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akvtsuki-ari · 4 years

Text

A Study In Body Language: iv. yours truly

Warnings: mentions of rehab, but for the most part none!

Length: 5.5k

Authors Note: This is the happiest chapter so far, and theres a few perspective jumps but they’re not too hard to follow. i love this fic, but the last chapter is next and shit is emotional. be ready and thank you all

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid comes to some scary conclusions about what that gnawing feeling is. The universe knows a lot of things the two of you don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Reccomend this song to listen to this while reading!

"Well, Spencer - remember you are always welcome back here but I think, for now, you have some folks waiting for you outside. Congratulations and many blessings,"

Spencer smiles at her, her name was Diane. She didn't remind him of his mother but she was nice all the same, curly hair and dark skin and kind eyes. No, she didn't make him think of his mom but she certainly made him think of you - and so Spencer smiles at her fondly and wishes her goodbye.

He'd technically been outside in the last 60 days, but only technically. This was the first time he'd actually been outside, just to be outside and not because his therapist recommended fresh air. He could feel the cool wind presses kisses to the nape of his neck, intertwine with his fingers as the sun brushed his skin. He could feel everything - and it was so much and so little at once but he was so grateful. He couldn't stop smiling, the second he went outside, he just couldn't stop smiling.

JJ hugs him first. She's warm, her arms are small and they hold onto him tight. She's crying and says hello and Spencer says hello back. Next is Penelope, who also cries and hugs him tighter. Emily, then Derek, then Rossi and lastly, Hotch - who gave him the proud fatherly smile that only he knows to give.

It was only missing you, and even though you told him you couldn't go to pick him up - he finds himself so disappointed. He's deflated but decides he can mope later.

"We're so proud of you, Spencer," JJs voice is shaky and a little hurt. Spencer smiles down at his shoes and nods.

"Thank you, all of you for supporting me," Spencer says honestly. Everyone gives him a soft look.

"It's nothing kid," Morgan says first. The whole team nods in agreement. Spencer can't stop smiling it seems.

"Let's get you home," Rossi's voice is smooth as he speaks, everyone walking towards the SUV. Spencer looks back onto the concrete building with an odd fondness. It's a surprisingly difficult goodbye, but it's the most important one he's had second to yours. So, he says bye - hoping to say an important hello to you soon.

_____

The headstone was something he would've liked. Every time you look at it, you can see that he'd like it even if he pretended not to at first. You chuckle for a few seconds, the flowers and the ridiculous cherry blossom tree that's been here for as long as you can remember, it's beautiful and unfitting. He's dead, and that's that and it should feel - well, it should feel more important shouldn't it? But it's all so indifferent. It's all so much nothing, and didn't mean as much as it should've but who's to say right?

You wish you were crying. But you weren't, you were just looking. Tears fall, slowly if at all while you just take it in. You were alone before but it's different this time. In the whole world, there's no one who can really claim you as blood. It doesn't hurt but it's strange to remember. When the cherry blossoms fall onto his grave you don't resent them. He was neglectful at worst so in a way, you don't resent him either. It was all over now, whatever happened between the both of you had simply ceased and it felt like it was time for the next chapter. It'd take a while before things settled again, but that's okay.

"You've been staring awful long," your boyfriend's voice is comforting. It was familiar and when you heard it, you felt calm. You turn around and give him a light kiss which he returns to you, and then the both of you just stand.

"Guess so," you managed to mumble our. His arms around your shoulder as he hugs you tight and the gesture is friendly. Most of your interactions were, intimacy only heightened enough to be dating, really.

"You ready to head to the airport," his voice is more a statement than anything.

"Yeah, Jay - I'm ready," you say softly. He squeezes your hand as he leads you away to the rental car.

_____

Spencer doesn't know if he recognizes the office much these days. It might be a little easier if you were there - and you would be soon. For now, it was a familiar and worn place. Full of tattered and unclosed edges, and long nights that seemed to settle inside him forever. Spencer wasn't unhappy there, he just didn't know what to make of things yet, worried that time would've changed his mind.

He sits at his desk, the team chattering away while Spencer patiently waits on your arrival. You spent 60 days taking care of your father and your neighborhood. You called him, and wrote him letters at times because you know he loved to write back. Somehow you managed to care for him so far away - and any breakthroughs he had was because you kept pushing him to move forward. Spencer just wanted to show you he was good, more than good — he wants to finally be able to say thank you. After all this time, he feels like he owes you that much.

When you walk out of the elevator door, Spencer is the first person to hear you. It's the weight of your walk that he'd become so attuned to, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor that he knew so well. He didn't have to pause to make sure because he just knew. No doubts in his mind, like he'd memorized your white noise so well it'd be ingrained in him forever.

After 60 days, you were the only thing more refreshing that being outside.

The team says something, but it's distant to Spencers ears as he gets up from his desk and walks up to you. It was that feeling again - that the two of you were the only two people on Earth. Spencer can't bring himself for formalities - so when he sees you, and he hugs you so tight you might break, you get it.

You hug him just as tight back. This is the strongest hug he's ever given you but it's not about the physicality. You could feel the happiness on his skin - something that was usually always in glimpses was now in full bloom. You hug Spencer so tight that he's all you can feel. It didn't matter what the universe had to say.

The whole team is stunned into silence - because the last they all remember the two of you couldn't stand each other. But, here you two were, holding the other so closely as if no one was there at all. You wanted to see them, and so did Spencer but this was different. It had to happen first - so the team just gave eachother side glances and watched the two of you.

When you pull back, you look up into Spencer's eyes and put a hand on the side of his face. The team steps back as they watch - they swear you two are gonna kiss but you don't. You just look into his eyes so deeply you can see into his mind and he lets you. Spencer doesn't let anyone do that, but he lets you.

"Hey, dickhead," You say first breaking the silence. Spencer lets out a wonderful laugh, truly jubilant.

"Hey there, lady," Spencer says cheeky. He called you that because he knew how much it annoyed you - when people called you a lady of any kind, went back to being discplined as a kid. You hit his chest, eyes squinted as he laughs. The team just watches in awe as the both of you look at each other so intently - all of them waiting for something more to happen but it doesn't. Neither of you seem to care to explain what went on, and it becomes more apparent as the seconds pass that it wasn't weird to either of you. Did you two think they wouldn't notice or was this legitimate ignorance, no one had decided yet.

"Move so I can go say hi to the team, stupid," you say sarcastically yet lightheartedly. Spencer laughs , continuing to block your vision.

"They can say hi from here," Spencer insists, letting you out of a hug as he moves his body to block your vision. You give him a shove which he fake whines at and you laugh again.

"Hey everyone," You say first. Suddenly your aware of everyones expression, all equally as perplexed. You look back at them just as confused as all of you stand still, just looking at the other party with an odd suspicion. Your facial expression is truly befuddled so the team figures that you two were actually just unaware of how strange all that was. No one says anything, instead all opting to shake it off as people start to give you hugs one by one.

"Oh I've missed you so much, beloved Y/N," Penelope is the first person to hug you, everyone silently appreciating the work she's doing. You smile, returning her affectionate gesture before going back down the line of people. Hotch hugs you last, giving you a knowing look. You just shrug your shoulders, softly smiling at him while shaking your head. He blinks in acknowledgement before things can go any further. You simply shake your head at him back and he gives you a gesure, like we'll talk about it later.

"I've missed you guys too," your voice is sincere as you speak to all of them but your eyes naturally find themself to Spencer. He gives you an encouraging smile that you return shyly and the whole team pretends not to catch wind of it.

"Hotch," Rossis voice cuts through the room for a moment. Hotch looks at Rossi with a questioning look.

"Do we have a case today?,"

Hotch shakes his head, brows furrowed as Rossi continues.

"Well the, if everyones free - I think it's long overdue we have some celebrations for both of you," Rossi annouces. The team lets out a string of celebratory noise but you're confused - unsure as to why they were celebrating you. You were off-grid for the last few months, so they couldn't have known about what you had been doing. A sixth sense went off in your head as you looked over to Penelope who was definitely avoiding eye contact now. You wanna roll your eyes but who could ever be really angry at Garcia of all people?

"Now wait - I know why we're celebrating this dickhead over here," you say looking to Spencer "but, why would we be celebrating me at this occasion?," You said suspiciously. The whole team looked at Garcia, who immediately folded under the weight of all that pressure. You gave her a look of faux annoyance as she spoke quickly.

"I know you said you were supposed to be off-the-grid, but I worry okay? And when I worry, you know what I do? Well, other than watch cute videos of bird doing tricks -"

"Birds can do tricks?," JJ asks laughing.

"Birds are extremely intelligent creatures - they display traits like good memory, extensive communication, the ability to plan ahead, among other things that we associate primarily with intelligence. They're also able to complete problems and task that are far beyond that of what we'd call animal instinct, so it's actually very easy to teach birds to do tricks," Spencer says anecdotally. Your eyes fill with affection as you hear him talk and he manages to give you a shy smile back. Emily looks incredulously at the rest of the team but they all shake their head, telling her to leave it.

"Yes, birds can do tricks. Now as I was saying - when I worry I go and do research so I started digging, not to intrude - just to make sure you were okay you know and I found that you'd been fundraising all that money for kids in your neighboorhood and I got so excited because that's so lovely, you know? You're so lovely and I love you," Garcia says rambling. You can't help but smile at her, looking down at your shoes embarassed.

"Did you find anything else?"

"No no, I don't intrude remember - just saw you in the local paper with your apron and read the article about how you handmade all those desserts and it was just really heartwarming you know, good for the soul," Penelope explains dramatically. You laugh a little bit, scratching the back of your neck while your cheeks flush.

"Wouldn't take you for a baker, mama," Derek says laughing. You stick your tongue out him and Spencer ignores how jealousy floods in his chest. Weird.

"I learned from this woman named Miss Bell, she was like - the neighborhood auntie. Welcomed everyone in and taught me to bake so I'd have something to do when I got bored, instead of you know - get in trouble,"

"You were a troublemaker as a kid?," Emily asks surprised. You can't help your roar of laughter, your stomach hurt from how hard you were giggling.

"I would give baby Morgan a run for his goddamn money, let's just say that," you say sarcastically.

"That bad?," Rossi questions. You just nod, a smile painted on your face.

"Absolutely that bad,"

"You're a baker, and after all this time I haven't recieve a single cake - frankly Y/N, I'm devestated," Rossi says dramatically. The whole team laughs as you shake your head.

"Give me a hall pass on being late tonight, and I can bring one in," you say, smiling. Rossi gives you a nod of approval.

"Now it's really a party,"

"Sure is. Spence, you wanna come over and come bake this cake with me?," You say, not really wanting to bake alone since your boyfriend was gonna be busy tonight. Spencer grins ear to ear.

"I'm definitely not gonna be very helpful, but yeah I'd love to," Spencer annouces. The team gives The Look™ to each other. Morgan rolls his eyes, speaking up first.

"I don't remember you and pretty boy being so cool last time we all saw eachother," Morgan annouces, pointing out to everyone else what was already obvious. You furrow your brows at him, Spencer doing the same. Were you two...? You two were definitely mirroring each other and didn't notice. Jesus.

"We kept running into each other after we took off for the first few weeks," It's not a lie, but it's not true either. Spencer gives you a mental high-five.

"Turns out we have a lot in common," Spencer adds, giving his tight-lipped smile (:]) to Morgan. Derek puts his hands up in defense

"Just curious," Morgan says, easing up. The both of you just look at each other briefly before looking away - neither of you has spoken about those two months since then and you certainly planned to keep it that way.

"We all deserve a break - and I'm happy to welcome both of you back. So go home, wind down, and get ready. I'll see you all at the party," Hotch annouces, basically telling everyone to fuck off and go home. You look at Spencer, making sure he's following you as you walk into the elevator and down into the parking lot.

___

"Whose this again?," Spencer asks, yelling over the speakers a bit as you mix in some sprinkles for the batter of your cake. You twirl around to the sound of Artic Monkeys playing in your kitchen. The oven makes a little beep sound to tell you it's pre-heated and you flash Spencer a grin as you mouth the lyrics

"Artic Monkeys!," You say, pouring your batter into greased up pans, as Spencer sits next to you on the kitchen counter. You groove to the music, singing the lyrics with a faux-british accent.

"And I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be ! And satisfaction feels like a distant memory ~" you laugh aloud as you sing the lyrics of the song. Spencer watches you carefully, seeing the way you sway your hips to the music - closing your eyes and getting visbly excited when a part you like comes on. The whole thing was so domestic, you alone in your kitchen with Spencer singing your favorite song. It was invitng, and cozy. It was different.

In the months you and Spencer could only talk through letters and phone calls - all your conversations started to be more meaningful in the way only subtext could make it. Intimacy can't be represented by touches, most days. There's more intimacy in moments like these - jokes whispered to each other at serious events and little lingering looks. You were both so oblivious, and maybe that's why it works. Those conversations shared over a secret so powerful - you'd be foolish to not know someone could fall in love off that.

No harm, no foul. If no one knows - not even you two, the universe could remain in tact. Otherwise, it was likely that both of you were soon to be unraveled. It wasn't for either of you to decide but - Spencer keeps having this nagging feeling.

He hasn't had it since you told him you had a boyfriend - he managed to deal with it just fine but it keeps coming to him. Sometimes at the end of phone calls, or when he'd finish writing letters. It was like anytime an ending crossed paths with him - he had this nagging feeling about making sure you would still be there. Maybe it was the addiction talking, the fear of being alone again but it just felt different. He couldn't be sure why.

"Alright - cake is in the oven. I gotta go get ready, can you take it out and cool it down when it's done? I'll frost it once I'm dressed," you say to Spencer, washing your hands under the sink. He just nods for you, giving you smile.

"You already know where everything is, and I have some of your stuff in my room from before so just grab anything you might need! Okay, gonna go shower," you say, shuffling into the bathroom before throwing your apron at him. Spencer chuckles before catching it - watching as you scurry away into the bathroom.

Spencer sits on your couch when you leave. He hears you sing in the shower and can't contain his giggle. He's reading, a book that his mom recommended to him forever ago that he never got around to. He'd probably finish in the time that you'd come out, he figures.

It's silent for a while. Spencer reads and you shower, and the apartment is filled with a pleasant sense of the evening. It's nice to be here, kind of like before but Spencer shakes the thought out of his mind before wiping his face.

His ears become alert to the sound of the key unlocking, and before he panics too much he reminds himself you gave your boyfriend a key to your place recently. Spencer sighs as he sees him walk in the door and gives him a small wave. Jay smiles at him brightly, going up to Spencer with a welcoming look.

"Spencer, right? Good to meet you, man! I've heard so much about you, it doesn't feel like the first time, heh," your boyfriend repeats to him. Spencer laugh, shaking his hand.

"I hope all good things," Spencer says quietly, chuckling. Your boyfriend gives him a pat on the back before going to the kitchen. He peers at the cake on the counter and smiles at it, before looking up at Spencer again. He has a knowing smile written on his face, opening his mouth to talk to Spencer.

"Spencer, you're a good man, you know that right?,"

Spencer looks up at him confused, eyes furrowed and nods slowly. He grabs his stuff out of the drawer of Y/N's apartment, just some tools he let her borrow a while back. He looks to Spencer and holds eye-contact before laughing. He's suprised that Spencer is just as oblivious as you, but he can't say it doesn't feel like destiny. He shoots Spencer a soft grin, shaking his head in the process.

"Remember to take care of Y/N, always - and remember you can always come to me if you need anything," his words are ominious and Spencer just shoots him a confused look before nodding. He beams at Spencer, tucking his tools away in his bag before giving Spencer.

"Tell Y/N I say hello! I'm gonna head back out," he calls out to Spencer. Spencer shouts back a goodbye as he hears the door shut close.

Like clockwork it feels like, you pop out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready to go. Spencer feels his heartbeat in his eardrums as his eyes fall onto your sihloutte, body adorned in a dress that managed to hug your body in all the prettiest ways. It was lavender, your make-up pretty golds and neautral browns - lashes long and fluttering against your eyes as you blink them getting re-adjusted to the feeling. You give Spencer a twirl, before smiling at him with a toothy grin.

"We match!," you're so genuinely excited as you see Spencer look down at his own attire. Your dress matches the lavender shirt that he liked so much. Spencer can't help the way his eyes flooded with endearment at your excitment.

"That dress is too pretty to frost a cake in, Y/N," Spencer says softly. He hears the sound of your feet pad on the floor, you haven't put your heels on yet. You walk over to the cake and grab a spatula and the frosting you had Spencer make earlier on.

"No dress is too pretty for cake, Spencer. How the hell do you think people get married?," You argue back, confidently. Spencer giggles at your comment but can't disagree. He walks up to you as you frost the cake. It's the firs time he's noticed how much taller he is then you. You seem so tiny now, he isn't sure what to make of it. He leans over your shoulder as you frost and stack the cakes up.

"Need any help?," Spencer inquires, throat closing up as he realizes the words that almost come out of his mouth. He nearly called you love - and it came out so easily he's startled. You shake your head no as Spencer finds himself dazed.

"With this? No. But you have to help me put my heels on because I can't get the clasp on them on right ever," you say softly. Spencer nods, looking for your shoes which he finds next to the futon he sat on earlier.

You finish frosting the cake before sitting down on the futon next to Spencer. He smiles at you, as he takes your shoes out of their box. You make eye-contact as Spencer holds your leg, easing your feet into the uncomfortable looking heels. You watch his as he works with the clasp of them, pulling the strap through and readjusting them so that their tight. The moment is too close for comfort but you'd be damned before you thought of moving. Spencers eyes find yours for a second as the two of you smile at eachother for a while. Spencer places a hand on your calf, and you place one of his face and it feels like those two blissful months. Still difficult, and heartwrenching but for different reasons that you couldn't be sure of yet.

"Ready to go?," Spencer asks, cutting the tension. You nod halfheartedly.

"Do I look okay?,"

Spencer pauses. He takes a deep breath before his eyes settle on your face, your shoulders, your hair. He takes you for a few seconds, before he replies.

"Perfect. You look perfect,"

Rossi really knew how to threw a party. It was mostly the team and their spouses collectively, but what it was lacking in size it up for in fancy decor and lighting. You can't imagine how long it took for him to set-up, feeling overwhelmed with just how nice everything looked.

You and Spencer sorta forgot that you two were the ones being celebrated, so when everyone popped over with gifts of all kinds and alcohol - it was a little overwhelming. Nonetheless, you felt grateful. You hadn't realized how much you missed being around the team until it hit you like this.

Most of the night was spent catching up - drinking and talking until the early hours of the next day. You told everyone about how life was back home, what it was like to volunteer with all the kids and catch up on old folks. Everyone was surprised you ended up a fed, you were such a shithead kid they wouldn't have figured it otherwise. You told them about how they cleaned up the river you used to live next to, and about how the old shopping center closed down finally. You talked with them, drinking wine and laughing until the sun threatened to come up. You'd missed everyone so much, the sound of their laughter so soothing to your aching ears.

Spencer told them stories too, about all the things he saw in rehab. He told them about the scheduling and all the paintings he did, about the different people he met who were all their own brand of strange. He told a ghost story that scared the shit out of you even though you'd heard it before. Everyone was together - joking with each other like tomorrow was unimportant.

All night was ephemeral. Sometimes certain thing exist to be just that - gone and back in a matter of seconds. Sometimes things that are so volatile in nature are the most lovely - and this night was the clearest example. It was all ending, the spark had gone out and everyone was about ready to call it quits.

"One last slow song, as requested by our lovely tech analyst," Rossi announces. Garcia lets our a drunken giggle as she whisks Morgan onto the dance floor.

You had been whisked away by Hotch and Spencer by Emily. You figure now was the time that Hotch was referring to as later. He leans into your ear and whispers.

"What happened?,"

The question is relative. It means a lot of things, like how are you and what happened when you disappeared for so many months, how will I explain all that to the people above me. Hotch knows, he always does, so when he asks you that - you know have to be totally honest.

"I can't disclose the first two months yet but you can write that I was taking care of my sick dad - he passed away when I was home," you explain softly. Hotch pulls away to look at you and you give him a sincere smile.

"I'm okay. I don't feel much, really. About him at least," You say, your word choice sticking out to Hotch as the two of you swayed to music. Hotch nods at your honesty.

"I'm glad you're okay, welcome back,"

"Thanks, Hotch. I didn't take you for a dancer," you say laughing quietly. Aaron shoots you a small smile.

"Hope you don't mind if I steal your dance partner real quick," comes Spencers voice. Hotch shakes his head, passing your hand off to Spencer whose quick to shoo Hotch away. He gives you a knowing look before he goes to talk to Rossi about what you could only assume to be a case.

"Hey, you," you say softly. Spencer hands find the lower part of your back, as he shuffles his feet. He holds you close as he sways to the music and you find your face instinctively in his chest. This was just comfortable, of course. Nothing more or less.

"I missed them," you speak first. Spencer holds you a little tighter before looking at you, as you looked up at him.

"Did you miss me?," he asks, tongue-in-cheek. You roll your eyes, laying back down as the two of you continue to sway.

"I alway miss you, dickhead,"

"Always?," Spencer asks you. He chews on the inside of his lips - the question was heavy though it stems form something else. That was always the case for you two it seemed. You hold your head up to see Spencer, look him in his eyes. You always looked into him, you felt the way his hands grip on your waist as if you were going to fall away and you just smile.

"Always, Spencer."

He gives you a small smile in return.

"Well that's good. I always miss you too and uh - didn't want it to be weird, you know," He says a little sarcastically. You try to control your laughter but it comes to you in fitst, breaking the lovely moment in the best way. Your heads thrown back as Spencer gives you a few laughs himself, he watches the way your hair falls behind you. He's seen you laugh before, and maybe it's the sangria talking but this was different. You were laughing till your stomach hurt, wiping tears from underneath your eyes to prevent your makeup from smudging too much. The sound of your voice in his ears was sweet, so sweet it could rot all his teeth. The way your whole body relaxes him as you continue to let out soft giggles of appreciation, over a joke so simple. Spencer is smiling but he gets this feeling again. A gnawing one like he's gonna be sick.

And suddenly, so suddenly - Spencer gets it.

It's hard to describe the feeling that you're in love with someone. Every writer, story-teller, musician, poet - everyone has tried so hard to describe the feeling of falling in love. The act of falling in love is so convoluted, it nears fucking impossible. Spencer doesn't know if he can explain what it feels to know that you've fallen in love with someone who once to you was so impossible but he feels it. He feels it so much in every part of him he feels like he's gonna pass out.

For Spencer Reid, falling in love with you was like waking up. Just like waking up, because when Spencer Reid thought of you he thought of everything that might make tomorrow. For 60 days, he thought of you just waiting for the last tomorrow to see it. When we wake up, we are making a promise to live another - just to see what happens. When we wake up, we are promising the universe that we are going to try and give it another chance. When we wake up, we go to sleep trying to fall in love with the universe all over again. Dreams are a prophecy, but waking up was a promise. Spencer Reid realizing he's fallen in love with you was a promise to the universe that he would keep waking up - and when he was awake, he would go to sleep with intent to do it all over again. You weren't his oxygen, but you were all 5 of his senses. You were the thing that made him experience life because he wanted too. Spencer Reid spent so many fucking hours thinking about what it would be like if he just didn't wake up. He wondered what it would be like to dream of endless darkness for so long.

Spencer used to dream of endless darkness. He prayed for the abyss to swallow him in his sleep.

But then you came, and reminded Spencer to wake up. And suddenly, the darkness was gone and he was holding onto thoughts of you.

Spencer woke up, and pulled himself out of the darkness for you.

"Y/N," Spencer voice can only manage a whisper as he wakes your sleepy figure. You flutter your eyes up at him and Spencer looks at you with love. Love is written clearly on his expression but he doesn't know if you can see it. You smile at him and Spencer loves you. Spencer loves you so fucking much and he has no clue what to say, or how to say it yet and even though he doesn't know if it's necessary he feels it so much. He needs to tell you, just not yet.

"Yes?," your voice is small. Spencer pushes hair out of your face, your sleepy and buzzed face smiling at him. Spencer's heart aches. Spencer Reid heart aches for you, and only you.

"Wake up, it's time to go home,"

"Okay," you say sleepily. You tangle your hand in Spencer's hands and the whole universe falls beneath his feet.

What the fuck was he gonna do?

___

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neuro-whump · 4 years

Text

Lost in Transit, Part 5

This is my entry to the Box Boy Extended Universe which was originally created by sweetwhumpandhellacomf and written by shameless-whumper and I’m using a lot of world-building which was done by @ashintheairlikesnow. Still somewhat vague on hospital procedure here and also despite my research, I may be misrepresenting acquired dyscalculia here, pubmed is not helping me out and neither is google scholar.

CN: Dehumanization, human trafficking, amnesia, mistaken identity, box boy universe, IVs, panic attack, hospitals

798591 was woken with a start the next morning by a dream he didn’t remember and didn’t know where he was.

He was lying in a bed, in a small white room with an IV in his arm, and his heart was fluttering with nerves and he felt sore and battered and didn’t know why. There was something about the room. Something he’d remembered — but he didn’t remember it now.

He was in his new home, with his new owner. He remembered that and it made his heart slow down. But a few more memories trickled back and made his heart speed up again, he’d got lost and he’d been sick and he thought he remembered being in trouble, already. But he was definitely in the right place now, his owner - the person who wanted him - had been there, he remembered her face and that made him feel better. He would just wait here, and she’d be back, it still seemed like it was early in the morning.

The first person who came in wasn’t Dr. de Courcy though, it was a rumpled man with ruffled hair. 798591 stared at him for a moment before he remembered that he’d seen him last night. He couldn’t remember his name though.

The rumpled man came and peered at him, “how are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” said 798591.

“Do you still have a headache?” asked the rumpled man.

798591 nodded.

“Can you tell me how bad the pain is, out of ten?” asked the rumpled man.

798591 thought about it, his head didn’t feel very bad, but he couldn’t figure out how to turn it into a number, and trying made the pain spike up behind his eyes. And not answering the question was making a sinking, anxious feeling low in his belly.

“Hey now,” said the rumpled man, “its okay, don’t answer if its too hard. Just relax now. Take some deep breaths.”

798591 took a few big gulps of air and the rumpled man nodded encouragingly.

“That’s good,” he said, “let’s try again. Can you tell me if your headache is better or worse than last night?”

“Its better?” whispered 798591, “I think?”

“Well that’s good,” said rumpled man, “and do you have any other pain at all?”

He did, but he wasn’t supposed to complain and the questions were making the fluttery, anxious feelings worse, so he shook his head.

“That’s good,” said rumpled man, and smiled at him, so it was probably good he hadn’t said anything, “are you still feeling nauseous at all?”

798591 shook his head, he didn’t even have to keep that to himself, his stomach wasn’t turning over in unhappy ways any more.

“Good,” said the rumpled man, “good. Can you sit up for me?”

798591 sat up and the rumpled man came over and pressed his stethoscope against his chest, and then his back, and then his belly. He had 798591 hold his hands out with his eyes shut so he could press down on them the way Dr. de Courcy had the day before, and then shone a light in his eyes. He still didn’t understand why. But when he was done, he stepped back and nodded to himself.

“Okay,” said the rumpled man, “do you know your name?”

“798591,” he said, which earned him a frown. But he knew he remembered it. He knew that number.

“And what’s the date?” asked the rumpled man.

“I don’t know,” said 798591.

“Do you know what month it is,” asked the rumpled man, “or the season?”

798591 shook his head.

“Do you know how long you’ve been in the hospital?”

“Since yesterday,” said 798591.

“Yeah,” said the rumbled man “that was a good effort. You’re doing fine. Someone will bring you breakfast in a couple of hours.”

He turned around as if to go.

798591 summoned up his courage and asked, “is Dr. de Courcy coming back?”

“Huh?” asked the rumpled man, “yeah at some point today, rounds are usually early, but everything’s still off this morning, from the accident.”

He hurried out before 798591 could work up the nerve to ask anything else. He huddled down into his blankets and tried not to be afraid. He didn’t know what was making him feel so scared, but he wanted it to stop. He wanted Dr. de Courcy to come back and take him somewhere else. He’s not supposed to want things, it sent a twinge of pain shooting through his head.

The next person to come in was a small woman with lots and lots of curly brown hair carrying food on a tray and more pills for him to take. She looked comfortingly familiar but it took him a while to come up with her name. Like his brain was going very slowly.

“Remember me?” she asked with a nice little smile.

“Kenna?” He asked, he still wasn’t totally sure.

“That’s right,” she beamed, “you remembered. That’s really good. I brought you some breakfast, sorry its late, there was a thing with the dietetics orders. And I’m supposed to stay with you and make sure you’re swallowing okay, alright?” She came over and put the food in front of him and asked, “can I sit here? I promise I won’t come and loom over you every time you eat.”

It took him a moment to figure out that Kenna was actually asking his permission, like he got a say in where people sat. He nodded and she perched on the edge of his bed.

“Do you feel like you can eat anything?” Kenna asked him, “or are you still feeling too sick?”

He wasn’t feeling sick, having food in front of him made him suddenly realize that he didn’t know when he’d last had any food and he was awfully hungry. He shook his head hard.

“Well that’s a good sign,” said Kenna. She gave him another nice little smile. “But I want you to eat this very slowly so we can make sure you’re not having any trouble with it okay? We normally have a speech path to do this, but everything is still sort of mad and we didn’t want to make you wait that long to have some food,” she added.

798591 didn’t really know what that meant, he was just happy to be fed, and to have Kenna there. He did as he was told and took small, slow mouthfuls Kenna encouraged him a bit while he ate, and patted his legs a few times through the blankets and it made it easier to eat slower, so she would stay and he wouldn’t be left alone again. He could only drag it out for so long before he didn’t have any food left.

“You did really well,” said Kenna, getting up and patting his shoulder, “I’ll be back at some point to take you to imaging, but I’ve got to run.”

And then she left, and 798591 was left alone for hours and hours.

A stranger came in at one point and brought him more food but they didn’t stay or talk to him and even after another meal he was still lingeringly hungry. It felt familiar, and that made him feel anxious and he just wanted it all to stop. Everything felt wrong and he didn’t know why.

He lost track of the time a little, but it was sometime after that that a group of people in white coats, including the rumpled man again filed into the room followed, at last, by Dr. de Courcy. 798591 immediately straightened up and tried to look alert and tidy. Dr. de Courcy’s eyes brushed over him briefly before she turned to face the rumpled man.

“Dr. McCormick?” she said, and then stared expectantly at him.

The rumpled man, who must be Dr. McCormick and who looked more rumpled than ever, picked up the pad of paper that hung off the edge of his bed and looked from it, to Dr. de Courcy.

“An unidentified and unclaimed male patient, admitted yesterday afternoon and believed to have been involved in the shipwreck. He was assessed by you and by Joey Mallory and presented with disorientation and - pure retrograde amnesia - and moderate dehydration and nausea, believed to be secondary to - ingesting salt water, treated with oral H2 inhibitors. The patient experienced more nausea and headache overnight and I administered oral acetominophen. As of this morning he reported reduced headache and no further nausea. And the RN noted no dysphagia or nausea with breakfast this morning. Initial labs taken during admission showed minor electrolyte imbalances but no other abnormalities, and follow-up labs taken during the early morning are entirely normal.”

He ended his long report by gasping in a big breath, like he’d just run.

“Where are we in the imaging queue?” Dr. de Courcy asked. 798591 still didn’t really understand what that meant.

“They’re hoping to get him in this evening,” said a woman who was standing behind Dr. McCormick.

“Are the labs in epic?”

“Yes,” said Dr. McCormick.

“I want them redone every day until I say otherwise,” said Dr. de Courcy, “maintain the H2 inhibitors for 48 hours to be on the safe side. What’s the obvious next step diagnostically?”

“We need brain imaging,” said one of the women.

“Does everyone agree with Dr. Yeo that imaging is going complete our clinical picture?”

The woman who was standing behind Dr. McCormick spoke up again, “we need to do a neurological exam.”

“Thank you Dr. Halabi,” said Dr. de Courcy, “yes, don’t ever neglect diagnostic exams just because you have, or expect to have imaging. And frankly, becoming over dependent on high tech imaging is a bad idea. You never know when you might suddenly not have it, as we’re currently experiencing. However, because this patient is showing some atypical symptoms I’m going to be doing his work up today and full neurological exam tomorrow, so you will all have to practice on our next patients.”

Dr. Yeo put her hand in the air.

“Yes,” said Dr. de Courcy.

“Shouldn’t we also do a psychological exam? I thought pure retrograde amnesia was usually psychiatric?”

“Yes,” said Dr. de Courcy, “that is correct, your reward will be contacting the psychiatry department and scheduling the exam. Do not conflict with my exam we can’t do both at once.”

“Yes Dr. de Courcy,” said Dr. Yeo.

Some of the other people scrambled for notebooks and scribbled notes.

“And what else?” Dr. de Courcy said.

The scribblers stopped scribbling.

“We have a completely unidentified patient,” said Dr. de Courcy, “we need the police. The world outside the hospital does continue to exist during your shifts. I realize you’re tired, but please attempt to retain object permanence.”

They scribbled some more.

798591 looked between the cluster of people as they talked and tried to figure out what was going on and why Dr. de Courcy wouldn’t look at him or speak to him. He didn’t feel sick anymore, and he didn’t know why Dr. McCormick had said he was unclaimed. He had been delivered. Someone wanted him, someone had to want him, or he would be sent back and refurbished and -

“Well,” Dr. de Courcy said suddenly, and everyone else looked as confused as he felt, “begin the neurological exams on our next set of patients.” she barked, “and go find me Kenna.”

“But -“ Dr. McCormick started.

“Now,” she snapped, and he ran away.

They were alone in the room but 798591 suddenly didn’t feel good about it.

Dr. de Courcy moved a bit closer and leaned over him.

“Take deep breaths,” she said to him.

798591 obediently sucked air deep into his lungs.

“Slowly now,” she said, “good. Try and stay calm, we’re nearly done. We’ll leave you alone soon.”

No, no, she couldn’t leave, he didn’t know what he was going to do, he didn’t want to be alone again.

“Please,” he whispered, “please, I’m better, I’ll be good, please don’t send me away,” he tried desperately not to cry again.

Dr. de Courcy frowned down at him, “what are you talking about? And stop biting your lip you’ll make it bleed.”

798591 opened his mouth like he’d been told, but then he couldn’t stop tears dripping out of his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to cry. She really wasn’t going to keep him if he couldn’t stop crying.

“Oh no, Fawn, what happened?” Kenna said, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he didn’t know when she’d come in, “you were doing so good earlier. Are you hurting?”

“Fawn?” said Dr. de Courcy.

If Kenna said anything in response he didn’t hear her, but he felt a little better while she was stroking his shoulders, and he managed to blink away the rest of the tears.

“That’s better,” said Dr. de Courcy, “now, what are you crying about?”

798591 risked a glance up at her. She was frowning down at him with her arms crossed.

“Did you sleep much last night?” she asked.

“S-some,” he said, timidly, “I can do better - I’ll be better.”

“I may write you a prescription for a sleeping pill, just for the night,” she said, “there’s no point in spending an hour on a neurological exam that will just tell me you’re exhausted. Would that be easier?”

“Whatever you like ma’am,” said 798591.

“Kenna,” said Dr. de Courcy, “I’m hours behind as it is, when you’re finished here, I need you to go contact the hospital legal department, about contacting the police and about what we discussed yesterday. Hand off your other patients if you need to and blame me for it, I want this handled.”

798591 felt his breathing pick up again and he couldn’t stop it, even though he did try.

“Oh is that what got you all wound up,” said Dr. de Courcy, “you’re not about to be arrested, we always call the police when someone gets lost.”

“You’re okay,” said Kenna, “you’re safe here. You’re safe.”

798591 gasped in a very shaky breath, and then his stomach gurgled loudly, and he couldn’t stop it. He also couldn’t stop himself from blushing.

“Are we starving you?” said Dr. de Courcy.

“No,” said 798591, “no I’m alright.”

“Feed him before you talk to legal,” Dr. de Courcy said to Kenna.

“Will the kitchen -“ Kenna started.

Dr. de Courcy took a wallet out of one of her pockets and handed Kenna a folded bill, “the cafeteria will be faster. Hopefully he’ll be less panicky when he’s comfortable.”

She swept out of the room.

Kenna stood up and looked at him, which meant she wasn’t holding him any more, “what would you like?” she asked him.

“I don’t need anything,” 798591 whispered, “its okay.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Kenna, “ you need to eat if you’re hungry. And you’ve had a time of it, I’ll get you a treat, kay? I’ll be right back.”

And she dashed off, and he was alone again.

@haro-whumps @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-it

#lost in transit #box boy extended universe #bbu #poor kiddo #i swear i will give him a name soon #hospitals

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ladyideal · 4 years

Text

Unlucky Star

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Cont: 2064 (oops?)

Warnings: Nudity but not in a smutty way, needles, injections, and lots of fluff, couple ol’ cursing

Summary: While everyone was sick, you weren’t. This time, while everyone was sick free, you caught the cold. Jim tries to intervene on behalf of your health. Leonard takes it upon himself to pull you away from work, and takes care of you.

A/n: This is for @cuddlememerrick and everyone feeling sick during this cold and flu season. Take care of yourselves, everyone. Go see a doctor if it worsens. Better safe than sorry. To those are sick, get well soon!

PS: It’s also Valentine’s weekend, so I’ll be taking up drabble requests over the weekend (as I’ve no plans) and finishing up a couple more fics. Expect a couple more posts from me.

(credit to owner for gif)

You were lucky for the most part. Away missions that you went didn’t end in a disaster, you had a job aboard the infamous USS Enterprise, you had friends, and most importantly, you had a wonderful love life. Nothing much you could complain about really.

Above all, you were one of the lucky stars amongst the crew that hardly ever got sick. So while the entire ship had tears watering in their eyes, noses that flowed never ending with snot, and coughs that could be heard from one side of the ship to the other.

A harmless rhinovirus really, but in just a matter of weeks, the entire crew was infected, sending Leonard into overdrive down at the medbay. Even the Captain was confined to his quarters, in fear of transmitting the cold. However, it was no use. Chekov took the day off, and you were one of the very few dwindling officers left, that could keep their eyes open long enough to see what was in front of them.

You volunteered to take his shifts, seeing how the ship was in quite a disarray at the amount of people sniffling and sneezing around you. If the Romulans knew that just a single bacteria managed to cripple the entire crew, hell it’d spell really bad news for everyone.

It was only a week later did you really start to notice that something was feeling rather off.

At first, you’d chalk it up to stress and pulling extra shifts. Less sleep, less food and water, and more hours awake deciphering Chekov’s notes was to blame, you’d thought. However, what really brought your attention, was your soaring uncomfortable fever and wracking cough that shook your body every time you had a coughing fit.

You were doomed for sure.

Pressing a tissue to your nose as you attempted to steep coffee grounds, you glanced at the chrom.

“So much for a break,” You mumbled, grabbing the mug of coffee on your out the door and towards the Bridge.

“Afternoon, Captain,” You greeted Jim as you strode past him, giving Chekov a thumbs up on his way out.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant,” Jim paused, noticing your usual lack of excitement. “Are you alright? It doesn’t sound-.”

“I’m fine, Jimbo,” You took the seat that the Russian whiz kid vacated earlier. “Little tired.” Settling yourself in a better position, you could still feel Jim’s worried eyes on your back.

“If you say so,” Jim reluctantly dropped the topic, although from his tone, he was still worried for you.

Squinting your eyes to better understand what the hell Chekov left for you on his notes, you started your long, arduous work day on the Bridge. On a normal day, you’d banter back and forth with the Captain to fill the silence as you both worked. Given that you were Leonard’s girlfriend, you were best friends with him too, and enjoyed a couple similar things. For example, hating medbay, disliking authority, getting under the doctor’s skin whenever possible, and taking risks.

Hours ticked by, as you squirmed around in your seat for the umpteenth time. Sweat gathered on your brow, and behind your neck as you focused on your task at hand. With Chekov’s sloppy handwriting, it was a nightmare to sort through his notes each day, something that you’d lectured him whenever you got the chance to do so.

It was getting ridiculously warm. Fuck. Did Jim mess with the temperature again?

“Lieutenant!” Jim sharply spoke, interrupting your thoughts. He sounded much more worried now, as if he had been trying to gain your attention for quite some time now.

“Yes, Captain?” You spoke, looking back at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you wiggling around in your seat like that,” He spoke, observing your hunched up position. “I think you’re sick. I’ll have Bones come up and have a quick look at you.”

“Captain, I assure you that I’m fine. Leonard’s finally able to relax after that disaster month of a cold,” You protested, but quickly faltered as he commed your boyfriend up from the medbay.

“Y/N, you need rest and time off to take care of yourself. We can’t have another fiasco like last month again,” Jim continued. “I’ll have someone take the rest of your shift.”

You grumbled wordlessly, appreciating the warmth and concern from your friendship with him, but irritated as he was one that never took his own advice. “You’re an ass.”

“What’s this about being an ass?” A familiar baritone voice drew out from the doors.

Leonard.

“Bones, there you are,” Jim brightened up, throwing his best friend his usual shit eating grin. “We were just talking about how Y/N over there looked a little pale, and agreed that it’d be better if you took a glance.”

You silently fumed at Jim’s words, glaring down at the numbers in front of you. Trust Jim to roll you into this mess.

“You telling me, Jim, that there was no emergency?” Leonard grumbled loudly.

“Yeah Jimbo, there’s nothing wrong,” You added your words into the growing fire.

“You wound me,” Jim feigned horror, clutching his hands together in front of his heart.

“You’ll live.”

Rolling his eyes at his best friend, Leonard strode to your station with his emergency medkit in hand, and squatted down till he was eye level with you.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” He softly ordered. While you stubbornly sat there, he gently placed his fingers around your chin, quietly encouraging you to do so.

He regarded your red eyes, stuffy nose, and very dry, chapped lips. “You’re sick, sugar.”

“‘M not sick, Len.‘m fine,” You hoarsely managed out. “Just a couple more minutes.”

He raised his signature eyebrow look, already exasperated that you were trying to fight him on this already. “Even the strong eventually falls ill.”

Hearing the evidence of your sickness, Leonard brought the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling the uncomfortable warmth radiating behind your skin. “And a fever too.”

He sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you outta here first.”

“Len, honey, I’m-,” You tried again, but stopped as he threw a pointed look at you. “Okay, alright, alright, you win. I’ll go”

“Take care of her, Bones,” Jim added cheekily before you and Leonard headed towards the turbolift.

You threw him a glare before the doors closed.

“Unbelievable, darlin’. Why didn’t you comm me that you were sick?” The doctor pulled out his handy dandy tricorder, giving you a whirl as it no doubt scanned you.

“You were tired, I was tired,” You shrugged.

“My god, darlin’. How long have you let this continue?” He scowled down at his tricorder, taking in the numbers displayed.

“A day or three,” You squeaked out. Now that you weren’t forced to compensate for your work, your sickness rapidly took over again.

“A day or - Jesus, that is ridiculously bullheaded of you,” He put away his tricorder, gently tucking away an errant hair. “In your state, you would benefit from an IV saline overnight, but I assume that’s a no go.”

You pulled out your best puppy dog eyes at him.

“Alright sweetheart, I can make sure you’re comfortable down in our quarters too,” He relented. “You know I would do anything with those eyes.”

“What are you gonna do, hypo me into next week so I don’t have to suffer?” You lifted your eyes hopefully at him.

“Even better,” He breathed, crowding into your space. “I’ll draw you a bath, even drop in your favorite bath bomb, make some food for you, and then wrap you up so we can snuggle up together on the couch with ice cream to soothe your throat while we watch some holos.”

You leaned on him, already closing your eyes to imagine it all. “Mmm,” you hummed. “I like that.”

Before long, while you were stripping your clothes off into a mess on the floor of your shared quarters, Leonard turned the taps on to fill the tub.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly as you examined yourself in the mirror. “God damn,” you muttered.

“Don’t think much of it,” Your boyfriend spoke, turning around to watch you. “You’re sick. Water’s ready.”

You stuck a finger in to test the water, but recoiled instantly at the touch of the icy cold water, and reproachfully glanced back at him.

“You don’t want the saline, this is the next best way to lower that fever,” was all the explanation you received.

With an unhappy scowl, you slowly lowered yourself in while Leonard came back with a chair and a washcloth.

As you laid back back, you let your eyes flutter close, dropping your tense shoulders.

“That’s it,” The doctor encouraged, gently dabbing away at your forehead with the cold washcloth. “Computer, bathroom light to 30%”

You groaned in earnest, satisfied with the amount of attention you were receiving and the dim lighting you were in.

“Here, let me wash your hair real fast,” he spoke quietly, reaching over to grab your bottle of shampoo and a jug of warm water he’d placed to the side earlier..

After pouring some water on your head, he squirted a dollop into his hands and slowly massaged it into your hair. Humming an unfamiliar tune, you let yourself drift off in bliss as Leonard worked his way out from the scalp. His long, talented fingers did not miss a place, gently smoothing out each strand out.

It was pure heaven.

Before you knew it, he was pouring the rest of the water to get the suds out. “Let’s get you outta there before you start shivering.”

Letting the water drain and helping you up to your feet, he grabbed a nearby definitely-not-standard-Starfleet extremely fluffy towel from the rack and ever so gently dried you off.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you yawned, feeling so much better than just a mere few hours ago.

“Incoming,” he warned, throwing you your pair of pajamas, and lastly, your panties to your face.

You did your best to scowl at him, but failed as you ended up chuckling at his antics.

“Why don’t you go get yourself comfortable on the couch, and I’ll bring you something to eat?” He suggested, placing another hand on your forehead.

You nodded. When he was satisfied that the heat behind your skin had lessened, he left for the kitchen to get you your dinner.

Stretching yourself out on the couch, you reached out for the plaid blanket draped over the cushions, while scrolling through the tv guide for something to watch.

The scent of chicken noodle soup filled the air, turning your gaze towards the hallway as Leonard emerged with two bowls of soup and a hypo all balanced on a tray.

“Found anything eye catching yet?” He asked, carefully handling over your bowl.

“Not yet,” You replied, thanking him with a nod. “How’s your day been?”

You scooped up spoonful after spoonful of soup as you listen to him talk about those unfortunate to be stuck down in the medbay. Idiots, he had called them.

When you and Leonard both had your fill, you watched as Leonard picked up the hypo. Knowing the routine, you tilted your head to the side, so he had better access to your neck.You felt his warm fingers splayed around your throat, seeking out a landmark for the injection.

“Quick pinch,” He warned. You closed your eyes before the slight sting, which was made instantly better by his gentle massage.

You must have made a noise of happiness as he stopped, softly kissing your forehead. Sickness be damned. He was a doctor, he didn’t get sick.

“Stay right where you are, darlin, and let me go get those ice cream,” He grinned at you, before moving off the couch.

It took a few minutes before you finally decided on the cheesy, yet classic movie: The Titanic. Leonard returned with two ice creams and spoons, placing them within arms distance on the coffee table in front.

At last, he snuggled up closer to you, pulling you tighter to him. “What are we watching, sweetheart?”

“The Titanic,” You grinned at him, enjoying the relaxed smile he had beaming on his face.

“Of course,” He rolled his eyes good naturedly, but settled in.

“Leonard?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“My pleasure, sugar.”

(My masterlist is also up for those interested)

#cold season #flu season #need a doctor?#leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #star trek #star trek aos

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 27)

Jemima Jones IV

Another con! This one with Micah. This chapter contains criminal activity and mature topics of conversation.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

When I woke up, it was to Hosea's voice and gentle shaking of my shoulder. I'd fallen asleep in the chair by Arthur's bed, head cradled by my folded arms up against the nearest storage crate. I blearily lifted my head and blinked at my surroundings, momentarily confused. I remembered quickly, though, eyes immediately finding Arthur who was laying awake already, the morning sun pouring through the canvas of his tent.

"There she is, thought I was gonna have to toss a bucket of water. Out like a light, though I don't know how, that can't be comfortable," Hosea greeted me, gesturing to the twisted, hunched position I'd woken up in. I stretched and grunted, putting my spine back in the right order, it felt like.

"Sorry, I'm in the way," I noted, realising the man was here to check on Arthur.

I stood up and ambled past him, letting him sit down in my place.

"Surprised it ain't Grimshaw bustin' in here, putting you to work. It's late," Arthur said as Hosea gingerly pulled back his wound's dressing.

"It is?" I murmured guiltily. "I should start on my chores."

"She knows you're not slacking, I think a late start is perfectly acceptable given the circumstances," Hosea assured me, pressing the back of his hand to Arthur's forehead.

"You have my permission to milk this," Arthur said, and I snorted.

"I don't mind chores," I shrugged, watching as Hosea tilted Arthur's head up and felt around under his jaw, checking for swollen glands.

"Well, there's no sign of infection so far. How're you feeling?" He asked.

"'Bout as well as you'd expect."

"You're in pain, I imagine, but other than that?" Hosea clarified, gaining a one-shouldered shrug from Arthur. "Okay. Well, let us know if you start feeling unwell."

"Will do."

"We'll get you some food, you gotta eat to get your strength up," Hosea patted his forearm then stood up.

"I ain't hungry," Arthur grimaced. "Especially not for whatever Pearson's rustling up."

"I don't care. We'll make you some oatmeal."

"I'll slice up some apple to go in, to sweeten it up and make it taste of something," I added.

"I don't need no fuss, just leave me here to fester and I'm sure I'll surface in a couple weeks," Arthur grumbled. I sighed and walked over to him, leaning over his bed.

"Let us take care of you, Arthur. Everyone cares about you making a recovery," I told him softly. He blinked up at me, an unhappy crease in his forehead.

"Who'll still care when I need someone to stop me rolling into a ditch when I'm trying to take a damn piss?" He grumbled. My brows raised and I paused for a moment before shrugging.

"I'll help you," I said. Arthur snorted.

"Uh, no. You won't. I draw the line there," he hissed. I straightened up and nodded in acceptance.

"I'll do it. You go and make him that oatmeal," Hosea volunteered, patting my elbow and sending me on my way. "Come on, big guy."

I heard Arthur's groan of frustration as I left, and Hosea began helping him to his feet. I felt awful, seeing him so reliant on others when it was clear to me he was fiercely independent and did not like to trouble those he cared about. I wished he would see that he wasn't putting anyone out. He was injured, and we wanted to help.

I prepared his oatmeal and brought it to him, he was pleased that he didn't need it feeding to him, because once he was propped up on some pillows he could use his good arm to feed himself. He waved me off to go about my day, though I felt reluctant to leave him alone in his tent. I did notice other members of the gang going in and keeping him company every now and then, though, notably Charles, John and Javier. Dutch too, of course, as well as the girls. They brought him books to read and candy to lift his spirits. Jack had visited with Abigail, and I was standing close enough that I could hear his curious questions and Arthur's sweet patience in answering them. Even the one asking whether he could see through the hole in his shoulder. I was pretty sure I'd seen everyone at least poke their head into the tent to ask how he was feeling. Even Micah.

A week or so passed and he was slowly getting better, more mobile. He was still confined to his bed for the most part, mainly under the orders of Hosea who insisted he take it easy and avoid unnecessary strain. I kept Arthur company most evenings, sometimes falling asleep in his tent, but whenever he caught me dozing before he fell asleep he'd send me to my bedroll. In the daytime, sometimes he'd venture out of the tent to stretch his legs and keep from going completely mad, but he'd lost a fair amount of blood and taken quite a beating and he tired easily, so his walks were short and few.

I hadn't left camp since my trip into town to get those supplies for Arthur, and I felt stir-crazy, not used to being in the same place without a change of scenery. I spared a lot of thoughts for Arthur at that, wondering if he felt the same way. I had been doing general chores around camp to do my bit, but I certainly felt ready for something different halfway through the second week of such routine. So, when Micah approached me one afternoon when I was sat by Arthur doing some sewing, I was inclined to agree with whatever scheme he had cooking up.

"Reckon I could pull you away from the resident colander for a few hours?" He'd greeted us, gaining a stern look from myself and complete ignorance from Arthur.

"Depends, it gonna get me out of here?" I replied.

"Of course. I've been itching for another one of our jobs, we always work so well together, you and I," he touted, voice a praising drawl.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, seeing Arthur's chest rise in a heavy breath from the corner of my eye. I glanced at him, and he was just staring at the top of the tent from his reclined position in bed. I realised how rude it was to discuss getting out of camp while Arthur had no option to do so, so I quickly rose to my feet, leaving my sewing on the table next to me.

"Well, actually–"

"We should leave Arthur in peace," I quickly interjected, giving Arthur a nod and a smile before I left. He just watched me go with an expression I couldn't read.

As we walked away, Micah continued, "I was thinking we could go to the Parlour House, pull a little something like you did with John."

"Yeah? Like what?" I asked. He stopped walking and turned to face me head on, an impish smile on his face. I stared blankly for a moment, then cocked my brow. "Oh, you want me to think of something?"

"You have such a way with these things," he flattered me, putting his hands on my upper arms and giving them an encouraging squeeze.

I brought my hand up to my mouth, idly running my fingers across my lips in thought. Micah's tongue peeked out, brushing against the bristles of his moustache at the corner of his mouth as he stared at me expectantly. I shrugged his hands off of me, a frown forming on my face.

"Give me a second, I hate being put on the spot," I grumbled, eyes flittering around the camp for a source of inspiration, as if the perfect plan would jump out at me from the sight of Molly preening in the mirror, or Charles constructing fire arrows, or Swanson tripping over his own feet as he stumbled by, singing a loud, slurred song.

My lips curved into a smile when magically, an idea did emerge at the glint of light bouncing off a beer bottle in Uncle's hand.

Gathering the materials for the con was easy enough. I found an empty box in one of the wagons and asked around for any pretty gift bags; which Molly could provide. I asked Uncle to drain his beer, wrapped the bottle in a piece of cloth and swung it against the ground so it shattered. Finally, I poured the broken glass into the box, sealed it up, and put it away in the gift bag; all the while, Micah followed me around camp, curious and confused, but quiet.

"Train station," I said to Micah once the prop was ready and he gave me a quizzical look. "It's better than the Parlour House, plus I don't wanna seem suspicious, in case anyone saw what I did last time."

"Sure, you gonna explain what we're doing?" He cocked a brow.

"On the way," I smirked, then padded off to dress in something a little prettier; corset, petticoat and all, with a few pieces of borrowed jewellery too.

We arrived by horseback at the train station and I'd brought Micah up to speed. He'd laughed at my plan, not out of malice but because he thought it was brilliant. We were sat in the train station, waiting for the right time to strike. We needed someone who looked like they had money, of course, and with the town being close to Saint Denis, I was sure we'd find someone suitable passing through the station.

I left it to Micah to pick the mark, he sat by me, watching the doors behind us and preparing to give the signal for me to move. It was a simple plan, neat and tidy how I liked them with little room for things to go wrong, relying on acting skills. I was sitting in my finest clothes with the gift bag on my lap and my back to the doors, even Micah had dressed up a little sharper than usual just to add to the believability of our job. I was well rehearsed, having pulled a similar job on my own before I'd joined the gang, excited anticipation twisted in my stomach and made me feel just a little bit sick.

Micah's knee suddenly bumped against mine; it was show time. Without so much as a pause I suddenly rose to my feet, turning to step out from the end of the bench without a glance back. There was a thump and a crash, of course, the pretty gift bag hitting the ground just a second after a body collided with my own. I stumbled for effect, crying out as I tumbled onto my side, hip hitting the floor, limbs sprawling out and making one heck of a scene. Heads turned, the man who'd bumped into me froze, eyes widening and a number of emotions passing across his face. Shock, confusion, annoyance.

"Watch where you're damn well going, woman!" He yelled at me, not giving a fig about the fact I was laying on the floor. Ah, well at least I didn't have robbing a kind gentleman on my conscience.

I winced, shifting onto my other side and rubbing at my hip, then froze, eyes settling on my bag.

"No!" I shouted, moving quickly to grab the bag, making sure that everyone could hear the tinkling of broken glass as I moved it.

"Angel, are you alright?" Micah was quick to jump into action, crouching down next to me and putting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm… I'm fine. I'll probably have a bruise but I'll live. That's more than I can say for my gift," I told him sadly, holding the bag up to him. Micah's head swivelled to the man.

"Don't just stand there, you moron!" He spat, shaming the man into reaching out, taking my elbow in his hand and working with Micah to help me back to my feet.

"I didn't even get to open it!" I bemoaned, staring down at the bag in my hands.

"Oh… oh, I'm sorry, angel. These things happen, maybe we can, uh, buy you a new one," Micah said, his tone edged with nervousness. "Just sit yourself down, dear, that was a nasty fall."

Micah guided me into my seat, as everyone stared, gawping. The mark fidgeted in his spot, cheeks reddening as people scowled and tutted at him.

"You, uh, you alright, ma'am?" He asked awkwardly. I kept my head down, turning away just a bit as if to pretend he wasn't there.

"You just yelled at the poor girl, leave her be, let's you and I just have a little chat," Micah grumbled at him, taking the bag from me and shoving the guy's shoulder to get him moving in the opposite direction.

Despite him being on the other side of the room, I could hear every word from Micah's mouth. He wasn't concerned about being quiet, the more onlookers the better.

"You any idea how much this thing cost? How long I scrimped and saved to straggle together enough cash to make my lady's birthday a special one?" He began, shaking the rattly bag for effect.

"Hey, she stood up right in fr–"

"Don't you for one second think about blaming her for this. Be a man! Take responsibility!" He snapped his interruption then gave a heavy sigh. "She's been wanting it for weeks, it's this pretty little vase from this place in Saint Denis…"

"Are you alright, miss?" A gentleman nearby asked, distracting me from my eavesdropping.

"Oh, yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, sir," I said, disappointment seeping into my tone. "Today had been so special, this is all such a shame!"

"It's your birthday?" He asked, and I nodded. The man glanced over at Micah, then rose to his feet. "I'll go see if I can lend a hand, see if we can talk some sense into that man. I heard the way he yelled at you, that's no way to speak to a lady; 'specially not one just been knocked over."

My lips parted and I watched him walk over to join Micah, giving his two cents and urging the mark to cough up some cash to go towards a new vase. I had not been expecting that. Soon enough, another feller joined in. I almost felt guilty, but this was what we did. This was how we made money! The mark looked plenty rich enough, in an expensive looking suit, a gold ring on almost every finger. The attention he'd drawn had him pulling out a billfold and pushing it into Micah's eager hand with an angry hiss of acceptance, before he was storming out of the station muttering about not being able to miss his train.

Micah pocketed the cash, uttering his thanks to the other men who'd stepped in before he was gliding on over to me, a smile threatening to lift his moustache. He held his hand out to me and I took it, he helped me up, dusting his lips across the back of my knuckles in a way I'd have to have words with him about.

"My lady, I'm sorry about all that. Tomorrow I will go and get a replacement for your gift, for now, perhaps you'd like to get out of here and get a drink with me, take some of the edge off such a stressful situation?" He suggested. I smiled, giving a small curtsy.

"Perhaps," I nodded. Micah straightened up, guiding me from the station with a hand on the small of my back.

"I cannot believe that man stepped in to help you," I was saying to Micah, sat upstairs out on the balcony of Rhodes Parlour House, over a bottle of beer.

"What a sucker," he chuckled.

"Poor man. He had no idea what he was doing," I shook my head, biting my lip.

"I almost lost it right there, you're lucky I never laughed, missy," he teased.

"How much did you get?" I asked, leaning forwards, elbows on the table. He leaned forwards too, smirking.

"Sixty. Not too bad for free money, huh?"

"Not bad at all," I agreed, brushing my fingers up and down the side of my beer bottle idly.

"How's your hip? You hit the floor pretty hard there," he asked, eyes dipping down my body though the table was blocking his view.

"A little sore, actually, never meant to act that part out so well," I admitted with a snort.

"Well, I guess it earned you a few sympathy points. And no one can say you aren't committed to your role, you did good, darlin'," he drawled, sipping his beer and licking his lips as he locked his eyes on mine.

"I think I may have found my calling; I should be joining the theatre," I laughed.

"No, no, you're staying with us. You're far too valuable an asset," he told me, and I gave an awkward huff at the flattery. "I'm serious, you've brought in a decent sum of cash since you've been rolling with us, I like your attitude."

I shrugged my shoulders, "I just do what I can. I owe my life to the gang, I don't wanna be a freeloader."

"You do more than your fair share. Between you and me, I reckon most'a the women back at camp are holding us back, they don't put in graft like the rest of us," he leaned in conspiratorially and spoke under his breath. "That's why you're a breath of fresh air."

"Oh, now that ain't fair, the girls do plenty, it just goes unnoticed," I defended, frowning at him.

"Maybe they do, but you ask me I don't reckon it balances out too well," he shrugged, "we could probably get on just fine without the women."

"You ain't forgotten you're speaking to one of the women, have you?" I cocked a brow and Micah acknowledged me with a gaze that was unnerving in its shameless assessment of me.

"Oh it's mighty hard to forget that I'm in the company of a woman," his tone was bold, a little vulgar, even, and he was smirking at me. "But I don't class you as one of the women," he made air quotations with his fingers as if to categorise them as an entity all of their own.

"Oh? Then what am I?" I queried, genuinely curious about his response.

"You, you're somethin' special. I can see you really going places in this gang, you keep doing what you do. Especially if you stick by my side."

I didn't say anything for a while, not entirely sure what to say. Micah kept on staring at me, a smile plastered across his lips, beer on his breath as he leaned across the table, taking up some of my personal space where I was leaning on the table too.

"Anyone ever told you, you got a real pretty face?" He suddenly said, taking me by surprise. "Especially those eyes. Real nice eyes."

My brows raised and I leaned back a little, my back meeting the chair. "Oh, well that's kind of you to say," I murmured.

"You ever think about that kiss we shared?" He asked, though he received silence as an answer. "You tasted nice, was good while it lasted, weren't it? Even though you made out like it bothered you."

"Well, it did bother me. But that's in the past, ain't it? Not worth talking about, let's forget about it."

"You think? I thought people were supposed to always remember their first kiss."

"If it's all the same to you, Micah, I'd rather not count that one," I told him curtly, and a smile settled across his features that was amused and more than a little predatory.

I thought for a moment he was finished, with the resulting silence, but it did not last long. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, resting his beer bottle on his belly.

"You know, I think it's sweet you're a woman of little experience, you don't see that all too much, not with the company we keep. Ladies like Miss Abigail; I ain't got a problem with a woman who sells herself but, well, you know. There's something mighty appealing about a pretty thing who ain't ever been sullied by the hands of another man," Micah licked his lips, his expression decidedly lascivious.

"Micah, this ain't a proper topic of conversation," I huffed, getting warm in the face and shifting uncomfortably.

"I suspect you're curious. 'Bout what a man can do," he continued, ignoring my discomfort, "be honest."

"This ain't proper," I reiterated, speaking under my breath, "where on Earth has this come from?" I balked. He let out a dirty laugh.

"You're a sweet little thing, ain't you?" He said, then sat up, draining his beer. "You and I, we have fun together, don't we?"

"Fun?" I repeated. "I guess so, sometimes."

"Yeah, we do. I reckon we could have all sorts of fun, I could show you what you've been missing out on all these years, if you'd let me," he offered, gesturing to me with the neck of his bottle, "how about it? You can trust me, you'll have a nice time. Just a little fun between you and I."

I narrowed my eyes at him, rendered speechless.

"Would you like that? We could pay for a room here, head back later and nobody has to know about it but us, it'd be like uhh… like a private celebration of our own," he carried on, and I couldn't comprehend how blind he was to my obvious displeasure.

"Just so I'm clear; are you asking if I wanna have sex with you; here? Now?" I asked bluntly, seeing him flinch just a little at the way I asked, no frills or nothing.

"I'm asking if you'd like to have a little harmless fun with a trusted friend, it don't gotta be put as brash as that," he rephrased and I sighed.

"Put it how you like, the answer's the same. I'm not sleeping with you, Micah. Nice try, though. The pep talk was nice, I was even a little flattered," I told him drily. His shoulders sagged and his smile dropped.

"Fair enough, your loss," he grunted, casting off any charm he may have had. I snorted, amused more than anything.

His eyes wandered back to me at my laugh, and he couldn't help but smile a little too. "Something special," he echoed from earlier, shaking his head.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #atink #reader insert #arthur morgan x female reader #micah bell #rdr2 fanfic

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chocoholicannanymous · 5 years

Text

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt VIII

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI. and pt VII.

Readjusting to life at Dalton is a lot easier than Kurt had feared. It helps that he isn't scared witless this time, of course. It also helps that Blaine isn't there to monopolize his time – which, in hindsight, had been the root of a lot of Kurt's isolation. Now he's got the Warblers for real, and Sebastian. He's also got a much better understanding of what it'll take to keep on top of academics, and how much he can allow himself to relax. He hadn't known that last time.

(There's a nagging thought that Blaine must have known, yet said nothing, that refuses to leave his brain. It's not a pleasant one.)

Another difference is that this time Kurt's not looking to return to McKinley. Last time he'd wasted valuable time and energy trying to come up with a way to return, and daydreaming about being back. This time's different. He chose Dalton this time, and he's staying no matter what.

Also, things being what they are he's not spending large chunks of his time with Mercedes and Rachel. From what Finn reports Rachel is furious – that Kurt's left, that he's not getting punished for the election and that he's left them another person down for Sectionals. Kurt's okay with that, seeing as she hadn't exactly been a great friend before he left. As for her rantings, well. If she spreads the cheating rumors too far Kurt'll deal with it – or his dad will – and the rest is easy to ignore.

He does miss Mercedes, but at the same time he's not willing to bend enough to fix things between them. Not this time.

She didn't believe in him.

It's that simple. He was on the verge of suspension, and Mercedes didn't believe in him. She wasn't even enough of a friend to pretend she did in public. Adding her behavior over Blaine's disappearance and West Side Story.... It's up to her to make the first move, and there's nothing guaranteeing their friendship can be salvaged in the end.

So instead of spending time and energy on the mess that is the New Directions – because even with the split that's who they are – Kurt throws himself into making the most of his time at Dalton.

“I'm sorry we can't give you a solo.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian. A solo? Where did that come from? Because honestly, Kurt hadn't expect one, nor had he entirely decided if he should audition for one or not.

“We talked about it and we all know you could use it, and none of us is applying to performing arts' schools. It's simply too close to Sectionals for us to rework our setlist. Not if we want to go on to Regionals. If we do though, then we've agreed that you get a solo.”

There's a hint of pink on Sebastian's cheeks, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to try and analyze that now. It's probably Sebastian's way of apologizing or something.

“Auditions?”

“Right. I guess that this is when I tell you that the Warblers have changed how things are run. Used to be someone auditioned, and then the council decided. Only everyone knew that auditions pretty much were a sham. David and Thad admitted as much themselves, once the others started pushing. After all, it is kind of hard to pretend auditions matter when the person ending up with all the solos never even participated in the auditions in the first place.”

Which... True. Kurt just never thought the Warblers would become aware enough to see that. Maybe it's a side-effect of Wes being gone. Him and his cursed gavel...

“So now the council is gone, and everyone gets a vote on solos. And this time everyone agreed that if we make it to Regionals it was only fair to offer you a spot.”

And well, that changes things. Hopefully.

“Well, it's much appreciated either way. It's a little too late to add a Regionals solo on my NYADA application but I should be able to add it to some of the others.”

Because he is applying to other schools, regardless of what he and Rachel agreed to. Only applying to one school? Insanity. Especially a school like NYADA, which accept only 60 students per year, and only 20 of them for the concentration Kurt (and Rachel) had applied for. What if they doesn't accept him, then what? Was he supposed to stay in Lima and reapply? Spend a year or several working at the garage or in some store while his meager CV became more and more dust-covered by the minute?

No. He's applying to every school in New York that'll suit him – and a few that won't – plus another couple elsewhere. He's even considering throwing in an application to Ohio State, since the campus in Columbus offers a couple of options when it comes to theater and music. Not that he wants to stay in Ohio, not really, but he'll go just about anywhere as long as it's not Lima.

“Well, dreaming about Regionals is all very nice, but we're not there yet. Also, there are other things to consider as well, like passing all my classes. You wouldn't be willing to lend me your notes for French for a night or two, would you? Oh, and I'm not sure I interpreted the third question for our advanced reading homework correctly, so do you think we could sit down and talk it over?”

It's easier to focus on schoolwork, on grammar and linguistics, than on the strangeness of Sebastian's actions. Much easier.

Sectionals comes and goes – and leaves a trophy behind. The Warblers celebrate, and Kurt with them. If his joy is also about the possibility of a solo... Well. Who can blame him?

That is, of course, if what Sebastian said still goes. There's no reason to think it shouldn't, not really, but Kurt remembers being burnt too well to not be cautious.

Regardless, they won't be competing against the New Directions at Regionals. The Troubletones had wiped the floor with their former teammates, and Kurt can't say he's surprised. Finn isn't either, even if it's obvious that he's unhappy about it. Oh, he tries to hide it, but. He's used to winning, loves it, and was already thinking about how to do better at Nationals than last years.

And now that's not going to happen.

“They deserved it, I don't care what anyone” read Rachel “thinks. I know how much they've been rehearsing.”

And the New Directions, true to form, hadn't. Or so Kurt supposes. After all, they hadn't had a setlist when he left, and Finn hasn't complained about suddenly ending up with a ton of extra rehearsals.

“Finn? I know they are good, but I also know you guys are. And it's okay if you're not happy about losing, even to them. It sucks to lose something you really want and losing to your friends doesn't make it easier. Not at first at least.”

“Experience talking, huh?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

Kurt still remembers how it'd hurt to lose to his friends, and not even going back to them had made it feel better. He'd gone to Nationals feeling that he didn't deserve it, and knowing that Mr Schue thought the same.

“You know what really sucks about all of this? We had a suggestion for a setlist that would have given us the win. Michael Jackson songs, solos for everyone... I think it would have been awesome.”

“Let me guess, Rachel flipped.”

It's not even a question, because obviously she would have. Allowing everyone solos? No matter how small, that would have meant less time in the spotlight for her. Just as it wouldn't have mattered how great the suggested songs were, because Michael Jackson isn't something Rachel would be able to do well.

And of course Mr Schue would have folded faster than wet cardboard once she started complaining, neither of them caring that by catering to Rachel's demands they weakened the group.

“Oh yeah. And now she's on a 'woe is me because NYADA' tear, and it's driving me insane. Well, everyone. I'm pretty sure Tina's on the verge of punching her. Plus, she... Anyway, Glee sucks now.”

“She's blaming me, isn't she? For leaving, and for supposedly making Blaine leave.”

It makes sense, in a totally-not-unless-you're-Rachel-Berry way, and it's nothing less than Kurt's been expecting if he's honest. Because there's no way Rachel would ever lose gracefully, just as there's no way she'd accept the rightful blame for having messed up.

“You guessed that, huh? Yeah, sorry. I don't know what's gotten into her, I swear.”

“She's being the worst version of herself. I knew I made myself a target by leaving, I just didn't care. Then again I already was one, so I guess that's 'bigger' target. And I can't imagine she took it any better knowing that the Warblers won our Sectionals.”

Kurt can practically hear Finn wince over the phone, which is never an encouraging thing – and yet, much too frequent with Rachel Berry in the picture.

“I...might have told her that I wouldn't talk to her about it, and walked out the door when she did it anyway?”

Kurt removes the phone from his ear, stares at it, shakes it to see if anything is broken inside, stares at it again and then replaces it.

“I'm sorry, you what? Are you telling me you finally located your balls when it comes to a girl?”

And then it's Kurt's time to audibly wince, because while true that's also extremely rude – and crude – and Finn doesn't deserve it. Not even though it's true.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“Nah, it's nothing I don't deserve. I just, I've had it okay? I love Rachel, I do, but sometimes I'm not so sure I like her. And the past few weeks have been worse than usual. When we got back together it was supposed to be for this year, since she's going to New York after graduation. Which I figured I could get around, you know? Part of me wants to ask her to marry me and commit to going to New York with her. Another part figured it'll never work since she can't respect anything or anyone outside of herself and her dreams.

“She only changed her mind about sex because Artie told her she wasn't credible onstage otherwise, and she didn't even tell me at first. Then she's been an absolute bitch about everything with you. So let's say I change her mind and we get married. What else will she do?

“I'm not sure about being with her at all anymore, and it's not breaking my heart like it should.”

Hearing that? Kind of breaks Kurt's heart though. Once upon a time he'd have been ecstatic to hear something like this from Finn. Now he's grown beyond that, and all he wants for Finn is happiness. (That he's not sure Rachel can provide that isn't really the point. Up until now Finn has believed it, and that's the only thing that matters.)

“I'm sorry. Do you... I'll be home Friday evening. Want me to bring some cookies and watch a movie, or do you have plans?”

“Peanut butter chocolate chips? Plus, Captain America comes out on DVD this week, and I know you like Chris Evans.”

“I really really do.”

They both laugh, and if Finn's is a bit strained neither of them are going to admit it. What's important here is that regardless of everything they've got each other.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #a wild sebastian appears #in 2019 we finish our wips #if the spit hits the fan #scraps and snippets #brotherly furt

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teddy-feathers · 5 years

Text

look my problem with the au megamind where Roxanne is the alien and megamind is the reporter is i cant stop thinking about what i want out of that and how its probably not what other people want out of that which should mean 'oh shit i gotta write it' but really means 'in the next couple of months im going to rewatch megamind and be extremely frustrated because idk how to write these people as is let alone in an au'

but here are some thoughts

Itd have to take place on megaminds home world so like. have to develop that culture and frame it as the usual and other things as oddities

metroman still shows up at the same time the baby human does

roxan richie and metromans rivalry is less of a game and more of a metroman one up'd her ome to many times so now shes gotta take him out

its fine not because shes incompetent- in fact her death rays and pointy sticks are ingenious and have 0% public property or civilian causalities - but because metroman is not only impossible to kill, he adapts to anything that gets close (anything that doesnt kill him makes him stronger literally)

i guess this means theres a good chunk of the story that is centered around human adaptability vs perfect hero dudes adaptability

Roxanne Ritchie is actually a noted scientist or something at the local research facility - i figure blue people planet is really advanced and everyones at least a little technosmart but while it doesnt come as easily or naturally to Roxanne her way of thinking is really unique n shiz and shes an asset to every team....

but if you see her in a mask with some project from the lab macguivered into a gun trying to kill metroman well, no ones getting hurt and humans need hobbies and everyone respects the mask desptie the fact shes the ONLY human on the planet so its not like its hard to figure out who she is

she does spend a lot of nights having to rebuild projects and apologizing and such but basically everyone plays the plausible deniability card and asks her questions abiut what went wrong and okay so the masked menace failed after you let them steal our project but lets pretend for a moment the goal was to fix crops how would you say this did? and grumply shed revamp the guns weird side effect into an alien pollinating crop duster or whatever

got carried away when REALLY all I WANTED to say was

Whille Roxanne Ritchie is adaptable ingenuity and gets away at the last minute NOT because no ones trying to catch her but shes just that CLEVER and thinks ahead and shiz....

Megamind is the guy trying to interview her in the middle of a fight like he thinks he's cute - i mean he is but shes chasing after metroman and skids to a stop because this jerk stepped in for a comment. or shes lining up the perfect shot but theres a close up of megaminds reporter bag in the way

the thing is that maybe... blue people arent violent. a natural disaster hit recently and theyre coming back from it and if the two adopted alien kids want to play extreme tag well no ones getting hurt and Roxanne Ritchie will grow out of her competitiveness no doubt caused by just how superior EVERYONE on the planet is by finding her own niche and metroman will grow up and stop bating her because maybe he IS still better than everyone else and thats met with "oh very nice we're proud" but it doesnt really validate him or make him feel special because its just treated as a special thing he can do by everyong but Roxanne Ritchie and once he's found something that makes him feel good regardless of the attention or lack of it he'll stop playing too

but megamind? megamind has an imagination that loves drama and blowing things out of proportion and thats part of why his reports are so popular? like yeah everyones treating this super hero showdown with indulgence but megamind is good at framing theatrics so that this news story is actually a compelling narrative? and also everyone can see the tension is going to have one of these three "kids" confessing live someday

and maybe he gets carried away. one of those 'aw well next time you could do x or y' or has some technological creation that accidentally actually makes Metroman flinch during an interview

and Roxanne Ritchie starts paying attentionto him for the first time.

and minion warns him but he doesnt listen. minion is lower class and is afraid of being replaced like a pet like some people do but Roxanne Ritchie Ritchie doesnt have a minion and even if she did theyre Best Friends not like those other blue people minion uperclass people.

and he carelessly says something unforgivable and Roxanne Richie uses his ideas and actually succeeds in killing metroman

so she goes to prison - a place they had to build just for her because this hasnt happened since stars knows when

and somebody else is doing the camera because minion left just is gone and megamind looks defeated but testifies against her and is quiet and subdued and stpps being a reporter for a bit

and.... idk. i feel like we'll have to resolve the whole class system so minon goes underground and finds other minons who are unhappy with the way of things and if theyre ALREADY rebuilding society after that huge natural disaster that DIDNT blow up their planet thanks TO a minion well ehy cant they fix this too?

so theres a rebellion going on and theyve got a secret weapon to make blue people listen and idk but i feel like it's Metroman

and... how do stories like this go ive forgotten

minion wouldnt tell megamind or he would

metroman would break Roxanne Ritchie out of prison during the first riot of the minion revolt?

they talk and compare why they hated eachother and slowly work together and are actually a great team?

and then they need a reporter to make themselves heard as something other than minions going crazy

and so of course they go to megamind for help getting the story out

something something megamind is minions sidekick for this adventure

"Roxanne Ritchie was raised by the planet and turned against it and instigated civil unrest and killed a person who was also the good child etc etc instead of just growing up to face your problems"

"actually im alive and i finally found my place? helping out the real heros?"

"i mean i did try to kill him, but he forgave me and we're kinda working together because planet of moms and dads that raised us? yall actually are the ones who need to grow up and let go of the traditions that dont serve etc etc"

and megamind does a huge public apology to minion

and... uhhhhhhhhh fuck i really dont know how these storyies go

the blue people start making amends

metroman basically becomes a social worker for minion childern because finding their original families is a bit hard and most of these kids are just going to end up being raised by super dad but at least the rebellion minion families are actually geting to be their own family units and in a couple gens thatll be normal

Roxanne Ritchie goes back to being the token human in the lab and hangs up her super suit and is generally dissatisfied with this

until one night a hero breaks into her apartment to make her answer for her crimes and so for a legit hot second theyre fighting and megamind says something and Roxanne apologizes and then fighting stops being an argument and goes into banter flirting

the worss "where theres evil good will rise up to fight it" peob comes up a lot in this fic in different iterations

anyways megamind isnjust basically like hey wanna do this like. for the rest of our lives dramatic battle showdowns like its entertainment but like no theyre doing this for real?

the answer is hell yeah

and its a polyship and sometimes Roxanne is helping with the kids and then Megamind bursts in to "save" the family from her evil clutches and 90% of the time everything is improve

megamind kidnaps Roxanne to make metromind save her and a good half of the conversation is that hes an idiot for coming shes tried to kill him three times this week and hes bitching because do you know how hard it is to find a sitter for 30 odd minion kids this short notice and they better make it up to him

Roxanne is not superdad but the 30 odd minion kids adore when she comes over because they mob the villain so hard until finally mega comes to save her because hes actually very good with the kids

of course this poly ship isnt complete without minion and at some point minion and mega realize theyve actually been married for years and Roxanne and metro tease them shamelessly for it

minion and his race need a real name obviously

when Roxanne was a... graduate her senior project theses thingy was essentially "im going to go back to planet earth itll be great ive figured out were im from and how to go there in a reasonable amout of time" and everyone had to sit her down and explain that unlike metroman they knew where she was from the planet was just destroyed.

they never figured out where metroman was from because his direction sharply changed to follow baby Roxannes course and mirrored her coding despite very obviously how he had originated from elsewhere

this is important because his race is basically coming to conquer the blue people planet soon - the group finds out - and will download all the survival upgrades metroman has gotten to become unkillable and then just come down to the surface and be unstoppable taking the place over and whiping out the planet like theyve done many many times

a good chunk of the time trying to figure out how to stop them when this planet is REALLY against murder war and violence for good reason and even if they WOULD do that its impossible over looks some alone time that leads to megamind and metroman figuring out how to like kill him so when the bad guys show up theyll go "whelp better not fuck with them" and leave but between roxanne and minion they manage to not only stabilize metroman (Roxanne blood transfusions maybe???) but they manage to scare the aliens so bad they tuck tail and leave speading rumors that these are the scariest mfs in space (go minion)

metroman never lets Roxanne live down saving his life

eventually space humans show up to check the place out

megamind loves everything human despite most of the planet thinking theyre primitive and showing it

roxanne is reluctant to meet them at first but then really relates to them?

for a good long while it REALLY seems like megamind and Roxanne are just going to go on space adventures with the humans leaving metroman and minion - who really doesnt like them and also they kinda rub him the wrong way because he's non bipedal and they kinda make fun of him in a 'we totally dont mean anything by it lighten up' sort of way.

they don't go of course but they may have stolen a lot of atar charts n shit and who hasnt wanted to take a road trip through space with 30 odd childern who will need names and personalities and may be chopped down to a slightly more reasonable number by this point?

metroman loves space karaoke and his natural abilites mean he learns languages fast but no he still cant carry a tune

megamind and Roxanne still duke it out on various alien cityscapes

minion usually breaks them out of jail if theyre not to be let out the next day because nothing was actually damaged that didnt belong to them.

one memorable occasion it was metoman in a fight with megamind and they wont say what its about but both look very put out and minion looks smug

it doesn't matter in the end because Roxanne teams up with the childern to propose to them first

apparantly i had a lot more ideas about this then i meant to? i mean its not well thoughout out and despite the drama a good half the fic is just going to be cute relationship building stuff between the four of them

#megamind #megamind au idea #story idea #fanfic idea #my writing #i hope tagging shit makes it findable but x doubt

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the-desolated-quill · 5 years

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Quill’s Swill - The Worst Of 2018

Congratulations dear reader. You survived 2018. And you know what that means. It’s time for another best of/worst of list. Welcome to Quill’s Swill 2018. A giant septic tank for the various shit the entertainment industry produced over the course of the year. The films, games, TV shows and various other media that got on my bad side. As always please bear in mind that this is only my subjective opinion (if you happen to like any of the things on this list, good for you. I’m glad someone did) and that obviously I haven’t seen everything 2018 has to offer for one reason or another. In other words, sorry that Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes Of Grindelwald isn’t on here. I’m sure it is as terrible as some have been suggesting. I just never got around to watching it.

Okay everyone. Grab your breathing masks and put on your rubber gloves. Let’s dive into this shit pile.

Hold The Sunset

The news that John Cleese would be returning to the world of BBC sitcoms was incredibly exciting, being a massive Fawlty Towers fan and all. Unfortunately Hold The Sunset was not quite what I had in mind. It’s one of those rare breed of situation comedies that chooses to offer no actual comedy. It’s not a sitcom. It’s a sit. Like Scrubs or The Big Bang Theory.

An elderly couple plan to elope abroad only for Alison Steadman’s son to barge in, having left his wife, and forcing them to put their plans on hold. Hence the title ‘Hold The Sunset.’ It’s like a cross between As Time Goes By and Sorry, but if all the humour and relatability were surgically removed by a deadpan mortician. The characters are weak, the plots are thin on the ground and the humour (hat little of it there is) feel incredibly dated. The middle aged mummy’s boy is something that hasn’t been funny since the 90s. It’s an utter waste of great talent and what hurts even more is that this tripe is actually getting a second series. I can only assume the people watching this are comatose. Either that or there’s an epidemic of people in Britain who have lost the remote.

Avengers: Infinity War

Yes this is one of the worst movies of 2018 and no I don’t regret saying that one little bit. Avengers: Infinity War was fucking terrible. Period. There were too many plots and characters going on, which made the film hard to follow (and what staggers me is that the so called ‘professional’ critics have condemned movies for having too many characters and plots before. Spider-Man 3, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Batman vs Superman: Dawn Of Justice and even Deadpool 2. But because this is an MCU movie, it gets a free pass. Fuck off). The characterisation was weak due to sheer number of characters they try to juggle, resulting in characters coming off as one dimensional caricatures of themselves and scenes where characters such as Iron Man, Doctor Strange and Star-Lord sound completely interchangeable. The villain, Thanos, is a stupidly and poorly written villain, but that’s hardly surprising considering what a shit job Marvel have done building him up over the course of these 20+ movies. And let’s not forget that pisstake ending. A bunch of prominent Marvel characters die and it’s all very, very sad... except all these characters just so happen to have sequels planned, which makes this ending fucking pointless and have less impact than a feather on a bouncy castle.

I don’t know which is more shocking. That Marvel and Disney think their audience are that stupid and gullible, or that their audience are actually validating their view. Fuck you Disney.

Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery

I’ve always wanted a Harry Potter RPG, where you could customise your character, choose your house and actually live a full school life at Hogwarts. This year, Warner Bros and Jam City gave us just that.

That was a mistake.

Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery is the epitome of everything that’s wrong with the mobile gaming market right now. The gameplay is boring and involving where you just tap images on a screen until a progress bar fills up. Wizard duels are little more than rock-paper-scissors challenges that require no kind of skill. Bonding with friends and caring for magical creatures just consist of pathetically simple pop quizzes and yet more boring tapping. Oh and of course you only get a certain amount of energy to complete these tedious tasks. If you run out of energy, you wait for it to fill up... or pay up for the privilege. So determined are they to extract your hard earned cash from your wallet, there’s actually a bit where Devil’s Snare strangles your eleven year old avatar and the game effectively tries to guilt trip you into paying micro-transactions to save them. It’s sleazy, gross and manipulative. Honestly, you’re better off just playing Candy Crush.

Agony

When the developers of this game said they wanted to give the player a trip through Hell, they had no idea how true that statement really was. Agony is dreadful on a number of levels. The design for Hell itself, while visually interesting at times, is often not very practical and gets quite dull and repetitive after a while. The stealth mechanics are a joke and the AI of your demonic enemies are pitiful. All of this alone would have been enough to put this game on the list, but then we also have the casual misogyny. Agony is a gorefest trying desperately to shock the player. We see men and woman get tortured, but it’s the women that often get the extreme end. The violence inflicted on them is often sexual in nature and the game seems to go out of its way to degrade and dehumanise women at every turn. The orgasmic cries of ‘pull it out’ quickly become a staple of the game’s experience as we see naked women raped, tortured and murdered, all for the purposes of ‘entertainment.’

I would call Agony sexist, but honestly that would be giving it too much credit. Agony is like a little child trying desperately to be all dark and edgy in a pathetic attempt to impress everyone around him, and we should treat it as such. Go to your room Agony. No ice cream for you.

Peter Rabbit

If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of Beatrix Potter rotating in her grave.

Yes we have yet another live action/CGI hybrid, but instead of something innocuous like the Smurfs or Alvin and the Chipmunks, Sony instead decides to adapt Peter Rabbit, with James Corden in the title role.

It’s about as bad as you’d expect.

Their attempts to modernise the story are painful to say the least with pop culture references, inappropriate adult humour and twerking rabbits. Plus rather than the gentle, but slightly mischievous character we got in the source material, here Peter is a sociopathic delinquent who seems to revel in making the farmer’s life a living hell. He’s unlikable and unwatchable as far as I’m concerned and the film doesn’t in anyway earn the emotional moments it tries so desperately to sell to the audience. And the worst part is it’s getting a sequel.

Wait. Do you hear that sound? That’s the sound of Beatrix Potter tearing out of the ground, ready to kill whatever idiot came up with this shit.

Fallout 76

I was excited for Fallout 76. A MMORPG where players band together to rebuild society after a nuclear apocalypse. Could have been great. Pity it wasn’t.

Fallout 76 is a dreadful game. Not only is it a buggy, glitchy mess that requires a constant online connection to play, which could result in you losing hours of progress if your WiFi went down, it’s also unbelievably tedious, and that’s because there’s nothing to do in the game. There’s no other characters to interact with, the various robots and computers you come across are really little more than quest givers, there’s no actual plot so to speak, and because of the sheer size of the world and the number of players allowed on a server, the chances of you actually meeting any actual players is remote. And let’s not forget all the behind the scenes drama. Bethesda falsely advertising Fallout themed canvas bags and players getting shitty nylon ones. Bethesda accidentally releasing the account information of various players trying to get a refund for said bag. Bethesda failing to program the year 2019 into the game code, meaning that the game’s nukes don’t work.

Maybe there’s a chance that Bethesda could pull a No Man’s Sky and fix everything over the coming years with various patches and DLCs, but the damage has already been done. It’s incredibly disappointing. The Elder Scrolls 6 is going to have be fucking incredible to win everyone back.

Mama Mia!: Here We Go Again

I can’t stand jukebox musicals anyway, but Mamma Mia was always one of the worst. Its boring, meandering story with its one note, obnoxious cast of characters screeching out ABBA songs like they’re at some drunken karaoke session at some poor sod’s hen party has always grated on my nerves. So imagine my delight when they announced we were getting a sequel. Ever wondered how Meryl Streep met her three lovers and founded her hotel? No? Well tough shit, we’re going to tell you anyway.

Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again is basically just Mamma Mia again. The actors still can’t sing, the characters are still annoying and story is still boring and meandering, completely at the mercy of the chosen songs rather than the filmmakers using the songs to compliment the story (you know? Like proper musicals do?).

How can I resist you? Very easily as it turns out. Gimme, gimme, gimme a fucking gun so I can end my misery.

The Cloverfield Paradox

A lot of people were unhappy about the direction Cloverfield was going. They wanted a continuation of the found footage, kaiju movie from 2008, not an anthology series. I was personally all in favour. Partially because I thought the first Cloverfield was a tad overrated, but mostly because I thought it would be a great opportunity for more experimental film projects and could be a great launchpad for new writers and filmmakers. 10 Cloverfield Lane was a great start. Then The Cloverfield Paradox happened.

The Cloverfield Paradox is basically JJ Abrams trying to have his cake and eat it too. Maintaining the anthology format whilst connecting everything together in a ‘shared universe’ (yes, yet another shared universe). The result was a cliched, poorly edited and idiotic mess of a film that actually took away from the previous two films rather than added to them. Everyone hated it and, as a result, 2018′s Overlord, which was totes going to be part of the Cloververse, was made its own standalone film and Abrams double pinky promised to make a true sequel to the original Cloverfield. A complete and total disaster. No wonder it was a straight-to-Netflix film.

The Handmaid’s Tale - Season 2

This is probably going to be the most controversial entry on the list, but please hear me out because I’m not the only one who has a problem with this season.

I was reluctant to watch The Handmaid’s Tale simply because of how gruesome the original book was, but I forced myself to watch the first season and I thought it was pretty good. It remained faithful to the source material for the most part and included some nice additions that helped to expand the story and mythos. If it was just a one off mini-series, everything would have been fine. But then they made the same mistake as The Man In The High Castle and Under The Dome did where they commissioned another season and attempted to tell a story that goes beyond the book.

There’s a reason why the original story ended where it did. The Handmaid’s Tale isn’t meant to be an empowering story about women sticking it to the patriarchy. It’s a cautionary tale about how fragile our civil rights truly are and how easily they can be taken away from us. It’s designed to shock, not to satisfy. So seeing a handmaid blow herself up in a suicide bombing feels very incongruous and just a little bit silly. It would be like doing a TV adaptation of George Orwell’s 1984 where the first season followed the source material and then the second season turned Winston Smith into this heroic freedom fighter trying to overthrow Big Brother. It would represent a fundamental misunderstanding of what the book was about in the first place.

And then of course there’s the increased level of violence in Season 2, which many have complained about. In Season 1 and the original source material, the violence was justified. In Season 2, the motivation behind the violence has gone from ‘how can we effectively demonstrate how easily a fascist patriarchy can happen in the West?’ to ‘what brutal act can we inflict upon Ofglen to shock the audience this week?’ It’s purely for shock and nothing more. And with the showrunner (who I feel I should mention is a man) announcing that he has planned ten seasons of this, it seems that The Handmaid’s Tale is going to go even further with this depravity until it effectively becomes the equivalent of a Saw film.

The Handmaid’s Tale exists as a way of shining light on and critiquing misogyny in its most extreme form. Season 2 however demonstrates that there is a serious risk of it becoming the very thing it’s criticising in the first place.

The Predator

I love the Predator franchise, but The Predator is the worst.

People thought that this would be good because director Shane Black had actually starred in the first Predator movie back in 1987. Instead we got this bloated, confusing, obnoxious and insulting mess of a film that seems to go out of its way to ruin everything that makes Predator so good. There’s no tension. No suspense. No intrigue. Just a bunch of gore, explosions and shitty one liners from annoying and lifeless characters. They essentially took this big alien game hunter from outer space and turned him into a generic monster from a bad summer blockbuster. It no longer hunts for sport. It wants to take over the world and splice our DNA with theirs. But don’t worry, a rogue Predator doesn’t want to kill humans (even though he himself kills a bunch of humans), so he gives us a Predator Iron Man suit to set up a sequel that will probably never happen because this movie was a box office bomb and it fucking SUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKEEEEEDDDD!!!

This film also has a very nasty streak towards those with disabilities. There’s a lot of jokes at the expense of a character with Tourette’s and it has an extremely ignorant and patronising view of autism, portraying the main character’s kid as being a super genius who can decipher the Predator language and even going so far as to say that he represents ‘the next stage of human evolution.’ Presumably the Predators want social communication difficulties because apparently it helps them hunt somehow.

What with Disney acquiring 20th Century Fox, the future of both the Alien and Predator franchises were very much in question. This film needed to be a success in order to make a case for Disney to keep making more of them. It wasn’t. Congratulations Shane Black. You might have just killed off this franchise for good. Thanks arsehole! :D

So those were my least favourite stories from 2018. Join me on Wednesday where we shall discuss something more positive. Yes, it’s awards season. Who shall win the coveted Quill Seal Of Approval? Watch this space...

Or don’t. It’s up to you. I don’t want to force you or anything. It’s a free country.

#quill's swill #quill's swill 2018 #worst of the year #review #opinion

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beatriceinmessina · 5 years

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American Horror Story: Cult Rewatch--Episode IV, “11/9″

SPOILERS for the entire season and William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. (Screenshot by me, from Netflix. And ha, it looks like they’re looking down at my notes.)

The episode flashes back to election night, before the cult starts.

Winter takes a selfie in the voting booth. Isn’t that illegal and causes your vote to not count?

Ally promises to vote Democrat, but then votes for Jill Stein, which Ivy knows about in the first episode. When did she tell her? Did she even tell her, or did Ivy find out on her own?

Kai and Gary jump the voting line. Gary obviously needs a doctor, but wouldn’t Kai be told to go to the back of the line? What are the rules of this polling station?

Everyone votes very quickly. What about the rest of the ballot? Don’t you have to fill that out too?

I’m positive that if a man pulled out his bleeding stump of an arm at a polling station, he would be rushed to a hospital to recover, then be psychologically evaluated. Has Gary been evaluated? He needs it.

After the intro, the date is 09 November 2016, so Kai seems to begin to form his cult on that day, meaning the previous episodes (with the exception of the first scene) take place after that, likely in the rest of November and December 2016 or January of 2017.

How long has Kai been watching the Wiltons, that he selects Harrison as the first person to recruit for the cult? They appear to vote before he comes in, so he probably didn’t see them then. How did he find them? Was it just because he was a member of the gym, or did he join to find Harrison? How much control does he have at this point? It’s only one day after the election!

Kai knows enough about Harrison to know he’s gay even though Harrison’s just met him. Again, how long has been be watching them? How has he been watching them? Does he have cameras everywhere or something?

Kai says he works in technology, specifically coding. He could probably hack into a camera in someone’s house and watch them. On the other hand, he could be lying. I’m not entirely sure he even has a job prior to deciding to run for city council. He also says that he tested at a genius IQ level at age ten, which could be possible--he is very intelligent and good at getting in people’s heads, but again, that could be lying. There some things he says that I know aren’t true, and some things he says that I’m not sure about.

Kai tells Harrison that while he likes women, he will fight and kill for anyone, man or woman, if they’re part of his team. He adds that “and if they wake up in the morning with a hard-on that won’t quit, I will find a way to make sure they know how much I love them.” This is the start of indoctrination: letting Harrison know that he’s okay having sex with men, opening up the possibility of them sleeping together, if Harrison is with him in his endeavors. He’s using his sexuality to draw Harrison in.

Harrison says that sometimes people masturbate in the steam room--are people allowed to masturbate in a gym steam room? What if someone else is in there? Doesn’t that count as sexual harassment, then? Or indecent public exposure?

When did Kai have the time to sneak into the steam room and draw the smiley face without Harrison noticing? He went right there from the end of their session.

About the shower masturbation bit: How is Kai so sure that Harrison is going to walk in on him doing that? What if someone else came in? Why wouldn’t he close the door just in case and then open it when he saw that it was Harrison coming in? Why does Harrison just watch him? Does this count as indecent exposure in a public place? (He’s probably doing it on purpose to let Harrison get an eyeful, though… Kai likes to use sex to get people interested, which is interesting in of itself. He is later established as a complete misogynist, and yet he uses a traditionally feminine means of villainy--sexuality. What is this archetype of the person who uses their sexuality as a weapon often called? The femme fatale--which is French for “fatal woman.” The femininity is right in the name. Why would a man who so disdains women employ a tactic that he likely associates with them, and therefore would disdain as well? I won’t deny I like seeing the trope gender-flipped, though. It’s cool, and fun to think about.)

The “Macbeth scene” (my name):

It’s been at least twelve or thirteen days since the election, since this apparently Kai and Harrison’s last session out of twelve.

Kai has somehow managed to get into Harrison’s head well enough that the bullshit he spouts about being a mirror and quoting Nietzsche makes sense to the latter and he doesn’t ask questions. Then again, Harrison is very vulnerable here--he’s about to be homeless, and he’s feeling down on himself. It’s classic cult leader logic--get them when they’re feeling lost, and reassure them to make them think that you have all the answers.

“Harrison, I’m just a mirror. Anything you see in me is in you.” (Kai). These words are almost lifted directly from a 1970 Rolling Stone interview with Charles Manson, a man who (in my opinion) Kai might as well be. They’re so similar that the season is kind of just that history repeating itself. Perhaps this is the writers trying to seed the Manson material that wil happen later. (An additional note: I discovered this completely by accident about a week after watching the episode while reading this article. It even mentions this season!)

The actual Macbeth part begins with Harrison cleaning up in the steam room and Kai walking in. Harrison, like Macbeth, is in a place of uncertainty; Kai, his Lady Macbeth, urges him to take power and control of his life, which in both cases means murder. There’s also a bit of a gender thing going on--Lady Macbeth insults Macbeth’s masculinity to encourage him, and Harrison probably is feeling a bit emasculated right now, being made to clean up other men’s semen, which leaves him vulnerable to Kai’s manipulations. Harrison, however, is more willing than Macbeth--he doesn’t ponder killing as Macbeth does, he simply does it. On the other hand, his reaction to murdering Vinny is almost identical to Macbeth’s to murdering Duncan--freaking out. Kai is the opposite: calm and covering up the murder, just as Lady Macbeth does.

Kai is able to hack into Vinny’s phone to send a text from it as well as erase three weeks of security footage seemingly due to a computer virus. Perhaps he’s not lying about working in tech. Either that or he’s a really good hacker.

He also confirms that he’s been watching Harrison and everyone around for a long time. How? In person? Through cameras? What kind of operation is he running?

More classic cult leader logic: Kai tells Harrison that they’re going to destroy everything to create a better world. He smartly doesn’t specify what that world is, but promises a better one to someone who’s having a hard time, which is part of seeming like he can provide all the answers.

Kai apparently knows enough about the human body to instruct Harrison how to cut off a head. Has he done this before? As a matter of fact, did he ever kill anyone before he started the cult?

Cut to December of 2016, when Beverly is reporting on Vinny’s murder. I’m guessing that his body wasn’t found for about a month or a little more than a month.

Beverly’s not a part of the cult during this report, since it’s this that draws Kai to talk to her and recruit her.

Kai takes Adderall, which is prescribed at one pill a day, but he’s also popping more than one at a time. Also, I just want to point out that he looks like a modern-day, ratty Daario Naharis in this scene.

Beverly understandably cracks after being harassed during work, but still checks herself into a rehab facility, which doesn’t really seem like her, since she’s very headstrong. Was she made to by her boss?

Once again, Kai practically appears behind someone, this time Beverly. Honestly, does the man wear some kind of noise-cancelling shoes?

Beverly takes up Kai’s offer for coffee even though she has no idea who he is. Why would she do that? Why would anyone do that? He could be dangerous! He is dangerous! The fact that she took him up on the offer and didn’t walk away is honestly a stroke of luck for him.

Kai almost acts as a more chaotic version of James March here, asking Beverly how it felt to do something bad (as March often does with John), and encouraging her to kill people. He tells her that fear gets stronger and scarier as it spreads (which is pretty obvious) and essentially asks her to be his minister of propaganda. An earlier scene has shown that Beverly is worried about her job, as Serena seems to be rising in the ranks of the news station. Kai is preying on that here; giving her an opportunity to become valuable when she feels like she isn’t.

“If you get the world scared enough, they will set the world on fire for us.” (Kai). So he wants people to be so scared that they’ll do anything for him. Does that mean he’s going to make people scared of him, or of the world at large so that they’ll cling to him? Maybe both.

The backstory Kai gives Beverly (Iraq, Yale, etc.) is such blatant lying that I’m not entirely sure she believes him either, given the indulgent smile she gives him after. Did he really think she going to believe him, or is he using the lie to paint himself as stupider than she thinks he is, so she’ll underestimate him and he’ll be able to control her later?

Beverly tells Kai that there aren’t any open seats on city council, so this is before the Changs are murdered, meaning that they were probably murdered in mid-December of 2016.

“I need you, Beverly.” (Kai). The vocabulary is specific. Beverly isn’t feeling especially needed at her job at the moment, given the assignments she’s been getting (such as the landfill), but Kai is there to fill that hole. Like with Harrison, he takes advantage of a person at a moment of low self-esteem and unhappiness. Once again, pretty classic cult recruitment.

Only Harrison, Meadow, and Kai show up to kill Serena and her cameraman. Are Samuels and Gary not part of the cult yet, or could they simply not make it?

As the clowns walk away, Kai appears to be holding Serena’s heart in his hand. Holy shit. That’s all I can say. Jesus freaking Christ. That’s… that’s another level of depraved.

Two people are dead, but at least the puppy is alive. The puppy lives, and that makes me happy. Also, I want to pet it.

Meadow is clinging to Kai’s every word in the next scene. I’m guessing she’s already in love with him, and he probably knows it, given that he’s going to use her love for him to his advantage in two episodes. (Just a note on the way Kai talks here--he’s very slow and deliberate, building up anticipation for his reaction to the masks. He knows he’s got them (or Meadow at least, Harrison doesn’t look too interested) completely in his thrall.)

Kai tells Beverly that he will do anything for her, a probable callback to him telling Harrison something similar earlier in the episode (see above). So he wasn’t lying about that--he’ll do anything for anyone in his circle, or if he thinks it’ll get them in his circle. And it’s part of indoctrination--he’s making Beverly feel like he cares about her, like he’s one of the only people who cares about her, so she’ll come to rely on him.

Beverly is next seen reporting on the finding of Vinny’s severed head, which was reportedly alerted to the police by anonymous tip. Did one of the cult members call it in, to work more fear-mongering?

Flash back to 07 November 2016, the day before the election. Ivy first meets Winter when the latter defends the former after Gary sexually assaults her. I’m guessing that Ivy met Kai through Winter, likely after confiding her frustrations in her about Ally voting for Jill Stein. An important question: is the cult tormenting Ally only because Ivy is angry and wants to hurt her, or does Kai have some vested interest in Ally? (I’ve seen the interpretation that he’s in love with her, which is interesting to think about.)

Kai must have some kind of ability to move without sound, because he opens the door to Winter’s room and walks in without her noticing. How stealthy can he be? I’d swear he was a ghost if this season wasn’t the only one without supernatural elements or magic.

He also seems to notice the blood on Winter’s finger even though she’s standing far from him in a dimly, red-lit room. Again, does he actually have some kind of power?

Kai honestly looks rather aroused when Winter tells him that hurting Gary “felt fucking fantastic” and orders her to tell him everything. It’s like if James March and Viserys Targaryen had a son. An extremely disturbing son.

Given that Kai frees Gary from the basement, Winter must have told him everything, but why, when it’s not in her interests at all? My guess: she’s afraid of what he’ll do to her if she doesn’t. Even though the cult isn’t a thing yet, he still exerts some power over her, especially since she likely knows of his violent tendencies and inappropriate attraction to her. (I am using the words “likely” and “probably” a lot in these notes. I’m sorry; it’s simply that not everything is confirmed and I must hazard guesses based on dialogue and body language.)

When Kai goes down to find Gary, there’s a shot where the background is completely black, and he’s the only thing in the shot that’s lit. No comment here. I just think it looks really cool.

“Humiliation” and its varieties is a word Kai uses with almost all of his followers recruited so far: Harrison, Beverly, Meadow, and now Gary. He even uses it to refer to himself in the first episode. Humiliation is key here; Kai takes people that feel humiliated and works with it, because people hate feeling humiliated (in my experience), and he’s promising them that he can take away that feeling, and maybe even help them punish those who humiliated them. He’s using it to get them to do insane things that they would otherwise never do (i.e., Gary cutting off his own hand). Throughout this whole episode, he’s been doing that, and I won’t say that it’s not clever, since it’s working very well.

I don’t like Gary at all, but I do feel sorry for him. No one deserves an insane man manipulating them into cutting off their own hand. Not even to vote.

Kai looks unnerved by Gary cutting off his own hand. This man cut out a woman’s heart without flinching, and this freaks him out? What the hell are his standards for gore? Not self-inflicted?

#american horror story #ahs #ahs cult #kai anderson #winter anderson #harrison wilton #beverly hope #ally mayfair richards #ivy mayfair richards #akh rewatches ahs #akh.txt

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years

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Ben catches feelings and decides to take things to the next level with his long-time roommate, close friend, and occasional hook-up. Rey, ever the more sensible half of the duo, decides that they should make sure a relationship between them won’t be a total disaster first.

What they need is a trial run.

Featuring: awkward run-ins with a family member, even more awkward holidays with the whole family, and fluff. So much fluff. All the fluff.

It’s the last chapter, and I’m getting unnecessarily emotional about it so just... keep reading for Ben and Rey and a shit ton of fluff and a happy ending. I’ll be here, trying to pull it together in time for the thank-you note.

On Saturday, Rey wakes to the sound of Ben puttering about the kitchen.

She heads to the bathroom to wash up, makes a quick stop by her room to get shorts (how long has it been since she last slept in her own bed, anyway?), and enters the kitchen to find Ben making breakfast for two.

“Hey, you,” Ben smiles, looking up briefly from the French toast he’s preparing.

“Hey,” Rey replies, wrapping her arms around him from behind. She presses her forehead to the curve of his spine and lingers for a moment before stepping away. “What’s all this?”

“I vaguely remember saying something about making breakfast more often, so,” he shrugs, shaking his head at her when Rey snags a slice of bacon off the counter. “And hey, guess what?”

Rey heads for the fridge in search of orange juice. “What?”

“It’s Saturday,” Ben tells her, waiting for her to turn back to him before he continues. “We’ve been together for a week.”

A whole week, gone by just like that. Rey can’t even remember why she ever thought being with Ben would be anything but as easy and natural as breathing. “Would you look at that?” she murmurs in wonder, setting down the carton of orange juice to loop an arm around Ben’s neck and bring him down for a kiss. “Happy one-week anniversary, I guess.”

He comes willingly, abandoning the stove as his hands find her waist and hold her steady while she stands on her toes to reach him. “Happy one-week anniversary,” Ben echoes with a slight laugh, capturing her lips in another kiss before Rey can pull away. Her fingers find his hair of their own accord, and she can feel his hands slipping down to the back of her thighs when a telltale smell hits her nose.

“Ben,” Rey murmurs against his lips before she lets go of him and steps away. A disgruntled sound finds it way past his throat, something dangerously close to a whine – not that he’ll ever admit to it. She shakes her head at him with a grin and points at the stove. “The toast.”

The haze in his eyes instantly gives way to clear panic. “Oh, shit.”

Rey laughs and Ben grimaces and breakfast, even if the French toast ends up slightly… crispier than they’re used to, is perfect.

“So,” Ben says after breakfast, as they’re on their way to get groceries. “Now that we’ve been together for one whole week–” And here they share matching grins because sure, it’s only been a week and no one actually celebrates that but it still feels like something. “I think it’s time I tell you the full story about my life before I came here.”

Rey stops short, and their joined hands cause Ben to stop too. “Are you sure?” she asks, searching his eyes for any hint of reluctance or uncertainty. “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready to talk about it, Ben. I don’t mind.”

He sighs. “As much as I hate to admit it, my father was right. I’m going to have to talk about it at some point, and right now I’d rather talk about it with you than anyone else. I want you to know who I was before this, the way I know who you used to be. You’ve never hidden your past from anyone, Rey, especially not from me. If I’m only ever going to share my past with one person, I want it to be you.”

It’s… it’s an offering, Rey realizes. It’s his way of saying that he trusts her enough to let her in, trusts her not to run away from whatever he’s about to tell her.

“Okay,” she gives him a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers as they start walking again. “If you’re ready to tell me, then I want to hear it. I want to know all of you.”

And so, Ben tells her about the child whose mother was never around, the child whose father tried his best but just couldn’t quite understand him.

“They thought maybe Luke would have a better chance at getting through, because I was always reading and learning and writing so hey, why not send the lonely kid to live with his workaholic uncle who barely had time to take care of himself?”

Eventually Ben went to law school the way his mother had, the way everyone had always expected him to, because there just wasn’t any other path for him. He wasn’t happy but he wasn’t unhappy either, and he’d resigned himself to a life of never quite being content.

“And then, halfway through my first year in college, the scandal happened,” he says quietly, clutching Rey’s hand as they walk down an aisle of instant noodles. Ben had been eighteen the year his family’s secret was revealed, which means Rey couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven.

But even she remembers. “The press found out about your grandfather.”

“You know, my mom tried for years to figure out who could have had that information and, of that very small list of people, who would have leaked it. Sometimes I tell myself that if I had known it was Snoke all along, if I’d known he was the one responsible for putting her through hell, I never would have gone to work with him.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Rey insists. “Ben, I know you. You love your mother. There’s no way you would have agreed to even speak to him if you knew.”

Ben shakes his head. “You can’t understand what was going through my mind at the time, Rey. I think even I don’t understand. But I was angry, and hurt, and above all I felt like some stupid kid they didn’t even trust enough to share the secret with. So when Snoke offered me an internship that summer, I took it so that I wouldn’t have to work with my mom. When he told me that my grandfather was really just a misunderstood man, I fell for it because no one else had ever told my otherwise. No one in my family ever talked about my grandfather, and I finally knew why. I interned with Snoke every summer throughout college, and then I went to work for him after graduation.”

He doesn’t tell her much about the nearly four years he worked for Snoke, and Rey doesn’t push. She just stays close to him and keeps her free hand in his as they pick out groceries, as if nothing’s amiss. Even when Ben tells her about the way Snoke would berate him for hours, even when he struggles to recount the ways Snoke tried to use him against Leia, Rey ignores the urge to drop everything and pull him to her and cry for him. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to break down in public, and if Ben had wanted comfort he wouldn’t have chosen to tell her this here.

“When he announced his plan to run against my mom in the next election, it got worse. He didn’t want me to just dig up information anymore; he wanted me to actively sabotage her, to use her trust and her love for me and turn it into something twisted, something to be exploited. I couldn’t do it… Rey, I couldn’t do it,” Ben mumbles into the curve of her neck, and she puts down her basket to hold him for just a moment.

Ben pulls away eventually – maybe two minutes later, maybe two hours later. “Around that time my mother started really looking into Snoke; she could pour actual resources into him now that he was her opponent. And when they found out that he was the one responsible for the leak, when they found out that even Palpatine had labelled Snoke too distasteful to work with, my dad didn’t even hesitate. He got a copy of the file, and he jumped right into his car and drove to my office. Just… walked right into the goddamn dragon’s lair because his son had been stupid enough to get trapped there and his sole priority was getting me out.”

This has to be it, then – the part where Ben nearly killed his father, the part where he finally snapped out of it and took the first step away from that life, the first step towards becoming the man she knows today.

“He confronted me right in front of Snoke, basically gave away every single bit of information my mom’s team had. When he was done I was just… I was in shock. It felt like I wasn’t even in my own body. Both he and Snoke thought it meant that I didn’t care, that all of it changed nothing for me. So he left, and Snoke… Snoke finally realized that the file in my father’s hand had enough information to lock him away for a very long time, and the fact that I now knew all of it made me more of a liability than anything. So he ordered me to intercept my father on his way out and run him down. An accident, he said they’d call it,” Ben scoffs, his voice sharp with bitterness. “I realized later he was never going to paint it that way; the end goal was for my father to die and for me to rot in prison.”

“But he failed,” Rey points out gently when Ben falls silent. She reaches up and curves her hand around his cheek, smiles when he closes his eyes and leans into her touch. “Snoke was wrong about you. You weren’t on his side, you didn’t kill your father, and you didn’t betray your mother. Everything he ever said about you was wrong, Ben. You are so much more than Snoke could ever have hoped to be, and he thought he could blind you to that and use your potential for his own gain instead but he was wrong.”

It seems like forever before Ben speaks, before she can breathe again. “Snoke was wrong about a lot of things,” he finally says, turning his head to press a kiss to the hand on his cheek. “Like my name. What kind of idiot calls himself Kylo Ren?”

He grins, and maybe her laugh is a little too loud but she’s too fucking relieved to care about the fact that they’re standing in the frozen food aisle with tears shining in their eyes and an abandoned basket at their feet.

“I like Ben Solo much better,” Rey tells him.

“Good,” Ben smiles. “Because Rey Ren would sound so stupid.”

It takes him about two seconds to realize what he’s just said, what he’s just implied and revealed and suggested all in one breath.

Rey kisses him before he can freak out.

The next morning, with her head on his chest and his arm around her waist, Rey says, “You know, you never did answer Maz’s question.”

“Hmm?” Ben asks, his hand still tracing indecipherable patterns into her side.

Rey turns around and props herself up with one arm, the ends of her hair falling over her shoulder to brush against Ben’s chest. “Maz’s question, during lunch. Do you know what you want to do yet?”

Because he’s due to complete his master’s soon, just a few months from now, and a year after that Rey will be done with her degree too, and who knows where life will take them after that?

“I’ve been thinking,” Ben says slowly, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Maybe my parents were right, when they sent me to Luke thinking that I had more in common with him than them.”

Rey furrows her brow as she tries to puzzle out what he’s saying. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I like research. And I like teaching. And I like being on campus. So maybe I should follow in my uncle’s footsteps after all and just… stay here,” Ben shrugs. “In Coruscant U. Apply to the PhD program after I graduate next year, and see where that takes me.”

“So you’d be here for… years,” Rey realizes. “You’d be here after next year, and you’d be here to see me graduate, and if I get into grad school we could still be together.”

Ben laughs, a quiet, soft thing. “Sweetheart, I was always going to make sure we’d find a way to be together. I’m not letting go of you that easily.”

She kisses him then; it would be impossible not to, not with how gentle his voice is and how happy his eyes are. “But now it’s a sure thing. We’re going to have years together.”

“Years, huh?” Ben smirks, pulling her on top of him. “Someone’s planning ahead.”

Rey lets out a little yelp at being manhandled before she braces her hands against his chest for balance. “Oh, as if you don’t already have the rest of our lives together mapped out,” she scoffs, the effect somewhat ruined by the wide grin she can’t quite hide.

Ben stills, a soft smile blooming on his face as he looks up at her. “I do,” he admits quietly, rising up to meet her. “Of course I do,” Ben murmurs right before he kisses her, and Rey wonders if you can fall in love with someone after just a week or if it’s the kind of thing that creeps up on you over a period of two long years only to suddenly make itself known.

Either way, it’s there.

Finn and Poe aren’t due to arrive till tomorrow afternoon, which is the only reason Rey lets Ben pull her into his lap halfway through the movie. Because they’ve discussed it, how they’re going to let their best friends know, and it does not involve said best friends walking in on them while they’re making out on the couch.

“What the hell is happening here?” Finn demands, his voice unnaturally high.

Rey tries to put some distance between them, but one look from Ben is enough to communicate that he needs her to stay where she is until he can… calm down. “Um,” she says, twisting around to face Finn and Poe with her shirt clutched to her chest. “Hi. I thought you guys were coming home tomorrow.”

“There’s a storm rolling in so we decided to get ahead of it,” Poe explains calmly, bringing in the last of their bags and nudging Finn out of the way. “Didn’t you get our texts?”

Her phone is charging in her room, and who knows where Ben’s is. They’ve had more important things to focus on.

“Forget about that!” Finn tells Poe, pointing at the two of them. “This! We should be talking about this!”

“We’re…” Rey turns to Ben, and she doesn’t know how they ever planned to keep this from the guys for even five minutes when she smiles like an idiot every time she so much as looks at him. At least Ben’s not much better, and they both look like fools when Rey announces, “We’re together now.”

“Finally!” Poe exclaims, a smile tugging on his lips as he roots around his pockets for his phone. “I’m really happy for you guys and I want to know all about this, but first I’ve got to make a phone call real quick.” Phone in hand, Poe wanders into the kitchen area.

Finn quickly draws their attention back to him. “Together? We leave you alone for one week and you start dating? THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T LEAVE YOU UNSUPERVISED!”

From the kitchen, Poe calls out, “Finn, honey, I’m gonna need you to stop freaking out.” And then: “Hux? It’s Dameron. You owe me a hundred bucks. Yeah, dude. No shit. For real.”

“He knew?” Finn gasps, eyes torn between his boyfriend and the couple on the couch. “Even Hux knew? How the hell did I not see this coming? Poe, why didn’t you say anything–”

“For fuck’s sake, Hux, why would I lie about–”

“Poe! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Amidst the chaos of Finn’s increasingly-high voice and Poe’s angry one-sided conversation with Hux, Ben takes Rey’s hand and asks her, eyes bright and voice teasing, “So we’re officially dating, huh?”

Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course we are,” she tells him, pressing their foreheads together. And then, very deliberately, she uses a word she’s been avoiding all week, a word that means something, a word that she’s been wanting to apply to Ben for longer than she cares to admit:

“Hi, boyfriend.”

I'm not usually one for long and teary goodbyes (I mean, yes I am but I usually hold myself back) but this one's gonna go on for a bit, I think - just like this fic.

This was originally a ficlet idea, which then turned into a full-length one-shot, which then inspired a series of ficlets, ALL OF WHICH then turned into full-length chapters in their own right. As you can see, I'm a total disaster when it comes to keeping things short and sweet. Sweet and short? I don't know, words don't make sense to me anymore, not after seven straight days of daily updates.

But it was all worth it, because you guys have been the loveliest readers I've ever had the privilege to write for. I think I'll miss interacting with you daily just as much as I'll miss writing these characters every day. Thank you so much for checking back day after day, for taking the time to leave all of these wonderful comments, and for reading my tooth-rotting fluff. I know, I know, writing should be its own reward, but let's be real: your enthusiasm and support have been the real reward here. So again, thank you so very, very much.

Moving on: I'll be taking a short break to recover from this fic, but I'll be back in a few days to participate in Reylo Week. I'm planning to write two fics for Thursday's prompt (mythology) and one for Saturday's (soulmate), all three of which I'm very excited about. I hope to see you guys then! In the meantime, if you ever wanna say hi or just scream about Reylo or anything, hit me up. I'd love to stay in touch with everyone.

Next up, for seven decades or so: Rey, Ben, and a lifetime of happiness.

#reylo #ben solo x rey #ben x rey #kylo ren x rey #kylo x rey #modern au #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #fic: sign up now for a free trial #my fics

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kimvtae · 7 years

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Drag Me Down (To Hell) | 04

↬ Summary: There’s a darkness to your city, a murderous underbelly filled with crime and deceit that you’ve sworn to avoid at all costs. But the universe has funny ways of forcing your involvement in the form of a notorious mob boss and his young daughter. ↬ Pairing: Jeongguk x reader ↬ Genre: mafia!au ↬ Rating: Mature ↬ Additional Warnings for: blood, murder, slight gore, mentions of human trafficking, drug mentions, dissociation if you squint ↬ Word Count: 15.269

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 05

Jeongguk’s charter falls through.

What had started as a plan to leave Taiwan a few hours after you managed to retain consciousness quickly turned into a struggle to find somewhere to stay. Jeongguk trusted very few people in the city and trusted even fewer hotels or guesthouses, so the next morning found Jeongguk moving everyone’s things into the building where you were being kept.

You didn’t see more than the basement for the next few days. Your doctor, a man by the name of Jihoon who didn’t look to be any older than forty, was silent most of the time he took note of your vitals or asked about your pain. But to say you were hooked up to the proper equipment would be the furthest stretch imaginable. The basement was dark, light only filtering through from a tiny, grimy window to your left, and your right arm was hooked up to something that looked like a crude IV bag, but Jihoon told you it was a morphine drip when you asked about it.

Taehyung stayed by your side for as long as he was able, sitting in an old chair and holding tight to your hand. He was still incredibly furious with Jeongguk, but when you explained on the second day that he had been protecting you, Taehyung seemed to calm down slightly. That didn’t stop him from grumbling about knocking a few of Jeongguk’s teeth out, but at least he was quieter about it now.

You like it best when Taehyung was at your side because his familiar hand holding both of yours had always been the best thing to keep your nightmares at bay.

And now, with him only staying sporadically, you’re loath to fall asleep even as the morphine continues to drag you under. Because when you close your eyes and the rest of the world fades away, the taste of copper fills your mouth, your tongue coated in every word that stayed stuck in your throat while you watched the most important people in the world die.

You see shapes behind your eyes when they close, either the shapes of family falling before you or of the pictures the blood would paint on the walls, the man with dead eyes who didn’t even bother trying to tell you things were going to get better-

Jeongguk only visited once a day to check that you were stable. The morphine has you feel like you’re floating most of the time, only really becoming aware of the pain when the stretches between doses began to get longer. Jihoon wants you off of morphine before you were to leave the city, but both Jeongguk and Taehyung try to prioritize your comfort.

Jeongguk also doesn’t let Surin visit during the time, but he tells you that he’s got Jimin watching her upstairs, and that his men have only left the building to try to find a damn plane out of the country. It was too risky to take public airlines after the attack, especially when Jeongguk still didn’t know the shooters.

On the fourth night since the attack, your sleep is restless. Jihoon had turned off the drip before leaving for the night, and you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Your shoulder was throbbing, and though you know the bullet was no longer lodged in your flesh, you could swear you still felt the meta; in your shoulder, nestled between your bones and tearing at your skin, pulsing off beat to your heart just loudly enough to keep you unsettled.

“How is she really?” Jeongguk’s quiet voice floats through the room just as you’re teetering on the edges of consciousness, missing the soft clouds of morphine.

“She’s stable.” That’s Jihoon. You’ve become more comfortable than you’d like to be with Jihoon’s voice over the last few days, the quiet monotone that suggested immense displeasure with any situation. “But I told you not to fucking bring her here. I don’t-”

“Work for me, yes you’ve made that painfully obvious. But what better way to cash in on the favor you still owed my father, hm?”

Jihoon makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “It’s going to be a difficult wound to heal, Jeon. I hope you realize this-”

“I’ve been shot before, Im.” Jeongguk interrupts dryly. “Is she able to leave?”

“Yes, but be incredibly careful.”

There’s a long pause in which you take the chance to crack open your eyes just enough to make out two figures by the door, both appearing more as mottled black blobs than as actual people.

Jeongguk prompts, “And?”

“I would recommend keeping her here until we could begin physical therapy. It’s not my area of expertise-” Jeongguk snorts, and briefly you wonder if Jihoon had even been to medical school. His methods were cruel and painful, his equipment shoddy and worrying, and you had unclear, hazy memories of Jihoon warning Jeongguk against even allowing him to be the one to operate on you. But in a city with masked gunmen on your ass, there weren’t really many options. “She’s going to be in incredible pain the entire time home, probably for another few days with how little morphine I’ve been trying to give her-”

“I thought I ordered you to give her enough to be comfortable.” Jeongguk snaps, his voice icy and cold in a way you had never heard before.

Jihoon dishes it back just as well, his tone biting and professional. Professional. The thought nearly makes you laugh. “Do you fucking want her addicted, Jeon? You’re too young to remember what happened to your father, but I can guarantee that the last thing you want right now is a fucking drug addict for a nanny.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t think for even a second that this was an accident, Jeon. It was too calculated, executed too well-”

“I killed every man in that building, Im-”

“You think that means shit?” Jihoon laughs, and for once you hear some emotion bleed into his voice. “ Someone is stirring the shit, Jeongguk. And you need to be prepared for anything.”

“This isn’t a fucking war-”

“How long are you going to keep kidding yourself with that, Jeon? Hasn’t it cost you enough?”

Jeongguk snarls. “Get the fuck out of here, Jihoon. I don’t want to see your face until it’s time to move her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Again, it is silent for a long few minutes before the uneasy stalemate is broken by the sound of Jeongguk punching his fist through the flimsy drywall. His fist clears the wall, the sudden noise making you jerk to full awareness on the bed- a broken futon, you had realized on the second day- as Jeongguk wipes plaster and drywall onto his suit jacket.

“How long have you been awake?” Jeongguk asks, not looking away from his hand.

It takes a few minutes for you to find your voice, throat scratchy and raw from disuse, from screaming during the removal of the bullet- the agonizing way your entire body had bent and cowered away from the pain, someone’s sweaty hands on your face trying to calm you down. “The… the entire time. I’m sorry, Jeongguk-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He mutters, fingers clenching slow into a tight fist. “I’m the damn reason you got shot.”

“You couldn’t have predicted it.”

“I should have made you stay on the floor with Surin. Should have never put that fucking gun in your hand-”

“And what if we had been found, and I didn’t have anything? Or you didn’t come back?” You struggle to focus on Jeongguk’s figure, standing ramrod straight and tense, his features slowly coming into view as your eyes begin to adjust. “Thinking in hypotheticals will get you nowhere, Jeongguk.”

“I know,” he sighs. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit.

You struggle to sit up, using your good arm to push yourself upright until Jeongguk’s at your side with an arm around your back to help you sit properly.

“Shoulder?”

“Hurts.”

Jeongguk bites uncertainly on his lower lip. In the wake of everything that had happened, Jeongguk just looked exhausted. You couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind, the thoughts laying claim to his attention. Not only had he killed upwards of a dozen men a few days ago, but he had nearly lost Surin, lost contact with his men, watched you get shot, and lost Jackson. The bags under Jeongguk’s eyes were dark and nasty, his features dragging with weariness.

Part of you wanted to scream, to beg Jeongguk to get you home so you could drop all contact with him, his mob, with all of the fucking guns that had been pointed at you over the span of the last few months. But more than that, more than the desire to fall asleep and allow the mindless numbness to drag you under for good, you felt the inexplicable urge to comfort Jeongguk, to get your bad arm around his chest and tell him he’d be fine, that Surin was fine, you were fine. Another glance at his profile, his face turned away to look at the door, told you that not even some reassurance from you could bring Jeongguk back from wherever his head was.

“As much as I hate Jihoon,” Jeongguk says. “We should probably heed his warning. I know it hurts, Y/N, but I need you to be strong, okay? At least until I can get you to a proper facility.” He scoffs, muttering under his breath, “Fucking Jihoon thinks he’s some chief of medicine. Killed more people than a fucking airstrike on his own. Moron.”

“Jeongguk?” He hums, and suddenly his fingers are in your hair, stroking through the tangled strands with surprising gentleness. “If you hate Jihoon so much, why did you take me here?”

He stiffens for a second, an uncomfortable moment of silence brewing between the two of you, but instead of brushing away your question and leaving you for the night, Jeongguk surprises you. “He was my only option. My father had more enemies than friends here, and about fifteen years ago all of the hospitals in a five-kilometer radius turned against my family name. Probably because my father sent so many men to their morgues, but he never fully explained the situation to me. I couldn’t risk it with how much blood you were losing, so we had to come here.”

“Who exactly is Jihoon?”

“He worked for my father for over twenty years. As a personal doctor and a… Well, my father spread Jihoon’s name around the underground as a reliable doctor so when my father’s enemies came to Jihoon, Jihoon would be able to poison them.” Jeongguk’s hand pauses in your hair, and when you glance at him he’s staring at his lap, expression too far away to even contemplate offering a hand to gently bring him back. “When my father died, Jihoon disappeared. I only managed to track him down a few years ago.”

“And he agreed to help?”

Jeongguk is silent, his hand dropping from your hair as the same professionally blank expression he wore when speaking to his subordinates adorned his features. You knew you were pushing it, asking too many questions into topics that could easily get you killed. Your heart rate kicks up slightly, nervous for Jeongguk’s reaction or what he chooses to do next. You’d already proven to be a liability and in your own eyes, there really wasn’t a reason for Jeongguk to even keep you around.

“You should sleep, Y/N. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“Wait, Jeongguk-” You try to scramble for Jeongguk’s hand, to grasp onto the trust that had been floating in the air as he answered your questions and provided light into topics you’ve been worried about for months, but it proves more difficult than anticipated with the flare of pain that hits your shoulder. You cry out, grabbing your injured shoulder instead of his hand and slumping back into the pillows.

Jeongguk’s face is unreadable as he adjusts the needle attached to your inner elbow, twisting a dial slightly, and then the increasingly familiar warmth of the morphine spreads throughout your veins. Your entire body feels light, the pain beginning to bleed into the relief, and with deep, slow breaths your eyes fall shut.

“I’m sorry.”

“Talk to me, Jeongguk. What the fuck is going on?”

“Sure, Taehyung, you can come into my office.” Jeongguk looks up from the files in front of him, glancing at Taehyung from where he’s kneeling in front of an old, rusty file cabinet.

“You don’t have any offices outside of Seoul.” Taehyung closes the door behind him, crossing the room to join Jeongguk on the floor. He’s careful not to crush any files or loose papers beneath his boots, but a part of Jeongguk wishes he would, if only to keep himself from seeing anymore useless information. “Who the fuck shot my sister?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t!” Jeongguk snaps the file shut, tossing it onto another pile and reaching for a new one. Fucking Jihoon hadn’t organized a day in his life. “You think they told me while they had a gun trained on my head?”

Taehyung picks up a file, but that one’s written in Russian so he drops it almost immediately. “But you have an idea, right? In the room, you told me you had a lead.”

“More of a hunch than anything else. A feeling.” Jeongguk sighs and leans on one of the cabinets, running his hand through his hair. How long had it been since he last slept? “I really should debrief everyone once we get back to Korea, Tae. But I have a feeling you won’t let me rest until you know what I do.”

“You know me too well,” Taehyung grins.

“Where’s Surin? How’s she holding up?”

“She’s fine, a little shaken up. I’ve got her in Jihoon’s master bedroom on the first floor, and she was sleeping when I came to find you. Bogum’s watching her now, but I’ve been keeping watch most of the time. Helps to distract from the fact that my little sister’s in incredible pain and I can’t do anything to help.”

Jeongguk stares at the tip of his shoe, sees the little spark of that goddam pistol before Y/N’s body had fallen at his feet. How many? How many bodies would he watch fall? “I’m sorry.”

“Save it. Y/N told me you saved her life. The only thing I have to be angry about with you is that you put her in danger in the first place.”

“Right.” He shifts, sitting up straight and noticing the keen eye with which Taehyung was watching him. It was unnecessary, really; he wasn’t the one that had nearly died. “Ha Eunhye.”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Her family was my father’s contact in Thailand for decades, but she broke all ties with our clan when word got out that my mother was pregnant,” Jeongguk begins. “Eunhye believed that by my father getting married and having children he was proving himself to be weak. She’s been ordering hits on me since I could walk.”

“Jesus,” Taehyung breathes. “Why the fuck would she try to kill a kid?”

“If she killed me, she could break my father. In her eyes, his pain would result in a spike in his anger and bring back the ruthless killer she wanted him to be. I was seventeen the last time I heard from her, the day I killed her right hand man.”

Taehyung takes a file out of Jeongguk’s hands, skipping through the info even though he knew there wouldn’t be anything written down on Eunhye or the people who tried to kill Y/N. They were too good. “And you think she’s back? Think she can break you?”

“I think Surin factors in here somewhere, but I have no connections yet.”

Taehyung freezes, halfway through reading a page. Jeongguk leans forward to try and read whatever it was that had caught Taehyung’s eye, but he shakes his head and chucks the file at the far wall.

“Jeongguk.”

“Yeah.”

“What if they weren’t after you at the meeting? What if they were after Surin?”

Jeongguk frowns, picking at a thread on his jeans. “Why would a major gang be after my young daughter?”

“The ultimate betrayal,” Taehyung says darkly. “Turning your own child against you? Eunhye could raise her into hating you, turn her into the nastiest killer Korea has ever seen and use those skills to her advantage.”

“Taehyung, don’t.”

“Right,” Taehyung blinks. “Sorry.”

“No, fuck.” Jeongguk grabs his hair, something stone-like settling deep in his belly. It wouldn’t be the first time a child was kidnapped from the head of a clan, tortured for information from either the child or the leader before ultimately being killed or released. Leaders of gangs didn’t like to raise children and considered them the highest form of a liability, only producing one of their own when they needed an heir. And, more often than not, the children were raised abroad to be out of harm’s way. Hell, Jeongguk had been sent to America for almost two years. But Jeongguk had taken every possible precaution since the moment Surin was born, keeping her name a secret, keeping her safe in his home, and preparing her to leave at a moment’s notice. If Eunhye headed these attacks it meant information of Surin had gotten out. And if information had gotten out, every safe place he had lined up for his daughter was compromised. “It makes sense, Tae, that’s the problem. Eunhye’s been a ghost for years, if she’s after Surin I have no way to anticipate her attacks.”

“Think this shit is connected to what happened in Ilsan? With Zhang’s clan?”

“I think there’s a good chance. Either that, or there’s a few more clans than I anticipated that want me dead.” Jeongguk grabs another of the files, a name on the inside cover catching his eye. “When we’re back in Seoul, arrange a meeting with Hyunsik. It’s been too long with radio silence, and I’ll need another passport made for Surin.”

Taehyung looks uncertain, glancing between Jeongguk’s face and the file he gripped tightly. “When are we leaving?”

“Sunrise. I managed to get a plane so we’re not crawling back to Seoul by boat.”

“Good.”

“One more thing, Taehyung.” Jeongguk closes the file, putting it carefully by his hip. “Order Yugyeom and Jaebum to find Hunchul.”

“Hunchul? He should still be in Yongsan-gu, why do you need him?”

“He’s overstepping. I’m tired of his comments, and think he’s the one who’s been threatening Surin and Y/N.” Jeongguk doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s eyes darken at the mention of his sister, and possibly knowing one of the people who’s trying to hurt her. “Have them bring him to the location outside Gangnam.”

“Any specifications?”

“The usual will be fine.” He snaps the file closed, throwing it somewhere to the side. “Go alert the others. There will be a meeting as soon as we’re back at the house. Let Jimin know what we’ve discussed and get Yoongi to find any records of our presence here and erase it. We leave at sunrise.”

Taehyung nods, standing and wiping his dusty hands on his slacks. “One more thing, Jeongguk.” He hums, reaching a hand to grasp Taehyung’s and pull himself to his feet. “You saved Y/N, but you’re also the reason she’s hurt. The only, only, reason I let you hire her is because you swore to me she wouldn’t be anything more than a nanny.” Taehyung’s grip is bruising, unforgiving against Jeongguk’s palm and his nose nearly bumping into Jeongguk’s, but he doesn’t say anything. In a second, Jeongguk could threaten his job or have a dozen armed men ready to kill him for insubordination, but they both knew that would never happen. “I’m getting her out.”

“They already know her face.”

“I’ll get her out of the country, I don’t care. Do you have any idea how many damn promises I broke just letting you near her?” Taehyung steps closer, trapping their clasped hands between their chests. With little difference in height, there is next to nothing dividing Taehyung’s gaze from him. “You’ll get Hyunsik to make her documents, okay?

“If she asks for them,” Jeongguk nods. “I’ll have them ready the next day.”

“Okay. Okay,” Taehyung crosses to the door, a fucking curtain hastily hung across the doorway. “Jesus, you give me grey hairs.”

Jeongguk manages a shaky smile. “You’ll just dye them again, anyway.”

“Go see Surin. Meet you in the morning.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of this country.”

Jeongguk waits until the echo of Taehyung’s footsteps fades and turns to the file cabinet again. Jihoon had done one thing properly over the course of his miserable life, and that was keep intimate details of every “patient” who had ever crossed his doorway. Jeongguk had found files on men he didn’t know, on traitors of his father that had been sent here to die decades ago, even a few files on Zhang’s men. But there was nothing on Eunhye.

The one that caught his eye, however, was hidden between dozens of blank pages.

Jeongguk empties the file cabinet, throwing the files onto the floor and watching as the papers scattered and the names blurred together. He tucks something into his pocket before leaving the room, not giving a shit that it would be left in disarray for Jihoon whenever the older man chose to re-enter. Making a quick stop to the cot Jeongguk had been sleeping on the last few days, he grabs a hoodie from his overnight bag and makes his way to the only bedroom.

Surin’s sitting up in bed, swaddled in half a dozen blankets and looking smaller than Jeongguk remembers. His heart weighs heavily in his chest as he knocks on the door, noting the bags beneath her eyes and the tangled mess of her hair. He should have listened to Y/N, should have listened when she told him the best option was leaving Surin at home. But that had always been his problem, hadn’t it? He never fucking listened.

“Daddy?” Surin spots him in the doorway, her big eyes lighting up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He sinks onto the mattress next to her, tugging her small frame into his lap. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Surin throws her arms around his chest and squeezes tight. “How’re you feeling?”

“Are the bad people gone?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, princess. No one’s going to try to hurt you again, I promise.”

Surin tucks her head beneath Jeongguk’s chin. “Is Y/N eonnie okay? Can I see her?”

“She’s okay, but I can’t let you see her yet, sweetheart.”

His baby girl pulls back, glancing up at him with the eyes that have haunted Jeongguk for years, the eyes that drag back memories he’s spent so long trying to bury. He sees her eyes, he sees his little girl’s smile, and he sees everyone who died to keep her alive. He sees the smile of her mother, so bright for so short a time before her teeth were stained with blood, before the red painted every wall in his goddam home, bullets flying and his death hanging so close, so close he could reach out and grab it if he only tried a little harder.

Jeongguk looks at Surin, looks at his daughter, and watches as hundreds of people die, hears the screams echoing through his head, hears her voice damning him to the deepest pits of hell.

She just had to inherit everything but his eyes.

“Why not, daddy?” Surin pouts.

“She’s still weak. When we’re back home I’ll let you see her, okay?”

“Are we going home?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk strokes his fingers through her hair as best he can. She’s obviously exhausted, and Jeongguk hates that he’s already caused her so much distress at such a young age. If he’d had any other way to protect her, any other way to keep her safe, then he wouldn’t be burning the alias he’d used to get her to this country in the first place. “In the morning.”

Surin’s quiet for so long that Jeongguk assumes she’s fallen asleep until he makes to leave, to brief his men on the next few days and she grabs his hand, chubby fingers struggling to hold all of his at once. “Stay? Please?”

He’s never been able to deny her, sinking back into the bed and holding her close. Surin asks for a story, and Jeongguk struggles to come up with one to get her to sleep with ghosts of his past clawing their way up his throat to choke him.

The hours spent on the plane are the most excruciation of your life. Jihoon only gives Jeongguk enough morphine for a week, stressing for Jeongguk to wane you off of the substance before any signs of addiction could develop and to switch to some other painkiller until he was able to get you to a proper hospital. Unfortunately for you, that meant the constant reminder of the fiery pain in your shoulder.

It’s a struggle to get you out of bed in the morning, the sky still dark and the streets silent. Your shoulder feels as though it’s set to fall off, the phantom feeling of tiny ants crawling under the skin even after the small shot of morphine. It isn’t enough, there isn’t enough relief in the tiny dose, and it feels like an incredible impossibility to stand up, let alone try to move your arm.

“Lift your arm in front of you,” Jihoon’s saying, standing in front of you with a hand on your wrist and another on your shoulder, just above where you were shot. You try to comply, only managing to lift your parallel to the floor before stopping. “Okay, and to the side.” Again there was the same result. “Roll your shoulder. Alright,” he addresses Jeongguk, standing rigidly by the door. “I don’t see any obvious signs of infection or rotator cuff damage, but-”

“Get her to a hospital as soon as possible. I know, Jihoon,” Jeongguk says, glaring across the room. “You’ve made your shortcomings painfully clear over the past three days.”

“You bastard-”

“Your wire transfer will be complete when I am confirmed alive in Seoul. Don’t do anything stupid, and let’s go, Y/N.”

With Jeongguk’s men surrounding everyone, you head to a small airport in the early morning. Jeongguk leads from the front, Surin in his arms and two guns in the back of his waistband. You struggle to walk properly, Taehyung’s arm around your waist to support the majority of your weight, but your entire body feels heavy without the morphine to make you feel like you were floating, like the pain had ceased to exist. You try to stay quiet, too, but can’t help the whimpers and moans of pain that slip past your lips, burying your face in Taehyung’s chest. And you hope through the haze of red that Surin isn’t trying to sneak any glances at you.

The plane ride isn’t much better. The walk to the private airport took too much out of you, and you collapse in the first seat you get close to and fall asleep for most of the flight. But you’re not too gone enough not to recognize Taehyung’s presence in the seat next to you, his hands stroking your sweaty hair away from your face, or the fire trying to scald your shoulder.

“Y/N,” you’re shaken awake some hours later, the plane having touched down some time ago. It’s Taehyung, eyes red and bloodshot, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Wake up, love. Time for your next dose.” That wakes you up, sitting up and shaking off the multiple blankets that had been draped over your frame. You watch with rapt attention as Taehyung retrieves the morphine from the bag at his feet, drawing out the proper dosage before yanking your sleeve above your elbow and injecting it. The result is almost instantaneous, your body melting back into your seat as the infuriating pain begins to fade away. “That’s it until tomorrow morning, love. Sorry.”

“What if I need more tonight, Tae?” You ask, as Taehyung begins gathering your bags to leave the plane and well aware that you were whining. The rest of Jeongguk’s men, weary from the flight, are collecting everything in the aisle behind you. “Tae.”

“I’ll be staying with you until you’re off the morphine completely,” Taehyung says, guiding you from the plane with a hand on the small of your back. “I just need to brief Jimin and the others, pick up a new prescription for you, and then I’ll be over, okay?”

“The babysitter becomes the babysat.”

“Oh hush, love.”

It takes a few minutes for the three cars to round the airport, getting close to the plane before any security or civilians could notice. You watch, being ushered into the car in the back, as Jeongguk settles Surin into the backseat of the middle car, smiling shallowly at his sleeping daughter. When he pulls away to sit up front, his expression is one of distress.

Jimin’s driving this car, looking immeasurably relieved to see everyone. “Good to see you assholes alive,” he’s saying as you buckle. Jimin reaches across the console to pull Taehyung into a fierce hug, and then turns his body to squeeze your knee. “How’re you holding up?”

“My stitches itch and I’m thinking about sneaking drugs from my brother.”

“So, as expected, huh?” Jimin grins, and you can’t help but offer an uneasy smile in reply.

You doze during the ride home, head rattling against the window and making it difficult to sleep properly. Jimin and Taehyung try to be courteous, trying to keep their conversations muted or not speaking at all, but halfway through the ride you’re wishing they’d be loud. Your thoughts, the images of the shootout and the moment your shoulder was ripped in two keep playing through your mind. Perhaps if you were drugged up more you’d be able to sleep properly, but you know that wouldn’t be enough of a reason for Taehyung to give you more.

“Think you’ll be okay for a few hours?” Taehyung asks, leaning out the window.

You have your duffle bag over your good shoulder, body feeling heavy and tired and you really just wanted to sleep this entire terrible trip away. “I’ll be fine, Tae. Just come back when you can, okay?”

“Okay, love. Get some sleep, I’ll bring some takeout when I’m back.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

Jimin waits to drive away until you’ve gotten into the building, your shoulders feeling as if they’re set to bow beneath the heavy weight of your wound, your memories, or the backpack. Either of them could be it, could be the catalyst that leads to your fall. But as you take the stairs to the fourth floor- the elevator was broken, of course- you’re beginning to wonder if it won’t be all three.

It’s not particularly late but there are only a few people around the building, either leaving for a night out at parties or bars or returning from long days of office jobs, loosening their ties as they walk. You don’t look out of place among the tired and weary. You wonder if you ever will.

Just before the fourth floor staircase there’s a long, loud string of honking horns and you glance out the window to see a large, white SUV parked on the other side of the street. You roll your eyes, gathering your phone and dialing a number that was becoming disturbingly familiar to you.

“Yeah.”

“Call the tail off. I’m really not in the mood.”

“I don’t have a tail on you,” Jeongguk says, frown audible over the line. “All of my men are regrouping at the house. Y/N, what do you see?”

You shrug your good shoulder, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see. “White SUV, looks like one of yours.”

“Could you tell the brand?”

“Uh, a Mitsubishi? Maybe? I only glanced at the car-”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, and your feet freeze at the top of the fourth floor staircase. Over the phone, you hear the distinct noise of tires squealing, of horns honking and Jeongguk cursing under his breath. Your hand shakes as you push your key into the lock. “Y/N, don’t fucking move. Don’t go anywhere and don’t speak to anyone. I’m five minutes away at most.”

“Okay.” You toss your keys into the bowl on the nearby countertop, dropping your bag by the door. “Okay, Jeongguk, what the fuck is happening?”

“Listen to me. I think I know what this is, don’t go into y-”

The phone goes dead.

Just then, a crack of thunder echoes from outside, and a brutal downpour darkens the skies. The city needs it, could use the rain and the water to beat some of the recent heat, but at this moment it feels like nothing more than an ominous sign. Heavy rain, an odd SUV, and your phone freezing all within the span of a few minutes? You’d been working for Jeongguk long enough to recognize odd, unsafe situations, and right now felt as if that was exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Your phone, despite what you were trying to convince yourself of, hadn’t died from use over the past few days. It still had half of its battery left. The lights don’t turn on when you flick the switch, your apartment bathed in darkness save for when the lightning lights up the sky. Your entire body feels as if it has been bathed in ice, a cold sweat breaking out along your skin, your heart kicking far into overdrive it feels as though it’s going to abandon you. You dig through the kitchen drawers for an old flashlight, nearly sobbing in relief when it proves to still be capable of working.

There’s nothing to worry about, you tell yourself over and over again. It was only a power outage, the storm must have knocked over a power line or something, and soon you’d have lights again. Maybe when Taehyung got back the two of you could light candles all over the apartment to light it up. Or maybe he’d just take you to Jeongguk’s since you’re sure an outage this small wouldn’t have heavily affected Gangnam.

Your heart’s still beating furiously against your chest despite mumbling under your breath to calm the fuck down. It was stress; it was nerves and the lingering pain that were making you overreact like this. You’d been spending too much time around mobsters, gotten too used to the prospect of danger at the end of every block, to attack you or threaten Surin or be the reason why Jeongguk returns home covered in blood he swears isn’t his own.

You were overreacting. There was nothing to be afraid of. Taehyung would get back in a few minutes, would help you find the fuse box and then the two of you would eat the takeout he had brought, laughing about your overzealous imagination-

A red dot hovers on the floor, darting to the opposite wall before settling by the couch and-

“Oh, shit-”

The window shatters.

The flashlight clatters to the floor as you dive away from the window, glass shattering and falling to the floor like some kind of twisted waterfall. But the shots don’t end there, several bullets flying through the window and embedding themselves in the back of your couch and tearing the fabric to shreds. Without the flashlight, your only source of light comes from the sporadic bouts of lightning, the occasional bursts of color, but it does not give you any insight to where or who the shots are coming from.

Bullets don’t stop flying even as you crawl, staying low to the ground to try to get somewhere safe, to get to your room at least. At your door you stand, using your bag as an impromptu shield, even though you knew it was useless against a barrage of bullets. Another window shatters from behind you and your heart lurches into your throat when you hear the unmistakable sound of heavy boots landing on the floor.

Your heart stops beating. Turning around slowly, you face a man dressed in all black with a mask covering more than half of his face and an automatic aimed at the floor. There are two more guns strapped to his back.

The only weapon you have in the apartment is the Taser in the cupboard.

The man is standing between you and the kitchen.

Swiftly, you yank open your door and manage to shut it just before a spray of bullets imbed themselves into the wood of the door, a few by your head managing to break through. The door is locked but you know it won’t hold, not against a man determined enough to use three full guns to kill you.

You run to the window, wincing each time another bullet makes it through your door. There’s no way the old wood is going to hold long enough for you to come up with a plan to make it out alive, not with that man using an automatic against it. The window proves to be a dead end, too, the ground too far away to attempt to jump, and the fire escape is at one of the windows back in the living room

You were going to die. You were going to fucking die standing alone in your bedroom, gunned down like your own parents and leaving bloodstains for the landlord to tell the next tenants about. At least, perhaps, the only good thing was that Taehyung wasn’t here to watch you die. There’s nothing worse than family watching the ones they love collapse in a pool of their own blood.

The door puts up little resistance to the next few bullets before finally bowing under the weight of your attacker’s foot. Before even getting a look at him you throw yourself to the floor and roll under your bed, naively hoping that would be enough to save you.

For a few long, excruciatingly slow moments there are no sounds in your apartment save for the man’s heavy footsteps and even breathing as he takes slow, calculated steps in your direction. His toes appear in your line of sight and you hold your breath, desperately trying to calm your heavy breathing as you countdown the seconds in your head, shutting your eyes and feeling tears pool in the corners.

Something thuds to the ground and for a long second you think it’s your own body falling limp, but when your breathing does not stop and there is no sharp explosion of pain anywhere you carefully open your eyes, meeting the man’s open, lifeless ones at the foot of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You could cry upon hearing that voice, the familiarity warming you in a way that had been lacking for so long. Scrambling out from under the bed, Jeongguk is there to catch you when you stumble over the dead man’s body, and he’s strong and real against you as you bury your face into his chest, relief and fear crowding your senses.

“J-Jeongguk… the-”

With a hand around your bicep, Jeongguk carefully pulls you away from his chest to check over your features for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did they get you?”

“No. No, Jeongguk, I’m okay. But who the hell are they?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Jeongguk says, holding his gun parallel to his face. “Tell me there’s another way out of this building.”

“There’s a back staircase, separate from the fire escape.”

“Keep your head down. I couldn’t find the fucking sniper.”

Jeongguk leads you back through your apartment, urging you out of your bedroom. At the window there’s no sign of any gunman, but you know the threat of more gunfire isn’t gone yet as long as you’re in the apartment and Jeongguk hasn’t put a bullet through the man’s head. He crouches against the wall and you mirror his movements, keeping both of your heads out of view as you move.

Just as your head passes the opposite side of the window another onslaught of bullets fire through the window, embedding themselves in the ruined back of your couch. From somewhere in the building you can hear the sounds of more gunfire, and your heart stutters at the thought of any of your neighbors being caught at the end of a barrel of a gun all because of you.

Your door is already kicked in as you and Jeongguk run through the kitchen, and you remember- “Wait, Jeongguk. There’s a Taser in the cupboard-”

“The fuck is a Taser supposed to do in this situation?”

“It was enough for you to give to Surin.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps to face you, his gaze cold and calculated. Empty. “Don’t.”

Before you can say anything else Jeongguk is leaning out the door, scanning both ends of the hallway with his gun pointed forward in preparation. He declares it safe enough to move, and you follow him to the end of the hallway with a fist curled into the back of his t-shirt, quietly directing him towards the back staircase. These stairs didn’t exit to the street level, nor to a normal place in the basement, so only a few residents of the building knew they existed. In a building steadily filling with assassins, this was your only option.

Jeongguk moves swiftly down the hallway, using his phone in one hand as a flashlight and the other with his finger on the trigger ready to shoot the first thing that shows, his hands crossed over each other at the wrist. It’s eerily silent, reminiscent of the silence that following the shooting back in Taiwan, but this time there were no glass doors or windows, no relatively safe roof to hide out on, only a basement with a door you were pretty sure opened to the outside.

The door to the ground floor is kicked in before you reach it, and Jeongguk fires the second he sees the automatic weapon the man is carrying. The bullet hits right in the man’s chest, knocking him down, but Jeongguk doesn’t spare a glance as he passes and grabs the gun right off the man’s lifeless body.

“Wait, Jeongguk,” you say, kneeling uselessly at the man’s side. Just like in Taiwan, the man was wearing a large black mask to obscure his features, and without thinking you unhook the straps from the man’s ears and tuck the fabric into your jacket pocket. “Don’t you want to see who it is?”

“You think I give a shit right now with your life in danger?” Jeongguk calls from inside of the basement.

“You said you had an idea!”

“And if I’m right, we need to get you out of here and get back to the house five minutes ago.”

You follow him into the room, finding him standing between two rows of crates. The basement is incredibly cluttered; motorcycles with their covers and discarded gear littered the floor along with piles of musty blankets and pillows. There were fire extinguishers and boxes of holiday supplies, and rows and rows of unopened wooden crates. “How the hell do we get out of here?”

“Um-”

The door you’d entered from kicks open with an ominous bang to reveal another masked gunman, who raises his automatic the second he spots you and Jeongguk. Jeongguk grabs your wrist, ducking behind the nearest crate just as another wave of bullets echoes through the room. The wood splinters above your heads, too weak to hold for long.

“God dammit.” Jeongguk curses again, holding his stolen automatic over his head and firing without looking. From the sound of it, he isn’t hitting anything important. “Where’s the damn door!”

“There!” You lean around the crate, immediately retreating when a few bullets hit too close to your face. The door rests about three rows away, around several large crates and over a pile of blankets.

“Go. I’ll cover you.”

Jeongguk shoves at your back, not giving you a chance to debate his decision before he’s standing and firing at the man in the doorway. You don’t dare to look back as you run, relying on your sense of hearing to listen to Jeongguk’s footsteps. You can’t tell if he’s following you, but you hear a shout of pain from the other side of the room, and then Jeongguk’s at your side again, gripping tight to your wrist to pull you through the door.

His car is parked across the street, and the two of you make a break for it, bodies getting soaked from the rain as you sprint across the pavement and into the car just as a few more bullets ring out from the adjacent street corner. The back window shatters and Jeongguk leans out the window to fire back.

“You know,” you shout over the gunfire and screams from civilians. You keep your head ducked but reach to turn the key in the ignition for Jeongguk, who was currently switching the clip in his pistol. “I’m getting pretty tired of being shot at!”

“Yeah?” Jeongguk snaps, hitting the gas so quickly that the tires squeal, drawing black marks onto the asphalt. He keeps one hand out the window, firing at the masked men he passes, and the other on the wheel to steer. “Join the fucking club.”

Jeongguk loses the gunmen on the highway about halfway to Gangnam, the outside of the car riddled with bullets and three of the windows shattered, and Jeongguk seethes the entire drive back. His knuckles bleed white on the steering wheel as he speeds through the back roads, passing any cars that appear in your path and for a second you think that this is how you’re going to die, in a car on fire on the side of the road because Jeongguk couldn’t slow down for one whole second.

He doesn’t stop until he’s driving up his elaborate driveway, only killing the engine when he’s close enough to the front as several of his men storm out of the door.

Your door is yanked open and before you can blink you’re being tugged into Jimin’s arms as he hugs you tightly, not so subtly patting your shoulders and back to check for injuries, holding his jacket over your head to shelter you from the rain as best he could. “What the- Y/N, what the hell happened? We were almost home before Jeongguk got that call and disappeared. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say into the fabric of Jimin’s shirt.

“Your shoulder?”

“Oh.” You frown, the dull ache in your shoulder returning tenfold now that the adrenaline was wearing thin. How long had it been since your last dose? Were you even allowed another? “It hurts, but. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Ditch the car,” Jeongguk orders, rounding the back of the car and tossing the keys to Yugyeom. Jinwoo takes the guns from his hands. “At least five kilometers away. Have Bogum follow. Where the fuck is Taehyung?”

Jimin rests his chin on the top of your head as he answers. “He was getting pain killers and heading back to Y/N’s.”

“Call him,” Jeongguk says, stalking back into the house, and wordlessly everyone follows. “He’s going to be pissed-”

“Eonnie!”

All heads snap to the ornate staircase, at the top of which Surin is standing dressed in a pair of loose pajama pants and a small t-shirt. You disentangle yourself from Jimin’s arms, meeting Surin halfway down the stairs and catching her as she jumps into your arms, careful to settle her weight on your right so as not to strain your shoulder. She clutches you in a hug, legs tight around your waist and face smushed into your shoulder as you sink to sit on one of the stairs and hold her close. You haven’t seen more than glimpses of Surin since the office and hadn’t realized how desperately you’ve missed the young girl since.

“Where does it hurt?” Surin asks very seriously, pulling back slightly so she can look at you properly. “Daddy said you were hurt.”

“My shoulder, kid. I hurt my shoulder.”

Surin ducks her head to press tiny kisses along your shoulder. She can’t tell where the bandage is due to your shirt, and you hold your breath when she gets too close, but the little kisses are too light to really apply any pressure.

“That’s what daddy does when I’m sad.”

“You have a very smart dad,” you whisper conspiratorially, aware that Jeongguk and his men were still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay! Can we play later?”

“Of course!”

Around you, Jeongguk’s men struggle to collect everything that had been brought to Taiwan along with complying with each of his orders upon his return. Two- no, three- cars need to be disposed of, the new security is coded, there’s four separate lines lit up in his office waiting on calls, but you stay seated halfway up the stairs. Surin rests on your lap, tucking her head beneath your chin and watching her father bark orders. You suggest moving, stowing away in Surin’s room with a movie but she shakes her head, Jimin staring curiously at the two of you from the opposite end of the foyer.

“The housecleaners speak Chinese.”

“What?” You pull back to glance at Surin.

“They speak Chinese and say mean things about dad.”

Surin hesitantly curls her fingers between yours, holding on tightly. For a moment, Jeongguk disappears from view, and then he stands at the foot of the stairs and spots you, surprise etched into his features as if he genuinely had forgotten where the two of you were.

“What’s the code to get into your apartment complex?” Jeongguk asks, somehow sounding even more exhausted than he looked.

“Three, seven, two, nine.”

“Hope you didn’t love that block.”

“Nah.”

Surin glances up at you. She looked tired as hell, but determined to see everything through. “Are you moving in with us?”

“Unless Jeongguk’s just putting my stuff on the street.”

“Daddy wouldn’t do that.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

The sun sets through the front stain windows but none of the activity in the house slows in the slightest. Jeongguk retreats to his office to finally answer his calls, Yoongi is sent out to pick up food and deliver a message to someone, and then the front door is slamming open to reveal Taehyung sometime after ten.

“Where the f-”

“Language,” you call tiredly, leaning most of your weight against the wall beside you. Surin was asleep now, snoozing into the curl of your neck, and the uncomfortable angle was putting pressure on your shoulder, the fiery pain slowly slinking back through the joint to remind you that no matter what, you still had a damn bullet hole in your arm.

“Y/N!”

Taehyung bounds up the stairs, hesitating at your feet with some kind of internal conflict before ultimately saying fuck it and leaning in to hug you around Surin’s body, his arms shaking around you. “I thought you were fucking dead,” he hisses unsteadily. “I got back to your place, and you know what I saw? The entire damn block is closed off, half of your floor riddled with bullets, the cops told me. Said there were bodies, too. I nearly broke a guy’s jaw before he told me none of them were female.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, body squished and aching and fatigued. “I think I left my phone there, Tae, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you who should be apologizing,” Taehyung sighs, and the restraint was audible in his voice. He settles next to you on the step, soothing a hand through Surin’s hair and lending the warmth of his body to yours.

“Tae?”

He’s quiet, uncharacteristically so, and that scares you. From the first moment you met Taehyung behind your elementary school as children, he’d been a vibrant, too loud presence in your life. From giving you his own damn shoes when he saw yours were falling apart to driving halfway across the city when your first ever date stood you up and blasting cutesy music until you could smile again, it was always his booming laugh that you had come to associate with things being okay.

And if things are okay when he’s laughing, then whatever is going through his head right now is anything but good.

“Listen, love-”

“Taehyung.” Jeongguk stands at the bottom of the stairs again. Everyone else has either been sent out of the house or they’re getting ready for at least a little sleep that night. “I need a word.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be there in a second.” Then, Taehyung looks at you again, something empty and unreadable in his eye. “Just tell me who got you out of there.”

“It was Jeon.”

Taehyung stands wordlessly, reaching for the plastic bag he’d dropped some time ago and fishing a bottle out of its depths. “Was gonna take you to get new drapes, y’know. Since the ones in your apartment are ugly as fuck.” He stares at the label of the bottle, shoulders curling downward. “Were ugly as fuck. Guess you don’t need them anymore, huh.”

You swallow uselessly around the lump in your throat, a sharp sting at the corner of your eye. “No.”

“Here.” Taehyung holds out his hand and drops two pills onto your palm. “They’ll help with the pain. Won’t feel nearly as good as the morphine, but at least if you start getting addicted to this shit it’ll be easier to get help for it. Next dose is in the morning.” He waits until you’ve taken both pills before leaning down to press a strong, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

At the bottom of the stairs Taehyung looks at you again, his features clouded in the darkness that has fallen over the front foyer. “I’ll tell you something, Y/N. There’s a reason I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. It eats at you sometimes, knowing that any moment with your loved ones could be your last, that one day I won’t get a text from Jeongguk saying he’s gotten you away, but I’ll come to find someone crying. Someone getting all fucking choked up before telling me-” His jaw clenches, fists buried in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me.”

Taehyung turns to leave, your voice catching in your throat as you try to call him back, to beg him not to leave you alone. There are tears welling in your eyes, and you don’t even bother trying to fight against them, but you struggle to keep your sobs quiet and secret, struggle not to jostle Surin in your arms because right now, with remnants of pain in your arm and the memories of bodies falling prey to bullets right in front of you, being alone is the last thing you could possible want.

But slumped against the wall and tasting the track of your own tears on your lips, alone is all that you are.

Midnight.

Two in the morning.

Maybe it’s sunrise.

You lost track of time too long ago, when sleep proved fruitless even after three tries and even sneaking into Taehyung’s room to sleep after putting Surin to bed. When he hadn’t come back from his meeting with Jeongguk, though, you had wandered back into the hall and stopped. And when your legs had just given out, leaving you to sit against the wall with a blanket around your shoulders, you hadn’t bothered to move.

“Y/N?” It’s Jeongguk. He’s standing at the end of the hall with a hand on a doorknob, and oh. This must be where his room is. “Are you okay?”

Your voice is hoarse from crying. “Define okay.”

Jeongguk curses under his breath, crossing the hall to kneel before you. His hair is gathered beneath a ball cap, and the dark, deep, bags beneath his eyes manage to stand out even in the limited light the moon provides. His eyes widen, likely when he registers the tear tracks still staining your cheeks, and he hurries to wipe them clean with both of his thumbs. “Shit. Shit, Y/N, is it your shoulder-?”

“Don’t care.”

“Is it your room?”

“Stop.”

“I’ll get your stuff after they remove all the police tape from the complex, Y/N-”

“Jeongguk, stop-”

“We’re going to find who did this, okay? They can’t just threaten you and expect to get away with it-”

“Jeongguk, stop!”

Jeongguk flinches back, surprise flashing through his eyes. He drops his hands from your cheeks, shifting his weight to his heels to create some distance between the two of you as you furiously rub at your eyes with the corner of the blanket. You don’t even remember which room you picked this out from, but it’s soft and it’s warm and it holds you together better than you can do on your own.

“How?” Your voice is nothing more than a choked whisper, falling into the depths between your body and Jeongguk’s. His eyes, which had previously been staring with intent at the floor, flicker back to yours. “How can you do this?”

Jeongguk gestures to the blanket. “May I?”

“What?” You blink, confused as Jeongguk tries to lift the blanket, but it’s curled around your arm and wrapped around your knees.

“Trust me when I say you can’t be alone right now.”

There’s no fight left in you. Allowing Jeongguk to maneuver the blanket, you watch warily as he sits next to you against the wall before bringing the cloth around both of your bodies, and you have to admit that the newfound warmth relaxes some of the tension in your body. You huddle a little closer to Jeongguk, and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but you swear you feel him tense up at the proximity.

“My goal.”

“What?”

“How I can do this.” Jeongguk pulls his hat off, running shaky fingers through his hair as he collects his thoughts. When he speaks again, he stares at the bill of the cap. “Keep your goal in mind. You have to become numb to the other shit-”

“Like the murder.”

His jaw tenses. “If I want to keep Surin safe, I can’t get caught up on deaths of insignificant people. And I know what you’re thinking,” Jeongguk says before you can get a word in. “Why not leave if I’m really trying to keep my little girl safe? If I’ve got all these resources and allies, why not use them to my advantage and get out of the country?”

“It makes sense,” you insist.

“It does,” Jeongguk agrees, thumbing at the logo on the hat. Some American baseball team neither of you could bother to pay attention to. “Until I remember the countless people who want me dead. I have reason to believe that the attack in Taiwan is linked to someone who’s been trying to kill me for my entire life. And if they’ve been after me for the last twenty-eight years, then there’s more than enough evidence to suggest they’ll target Surin at the first sign of her-”

“Twenty-eight?”

Jeongguk glances at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re twenty-eight.”

“Yes?” His eyes are wide and expressive, and you notice there’s the briefest flash of color within the dark irises. “Did I not mention that?”

“No.” You find yourself smiling, hiding it behind the blanket as Jeongguk frowns. “Surin?”

“An accident when I returned from studying in America.”

“You studied in America?” You ask, choosing to bypass the ‘accident’ comment. Although you knew it had to be true- there’s no way a mob boss in his right mind would choose to conceive a child if he wasn’t sure he could keep them safe or leave their line of business- but that was never a topic parents wanted to discuss.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly.” You pause. “But, Jeongguk. About what you said, about having a goal in mind to keep going. I don’t… I don’t have that.”

“I know.” Hesitantly, Jeongguk leans his head against your own, a solid weight that somehow corrals your thoughts back into place and reminds you of how entirely exhausted you had been for days. “When I mentioned your name as a nanny application, Taehyung nearly blew my head off. His only family.”

Something uncomfortable curls into your chest at the word. Taehyung was all you had left as family, but with his larger than life personality and natural affection, you could often forget that he had no one else, either. Family to you was the people you chose to let in, and Taehyung had always tried to let in more people than you.

That didn’t mean they always stayed.

“How did you know?”

“Pardon?”

“That I was in trouble.”

Jeongguk sighs, eyes closed in what could easily be mistaken for peace. “There’s only one woman I know who drives white SUVs. If she knows about you, then it’s a damn good thing I’ve gotten you out of the public.” Your chest tightens, that same shortness of breath you’ve been feeling all day reappearing. “Y/N.”

“Y-yes?”

“I have Lee Hyunsik on speed dial.”

“Hyunsik?”

Jeongguk nods, his head jostling against yours. “Best in the hemisphere at making fakes. Taehyung… wants me to get you out. Say the word, and I’ll have three new identities for you by the morning. You’ll be able to disappear anywhere in the world regardless of how many faceless gunmen have seen you.”

“Wait, Jeongguk- what?” You shift to face him properly, the blanket falling from your shoulder, but he doesn’t look at you, expression twisted into something you can only define as embarrassed. “You want me to disappear?”

“No! No, I don’t. But I’ve already put your life in danger too many times, Y/N. You were shot because of me, your apartment is destroyed, and I’d understand entirely if you don’t want to be affiliated with my name anymore. Hell, I wouldn’t want to be affiliated with me

“Jeongguk, no.” He looks hopelessly confused as he glances at you again, as if the very thought of you not wanting to get on the next flight out of the country and away from him was foreign. You struggle to find the proper words to define the feeling in your chest, the swirl of your stomach and itch on your palms. “I’m… I’m too invested. I can’t just abandon Surin like that. I don’t know if you see it, but she opens up to me in ways that she doesn’t with the rest of your men-”

“I know.”

“Then,” you lick your dry lips. “Then you probably know that I can’t walk away from this. I won’t lie, it’s good to know you have a way to get me out when this is all over, but it’s not time for me to leave yet.”

“When this is all over.”

“I’m not stupid, Jeon. I can tell when things are going wrong and situations are escalating. And I might not have something to keep going for yet, but I might find that someday.”

“You won’t find it here.”

Jeongguk’s features are soft, you notice. In the moonlight, without the sharp glare of a gun or an order to weigh down on his eyes and mouth, he looks younger. His eyes are wide, expression open and trusting and so incredibly different from the fearless leader you’ve come to know him as. His hand finds the side of your neck, warm and strong against the skin as his thumb presses to a pulse point.

“I might.”

He shuffles closer, legs coming to rest on either side of yours. There’s a smile on his lips, faint and sad, but it’s there.

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

The blanket is all but forgotten, pooling onto the floor around the two of you. Jeongguk’s thumb ever so slowly strokes along your skin. It’s not cold in the house, but a shiver wracks down your spine, and you can’t even find the strength to blame it on the fatigue.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You smile gently. “You should know the answer to that, Jeon.”

Jeongguk kisses you slowly, carefully fitting his lips to yours as if afraid the bubble of the moment would shatter at the slightest pressure. Your eyes fall shut as he kisses you with gentle ease, your own hand curling into the hair at Jeongguk’s nape to keep him close.

There’s warmth in the way Jeongguk cradles your face in his hands, the touch of his lips and his fingers light and tender, and it terrifies you beyond belief, but you shut those thoughts off in favor of relishing in this one beautiful moment. This moment of Jeongguk pressing soft kisses to your lips, your nose, and your wet eyelashes before pulling back.

“Go,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re falling asleep on me.”

“M’not,” you insist, even as you struggle to keep your eyes open, leaning heavily into Jeongguk’s embrace.

“Stubborn.”

For a long moment, Jeongguk fits his palms against your jaw and leans his forehead against yours, his unsteady breathing matching your own. When he pulls away for good, the air around you is cold.

Hooking his arm beneath your legs, Jeongguk lifts you with infuriating ease, allowing you to curl into the warmth of his chest even if only for a few precious seconds as he carries you in the direction of Taehyung’s room. He says something to you in the doorway, but you’re asleep before you can even think to listen.

Jeongguk makes good on his promise to retrieve your things from your old apartment, and you come back from a run one hot morning to see Jimin and Jeongguk moving boxes into the room on the second floor that you’ve claimed as your own. Taehyung has Surin in the backyard, playing a game with her amidst the added security before he’ll bring in the doctor Jeongguk found for your physical therapy- a real doctor.

The men are arguing over whether to move around the dresser in your room when you get back, your tail for the day heading off to the detached garage. There’s a pile of Taehyung’s clothes in the corner from how often he’s been staying with you lately, hesitant to even let you go downstairs on your own to make some food. He’d even tried to follow you into the bathroom a few days ago, citing how the two of you used to be fine with it as children, but your look of disdain had him backing off quickly.

“I still think we should remodel,” Jeongguk’s saying, placing a box of your things on your bed.

“Yeah?” Jimin snorts, teasing. “Room next door is empty. Could knock it down, make a bathroom and huge closet.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Thought this was a temporary thing,” you say, taking a long drink from your water bottle and the men startle, looking away guiltily.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just want you to be comfortable here. It is my fault you lost your apartment.”

You frown. “Will you let that go?”

“Eventually. Maybe.”

“How’s the shoulder, Y/N?” Jimin intercedes, opening one of your boxes and hooking a pair of your panties onto one finger.

You flush, yanking the underwear away from Jimin and shoving it back into the box. “Fine. Better. Don’t touch my stuff.” It was true that your shoulder was feeling better, even if it had only been close to two weeks since the attack, but the medication Taehyung had managed to get for you was good for the pain. It didn’t bring the satisfyingly delicious rush of warmth that accompanied the morphine, but it kept the pain to a dull minimum deep beneath your skin. “Is the news still talking about the apartment attack?”

Jeongguk makes a face, running his fingers through his hair. He was dressed down today, and belatedly you realize this has to be one of the first- or only- times you’ve seen Jeongguk in a t-shirt, and the site was honestly far too distracting. “Yes. Probably the biggest attack in recent Seodaemun-gu history, so there’s no way they’ll let it go so quickly. Just means the attackers are going to stay hidden longer.”

“How the hell can you do this without going insane?” You mutter, reaching around Jimin for some clothes and a towel.

“You know how,” Jeongguk says, busying himself with unfolding and refolding an old blanket of yours.

Neither of you have brought up the kiss from the other week, not for lack of want but rather more for the lack of time. In the wake of recent attacks Jeongguk had been busier than ever, sometimes disappearing into his office or out the front door before the sun had begun to rise and not returning home until long after you’ve put Surin to bed.

And she’s quieter than usual, coloring in her room or playing with flowers in the backyard with you. You know that Jeongguk’s distance is heavily affecting her, but you don’t know how to bridge that gap.

“Okay,” Jimin drawls, looking between the two of you. “Let’s keep the awkward tension to a minimum, why don’t we?”

“Still your boss, Park.”

“Sure thing, Jeonggukie.”

Heavy footsteps echo from the stairs before Taehyung and three other men you don’t know well stand in the doorway, the air surrounding them immediately chilling the easygoing atmosphere that had fallen over the room. Taehyung glances briefly at you before staring directly at Jeongguk, news on the tip of his tongue.

“Surin?”

“Got her with Bogum. It’s Hunchul.”

“Fuck.”

Jeongguk pushes out of the room, Taehyung hot on his heel as he immediately starts relaying the news he’d gotten. You make a beeline for the bathroom, showering quickly because you know Jeongguk will insist it to be a closed meeting before you or someone else ultimately crashes it, but there’s always the chance Surin will need your attention more.

When you sneak into Jeongguk’s office a few minutes later, he and Taehyung are bent over his desk and reading through a few thick files. “He just returned,” Taehyung’s saying. “He wasn’t in Yongsan when we got back, but he just re-appeared on our radar last night. Alibi hasn’t been confirmed yet, either.”

“He came quietly?”

“Absolutely not.”

Then, every one of Jeongguk’s men are moving, carrying boxes and guns and loading the vans quickly. But unlike the trip to Taiwan, two vans leave almost immediately, before Jeongguk even gets a chance to leave his office.

“What’s going on?” You ask, following behind Jeongguk as he leaves.

“We’ve caught the man who threatened you outside of Surin’s school,” Jeongguk says, accepting a pistol from Jinwoo as he passes. “Jung Hunchul. I’ve been wary of him for a while, but his alibis have stopped adding up recently and no one can confirm his whereabouts for the week surrounding the threat. I’m sick of people thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want around here, sick of people forgetting that we’re here for one thing only.”

Jeongguk wrenches the door to a slim black car open, and you stand on the opposite side. “I’m coming, too.”

“No.”

“Jeongguk, you said you need me to confirm the voice.”

“I asked if you’d be able to. I really don’t want you leaving the neighborhood for at least another week.”

“Not up to you.”

Jeongguk fixes you with a flat look. “Can’t you humor me? Once?”

The driver standing by the front door fixes his gloves very obviously. “Sir, we’ll need to leave now to arrive at the location promptly.”

“Right,” Jeongguk says. “Let’s go.” He slips into the seat but before the car has a chance to pull away from the curb you quickly hop into the back seat next to him and slam the door shut. Jeongguk doesn’t look surprised, but he does look angry. “Why.”

“I calm you down.” You say hurriedly, grasping at straws. “That’s… that’s what you wanted to say that day, right?”

Jeongguk unbuttons his suit jacket, not relaxing against the smooth leather of the seats, but he does holster his gun on the hip you can’t see. He reaches for the console between the two front seats and pulls out a pair of gloves. “Something of that nature.”

“Do I… Do I remind you of Surin’s mother?”

Snorting, Jeongguk presses the wrinkles out of the gloves with his thumb. “You’re nothing like Halla. Her idea of a date was evaluating the new recruit’s mental stability during their early days of training and changing stimulations. Or, my personal favorite, threatening to throw our unborn child out a window.”

“Jeongguk…”

He blinks at you, his expression far away for the longest moment. A chill breaks out along your skin as Jeongguk appears to stare right through you, focused on memories of a past you may never know, may never want to know about, then he shakes his head and shoves his gloves into his jacket pocket. “Forget it. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” You want to argue, to remind him that you were the one to bring up Surin’s mother- Halla- and apologize for dragging up a dark past, but Jeongguk speaks again before you can try. “Did you take your meds this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Shoulder’s feeling better?” You nod. “Good. Last night Surin told me she misses climbing all over you.”

You smile, glancing at your hands- curled against your thighs- and hope it isn’t as obvious to Jeongguk as it feels to you that Surin’s gotten under your skin in a way you never could have seen coming. “I miss that, too.”

“Good. Weren’t you supposed to watch her tonight?”

“Yoongi stayed behind, didn’t he?”

“Probably not the best person to be left alone with my daughter.”

“Why not?” You tease, poking Jeongguk’s bicep. It’s hard as fuck. What the fuck. “She’ll be hacking the U.S. Embassy by the end of the night.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Jeongguk falls silent as he gets a text, his attention brought back to the issue at hand. You want to ask what exactly this is for, who Hunchul was, and where the car was headed, but Jeongguk doesn’t look up once from his phone and you have a feeling deep in your stomach like a stone disrupting the soft dirt at the bottom of a shallow pond, that he wouldn’t want to explain.

The car drives to a dirty district at the edge of Gangnam, the houses getting smaller and the streets less pristine the further you drive. Curiosity sits heavy on the tip of your tongue as you try to sit still in the silent car; the only sounds those of Jeongguk’s thumbs against his phone screen and your shoulder, which you’re beginning to swear you can hear.

“Who’s Hunchul?” You finally ask, the words tumbling past your lips without your consent.

Jeongguk sighs, clicking his phone off and staring at the headrest in front of him. “Officially, he’s in charge of recruiting people, but I’ve always had issues keeping him in line. His father worked for my father, but Hunchul didn’t join me until a few years ago after being raised and trained in a specific way. He… he works in human trafficking, unofficially. I have tried- for years- to end his work but he’s got too many connections through his own family. Recently, he’s been dipping into child trafficking. I’ve been planning with Jimin the best way to get rid of him, since I don’t think he’s even worthy of being killed by one of my guns.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, slumping against your seat. You were aware of some illegality of the underground, of trafficking and kidnappings, the way money bled the rivers red and stained the pockets of police detectives and city politicians. In the city, you would have to live under an isolated rock not to know that things were fucked up, but one of Jeongguk’s own men working in child trafficking?

“You know what he asked me once?” Jeongguk asks, his voice barely restrained behind his teeth. His fist was tense against his slacks, jaw set and eyes blazing forward. You shake your head. “He asked me when he could put Surin on the market a month after she was born. A fucking month. I nearly beat him to death that afternoon before his father stepped in, but now there’s no one left to stop me.”

The car eventually stops in front of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse nestled in the middle of a block of rundown houses. There’s a dumpster in front of the car and a small hospital with the windows boarded up behind. Jeongguk tugs his gloves onto his hands and looks at you for the first time in a while.

“Stay in the car.”

When Jeongguk reaches the storm cellar one of the three burly men guarding it open the door for him, immediately closing it once he’s disappeared inside and going back to keeping watch. It’s cold in the car, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound between you and the driver. One of the guards keeps staring right at the car, and though you’re almost sure he can’t see you, you also can’t help the shiver that trickles down your spine.

The driver catches your eye in the rearview mirror. “Would you like to circle the block, ma’am? These things don’t often take long.”

“No,” you murmur, lips pursed. Jeongguk’s phone was still sitting on the seat where he’d dropped it while talking about Hunchul, and you know exactly what to do, scrolling through your own phone to find a thread of messages.

Grabbing Jeongguk’s phone, you quickly push yourself out of the car, ignoring the calls of the driver behind you and stalking across the street to the guards, fake confidence written in the lines of the scowl on your face. Dear God, you hoped these men were stupid.

“No unauthorized entry,” one of the men says, an eye patch over his left eye. “Shopping mall is three blocks over.”

“Hilarious,” you reply, holding Jeongguk’s phone between two fingers and waving it in front of yourself. “Your boss forgot his phone. Wants me to deliver it.” Quickly, you flash your own screen at the men, just enough time to see the bold TaeTae contact, but not the content if they were really looking.

The shorter man looks uncertain, glancing at his taller colleagues. “Lady, we really can’t-”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, staring with raised brows at the men. “Do you want to be the reason this goes to shit?”

“Jesus, fine.” The first man reaches to lift the cellar door, gesturing for you to enter. “Drop the phone and leave, got it?”

“Sure.”

The storm cellar leads to a dark hallway, and with no doors or options other than to follow the hallway or retreat back to the car you head deeper into the building. There are only a few lights littered on the floor, illuminating the hallway in poor lights and showing the dust circling the air, and graphic, bloody graffiti on the walls. Not soon enough, you hear voices within the building, and then what sounds like a very, very violent punch. That, or someone just broke a chair over their own damn head.

When the hallway ends, it opens to a room that looked like it had once been a lobby with several doors around the room that led to different floors and areas of the building. You stay close to the wall, hiding in the shadows as you look for the best place to stay. You hadn’t actually thought this through very well, hadn’t thought of what you’d say or the excuse you would give when you were caught snooping around in here. Jeongguk already didn’t even want you a block away from his home, but if he saw that you left the car?

Jeongguk stands on the other side of the room, his jacket discarded on the back of a nearby office chair and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The black baseball cap he’s taken to wearing is pulled low over his face, his lips turned down in a deep frown. Beside him, tied to a rickety wooden chair is a man you assume to be Jung Hunchul, his mouth bloody and hair matted with something that was either dirt or more blood. Jimin stands on the other side, the hand holding a pistol hanging leisurely at his side, and a few more of Jeongguk’s men stand scattered around the room, rifles held against their chests.

Taehyung stands adjacent to where you’re hidden, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look away from Hunchul, his jaw tensed with thinly veiled fury.

“I’ll ask again,” Jeongguk begins, standing in front of Hunchul. You take the split second of complete concentration to move out of the hallway and dart behind a wooden crate between Bogum and Hoseok. “Why are you threatening my daughter?”

No answer.

From your angle you can’t see Hunchul’s face, but you can imagine he’s staring at Jeongguk with cold, calculated rage. Jeongguk waits ten, fifteen more seconds before he’s pulling his arm back and punching his fist against Hunchul’s jaw with enough force to knock the chair over.

“Get him back up,” Jeongguk spits. Jimin and another man quickly lift the chair.

“Wasting your time, Jeon.” Hunchul drawls, spitting a mouthful of blood and what might be a tooth onto the floor. “I got jack to do with your little problem.”

“No? Care to clear your alibis, then?”

Hunchul shrugs as best he can with his arms tied behind his back. “Didn’t feel like clocking in, boss. Playing hookey. Fucking some prostitute on your bed. Take your pick.”

This time when Jeongguk punches, he nearly falls over himself from the force.

Hunchul’s nose is bleeding steadily when he’s raised back up, the blood dripping into his mouth and staining his terrifying grin red. Your stomach twists, eyes wide, and though you desperately want to look away or run back to the car, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve heard that voice before. There, on the outskirts of your memory, you can hear a warbled tone- they’re giving bad news, someone’s crouching in front of you and ignoring the way you flinch, the hand that grips your shoulder is not warm-

“Jimin’s got pictures of you hanging around Zhang’s territory.” Jeongguk’s says dangerously. You know what he sounds like when he’s hanging on by just a thread, and can tell the situation is creeping towards that. “Care to explain?”

“Can’t a guy visit his own father?” Hunchul asks, spitting out another glob of blood. “You picked the prison, Jeon. Could’ve chosen somewhere gay.”

“God, you’re a piece,” Jeongguk mutters, sweeping his head around to survey the room. You drop your head before he can spot you, but that doesn’t stop your heart from kicking furiously at your chest. Where the hell have you heard that voice? “Should’ve killed you when Hoseok was on that stakeout.”

“Yeah?” Hunchul’s laughing, chuckling earnestly as if his life wasn’t hanging from Jeongguk’s damn pinky finger at this very moment. “Best shot you got, Jeon. Why not let him have at it? Right here, right now?”

“You’re not worth the ammo, Jung.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Why are you threatening my goddam daughter-”

“Jeon,” Jimin murmurs. A warning. Jeongguk does not heed it.

Hunchul snorts. “I don’t need to threaten that girl. You think she’s safe? Think you can get her a pretty babysitter, shoot ‘em up a little and everyone will forget how much of a piece of shit you are? No one’s forgotten, Jeon. And it’ll do you good to follow suit.” Hunchul laughs again, sounding a little strained but doing a frighteningly good job at hiding it. “Wouldn’t want to go to your gorgeous house, only to see- oh no. Surin’s little bed is empty, and what’s this? The nanny is dead! Such a shame, I’m sure she was fun in bed-”

“Shut the fuck up-”

Then, Hunchul grins up at Jeongguk, a thick scar running from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. “Tell me. Have you reconsidered my offer? Surin’s at a great age, Jeonny boy. Clients would line up and down the damn block just to get a damn piece of her-”

Jeongguk whirls on his heel to rip the pistol out of Jimin’s hand, pressing the barrel to the center of Hunchul’s forehead in one swift move. Jeongguk’s face is horrifyingly free of emotions from what you can see under the shadow of the cap, his finger on the trigger and not the slightest hint of uncertainty in the way he holds his gun, no quiver to his arm.

Hunchul’s laughter dies in his throat.

“I,” Jeongguk says, voice low and deadly. “Will give you one more chance. Why the fuck were you threatening my daughter outside of her school?”

“I’ve never been to your kid’s school.”

Jeongguk’s chuckle sounds hauntingly empty. “I don’t believe you.”

Hunchul spits a few choice curses mixed with declarations that Jeongguk was crazy, that his men should turn on him before he shoots them in their faces, too, and something clicks in the back of your mind.

You know exactly where you’ve heard that voice before.

“Go to hell, Jeon.”

And it wasn’t outside of Surin’s school.

“I’ll see you there.”

“Jeongguk, wait-!”

A shot rings out.

Hunchul’s body slumps in the chair, a gruesome wound ripped through the middle of his forehead, fleshy blood dripping down his features, dead eyes wide in horror. From what you can tell, there is no exit wound. Blood and flesh pool into Hunchul’s open mouth, fresh splatter joining the layers of blood on the wall behind his head.

Jeongguk spits at Hunchul’s feet. “Rest terribly, bastard.”

“Oh my God- Y/N!?”

Taehyung’s voice breaks through the heavy smog settling thickly in your mind, but it does not register. You can’t look away from Hunchul’s dead body, the task made easier by the way Jeongguk startles back to reality, turning hurriedly and meeting your frantic expression with his own wide eyes and unblocking the view.

Your legs give out and you fall hard on your knees, Hunchul’s frozen eyes appearing to follow the movement. You were going to be sick, or maybe you were about to pass out, the room spinning hurriedly around your icy body.

Someone throws something over your head- a jacket, maybe- and you think these are Taehyung’s arms as someone forces you to your feet and crushes you into a hug. Or maybe it’s Jeongguk’s jacket, his voice close to your ear when he shouts, “I told you to wait in the damn car!”

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Taehyung spits, and a bruising arm around your waist urges you to what you hope is the exit, your sense of direction thrown off in the dark. The fabric smells like Jeongguk, you think.

“You think I wanted her here?”

“I think you’re fucking pushing it, Jeon.”

Jeongguk’s voice bounces back in an echo, which you pray meant you’ve reached the hallway. “Watch your damn mouth, Kim.”

“I will not!”

The jacket is ripped off of your head and you flinch in the sudden sunlight, turning your face into the nearest chest- Taehyung’s, thankfully- and trying not to hear the way Jeongguk threatens the lives of his guards for letting you into the building.

“Look at me,” Taehyung’s whispering, touching your cheek gently and focusing your attention briefly on his shaky face. The edges of your vision are hazy. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“M-my head, I think.”

“Your head?” Taehyung frowns, pushing back at your hairline for any cuts or bruising. God, you were going to faint. “Did you hit it?”

“No- fuck, ow- shit, just. Shut up. Please. Fuck, ow-”

There are two of Jeongguk’s faces swimming in front of your eyes when he rejoins Taehyung’s side. “I wanted you in that car for a reason, Y/N.”

“Little-” You sway dangerously, Taehyung’s hands tight on your elbows to keep you upright. “Little late for that.”

Jeongguk clenches his teeth, looking about ready to kill the next person to cross his path before looking back to you. “Go the fuck home with Taehyung. Or, if you’re so intent on ignoring what I say, go find somewhere else to live. I’m sure real estate in Seodaemun-gu is low right now.”

“Jeongguk-”

“Don’t,” Jeongguk snarls, pointing a finger in your face. “What else am I supposed to do for you, Y/N, if you don’t care enough for your own damn life that you’ll ignore all of my orders-?”

“I don’t work for you, Jeon-!”

“Yes, you do-”

“No.” Taehyung has to steady you again, and vaguely you hear him calling for Jimin across the street, hear the other men shouting to clean up the body and the blood. “I work for a single father, not a mob boss.”

Jeongguk’s expression hardens, the sun shadowing his features beneath the cap. “Get out of my sight, then. Go do your job.”

“I’d love to.”

Taehyung supports you on one side, Jimin hurrying to your other when you spin on your heel too quickly and knock yourself off balance as another wave of pain floods your head. It’s entirely unlike the dull ache of your shoulder, piercing your skull and making even the warm summer afternoon feel absolutely brutal.

Between the two of them, Taehyung and Jimin somehow get you into a car; Jimin barking an address as Taehyung carefully adjusts your pliant, weak body to lay against his own.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Taehyung murmurs, carding his fingers through your hair in an old habit. Jimin has your hand between both of his, trying to rub warmth back into your cold fingers.

You want to ask him which part of the day he was referring to, but your tongue lays too heavy in your mouth and your thoughts stay jumbled as the car speeds through the back roads.

The staircase is cold and damp, the warm lighting doing nothing to offset the horror movie vibe the hallway gives off. You’ve never been to this part of the house before, and had honestly been hoping you never would, but things change and enough has changed that you need to take this chance.

The stairs end and open into an empty classroom with one door on the left.

Knocking on the door, you stick your hands into your pockets and shift your weight from foot to foot. You knew there was no way for you to get caught down here, but that didn’t stop the anxiety settling deep within your chest from planting extra seeds to make root.

Hoseok opens the door not a minute later with a wide grin.

“I was wondering how long it would take you.”

A/N: I’m out of work for the next 9 weeks due to my studies;;;; I made a ko-fi account if you guys want to help me out at all, but please don’t feel obligated!! As I’m still in Seoul, I can’t tell when I’ll be able to update anything, but I’ll keep trying to work on my projects;;

#jeongguk scenarios #jungkook scenariors #bangtan scenarios #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #my writing #i apologize in advance for the brief flash of hope before i stole it away again

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