen had the minor luxury to not be forced to talk to her professor face to face, which surely would have been humiliating. But it couldn’t be avoided completely. She’d email him back once she arrived home. Or maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow. Dealing with this was the last thing she wanted to do. Stress was already causing her skin to revert back to puberty, she didn’t need this as well.

Her phone rang and she struggled to answer it while carefully winding down the levels of the garage. It was Jaynie, the favorite of the roommates.

“Hey, Janie, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you were coming straight home today.”

Gwen smirked, knowing exactly where this was going.

Over the past several months, a bit of an obsession had developed with Korean dramas. The shows the two of them consumed were different from the same old, boring American television and there were years worth of stories to choose from. Currently, they were in the middle of another romantic comedy. While Gwen loved the storyline and was in a constant state of swoon, as soon as the credits started rolling, she was reminded how pathetically uninteresting her life was. But those sixty plus minutes of pure escapism made it all worth the crash that came afterwards.

Gwen tried to wait patiently in the line to leave the parking garage, but her frustration was getting the better of her. It was stop and go, stop and go, stop and go.

“I’m planning on it. That is, if people decide any day now to not drive idiotically.”

“Ugh, I had the same problem on my way home.”

Curious. Both of them worked in the downtown area. “How did you get home so fast?” Gwen asked.

“I got off a little early today.”

“Lucky.” Her accounting job often led to flexible hours. Gwen was jealous of that level of freedom.

The road was slick from the freezing rain. Weather like this brought out all the stupid drivers as if this wasn’t a yearly occurrence. She was careful to look both ways before exiting the garage and inching into the street. What she didn’t account for was the other emptying lot across the street. A large black SUV pulled out right at the same time, but went too fast, hitting the water that was slowly turning to ice on the asphalt.

With no time to react, the SUV slammed into the side of Gwen’s compact car. Glass from the driver’s side window shattered and sprayed her face. Her phone flew out of her hand. The crunch of metal hit her ears before she could fully process what had happened. With the force of the collision, her forehead slammed against the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. The sound of screams echoed around her, but the words were unintelligible. Slumped over in her seat, a shadow creeped over the scene. Through the slits of her barely open eyes, Gwen watched as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Then all went black.

********

The water was what brought her back. It filled her lungs and surrounded her on all sides. She flailed her limbs, desperate for traction that couldn’t be found. Her clothing weighed her down, the hems being pulled as if hands had gripped tight on them. She needed a miracle. And a miracle she got. Two hands held onto one of her wrists and pulled her to the surface.

She gasped for air as her rescuer struggled to bring her to shore. The cloth that covered her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, making it nearly impossible to move. Water made its way up her throat, spilling over her lips. Her lungs were finally clear. They took in as much oxygen as they were allowed, burning with each brath.

“Lady Gwen! Lady Gwen!”

A young girl blocked out the bright sun. She shook Gwen’s shoulders desperately.

Gwen’s brain processed that the girl was not speaking English, but… she could understand her. The girl’s damp, dark hair was pulled into halves on either side of her face held in place by wide red straps. She looked at Gwen with deep concern, like a lifelong friend. But Gwen was sure she had never seen this girl before in her life.

“My Lady, can you hear me?” she asked frantically.

“Who are you?” Gwen finally choked out.

That made the girl pause in her panic. “What?”

Slowly regaining her strength, Gwen pushed herself up to her knees. As her eyesight cleared, she took in her surroundings. Gone were the tall metal and glass buildings, traffic lights, and speeding cars of her modern home. Now all that surrounded her were trees and a sandy beach of a large, calm lake. In the distance, wooden houses with curved rooftops, painted in bright reds and greens dotted the horizon. The heaviness that weighed her down was a dress made of too many layers and of no western fashion that she’d ever experienced before.

Whispers bounced around the rocky shore. All the faces that were looking on with concern around were unfamiliar. Gwen grabbed the hair cascading down her back, but it was still the red she knew, darker from the dampness of being pulled out of the water but still her hair.

“Where am I?” she asked in a quiet, gasping voice.

“My Lady, don’t you remember?” The girl panicked. “You’re in Songak. Goryeo.”

“Goryeo?” Gwen screeched. All the minor details she could summon up of the country came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was information overload and her brain couldn’t handle it. Her lungs tried desperately to keep up, breathing in as much air as they could, but her throat was closing up from the panic. The landscape blurred and she fell to the ground.

********

She was in a bed this time when she regained consciousness. The room was cold and dimly lit with soft, orange candlelight. A man, Caucasian unlike the others, sat beside the bed on a stool, worry etched into every facet of his face.

“Gwen, sweet, are you all right?”

English. He was speaking English. But that was a footnote of comfort to the bigger problem. She still didn’t know what had happened to her or how she got here or who these people were that seemed to know her. The man, who was about in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, smiled down at her, though his eyes were confused. “Gwen, does it hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Gwen took a moment, to calm down and to evaluate what she was feeling physically. Her head didn’t hurt, nor did any other part of her body. Wordlessly, she shook her head. The man seemed relieved.

“Are you all right?” He asked again, a different meaning under the question this time. “Chae Ryung said you couldn’t remember her or that we were in Goryeo? Do you at least remember your papa?”

Gwen weighed the choices in her mind. There wasn’t a mirror around, but she started to wonder if she had taken the place of someone else. Someone who knew these strangers. She could say that she didn’t know any of them - the truth - but would they think her mad if she spilled too much? Perhaps she could say she remembered a few things. Like him, if he is this poor girl’s father. Why am I here? In this time?

Choosing to comprise with herself, she gave the smallest of nods. “Papa.” Sitting up, she pulled him into a hug and there was something comforting about his embrace. This body remembered him, at least.

“What happened?” she asked after she let go.

“Chae Ryung said that you’d wandered off again and she found you, you’d been the water a long time.” The man, Papa, sucked in a breath, his eyes beginning to water. His genuine concern over her wellbeing made Gwen choke up as well. “The doctor said you stopped breathing. That could explain your lost memories.”

Good. The excuse was already in her hands. That should make it easy enough to play along while being forgiven for any missteps. But they shouldn’t be in Goryeo. That didn’t make any sense, historically. If anything, they might have been in Joseon – late Joseon. Was this some sort of alternate timeline? Or maybe she hit her head really hard in the car crash and this is really all a dream from the stress of her paper and too much K-drama.

Yes. Too much K-drama.

That had to be the explanation. This was all a strange dream. Which meant, she could play along and not be afraid. She could ask questions and live out the day until she woke back up in her own time, most likely in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her mother fretting over her.

She glanced around the room, taking in the architecture that she had only ever seen in pictures. In person, it was even more stunning and intricate. This wasn’t an ordinary citizen’s home. Interesting. What else could her brain come up with? “Why are we in Goryeo?”

“Your father’s a merchant, remember?” He spoke slowly. Each word was deliberate, giving Gwen time to process. Good filler for her mind. “I made a large fortune here and planned on taking you back home, but… your mother is buried here. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

A wave of emotion hit out of nowhere. Though her mother was alive and well, it didn’t stop a tear from escaping. “Mama.”

Papa wiped it away with a coarse finger. Gwen gasped back, surprised by the realness of the touch. Her dreams were never this intricate. The blanket strone across her lap scrunched in her fingers. It was cold and soft… and very real.

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

Confused by her reaction, Papa paused for a moment before continuing his explanation. “The eighth prince is graciously letting us stay with him while we wait on the construction of our home to be complete.”

The eighth prince?

Panic grew tenfold. If this wasn’t a dream, then she was in very big trouble. If history told her one thing, it was that proximity to royalty was the most dangerous place to be. Gwen might possibly have been able to skate by if they were simply staying in some unknown village far from the capital, but they were in a prince’s home. Which meant they were in… Songak, the capital city, just like that girl – Chae Ryung – had said. Right under the King’s nose. Breathing became difficult again. Each one was shallow, barely letting in any oxygen. Gwen could feel her chest tighten and her vision blurred.

“Gwen!” Papa jumped up and tried to keep her straight to give her lungs as much room as possible. He switched to Korean as he called out over his shoulder, “Someone, get the doctor! Now!” Shuffling sounds echoed off the floor on the other side of the sliding door and then faded away.

A minute later, breathing no better, two men and a woman rushed inside along with Chae Ryung. The older man stepped in front of Papa and took his place. He pushed Gwen’s shoulders gently until she was lying down. Two cold fingers against her wrist checked her pulse. The other, much younger man stepped up to Papa.

“What happened?”

Papa frowned. “It seems she’s lost some of her memories. I was explaining why we were here when suddenly she had trouble breathing.” He stopped, struggling with his own breath. “I’m sorry we’ve become a burden to you, Your Highness.”

Gwen’s breathing was regaining strength and she was able to concentrate on the conversation. So that was the eighth prince. He was younger than she would have guessed, handsome even, if she had to focus on something other than her lack of breath.

“Do not think such a thing,” the Eighth Prince replied. “Your presence has greatly improved the household. Lady Gwen will get better with time.”

Papa bowed, obviously grateful at the response. He turned to the woman. “Lady Hae, may I enquire after your own health?”

“Today is a better day,” she smiled, though her pale, drained complexion said otherwise. “Please, don’t worry about me. Keep your thoughts for your daughter.”

The doctor released Gwen’s wrist, satisfied with the improvement of her pulse and breathing. He stood up.

“It was a mild panic attack,” the doctor said calmly to Papa. “If it happens again, she should lie down and focus on her breathing. The incident at the lake seems to have taken a toll on her body. She simply needs rest. In time, her memories and her body will recover.”

Gwen didn’t agree with that statement fully. This body might get better in time, but there was no way memories that didn’t exist would ever return. One by one, the occupants left the room until it was only Gwen and Papa remaining behind. Silence hung in the air. After a moment, Papa sat down on the stool and took Gwen’s hand.

“I was worried I had lost you,” he whispered.

Gwen’s eyes fell down to the blanket covering her legs. Things were becoming clearer to her now. This was not a dream and she was no longer Gwen Sinclair from the twenty-first century. Something must have happened. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred or what would happen now, but she was here. And little did this man – known only to her as “Papa” – know that he had indeed lost his daughter. The face may be the same, but the Gwen inside was different. She would try her best to be good to him, at least until she found a way to get back to her own family. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

********

The next morning, the doctor, along with the Eighth Prince, came back to check on Gwen. The doctor commented that her pulse was stronger and that she seemed well on the road to full health. However, he still insisted on keeping her on bedrest.

Bored with these same walls and too curious about her temporary home, Gwen sat up. If she was going to be here for a while, she might as well get to know it. “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me stay in here all day. The sun and air is good for you, isn’t it?”

The sudden rebelliousness against the doctor’s suggestion did not seem to sit well with any of them. Gwen gave Papa a pleading look. A father couldn’t resist those eyes. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Perhaps, a little exercise in walking around the grounds would be all right?”

The doctor looked reluctant, but he agreed. “But she shouldn’t overexert herself.”

“Chae Ryung will stay with her,” the Eighth prince ordered. “If you’ll please excuse me, I must meet with my brothers.” He bowed and left, followed by the doctor.

Having heard her name from the hallway, Chae Ryung shuffled quickly inside and over to Gwen, holding out her arms for the latter to balance on as she slid off of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go outside?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing more of this place will help jog my memory.”

Chae Ryung tilted her head. “How can your memory jog?”

Gwen snorted, both at Chae Ryung’s confusion and at herself for the slip of the modern phrase. “Sorry, I just meant, maybe my memories will come back.”

“Oh.” The look on her face was enough to make Gwen laugh again.

Gwen scolded herself internally. She had to be more careful with her words. Every step was one on thin ice. She couldn’t change who she was, not completely, but she would have to pull back. Chae Ryung, however, felt safe, like a shelter from the rain. With her, Gwen could find answers that might be dangerous to seek elsewhere. Straightening her shoulders, Gwen smiled broadly and took her newest friend’s hand. Chase Ryung grinned brightly at her and guided her out of the room.

#exo royalty au #exo royalty!au #scarlet heart au #scarlet heart ryeo #exo time travel au #exo time travel!au #exo angst #exo series #exo x oc #exo x original character #exo ot9 #Scarlet Moon

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virgil-writes · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 6 - the spork

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 2.7K words.

chapter 7 - shower thoughts

on ao3 only, to avoid tangling with tumblr's nip ban rules. contains naughty things.

Why was it he had let her live again? Heisenberg couldn’t help but wonder, making his way across the bridge that led to the factory. The pot of stew felt heavy in his hands, heavy and warm; a pleasantry, not a threat, despite his impulsive behavior. What puzzled him, really, was that she seemed so comfortable in the face of animosity, like an aggressive man invading her home and threatening to kill her was just part of a humdrum day. He had thought the illusions and ominous offers were meant to lure passersby in, to drain them of blood and use their skin and bones for sordid rituals. He had gone through it all because he was certain nothing could kill him, even if it tried, but no violence came from her. Was she trying to keep people out?

There was no trace of blood on his face, no trace that he had ever broken his nose in such a ridiculous manner, no trace that he had ever been bitten by a half-dead lycan. She had been the only witness, and he doubted she would bother entering the village to spread the news. He would go as far as saying she was happy to see him, his restraint a breath of fresh air in what he could imagine was a violent existence. He would know; they both had that look in their eyes, the look of someone drained of life because they had seen too much, done too much.

Power, he cut himself off when his thoughts had started leaning too much towards emotions. Power, that was the reason he had let her live. She was a cyphered book, an old witch’s grimoire locked away in a dusty tower. He had treaded dangerous waters and climbed through the window holding onto unsteady stones, and had only been given a glimpse, a quick look at the first page. And what he had seen was intriguing, dark and mysterious, so alien compared to his parasite-infested, mold-ridden world. Power and curiosity, nothing more.

As if on cue, the front gate’s buzzer went off, the whirring sound reminding him of the old American game shows he used to watch as a child. Wrong answer.

“Oh, fine.” He grunted in exasperation, free hand thrown in the air in defeat. “I liked her.” The words felt like soap in his mouth, a punishment for his profanity and transgressions. But there was no mother to wash out his mouth anymore, to keep him quiet and obedient. It felt good to say it, good to admit it. He was no machine; he may no longer be simply a man, but he still had his humanity well rooted within him. Or at least he liked to think so.

He liked her, he repeated, an awkward wave of relief washing over him. Not in a sit and commit sort of way, though, he wasn’t about to run back to her cabin come morning with a fancy ring to put on her finger. Hell, not even in a hit it and quit it way, either. The enigma of her existence was intoxicating, a lonely witch living in the woods of powers untold, his very own little secret. His own puppet to manipulate, another tool in his arsenal against Big Bird Bitch, if all went well. What a great find, his chest swelling with pride at his masterful move.

And she did seem to take a liking to him, modesty be damned.

The garage doors greeted him with the familiar screech of metal, a cloud of soot and hot air blowing out into the yard, like a nice warm hug from his beloved metal beast, like it wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. Though there was little need for such precautions, Heisenberg checked the locks, scanned the room for any suspicious activity. Everything in place, every last bit of scrap metal thrown carelessly to the side exactly where he had left it. The factory was quiet enough at this hour, and you would have to pay close attention to hear the haulers walking to and fro, their rare vocalizations every now and then. He was in high spirits and there was much work to do, improving Eins and Zwei, setting aside some time to study Sturm’s case and prepare accordingly. And then there was the planning, the pouring over reports of the latest events, coming up with the best strategy to take out each of his precious “siblings”, wedging his beautiful little hag in just the perfect place within his plans.

The complexity of it all was a marvel to him, a puzzle he never got tired of putting together. He supposed he had Miranda to thank for that, for turning his world upside down, forcing him to push his capabilities to the limit because of it. Sometimes he dreaded to think about what would come after; his hatred was all that kept him going, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive and functioning, to get him out of bed come morning. What would he do when they were all out of the picture? He could finally be himself, he supposed, though that sounded like a tremendous amount of work and pain for the meager reward of knowing the shell of a man he had become.

This was not the time to think about it, he reprimanded himself. The rebellion hadn’t even began and he had many sleepless nights ahead of him.

The smell of the stew reminded him that he would starve if he waited any longer to eat. He barely remembered when he had eaten last - was it this morning? Yesterday? Such moments were but a blur, a mere nuisance in his schedule. Heisenberg was good at many things, but cooking, that he had never gotten the hang of. Putting a stove together? Piece of cake. Making a fridge out of scrap metal and elbow grease? That he could do. It’s not like he had grown up on much, either, had developed a taste for fine dining, wine and biscuits. His parents had been the industrial kind in more ways than one: blunt, efficient, cut and dry. Their meals were few and far in between, whatever cooked up fast and was filling enough to keep them standing. He had lost the parents, but kept the philosophy over the years, surviving on jerkies and raw produce, or whatever the Duke had in stock to be stored and crudely roasted later.

Heisenberg turned the key to his quarters with a sigh. Home, sweet scrapyard at last, and he wasted no time kicking off his boots and levitating the hammer to place it against the wall next to his favorite chair He set the pot on the metal table before discarding his hat and trench coat, eyeing the bowl the entire time as if it was about to attempt murder. Which he figured it might, considering the person who had given it to him was a woman he had met just a few hours prior, who lived in a hidden shack in the woods and could shapeshift into a giant horned monster. She had tasted it before preparing his bowl, and it did look harmless enough. Heisenberg inspected it closely - it definitely looked very appetizing. Some meat, potatoes, herbs mixed into a thick broth. A hearty meal for a cold winter night. Even if it was poisoned, it looked good enough to be worth the hassle.

“Ah, right.” He stared at his empty hand, shaking his pointer finger disappointingly. A laugh escaped him as he pulled every drawer, went through every shelf. Chisel, saw, hammer. Screwdriver, nails, wrench. Pliers, clamps and cutters, nuts, bolts and screws. An old TV antenna, pewter tankard, and even a goddamn tooth crown. Everything he could think of, except the one thing he needed: a single fucking spoon.

He stormed out of his quarters and into the foundry with the fury of a god. Nothing would keep him from the possibly deadly bowl of stew that smelled like the best thing that would ever grace his lips. He had reanimated the dead to do his bidding, could move metal with his fucking hands. A spoon was no match for him. Grabbing a sheet of metal and a long-abandoned pen, he roughly drew the shape of what he remembered a spoon to be - it had been a while. Cutting through took longer than he expected, and he refused to buff the steel to make it shiny. If he did not ingest his sustenance within the next few minutes, he was positive he would simply lay down and die. He took hammer to metal to make sure the thing would actually hold liquid, then the idea hit him like a flash of lightning, and he cut three small indentations at the tip: half spoon, half fork. The perfect piece of flatware. He would call it… The spork. Finally, he filed the edges just enough that it wouldn’t accidentally rip out a piece of his tongue, and proudly walked back to his quarters, plopping himself down unceremoniously onto a nearby stool.

If this turned out to taste like boiled dirt, it would be the biggest disappointment of his life yet. But it wasn’t - in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in decades. Creamy, just the right amount of spice, meat cooked to perfection. Somewhere deep within his soul, he knew a proud ancestor watched as he took a generous bite out of a tender potato chunk. He could get used to this, he mused, a mouthful of pork and a hum of approval later. Maybe he should visit more often.

It was over all too soon, and he found himself staring at the empty bowl with so, so much sadness in his heart. Maybe he should have stayed for dinner. Forlorn and full, he leaned against the workbench, one hand reaching down to untuck his shirt, dexterous fingers then quickly unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants. Head thrown back, he let out a happy, satisfied sigh when his stomach was finally free of its cloth constraints. He pat his belly with a chuckle, feeling the faint lines of toned muscle above his belly button, then the creases on his hips - he didn’t look bad for being almost a century old, eh? He had gained some extra weight, it’s true, since the Duke introduced him to some modern novelties such as frozen pizza and energy drinks, but hauling corpses and building intricate machines was good exercise. Just the right amount of bulk and sprinkle of muscle, if he did say so himself.

For a moment, unbidden, he wondered if she would like it. If she would like him, all of him, more than what she had seen, more than what she had heard, more than what he had offered in their brief encounter. He hadn’t kept up with the beauty trends, and any man with functioning limbs and two braincells passed as hunk material in the village, but he just knew that he was quite the specimen. He was reminded of that look in her eyes, the one that stirred something within him he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Not that he was interested, of course. His curiosity was only natural, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to anyone from outside this little bubble of a hellhole for decades. Even when he was sent out into the world, his orders were very specific - grab what needs to be brought back, do not talk to victims of the evil plan. As much as he wanted to do it as a fuck you to Miranda, instead he always decided to bide his time. Blowing his cover could mean failure - or death.

She would like it, he decided, checking out his reflection on a well polished piece of metal. Not that it was difficult, of course. Who wouldn’t? The charming beard, killer smile, steel blue eyes. He could treat his hair better, true, wash the soot off his face. His clothes needed washing and his feet needed some time out of those damp boots. He had one too many broken fingernails and more scars than skin at this point. Still, she would like it - on second thought, maybe after a nice, hot shower.

He busied himself with all manner of tasks after dinner. Washed it down with a nice gulp of Gibcos, then made his way down to one of the operating rooms. He pushed aside the gurneys in his way, the quiet humming of the soldiers’ reactors a comforting sound despite the macabre landscape of the room. Beyond the door and behind the large window pane a very, very dead body lay waiting for him, a chunk of its torso and head missing. The lycans had done a number on the poor bastard, catching him off-guard as he made for the outhouse, so we was told. A man couldn’t even shit in this village in peace, he laughed humorlessly. The corpse was barely cold when Heisenberg dug it up and dragged it back to the factory. There was no funeral, no mourning of the deceased: in cases such as these, the villagers thought it best to bury the disfigured relative and be done with it, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t return with a hunger for human flesh a scant few days later. Despite the body’s horrid conditions, it would still be of great use to him. Strong legs and a wide torso, a perfect specimen for his latest experiment.

Sturm, he would call it, after the god-awful noise the propeller engine made. He tentatively pushed down one of the blades - it needed more oil. Rusty recycled chainsaws had been abandoned for a reason, but there was time to better the mechanical parts yet. First, he needed to figure out how to attach the engine, set up the circuitry, add in the artificial blood. Removal of internal organs was simple enough, a nice big heart to tie it all together. On the other hand, seating the mechanical core was a messy process that took him hours to get right. He didn’t want to waste time, or this corpse, when he had already come this far. He abandoned the project for a few minutes when the thighs gave with the weight, off to build braces to hold the thing together.

It looked mostly done after that, and revival was one powerful electric discharge away. Heisenberg held tight against its mechanical nervous system, focusing on channeling all of his energy - it would need an even bigger discharge than Eins and Zwei. Seven thousand volts, and not even a hint of movement. Eight thousand, he grunted as the current flowed through. Attracting metal was easy enough, but having electric organs was tiring work. He had all but given up when he heard the whir of the blades, Sturm’s body jolting on the operating table in a mix of eagerness and terror. The thing lifted its arms to touch him, chainsaw rippers spinning uncontrollably as Heisenberg took several steps back. He covered his face just in time - the desperate creature once again reached out to him, dumb enough not to notice the death machine attached to its own body. An arm hit and shattered the glass of the operating room, the other colliding against Heisenberg’s chest. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

“Halte!” He bellowed before Sturm could get any closer, removing his now bloodstained glasses to stare at the thing like his gaze could drill a hole right through its spine. “Dummkopf.” And just as quickly as it had risen, it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, metal bending in odd places with the impact. Heisenberg let out his frustration with a furious kick on the engine before deciding that if he tried again for the night, he would probably end up throwing the whole thing in the grinder. He’d rather avoid having to clean the blades of all the tissue that would be stuck to them.

Seemed like he would have to take that shower after all.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenburg x reader #but only if you squint really #virgil writes #long post ///

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Through A Mothers Eyes (Part 3)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: crack, cursing, idiots to lovers trope (that good shit)

Summary: When Mary meets Deans closest and best friend, she cant help but see the chemistry between them. . .but she might be the only one as well.

A/n: Its back! It took me awhile to motivate myself to write the next chapter, but I did it! I hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! (gif made by rainbow-motors)

If Mary thought living in a bunker with her two sons and you was chaotic. . . She was definitely not prepared at all for what game night meant. Not. One. Bit.

It was like a fucking war zone.

Halfway through Jenga she almost expected you and Dean to slap on some war paint, she had never seen such competitive people before in her life.

And then you brought out Uno.

“Fuckin demolish him Cas!” You yelled, hands planted firmly on the table as you watched the angel and hunter slap down colored cards furiously. You, Sam, and Mary had all lost already, resulting in you being Cas’s new hype man.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“There are no sides in Uno, Dean!”

“Then why the hell are you cheering on Cas?!” Dean slapped down another card. The two were almost running out of cards to play that it hit the point where Sam had to start shuffling the played cards so they could continue. “As your best friend let me just say; I find that insulting.”

“False. Cas is actually my best friend.” You responded bluntly, raising your hand to connect it with the angels in a loud high five.

Dean paused to narrow his eyes in your direction. “. . . Anyways, as your best friend- I’m telling you, you can’t pick sides.”

“Oh and where pray tell did you get that idea from?”

“The best friend rule book.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah, let’s whip that one out and crack it open, I’d love to read it!” You paused, turning to his mother with a soft smile. “I’m so sorry you have to witness this. He’s just a pain in my ass.”

Resting her chin in her hand, Mary returned the smile, still mildly amused at what was playing out in front of her. “I can tell. But I’m pretty sure he’s a pain in everyone’s butt.”

Deans mouth popped open in shock as his lips momentarily failed at trying to form words. “Now you’re taking her side too?!”

“I mean-“ you paused, flicking your hair over your shoulder. “I am fucking amazing. Plus, your mom just knows who the cooler person is out of the two of us-“

“Oh you little-“ dean growled, rolling up his sleeves after slapping his cards down on the table.

“Is this really necessary?” Cas muttered, eyes still on his cards and clearly trying to plan his next move.

“Oh you fuckin know it.”

“Maybe your mom should just adopt me. I could replace you! I am way more fun!” You laughed, backing up as Dean slowly rose from his seat. “Plus, you’re moms way more cool than you.” You joked, eyes lighting up when you looked at Dean and saw him moving towards you. You maneuvered around the table, the two of you moving back and forth as you tried to dodge Dean, trying to keep the table between you.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“You know it baby.” Shooting him a wink you ducked behind Sam's large frame, using him as a shield.

“Oh no- don’t go bringing me into this.” Sam tried, shaking his head as you gripped his shoulders.

“Just hold him off for me will ya?”

“And what do I get in return?”

“. . . the next time its your turn for a supply run, ill do it.”

A pause. “Deal.”

“Sam!”

The younger Winchester shrugged as he held out his arms, stopping Dean from reaching you. “What? Y/Ns more negotiable that you are.”

You let out a cackle before standing on your top toes to press a firm kiss to Sams cheek. “Thanks Samantha!”

You took off down the hallway before Dean could even attempt to move Sam. The younger Winchester continuing to block his brother as he tried to move past him. After a moment Dean gave up, falling back into his seat. “Alright, fine. I admit defeat. . .you can put your arms down..”

“If I do are you gonna go kill her?”

“. . . Maybe.”

“Dean!” Mary hissed, shaking her head at her sons antics.

“What? She’s a pain in the ass!”

Mary only shook her head again. That was until Cas spoke up again. “Am I supposed to say Uno?”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The rest of the night became much calmer after that, you and Dean were back to your usual shenanigans and held up in the Dean cave watching some old western, Sam had headed off to bed because apparently you and Dean “drain his energy” Or whatever. Cas was for some reason still up cataloging some of the bunkers lore. As for mother Winchester, she found herself seated at the kitchen table, reading a book you had lent her a little over a week ago.

Mary almost didn’t see you walk in at first, with most of the lights still off it was like darkened hallway spit you out. Hands in the pockets of your sweatpants you quietly trudged into the room, pausing at the sight of Mary.

“You liking the book?”

Mary looked up, a small smile gracing her lips at the sight of you. “Yes I am, thank you for lending it to me.”

“No problem. Honestly it was just sitting on my desk collecting dust. I read it and never picked it up again” You admitted with a shrug. Walking past her, you filled your empty glass at the sink before moving back and lowering yourself into the seat across from her. “I’m sorry about earlier. Deans and Is energy can be a little overwhelming at times.”

“You don’t need to apologize. If anything I should be thanking you.” She closed her book, folding her arms over the surface of the table.

“What for?”

Mary let out a sigh. “Even if I haven’t been back for very long, it’s easy to see the effect you have on Dean. He’s happier when you're around, you get him to laugh more than anyone else here.”

“I think you're just seeing his slow decent into insanity.” You chuckled, looking down at your folded hands. “I’m told I have that effect on people.”

“Oh I don’t think that’s true.”

You opened your mouth to answer but stopped when you looked past Mary, eyebrow instantly raising. “What?”

Mary turned in her seat, her eyes finding her oldest son standing in the darkened doorway, your blue blanket wrapped around him. Dean narrowed his eyes at you. “You left me.”

“. . . I’m sorry?”

He stepped down into the kitchen, eyes still glazed over with a slight sleepiness. “It was rude.”

“You were asleep! I didn’t want to wake you up!” You threw your hands in the air, unable to believe the man sinking down into the vacant seat next to you. He yawned, his head falling against your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“But by your didn’t have to leave me by myself. I woke up and you were gone.”

You rolled your eyes, hand coming up to pat the side of his head. “You poor baby, whatever shall you do now?”

“Mmm haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Did you really just come in here to fall asleep on me again? Just go to bed Dean.”

“Don’t wanna.” He sighed, wrapping your blanket tighter around him.

“I swear you like a five year old.”

“I am not.”

“You totally are.” You paused. “But seriously Dean, go to bed. I ain’t dragging you down the hallway to your room when you fall asleep on me again.” You gave him another pat before standing up put your now empty glass in the sink, having practically chugged it moments before.

Groaning once more, Dean slowly blinked his eyes open and turned his attention to his mother. “What are you still doing up? I thought you went to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d stay up and read instead. Y/N lent me a book to read.”

Turning his head to look between you and his mom he shook it in disbelief. “God, I live with a bunch of nerds.”

“Dean you can’t say anything about that. You're like the biggest nerd out of all of us.”

“. . . Shut up. Plus, you're no better. If anything I'm this way because of you.”

“Sure, Jan. You keep telling yourself that.”

Dean paused when he looked back over to his mom, seeing a soft smile on her features. “What?”

“Just the two of you-“

“What about the two of us?” He questioned, sliding the blanket off of his shoulders as he stood up before folding it and handing it back to its rightful owner.

“I just- I think you two would make a cute couple.”

There was a pause as the two of you looked at each other.

“Me? . . .And her?” Dean threw a thumb over his shoulder in your direction.

“Me and Dean?”

Another pause. And then a light laugh was bubbling up from both of your throats- before quickly turning into full bellied laughter. Dean had his hands planted on his knees and your head was thrown back as you grabbed at you gut. The two of you quickly dissolving into fits of hysteria. It went on for a good minute before starting to fizzle out.

Ahaha! Whew-“ Dean chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes as he stood up properly again. “That- that was good.”

“Oh god-“ you bent over, hands still on your sides. “My gut hurts- I haven’t laughed like that in awhile.” You panted.

“Yeah, thank you for that mom.” Dean patted his mother’s shoulder as he passed. “That just made my entire day.”

Once you had mostly regained your composure, you took a deep breath. “Okay, well as much fun as that was- I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight Mary, Dean.” Giving gone last nod you stepped into the hallway along with Dean, the two of you connecting your palms in a loud high five before walking off in separate directions.

Meanwhile Mary sat silently at the table, the only thing running through her mind being what the fuck just happened?

SPN Taglist (Still open!)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #spn x reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing

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runeterrankhaleesi · 3 years

Note

I've been seeing a lot about OC's lately, so I figured I'd share one of mine too. Long ask incoming. Just a warning, this is super dark at times. Cue suicidal ideations, for instance.

Her name's Tamara. She's nothing special, just a human from one of the wandering tribes of Shurima. A bit tan, brown eyes and black hair. She was friends with Akshan until he died because after that traumatizing event her family quickly left the city and haven't looked back ever since. When she was 15, she and her family (mother, father and two older brothers) decided to move out at some point and got aboard a ship that sailed first towards Valoran, then in Ionia's general direction. In a storm they strayed from the course and got a bit lost at the sea, which gave them an unpleasant meeting with a pirate ship later. One that resulted in the ship catching fire and beginning to sink. Tamara got out but her family was stuck under the deck. In the end, she jumped and got a hold of some piece of wood to save herself from drowning. The ship went down along with everyone on board. Tamara drifted for three days, blaming herself for the death of her family, telling herself she could've went back for them and got the door unstuck from the outside but she was too afraid. Basically, she sees herself as their killer. After three days on the sea, hypothermic, dehydrated and starving, she was miraculously discovered by a crew of monster hunters. One of the harpooners got her on board and they sailed for Bilgewater.

There, the same harpooner gave her a couple of coins to help her start anew once she said she has no one left. Tamara ended up working for some inn, mildly horrified by the.. way of being of people around her. Her savior sometimes would swing by for a drink after work and soon they became friends. And good for her because with him around, nobody dared to so much as leer at her. Through the next couple years, Tamara struggled with survivor's guilt but slowly recovered. Until one faithful day when her only friend in this godforsaken place - Pyke - did not return from the hunt.

Heartbroken and scared, Tamara (19 at the time) started to think she angered something up there and that she brings bad luck to those associated with her in any way. Unable to escape from Bilgewater, she stayed where she worked but in constant fear of the people coming to the inn, especially the drunk ones. For another year, she tried to deal with nightmares of her family's screams and the image of Pyke drowning or being chomped in half by some sea creature.

She never was brave enough to end herself. Every time something was stopping her. And when a murderer started to stalk the nooks and crannies of Blood Harbor, she saw it as a chance. Oddly enough, even going through the darkest paths in the town in the dead of night, she never managed to meet the Ripper.

While she was too scared to do this herself, she did often try to put herself in harm's way, hoping someone would do it for her. And she almost, just almost got her wish when Harrowing came as it did every year. This time, instead of hiding, she walked into the middle of it. And in the swirling coils of the Black Mist she caught the Warden's eye. It kind of surprised him that a simple mortal didn't run but fearlessly walked straight towards him. She pretty much served herself on a silver platter, which was a bit disappointing. Not that he's complaining, besides, he found her intriguing. At first.

Tamara was taken by the wraith to Shadow Isles and placed within magical wards of an underground vault where the Mist couldn't drain her of her life. Shackled and unwilling to escape, she stayed there as Thresh's newest toy. I'm not gonna describe all the torture, that's really not necessary. In any way, despite her life turning into hell, she thought she deserved everything the Warden did to her (for the "murder" of her family and "bringing death" upon her only remaining friend). Once, before she passed out while she was sure she's dying, she even thanked him which just blew his mind. Afterwards, Thresh performed an experiment. Left everything open, seeing if Tamara would take a chance and flee. Then he would get the chase he wanted.

Nah. Tamara stayed where she was, impatient for the wraith to finally finish her off. Breaking an already broken soul brought Thresh no enjoyment so he eventually grew bored with her and kinda forgot about her, looking for someone more entertaining. Time on Shadow Isles doesn't really flow (my personal headcanon) so she had no need for sustenance and it gave her weeks to ponder over her current position. Thinking if all victims if the Mist had to go through the same pain that was inflicted upon her, if Thresh will ever come back to "add her to his collection" and so on.

He didn't. Instead, someone else did. A grim Sentinel of Light who hunted creatures such as Thresh. It was bizarre to find a living human on Shadow Isles and he figured she must be a captive. Promising to come back, he asked if she'd seen Thresh anywhere nearby and she reluctantly said it's been weeks since he gave her any attention. And the man - Lucian - did come back. Beaten up and tired, with another woman at his side. The two Sentinels took Tamara along. During her imprisonment, she learned a lot about the spirits and the Mist and stuff (also managed to get herself slightly cursed, not as much as Senna but still) and it made her useful. Lucian was kind of skeptical about letting her out. "Thresh will come after her again anyway." But she assured him that it won't happen. The Warden lost all interest in her after she refused to fight for her freedom. To him, she was bleak and boring. He had no reason to hunt her down again.

Senna and Lucian gave Tamara new hope by taking her in and even if her fear and guilt still remained, she started to see what an awful mistake she almost made. After the whole Viego thing that was seen in the cinematic, Tamara was sheltered in the Headquarters. And for the first time she felt the urge to be useful. No one should suffer like those lost within the Mist and those taken by it like she was. And so she joined the Sentinels' cause to stop the Harrowing from spreading.

Little did she know that their mission together will one day bring a soul crushing reunion with two people she thought lost forever. One, barely changed from when she knew him. The other.. sadly a vengeful shadow of the man who saved her at the sea. But that's a story for another time.

Darling, you should be working at Riot right now, this story is amazing!

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 14: Nothing Personal

Summary: Steve confronts Fury about the Lemurian Star mission and the Director reveals just exactly what it is he’s been working on. However, when Fury is later gunned down in Steve’s apartment right in front of the Captain and Katie, the two are forced to run from the very people they’ve called colleagues and friends for years.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Violence.

A/N: I love this edit from @angrybirdcr

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 13

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“You just can’t stop yourself from lying, can you?” Steve seethed as he crossed the floor of Fury’s office.

Nick didn’t even need to ask him what he was talking about. Without turning round the Director spoke calmly. “I didn’t lie. Agent Romanoff had a different mission than yours.”

“Which you didn’t feel obliged to share” Steve pressed, raising an eyebrow as the Director spun in his chair to face him.

“I’m not obliged to do anything” Fury replied simply, looking at him.

“Those hostages could’ve died, Nick.” Steve pressed, holding the man’s gaze.

“I sent the greatest soldier in history to make sure that didn’t happen.” Fury stated, and Steve could feel his temper rising even more. He hated the blasé attitude the Director was discussing the issue with, like it was simply something he wasn’t all that bothered about.

“Soldiers trust each other, that’s what makes it an army.” He said after a short pause. “Not a bunch of guys running around and shooting guns.”

He wasn’t expecting the response he got. Fury leaned forward, frowning as he levelled Steve with a look.

“The last time I trusted someone, I lost an eye.” Fury spoke, his tone steely. Steve cocked his head to one side, crossing his arms but maintaining his silence. “Look, I didn’t want you doing anything you weren’t comfortable with. Agent Romanoff is comfortable with everything.”

“I can’t lead a mission when the people I’m leading have missions of their own.” Steve pointed down at Fury’s desk, stressing his point.

“It’s called compartmentalization” Fury eyed him. “Nobody spills the secrets because nobody knows them all.” Steve snorted silently and gestured at Fury. “Except you.” Fury took a deep breath and levelled Steve with a look. “You’re wrong about me. I do share. I’m nice like that.” Steve frowned as Fury stood up and motioned for him to follow.

“Where are we going?” Steve’s frustration was evident on his tone.

“You’ll see.” Fury stepped inside the elevator. Steve followed. “Insight bay.”

A photo of Nick’s SHIELD ID flashed up on the screen, surrounded by a green light. Then Steve noticed his, but the light was red as the SHIELD computer spoke. “Captain Rogers does not have clearance for Project Insight.”

“Director override, Fury, Nicholas J.” Fury spoke, without missing a beat.

“Confirmed.”

The elevator started to moved downwards. Steve leaned against the rail which ran round the middle of the glass box and clasped his hands in front of him by his belt. Despite his initial annoyance, he had found himself beginning to understand what the Director was saying. SHIELD had so many secrets, many a matter of national security. It made no sense for everyone to know everything, it was a security risk, he got that. But it still irked him.

“You know, they used to play music.” Steve said, his tone softer as he broke the silence, making a joke at his own expense.

“Yeah. My grandfather operated one of these things for forty years.” Fury mused, somewhat nostalgic. “My granddad worked in a nice building, he got good tips. He’d walk home every night, roll of ones stuffed in his lunch bag. He’d say ‘hi’, people would say hi back. Time went on, neighbourhood got rougher. He’d say ‘hi’ they’d say, ‘Keep on steppin’. Granddad got to grippin’ that lunch bag a little tighter.”

The flash into Fury’s personal life surprised Steve somewhat. He cocked his head to one side and looked at the man. “Did he ever get mugged?”

“Every week some punk would say, “What’s in the bag?”

“What did he do?”

“He’d show ‘em. Bunch of crumpled ones and loaded point twenty-two Magnum.” Fury smirked “Granddad loved people. But he didn’t trust them very much.”

Steve had to smirk slightly, thinking that Fury sounded a hell of a lot like his grandpa. He looked down for a second, and when he looked up he was aware that they had now travelled down the side of the Triskellion and were descending further, underground even. As Steve looked around he realised he was in some sort of below building hangar, and he looked out of the glass, spotting three giant Helicarriers. His mouth fell open in surprise, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah, I know. They’re a little bit bigger than a point twenty-two.” Fury remarked.

Eventually the elevator stopped and Fury stepped out, Steve hot on his tail as he watched people bustling around the hangar shouting, carrying things, fixing things. The helicarriers were bigger than the one they’d used during the Chitauri invasion, each being able to house at least twenty Quinjets.

“This is Project Insight.” Fury explained as he led Steve across the floor of the hangar. “Three next generation Helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites.”

And then Steve understood. “Launched from the Lemurian Star.”

“Once we get them in the air they never need to come down. Continuous suborbital flight courtesy of our new repulsor engines.” Fury stopped underneath one.

“Stark?” Steve asked, frowning.

“Well, he had a few suggestions once he got an up close look at our old turbines.” Fury nodded, as they continued. “But don’t worry, that’s not something Nova is keeping from you.”

“I wasn’t” Steve said honestly, as he looked up and around the hangar. “I trust my girl.”

Fury looked at him before he turned his attention back to the matter in hand and pointed up again “These new long range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist’s DNA before he steps outside his spidy hole. We gonna neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen.”

Steve crossed his arms. “I thought the punishment usually came after the crime.”

“We can’t afford to wait that long.”

Steve could feel the nerve twitching in his jaw. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“After New York, I convinced the World Security Council we needed a quantum surge in threat analysis. For once we’re way ahead of the curve”

“By holding a gun at everyone on Earth and calling it protection?” Steve looked at the director, frowning. He didn’t like this. It smacked of something HYDRA would do.

Fury picked up on his tone and he looked at Steve, arching an eyebrow. “You know, I read those SSR files. Greatest generation? You guys did some nasty stuff.”

Don’t I know it? Steve thought to himself as he took a deep breath. “Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so the people could be free.” He turned and pointed at the helicarriers before looking at Fury “This isn’t freedom, this is fear.”

“SHIELD takes the world as it is, not as we’d like it to be.” Fury stated simply. “It’s getting damn near past time for you to get with that program, Cap”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath.” And with that he left.

He changed quickly, eager to put as much distance between him and SHIELD as possible for the rest of the day. After a short conversation with Rumlow about a mission report, he was on his bike and heading for Katie’s apartment, his mind whirling. What was Fury playing at? This wasn’t what he signed up for, at all. It felt so far removed from what he had joined the army to do, to keep people safe, free. Had he really changed that much? He felt a sudden pang for his Howling Commandoes, for Bucky, for Peggy, for Colonel Philips, for all those damned missions which had been simple- destroy HYDRA before they destroyed you.

Despite the fact he had woken up that morning and felt so happy with his girl being there, he couldn’t help but wish life was as simple as it had been back then.

*****

Katie’s morning had been far more productive. She had looked at a couple of transcript extracts her editor had selected. She had to admit, the guy had a good eye for a future blockbuster, and this one she particularly liked. After discussions, they settled on an initial run of two hundred hard copy of the books to be sold online, along with a downloadable kindle version, and if they went they would review how many more we needed.

Pleased with her mornings work and having cleared her diary for the afternoon, she had lunch in the kitchen and had just finished when she heard the elevator door open. She headed into the main area of her apartment to greet Steve, taking a deep breath as she noticed how drained he looked.

“Dare I ask how it went?”

His response was a sigh as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug, simply wanting to feel her close.

“That good huh?” She squeezed him back gently before she pulled away and headed towards the kitchen, him following behind her.

“Debrief was fine. Fury, however, went on about compartmentalisation, the usual crap.” Steve sighed, running his hand over his face, smiling softly to himself when he saw she was gathering stuff out of the fridge to make him a sandwich “And then shared something I really wish he hadn’t.”

“Like what?” she asked, throwing some turkey and mayo onto a sub. “Ever heard of Operation Insight?” Steve looked at her, even though he knew the answer. There’s no way she would have and not told him.

“No?” She handed him the plate containing his sandwich.

“Well apparently your brother has. Thanks.” He took the plate from her sat at the breakfast bar taking a bite of his food. He swallowed and then continued “Three huge hellicarriers that are basically designed to go up in the air and never come down based on Tony’s arc reactor tech. Programmed to monitor potential threats and wipe them out before they get chance to do anything.” She frowned, settling on the stool next to him. “And Fury has sanctioned this?”

Steve nodded, taking another bite of his food. “I don’t like it. Like I said to him, punishment normally comes after the crime.”

Katie could see he was really struggling with this and that his faith in SHIELD was running very, very thin. A lot of what the Agency did was political, not just about keeping people safe. She’d tried to explain that the lines were a lot more blurred than back in the 40s, but still had to admit she was kind of with him. As she pondered for a moment, Steve could see the cogs whirring in her brain, the slight v shape crease that always formed in the middle of her eyes when she was thinking was present. Steve didn’t blame her, it had thrown him too and he’d had the full explanation. The hangar had been huge, and there were enough people in there to make him realise that a LOT of people knew about it. What he didn’t know was who on his immediate team knew about it.

“I just wanna know who I can trust” He sighed, looking at Katie as she reached out gently, touching his cheek.

“I know, Soldier.” she said, softly before she shook her head. “Okay, no more talk about SHIELD or hellicarriers, or whatever.” She moved to pick up her soda. “What do you want to for the rest of the afternoon?”

Steve wanted to go to the Smithsonian. He’d been thinking about it since they had emailed him to invite him to open the exhibit on him, which he had politely declined. But he was curious to see what it was like, curious and also eager, after today, to be reminded of a time when he worked with people he knew inside out, people that he would trust with his life. And he was keen to share that with his girl, the woman who had months ago before they even started dating, been the one to help him pick what the museum would display.

“You know, we’ve still not been to the Smithsonian since they opened the exhibit.” He shruged, hoping his tone was casual enough to make it sound like he hadn’t been thinking about it enough. He failed though, smiling as Katie looked at him, arching an eyebrow.

Busted.

“Call it curiosity.” He shrugged.

“You know what curiosity did don’t you?” Katie quipped back, her eyes flashing playfully.

“What?”

She grinned as she delivered the punchline “Killed the Cap.”

*****

“A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honour, bravery and sacrifice,” the narrator at the Smithsonian museum said as we entered the exhibit.

Steve paused to pull the collar of his blue jacket up a little further, a gesture that, along with the cap that was pulled down over his face, he hoped would prevent him from being recognised as they made their way to the start of the pieces.

"Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world’s first super soldier,” the Narrator continued. Steve paused to look at the display to his right when Katie gently nudged him.

“Think you’ve been rumbled.”

Steve looked down at her, and then followed her gaze as she looked to her left at a small boy dressed in a light blue T-shirt adorned with the design of his shield who was watching the pair of them, his eyes growing wide. Steve smiled, put a finger against his mouth to indicate for him to keep quiet. The boy nodded and then turned, running back off to find his mum.

Without speaking Steve took her hand and led her over to the part of the exhibit that had an older looking motorcycle on a platform and some black and white footage playing beside it. The footage was of him in his older Captain America uniform, also currently on display, running through a battlefield.

“In this rare footage, everyone’s favourite war hero, Captain America…”

He didn’t stop to hear the rest, he could remember that mission by heart. It had been on the outskirts of Toulouse, liberating another HYDRA prison camp. Katie allowed herself to be led by him, this was his moment after all. They slowly walked to a display of mannequins dressed in his original suit, plus those of the Howling Commandos, which had been donated by their families. His eyes lingered on Bucky’s for a second and he took a deep breath.

“Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission, taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division,”

Katie looked at the uniforms, a smile on her face. She had only seen photos of Steve’s war suit, never seen it in person and it intrigued her. More so because this was something that her dad had made, something physical he had touched. She felt a tug on her hand again, and she looked up to see that she was being led to a section dedicated to Bucky. The familiar (albeit again, only from photos), handsome face of his best friend looked back at them as they wandered over to read what it said in more detail.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country…”

The narration didn’t cover half the text on the black, glass screen and in Katie’s opinion it wasn’t a particularly good tribute to a man who had lost his life in such tragic circumstances. She read the rest of the text as Steve’s eyes skated over it, reading, despite the fact he knew it all. He wished he could have saved him, he really did. He’d loved him to have been able to meet Katie. But then, he wouldn’t have anyway. As he would have most likely been dead now. Or what’s to say things may or may not have ended up differently. Would Buck have been on the Valkyrie with him?

He watched the black and white footage playing, where the two of them were talking and then laughing about something and he felt the sadness hit his chest again. And as if she sensed it too, Katie gripped his hand a little bit tighter and lay her head against his arm, her weight giving him something to anchor himself too, and he was grateful for it.

They carried on walking and then they found there was a small cinema area a bit further round the corner playing footage and interviews. Steve paused for a second and then looked at Katie, the question stayed silent. She nodded and together they walked in, taking a seat on one of the benches. There was a bit of introduction footage, and then a familiar face appeared on the screen.

Besides him Katie took a deep breath and whispered a single word “Dad…” and he automatically dropped a hand to her knee, where she placed hers on top of his as the two of them watched her father an animatedly talking to the camera.

“Rogers was different” Howard spoke, smiling, the caption on the screen telling him the footage had been filmed in 1953. “He was constantly striving to do the right thing, with no fear or care for how it would affect him. He, err, when we dropped him behind enemy lines we had no idea if we would see him again. I narrowly escaped myself, the machine guns nearly took our aircraft down but without thought to how he would get back, he told us to leave him behind. When they declared him missing in action the entire company was devastated but, lo and behold… well they can’t keep a good man down.” Howard paused and then looked down and back up at the camera “I can only hope that if I’m graced with Children, they grow up to be half as driven as he was to do the right thing…”

As Katie looked down at her feet, a stray tear fell down her cheek. Seeing her dad there like that was raw. She knew that Tony felt the loss of their parents far more than she did, she had only been seven after all when they had died and Tony had been her father, if you will, for far longer than her actual dad had. But still, seeing him in front of her so candidly, talking about his hopes for his future children, made something in her chest tighten and she couldn’t help but feel sadness at the fact she never got the chance to really know him. Steve gently squeezed her knee, but then as they looked back up at the screen it was his turn to still as someone he recognised extremely well, her face painted into his memory for life, entered the screen and began speaking, also in 1953.

"That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve, Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a HYDRA blockade that had pinned our allies down for months.” Peggy Carter stumbled slightly through the interview. “He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would become my husband as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life,” And despite the fact that she smiles slightly at the end of this line, it’s clear to see that talking about Steve affected her a lot.

Katie leaned against him and with a breath he lay his head on top of hers. “We haven’t seen her for a while…” she whispered as the video finished. “Shall we go on the way home?” He gave a soft chuckle and dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

“You read my mind.”

*******

Peggy was pleased to see them, as always when she was having a good day. They both greeted her and after a few pleasantries they told her about their trip to the Smithsonian. Peggy smiled, informing them that she remembered the interview, like it was yesterday, apparently the man interviewing her had been an “utter rogue”, but she didn’t elaborate on what that meant further than saying he was worse than Barnes, which made Steve laugh. They chatted a little about her time as Director at SHIELD before she trailed off with a sigh as she noticed that Steve was uncharacteristically quiet. After a little gentle coaxing from her and Katie he told her what was on his mind.

“My whole life I’ve just wanted to do what was right, I guess I’m not sure what that is anymore.” He paused for a moment, thinking of how to voice his worries about SHIELD “And I thought I could just throw myself back in and follow orders, it’s just not the same.”

Peggy chuckled as she rolled her eyes and looked at Katie. “He’s always so dramatic.”

Katie let out a small laugh, nodding her agreement. “Tell me about it!”

Steve shook his head, a smile on his face as he raised his eyebrows slightly and looked away as Peggy continued to speak.

“Look you saved the world, we rather mucked it up.”

“No you didn’t. You know, knowing that you helped found SHIELD is half the reason I stay.”

“And the other half being?” Her eyes strayed to Katie who smiled, looking down and then up at Steve as he caught her eye, his hand resting on her knee.

“I quit remember?” Katie reminded her.

Peggy smiled “Indeed, a woman with principles. That I can get on board with. ”Katie gave a little smile as Peggy continued. “Look, the world has changed and none of us can go back.” She spoke softly. “All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over.“

At that she started to cough. Steve quickly picked up a glass of water from the table and rounded the back of the chair Katie was sitting in to try and hand her the glass.

"Peg?” He held the glass out as her coughing subsided and she took a sip. Once she had finished she looked up and stared at Steve as if she was seeing a ghost

“Steve?” Peggy breathed out in an amazed yet broken voice.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, his heart sinking as he recognised the look in her face. Her memory had gone, again.

“You’re alive! You, you came, you came back,” Peggy whimpered. Tears were gathering in her eyes at this point as she tried to hold them back and Steve was struggling to do the same with his own. One of the smartest, nicest, bravest women he had ever met was being betrayed by an illness that was literally rotting her brain. It was cruel, and every time she did this, they went through the same routine.

“Yeah, Peggy.” Steve responded forcing a smile onto his face as Katie squeezed his hand gently, standing up so he could take the chair next to Peggy.

“It’s been so long. So long,” Peggy started to cry, giving up on holding back her tears.

“I’ll leave you with her.” Katie spoke softly as she gently touched Steve’s shoulder. His hand briefly reached up to lay over hers before he leaned over to take Peggy’s.

“Well, I couldn’t leave you.” He forced himself to smile. “Not when you still owe me a dance.”

Normally that calmed the old lady down, but not today. She was becoming more and more confused and in the end he had to press the call button.

“Again?” The nurse who attended asked softly, and Steve simply nodded.

“I’ll fetch the doctor.”

Outside Katie took a deep breath and headed towards her car. Ex partners could always be an issue in relationships but this was something else, something completely different. She opened the passenger side to the car and sat side on in the seat, door open, legs dangling out. She felt sorry for Peggy, she really did, and her heart ached for Steve. It can’t be easy seeing the woman he once loved, and probably still did in some way, fading like that in front of your eyes.

She ran her hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes slightly and waited as she watched various people coming and going out of the main doors of the hospital. It wasn’t that long before a familiar figure appeared, a flash of white T-shirt standing out against his dark navy jacket and equally dark jeans as he walked towards her, hands in his pockets. She stood up, not saying a word as she wrapped her arms around him and he buried his face into the nook of her shoulder and neck, his safe place, his hands gently resting on her hips as he breathed out a sigh.

“Is she okay?” she asked gently. “Yeah they sedated her.” He said as he pulled away.

“I’m so sorry Steve.”

“What for?” “Peggy…it’s so unfair.” “Yeah…” He replied simply. And it was. He wished things could be different, that Peggy wasn’t ill. That she could be home, with her family, living out the last years of her life with the dignity she had lived the rest of it. She deserved more. He looked over the car roof across the street and watched for a second, everyone milling about their business, getting on with their lives. Like he was, and whilst he wished things had been different for Peggy, he suddenly found himself thinking and wondering if he would change anything if he could.

He felt Katie still in front of him, reacting to the fact he himself had changed posture, and as he looked down at her he was suddenly struck with the answer to his question. Despite everything, despite his sudden feelings of nostalgia sparked by the events of the last twenty hours or so, no he wouldn’t. Because whatever had happened, every action, every decision, it had led him to the girl now in his arms, and he loved her so fucking much it hurt. Yeah he had loved Peggy, he still did in some ways, but it was nothing compared to this. Nothing.

He reached out and took Katie’s hands, pulling up her arms so they were round his neck, pulling her closer to him as his own hands joined at the bottom of her back

“I love you.” He said gently, needing her to understand, to believe him. “My best girl.”

“I hope I’m your only girl, Rogers.” She sassed back with a sniff, and he smiled softly, happy that she understood.

“How about we head back to mine and not leave the flat for the entire day tomorrow?” Steve looked down at her, the idea suddenly coming to him and her face lit up. Katie loved lazy days. It was rare Steve was in the mood for them, his incessant energy normally meant he had to be doing something. But on the odd time he agreed, it usually involved them staying in bed till about midday, then watching old movies on the TV under a blanket on the couch, maybe a bit of fooling around and then calling a take out before retreating back to bed. Right now that sounded like a damned fine idea. “Can you clear your diary?”

“Consider it cleared.”

“I just wanna make one quick stop on the way home” He suggested, his journey of contemplation was leading him to one more place. He glanced at his watch before planting a kiss on her lips as she looked at him questioningly. “Thought we could pay our jogging friend a visit.”

********

“Look who it is. The running man and his pretty girl.” Sam joked slightly as he came over to the doorway where Katie and Steve were stood.

“Hey.” Katie smiled as he dropped a kiss onto her cheek.

“Caught the last few minutes. It’s pretty intense,” Steve commented as Sam shook his hand.

“Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt, regret,” Sam shrugged. As his sentence went on his voice got more serious and softer.

“Have you lost someone?” Steve asked, perceptive as ever. Katie mentally cursed herself for not filling him in fully, but Sam didn’t seem too bothered to talk about it. He nodded gently.

“My wingman, Riley. Fly in the night mission. A standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn’t done a thousand times before, till an RPG knock Riley’s dumb ass out of the sky. Nothing I could do. It’s like I was up there just to watch,” Sam paused to cross his arms over his chest, his posture slightly tense. “After that, I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?”

“But you’re happy now, back in the world?” Steve asked

“Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell, yeah,” Sam joked, loosening up slightly, before getting a bit serious, “You thinking about getting out?”

“No.” Steve replied quickly before he took a breath. “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know what I would do with myself if I did.”

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam shrugged and Steve laughed as Katie snorted. “It’s just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?”

Steve turned his head to look at Katie, an unconscious movement, smiling gently as he shrugged. “I dunno…”

“Oh I think you do.” Sam said, smirking slightly as Steve placed his hand on the small of his girl’s back.

“Oh, stop by the front desk on your way out,” Katie turned to Sam, smirking, and he raised an eyebrow in question,

“We asked for you by name.” Steve clarified.

“She seemed thoroughly impressed.” Katie finished. Both of Sam’s eyebrows rose at that and he looked down the hallway towards where the front desk was.

“You two are the best.” A smile stretching across his face as he began to turn to head down the hall. “Stop by anytime.”

“No problem.” Steve grinned in amusement as Sam jogged his way down the hall.

It was gone eight by the time they got home, having made a pit stop for a beer on the way. Steve held the door open for Katie, and she stepped into the apartment building and started to climb the stairs in front of him, giving him a quite pleasing view of her ass as her hips swayed side to side in front of him.

“Sam’s right you know.” She continued their discussion from the bar. “And so is Peggy.”

“What about?”

“If you wanted to get out you could do, start over.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I want, but spending the rest of my life playing janitor for Fury is not it.”

“I can write you a resignation note.” She grinned and Steve chuckled slightly and then took a deep breath.

“You know, it’s funny when I think about it. Us, stuff, what we’ve done and how far we’ve come in a year.”

“You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.” She teased as she stepped onto his landing.

“No, that’s not what I mean at all.” He took a deep breath as she headed towards his door and turned to face him “You know, I’ve never really talked to anyone or shown them about my past in detail or introduced anyone to Peggy bar you.”

“Well I am your girlfriend.” She shrugged, holding onto the hand that wasn’t digging into his jeans pocket to fish out his keys. “Your best girl.” At that he smiled. “So you should be able to talk to me about anything.”

“I know, I’m not explaining myself very well.” He remarked, finally succeeding in obtaining his keys. And he wasn’t. He was trying to tell her that he couldn’t imagine his life without her, that he wanted her to share his everything, including his home.

“Spit it out Rogers.” She teased as he slid the key into the lock.

He took a deep breath. “Coming home last night and you being there…and then this morning…it was perfect, Doll, and I want that all the time.” He turned to face her leaving his key hanging from the door. “How would you feel about us maybe moving in together?”

She paused for a moment, looking at him, realising he was deadly serious. She raised her eyebrow.

“I thought you came from a time where man and woman didn’t live together until they were married?”

“We could get married if you want.” He blurted out. That made Katie raise both eyebrows as she studied him again, her mouth dropping into a small ‘o’. Steve looked back at her, trying to keep his face passive, as if it had been a joke, even though he knew it wasn’t. He’d known for months she was the one.

But to blurt it out like that? Outside his apartment door, in such a dumbass way?

Way to go, Rogers.

Katie cocked her head to one side, there was a funny look on Steve’s face that she couldn’t place. But whatever it was, even if Steve was serious about them getting married, she knew him well enough to understand that was not how he would want to propose, and that he was probably kicking himself about stumbling it out the way he had done. So she broke the nervous tension, as she always did, with a slight joke.

“You know, that’s not much of a proposal.” She slid her arms up around his neck. “But its one step up from you’d make a great housewife, I suppose.”

“Should I try again?” A cheeky grin spread across his face, glad the tone was playful, his arms circling her waist “Yeah, with a big, fuck off Tiffany diamond.”

“I didn’t think you were so materialistic?”

“Well, you know what they say? Diamonds are a girls’ best friend.”

“And there I was, thinking it was me.” He muttered, his lips pressing onto hers.

“That’s so sweet!” A voice interrupted and they both turned to look at Kate, his neighbour from over the hall. For a split second Steve thought she was talking to them but it soon became apparent she was on the phone. “That’s so nice…but hey, I gotta go…okay bye…”

She dropped the phone into the basket of laundry she was carrying before grinning at us both “My aunt, she’s kind of an insomniac”

Steve smile before looking at the basket of washing in her arms as he dropped his arm round Katie’s shoulder “you know if you want…if you want, you can use my machine. Might be easier and cheaper than the one in the basement.” “Thank you, but I already have a load in downstairs actually, and you really don’t want my scrubs in your machine.” She grinned. “I just finished a rotation on the infectious diseases ward, so,”

“Ah, well, we’ll keep our distance,” Steve grinned, holding his hands up, palms out.

“Hopefully not too far.” She chuckled. “Don’t want to lose my best neighbour. Okay, well I better be off.” She turned to go before she stopped and spun back round to look at Steve. “Oh, by the way, I think you left your stereo on.”

“Right, thank you.” Steve watched her go, frowning. He looked at Katie as they both pressed their ears to the door. The record player was certainly on but…

“We definitely didn’t leave that on before.” Katie looked at him, as the gentle tones of Kitty Kallen Long Long Time hit their ears.

Steve held his finger up to his lips and gestured to the window, before leaving Katie where he was. He ran off, down the stairs as fast as he could and then he scaled the gate on the fire escape easily. Once he reached the steps which were parallel to his window he took a running jump, easily pulling himself up over the sill and into the kitchen area. Quickly and quietly he moved along the wall, picking up his shield which was leaning against the shelving unit. Holding it up, he cautiously peered round the corner of the room into the living area and instantly relaxed when he saw Fury lounging in a chair.

“I don’t remember giving you a key.” He said, somewhat sardonically.

“What, you really think I’d need one?” Nick replied. Steve shook his head and headed to the front door of the flat, pulling it open.

“Fury.” He said with a roll of his eyes, turning and walking back into the apartment.

“Huh?” Katie asked as she followed him into the living room, where the music was coming from, to see Fury sitting on the couch in the dark.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded.

"Nice to see you too, Nova. And in answer to your question my wife kicked me out.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” She continued, frowning. And she didn’t. And she wasn’t sure that he was.

“There are a lot of things you don’t about me,” Fury replied casually.

“I know, Nick. That’s the problem,” Steve grumbled walking forward as Katie remained where she was, eyes narrowed at her old boss. Steve flipped on the light switch, instantly recoiling in surprise when he noticed Fury’s injuries. Besides him Katie gasped slightly and moved to get closer to help but Fury indicated for her to stop and the both of them to stay quiet. He turned off the light again and typed something on his phone.

'EARS EVERYWHERE’.

Bugs? His apartment was bugged? By who? They both exchanged a glance and instantly Katie looked up and around the room, as if she expected to see a microphone glaring at them.

“I’m sorry to have to do this but I had nowhere else to crash,” Fury looked around a bit before he typed something else up on his phone:

'SHIELD COMPROMISED’.

Steve and Katie shared another glance, the pair of them wide eyed. This was bad.

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve asked, keeping his voice even.

Fury showed them another text;

'YOU TWO AND ME’.

“Just my friends,” Fury grunted in pain while getting up and walking closer to them.

“Is that what we are?” Katie blinked at him. She still hadn’t completely forgiven the man for lying to them all about Coulson.

“That’s up to you.” Fury replied, his eyes darting from Katie to Steve.

Then out of nowhere came a rapid succession of gunshots. Steve quickly pushed Katie out of the way, the pair of them taking cover behind the kitchen wall as Fury groaned before he collapsed down to the floor. Steve scooted forward, keeping as low as he could, pulling him into the kitchen. Katie knelt next to him and tried to check his injuries through his black clothing when he reached up and handed something to Steve.

“Don’t, trust anyone,” he coughed before passing out. Katie and Steve both looked at what he had been handed and saw that it was a flash drive. Steve curled his hand around it and looked at Katie, but before either of them could say anything else there was the sound of someone breaking into the apartment. Steve quickly moved into a defensive position, in front of Katie and Fury, raising his shield.

“Captain Rogers?” a familiar voice suddenly called out and they watched as Kate, his neighbour, cautiously walked in with a gun pointed. “I’m Agent Thirteen of SHIELD’s Special Service.”

“Kate?” Steve frowned, shaking his head. He’d just about had his fill of surprises.

“I’m assigned to protect you.” She continued

“On whose orders?” Katie snapped.

Kate stopped as she spotted Fury lying on the floor. “His,” she dropped besides Katie, checking Fury for a pulse and then spoke into her radio

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs.”

“Do you have a twenty on the shooter?” A SHIELD agent questioned through the radio.

Then there was a movement on the other side of the window, on the roof adjacent to the building. Steve instantly glanced up and saw a flash of silver and the shadow of a figure running across the rooftop.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit.” He said and with that he took a running jump and smashed straight through his window, and through into the office building opposite. Steve ran, keeping his eye on the man, smashing through walls, windows, anything in his way. Eventually he caught up with him on the roof and flung his shield at the assassin who, to Steve’s shock, caught it with one swift move in the hand of his metal arm. There was a pause as Steve could do nothing but eye the man with surprise before the shield came flying back. Steve caught it, with both hands on its rim but the force pushed him back a few yards along the gravel surface of the roof. By the time he had stopped the momentum moving him, the assassin had jumped. Steve ran to the edge of the building and looked down.

He was gone.

*****

“What happened?” Hill asked as they all looked through the glass window at the hustle and bustle of the operating room. Steve moved his arm from around Katie and took her hand in his, squeezing her fingers gently.

"He was at my apartment when we got home.” Steve started. “I hadn’t even had chance to ask why when there were two blasts, then another. Someone shot him through the window- three times. I tried to go after the shooter, but I lost him on the roof of the building across the street.”

Steve had no doubt in his mind that if there was anyone else in SHIELD they could trust right now it was Hill, but both he and Katie kept quiet. He had taken Fury’s warning of trusting nobody seriously and had told Katie as much as they had strode through the ED of the hospital. Both were aware that Hill was studying them, side on, her face stony.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asked quietly.

“Nothing.” Katie answered for them.

Before Hill could drill either of them anymore, the door to the observation room flung open and heavy footsteps crossed the room, stopping at the other side of Katie.

“Is he gonna make it?” Natasha asked, almost inaudibly, staring through the window.

“We don’t know,” Hill mumbled.

“Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha whispered

“He’s fast and strong. And he had a metal arm,” Steve said, letting go of Katie’s hand to fold his arms across his chest and as he did, they both caught the look of recognition and slight fear on Natasha’s face reflected in the window.

“Ballistics?” She swallowed heavily.

“Three slugs. No rifling and completely untraceable,” Maria answered softly.

“Soviet made?”

“Yeah,” Maria looked at Natasha in shock. Steve turned to face her, as did Katie, but she didn’t look back. She stared straight through to the operating theatre but before Katie could ask what it was that she wasn’t saying, the operation room went into overdrive. Machines started beeping erratically, the doctors and nurses were rushing around the room and the panic was palpable even behind the glass. But they couldn’t save him.

“Time of death, 1:03 A.M.”

A few moments passed as the four of them stood completely in shock. Katie reached up to wipe a tear that had trickled down her cheek away, before Natasha turned and almost sprinted out of the room.

Steve pulled his hand out of his pocket, turning the flash drive that Nick had given him over in his hand. Nick had been killed because he knew whatever it was that was on that drive. What could possibly be so bad, so secret, so dangerous that the Director of SHIELD was deemed a threat for knowing? He glanced up at Katie who was watching him, tears in her eyes. She might have had her issues with Fury, but he was a good man and would never have wished him dead. With a sigh Steve placed the item back into his pocket and pulled her in for a hug.

******

A little later, they were all in the same room as Nick’s body. Natasha was by him, hardly having moved a muscle, almost like she was in shock. And it unnerved Katie. Nat wasn’t one to really show emotion but then again, Fury had meant a lot to her. The door opened and a doctor entered, speaking to Hill. She nodded and then walked over to Katie and Steve, coughing to clear her throat.

“They need to take him.” She said, her voice cracking slightly. Steve nodded and stepped forwards.

“Nat. Natasha…” But at that she turned away from them all and made her way quickly into the corridor of the Hospital. Katie and Steve looked at one another, before they hastily followed her.

“Why was Fury in your apartment?” Natasha span around to ask Steve. Her eyes were filled with sadness, but Katie could also see suspicion etched on her pretty features.

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed shrugging his shoulders, and before the conversation could go on further they were interrupted by Rumlow.

“Cap, they want you back at Shield,” He informed them, gently touching Katie’s shoulder. “You too Nova.”

“Alright, give us a second,” Steve nodded dismissing Rumlow, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended, as he turned back to Natasha but Rumlow was insistent

“They want you now,”

“Alright” Katie spoke firmly but calmly. Rumlow nodded and then moved back down the hallway.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Natasha shook her head at Steve with her trademark smirk that didn’t reach her eyes before she turned and left.

“What the hell is on that drive?” Katie asked Steve after a moment of silence.

“I don’t know, but it’s what Natasha was saving data to on our mission the other day.” He replied before he looked up staring very focused into a vending machine to his right, which was open as a janitor filled it up. He didn’t want to take the drive back to the Triskellion, just in case. He knew that something wasn’t quite right.

Katie caught his eye before glancing around the hallway that was mostly full of SHIELD agents, luckily they were all congregated on the other end.

“Do it.” She nodded, figuring out his intention to hide the item “I’ll distract them.”

Without another look back at him, she began to stride forwards towards Rumlow.

“Its almost four am.” she glanced at her watch. “What do they want us for Brock? We already told Sitwell what we know and I don’t work for SHIELD anymore, remember?”

Rumlow shrugged “Honestly, I don’t know Nova. I’m just under instructions to get you both back to base.”

At that point Steve reached them, but he wasn’t stopping. Taking Katie’s hand he nodded to the STRIKE leader

“Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Rumlow fell into step with them, fixing his earpiece. “Strike! Move it out.”

Steve drove to the Triskellion, Katie’s car flanked by the Armoured SUVs as they sped through the streets of DC. Katie dozed off for ten minutes and Steve let her sleep, lost in his own thoughts. He had expected her to be called in alongside him, especially after she had been, along with him, the last people Fury had spoken to him before he died. But he wasn’t happy about it, he wanted her as far away from whatever the hell was going on as possible. Once they arrived he gently shook her awake and the two of them were given an hour or so to grab something to eat. Neither were hungry, but they forced down their sandwiches, Katie’s brain working in overdrive as she did so. Something was nagging at her, and she was trying to make the connections, figure it out, but her head simply kept replaying Fury getting shot over and over.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs.”

“Do you have a twenty on the shooter?”

She frowned.

“What is?” Steve asked, coffee in his hand as he sat back on one of the large chairs in one of the common rooms by the kitchen area.

“Before…when Kate…Agent thirteen, whatever the hell her name is called back to base…she said Fury was down and needed EMTs…”

She paused and Steve waited, knowing how her analytical brain worked. She had to follow threads, talk them over or write them out, letting them weave together as she did. A look of comprehension crossed her face as the threads connected.

“Sitwell…” She whispered.

“What about him?” Steve asked. “He was the one that replied, at least it sounded like him.” She bit her lip, but not in the seductive way that made his crotch twitch, the way she did when she was thinking “And he asked…do you have a twenty on the shooter.”

Steve frowned, not quite sure where this was going. “Okay…” “Well, how did he know Fury had been shot? How could anyone know he had been shot?”

Now he understood. He understood completely. Damned it she was clever. “They couldn’t.” He sat up and leaned towards her, his voice dropping. “Not unless they were there or Kate…whoever, told them.”

“And she didn’t. She just said he was down and unresponsive.” “Which means…” Steve began, but Katie finished for him. “Sitwell knew about the hit. Because he was in on it.”

The both looked at one another, their faces wearing similar looks of shock. Fury was right, SHIELD was compromised. But how far, they had no idea.

Before Steve had chance to say anything else, the door opened and Rumlow stepped in

“Secretary Pierce is ready now guys.” “Thanks.” Katie nodded, shooting Steve another glance as they both stood up.

“Not a word.” He mumbled as they got into the elevator “We say nothing, not until we figure out who we can trust.”

“If we can trust anyone.” She mumbled back.

*****

“Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?” Secretary Pierce looked at Steve as he sat on the couch next to Katie in the large office.

“I don’t know.” He answered in a soft voice.

“Did you know it was bugged?” Pierce pressed on.

“We did.” Katie nodded meeting the secretary’s eye. “Because Nick told us.”

“Did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?”

Steve took a breath and glanced at Katie, his expression stony but the two of them shared the understanding.

No, no he had not.

“I want you to see something.” Pierce continued, and gestured to a monitor just behind the couches we were sitting on. On the screen was a man tied down to a chair, he looked to be currently being interrogated. Katie didn’t recognise the man, but Steve did. It was Batroc, the lead merc from the hijacking of the Lemurian Star.

“Is that live?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, they picked him up last night in a not so safe house in Algiers.”

“Are you saying he’s a suspect?” Steve didn’t take his eyes off the screen “Assassination isn’t Batroc’s line.”

“It’s more complicated than that. Batroc was hired anonymously to hijack the Lemurian Star. He was contacted by email and paid by wire transfer, and then the money was run through seventeen fictitious accounts. The last going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech.” Pierce said handing Steve a folder.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Steve skimmed through the file offered to him in curiosity and confusion.

“Not likely. Veech died six years ago. His last address was 1435 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived at 1437.”

“Wait,” Katie frowned as she gathered what Pierce was suggesting. “Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?”

“The prevailing theory?” Pierce shrugged. “The hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Nick’s death.”

“If you really knew Nick Fury you’d know that’s not true.” Steve replied strongly, and he believed it. Fury was a lot of things, but a traitor he was not.

Pierce nodded in agreement. “Why do you think we’re here talking?” He then got to his feet and began to walk towards the window. “See, I took a seat on the council not because I wanted to, but because Nick asked me to because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy, and the hand shaking and the rhetoric, to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies.”

Steve didn’t like the way this was going. He looked at Katie and gestured for her to stand as he did. Pierce turned back around and looked at them both.

“Those people that call you dirty because you’ve got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today,” Pierce shoved his hands in his pockets. “Makes me really, really angry. Captain, you and Miss Stark were the last ones to see Nick Fury alive. I don’t think that’s an accident.” Pierce said matter-of-factly. “And I don’t think you do, either. So, I’m going to ask again was he there?”

“He told us not to trust anyone.” Steve said honestly.

Pierce made a humming sound. “I wonder, if that included him.”

There was a tense moment of silence before Steve spoke again. “I’m sorry. Those were his last words. Excuse us,” He turned to leave, picking up his shield that he sent down upon our arrival and attaching it to the harness on his back, before ushering Katie out of the room slightly ahead of him.

“Captain,” Pierce’s voice halted him mid step and he turned to look at him. “Someone murdered my friend. I’m going to find out why. Anyone who gets in my way is going to regret it.” Pierce’s voice rang out again, a pointed look in their direction.

Steve wasn’t a stupid man, and he knew that was a veiled threat. He took a deep breath, considering his response, before he decided appearing un-rattled was the best option.

“Understood.” He nodded, holding the door open for Katie to step through keeping himself between her and Pierce as he followed, anchoring his hand on her back to keep her moving.

“You should have lied.” She whispered.

“Huh?” “Back then, said we didn’t know why Fury was there. By telling him that he told us not to trust anyone he knows we know and that we’re hiding something.” Her tone was a little panicked and Steve simply took a deep breath.

“We need to get to the hospital and get that stick.” He looked at her, remaining adamant that whatever it was that was on there would hold the answers. He looked up and down the corridor before they stepped into the elevator.

“Operations Control” Steve spoke as the elevator scanned his face and Katie’s Guest ID.

“Confirmed”

Just as the doors were about to close, Rumlow stepped in with two other STRIKE agents.

“Keep all STRIKE personnel on site” He was saying. Both the agents nodded and voiced their acknowledgement of his order. “Forensics.”

“Confirmed.”

“Cap, Nova…” Rumlow nodded to them both.

“Rumlow.” Steve acknowledged him as the doors closed and they started to descend.

“Evidence Response found some fibres on the roof they want us to see.” Rumlow turned his head to look at Steve. “You want me to get the tac-team ready?”

“No, let’s wait and see what it is first.”

“Right.” Rumlow turned back and Steve looked out of the side of the elevator, pondering what his next move was. Chase down the man responsible? The drive? The elevator stopped at the next floor and Rollins plus a few more SHIELD and Strike agents entered, Steve moving over slightly to allow them in.

“What’s the status so far?” Rollins was saying.

“Administrations level” another one asked, before they continued whatever it was they were talking about, moving round to find a space behind Steve and Katie.

He noticed Katie look round, a frown on her face, but before he could say anything Rumlow spoke, looking over his shoulder at Steve.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Fury. Messed up, what happened to him”

“Thank you.” Steve nodded.

Katie could sense something was off. Years of training as an Agent didn’t just leave you when you quit, and those years of training had taught her very well to read body language. Rumlow was alert, too alert, and it was more than just a nervousness because Fury had been killed. There was an atmosphere in the lift, and she glanced at one of the agents that had joined them at the last floor. He was still talking, normally, but he there was a bead of sweat dripping down his cheek from his temple.

Steve could sense it too. He watched as Rumlow and Rollins exchanged a glance and looked down at Katie who was watching him, nervous expression on her face. He shook his head gently, instructing her to keep calm.

The elevator stopped and another agent entered.

“Records”

This one stood in front of them, facing the elevator doors and it was then with a slight air of exasperation at allowing it to happen, Steve realised they were surrounded. Whilst he wasn’t too concerned, he knew he could more than likely fight his way out, it was his girl he was bothered for. It had been months since she had been in active combat, and this was going to be brutal. Besides him Katie stiffened, feeling very underprepared for what was about to go down. She had no weapons, nothing. Instinctively Steve gripped her hand and pulled her forward so she was stood next to him instead of behind and moved his feet apart slightly, hands on the buckle of his belt, adopting his Captain stance, preparing for what was coming.

“Before we get started,” he sighed, looking down before he stared straight ahead, “does anyone want to get out?”

His eyes flicked to the back of Rumlow’s head. There was a moment’s pause before all hell broke loose. They both put up a good fight, ducking, diving, punching. Steve was then shocked with a baton, but he simply grit his teeth, absorbing the electricity into his body. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. And then, three of them managed to snap one of his arms to the wall of the elevator using some kind of metallic clamp, before five of them piled on him at once, attempting to pin his other arm in too. He kicked out, taking down as many as he could.

Just as Katie had floored the second of the agents who had launched at her, she was grabbed from behind by her hair and hauled to the edge of the elevator, being wrestled roughly to the floor by Rumlow who was instantly on top of her, trying to get her wrists from where she had positioned them underneath her body in an attempt to stop them restraining her.

"Brock…” She spoke gently, looking at him as she swallowed. “What’s going on?” “I’m sorry Stark.” He shook his head. “Just following orders.”

“Yeah well follow this.” She snarled, the anger brewing in her as she jerked her head forwards as hard as she could, feeling it connect with his nose. He yelled, and then her head snapped painfully to the right as he back handed her straight across the face. She felt her lip split and the warm, metallic taste of blood hit her taste buds, stars flashing in front of her eyes as her ears began to ring from the harsh knock.

Steve saw Rumlow land the blow to Katie’s face and let out a growl of anger and aimed another kick at the final agent standing, causing them man to collide with the side of the elevator before slumping down. He turned, pulled on his arm as hard as he could, wrenching the cuff off the side of the elevator and looked up in time to see Katie, who was now pinned against the wall by another set of those damned cuffs, take a blow to the ribs from Rumlow causing her to cry out in pain.

“Rumlow!” Steve yelled causing the man to whip his head round, surprise on his face. Katie, using her arms as leverage, swung her legs upwards, kicking Rumlow with both feet. The STRIKE leader stumbled slightly as Steve snarled at him, his entire body and face alight with rage “Touch my girl again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Rumlow got to his feet, holding one of his arms out, electric rod in his hand “Whoa, big guy. I just want you both to know, this ain’t personal.”

He then lunged at Steve with his electric rod but one on one Steve was easily able to defend himself, he moved to the right, dodged and grabbed Rumlow, throwing him harshly upwards where he crashed into the ceiling of the elevator, before falling to the floor, unconscious.

“Yeah well, it kind of feels personal” Steve said, his breath slightly ragged from the exertion. He used his foot to flip his shield over like a Frisbee, catching it perfectly.

“You alright?” Steve asked, stepping over the bodies that littered the floor of the elevator to get to Katie.

“Yeah.” She assured him. Steve cut the cuffs that were restraining her into two pieces with his shield and she bent over, his hands gently on her back as she rubbed at her side before straightening up and stalking over to where Rumlow was beginning to stir slightly. She kicked him hard in the face, causing him to flip backwards and he was out, unconscious.

“Nothing personal.” She spat, then looked up at Steve. There was a moment during which they both looked around, trying to make sense of what had happened, before the elevator doors opened and Steve pulled Katie sharply behind him. They both stared at a team of STRIKE agents pointing their weapons into the elevator. Steve raised his shield.

“Drop the shield! Put your hands in the air!”

Steve looked round, and spotted the elevator wires to the left of Katie’s head

“DUCK!” he yelled at her, and as she did, he swiped with his shield over her head sending them plummeting. Eventually the emergency brake systems kicked in and the elevator stopped, slightly misaligned with the doors by a few feet. As Katie bent down to retrieve a gun and some ammo off one of the Agents, Steve forced the door open, intending to climb out but more STRIKE agents were approaching. He closed the door again and looked at Katie, then around the glass walls, looking down below us at the glass roof of the main Triskelion atrium.

It was a long way but they could make it.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Katie exclaimed, realising exactly what he was thinking.

“Give it up, Rogers! Get that door open! You have nowhere to go!” came the yell from the floor outside the elevator door.

“Do you trust me?” Steve asked, both his hands cupping Katie’s face.

“Of course I do, but…”

“Then hang on…”

She sighed and jumped onto his back, swinging her legs round his waist and her arms round his neck. Steve raised his shield in front of him, before he propelled them forward and broke through the glass in the elevator, spreading his arms out wide as he fell to prevent them from tumbling through the air before tucking his body as tightly in to his shield as he could. Katie did the same, burying her head into his back as they crashed through the glass ceiling and hit the floor with a loud clang, to screams and shouts from people all around the atrium.

Katie gave a soft groan, rolling off Steve who moaned and stretched out, having been winded from the impact. But Steve knew they had to keep moving. With a monumental effort, he pushed himself up onto his knees, took a deep breath and offered his hand to Katie to help her stand. They both took a quick glance around before he started to run, pulling her with him. She stumbled slightly, but Steve kept hold of her, not letting her fall until her legs seemed to be working again.

And then they ran.

**** Chapter 15

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #mcu #mcu fanfic #captain america #chris evans #chris evans characters

64 notes · View notes

falseroar · 3 years

Text

Dog Days Part 26: Just a Few Questions

((In exchange for helping cover up what happened at the studio, Dr. Iplier has a request of Dr. Schneeplestein and you. Abe has some regrets about offering to go with Chase to the Institute, but with Jackie’s “help” decides not to back out now.

This is a long one! (Edit: Never mind. I just checked, and the next two parts are both 7k+ words each. I’m beginning to suspect this is just going to be a theme from here on out.) I also sort of introduced another OC for this one, so hopefully that’s not too distracting. I’ll explain more about that in the end notes.

Here’s links to Part 25 and to the series masterlist.))

The doctor allowed Abe to stay the night in the clinic, on the condition that he didn’t leave the room as much as possible. Abe wasn’t sure if that was so Marvin could keep an eye on him while Schneeplestein was busy, or if he didn’t want the hunter scaring off his other patients. Either way, he had no intention of leaving, and neither did Jameson. With two beds in one room, it was already crowded enough without all of them there, so it only took a little bit of urging from the doctor to convince Chase to go home for the night, with Jackie riding along to keep an eye on him and to get some fresh air.

Jameson was more than willing to answer Abe’s questions and ask a few of his own, the two of them passing his phone back and forth with his notes app open, at least when he wasn’t arguing with Marvin about what the doctor’s definition of “rest” meant. Between the magician and the way Jackie fidgeted restlessly until Chase offered him an excuse to leave, Abe suspected these guys weren’t used to sitting still for long. Not that he could judge them there.

The doctor looked in occasionally, but otherwise the only sounds they heard from the rest of the clinic was the slow but steady stream of patients going in and out throughout the night, about the same number as Abe usually counted when he had been watching from the outside. All those nights watching the doctor, and he didn’t expected to end up here in one of these rooms, keeping an eye on the partner he thought he lost for good.

Or trying to keep an eye on you. It was a long, quiet night, and when you woke up the room was dark. Marvin was lying on the other bed, still wearing his mask, Jameson sitting back in the chair next to him with his head propped up against the wall behind him, while Abe had fallen asleep with his head resting on your bed. A soft snore escaped from the hunter as you looked at the three of them and wondered what time it was, a question that was answered a few minutes later when the door cracked open and Henrik peeped in.

Spotting your open eyes, he whispered knowing that you would be able to hear him even from across the room, “How are you feeling? Need anyzhing?”

“Just thirsty,” you admitted, and he nodded before disappearing from the doorway. A moment later he returned with a cup of water, and you sat up carefully so as not to wake up Abe. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Henrik answered softly, watching you as you drank with a thoughtful expression. “Dawn is less than two hours away now.”

“Are you going to stay here or go home?” you asked, after nearly draining half the cup in one sip.

“Zhat depends on what you wish to do, I think. I believe you and Marvin would both do well at home, but there are other considerations.” The doctor glanced at Abe, but he said, “I have told Dr. Iplier I will go to zhe hospital today and spend zhe daylight hours there, if you are up to joining me.”

“The hospital? Are you working there today or something?” you asked, and Henrik shook his head.

“No, it is time for my regular check-in, but there is also zhe problem of zhe Institute. Dr. Iplier has agreed to cover for us, should zhey ask about yesterday’s…incident at zhe studio, but only if he has a chance to meet you, again.”

You started to ask, but Abe stirred and asked, his voice slurring a little with sleep, “Wait, what’s happening?”

Clearly you and Henrik hadn’t been as quiet as you had hoped, because Marvin and Jameson were waking up now too.

Henrik sighed and explained, “Dr. Iplier is, rightfully, not big on covering for people he does not know. He is villing to do much based on my word as to Y/N’s character and safety, but he would still like to meet zhem in person and ask a few questions. Since I have to go in anyways today, and Abe and Chase have already made plans…”

“Wait, you have?” you asked, and this time it was Abe’s turn to explain about the call and Chase’s agreement to go in and give a report on what happened at the studio yesterday—or at least his version that covered up the whole werewolf thing. Which brought them around to Abe’s client, or at least the Google that worked for him.

“This little field trip might give us a chance to look into who created those Google units, and who has them now,” Abe said. “The one I met answers to someone who knows way too much about us.”

“Even more now, thanks to you,” Marvin muttered, but while Abe didn’t hear it you could give the magician a look that made him repentant enough to say, “You said one of them’s at the hospital, right? I can go with Y/N and Henrik and…”

He winced as he sat up, a hand going to his head, and the doctor clucked his tongue. “Your body is telling you no on zhat. You vill go home with Jackie when zhey get here and rest, no excuses. We need you back up to stuff, magician, and zhat vill not happen if you are running around willy und nilly.”

“I can go,” Jameson signed. “That is, if you want to go, Y/N.”

You hesitated. Going to a hospital felt risky, even without everything else going on, but Henrik would be there and he had trusted the other doctor enough to bring him in while you were still recovering and stuck as a wolf. And Marvin did have a point about talking to the Google there—maybe he knew something about the others, or you could get a better feel for how these magiteks worked. Using Google’s own rules against him had worked yesterday, after all.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you said, only to look down at your shirt. While you had healed from the shot without an issue, the same couldn’t be said for your torn and bloody shirt. “I, uh, might need to change first, though.”

“I vill tell Chase to add that to zhe list things to bring,” Henrik said, sounding much more cheerful. “Zhe bathroom is open, if any of you wish to freshen up in zhe meantime.”

Abe frowned, and not just because the doctor seemed to give him a side eye when he said it. He had been okay with going to the Institute with Chase when it seemed like you would be staying here or going home, or at least aware that he would have to keep his distance anyways once that happened, but now that he knew you were going somewhere else he wasn’t so thrilled on his promise to go. Sure, split up and cover more ground, that was great and all, but he hadn’t realized going with you could have been an option. It wasn’t like Chase needed him to be there.

Even knowing there was a chance to find out more about the red-shirted Google, Abe still played with the idea of giving an excuse to go with your group to the hospital. For safety, of course—after all, look how that little field trip to the studio turned out for you.

But it was Marvin who spoke up, while Jameson was out of the room and no doubt waxing his mustache or whatever his morning routine involved and the doctor had taken you to another room for some privacy for another checkup, and muttered, “Wish I was going with you.”

“You mean with them,” Abe said, head tilting in the general direction of the others, but the magician shook his head.

“No, I mean, yes, them too. Just doing something.” Marvin rubbed his face, his fingers disappearing up under his mask before it resettled into place. “What am I supposed to do, sit at home and twiddle my thumbs?”

“…Your magic really is gone?” Abe asked.

“Not gone, just—” Marvin paused, searching for the right words. “Like there’s a—wall, in between me and it, or like…Like breaking your arm, it’s still there, but you can’t use it for anything, you know? No, that’s not really right, but you get the general idea. God, I might as well be totally human.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would be a real shame,” Abe said sarcastically, but the magician just shrugged. Abe found his eyes drawn to that ridiculous cat mask again, and he had to ask, “Your friends know you’re half-fae, right? Not exactly something you can hide for that long, so why are you still wearing the mask?”

“Heh.” The side of Marvin’s mouth twitched upwards and he brushed his hair out of his face before fixing Abe in his gaze. “The eyes of the fae can be…distracting, even if you know what to expect.”

“That, and he’s vain as hell,” Jackie said at the door, looking in with Chase just visible behind him. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Next room over with the doc,” Abe answered, and Chase gave a thumbs-up before disappearing out of sight. “You know, I bet the doctor would be okay with you and Jackie going with Chase instead of me. Not like I have much of a reputation to help whatever tale he’s going to spin them.”

“Yeah, that’s…a bad idea, for many reasons,” Marvin answered, while Jackie shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned up against the doorframe. “I’d rather not attract the Institute’s attention, and Jackie…”

“I’m not going back there unless it’s to burn the place to the ground,” Jackie finished. He drew up his sleeve, revealing a network of scars tracing their way up and out of sight under the rest of his hoodie. “Last time I went into one of their buildings with a couple of hunters, they threw me in with the other guinea pigs to be played with.”

“But you’re human,” Abe said, and then, “Aren’t you?”

Jackie tilted his head and stepped back, out of the room and out of sight, until the prickle of hairs on the back of Abe’s neck made him look over his shoulder just in time to see Jackie step out of his shadow and rest his elbow on the hunter’s shoulder.

“For a certain value of ‘human,’ yes.” It was the movement of Jackie’s eyes returning to their normal grey that alerted Abe to the fact they had just been solid black, like two holes looking into something or somewhere else. “A little less, after they were done with me. Chase is the only reason I ever saw daylight again.”

Jackie’s weight shifted, the elbow on Abe’s shoulder becoming an arm across his chest, pressing him up against the wall as Jackie whispered, “Which is why you’re going to go with him. And you’re going to make sure nothing happens to him. Do you understand?”

Abe grunted, and Jackie relieved the pressure enough for him to mutter, “Didn’t really need the threat. What do you think I am?”

Jackie looked the hunter up and down before meeting his steady gaze with one of his own, his mouth twitching as though fighting back the urge to answer that.

“…I’ll keep an eye on the kid,” Abe said.

Said “kid” had gone to the next exam room and entered to find you lying on the bed while the doctor gently felt around the area where you had been shot yesterday.

“Oh, sorry,” Chase said, immediately starting to back up, but the doctor shook his head.

“Ve are done here, I think. You are sure zhere is no pain, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I…” you sat up slowly, your eyes drifting toward Chase as an all too familiar copper scent hit you. “I’m fine. Chase, are you bleeding?”

“Uh—” Chase sighed and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, just a scratch from—from yesterday. I was hoping Schneep could take a look?”

“From yesterday?” You immediately thought back to that moment in the elevator, but you didn’t remember any point where Chase could have gotten hurt. That is, until you saw Henrik’s guilty expression and something clicked in the back of your mind. “You drank his blood?”

“I didn’t give him a choice,” Chase answered for him. “It was still the middle of the day, and we couldn’t take you and Marvin home with that hunter and who knows what else hanging around, and I didn’t know how serious your injuries were, so I…”

Henrik heaved a sigh and continued, “So he gives me no time to prepare a better idea. Your cut has started to bleed again?”

Chase nodded and, at the doctor’s gesture, hopped up on the bed to sit next to you and draw up his sleeve. There was a bandage there, already falling off even before the doctor carefully peeled it back to reveal the small cut on his upper arm.

The doctor clicked his tongue and said, “Vampire saliva encourages the bleeding, you see. It is why we try to avoid drinking directly from…donors, or one of zhe many, many reasons. At least you had enough sense not to create zhe cut near an artery or vein, but still.”

“Like I said, I didn’t know how much time we had to work with,” Chase said defensively.

“There is always time to do these things correctly!” Henrik paused and admitted, “Most of zhe time. Zhe effect should wear off on its own, but I have something that may help. Wait just a moment, both of you.”

The doctor walked out of the room, careful to shut the door behind him, and you waited until he was out of earshot before remarking, “You…you really trust him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Chase said with a shrug that made you wonder if he really understood what he had done, not just asking but encouraging a vampire to feed on him, with no one else around to step in if the doctor’s worst impulses kicked in and he couldn’t stop himself. “Oh yeah, I picked up some fresh clothes for you while I was at the house. They’re not much to look at, but at least they match a little better than what you have on. Plus, you know, no hole in the middle.”

“…My clothes don’t match?”

“Eh?” Chase shrugged and said, “Maybe we can take you clothes shopping one day, help you pick out some things that are a little more ‘you’ than Jackie’s old hoodies.”

There was a hoodie on top of the pile of clothes, and you could smell Jackie’s scent in the fabric, same as you could tell who the other shirt and pants belonged to. As nice as it would be to have some clothes of your own, you didn’t want to admit to Chase that you kind of liked having that reminder of them with you. Talking about people’s scents felt very much like one of those werewolf things that might make other people feel awkward or uncomfortable.

“What do you normally like to wear?” Chase asked. “Any favorite colors?”

You shrugged, turning over the hoodie in your hands as you said, “I usually had to dress to look the part of an attorney, even on days when I was just in the office.”

And most of your days were spent in the office, when you weren’t in court or doing your own investigations. The few casual outfits you did have back then, you never really had much of a chance to actually wear. As for colors, you weren’t sure how much it mattered when you couldn’t actually see any of them.

Well, most of them. Wilford’s absurd pink mustache being the only exception so far.

“I like these pants though. They’re sturdy,” you said, and Chase immediately glanced at the hole in one of your knees that might have suggested otherwise.

“You mean blue jeans?” Chase asked. “Yeah, I think we can find you some more of those.”

“Wait, these are blue?”

Before Chase could answer that, the doctor walked back into the room, a small bottle and some fresh bandages in hand.

“Found it,” he said, shaking the bottle before applying a small amount of the liquid to a spongy white square. You winced and pulled the collar of your shirt up to your nose to try and block out the sharp, acid-like smell, causing the doctor to pause. “I had hoped you could help me vith this, Y/N, but if zhat would be an issue—”

You shook your head, trying to breathe through your mouth even as you answered, “No, it’s fine, the smell’s just a little strong. What do you want me to do?”

Under the doctor’s directions, you took a wipe and cleared off a large square around the cut on Chase’s arm, causing him to wince even before you applied the foul-smelling medicine to the cut. Henrik caught Chase’s opposite hand as it started to move out of reflex until he relaxed, and then applied a couple strips of tape over the fresh bandages you put on to hold them in place. Once that was done, the doctor immediately took a step back and tucked his hands into the pockets of his white coat, but not before you saw the way they trembled. He probably wasn’t just asking you to handle it because you were already sitting next to Chase.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, after clearing his throat. “Zhat should help until zhe cut heals over on its own. Just keep it dry, and no more silly stunts.”

“Now when you say ‘silly,’” Chase started, causing the doctor to snort and walk out of the room. Chase jumped down from the bed and said to you, “You should probably go ahead and change, if you’re really wanting to go to the hospital today.”

You nodded, wondering if you should say something, but instead you asked, “Are you and Abe really going to the Institute today? The one you told me about?”

“Just one of the downtown offices, and maybe that lab if we can swing it,” Chase said, but he avoided looking at you until he added, “I’ll keep an eye on your hunter while we’re out, promise.”

He winked and walked out before you could correct him, leaving you to change and try to turn over what about that wording bothered you the most until it was time to go. The hospital was apparently close enough that Henrik felt confident you, him, and Jameson could walk there before dawn, but Marvin and Jackie insisted on at least driving the three of you there before they returned home, leaving Chase and Abe to take the hunter’s car.

Outside, in the predawn darkness, you wondered what to say to Abe. Any reminder to be careful or that you would see him again felt off, when you had so many other things you wanted to talk to him about. Too much to say or ask about in the little time you had, much less in front of the others.

Instead, it was Abe who pulled you to the side and said, “We’re going to talk about…everything later, yeah? So try to stay out of trouble until then.”

You felt a prickle at the back of your neck at his rough tone and answered, “I’m not the one who’s likely to end up in trouble. You think you can avoid shooting anyone today, hunter?”

“Only if they don’t shoot at me first,” Abe said, relaxing a little when he saw you almost smile at that. That is, until your eyes looked past the hunter and caught what Jameson was signing at you, and embarrassment knocked out every other expression as the others tried not to laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” you answered a little too quickly. “See you soon, hunter.”

Abe turned and watched you squeeze into the backseat with the others before the car drove off, leaving him behind with Chase. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“Not a chance, hunter,” Chase answered, suppressing a grin as he leaned against Abe’s car. “You ready to go or not?”

“Is anyone even going to be there this early?” Abe asked, causing Chase to raise an eyebrow. Of course, most hunters didn’t exactly work a regular 9 to 5 schedule, and the Institute was hardly any different. But then again, “I know a place we can stop on the way. How do you feel about coffee?”

“I’m listening.”

---

“You still got your collar on you?”

“What?” You had been looking out the back window at the streets passing by, and it took you a second to realize Marvin had turned around in the front seat to look at you. Reluctantly, you pulled the dog collar out of the front pocket of your hoodie and asked, “You mean this?”

Marvin relaxed and said, “Good. Make sure you keep it on you, okay? Schneep, Jameson, you still got your wards?”

Jameson nodded, tapping the brim of his hat and the doctor gave an affirming sound before directing Jackie to the right driveway to the hospital.

“I don’t have to actually wear this thing when I’m human, do I?” you asked.

“Nah, that’s only to get the wolf to pass as a dog,” Marvin answered. “As long as you keep it on or near you, no one should be able to trace you. There’s also some protections against other types of magic in it, but…”

“But they don’t do much against bullets,” you finished for him and Marvin shrugged.

“Can’t plan for everything. Sorry, I had planned on having something else for when you were human again, but that idea’s going to have to wait.” As the car pulled to a stop at the front entrance to the hospital, Marvin added, “Call us, if you don’t want to hang around here all day until nightfall. Just because Schneep has to stay here until then doesn’t mean you and JJ have to.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Jameson signed before reaching over and showing you how to unlock the back door. Together, you and Jameson climbed out while the doctor walked around from the other side of the car, and he leaned down so that Jackie could see him add, “Be careful going home!”

“Yes, please do,” Henrik said. “Last zhing we need now is Jackie getting caught driving vithout a license.”

“I’m always careful,” Jackie answered, and Marvin couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. “Look, you all can start criticizing as soon as you learn how to drive yourselves around. Until then, keep it to yourselves.”

The car idled there in the driveway after you all said goodbye, Jackie waiting until your group was through the glass doors before he put the car into drive.

“I thought you said you finished the new ward for Y/N,” Jackie said, breaking the silence of the drive back to the house, and Marvin made a noise but didn’t answer. “Just a few cosmetic tweaks—you don’t need your magic to do that, right?”

“Just considering our options,” Marvin answered, his tone doing more to tell Jackie that he wasn’t in the mood to talk right now.

Not that it kept him from saying, “Well, after this we can keep them home for a while, where it’s safer. At least until you’re back to yourself, and the attention’s off of them.”

Marvin didn’t answer, and when Jackie glanced at him out of the corner of his eye it was difficult to tell, between the darkness in the car and the magician’s mask, if he had even heard him. Jackie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel before he forced himself to relax and let it go. Marvin would share whatever was clearly on his mind when he was ready.

Not that waiting until that happened did anything to ease Jackie’s own suspicions about what was on his mind.

Back at the hospital, you stopped short at the sight of the familiar face behind the front desk and Jameson’s hand quickly found your own.

“Do not worry,” Henrik said under his breath. “Zhis is not zhe same Google you met. I know zhis one, and he is…Vell, he is not friendly, but he hasn’t—hm.”

The doctor paused, considering what he was about to say, before deciding to just go with, “Zhe hospital keeps a very close eye on him.”

“Kind of worrying that they need to keep that close an eye on him,” Jameson suggested, but it wasn’t like there was another option except to go up to the desk where Google looked up from the computer and straightened to face you all in a very mechanical set of movements.

“Welcome to Mercy Green,” Google said, his tone so similar to the other Google that you would have had a hard time telling them apart. Even their scents were very close, although this one had a lingering odor of cleaning fluid hanging around him that you hoped was from keeping the magitek unit clean and not related to any incident in particular. “If this is an emergency, I can direct you to our Emergency Room where trained staff are standing by. Otherwise, do you have an appointment?”

“Dr. Iplier is expecting us,” Henrik answered, but before Google could turn to the computer a voice called from down the hall as the doctor himself approached.

“Henrik, right on time,” Dr. Iplier said, glancing at you and Jameson only to pause, his eyes meeting yours for several seconds before he snapped himself out of it and said to Google, “Just following up on yesterday’s appointment. You know, the one I forgot to tell you about?”

“Yes.” Google’s expression darkened and he said, “You would not have to remember appointments if you told me about them before they happened, doctor.”

“Well, it was a bit of an emergency—”

“Emergencies can be handled by trained staff in our—”

“Yeah, yeah, but I owed a favor and the issue was something I could handle on my own. Right, Henrik?”

“Yes,” Henrik said, slowly as he worked out what the other doctor was doing. “Just a simple bad reaction to a potion. Of zhe transforming kind.”

“…Right.” Dr. Iplier shrugged and said, “I’ve got a room set aside for us already. I think I remembered to put that in the calendar, at least.”

“So you are not completely hopeless,” Google muttered under his breath, and Dr. Iplier started to respond before thinking better of it and motioning for you all to follow him back down the hall.

Once the front desk was out of sight, Jameson asked, “What was that all about?”

“If someone is asking for Dr. Iplier, zhey will most likely check with Google,” Henrik answered. “Such as someone from zhe Institute.”

“And he can tell them I took care of a patient who—an adverse reaction to a potion? Really?” Dr. Iplier asked as he took one turn after another. This place was quickly starting to feel like a maze, with one addition after another having been added on over the years, according to the frequent number of plaques on the walls.

“It vas not my idea,” Henrik answered. “But if they do ask, zhe patient came from zhe TV studio, Dark Entertainment.”

“Easy enough to remember,” Dr. Iplier muttered, and you suddenly remembered what Schneeplestein had said about the studio and the number of injuries there before you went. Now, the only surprising thing about that was the fact the doctor had managed to suppress the urge to say “I told you so.”

The doctor stopped and opened one of the doors to reveal a room a lot like the ones at Henrik’s clinic except more spacious and with more equipment that you weren’t familiar with.

He waited until the door was closed behind you before he said, “You must be Jameson Jackson. Henrik’s told me a lot about you.”

Jameson waved and nodded, although his expression suggested he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that before Dr. Iplier looked back at you.

“And you must be…doing a lot better than the last time I saw you,” he said.

“Thank you, for the medicine,” you said. “It really helped.”

“Not even a trace of silver burns,” Dr. Iplier said, looking you up and down with a fascination that was almost concerning. “Absolutely incredible.”

Schneeplestein cleared his throat and Dr. Iplier added, “I mean, I’m glad. And curious. Which is why I would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”

You weren’t sure if he was asking you or Henrik, but you supposed you knew this was coming. Still, you said, “Depends on the question, I guess. And why you want to know.”

“Professional interest?” Dr. Iplier suggested before leaning against the desk along one wall, his fingers tapping on its surface. “We don’t get many werewolves here in the city, or at least not any that I know about, but even outside of our walls there aren’t a whole lot of doctors or healers of any kind who have any experience with them. Which means a lot of our medical literature has just enough to identify the signs of a werewolf bite and infection, and the methods to…ease the patient.”

“A nice drink of medicine and wolfsbane to ease the pain before the mob finds them,” you said sarcastically, but neither doctor tried to correct you. “One problem already: I wasn’t bitten by another werewolf.”

“What?”

“A curse, from the same entity that stole my voice,” Jameson explained, with Henrik translating for the other doctor’s benefit.

“Really?” Dr. Iplier gestured for you all to take seats, but he remained standing even as you reluctantly sat on the edge of yet another exam table. As if to make you feel less alone about that, Jameson decided to hop up next to you and place a comforting hand over yours with a smile. Dr. Iplier glanced at Henrik as he said, “Oh, is that why you were so sure they were safe during the full moon? It’s just a cosmetic transformation?”

Cosmetic. Because yes, transforming into another creature against your will every month was just the same as applying some eyeliner, said a bitter thought inside you that you tried to ignore even as you answered, “No. I’m only safe to be around thanks to a spell that helps me stay in control every full moon. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would do.”

Even with the spell, you could feel how thin the line was sometimes. Like yesterday, when you saw Dark and dropping every attempt at control or calm felt so very worth it.

“Could this spell be used for your traditional werewolf?” Dr. Iplier asked, his hopeful ideas quickly crushed by the shake of Jameson’s head.

“Marvin said the spell takes a very long time to prepare, and it was tailored toward the victim of that particular entity,” Jameson explained, with Henrik again translating. He decided against mentioning that Marvin only had that particular spell ready because he hoped to save someone else that night, or how Marvin had admitted, years later, that he hadn’t even been sure it would work that night, or what he would have done if it had failed. “He’s looked for a way to turn back both of our curses, with no luck.”

“Well, even if they are curses, they have physical effects,” Dr. Iplier said, again drumming his fingers against the desk while he thought out loud. “There’s always the chance that a physical solution can be found to counteract them. Henrik, what kind of tests have you done?”

“I have performed physicals, measuring zheir progress as zhey recover,” Henrik said slowly, as though he already knew where the other doctor was going with this.

“Some blood samples might give us an idea of what we’re dealing with—” Dr. Iplier started, but Henrik quickly cut him off.

“Nein, absolutely not, if zheir blood shows up in zhe system it vill—vhat is it—”

“I know how to keep things under the table,” Dr. Iplier said, looking at you as he added, “It would be perfectly safe, and no one else would have access to the samples—”

“Red flags!” Henrik said, snapping his fingers as he found the phrase. “You would need a lab, and someone to do tests, too many people would ask questions of a doctor doing it himself. Und zhat means more eyes, more hands, more chances of someone else finding out. Out of zhe question.”

“But nobody would look twice at Google doing it, and if I give him the right orders even he won’t know what the results are,” Dr. Iplier answered. “Even if we don’t find anything, wouldn’t it be better to have at least tried? Just trying to keep your head above water is admirable enough, I suppose, but if you just keep paddling in place, you’re never going to reach the shore.”

“Or you might just end up swimming out into the ocean if you go about it wrong,” Jameson signed. He sighed and added, “But we haven’t been able to do much to help you, have we? Maybe letting the docs have a shot at it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

The way Dr. Iplier talked, you weren’t sure if he was trying to get an idea for how the whole werewolf thing worked, or if he was actually hoping to find a cure. You hoped for his sake that it was the first, because you had laid aside all hope for a cure a long time ago.

“Just knowing how to cope with…some of this, would be nice,” you said slowly, thinking of yesterday, of all the times you had become overwhelmed by the wolf’s senses of smell and hearing, of how ever since the mirror it just felt easier, being the wolf. But you doubted any kind of tests the doctor could do would help with all of that, which is why you looked at Dr. Schneeplestein and started to ask, “Do you—”

You were interrupted by a knock at the door, which was abruptly opened despite Google’s protest on the other side of, “You are not allowed to access this room without permission.”

“A little late for that,” muttered a man beside him, who pushed up his glasses with a sniff, but both of them were overshadowed by the woman who had opened the door and looked around at all of you before her gaze settled on the two men in white coats.

“Dr. Iplier?” she asked.

“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Iplier answered, stepping forward only to be brought up short by the badges the woman and man showed him. From your vantage point, you couldn’t make out any details, but the general shape of the emblem on them did not match what you remembered of any official police or other government badge. As if to answer your curiosity, Dr. Iplier said, “Great. Bronson Institute investigators. Are they in the schedule, Google?”

“No, they are not,” Google answered, moving his hand towards his glasses in a gesture that just so happened to elbow the man next to him in the ribs. “I would have informed you of a scheduling conflict when you set up this follow-up examination if that were the case. These…people, asked where you were, and proceeded to barge their way here.”

“I’ve never barged anywhere in my life!” protested the man, after rubbing his ribs with a wince and not quite as casually elbowing Google back only to realize why that was a bad idea when the other person had a metal interior.

At his words, a device on his wrist pinged with an irritating noise timed to a flashing light that lasted for three seconds but felt like an eternity to your ears. The woman barely suppressed a smile as she said, “Perhaps some barging was involved, but I assure you that this is an important matter. You received our call about the patient from yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, I did,” Dr. Iplier answered, dragging his eyes away from the device to look back at her. “And I thought I answered all of your questions then. What is this about?”

“We like to be thorough in our investigations, especially when such…delicate matters have become so very public. There’s quite the stir going around, after what supposedly happened outside Dark Entertainment Studios yesterday, and the Institute simply must be sure that we have the heart of the matter before we issue a statement.” She smiled and added, “And your Google was so kind as to inform us that the patient from yesterday is still here.”

“Which one of you is it?” asked the other investigator as he walked into the room and sneered at you and Jameson on the exam table. “And don’t even think about lying! We brought this just so we could be sure we got the truth.”

You glanced down at the device on his wrist, which honestly looked like a wristwatch except one with a blank square screen instead of a clock face. This thing made that irritating noise when it heard lies?

Before you could ask, to stall for time while you thought of a way around it, Jameson immediately waved and pointed at himself.

“You?” the investigator asked, and when Jameson nodded, he scowled and said, “I need you to say it!”

“Jameson can’t speak,” you said. “It’s the effect of a curse, we think. But he does know sign language, if either of you…”

The investigator scowled and looked at his partner, who was sizing up the two of you now with the same intensity that she entered the room with, and she said, “That could work, assuming you know how to ask the right questions.”

“Fine, you translate,” he said, pointing at you before asking, “Were you involved in the incident at Dark Entertainment Studios yesterday, involving a suspected werewolf?”

“I was at the studio yesterday,” Jameson answered, and you translated word for word. “There was an unfortunate incident, yes, but luckily Chase Brody was there to assist, and I and my companions were taken to a doctor he is familiar with.”

“You mean Charles Bronson,” the investigator said as he took meticulous notes in a notepad. “What exactly was he doing there?”

“An interview,” Jameson answered. “About ‘nontraditional’ forms of entertainment, although as I told Jim yesterday, you could make the argument that Chase’s series of stunts for views, as well as his performing feats of gaming and even ‘hanging out’ with his fans could all be—”

Dr. Schneeplestein cleared his throat and Jameson flushed before finishing, “But perhaps this isn’t the place for that conversation.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that you’re an actor?” the investigator asked, and beside you Jameson froze before responding.

“And what, my good sir, is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Charles said it was some actor who got changed thanks to a stupid stunt, but if you can’t even talk, then how are you supposed to be an actor? Subtitles?”

It was only your fast reflexes that kept Jameson from making his own very nonverbal answer to that, mostly with his fists, and behind the investigator his partner sighed and brushed her forehead with her fingers.

“Harold, what could I possibly have done to have to endure having you here for this?”

“Did you see that?! He tried to attack me!”

“Well, if he had, at least you’re already in a hospital,” she answered. “Dr. Iplier, can you confirm this man’s story?”

“I haven’t seen his work for myself, but I do believe he is an actor.”

Good thing you all were in a hospital, because the investigator looked ready to kill a man before she took a breath and asked, “Was the incident at the studio caused by a failed transformation potion?”

“That is what I was told, yes,” Dr. Iplier said. Of course, he didn’t add who told him that version of events, or whether he believed it. “In such a case, the best course of action is to wait for the effects to run their course, but the patient was under good supervision during that time.”

“Zhe best,” Dr. Schneeplestein muttered under his breath.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dr. Iplier muttered back, before clearing his throat and saying, “As far as I know, Mr. Jackson’s testimony is entirely honest. And you could put me on the record as saying so.”

Jameson’s testimony, which was so carefully worded to avoid actually saying he was the one who transformed on the street yesterday. You were starting to suspect that device on his wrist wasn’t quite the infallible lie detector Harold seemed to believe it was, although even he looked disappointed when it failed to react at the doctor’s words.

“Tch.” Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out something before tossing it to Jameson with a, “Here, catch.”

Jameson easily caught the coin that flashed in the air between his hands, and opened them to reveal the large, silver coin resting in his palm. He looked from it to the investigator and back again before signing, “Do I get to keep this? Is it my pay for dealing with this nonsense?”

You tried hard not to think about what would have happened if Harold had tossed the coin to you, the burns on your hands worth far more than whatever that lie detector could supposedly tell them.

“I suppose that should settle that, at least,” the other investigator said, while Harold tried to convince Jameson to give him his coin back. Her eyes flickered toward the doctors again as she said, “Very convenient, that Mr. Jackson was still here for this little questioning. Why exactly are you still here, if the potion ran its course?”

The doctors hesitated, but you thought it was your turn to deflect the question by answering, “Dr. Iplier asked if we could come back in, because he wanted to follow up on a few things. Mainly, we’ve just been talking about curses.”

“Right, the curse that took Mr. Jackson’s voice,” she answered, and moved closer to the table. Her hand rested on the padded surface next to you as she leaned in, staring into your eyes with an intensity that was difficult to look away from. “You’re suffering from a curse as well, aren’t you?”

“I—” You swallowed, hard, and caught a brief glimpse of Dr. Schneeplestein on the other side of the room reaching up to tap on the side of his glasses. “Y-yes, I am. My eyes, they were affected by it—I couldn’t even see for a while there, and it’s mostly back but I…I, uh, can’t see most colors still and…”

You trailed off, relieved that the device hadn’t sounded off at that. Your eyes had been affected by the curse, or at least that bit of it that left you so weak to silver.

“Hm. That is interesting. His voice and your eyes…It wasn’t the same curse that caused both, was it?” She said it with a certainty that almost made you think she knew more than she was saying. By this point she was filling most of your vision, to the point that you couldn’t even look away to be sure what Jameson was signing next to you.

“No, I don’t think so. But it was the same…thing that cursed me that took Jameson’s voice.”

You had said it in the hopes it would explain why you were both here, but almost as soon as the words left your mouth you worried that she would ask more questions that you couldn’t answer, because even talking about the entity from the woods felt like it would be straying too close to the real truth. You felt like she had to know more, that she had to know none of you were telling the whole truth.

Part of the reason you were so sure was because there was something eerily familiar about this woman, from the way she commanded attention from the second she entered the room to the look in her eyes whenever she asked a question, like she was looking for more than just what you said next. If you didn’t already know Celine was still there somewhere inside Dark you might have thought…

“You’re not a seer, are you?” you asked, trying to sound like you were joking, and she smiled in a way that somehow made you feel even less certain about what you thought you knew.

“I prefer the title ‘assets manager,’ if I had to choose one,” she said, completely failing to answer your question or give you any other clue what, exactly, that was supposed to mean. The corner of her eyes tightened with a thought and she reached into a pouch on her belt.

You couldn’t help but flinch as she pulled something out and held it toward you, before you realized it was a small business card, very much like the one Bim gave you yesterday.

“Bronson Institute has a department dedicated to researching and treating those dealing with the effects of curses,” she said as you took the card, and presented Jameson with one of his own. “Something to consider, if the good doctors here aren’t able to provide the support you need.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you said, Jameson echoing your answer with a sign of his own. “We’ll think about it.”

The device on Harold’s wrist began to beep shrilly at that, causing him to mutter under his breath while he tried to reset it, but the so-called assets manager seemed to suppress a laugh before she responded, “Hang on to the cards, at least. You never know what might make you change your mind.”

You decided to play it safe and not answer this time, and she nodded to you and Jameson before turning to include the doctors as she added, “Thank you for your time, all of you. I think we can safely note for the record that Mr. Jackson here is hardly a werewolf.”

“As of today,” Harold corrected. “We retain any and all right to change our verdict, should future events change that.”

“Of course,” she answered in a flat monotone, showing great restraint not to roll her eyes. “Harold, you can handle the paperwork while I call this in.”

It wasn’t a question, and she walked out of the room without waiting for an answer, leaving Harold to dig around in his bag before presenting the doctor and Jameson with some papers to sign and keep for their records—papers that you insisted on reviewing before either one put down their name, although at least these turned out to be harmless confirmations that they had answered the investigators’ questions in the presence of a “deception detecting device.” That name was about the only thing you would have changed, if only because the thing seemed to have difficulty with anything that wasn’t an outright lie.

All the same, it was a relief when Google finally escorted Harold out of the room, the four of you all exhaling when Dr. Iplier made sure the door was closed and locked behind them this time.

“Vell, at least zhat seems to be behind us now,” Dr. Schneeplestein said, but even from across the room you could see his hands were shaking before he clasped them together. Neither of the investigators seemed to have given him a second thought, but even knowing he has fully registered, being this close to them had shaken him badly.

Badly enough that Dr. Iplier noticed and asked if he had taken his “quota” for the week yet, but Henrik just suggested under his breath that they could talk about it privately, later. At least from that, it sounded like he would tell the other doctor about what happened with Chase, so that was one weight off of your mind.

Only for another to press down again when Dr. Iplier reminded you of the conversation you had been having before the investigators interrupted.

“It’s entirely up to you, of course,” Dr. Iplier added, and you tried hard not to look down at the card in your hand.

Tried not to get your hopes up for anything even as you sighed and said, “I’m willing to try a few tests, if you think it will help. Henrik?”

“…As long as I can keep an eye on zhe process,” Schneeplestein answered, and despite his tone you thought he looked pleased with your answer. “Zhere is nothing to be lost by learning more about your condition, as long as ve keep zhe tests between us.”

Beside you, Jameson tucked his card into a chest pocket and gave you an encouraging thumb’s up, although his smile faded slightly when Dr. Iplier started talking about a few ways to examine his throat as well. It was starting to sound like you both had a long day ahead of you, but if either of the doctors could find something that might help…

After she left the room, the “assets manager” quickly found a quiet alcove in the hospital where she could see anyone coming from either direction at a distance and pulled out her phone. The number she put in wasn’t in her contacts, but one she had long since memorized.

When the other side picked up, she said without any kind of introduction, “The doctor stuck with his story, and they were able to pass the lie detector. Darrensworth is signing off that they’re in the clear now.”

“Really? That must have been an interesting conversation to listen in on. And the silver coin?”

“Doesn’t exactly tell you much if you hand it to the wrong person,” she answered, frowning at the chuckle on the other end of the line. “Say the word, and I’ll bring them in right now. I can think of three ways to walk them out the door without any backup, seven if you don’t mind a couple of casualties.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“What?” She paused long enough to bring her voice back under control before she said, “With all due respect, sir, we are dealing with a highly dangerous creature here.”

“The next full moon is still some time away,” he answered, and before she could point out that an unstable werewolf hardly needed a full moon to cause more than enough damage, he added, “I’m already making arrangements for someone else to collar them and bring them in, when the time’s right. Don’t you worry about a thing. I know this wolf and exactly what it’s capable of.”

She might have had something to say about his patronizing tone, if his words hadn’t summoned a vivid image in her mind that drowned out the voice on the other end telling her to come back, followed by the abrupt silence of the call ending. The phone slipped in the palm of her hand, but it and the hospital around her faded away into the vision.

An alley, and a shadow low and near the ground, nearly invisible in the darkness except for the silver eyes catching and reflecting the distant streetlights and the moonlight overhead, followed by a flash of white as jaws full of gleaming teeth revealed themselves.

A figure, silhouetted against the light of the street.

The beast, springing forward before she hissed, phone clattering against the ground as her fingers pressed against her temples, the vision fading into nothingness.

But not before she heard the gunshot, and the long, desperate cry.

By the time Harold, firmly escorted by Google, found her, she had recovered from her vision and come to the determination that, by the next full moon, you would be safely tucked away in the Institute. If his plan didn’t play out, then she would happily see to it herself. Whether it was by convincing you to come in search of treatment or by more forceful measure remained to be seen, but she would make sure that vision would be one of the many that never came to be.

For your own good, if nothing else.

((End of Part 26. Thank you for reading! No bonus points for guessing who that was on the phone...

And yeah, the “assets manager” is kind of a play on Celine’s character. Mostly because I got to this scene and realized I wanted that kind of character there, and partially because I’m running low on canon characters to shove into this AU. XD I haven’t decided on a name yet, but maybe Emma? Definitely open for suggestions there, and feel free to let me know what you think.

Link to Part 27: A Visit to the Institute.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #monster hunter au #werewolf au #wkm district attorney #wkm abe #henrik schneeplestein #jameson jackson #dr. iplier #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #traces of silver #so that vision huh

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prolestariwrites · 3 years

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The Wish [7]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 7, in which Vergil has a moment.

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Chapter 7: Vergil Powers Up

They are on the highway still when Vergil says, “Pull over.”

Dante glances to the left, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “No can do, brother. The exit is coming up and—”

“Pull over, I’m going to be sick.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Dante does as he says, pulling into the emergency lane and flipping on the hazard lights. Vergil stumbles out of the car and takes a few steps away, leaning over to press his hands to his knees. Dante can see him with the glow from the overhead light, and he tries not to look, wondering if he should go out there. But he figures Vergil would want some privacy, so he waits patiently until he returns to the car and sinks into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Take me home,” Vergil says.

“We need to find Dad,” Dante replies.

There’s surprisingly no argument, so after a moment Dante glances over. “I have an idea or two where to look. I just want to stop at my shop and pick up a couple of things. Okay?”

Vergil rubs his finger on his upper lip before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

Dante continues driving, grateful the traffic is light. They make it back to the city in no time, but as he heads through downtown Vergil says again, “No. Wait. What am I doing? Stop!”

“We can’t stop,” Dante mutters.

“Let me out of this car, Dante!” Vergil shouts.

The next traffic light turns yellow, and he slows to a stop at the intersection. “What’s the plan, Verge?” he argues. “Gonna just throw up all night and hope he comes back? Dad is out there doing god-knows-what, and I can’t do this by myself.”

Vergil groans and presses his palm to his face. “You stabbed him, Dante, you fucking stabbed him! Why the fuck would you do that? Why—how would you know he would—what the fuck—”

Dante winces as Vergil’s breathing goes heavy, and for a moment he’s scared Vergil is going to lose it. It’s a weird feeling. The last time he saw Vergil in the flesh, he was cold, almost disconnected in the Temen-ni-gru. Even here in this place he seems put together, cool-headed, and thinking back, Dante can’t ever remember a time when Vergil just lost his shit.

“What you need is a drink,” he says.

He turns down a street and pulls up in front of the first bar he finds. Dante climbs out of the car and walks around to the side, opening the passenger door. “Come on,” he says.

“No, no I can’t—I have to—Mary is—”

Dante reaches inside and pulls him out, and luckily Vergil doesn’t fight him. He is clutching the Yamato, but Dante decides against trying to pry it away, instead pushing him towards the tavern and through the entrance.

Inside it is thankfully empty, just a couple of drunks at the counter and a waitress rolling silverware at a table. They take a booth in the back, and under the light dangling over the table, Dante can see that Vergil is pale. He feels guilty, but there’s nothing to be done about that now, and when the waitress steps up a few seconds later he orders them both a shot of Jack Daniels and a beer.

“Okay,” Dante says once she is out of earshot. “I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

Vergil looks up to meet his eyes, his face a bit drawn. “Tell me,” he says through gritted teeth.

Suddenly Dante is nervous. They had left the house in a hurry, Dante pushing Vergil in front of him as Eva came hurrying down the steps to see after the commotion. He had told her they argued and that Sparda had taken off and they were going to get him, and then Dante had practically dragged Vergil to the car. If she noticed the weapons they carried she didn’t say anything, just watched them from the door as he had pulled away and tried to scrape together a plan as Vergil sat in shocked silence beside him for most of the ride.

“Okay,” Dante repeats. “So, Dad is a demon. I think you got that much.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Vergil hisses.

“He’s from… I don’t know, the Underworld. Hell.” Vergil scowls, making it clear he doesn’t believe him. “I’m not making this up. You saw the weapons. You saw him get up and heal.”

Vergil gazes at him suspiciously. “Demons aren’t real,” he says.

“Then explain what happened,” Dante challenges.

Vergil just shakes his head, so Dante continues, “He defeated the king of Hell a long time ago. About three thousand years, I think. Dad’s been on Earth since then, I don’t know, doing whatever.”

“Doing whatever?” Vergil deadpans.

Dante throws out his hands. “I don’t know! Dicking around I guess? Until he met Mom.”

Vergil’s jaw works for a moment before he bites out, “Keep going.”

“There are gates all over the world that connect our world to the demon one, and he sealed them up and makes sure they don’t open. Only…” His voice drifts off as he tries to think of a way to explain his own situation. “I don’t know, sometimes they don’t stay closed, and demons come out—”

Dante grimaces a bit when he sees Vergil’s expression. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I expect you to believe your own eyes,” he replies.

The waitress returns with their drinks, and she tilts her head at Vergil. “Keep that thing out of sight, will ya?” she says.

Vergil frowns before looking down, then starts as if he didn’t realize he was holding a sword. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I forgot.”

She snorts and walks away. Dante sets the a shot in front of them both, nudging him with his foot. “Here. Take this and I’ll keep talking.”

Shakily, Vergil nods, and together they drink the whiskey. Dante wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing as the liquid goes down nice and smooth before he nods to his brother. “That’s Yamato. It’s yours. Supposed to be, anyway.”

“Why?” he asks.

Dante shrugs. “I don’t know. Sparda gave me Rebellion and you Yamato. Where I’m from, we got them as kids. They were his weapons that he used to take care of the demons.” He picks up his beer and takes a sip before pointing at the sword. “Yamato can open and close the seals. It’s quite a power you have there.”

Vergil lays Yamato on the table, his hands trembling a bit. “I don’t want this power,” he says.

A snort escapes Dante before he can stop it. “What?” Vergil snaps.

“Just funny is all. The you I know only wants power.”

“You keep saying that.” Vergil eyes his suspiciously. “You said, ‘where I’m from’. What is that?”

Dante takes another sip. “Drink and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Vergil looks at him suspiciously, but he picks up the bottle and takes several swallows. Dante nods as he sets it down and says, “Okay. Don’t freak out, Verge. I’m a demon hunter. I’ve been on my own since I was seven, when demons attacked our house.”

“What?”

“We were kids. Dad was gone, I don’t know where. It was just us and Mom for a while. Then one day they attacked. They…” He swallows and rubs his palms on his jeans, looking away so he doesn’t have to watch Vergil’s expression.. “They killed Mom. She hid me in a closet and went to go find you, and I… never saw her again.”

Vergil takes a moment to consider this. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense.”

“I know, but it’s the truth.” He plants his elbow on the table and points at himself. “I don’t fix bikes, I run a business where I kill demons. I was on a job when I met this one and it told me it would grant a wish.”

“A wish?”

“Yeah, like some fucked-up genie,” Dante chuckles. “It sent me here, where all of you were alive. And it’s great, I love seeing you guys again! I love having you back.” He takes a deep breath. “But things have been weird. I don’t think this place is gonna last long. And if there are demons still around, then you need to know the truth. Everyone does. Because if they come back…”

Vergil’s voice is cold as he asks, “What happened to me in your world?”

Dante takes a deep breath. How much should he reveal? It probably wouldn’t help things to tell the whole truth, so he decides to give the basics. “You died. When the demons came to our house and killed Mom, they killed you too. I thought they did, anyway. Turns out you were actually alive. But we didn’t see each other until we were grown up. I lived on the streets, and I guess you did too, getting helped by people along the way. But the demons never stopped coming. See, they hated Sparda, and Mundus—that’s the guy he sealed—wanted out. Some shit went down, and you ended up… well, let’s just say you weren’t the bag of fun you are now.”

Vergil makes a face so Dante quickly continues, “You raised this tower in the middle of Red Grave City and killed all these people and unleashed a shit ton of demons on the world that I had to fight. You tried to open up the gates to hell but some other shit went down with Mary’s father.” Suddenly he brightens. “Mary’s a demon hunter too, you know. She kicked your ass. She’s kicked mine too. We closed the gate but then us two fought and you…”

Dante realizes he has done the opposite of give the basics, so he clears his throat. “Anyway, you fell off the tower into the closing portal and went to hell. The end.”

Vergil stares at him for a full minute, and Dante drains his beer, wondering what is happening. His brother is expressionless, and he swears he can almost hear him processing all that. “Uh, Verge?” he finally says. “You good?”

A slow smile breaks out over Vergil’s face and he begins to laugh. “Okay, you got me.” Dante frowns as Vergil shakes his head and chuckles. “I almost believed you. You’re pretty good at this.”

“I’m not lying.”

“And the blood? The sword? That was good.” Vergil laughs again and looks around. “Is Dad going to pop out now? He always liked a good trick but that was something else. Was Mom in on it too?”

“Vergil—”

“This has been fun, Dante, but I’m tired.” He stands up, still holding Yamato, and pulls his jacket closed. “I had a long day and I just want to go home. Are you driving or do I need to call a cab?”

Dante slides out of the booth. “Vergil, it’s true. It’s not a trick. I didn’t make it up.”

Vergil rolls his eyes. “Joke’s over. You can stop all this. It isn’t funny if you don’t give it up.”

“I’m not—It’s not a joke!” Dante grits his teeth as the humor slides from Vergil’s face. “Dad is a demon. We’re half demons. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I’m not dead, you idiot,” Vergil hisses.

“Vergil, just listen!” Dante reaches out and grabs his arm, which Vergil yanks away. “We gotta—”

“Don’t touch me. You’ve gone too far.” Vergil looks angry now, and Dante’s shoulders sag in defeat. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I have half a mind to call the police.”

“Vergil—”

“I said don’t touch me!” He gives Dante a shove as he reaches out again, and Dante stumbles back into the table. The glasses rattle as he rights himself, and the two brothers glare at one another. It’s familiar enough that it’s painful, as if a million other fights just like this in their history have been carefully set on a path to this moment.

“Settle down, boys.” The waitress steps between them, and she jerks her thumb at the bartender, who is scowling at them. “Take it outside.”

“No problem. I’m leaving,” Vergil says.

“No, you’re not.”

Vergil rolls his eyes. “Can I use your phone to call a cab?”

The girl nods and points to the bar. As Vergil heads in that direction, Dante steps towards him, but the waitress stops him, her hands firmly pushing him back. “I said settle down,” she warns. “Or Pete over there will settle it for you.”

“Pete can go to hell,” Dante snaps.

“Hell? Like where he is?” she asks. Dante jerks backwards as she tilts her head towards Vergil, who sits on a stool as the bartender hands him a phone. “Is that what you want, Dante? You want your brother to go back to hell?”

“Who the fuck are you?” he hisses.

The waitress sighs. “He’s happy. You’re happy. Isn’t that enough?”

Dante’s heartbeat pounds in his ears as he pushes the waitress aside. “Vergil! Get out of here!”

Vergil turns with a scowl, probably to curse him out, but then his expression turns to shock. Before Dante can turn to see what he is staring at, claws grab him and toss him into the air. He flies into the wall and a dartboard falls on his head as chunks of wood rain down on him, and Dante shakes his head to clear it.

The waitress hasn’t gone full demon yet, but her eyes are glowing and her fingers now have long spikes at the end. “Ready to choose, Dante?” she hisses.

He climbs to his feet and puts his hand out, summoning Rebellion. But the sword doesn’t materialize, and with a groan he pictures it in the backseat of the car. It probably still obeys his old man, he figures, so Dante picks up a chair and slams it into the ground. He grabs two of the legs and twirls one in his hand. “Lady, you don’t know who you’re messing with.”

A tiny part of him has a momentary fear as he wonders if he can do this. Rebellion didn’t answer his call, so what if his other demon hunting skills are also gone? But as the demon streaks towards him, he easily dodges a punch and delivers one of his own, sending the waitress into the ground. He feels guilty for a second about hitting a girl which he gets over when she lands a kick on his shin.

Dante lets go a string of curses as they fight, and as he knocks the demon away again he turns to Vergil and shouts, “Yamato! Now!”

Vergil shakes himself from where he sits, staring in shock, the phone receiver forgotten in his hand. “Vergil!” Dante cries, and his brother looks down at the sword he still carries. There is a moment’s hesitation before he tosses it to Dante, who catches it mid-air and pulls the blade from its sheath in one fluid movement. He spins, pulling the sword in an arc around his shoulder, and with one easy slash he slices through the waitress as she springs towards him again.

The bar goes quiet as the chaos stills. Dante laughs as he catches his breath, happily wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket before glancing over at Vergil. “Now do you believe me?” he says.

Vergil lets go a shaky breath. “Is she… like Dad?”

“Yeah. But this one isn’t coming back.” Dante slides Yamato back into its sheath. “Most demons are sons of bitches, like this one. Only a few are—”

His words are cut off as a thick arm goes around his throat, cutting off his airway. Vergil springs to his feet and shouts his name as Dante tries to buck the demon off. It must be the bartender, he realizes, gripping the forearm pressed to his neck and pulling with all his strength.

But the demon doesn’t budge, and Dante gasps out as his blood pumps furiously. “Vergil, run—” he tries to say, Yamato clanging loudly when he drops it to the floor.

“Dante!” Vergil looks almost panicked, starting forward. The demon growls menacingly and he pauses. “What do I do? What do I do?” “Just go—” The demon cuts him off again, and Dante’s vision swims.

“Stop!” Vergil shouts. “Let him go!”

Suddenly the air seems to move, swirling in a cyclone around them. Vergil looks furious, his chin dropping as he glares at them, and the demon’s grip loosens. Then every knife in the bar, from behind the counter and the waitress’ station and scattered on the floor from when the fight had toppled the table she had been folding silverware all lift into the air together, dozens and dozens pointed straight at them. “Oh shit,” Dante grunts, and he manages to drop to the floor a split second later as they shoot towards them.

The knives hit their target, and the demon bartender keels over with a groan as the blades slash through his body. Dante rolls out of the way, snatching up Yamato as he stands. With a final kick of his boot to make sure that the bartender is really dead, he carefully skirts the mess in the bar to walk over to Vergil.

His brother seems shell-shocked. “Thanks,” Dante says, handing him the sword.

Vergil nods as he takes it back. “Yeah.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and together they turn back to the bar and slide into stools next to each other as Dante leans over the counter to snag a bottle and two glasses.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc vergil #dmc dante #dante sparda #vergil sparda #fan fiction #the wish

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