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niragibitch · 3 years

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The Killer Girl - [ Niragi X Reader]

This is the first Niragi fanfic that I write, and my first smut, I hope you like it Perhaps there is an error of agreement or spelling, as it was initially written in Portuguese and passed to English late at night

Niragi X Reader

Warnings: Violence, weapons, blood, sadism

Number of words: 2k

It was a completely degrading situation for her, handcuffed in the bed of that complete crazy man. She of all the people in the world, a murderer.She had an organization just like a beach where she was a leader, the purposes were completely different though. She and a group of around 50 people where she was the leader closed a complex of buildings, got fast, luxury cars and supplies to stay alive, gathered weapons heavier than the beach and were just there to cause chaos and having fun with the games, almost none of those who were with her wanted to leave this world, people with empty lives and no hope in the real world were very well there, criminals and murderers just like her too.

A hired killer, eventually hired by governments to eliminate people or even torture them for answers, her life was reduced to death in the real world and would continue to be reduced to it in this one, she killed whoever she wanted and moved on, she didn't see much felt in normal life like the others, it all seemed very pathetic.His organization eventually became a mini city of troubled people who followed some rules of good coexistence and obeyed it, nothing more. Anyway going to the point where she was captured by the sniper's guy.

Hours before she was in a game where her entire group was extinguished, she herself had to kill some of them in order to stay alive but something she didn't count on was that her munition would end. At the end of the game she was alive but slightly injured, and a guy with black hair and piercings found her, intrigued by where she got weapons, cornered her with other militants and took her to the beach. She reminded him of someone he knew many years ago.

After the hatter's talk about answers and death to the traitors and things she didn't care about, she handed them her cards and tried to leave, but being unarmed and injured she was dragged by Niragi to where she was currently.He looked at her for a few moments with an teasing smile, showed his tongue with that tongue piercing that gleamed with the light in the room.

He was about to climb on top of her to do who knows what when someone appeared at the door and he had to leave taking his inseparable rifle.What was a lot of innocence on his part, in seconds as handcuffs were loose and she was walking around the room looking for something, she didn't know when he would come back and needed a plan, which soon came up when she found ammunition and a revolver in a drawer.

Now she had some options but she didn't know which one would be more viable, the injuries no longer bothered her, pain became tolerable and easy to ignore , the current problem would be to go through the armed guys without getting into trouble. She leans against the wall, but soon she sees the doorknob moving and has to think about something, hiding in the bathroom she expects some commotion in the room.

Just as, through it, the door opens and after that it closes, that is to say he did not notice that it is loose yet, he turns around.

''That damn bitch! '' he exclaims and she hears some steps, deducing that he took steps forward by the direction of the noise she silently appears behind him, she had a chance.

She hits him in the neck hard enough for him to fall to the ground, taking advantage of the fact that he dropped the gun.

She steals the rifle, fastens the revolver to his waist and points the gun at him, unlocking it and holding the trigger.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" - he says in an automatic tone and just receives an empty stare from her

"I don't advise you to make any sudden movements or I'll have to put a hole in that pretty face of yours, dear."

he puts his hands up and slowly gets up.

"You know that if you kill me now there are going to be armed militants out there, don't you?" - He smiles implicitly and a challenging face.

"But if I shoot you now, they'll think it's just you being a complete insane, and shooting me and not the other way around, I can buy time and run away in the crowd."

‘'well thought ‘'

He approaches and in a quick movement taking the rifle and aiming it at her neck, she pull the revolver and put it on his neck in response, and inevitably end up smiling, it was the first time in a long time that things started to be interesting, probably because her life was at stake.t

The feeling of adrenaline was something incredible to the girl, she felt like she under somo drug effect .

''You're smiling, it's the first non-empty expression you've made since I met you, why? ''

Niragi can't help feeling attracted to her, someone with the courage to face him that way

"I imagined your blood running down that pretty face of yours" and inevitably she looks at his mouthIt

Seemed crazy, but she couldn't help but think about his tongue piercing, and to be honest he looked attractive since when she first saw him, shooting like an insane in the game hours ago .

He looks at her a little longer and ends up kissing her, using his free arm to grab her waist, who in response uses his free hand to pull his hair. Neither wanted to be the first to surrender and be the first to drop the weapon. Both fight a fierce battle to control the situation until he pulls her in a sudden movement, placing her against the wall, listening to her moan in response, her head had hit the wall but she didn't seem to bother with it. He holds her wrist against the wall, pulling out of the gun's direction and calmly drops the rifle on the floor.

"Drop that gun," he says in a husky voice next to her face.

"Kick that rifle away and I'll drop the gun" - She says imposing and he surprisingly complies, she fulfills her promise by releasing the revolver that makes a loud noise when falling on the floor, but that doesn't bother them.

Now, without being a big risk to each other's lives, they kiss again. He remains holding her wrist tightly against the wall, and she continues to pull his hair to the point that it hurts, she wanted him to be in pain.

He pulls away from the kiss and starts kissing her neck.

"What do you want me to do with you?" He mumbles, but he doesn't get an answer making him irritate by biting. "You're a sick bitch, you're enjoying this, aren't you?”But again he doesn't have an answer, the grip against her wrist weakens and she takes the opportunity to loosen her arms and inverts her positions placing him against the wall this time, with one hand she scratches his neck and with the other she pulls his chin making him look at her and kiss him biting his lip hard enough to bleed. He is initially frightened by that, but she kisses him again, normally feeling the taste of his blood in her mouth.Glad to have made him bleed, she separates her lips from his .

"About your first question," she whispers in his ear. "I want to see you like this, hurt and in pain, with blood running down your beautiful face, and about the other I'm really loving it.”

He holds her thighs by pulling her towards him, she hugs his neck and curls her legs around his body, which carries her to the bed, where they both start to undress each other.

When they realized he was already making aggressive penetrating against her who tries to make his back and neck bleed as much as possible. He tried and failed miserably to hold his moans, the physical pain mixed with the pleasure of it, it was maddening, he was getting lost in her. eventually she put her hands against his neck hanging him until she felt he could not take it anymore, and he slapped her ass with no measure of strength and pulled her more closer making her hips as close as possible to his.

Both were lost in each other's reactions, their breathing changed, the blood and marks they had caused on each other, and in the midst of it they both reached ecstasy.

He fell on top of her, practically dead from fatigue after such an act and with no idea what would happen next.

"You still haven't told me your name, dear''

''Neither you said yours, we are even ‘' - she replies arrogantly making him roll his eyes but ends up answering- ''(Y / N) ..’’

"Huh?" He grumbles in a questioning way, he couldn't formulate coherent sentences at the moment

''That's my name, asshole''

"You are lucky that I am not close to my rifle right now," he replies slightly irritated.

''I say the same, or you would be dead now’'

"Niragi ... that's my name ..." he says in a sleepy voice and ends up erasing against her shoulder that despite knowing that he is a crazy and insane guy, she couldn't help but find him cute.

She could get up and shoot him right then and run. There was also the possibility of getting up wearing her clothes and just walking away, he didn't seem to sleep for some time and he probably wouldn't wake up. However she chose to leave to think about this problem the next day and soon fell asleep too.

[…]

The next day the girl was the first to wake up, getting up carefully so as not to wake her bedmate, while thinking about what to do. The easy answer was the handcuffs, the handcuffs were still on the headboard.The next day the girl was the first to wake up, getting up carefully so as not to wake her bedmate, while thinking about what to do.

The easy answer was the handcuffs, the handcuffs were still on the headboard.

She approaches him by carefully pulling his arms up, placing them against the cold metal of the handcuffs and adjusting them so that they are as tight as possible.

She couldn't help analyzing the bruises left on his body, his neck was a little red, some of the places she scratched looked more like they had been cut and could take a while to disappear due to the depth, not to mention the wound on his lower lip . In general nothing there was very drastic, with ointment and ice he would quickly be fine.Not that she was going to take care of his wounds or let him go for now.

Anyway, the calm expression he had while sleeping was cute, he looked so vulnerable.

She stops looking at him and starts to martyrize herself with her own thoughts and gets up wearing her clothes and walking to the bathroom.

It doesn't take long before he wakes up, a little sluggish from sleep he doesn't notice the situation until he notices his trapped wrists.He looks for her with his eyes, and not seeing her there irritated him completely.

He struggles to get of the cuffs, making her hear the sound of metal against the bed. And then she takes a deep breath, leaving the bathroom and facing him.

"If you don't let go of me now, you'll regret one day being born, when I'm released," he says in a menacing tone.

''What makes you think that someday you'll be released? I can kill you here and now, so be sensate and measure your words, ” retorts in a monotone voice

She leans against a wall with her mind racing, she needed a decision on what to do. A plan.

At no time did his eyes deviate from her, he analyzed her as if his life was at stake and in a way it was .

"What do you plan to do with me?" He says in a fake monotone voice, he wanted to stay calm as she was but it was difficult.He didn't like to feel vulnerable, and the situation at the moment left him on the fine line between frightened and angry.

''Sincerely? I have no idea, ”she says and smiles, approaching the bed and smiling sarcastically.“ What did you plan to do to me when I was handcuffed?''

"Do I really need to say it?” The smirk said it all, and as usual he sticks out his tongue with that piercing. "Are you blatantly staring at my mouth, if you're a good girl and let go we can repeat what we did yesterday’’ he tease

"Temptant" - she climbs on the bed, putting one leg over him, sitting on his belly ''but whoever is trapped is you and I can do whatever I want anyway ‘' She shrugs and can feel him shudder despite trying to control his emotions. reactions not wanting to appear helpless .''This situation is being really fun and stuff, but I think it's time to reach an agreement ... '' she passes her hand carefully over the marks on his neck '' I will give the cards and we will play from there, if you scream they will find you pathetic because of the current situation, you will lose your reputation ''he starts to get angry and that just amuses you even more ''So promise me that if I let you go, I can stay alive, with that gun and walk around freely .’'

"Do you think I'm stupid? You will definitely try to escape and I already saw that you are no amateur with guns ..''

"If you are afraid of dying, know that I have been able to kill you several times, including when you were sleeping, you need not be afraid of me, kitten. I do not bite most of the time .." she blinks. "Now give me a definite answer before I get piss ‘'

"Okay, I'll agree to your terms, though…”

"What?" She asks, starting to lose patience. "I'm starting to think that shooting you would have been a lot more practical.”

"You're going to live in that room with me" and after saying that he sees her expression change to something indecipherable "I'm going to need to keep my eyes on you so you don't do anything suspicious

"Was that it? Okay then, we have a deal" and so she gets off him by letting go of his wrists ''But know that dealing with me is something almost unbearable and that if you irritate me you might end up not surviving’’

He is relieved to have his mobility again, his wrists were marked and would be purple for a long time.

"I advise you to put an ice on your bruises." She kisses him on the cheek, picks up the gun and walks away towards the door."

Where do you think you're going?"

''Analyze the perimeter since I'm stuck here, go get dressed before worrying about my life, I'll see you around ‘' and she leaves slamming the door

Niragi stays there without knowing exactly what to do, she was an intriguing woman. She drew his attention by making him want to keep her close and shoot her head at the same time. It was only a matter of time before they trie to kill each other.

#niragi smut #niragi #niragi imagine #niragi imagines #niragi suguru #niragi x reader #niragi x reader smut #alice in borderland #alice in borderland imagine

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

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The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 2

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater… Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Trauma. This one is lighter but I still advise to tread with caution when it comes to this series.

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU! I’ve been so wrapped up with work and another project that I haven’t had really any time to breathe. BUT I finally took like a half step back and remembered that fic is actually a form of self care for me. I LOVE writing these stories and needed to make time for this and, of course, to give those of you who are invested something to sink your teeth into.

This is a shorter chapter but will answer that lingering question from the last chapter and, I hope, make up for the wait just a bit.

Love you sweet pumpkins!

TAGS ARE OPEN

If I missed your tag please remind me.

You hadn’t expected sleep to come easily. It rarely did even before this seemingly endless day, and yet the moment you settled into the plush bed you fell into blissful unconsciousness.

A few hours before sunrise, your eyes pop open. It certainly wasn’t the longest night’s sleep but you felt more than rested. Another side effect of the serum you suspected, and honestly, not a bad one.

You had work to do.

Tentatively you step from your room, both cautious of any potential threats and not wanting to disturb the presumably sleeping Soldier, wherever he may be. Thankfully, you found neither assailant nor your new muscle stalking around the space.

Given your first goal of the day you were honestly more grateful to not see the Soldier awake than you were to not face an attack.

On the small dining table, the boxes of files on The Soldier sat just where you’d left them the night before. You lay your hand on top of one, almost reverently.

There was no doubt that what these boxes contained was unpleasant if not horrific. Part of you almost didn’t want to crack into them, not wanting to take this journey now.

With a deep breath, you shake your head, dismissing your hesitation. You’d made a commitment, albeit only to yourself, that you would give him his name back. And if his freedom could be wrenched from these files… Well, you’d do that too.

By the time the sun finally lit the windows you felt ill. No one could ever accuse you of having a weak constitution when it came to violence but still… some levels of depravity, especially sanctioned depravity, were more than even you could bear.

The story told of The Soldier unfolded in the files on the floor around you. It was a lesson in just how deep the cruelty of man could go.

Beyond the more gut-wrenching details, you’d gained a surface understanding of how he ticked. The triggers and tools available to you, none of which you intended to use, as well as his limitations.

Part of his appeal was that he could be rendered a blank slate, a human weapon at the full control of whoever had a firm enough grasp on his leash. However, wiping him and bringing him fully back to square one had its risks.

The insidious technique always carried the chance of simply leveling him to a state of drooling uselessness at best and death at worst. Because of this, they only wiped him entirely with the use of the chair when absolutely necessary. In fact, his last full wipe had been almost four years ago—which likely explained his remembering your encounter from several years prior.

From what you gathered so far, this was one of the longer stints Hydra had gone without either icing or wiping him. The notes indicated that this was a great win. They thought they’d finally broken him.

A smile filled your face knowing this was far from true.

“Amusing read?”

You had been so absorbed in your research that you didn’t hear his approach and embarrassingly jumped at the sound of his voice.

“The content isn’t amusing. Their misguided ideas though…”

His brows raise at this, “Ideas about what?”

“That they have somehow finally broken you.” The moment the words leave your lips you regret them. His expression is unreadable, a combination of horror, disgust, and murderous rage that no language you knew had a word for.

“Haven’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your presence here says they haven’t.” As did his attempt on your life last night and the fact that he didn’t kill you when you told him your plan. He doesn’t respond, just shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing his gaze out the window.

“They think because they haven’t had to wipe you in so long that you’ve given in. It’s amusing because it’s the exact opposite, isn’t it? You figured out-”

“Even a dog learns not to bark when the shock collar goes off too many times.” His frigid tone makes you flinch. You think to respond but his cold glare freezes your jaw shut. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“You’re wrong.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you brace for his rebuttal. It doesn’t come. He simply turns and strides onto the terrace.

To say that wasn’t what you expected would be an understatement. Last night he admitted to remembering you, admitted that what he did to Eric he did for the both of you. Clearly he had grabbed hold of a bit of autonomy, some level of self-awareness. Yet he didn’t see it as any kind of victory…

Rather than push the matter, you sigh and begin repacking the boxes, tucking the nightmarish pieces of The Soldier’s puzzle away--all but one.

The file was old, dating back to WWII, it’s edges frayed and flaking. Once more you flip open the cover.

Held by a rusted paperclip is a black and white photo of a striking young man in military dress with a mischievous smile.

Your eyes wander from the photo to the man on the terrace. Logically you knew they were the same person but at the same time, it seemed impossible. There was a spark in the person staring back at you in the photo, an effortless charm that couldn’t be dulled by the passage of time. For that energy to remain in a photograph and not in the man himself…

Taking care to not damage the picture, you slide it from the paperclip. The document below held nothing but basic information, information he may want. The photo though--well it seemed almost cruel to present him with it when it was clear the man in it had died a long time ago.

“Oh,” you breathe out as his reaction makes some kind of sense to you.

Before you’d wondered if he may remember his name, it seemed marginally possible given that he’d known you. But after what you’d learned and how your words had clearly hurt you knew that wasn’t the case. He may have wrenched some control back out of sheer will over the past few years but it was, for him, a hollow victory.

With effort you swallow the lump in your throat, setting the file on top of the box before you head back to the room you’d slept in.

Looking to take your mind off your bungled good deed you pick up the burner phone Mara had given you thinking to ring her to come on up until you note the early hour. The woman had been through hell, you could grant her a few more hours of what you hoped was restful sleep.

Unable to think of anything else to do you get in the shower, turning the water to a scalding temperature. The sting on your skin grounding you in your body, making you feel present, as pain so often did.

He wanted to… apologize? Maybe? Even though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to or if he was just afraid of what may happen if he didn’t.

She isn’t like that, he tries to tell himself. But whether that was the truth or just his own pathetic need for it to be true he didn’t know.

If he was being honest, he could hardly tell up from down.

Sighing, he rubs his temples, forcing down a few deep breaths.

She didn’t deserve that, a voice in his head whispers. It’s right. She may be the one who was wrong but he’d been needlessly cold.

Squaring his shoulders he heads back inside only to be met by the sound of the shower.

Relief floods him. He may have decided he would apologize but he hadn’t actually known what to say. Before he’s able to think more about it his eyes land on a single folder sitting conspicuously on top of the boxes.

In the span of a heartbeat, everything around him falls away for just a moment. Then the alarm bells sound.

He’s both too hot and too cold. His breath ragged, if not gasping. In his chest, his heart threatens to break free.

Still, he moves like a man possessed toward the unassuming document.

All night he’d thought of coming out here and opening these boxes. Tearing through them with the hopes that he’d get back whatever they took from him or find out that there was nothing worth regaining.

Really that’s what he wanted to learn. More than anything he wanted to open these boxes and know that he had always been this creature of Hydra. He wanted there to only be this. He needed the skinny boy with the busted lip and bright smile, the woman humming in a kitchen, and the little girl on ice skates who haunted his dreams to be figments crafted by his fractured mind.

If the Soldier was all he ever was he could continue onward. Anything else…

With shaking hands he lifts the file and opens it.

It’s like being punched in the chest.

Gasping he falls to his knees on the plush carpet. In his mind, he’s falling elsewhere. A man screams a word printed on the page.

“Bucky!”

It echoes through his very bones. Over and over.

“Bucky, you promise I won’t fall?” The little girl wears a red scarf, her blue eyes big and trusting.

“Bucky, take this to the table and tell your sisters to wash up.” The woman has the same blue eyes, her smile feels like home.

“Bucky, I don’t need you to fight my battles.” The skinny boy says, wiping blood from his lip.

“Bucky!”

It feels like the only sound in the world.

“James!”

That wasn’t right.

“James!”

Another word. Another name.

“James, you come back to us. You hear me boy?!” The man’s voice and face were severe but his brown eyes shone with tears.

“James, you really bring out the best in him you know?” The woman’s red lips curl in a friendly smile.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. James!”

The sting of a slap brings reality crashing in sending all the nameless ghosts tumbling back into the fog always lingering at the edges of his mind. In their stead is a face with a name he knows.

“Catherine.”

She huffs out a breath, wet hair tumbling into her face smelling like flowers. When she looks back at him her eyes flood with regret.

“I’m so sorry for hitting you. I… You didn’t seem to be breathing but you looked like you were screaming…”

“It’s o-”

“It isn’t ok.” Sighing, she sits cross-legged in front of him, her eyes lighting on the file still gripped in his hands.

Only then do his eyes reluctantly find their way back to the page.

Barnes, James “Bucky” Buchanan

He fights down the bile rising in his throat.

“James.” It comes out garbled like his tongue can’t quite make sense of the syllables. He doesn’t notice his trembling until her warm hand rests against his left forearm.

“You called me, James.”

“I did. Was that ok?” He meets her eyes once more, unsure of how to answer. “I won’t use it if-” Shaking his head he cuts her off glancing back at the page.

“James is good.” Too many nameless faces whispered the other name. But James, there were fewer echoes there.

“It’s an honor to meet you, James.”

Her voice is warm, soft. He almost thinks he’s imagining it.

“Is it?”

“Without question.” She gives his arm a squeeze, and he knows this is real.

“I assume you prefer coffee to tea?” Catherine asks as she rises to her feet, striding to the phone without explanation.

“I-” He’s a bit baffled by the shift.

“Well, you are American. So I assume you prefer coffee.”

Did he?

“I’ll get both and if you prefer coffee I win.” He can’t help but laugh a little.

“What do you win?”

“I’ll think of something.” She winks before picking up the receiver and James could almost swear his pulse quickened if only a little.

TAGS

@mywinterwolf @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @this-kitten-is-smitten @nighttwingg @handplucked @whiskeywinter89 @damnaged-princess @the7intheimpala @saaamsayshi @7minutes-tomidnight @amorluzymelodia @auroraluna777 @leniaana @ilovespideyyy @jaxthebookworm @docharleythegeekqueen @olympos-92 @legendarywinchester1 @coffeebeforewater @sebastianstansqueen

#the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #dark fic

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crystalwillow · 3 years

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Exiled Problems - Chapter Four

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine

Features: Bryce Lahela (introduced in Ch.5)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warning: This AU features themes of; Angst, Swearing, Alcohol Use, Violence, NSFW Material (Mature Themes, 18+)

Taglist: @sophxwithers @otakudreamer @an-jell-o @curiousconch @mm2305

=========================

“Engagement Of The Century: Casey Valentine and Bryce Lahela, Where Will The Celebrations Be Held?”

Ethan stared at his phone in shock as the headline glared back at him. He had just been on an amazing date the day before with Casey and today he’s waking up to find she’s engaged? The conversation around arranged marriage came flooding back to him but as he clicked on the article pulling it up, anger filled him. The main image burnt his eyes. There she was posing for the press with a tall man, honey toned skin and teeth whiter than the paper Ethan writes on. Both of them smiling and looking genuinely happy together. His inner voice was telling him to close the article but he couldn’t help it, he scrolled down and read on.

“The pair got engaged last Wednesday afternoon at a private family luncheon, reports say it was casual and low-key, everybody was surprised by the sudden proposal. Including Casey Valentine herself.”

Ethan scoffed as he scrolled past more pictures, muttering under his breath, “private luncheon my ass. We were together at that time.” He exhales deeply, reading on.

“Upon reaching out and asking for comments, Casey Valentine told the press that she is ‘thrilled and over the moon’ with the proposal. Further commenting, ‘I always wondered when it would happen. We’ve been dating for 3 years now, and after a while you start to doubt. But this was a pleasant surprise.’ before moving on to talk further about the family business.”

Letting out a frustrated growl, Ethan slammed his phone back on his desk and made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast before getting ready for work. As he walks through the main doors, he feels a sense of relief wash over him. It seems work is going to be the reprieve he had hoped for, but as he made his way to his office it became clear work was going to be far from a reprieve from the heart shattering news.

“I heard he made a five minute long speech.” One nurse gossiped.

“... ooooo. She’s a lucky woman if he stayed on bended knee for that long to make a speech.” Another swooned in reply

Ethan swallowed harshly, finally making it to his office and closing the door behind him, pressing his back to it as he exhaled with relief. Finally, a safe space. As he settled into his morning working through paperwork, he started to forget about the article. That was until his phone rang, Casey’s name lighting up the screen. He sighed as his jaw worked, it took everything he had in him not to pick up the phone. It rang 4 more times, each time not picking up getting easier. Words from her statement echoing in his head and battling with other thoughts. He zoned out as they got louder and louder until he snapped. He couldn’t take the voices anymore. He doesn’t condone the next actions he took as he opened his bottom drawer pulling out a glass and half drunk bottle of scotch, filling the glass.

Drinking on the job was something he never did, but he needed this glass, if he could lose himself in the alcohol and paperwork, it wouldn’t hurt. At least that’s what he told himself. But as he emptied the glass he realised his delusion. Then that one thought came rushing to the front of his mind.

This is why you don’t date.

The rest of the day passed painstakingly slow as Ethan worked through his 14 hour shift. When he could finally leave, his feet carried him down the road to the local watering hole of Donahue’s, where he drank scotch after scotch until last call when he stumbled outside to the nearest club. As the night went on he eventually ended up back at home, downing more scotch at his kitchen island before somehow making it to his bed and passing out.

———————————

The next morning, breakfast was as tense at the Valentine’s dinner table as it was the morning prior. Casey didn’t say a word to her parents, nor spare them a single glance. She sat, tablet next to her plate, stylus in hand as she tapped away, hard at work whilst she ate her toast and drank her water.

“Casey. Put the tablet away.” Her father sighed.

Casey ignored him raising a brow at the screen as she continued tapping away.

“I said. Put the table away.” He repeated, tone more annoyed. Yet Casey still chose to ignore him.

“PUT IT AWAY!” He shouts yet it falls on deaf ears to Casey. She doesn’t flinch, nor does she look up. It’s then her mother sees a tear fall onto the screen.

“Nigel dear, you should retreat to the parlor. Finish your breakfast there. I would like a word with Casey, alone.” Her mother speaks calmly.

With an agitated huff, Nigel collects his plate and storms out of the room. Once she is sure he’s gone, Casey’s mom speaks up.

“Casey, look at me, love.” She speaks kindly.

Forcing down her emotion, Casey shakes her head. “I am fine, mother. I’m sure this suitor will be just the thing to mend my broken heart.” she quips sarcastically.

“Cassie.” Her mother sighs.

“No.” Casey replies firmly. “You do not, get to call me that.”

“Casey!”

“No, mom. I’m sick of this. This is MY life! I should be able to date whoever I want. Not be promised away to someone I don’t know and may not even like!”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it!? Because from where I’m standing, it pretty much seems that damn simple! But no, anytime I find a single sliver of happiness, you and dad have to rip it from under my feet. I was building a connection with Ethan. What chemistry we have is real, raw, beautiful. It has the potential to be great! I’m falling in love with him.” she animates, scoffing as she wipes at the tears. “But hey. Who am I to talk? You’re the one who has so much experience in loveless marriages so I should listen to you. Accept the same fate as you like a proper lady.”

“Casey Valentine.” her mother warns.

“Well no. I won’t accept the same fate as you. You’ve always said follow your intuition. Well my intuition is telling me that Ethan is who I’m meant to be with and-”

*SMACK*

Casey’s head reels to the side as her mother palm makes contact with her face, when she turns back her lip is split and she’s met with her mother’s steely glare. “Don’t be such an ungrateful bitch.” her mother spits, “Your father and I have poured years into this family business and building your image. And you want to ruin that by running off with some… doctor!?”

Still stunned into silence, Casey collects her things and marches towards the front door.

“Casey Marie Valentine, you get back here right now!” her mother demands.

“Why? So you can split the other side of my lip!” Casey shouts back as she grabs her keys, marching out the front door to her car.

“Casey!”

———————-

A few moments later Casey shakily raises her hand to an apartment door, knocking hesitantly. When she gets no answer she knocks again, but to no avail. She turns, walking away when the door opens and a familiar deep voice sounds behind her. Keeping her head down she turns around, tablet clutched to her chest.

“Hi.” she squeaks

“I thought you’d be…”

She shakes her head. Wiping away at a tear.

“Are… you okay?”

She shrugs before breaking down in the middle of the hallway.

“Hey. Come inside.” Ethan says softly, placing gentle arms around her and guiding her inside to the couch. The whole time Casey keeps her head down.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself keeping your neck like that.” he says

Casey shrugs.

“Casey…” he sighs sadly, lifting her head. A soft gasp leaves his throat as he sees her lip. “Who… was it him?”

She shakes her head. “It was… my… my mother.” she answers, choking on more sobs as they leave her throat.

As sadness washes over him, he pulls Casey to his chest, gently playing with her hair and rocking her soothingly as she sobs gut wrenchingly beside him.

An hour later, they’re in an exam room at Edenbrook as Ethan takes care of her lip, steadily stitching the split. As he ties and cuts the stitches, a knock sounds at the door.

“Excuse me.” He whispers with a soft smile.

Casey nods and sits back on the examination bed, unlocking the tablet and getting back to work as Ethan is called outside. When he returns 30 minutes later Casey is deep in her work and doesn’t notice his entry.

“Sorry about that.”

“Ah!” Casey screams, dropping her stylus.

“And now I’m sorry about that.” He chuckles, bending down to retrieve her stylus, handing it back to her. “Truly, I didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry.”

“It's okay.” Casey replies with the ghost of a smile.

Just then both of their phone’s ping and they share a look as they read the latest headline, Casey’s face going pale.

“UPDATE: Wedding of Boston’s playboy, Bryce Lahela to Golden Girl, Casey Valentine set for mid-fall this year.”

She drops her phone as she starts to shake. “No.” she whispers, struggling to get the words out as she spirals into a panic attack.

“NO!”

=====================

#choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry studios #open heart #open heart: second year #open heart: third year #ethan ramsey #casey valentine #bryce lahela #ethan x casey #au’s by lahamseiroshoe #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanficton #dr ethan ramsey

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rocket-remmy · 4 years

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The Fae Step Tango||Lydia and Jax (ft. Remmy)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @inspirationdivine, @whatsin-yourhead, and Jax SUMMARY: Lydia confronts Remmy’s demon. Words, and promises, are exchanged.

Remmy, bless them, hadn’t been altogether too hard to follow. Lydia had, with great difficulty, morphed her glamour into someone a little rougher around the edges. Thin, terrible eyebrows, crows feet that distorted the rest of her face. She had a cape with hood too, which wasn’t together all too unusual at this place, it seemed. Nor were other fae. Bells chimed alongside the uneasiness of walking through the ring. Lydia understood the violence inherent to some species was much like the chaos inherent to her, but it wasn’t inherent to Remmy, not that she had seen. But Remmy wasn’t in the crowd, watching. They were in the ring at one point, against a beast that looked like a dog and all at once nothing but. Lydia averted her eyes, but couldn’t escape the sound of ripping flesh and the roar of the crowd thereafter. She needed to find a fae that looked in charge, like they were pushing thing. She swallowed as the cage of the ring rattled as either one or the other was thrown into it. This was not her battlefield. Lydia was strongest in the halls of her home, in art galleries and fae parties. But fae were easy to find, and there was a man who watched only Remmy, always watching. When the fight was over, he turned and left, and Lydia followed, letting her glamour drop. He could feel her too, and there was no pretending otherwise as she followed him into a back room. “We haven’t met, I don’t believe. I’m Lydia.”

Jax wasn’t an altogether subtle man. For his species, he didn’t really need to be. He’d enjoyed being what he was almost his entire life. He had a power over others that not a lot could break from. And he enjoyed that power. He also had the power to feel others like him, other fae. His sharp eyes turned before he made it to his office and he faced a woman, with opulent eyes and iridescent hair. A leanen-sidhe. What was one doing here? They dealt in other sides of the fae spectrum, what possible reason did one have to be at the ring? Aside from being a spectator, but he’d never taken the more softer of their kind as one for such...extracurriculars. “Why would we have? We seem to run in very different circles, my fair lady,” he responded, his tongue quick and cool like usual. Though influence over others was something he enjoyed, it was wordplay that he truly excelled at. It was a power unlike any other. To outwit, outsmart. Outplay. And he loved a challenge. “I’m Jackson, but my friends call me Jax. What is it that you seek, Lydia?”

“So it does appears,” Lydia replied. “Truth be told I did not know that such a place existed until today.” She glanced around, a sneer apparent on her lips as she judged the room and found it lacking. “Jackson it is, then,” she replied. “Might I sit?” She asked, looking back at him, the flash of silver in his mouth. She glanced to the ground. No shadow there. This would be fun, if the stakes weren’t quite so high. “Answers, one might say. I’m curious,” she looked back to the door, and the thin din of the ring that lay behind them. “What is your role in a place like this?”

“And why wouldn’t it?” Jax said back, turning around fully now to face her. He let an easy expression come over his face, but he understood the tenseness of the situation. Motioned to a chair when she asked. “Be my guest,” he offered, choosing not to sit himself. He stayed, standing, as he came over towards the desk, leaning against it. “And whom, might I wonder, is asking? A spectator, a concerned citizen, or…” his eyes flicked back towards the door. He knew who was fighting tonight. “Someone else?”

Lydia sat. Games of towering over eachother were for human men who didn’t know how to think beyond their ego, and she’d rather focus on the man in front of her than on feeling smaller. “I’m asking. You needn’t worry, I have no intention of bringing wardens nor police to your den of delinquency.” Never tell anyone that you wouldn’t, only that you weren’t planning to, and that then your future actions are not so set. “I ask so that I could know whether you are the man I need to speak to, or whether, as I rather suspect, there is someone more relevant that outranks you?”

Jax’s grin turned into a frown rather quickly. He did not like the way this Lydia spoke to him. Clearly, she was trying to anger him. To make him feel small with her words instead of her stature, which she had none of. She only had that pretentious way that those who only had power in words carried themselves. She was below him. And so he stayed standing. “I’m afraid you’ve come knocking on the wrong doors. We don’t let just anyone into our little establishment-- brethren or not.” He pushed away from the desk, held the door open. “I suggest you leave before this gets too tough for you to handle,” a pause, so he could put enough emphasis into the word, “Lydia.”

“Cousin, I’m hurt,” Lydia replied with a smile, using the language of the mirror district with their same, eerie tone. “There is no need for such aggression. It was a simple question.” She glanced to the doors like you might indulgently to a troublesome child. “Besides, I’m not convinced there is any measure of tough you offer that I could not handle. Come, I have not played these games in a while. Perhaps you will tell me instead why some of your fighters are collared?”

“I’d love to see how your bile and spit do you in battle,” Jax said without skipping a beat. “But I doubt someone like you would make much of a spectacle in the ring.” He’d let it go, for now. “Because they misbehave,” he answered, shutting the door and standing in front of it. If she wanted to talk so bad, they could talk. That didn’t mean he had to let her go without a fight, even if it was a verbal one. They were on his grounds, now, and he would not concede so easily. “Just as a misbehaving child needs to be punished, so do misbehaving monsters.”

“About as well as your sweat and silver tongue, I’d imagine,” Lydia replied. “I’d make more of a spectacle than you most days of the week, although you’re likely right.” She watched him close the door, positioning himself in front of it. Lydia made no effort in hiding her glance around the room, aware of the complete lack of an exit. Fortunately, she’d eaten before coming, should things go that way. But they wouldn’t. Fae were better than all that. “I suppose that is the risk with letting your assets wander. Quite valuable assets they are indeed, considering the crowd I just saw. How much do you make in a night?”

He had to chuckle at that one. Lydia was a match for his own wit it seemed. “I suppose you would, with those looks,” Jax said, still standing promptly by the door, but relaxing his demeanor just a bit, as if he were softening to her. He wasn’t. “Enough to want to make sure my ‘assets’ don’t step out of line. And losing an asset, well,” he unfurled his arms slowly, put out a hand in a shrug, “I can’t go losing one of my top earners, can I? It’d be like taking your best selling product off the line. And that just won’t do.”

Lydia smiled at the compliment, preening slightly, her skin glowing brightly at his words. Pretty words could be seductive. He knew that as well as she did. That was what they did - create desire, in different forms and shapes. “Oh, that I understand better than you might believe. You need to keep the business going, and without any scrutiny, don’t you? The collars aren’t always the only thing binding them.”

He noticed the way she reacted to his compliment and he smirked in kind. Jax was a handsome man, old beyond the youth of his face, and he knew just how to use that to his advantage with humans. With other fae, however, it was a tad more difficult. But still just as fun. “Clever girl,” he said, folding his arms back across his chest, his sharp gaze trained solely on her now. She had his attention. Whoever this Lydia was, she was smart. Smarter than most fae that wandered their way into this place, either high out of their minds or looking for a release. Lydia was here with a purpose. And he wanted to know what. “Sometimes a little extra is needed, yes. Words, after all, can be very powerful. But I’m sure you know that.”

“More than most. Certainly more than your crowd back there.” Lydia chuckled, clicking the nail of her thumb and middle finger back and forth against each other idly. She looked at him, wondering how to proceed. He stood by the door, his stance chilled and closed off. She had not squirmed at the phrase Clever girl, but lord above did she want to.punish him for that. She was hardly youthful anymore. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“They’re not the smartest bunch, no,” Jax agreed, “but a smart person never makes a bad bet.” And if no one made bad bets, then he’d make significantly less money. Besides, he enjoyed being the smartest person in the room. Perhaps that was why he found himself uncomfortable with Lydia in his office. Somewhere deep down, he knew he’d met a worthy match. “I don’t do guesses. But I do know it has something to do with my star fighter out there right now, doesn’t it? A zombie is a good catch. A zombie who knows how to fight? A once in a lifetime opportunity. Well...I suppose a once in a human lifetime opportunity, but we don’t hold ourselves to their standards, do we?”

Lydia took a moment to adjust the hem of her skirt, although the end result was neither more nor less revealing. He was one of those, then, and Lydia saw a crack to wriggle his way through. Smart people made bad bets all the time, after all, but if you assumed you would always make the right bet, then, well, Lydia just needed to make herself look like the right bet. Appear to be a bad bet, and risk becoming another bloody smear in the arena. This was a den of wolves. Every twitch or ill thought word could be the one to trip her. Which was why she cursed herself when she felt her face turn in response to his guess. Lydia smoothed it and smiled. “Why would we?” She replied to his last question. “Their performance is extraordinary. They’re an asset of mine too, although in other ways, of course.”

That peaked his interest. “Oh, are they?” Jax moved forward slowly, still keeping his body between Lydia and the door, but coming close. Perhaps he had judged her all wrong, but what else was he to think, about being followed by this woman into the back of this establishment with no warning? “And how might that be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. He couldn’t imagine what good the zombie was outside of fighting, but perhaps someone had found another way to get something out of them. And if that was the truth, he wanted in.

“That’s for me to know and you to figure out,” Lydia replied smoothly, tilting her head to look at him, uncrossing her legs and leaning a little closer, as if divulging a secret. “Let us just say that it is useful to know someone that is resistant to the charms of my kind, as it were.” She leant back again, spreading her hands out. “Of course, I assumed the collar was merely a fashion accessory, but when I found those tendrils of fae binding, I simply had to know more. It is inconvenient when someone so useful to me has to keep secrets, so I simply had to find out more. Which brought me here, to you.”

“I like a good challenge,” Jax said with a grin. His eyes observed Lydia, watching her very meticulous movements. He was no master on body language, but he understood what she was doing. “It is rare to meet those resistant to our charms, though where you find usefulness, I find a hindrance.” He shifted his weight slightly, giving a brief frown. “We did design them to look inconspicuous, so it’s good to know they’re functioning correctly. The promises were just...extra precaution. You understand, right? It’s not as if I throw my words around with just any monster. Special cases are rare, but I’m good at my job for a reason.”

Lydia chuckled. “We all respond to such things differently, do we not?” Her easy laugh was nothing of the sort. It was another thing to keep in mind, to keep this as safe for Remmy as could be. She didn’t blame fae who took advantage of other species, even if it was not her cup of tea. She did find it a little uncouth but then… so many species were so much worse. Her thoughts flicked to Orobas, briefly. “There’s plenty I understand. I just wouldn’t want my asset to be damaged irrevocably by your decisions. I’m sure you’d feel the same.”

“We sure do,” Jax said, nodding. “We sure do.” A thing to remember. Despite the buzz in his skin with Lydia around, they were here for different things. He understood that. “You can’t really damage a zombie, though, can you?” he sauntered around her a moment, clearing a path for just a second before settling back between her and the door. “As long as the head stays on,” he made motion for his throat, “they’ll bounce back. Sometimes it just...takes time.”

“I find it rather depends on the zombie,” Lydia replies, quietly seething at his new attempts at physical intimidation. “Some of them can be… so fragile.” Remmy was, and wasn’t. They were so strong, dealing with so much pain and trauma, yet Lydia saw them every day. No matter what happened here, no matter how well Remmy healed, they left a little of themselves behind on that battlefield every time they came home. “Although I suspect you’d know more than I in the physical matters of their survival. But you have no intention of losing your prize fighter, one assumes.”

“All zombies are the same,” Jax said, “once so tragically human. Now so tragically cursed to live forever.” He shrugged. “But fragile is not something they are. Unless, of course...you’re speaking emotionally wise.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “But that’s what these--” he tapped his neck again, “and these--” tapped the side of his head, “are for.” Promises kept those immune to his touch in line, after all. “I’m sure you understand how powerful a promise can be.”

A trap set, that he’d neatly avoided, and Lydia didn’t know how hard to push on preserving Remmy’s unmortality, or if it was wiser to aim for a smaller venture, especially as he left her linguistic traps of his own. Lydia drummed her fingers against her thighs. A different route might suit them better. Or at least her. “Where do you get the beasts? The aufhocker or grim or whatever the zombie was fighting just now. Those things can’t be promise bound so easily, nor do they fully understand the danger the collar poses.”

Was Lydia really interested in what went on here? Jax needed to suss that out. “Those beasts are brought in by expert handlers. We have quite a few catchers working for us. Mostly hunters. They bring us beasts, we give them money. It’s a nice exchange for everyone, and the streets are made safer. Most of those beasts don’t need collars. Not a lot of them make it past their first night, if you know what I mean.” These were, after all, death matches. Who cared if a monster died? Not him. Surely not Lydia. “We only use the collars on the more sentient of species.”

“You make deals with hunters?” Lydia repeated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, her bravery knocked slightly. Hunters over zombies, now that was a true, as Sammy would put it, galaxy brain take. Nauseatingly so. She stood, abruptly, and tried to make up for it with a smile. “I understand completely. It must be expensive, but then, I’m sure everyone pays for the extra excitement. Perhaps I ought to diversify my portfolio,” She looked around. “I hope I am not keeping you from more important things.”

“We employ hunters,” Jax corrected, “big difference. I hate them as much as any other of our kind, but they have their uses. Like all species. Hunter, Fae...zombie.” His eyes followed her as she stood. Was she uncomfortable with talk of hunters? “Oh really?” He didn’t quite buy it, but there was something she was angling for here. What could it be, he wondered. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. If I had more important things to do, I would go do them.” His brow lifted. “Before you say yes, you do understand the...discretion we take here, yes?”

“Employment is still a deal. It is why humans make contracts for it,” Lydia replied, and she couldn’t quite hide the distrust in her voice. Mistakes, each and every hint of feeling. Patronising little prick. Far be it for her to disown any fae when her closest friend was growing soft on humans, but, god, she wanted to leave here with something of his here tonight, even if it wasn’t Remmy’s safety. “I hadn’t offered to say yes to anything yet. Although who knows, I might be able to offer one of your star fighters some inspiration for future fights. I understand entirely the need for discretion.” Lydia took a couple steps towards him, as if being friendly.

“Hmm, touché,” he said with a nod. Jax moved to lean against the door. “You offered yourself to something the moment you followed me back here. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of place people can wander in and out of at their own discretion. There’s secrets and codes and promises for a reason.” His gaze fell on Lydia, hard this time. “Remmington has all the inspiration they need from me,” he spoke slowly, clearly. “Unless you’re speaking of another fighter. In which case, what is it that you would gain from doing this? Besides a quick meal?”

“Is that a threat?” Lydia asked, her smile nonplussed, pink teeth glinting in the light. She was certainly the opposite of nonplussed. Fae talking themselves into games of chess to resolve a problem was as old as time itself, but Lydia could feel herself losing. With every cursed reply, he cut off new avenues for her to chase him. With every minute that passed, her confidence faltered. His might not be a conversation that would end her way, and increasingly Lydia was swerving his actions more than making word traps of her own. “Fear is not inspiration, my dear, and you ought to know better. I’m sure someone has written a sonnet or two about you,” Lydia replied, “But I’m hardly fussy as to whom I might inspire.” Might, could, consider, some of the most powerful words in the fae language for how they protect one from a promise. “I can’t feed off the dead in either case.” There was another loud roar from the crowd back there. “I consider myself a rather enterprising businesswoman, Jackson. I’m sure there is plenty we could offer each other. You’ve already been ever so helpful.”

“Yes,” Jax said simply. “It is.” This place was dangerous, but Lydia already knew that, didn’t she? Outright threats weren’t really Jax’s thing, but sometimes they needed to be. Lydia was smart enough, it seemed, to understand that much. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, “you seem like a fussy woman to me.” A smile curling his lips. “Why don’t I see you out, hmm?” He turned back and grabbed something out of his pocket, pulling a business card from his wallet. “You think about what you’re offering, and give me a call when you’ve made a real decision. I think you could be a very useful asset, Lydia, if that’s what you truly came here to be.”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time around the more violent species,” Lydia replied, with the slightest indulgent eyeroll. She pulled her cloak back on, and her glamour with it. See her out indeed. “I’ll give it all some serious thought,” Lydia said, an easy thing to be promise bound. She didn’t take the business card, and instead snapped a photo of the information with a phone. Taking it felt like a risk of a commitment she couldn’t really afford. Asset, he called her. Like Remmy. Was it really so wrong to wish someone might rip out his tongue? It felt like conceding. “You’ve been ever so darling.” Maybe it was conceding.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But I don’t entirely mind.” Jax moved out of her way, finally, reaching for the door handle. But he paused, and in his moment of relishing his victory, he forgot himself. His words, and said, “But first, Lydia-- I trust you’ll keep this to yourself, yes?” And only opened the door when she confirmed. He should’ve felt it, but his downfall always had been his smugness. People rarely outwitted him, and he rarely faltered. “Don’t be a stranger, Lydia,” he said after her.

Lydia was going to have him walk her all the way to her car. In part, because as much as she played that it didn’t bother her, the threat loomed over her, and she’d rather see him until she was safe. In part because she could hear in his voice that small victory lap, and sometimes that was when it easiest to trip someone. So when she heard him say it - oh, this was nearly language class 201. He did spend too much time around the violenter species. “I will.” Keep this could mean so many things, after all. Keep what? The conversation? The room, his coat? No, Lydia only wanted one thing, or at least one thing that she could gleam from those mispoken words. Not the collar off, not Remmy safe, but something. She wanted his promises, and as they’d come up in the conversation, they were fair game. Not even all of them, just a few, so she left him the rest. “Have a good evening, Jax,” she replied, and hurried down the halls. It wasn’t until Lydia was driving home in her car that she let out the breathe she was holding, and felt herself relax. The threat still loomed, but Lydia had her own ammunition too.

------

Lydia was holding a glass of wine just a little too tight. When the door creaked open, she sprung to her feet, setting the glass down. She needed to see them. After whatever they’d been fighting, the crunch of bones, the roars of the crowd that masked much worse sounds, she needed to see them, and tell them. “Remmy? Darling, do you have a moment?”

Remmy dragged themself home after the fight, the blood of the bone dog still on their hands. They just wanted to get in the shower and then flop into bed. They shut the door as quietly as possible, but Lydia’s voice broke through the quiet house and they jumped a little. “L-Lydia, I--” they started, putting their hands behind their back. They didn’t want her to see. They didn’t even want her to see them like this, torn up and broken and covered in blood. “Can I just-- um...wash up real quick?”

“This’ll just be quick,” Lydia said, walking down the hall. “It’s okay. I know. I know. I -” Her tongue twisted into a knot. She’d celebrated too quick. The second half of Jax’s words had ensnared her. Keep it to herself. Lydia swallowed, and as her tongue slowly unglued itself from the back of her mouth, she coughed hoarsely. Not share. That was inconvenient. She could still break things she kept for herself. “Remmy, I relinquish you of all the promises you made the Gancanagh called Jackson, also known as Jax.”

Remmy tried to move around Lydia as she came nearer, but her words made them freeze. I know. She knew? And she still...could look at them like that? With soft eyes? With compassion? They blinked at the next words. “You…” it was like a weight was falling off of them. “You…” their chest felt like it was gonna burst. “I…how? You...how?” Something building inside of them. “How did you know I promised him? How did you--” the words spilling out, so quickly and suddenly, after having been held in for so long. “I’m free?”

Lydia laughed softly, putting her hands on Remmy’s shoulders, so that they could look at her and hear her. “Us fae, we’re not all that violent, usually. When we want something, we talk, until one of us trips up. He tripped.” When she laughed again, it wasn’t gleeful or proud, but the kind of laugh that might have been a sob, it was so heavy with feeling. Remmy had been here for weeks, slowly becoming needier and more isolated all at once. Their voice had been crumbling, growing frightened of even Lydia. “So did I, so I can’t… explain everything, but I followed you. I saw you fighting that Barghest or Yethhound or whatever. I felt him, confronted him.” Lydia’s voice trembled, looking down, blinking hard. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. I, no, Remmy, I’m sorry, I tried, I wanted to get you safe, but it’s just the promises you made. The collar stays.”

“But you…” Remmy started, “you got rid of the promise?” They looked at her with sullen eyes. With eyes that had seen a thousand battles and might even see a thousand more, a part of their soul left behind in each. Withering away with every hit. “I can...I don’t have to lie anymore? To-to keep secrets?” They already knew the answer, they could feel it. Blanche had once warned them about the use of the word promise, but Remmy hadn’t thought much of it at the time. The fear they’d carried after this must have been apparent. Remmy forgot about the blood on their hands and wrapped them around Lydia, suddenly. Holding onto her as if she were the only thing grounding them. “Thank you,” they said through fresh tears, “thank you.” And they’d say it a thousand more times, owe her for all their immortal life if that was what she wanted. But she had risked so much for them, and the weight, though still there, wrapped around their neck, was lifted just enough for them to feel again. To cry again.

“No, you don’t,” Lydia confirmed. “You don’t have to keep any more secrets, if you don’t want them.” She had expected some kind of response, and perhaps even this one, but Lydia grabbed Remmy as tight as they did her. She cradled them as they sank to the ground, hot tears spilling on her own cheeks. She’d made a dozen missteps in the last month, causing Deirdre grief, frightening away Regan, letting a human drag her into their messy world. Tonight too, could have gone terribly. It hadn’t, and didn’t, and for the first time in a month, she heard hope in Remmy’s voice. Moose trotted over and nuzzled at them softly, and Lydia just held Remmy even more tightly. The thanks tickled her skin and she let them wash over her. If this was what being promise bound did to them, she’d make sure they’d never feel it again. “I hope you can find a way to use it,” Lydia said after a while, cupping Remmy’s head so that they would look at her again. “Give him fucking hell.”

#chatzy #chatzy: lydia #wickedswriting #lydia #jax #the fae step tango

15 notes · View notes

sageblogsthings · 4 years

Text

[id: a golden sword with a gilded hilt leans across the arm of a velvet-covered chair. On the hilt of the sword is a crest depicting a gold lion on a red background. The chapter title over the image reads Dorian in white all caps lettering. /end id]

violence tw (there’s a bar fight)

"You know, if you wanted to take my breath away you could have just asked me out," Dorian grinned as a cutlass was pressed to his throat.

"You sure you wanna be flirting with me when I could kill you?”

"Ah, what's romance without a little danger?”

"You really love to hear yourself talk don't you?”

"Of course I do. You could shut me up though, if you like," he said with a wink. He leaned back against the bar, angling his head upwards to grin into the face of the brawny figure towering over him. He noticed the man’s eyes flash towards the bar before baring down on him.

“Look, I don’t need to fight you. If you agree to come with me, there doesn’t need to be any bloodshed.”

“Oh, really? How kind you are,” Dorian sneered. “But I think I’d rather you leave now,” he growled as he grabbed a nearby empty bottle and smashed it on the countertop. Before the cutlass at his throat could move even a hair, Dorian had the bottle at the man’s throat.

The brutish figure stepped back, beginning to raise his arms in surrender. "Fine, you wi—"

Shwiiip!

Dorian turned to see a dagger lodged in the wall behind him. Scanning the room, he saw the man responsible beginning to reach for his belt. Without hesitation, he leapt across the tavern and brought the bottle down over the man’s knee. With a bloodcurdling scream, he collapsed onto the wooden floor, pieces of glass sticking protruding from his leg at odd angles.

"I think that's quite enough," Dorian's trademark jovial tone was gone, replaced with absolute venom. "Are you going to leave or should I get some more bottles?" He leveled a look at the man with the cutlass, turning his body slightly towards the bar.

With a nod of finality, the brawny man turned on his heel towards the entrance, daring a last glance at the bar. A glance which almost seemed to say I'm sorry, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Some of his company grabbed their injured companion and carried him out of the bar. After the last of them had left, Dorian rushed to the woman behind the bar, tossing the bottle on a nearby table.

"Tov, are you okay?”

"I--yes. What does Mikah want with you?”

“Wait, who?”

“The tall brute with the cutlass and nice eyes. He stayed in a room here a couple nights ago. Seemed troubled, but kind. Not unlike you when you first came in that door.” She crossed her arms over her breast, looking crestfallen. “I knew he was hesitant to tell me what his line of work was for a reason, I should’ve pushed it more.”

“It’s okay Tov. And I can’t say I blame him, it seems like he’s a mercenary of some kind. The problem is I don't know who's hired him and the rest of those goons. Whoever they are, they seem convinced that I have something of theirs," Dorian recalled the conversation with the brutish man that had led to the bar fight. He had simply stated that Dorian had something they needed, and refused to provide any helpful information. When Dorian had said that he owned precious few belongings, and that whatever he did have he certainly wasn't about to give to a stranger in a bar, the man had drawn his cutlass. Odd, seeing as how reluctant he was to actually fight. There had to be more to the story there, but Dorian couldn’t puzzle it out.

She stirred him from his thoughts, "Dorian, you're bleeding!”

"Huh?" He looked down to see blood dripping onto his shoulder. Reaching up to his ear, he felt a slight notch in it. Guess I didn't dodge that dagger as well as I thought. "Aw man, I just did laundry.”

"Sit down over there, I'll go get some honey and silk so it won't get infected." With more grumbling about laundry he waddled over to the table and plopped down. Tov returned shortly, disinfecting and bandaging the wound with practiced fingers. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"What's wrong? You're not hurt are you?”

"No, no it's not that. I'm just worried.”

"Oh, you don't need to worry. I've dealt with much worse," he puffed out his chest and arched an eyebrow theatrically.

A small smile graced her thin lips, "yes I know, I've been here for every version of your drunken tales. But I don't just mean you. I'm worried," she gestured around the bar "about this happening again. If you don't know what they want with you, what's to stop them from coming back? This whole situation just seems unusual, not like a typical mercenary contract or they would have just killed you here.”

“Killed me, my dear? They could try,” he smiled, then winced as she applied the honey to his ear. “But I agree, this seems like a very odd contract indeed. And you’re right, I don’t know what would stop them from coming back,” he gazed at his boots, a downtrodden expression flickering across his angular features.

"Dorian," she placed the excess cloth on the table and cupped her hands around his own. "You know I adore you, and that you will always have a place here. I'm not kicking you out so don't look like that, you're practically family.” How the hell can she always read my mind like that? "I'm not asking you to leave, I'm just asking you to find out what happened. I can't afford another bar fight, and more importantly I don't want you getting hurt again.”

"This? It's a flesh wound my darling, nothing to worry about," he flashed her a lopsided grin. "But I hear you. I'm going to ask some of my contacts and see if they know anything. Don't worry, I'll figure this out. I'm not going to risk your safety again.”

She snorted, "I'm not worried about my safety, I'm worried about yours. Don't do that martyr thing you do and get yourself killed, okay?”

His eyes glittered mischievously, and he placed a carnelian-red hand over his chest in mock offense. "Whatever do you mean, my dear?" Her laughter was music to his ears. It made him think of bluebells, if faeries enchanted them to sing. "Ah, my favorite sound. I promise, Tov, I'm going to find out what these ill-mannered brutes want and once I do I'll come back. I'll also be disgustingly rich by then, and we'll fix this whole place up." He stood as he spoke, pulling a traveling cloak over his glittering horns and striding towards the door.

"And just where are you going to get all these riches?"

"Nowhere you can prove," he smirked over his shoulder, and with an intentionally dramatic whirl of his cape he disappeared into the night.

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jewels-writes · 3 years

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chapter 13

The first thing the couple noticed was their hideout had multiple cops standing by the door. Dabi pulled Deku behind him and signaled for him to stay there and be silent. Dabi jumped in a low window and crept around inside.

“No..” His breath caught in his throat. His nose caught the sickening scent of fresh blood and a pit grew in his stomach as he walked around. He turned a corner and saw a body on the ground which was covered by a white cloth. He quickly lifted the cloth and blew out a sigh of relief as it wasn’t anyone he knew. He made his way back to the window and climbed back down to Deku.

“They took them-!” Deku whispered, obviously trying not to lose it. Dabi gently rubbed his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Dabi questioned. “Baby, tell me.”

“They took Jin and Toga.” Deku’s breathing hitched and he grabbed Dabi’s wrist and ran away from the cops. “Where are we gonna go?”

“It’s all going to be alright. We’ll figure it out.” Dabi reassured him as they slowed to a walk. “Baby, you look tired. I’ll carry you if you want.”

“No, I’m fine.” Deku said through a yawn.

“Yeah, right.” Dabi teased and bent down so Deku could climb on. “Sleep now, my baby boy. Everything’s gonna be okay when you wake up.”

But everything wasn’t okay when he woke up.

Deku’s eyes opened and he panicked. He was in his room. His room from when he lived with his mom. His head whipped around as he frantically looked around for Dabi, for anyone he knew. The door handle twisted open and he quickly laid back down, pretending to be asleep.

“Deku, I know you’re sleeping but..” Bakugou’s quiet voice said as he sat down on the bed and held one of Deku’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re alright and safe and home.” Home. Deku was home. The door opened again and Bakugou quickly let go of Deku’s hand.

“Is he awake yet?” Inko whispered to the blonde who shook his head. “Bakugou, I’d like to thank you again for finding him.”

“I’m just happy I found him in time. Whoever did that to him will pay.” Deku heard the determination behind his tone and struggled not to react.

“I don’t support violence but for once I agree with you.” Inko said. “Let me know when he wakes up, please.” The door opened and closed again as Deku’s mother left. Instead of holding his hand, Bakugou leaned down and hugged the boy close to him.

“I’m gonna kill you when you wake up, damn nerd.” Deku struggled to keep up his act of being asleep. He knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. Bakugou finally let go of him and opted for his hand again. “I hate you so much. Why did you have to run from me?” Deku became overwhelmed with emotions and did his best to keep a straight face. “I’m so lost without you, shitty loser.”

“Kacchan?” Deku finally gave in and opened his eyes. “Why am I in my room?”

“Deku- you damn nerd.” Bakugou pulled the greenette to his chest and hugged him. “You’re so fucking dead.”

“I said, why am I in my room?” Deku said as he tried to wiggle out of the blonde’s hold.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you yet.” Bakugou pulled back and scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe it would be best if your mom was here to-”

“No, I want to hear it from you. What happened? Why am I here?” Deku cut him off, a frown forming on his face.

“Fine.” Bakugou rearranged his legs to a more comfortable position before explaining. “When I found you, you were knocked out on the ground, it looked like you had been beaten up badly. The only reason you don’t have any wounds now is because Recovery Girl stopped in to heal you.” Deku motioned for him to continue. “I was so scared when I saw you just laying there on the ground and you wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard I shook you. I thought you were dead, honestly.”

“Well, I’m not dead. Obviously.” Deku said to himself. “Was there anyone else there with me?”

“No, nobody else.” Deku’s mind began racing as he thought of Dabi. ‘Would he really just leave him there on the ground? No, that didn’t line up with Kacchan’s story, he said I wouldn’t wake up. Did we get ambushed when Dabi carried me? Did someone make sure I wouldn’t wake up by hitting my head? Then if that’s true, that means either Dabi didn’t win and he’s also seriously injured, or I was moved and he couldn’t find me before Kacchan did?’ Bakugou flicked Deku’s forehead. “Oi, stop thinking so hard.”

“Sorry, I just- are you sure I was alone?”

“Yeah, it was only you. Why, was there supposed to be more people?” Bakugou asked and leaned forward, concerned. “Hey, idiot what do you know?”

“No, I just-, the situation just sounds odd to me.” Deku smoothly recovered and looked away from the blonde. “Can I go now? I have places to be.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere.” Bakugou said sternly. “We just got you back, you can’t just leave now.”

“Oh that’s very inspiring. I’ll be going now, Kacchan.” Deku shuffled out of bed and to the door and when he opened it, the face of his mom appeared. “Mom..”

“Izuku!” She jumped into her son’s arms and much to Deku’s surprise, he hugged her back, tears forming in his eyes.

“Mom, I’m so sorry for everything.” Deku sobbed into his mother’s embrace.

“It’s okay, baby.” Inko cried into her son’s shoulder. “Please never leave me again. I don’t know if I can take another scare like that.” Deku held back his response and remained silent. He didn’t need to hurt her anymore than he already had.

“Wait, Kacchan.” Deku remembered something as he turned to the blonde. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

“Yes but also no. Aizawa let me have the last few days off because of you.” Bakugou admitted.

“Why? You’re gonna have to catch up now.” Deku asked as his shoulders dropped.

“What kind of question is that? I’ve been looking for you for months.” Bakugou said, emphasizing with his hands. “As soon as I had found you the first time, I let Aizawa know.”

“You said-!”

“I said no promises.” Bakugou snapped painfully. “He let me have a few days off to find you without having to worry about my classes. He’s willing to put you back in class.”

“No, not happening.” Deku said as his mother gasped. “I’m not going back there.”

“Izuku! But you love going to UA!” Inko exclaimed.

“Not anymore. I’ve had a lot of time to come to accept the fact I’m not welcome anymore.”

“Don’t say that you idiot.” Bakugou said. “We all miss you. And Uraraka.. Have you heard?” Deku stiffened when her name was mentioned.

“Yeah, I know about her.” Deku said as his eyes became unfocused. Bakugou’s arms were around him instantly.

“I know you and her were close. I’m so sorry, Deku.” The guilt swam through Deku’s body as his tears went down his freckled cheeks.

Later that night, Deku laid wide awake on his bed, his mind planning a way to escape. He missed Dabi so much, his bed felt cold without his boyfriend beside him. He struggled to keep his emotions inside himself.

“Stop making that face, nerd.” Bakugou’s sleepy voice came from the floor.

“How do you know I’m making a face?”

“I’ve known you my whole fucking life, Deku. I know when you’re thinking hard. I don’t have to see you to know that.” Bakugou admitted. “Tell me.”

“No, it’s nothing. Just go to sleep, Kacchan.” Deku dismissed him and turned towards the wall and away from his friend on the floor.

“Fine.”

When Deku was positive Bakugou was asleep, he slipped out of bed and to his window and looked down. It was a far drop but he was sure he could climb down the walls if he was careful. He gave one look to his sleeping friend before sliding out the window.

He reached the ground safely with multiple caluses in his hands. He wasted no more time and began jogging back to the hideout. ‘I’m coming, Dabi.’

When he made it back to the hideout, it was empty and dark. All signs of the police and his fellow members was gone. He opened the door to the room him and Dabi shared and emotions swarmed through his body as memories came back. He climbed into the bed and caught a whiff of his boyfriend’s scent in the blanket and held it close.

“I miss you so much, Dabi.” He whispered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years

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Watch Over Me - a Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘He parts Alec’s lips and gently lets the blood spill into his mouth, pressing a kiss to his husband’s forehead. ‘Forgive me, my love.’’ Set during the last episode’s time-skip. When Camille hatches a plot to get back at Magnus, he’s left with an impossible decision that could have devastating consequences for the man he loves. Word count: ~9k Warnings: Show-typical violence and gore, temporary major character death

~oOo~

Even for an immortal, time passes slowly in the Gard.

Some days are a haze of hatred and betrayal. After all she’s done for Magnus, this is the thanks she gets? She saves his miserable life, allows him decades of being her lover, and at the end of it all he sends her to a fate worse than death. And all for that upstart bastard, Raphael.

She snorts. Oh, but of course, he’s not just any upstart bastard to Magnus. No, he’s like a son to him. She lounges in the corner of her cell, anger spent for now, contempt creeping in to replace it. The old fool. He never quite got the hang of immortality, she thinks. He partied, and lived in luxury, and travelled the world – but he still loves like a mortal, even now. Camille used to pity him for that.

Of course, that was before he betrayed her. Before he left her here to rot.

And so as the months tick by, Camille begins to plan. She’s certain she can get out of here – Gard security is tight, but she’s lived longer than most of her captors ever will, and the key to almost any escape is patience. But she’s not yet sure how she can get to New York from here, and she’s not going to waste her one chance at freedom on a bid that won’t put her anywhere near Magnus.

It’s a chance conversation between the guards that gives her idea for vengeance fresh blood. ‘Herringway! Simmonds!’ The voice is authoritative, and the two guards outside her door – one to send her weekly ration of blood through the slot, one to make sure she doesn’t ‘try anything’ – fall silent, immediately at attention. ‘I need the two of you to come with me. Inquisitor Lightwood-Bane has called a meeting about that business with the werewolves last week.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ one of them says, and the slot on Camille’s door is hastily pulled across, isolating her once more.

She dives into her blood rations, and for once her thoughts are distracted from how low she has been laid. Inquisitor Lightwood-Bane, they said. She remembers the smell of angel blood, the sickly sweet taste of Nephilim on Magnus’ lips. The boy who stormed in to interrupt them, arrogant in his staggering youth. The brief flash of protectiveness across Magnus’ face as he told her to leave Alec out of this.

Camille doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Lightwood-Bane. It seems that in replacing her, Magnus found someone who’s as much of a saccharine idiot as he is, someone who’s willing to throw their life away for an immortal who’ll forget them in a century or two.

But as the news settles into her mind, she finds herself grinning, feeling the residual blood dry on her teeth. Maybe she doesn’t have to get to New York. After all, there’s more than one way to rip out the heart of a sentimental warlock.

***

All prison breakouts start with one mistake, and today it is the lot of Harrison Bigsby to provide it. Elliott’s been working with him since day one, is even considering asking him to be his parabatai – a potential conversation his mind wanders to as they begin meandering the halls, carrying between them all sorts of supplies for the prisoners.

A werewolf prisoner starts yelling furiously, banging on the door, and it pulls Elliott out of his reverie with a jolt. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he swears quietly. ‘You’d think they’d learn that all they’re gonna do is hurt themselves.’ He winces at the sound of flesh and bones hitting metal over and over, though it’s hard to feel too much sympathy for the prisoner – this wing is dedicated to containing the truly heinous criminals, those who’ve ended many innocent lives or caused suffering even worse than death. Elliott’s no coward, but he can’t help but feel relieved that he only has this particular duty once a month.

Harrison sighs. ‘Yeah. I’ll see if I can get him to calm down. You make the next blood drop.’ He walks away, and Elliott’s about to protest – this isn’t protocol, they’re supposed to stick together. But doubt stills his tongue, and he carries on towards the next cell. They’re not grunts straight out of training, and Harrison’s not going to want a weak-ass parabatai who can’t even do dinner duty without someone holding his hand.

He opens the slot, and before he can close it all the way, he hears her. ‘My my,’ she croons, and Elliott stifles a gasp because her voice is pure music. ‘This looks delicious. Thank you, my sweet.’ ‘You’re welcome,’ he says, awed. ‘I was hoping – before you go on your busy way, performing your duties so nobly – that you might do me the tiniest favour?’ ‘Anything,’ he breathes, and means it all the more when she laughs. ‘My hero. There’s a rune on the top left corner of this door, and it’s giving me some bother. Be a dear and deactivate it, would you?’

He hesitates, because as much as he longs to help her, he isn’t ever supposed to touch the security mechanisms. But his fears are assuaged when she continues, ‘It doesn’t do anything to the lock, of course, or I’d never ask. As far as I’m aware, it’s only there to cause me pain.’ Her voice sounds sadder now, broken, and Elliott wants to kill whoever’s responsible. ‘Please?’

He nods, then realises she can’t see him. ‘Of course, of course I will.’ He takes out his stele and waves it over the rune as efficiently as he can, because even a second more pain for her than necessary is too much for him to bear. The rune glows softly, then fades. She sighs in relief. ‘Thank you, my sweet. I won’t forget this. But let’s keep it our little secret, hmm?’ Her coy tone brings a blush to Elliott’s cheeks. ‘Our little secret, of course.’ He rather likes the sound of that. ‘Good boy,’ she says warmly, and he glows at the praise. ‘Now, you ought to go help your friend. I’m sure I’ll see you soon enough, next time you’re on this route. I can hardly wait.’ Her compassion makes him smile, as does her promise. He goes to check on Harrison without another word.

***

Camille drifts down the hallway back to her cell. She doesn’t like travelling in dust form, and as she slips back through the crack in the food slot, she reforms quickly, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Odd how you can taste the must down here more without a tongue, she muses. But she hadn’t wanted to push her luck with that Shadowhunter boy, not knowing how far her encanto could take her without eye contact. Asking him to disable that one rune was risky enough.

Besides, she thinks – as she wanders around the cell, preening – one rune was all it took. So far, she’s only been out of her cell for short ventures, timed precisely to miss the patrols. But finally, she’s ready for the next stage. Just in time, too – it’s been nearly a month, and if that encanto’d idiot comes back and starts drooling over her, his partner is going to know something’s wrong.

It’s another hour before the guards wander past her door, briefly opening the slot to check on her. She sits in the corner, holding her head in her hands, hiding her face. She has a good poker face, obviously, but there’s something about a situation like this that puts a certain gleam in her eye. I do love it when a plan comes together, she thinks happily.

The footsteps move past. She counts to seven hundred and fifty-two before she decides a thousand was an overly cautious number to pick, and if she has to count that much higher she’ll die of boredom. So instead, she falls into her dust form and slips away.

***

‘Inquisitor, there’s been a riot in the Gard.’

Alec’s attention immediately snaps away from the report on his desk to the lieutenant in front of him. ‘When?’

The lieutenant is maintaining a veneer of professionalism, but Alec can see the fear lurking behind it. ‘We first got word around four minutes ago, sir, but we’re not sure when it started. Twenty-three prisoners are out of their cells.’ ‘Which section?’ ‘Low-threat, sir,’ they say, and Alec lets out a breath. At least it isn’t the maximum-security wing. ‘Our people on the ground are trying to contain the situation, but-‘

‘Sir!’ Another voice interrupts as another Shadowhunter appears in the doorway, her blue uniform marking her as surveillance personnel. ‘Sorry for the intrusion, but there’s word on the riot. They have it mostly under control down there now – the head of security pulled all available details to handle it. The prisoners are back in their cells, they’re just working on re-securing some of the doors.’ ‘Casualties?’ ‘Three Shadowhunters wounded, six prisoners. No fatalities.’ Alec nods. ‘All right. Stevens, head back to the ops center. Tell the infirmary to expect nine injured, six of which will need security.’ The Shadowhunter from surveillance nods, hurrying away. ‘Travis, gather your team and meet me at the Gard.’

***

Camille watches on, willing her patience not to give out when she’s so close. The Nephilim don’t even glance at the dust in the shadows, wandering blindly in front of her and her five accomplices – other vampires from the maximum security wing, ones that she herself sired and whose loyalty can therefore be assured. Camille’s often been proud of her talent for siring ruthless offspring, and it’s serving her well now. That Simon boy was just a fluke.

The Inquisitor is inspecting one of the doors with his stele, apparently trying to determine how the prisoners escaped. She wonders if she’ll have time before she kills him to tell him that she just opened the doors the mundane way, and let her new friends – the ones she’d been performing encanto on for the past few weeks – do the rest. Maybe she should send a manifesto of her plot to Magnus, afterwards. It does seem a shame to have no-one know just how brilliant her planning was. ‘No sign of rune-tampering,’ he says. All frowny and serious like that, she can see the attraction on Magnus’ part. It’s adorable. ‘We really have no leads on how they got out, Charlie?’ ‘No, but Alec… there’s some sort of demonic energy here. A strong residue of power.’ The Seelie scans the shadows, more watchful than the Nephilim, but Camille is confident she won’t be spotted. ‘I cannot put my finger on it, but whatever did this was no Nephilim.’ The angel boy looks around, but he’s even less of a threat than the Seelie. ‘All right. Send a message to Magnus, let him know what’s happening and ask for his help. No-one knows demonic signatures like he does.’

Camille quells her frustration as the Seelie departs. An annoying wrinkle, but not a huge problem. It’ll take time for Magnus to get here from New York. Without being able to portal straight into the Gard, his little angel will be long dead by the time he gets down here. There are only four Nephilim now, and they look like they’re preparing to leave, too.

Camille gives the signal.

She enjoys the look of shock on the boy’s face as her companions emerge from the shadows, breaking the neck of one of the younger Shadowhunters before the girl has a chance to react. The others are quicker, but the second one soon ends up on the ground with his throat ripped out, having barely laid a scratch on his assailant. The boy and his last remaining companion are clearly the more accomplished fighters, managing to take out three of her vampires between them. But they’re still outnumbered. When his comrade falls, Camille steps from the shadows herself, her last two accomplices helping her to hold the boy down.

‘Well, hello again,’ she purrs, straddling his chest, high enough that he can’t buck her off. He struggles, his expression full of hatred as he recognises her, but it’s fairly hard to move with a vampire pinning each of your arms down. ‘Alec, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I just think of you as ‘Magnus’ latest plaything’.’ He glares at her, but doesn’t say a word. ‘Ooh, cold,’ she says, relishing the slight flicker of fear as she bares her fangs. ‘Not in a chatty mood? Don’t worry, angel boy. I have just the thing to cheer you up. Maybe when Magnus gets here, he can have some too.’

He opens his mouth to say something – probably an angry, predictable demand to leave Magnus alone – but it’s lost in a gasp as she bites down on his throat. She drinks fast and deep, pleasantly surprised by the sweet angelic quality to his taste, but not wanting to savor too much. After all, this isn’t supposed to be a picnic for the boy, and she knows her venom is making this altogether more pleasant than she’d like. Oh well, she thinks. I can always try to convince Magnus that he suffered horribly, knowing what was happening despite the venom’s effects. With his bleeding, guilt-ridden heart, he’ll probably believe every-

‘ALEC!’

Camille just about has time to look up in shock – how the hell did he get here so fast? – before she’s thrown back violently. She gets to her feet as Magnus incinerates both of her remaining vampires, golden magic that matches his furious eyes and would remind anyone just whose son they’re dealing with. He’s not alone, but the two Shadowhunters behind him keep their distance, weapons drawn. Magnus plants himself between Camille and Alec, staring at her like he’s trying to bore a hole in her skull, and she tries not to show any fear. ‘Enough,’ he growls. ‘You’re not touching him again.’ His magic flares threateningly from his hands.

She smirks, hoping it doesn’t wobble. ‘You won’t do it,’ she says, pleased when her voice comes out steady. ‘You and I go too far back for that, Magnus. I saved your life. I was here long before your angel toy-boy, and I’ll be here long after.’ She waits for the capitulation, for Magnus’ face to soften as it always has when she pulls that card. For his weakness to shine through.

What she doesn’t expect is a slow but decisive shake of the head. ‘No,’ Magnus says, and the rage has gone, leaving only cold fury. ‘You’ve taken enough of my past. You’re not having my future.’

And that’s the final straw. Camille launches herself at Magnus, her own wrath boiling over at the realisation that she can’t control him like she used to.

The next bolt of magic cuts off her head, and the last thing she sees is a man who doesn’t need her anymore.

***

Magnus doesn’t even watch Camille hit the ground. Instead, he spins back to his husband, cradling his head; tears starting to well as he feels how cold his Shadowhunter’s skin is, the runes standing out starkly against his pallor. ‘Alexander,’ he breathes, but he doesn’t expect a response and he doesn’t get one, not even a hitch in the weak, shallow breathing. His fingers go to the unbitten side of Alec’s throat, over his deflect rune, and the pulse is barely there. He’s lost too much blood. ‘Get Catarina Loss here, now,’ he shouts, hearing both Shadowhunters scramble to obey his broken command.

But it’s a vain hope. There’s no way Catarina can get here in time, and he knows it. He chokes down a sob, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to Alec’s. ‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘not yet. Don’t leave me just yet. We’re supposed-‘ The words are cut off by another sob, and he finishes the thought in his head as he gasps for breath. We’re supposed to have more time. Decades. I was supposed to care for you as you grew old. ‘Please, Alec. Please.’

His hands move down to cradle either side of Alec’s neck, and he feels a swell of revulsion as he finds the twin punctures.

Then, a thrill of something dangerously close to hope.

His eyes fly open, and he looks from his husband, so still and pale but still there, to Camille’s body not ten yards away. He summons the vampire’s corpse without even thinking, cupping his hand under the fatal wound, where the last drops of her lifeblood are seeping out.

After a few agonising seconds, he prays that he has enough, because he knows he’s almost out of time. He parts Alec’s lips and gently lets the blood spill into his mouth.

Alec sputters a little, and Magnus hates to make his last breaths any more difficult, but he has to try. He leans forward again, using his unbloodied hand to stroke Alec’s hair, and presses a kiss to his husband’s forehead. ‘Forgive me, my love.’

The weak breathing stops, and the despair crashes over Magnus like a tidal wave. He pulls Alec close and weeps, not yet daring to hope he’s done enough to save the man he loves.

***

If Simon’s phone hadn’t started ringing, he’s not sure when he would have moved.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Jace collapsed in the middle of his and Izzy’s kitchen, clutching his side and screaming in agony. How long since the screaming stopped, Jace’s expression going blank for a moment before he started hyperventilating, sobbing Alec’s name. The three of them have been frozen ever since, Izzy’s arms around Jace as the tears track silently down her face, Simon standing beside them, numb with disbelief.

And then his phone starts ringing, and it’s like the clock starts ticking again. He pulls it out of his pocket and feels his stomach plummet to his knees when he sees who it is, almost dropping it in his fumble to answer the call. ‘Magnus? Oh g-g-god, Magnus, I’m so-‘ ‘Are you alone?’ Simon’s taken aback by Magnus’ blunt tone. ‘No, I’m- I’m with Jace and Izzy. Magnus-‘ ‘Get out of their earshot.’ Magnus sounds… not calm, but emotionless. Detached. ‘Uh, okay.’ Simon holds up a finger to Izzy in response to her questioning look, and walks out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the master bedroom, closing all the doors behind him. ‘Okay, I’m out of the room-‘ ‘I need you to come to Alicante. Just you, as fast as you can get here.’

Simon takes a deep breath. ‘I totally get it, Magnus, and I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t just leave Izzy and-‘ ‘Simon!’ Magnus snaps. ‘We don’t have time for this. Alec needs you here, now.’ …Oh, god. Oh, god. Does Magnus not know? ‘Magnus,’ he says hesitantly, with absolutely no idea how he’s going to break this news. ‘Alec’s… Jace… he – ‘ ‘I know.’ Oh, thank god. ‘But we might be able to get him back, Simon. The same way Clary got you back.’ Simon’s eyes widen. ‘You mean-‘ ‘Go to the Institute and tell them that I’ve summoned you. They’ll be expecting you, and they should give you access to a portal. Get here as soon as you can, and don’t tell the others.’ The line goes dead.

Simon sways in place. If he thought he was dumbfounded before, this is a whole other level. He wanders back into the kitchen, hand still clenched around his phone. Izzy looks up at him. She’s still crying, but when she speaks, her voice is stronger than Simon expects. ‘What did Magnus say? Did he-‘ She pauses for a moment, continuing in a whisper. ‘Did he say what happened?’

Simon shakes his head. Which isn’t technically a lie, he has no idea what’s going on besides that Alec’s dead but Magnus says he can come back as a frickin’ vampire- ‘No,’ he says, realising that both of them are looking up at him now, waiting for more information. ‘He just said he wants me to go to Alicante, ASAP. Just me. He didn’t say why.’

‘No.’ Simon’s heart breaks a little at Jace’s voice, all the grief and fury in it. ‘No, we’re going with you. I have to-‘ He cuts himself off, breathing heavily. Izzy looks at Simon a little quizzically, and Simon tries to just look sad instead of nervous and guilty. Apparently, it works, because she turns back to Jace and runs her hand over his shoulders soothingly. ‘Jace,’ she says gently, ‘if Magnus doesn’t want us there yet, there’s got to be a good reason. We don’t-‘ She presses a hand to her mouth, taking a few breaths before she continues. ‘We don’t know what state Alec’s in.’ Her voice trembles a little on her brother’s name, and Jace’s sobs resume.

Simon gently puts his hand on Izzy’s shoulder. ‘I can stay,’ he offers, though he dreads to think what Magnus would do to him if he didn’t show. ‘I-‘ ‘No.’ Izzy shakes her head, and gives Simon her best attempt at a smile. ‘No, go. Magnus needs you right now. I’ve got things here.’

He gives her a half-smile in return, reaching out to comfort Jace quickly before thinking better of it and snatching his hand back. ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll, uh- go.’ He turns and sprints from the apartment, heading for the Institute, and feeling terrible about leaving the others behind. Magnus had better know what he’s doing.

***

‘Magnus, think about this.’ Raphael sounds exasperated, but Magnus knows him well enough to detect the undercurrent of concern. ‘Think of what his life will be like after this. Because of a choice you made for him. Is that a burden you can bear?’

Magnus doesn’t look up at him, but he nods. ‘I have to try, Raphael.’ Because of course Magnus has second- and third- and fourth-guessed himself, every moment since he dripped Camille’s blood between Alec’s lips. But the alternative is losing him, and he’s having trouble even thinking about that option. Raphael sighs in frustration. ‘Magnus-‘ ‘I didn’t ask you here to talk me out of it,’ Magnus snaps, but there’s no strength behind the anger. It sounds as hollow as he feels. ‘Will you help me or not?’

‘Raphael, can I… I need to talk to you. Just for a moment.’ Apparently, Simon showed up sometime in the last minute or so. Magnus hadn’t even noticed. He hears them walk away until they’re just out of earshot, where he can hear their cadence but not their words, and still he doesn’t move. His gaze is fixed on the hole in the ground in front of them. He can’t look at Alec lying down there, because there’s no peace in this kind of death, and he just looks pale and ill and wrong. But neither can Magnus completely look away, and so he guards the grave without daring to glimpse the owner.

It’s not long – or, hell, it might be an hour, he can’t tell anymore – before the footsteps return. He doesn’t ask Raphael a second time, just waits for his answer. Raphael sighs again, but this time, it’s in resignation. ‘All right. We’re running out of time. Let’s get this over with.’

The grave is shallow, and doesn’t take long to fill between the three of them – and then they’re standing back, waiting with bated breath. And as the minutes tick by and Alec still doesn’t appear, Magnus feels his resolve start to crumble. Maybe the blood wasn’t enough, even with that much venom in his system. Or maybe it was enough, but something’s gone wrong, and now he’s trapped his husband’s soul in a kind of limbo-

A hand strikes up through the earth, and Magnus should feel apprehensive at facing the consequences of his decision. But all he can focus on is how much easier it is to breathe again.

***

Cold, cold but burning, and he climbs out into dazzling light but it doesn’t sound right, doesn’t sound like the world and there’s the smell of rain and something earthy, sweet, familiar, delicious-

Another sound, too loud, too much, but he doesn’t care because there’s a different smell, in front of him and too delicious to resist and so he doesn’t, he tears it open and feasts and all is lost but the hunger, the frenzy, the need.

‘Not yet, Magnus. Give him a minute.’

Magnus, Magnus, the word is familiar. And the connection lights up in his brain as he continues to feast – Magnus is the name of that smell, the earthy-sweet-delicious one, so tempting that once he’s finished here, he knows what he wants afterwards, but for now there’s the hunger and the frenzy and that’s paramount, so he shuts off every other thought and just feeds.

And slowly, as the bloodlust is sated, Alec’s mind comes back to him, the last few minutes forgotten.

He’s kneeling in the dirt, and how did he get here? And the world is too loud around him, too bright even though when he looks up he can see the stars, that’s not right, night’s supposed to be dark.

‘Alexander?’

He looks down again, and this time, he sees the golden glow of his husband’s eyes, shining with unshed tears – but he looks relieved, treading that fine line between happiness and heartbreak. ‘There you are,’ he says, and his smile widens. ‘You know, last-minute dramatic entrances are supposed to be my thing.’ And he takes a step towards Alec.

EarthysweetDELICIOUS- ‘No!’ Alec scrambles backwards, and Magnus stops in his tracks, expression tipping back towards heartbreak, and Alec holds his breath because something is wrong, something’s in his head and it wants to hurt Magnus, wants him to hurt the man he loves. ‘Don’t- don’t come any closer,’ he says desperately, covering his mouth and nose. Or at least, that’s what he tries to say, but his mouth feels weird, and when he runs his tongue over his teeth he can’t quite place… what…

His eyes fall on Simon, on Raphael, and go wide in understanding. ‘No,’ he says again, more quietly – not despair, just disbelief. And he wants to say more, wants to ask what happened, because he remembers Camille’s teeth in his neck and fire around him but not how he got here – but the words get stuck in his throat, and he knows he should be worrying about himself but all his mind can focus on is how fucking devastated Magnus looks now.

Simon’s suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, face a little scared but determined. ‘Listen, Alec, it’s okay. I know it’s all – all – really freakin’ weird right now, and I know,’ he lowers his voice, ‘I know you’re afraid you’re going to hurt him.’ Alec shuts his eyes, and he wants to tell Simon to go away, tell him that he has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s hit the nail on the head and Alec’s terrified. ‘But you won’t,’ Simon says, and he sounds surer of himself than Alec’s ever heard. ‘You won’t hurt him, like I never hurt Clary. And I was a frickin’ wimp, dude,’ he jokes, though his voice turns a bit shaky when he does. ‘You’re a total badass. If anyone can handle this, it’s you. And you don’t have to do it alone. We’re gonna help you.’

Alec opens his eyes and looks at Simon, daring to take a breath. He can still smell the sandalwood, the earthy sweetness he’s come to associate with Magnus, but it doesn’t stoke that fire of hunger inside him anymore. ‘Okay,’ he croaks, returning the smile as best he can when Simon’s face lights up. ‘Okay, I-‘

But then there’s pain, agony, and he claws at his neck, his ribs to get it off him, because it hurts, it feels like his skin is coming apart, make it stop-

‘Alexander!’ And then Simon is gone but there’s Magnus, Magnus, love of his life – holding on to him, wrapping him in his arms and it’s safe but it’s not because there’s still that voice at the back of Alec’s head, but it’s being drowned out by pain-

‘His runes, Magnus, they’re reacting to the change-‘

Make it stop, he wants to say. Please, Magnus, help me –

The world is still too bright, and it gets brighter, brighter-

***

‘It’s alright,’ Magnus soothes, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels. ‘It’s alright, Alec, I’ve got you, it’ll be over soon.’ His husband is limp in his arms, but he keeps talking, keeps pouring out magic to numb the pain. ‘It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.’

The runes are still glowing red-gold on his skin, then flaring brightly one by one and disappearing. They’re reacting to the change, Raphael said, and that makes sense. Shadowhunter runes work on angelic power, they can’t handle the demonic nature of vampirism – only the Seelie realm can properly balance the two. The vampirism will win out, Raphael said assuredly. Once it does, he should be fine. But Magnus curses himself for not thinking of this, not realising that this would be an issue.

In fact, while he’s at it, Magnus curses himself for this whole damn idea, his selfishness and desperation, his inability to let Alec go. Because nothing, not even Alec’s death, has ever hurt Magnus more than that soft, broken ‘no’ when his husband realised what he’d become. What Magnus did to him. He doesn’t deserve to, but Magnus holds Alec tighter. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers.

The last rune – stamina, Magnus recognises dully – flares and vanishes. Alec remains still in Magnus’ arms.

‘It might take a while for him to come around,’ Raphael says, and it’s the closest to gentle Magnus has ever heard him. ‘I’ve heard of this before, when Shadowhunters were turned. The war between magics takes a toll on the body. We should take him home to recover.’

Simon steps forward as if to help, but Magnus shakes his head minutely, lifting Alec into his arms. He’s surprisingly light, until Magnus remembers how much blood he’s missing, and then it isn’t surprising at all. He steps forward, away from the loose earth, to give himself a sturdier footing. ‘We never did the bridal carry over the threshold, did we?’ he murmurs. ‘At least we’re getting around to it now.’ When Alec doesn’t respond, the smile dies on Magnus’ face. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Not funny.’

He twirls his wrist gently to open a portal, and steps through into their bedroom, Simon and Raphael in tow. He manoeuvres Alec onto the bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible, and takes a moment to magic away the dried blood on his face. Then he turns to the others. ‘Would you watch over him for a moment? There’s something I have to take care of. And let his family know what’s happened.’

He doesn’t wait for a response before portalling back to the graveyard, unable to wait another second. He faces the disturbed grave, and summons his powers – first smoothing it over, and then weaving ward after ward around the plot, casting glamours and protective spells, making sure they’re the kind that are built to last.

Grave dirt is a dangerous liability. Magnus is already afraid he’s made a colossal mistake, and he’s not about to make another.

***

Alec is unconscious for three days.

On the first day, Magnus busies himself around the apartment. Raphael assures him that it’s going to be a while before his husband wakes, and so Magnus takes the time to make preparations. He checks there’s no way sunlight can get into their home once the new blackout curtains are drawn, conjures blood to store in the fridge, silences any ticking clocks. He banishes the silver he can deal without, like some of his jewellery, and transmutes what he can’t, like the now-stainless-steel silverware.

That evening, the majority of Alec’s family arrive – Maryse, Jace, Izzy and Max. Magnus doesn’t meet any of their eyes, too afraid that he’ll see hatred for what he’s done, the path he’s chosen for Alec. When they go into the bedroom, he makes himself scarce, brewing tea and coffee in the kitchen because if they’ve had as little sleep as him, they’re going to need it. Izzy comes to join him after a while, and knowing how protective she is, he braces himself for the worst. But instead, she gently takes him by the hands, turns him to face her, and pulls him down into a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I know it wasn’t an easy decision, but I don’t know what I’d do without him.’ Magnus doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t deserve her thanks, or that it was all too easy in the end, because he’s selfish. Instead, he just leans into her comfort.

On the second day, Robert shows up. He says he can’t stay long, which Magnus suspects has more to do with the awkwardness of being around Maryse than any ‘Clave business’, as he claims – but he sits with Alec a while, holding one of his hands while Maryse takes the other. Before he goes, he pulls Magnus to one side. ‘Keep me updated,’ he says. ‘Let me know when he wakes up, or if there are any changes.’

Shortly after Robert leaves, Raphael does too. ‘I’ve done all I can for you, now,’ he says. ‘The rest will be up to you and Simon to help him through.’ He clasps Magnus’ shoulder for a moment, meeting his eyes with a sincere, but not unsympathetic gaze. ‘I hope you don’t come to regret this.’

Magnus walks him out, and rather than return to the bedroom with its stifling air of guilt and sadness, he wanders out onto the balcony to get some much-needed space. The sun is setting, and he tries and fails not to think about how Alec won’t ever get to see that again. If he weren’t so tired, the thought would make him angry with himself all over again. So much for avoiding guilt, he thinks, and almost laughs. ‘Magnus?’ Simon’s voice is hesitant, and maybe Magnus isn’t just distracted. This daylighter is sneaky. ‘Are you alright?’

He actually does laugh at that, but there’s no warmth to it. ‘Oh, I’m just dandy, Simon.’ Simon comes to stand beside him, leaning on the balcony, but keeps around a foot of space between them, which Magnus appreciates right now. ‘Yeah, sorry. Stupid question.’ He pauses, before turning to face Magnus. ‘I felt it, when Camille went,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know what it was, at first, and then of course there was Jace a second later – but anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy.’ Magnus just shrugs, surprised at his own lack of feeling. ‘I suppose.’ Truth be told, he didn’t feel anything when he thought about Camille being gone, not even a small sense of loss. It would seem that any residual feelings he had for her were completely erased by the sight of her sinking her fangs into Alec’s throat. He takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath.

It’s a few moments before Simon speaks again. ‘He’s going to be okay. You know that, right?’

Magnus sighs. ‘No, I don’t.’ He looks back out at the sunset, and pretends that it’s the glare that makes his eyes water. ‘I did this to him,’ he whispers. ‘I knew what it would mean for him – I’ve seen Raphael go through it, and you. But I still chose this over losing him.’ ‘Well, yeah, but… it’s better than death, isn’t it?’ ‘I’m not so sure. You saw him in the graveyard, Simon. How scared he was, how, how…’ ‘But it’s like that for everyone,’ Simon argues. ‘It’s a big deal, but… you make it work. Raphael made it work, I’ve made it work. And neither of us ever wanted this, so Alec’s already got an advantage there.’

Magnus turns sharply to look at Simon, whose expression quite clearly says caught red-handed. ‘Uh,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Okay, yeah, cat’s out of the bag. Nice one, Simon,’ he mutters. ‘Okay, so, basically, he didn’t want me to say anything, but… when you were stuck in Edom, and we heard about Lilith, and we couldn’t figure out a way to get any Shadowhunters there to help you… Alec-kinda-asked-me-to-turn-him-into-a-vampire,’ he finishes in a rush. If Magnus looks as astounded as he feels right now, he wouldn’t blame Simon for checking his pulse. ‘He…’ Simon nods, a little sheepishly. ‘Yeah. I said no – obviously. For starters, I’m a terrible sire – but he was all in, man. He said if I didn’t do it, he’d find someone else to. If Clary hadn’t come up with the alliance rune, I really think he would have done it.’

Magnus turns back towards the last rays of sunlight, overwhelmed. You continue to surprise me. He closes his eyes at the memory. ‘I suppose that’s what you told Raphael to get him on board, then?’ ‘Yeah. He was much more supportive when I told him this was an option Alec had considered before, even if he didn’t quite get why.’

And in a way, Raphael is right. It doesn’t change the fact that Magnus made this decision, and all the weight of that – but maybe it’ll make things easier for Alec when he wakes up, and that’s all he wants for his husband now. ‘Thank you, Simon,’ he says, turning to give him a small smile. Simon returns it, and heads back indoors, apparently pleased with himself.

On the third day, Alec’s family drift in and out, but Magnus stays by his bedside the whole time. According to Raphael’s estimate, he’ll wake up soon, and Magnus wants to be here. He doesn’t know if Alec will forgive him – god knows he’s having a hard enough time just living with himself over this, forgiveness seems downright impossible – but when Alec wakes up confused, he always looks for Magnus, and Magnus doesn’t want him to panic when he rouses. If Alec wants him to leave, he can do that after, and he won’t blame him if that’s the case. But that’s after, and right now, Magnus’ place is here.

It’s nearly midnight when Alec shifts, the noise waking Magnus from a half-doze despite the amount of caffeine in his system. Everyone else is asleep, spread across the spare room and the couches in the living room. ‘M’gn’s?’ he mumbles, and despite all the guilt and all the fear, Magnus’ heart leaps to hear it. ‘Here,’ he says, reaching out and taking his husband’s hand. ‘Right here, Alexander.’ Bloodshot eyes find his, and after they take a moment to focus, an exhausted smile lights up Alec’s face. ‘Ah. There you are,’ he says, slurring slightly. Magnus swallows the lump in his throat, and tries to find a smile of his own. ‘Where else would I be?’ He relinquishes Alec’s hand, taking the cup from the nightstand and pressing the straw to his husband’s lips. ‘Here. Raphael said this would help once you woke up.’

Alec closes his eyes to drink – not that he’d be able to see what he’s drinking through the opaque cup and straw. That Meyer woman got a lot wrong, Magnus thinks, but damn if she didn’t know how to normalise drinking blood. Alec finishes most of the cup before he pulls away. Either he’s too out of it to realise what he just drank, or he’s adjusting to this new lifestyle remarkably quickly, because he doesn’t seem fazed at all – he just settles back down into his veritable nest of pillows, cracking his eyes open to look at Magnus once more, before he lets them fall closed again and reaches his hand out, palm up.

And Magnus puts all his practice with ‘living in the here and now’ to good use, pushing his worries for the future aside and just holding on tight.

***

‘Try telling yourself you want to run into the wall,’ Simon suggests. Alec grits his teeth. ‘Simon, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’ ‘Hey, worked for me. You won’t know unless you give it a try.’

Alec takes a deep breath, but without there being a need to do so, it’s annoyingly ineffective at calming him down. It’s been five days since he first woke up at home, and there’s a lot for him to be stressed about. Firstly, there’s the fact that even though he’s been through years of physical training, he’s pretty sure that if any of his instructors had been as irritating as Simon was while trying to teach him to manage his ‘vamp speed’ inside the apartment, he would have volunteered for deruning by the age of fifteen just to get away from them.

Speaking of deruning, there’s also the shock every time he walks past a mirror and doesn’t see his deflect rune on his neck, only the quickly-fading puncture wounds on the opposite side. His runes have been a part of him for so long, he feels oddly incomplete without them. It doesn’t help that it’s a reminder of his shift in identity, too – being a Shadowhunter is all he knows, all he’s ever known. It was an identity that fit, and vampire just doesn’t fit yet.

But if he’s honest with himself, there’s a much bigger reason why Alec feels so on edge, and that reason is sitting in the kitchen, wearing a wedding band identical to Alec’s, and pretending to read The Great Gatsby despite the fact that he hasn’t turned a page in twenty minutes. Since Alec woke up, Magnus has barely looked at him. He always stays close, of course, wanting to be there for him, but his bravado is out in full force. The only real expression Alec’s seen on his face in days is the one where he looks at Alec with a mixture of grief and wonder, like he’s some sort of sad miracle. And of course, as soon as he realises Alec’s looking, it’s back to the false smile and airy attitude, all without meeting his eyes.

And Alec understands, really. Magnus saved his life, but in the process, he’s ended up married to a vampire. Which isn’t a completely new thing for Magnus, of course, he’s been with vampires before – but the last time was when he was with Camille, and that story doesn’t exactly have a happy ending. And now she’s Alec’s sire, and this must be bringing up all sorts of weird memories for Magnus.

Alec looks back at Magnus, watches the honest expression slip away behind false cheer again, and suddenly he can’t do this anymore. ‘Simon, could you give us a minute?’ It’s taken a few days, but Alec trusts himself to be in a room alone with Magnus now – his long-earned discipline from being a Shadowhunter is coming in handy with learning to control his bloodlust. Besides, he’s sure that if he did lose control, Magnus could kick his ass pretty easily. Simon looks between them, as if momentarily transfixed by the awkwardness, before he shakes himself. ‘Right, right, of course, I’ll just-‘ He leaves quickly, and Alec spares a thought to appreciate that he can now see him go, because the same speed is at his own disposal.

He turns back to Magnus, refocusing on the task at hand. Magnus opens his mouth to speak, but Alec cuts him off. ‘Do you regret it?’ he asks quietly. ‘I- what?’ ‘Do you regret it. Bringing me back like this.’ Magnus just stares for a moment, then looks down at his hands. ‘I can’t,’ he says, and Alec closes his eyes, processing that. Of course Magnus feels like he can’t regret it, that would be tantamount to wishing Alec weren’t here, but- ‘I’m so sorry, Alexander.’

Alec’s eyes fly open, and he looks at Magnus in confusion. ‘What?’ There’s no bravado now, and Magnus looks pained. ‘I’m sorry, and I know I should regret doing this to you, but I just can’t. Because if I hadn’t, I would have lost you, and I couldn’t bear that.’ He meets Alec’s eyes again. ‘But I know it was selfish of me, and I am so, so sorry.’

‘Wait,’ Alec says, dumbfounded. ‘You’re sorry? For saving my life?’ ‘I saw what the transformation did to Raphael, to Simon. And I still chose to put you through that, rather than lose you,’ Magnus says, his voice so quiet, Alec’s not sure he would have heard him without his new-and-improved vampire hearing.

Alec’s head is reeling, but he walks over to Magnus, sitting beside him. ‘Look,’ he begins. ‘I’m not going to pretend that this isn’t a big change, that it isn’t going to be difficult. But making that decision, in the heat of the moment, because you didn’t want to lose me? That’s not selfishness, that’s love.’ He takes Magnus’ hands in his own, wanting his full attention. ‘Besides, it’s not like I’ve never made a choice that I knew would hurt you. What about when I asked you to give Lorenzo’s magic back? Or when I made that deal with your father?’ Magnus shakes his head with a sad smile, like he’s already thought of all this – which, if he’s been preoccupied with this ever since Alec woke up, he probably has. ‘That’s different,’ he says. ‘You were doing what you thought was best for me.’ ‘Maybe,’ Alec allows. ‘But I don’t think it’s that black-and-white, Magnus. Do you really think there wasn’t a part of me that asked you to give the magic back because I didn’t want to lose you? I practically told you as much,’ he points out. ‘And do you think there was no part of me that made that deal with Asmodeus just because I couldn’t bear for you to resent me someday? Because I don’t believe that.’

Magnus just shakes his head, that same sad smile on his face, and Alec changes tack. ‘Magnus. Whatever part of you did this for me, I’m grateful. Because now I get to see my family again, and we have a chance to do all those things we talked about doing ‘one day’. And whatever part of you did this for you… I’m glad you did.’ Magnus looks up at him in surprise. ‘I love you, Magnus. I want you to be happy. And if you need me here, then that’s where I want to be. And if you need to hear that I forgive you, then of course, of course I do. How could I not, when any selfishness you had only existed because you love me?’ He moves his hand to the back of Magnus’ neck, thumb gently stroking back and forth. ‘But even if you’re sorry you made this choice, I’m not. At all. Besides,’ he says, feeling a smile grow wide on his face, ‘vampires are immortal. How could I walk out on you now we’ve finally got a shot at forever?’

Magnus is quiet for a moment, and his eyes are still a little shiny. ‘You know, sometimes I think it’s a shame that I was the one to propose.’ He smiles, and wraps his arms loosely around Alec’s neck. ‘You give a great speech when you want to, Alexander.’ He leans forward, and Alec leans away a little. ‘Magnus…’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus whispers. ‘We’ll stop if you’re not ready, but I trust you.’ He moves in slowly, giving Alec time to pull away, but he doesn’t, and when their lips meet it’s tender and sweet. Alec notes with relief that his fangs don’t descend, and leans into the kiss, emboldened.

When they pull apart, they rest their foreheads together. ‘A shot at forever,’ Magnus murmurs. ‘Sounds pretty good, when you put it like that.’ Yeah, Alec thinks, pulling Magnus even closer. It really does.

***

Change is never easy, but it’s rarely impossible.

Officially, when Alec died, he lost the role of Inquisitor. His colleagues seem relieved when he accepts that loss with good grace, knowing that even with the newfound acceptance of Downworlders in Alicante, the role should go to someone who’s still a Shadowhunter. The more Alec adjusts to his new life, the further removed he’ll be from his old one, and he knows it won’t be long until he forgets the little things he used to know intrinsically – how it feels to activate a rune, or to wield a seraph blade. How to plan for a situation with Shadowhunter abilities instead of vampiric ones.

Instead, he liaises between the Clave and the small vampire population in Alicante, pushing for compromise and understanding. It’s not easy – there are still plenty of Shadowhunters who look down on Downworlders, and plenty of vampires who don’t trust Shadowhunters after years of prejudice. But times are changing, and over the years, Alec goes from feeling like he doesn’t belong on either ‘side’ to finding a sense of belonging in both.

His family adjust, though each of them takes their own time. Izzy and Jace, used to spending time with Simon, fold him into a bone-crushing hug between them the moment they enter the apartment. He’s pretty sure that if he hadn’t insisted on getting used to his vampiric urges first, they would have done so the moment he woke up all those weeks ago. And of course, when Clary returns to the Shadow World, her acceptance is just as freely given. Maryse takes a little longer, but Alec can see her trying. The first time he sees her again, she cups his face in her hands, and meets his eyes with a determined expression. ‘You know as well as I do that this is a big change,’ she says. ‘But you’re still my boy. You always will be. And as long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you too.’

Robert doesn’t come by often, but when he does, Alec can see that he’s trying, too. He hesitates before clapping Alec on the shoulder, or sitting next to him at the dinner table, but he never chickens out. Part of Alec was sure that his dad would drop out of his life completely – it’s not like they’ve been close ever since his parents fell out, the last thing they need is one more obstacle between them – so this exceeds his expectations. With Robert comes Max, and Alec is gentlest with him, toning down the ‘vamp stuff’ at first. His youngest brother has almost no personal experience with Downworlders besides Magnus, and he’s still just a kid.

The first time Max walks into their apartment without a look of trepidation, Alec almost cries with relief.

After that, it’s not long before Max is bubbling over with questions – what does vampire speed feel like? Is Alec’s vision even better now than it was with his runes activated? Does blood taste different now? (That last one leaves Alec gaping, unable to find any words to even begin to answer, and Magnus can barely contain his laughter.)

Despite the fact that it was Magnus’ decision to save him this way, Alec is a little nervous when things start settling down after his transformation. He’s worried that without all the panic of nearly losing Alec, Magnus will realise how different things will be now. After all, Magnus has ended up with a husband who can’t go out to dinner with him, can’t even go out with him in the daytime, and whose fangs descend whenever they have a disagreement – not as a threat, just as an automatic reaction, like the vampire equivalent of a frown.

But Magnus never seems to mind any of that. He looks at Alec the same way he always has, brings him the occasional glass of blood as casually as he would a cup of coffee, and sounds so, so happy when they’re lying in bed together or curled up on the couch, talking about the future. Because one thing they never doubt is that both of them are in this for forever, now that they have a chance at it. Magnus was the one to turn Alec immortal, and Alec was the first one to mention that as a major upside to Magnus’ decision; so right from the start, they’re on the same page about that, and it makes Alec smile whenever he thinks about it, too.

The way they spend their free time changes, but it’s not all losses. They can’t walk down the streets of an unfamiliar city in the heat of the day, but they head out to the desert and lie under more stars than Alec’s ever seen before. They can’t share a meal together, but they go swimming in crystal clear waters in the moonlight, Magnus’ magic and Alec’s vampirism meaning they don’t have to come up for air until they choose to.

And of course, Alec’s favourite kind of time together – like tonight – isn’t all that different. A soft jazz song is playing, and Magnus is humming along as he and Alec turn in slow circles around the living room, swaying in each other’s arms, heads resting on each other’s shoulders. If anything, this is another thing that’s better now that Alec’s a vampire – his problem with dancing was always overthinking, and for some reason, he finds it easier to trust his newfound poise than the grace and balance that came from being a Shadowhunter.

There’s a somebody I’m longing to see, I hope that he, turns out to be, someone who’ll watch over me… Alec smiles at the lyrics being crooned around them, feeling like a huge sap but far too happy to care, and sighs. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Magnus asks softly. Alec turns his head slightly to press a kiss to his husband’s cheek. ‘You,’ he says honestly. Magnus breathes out a laugh. ‘Oh, stop it. You do know how to make a man blush, Alexander.’

They’re quiet after that, listening to the music, holding each other close. It’s a long time before either of them let go.

~oOo~

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #malec #malec fanfic #shtv #vampire!alec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #camille belcourt #mine #i considered posting this in chapters but sod it #ALL AT ONCE #we don't fanfic like grownups we fanfic like EXCITED TEENAGERS #anyway ill stop rambling #please enjoy

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storytime-hoe · 5 years

Text

Tough Love Ch.11

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: Hope you all enjoy this one! It’s a sad one I would say and we get some background info about Emma’s past. I kinda just made that part up without putting any forethought into it so it might be a little rough.

Previously: Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

It took me a few more weeks to recover from the bullet wound. I hated sitting around in my room, unable to go out on runs with the others. There were a lot of mouths to feed and I wished I could do something to help out. I had been a scavenger and looter from the beginning, so I obviously couldn't hunt down or track anything to eat like Daryl could. I really felt useless.

And that wasn't good for me because every day that went by that I wasn't able to be of any help, the more my thoughts started to become poisoned. I couldn't help but feel like a burden all the time like every other fucker here who had everything brought to them on a silver platter. It wasn't good for me or my mindset and eventually I slumped into a depression.

I used to have these periods of depression all the fucking time before the turn of everything. I lived in a shit trailer park with my mom and little brother. I would feel the crushing responsibilities of taking care of them both, even though that should not have been my fucking job, and I knew I would never surmount to anything more than a doublewide. I would end up just like my damn mother, and I couldn't stand her most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I loved her, but fuck was she hard to love. She never held down a job, so my waitressing gig was all that brought in money for us. We kept our bellies full, which is all that we could ask for, but when we did have a little extra money for luxuries, Mom would blow it all on booze or gamble it all away.

As much as I hated her for her lifestyle, I saw myself becoming the exact thing. I already had my interest perked with gambling, but unlike her I still had some self control. Waisting money wasn't all on her either. I had to have a few smokes back then. Now those were what really got me through the dark times, that is before it became acceptable to chop down rotting humans, which is what I really needed to do if I was to get out of this slump.

When the day came that I could lightly run on my leg good enough, I made the decision to go out on my own. I took a gun and a backpack and marched myself straight towards the gates without anyone saying anything to me. That was to good thing about looking like a pissed off bitch all the time, people steered clear of you and never questioned your actions.

I thought I was going to get out free of curious minds until I heard the pesky little boy shuffle up behind me.

"Where are you going?"

I stopped in my tracks with a deep sigh. "I thought you might be happy to see me leave, Carl?"

The boy wasn't looking at me when I turned towards him, he kept his eyes trained on the gun at my hip. Rick had confiscated gun rights after he heard that Carl had shot an innocent boy in the fight against the Governor. There was some dark shit going on in his head, that was for sure.

"Well, don't get your hopes up too high. I'm coming back."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Good."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Good? You want me around now?"

His expression was hard as he looked at me with a drawn brow. "Are you sure going out alone is a good idea? Daryl said we aren't sup–"

"I know what he told everyone," I interrupted with more anger in my voice than I'm proud of, but when it came to Daryl making rules for me I couldn't help it. "Listen, kid. Can you just keep quiet about this?"

"How long will you be gone?" He peered up from under his hat, interrogating me like the mini sheriff he was. There was no mistaking the worry in his words, however. I guess I really had grown on the little guy if he was actually worried about me.

I gave him a lopsided smile and said, "I'll be back before sun down. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I always am."

"I just think taking someone with you might be a good idea." He motioned back to the prison. "Michonne usually goes out around this time. Can't you just wait for her?"

I shrugged it off. I could've waited around, but I needed to be out on my own again. It was strange how I had sworn to be by myself for the rest of my life and then I was suddenly part of this group that was seeming to grow every minute. More and more people were brought in through the gates and it was becoming overwhelming, especially since I had not been able to escape. It was also exhausting trying to make everyone feel comfortable around me all the time. I tried being nice and smiling and to not be annoyed, but the more I tried the worse this stupor I was in got. For just this day I wanted to go out on my own and scream and hack down the dead and just feel what I wanted to. Not to mention how fucked up I was about what Beth had told me about Daryl liking me. I wanted my mind to shut the fuck up for a day, and the only way to do that was to be alone with a knife and some Walkers.

"How about I just meet up with Michonne once she heads out? I won't go far until she joins me."

He looked skeptical. This damn kid was always seeing through me.

"I promise," I lied, giving him a not so gently pat on the cheek, making a light smacking sound as I did.

Without another word I walked out of the gates of safety, ignoring the pang of guilt I felt about straight up lying to a child. Poor thing didn't deserve to worry over me so much.

I swallowed hard as I practically ran into the tree line, going much much farther out than I had intended. I really had wanted to stay rather close incase something did happen to me, it was my first day out after all, but being the mindless creature that I was I couldn't control the sense of freedom that swept me up and carried me through the trees.

I felt alive, like nothing could touch me now. I was an invincible motherfucker out here once again. An invincible motherfucker who was slightly lost.

It took me well past nightfall to see the lights of the prison shinning through the trees once again. I expected to walk back in unnoticed. To go straight to the newly fixed shower house and wash away the sweat and grime that I had accumulated. I expected no one to really notice or really care that I had been out passed when I claimed I'd return. But boy was I fucking wrong.

Whoever was keeping watch in the tower must have alerted everyone that I was approaching because inside the gates I was greeted by an angry looking Rick with Carl marching up behind him.

"You ratted me out," I accused the kid instantly.

"Carl did the right thing," Rick began, his voice reminding me of the tone my school principal would use when I got in trouble. Wow, what a throw back.

Just like back in school, I rushed to explain myself and make up a few excuses along the way. Talking myself out of trouble was a gift of mine. I had done in the previous world and in the current one on multiple occasions. I remember getting caught red handed looting some camps, but with a few well placed tears and a convincing story, people will let you get away with anything.

"I said I'd be back aft–"

"You also said you'd meet up with Michonne," Carl interrupted me before I could even get started.

Rick looked back at Carl and pointed at the prison door. "Why don't you go inside. Keep Judith company."

He wasn't too pleased that he was about to miss my scolding, but I was sure as hell happy he wouldn't have the honor. How embarrassing was this? An adult woman who was about to have a her ass beat because she went for a stroll. Pathetic.

"We were worried sick," he began after Carl had gone. "People were out looking for you."

I shook my head. "They shouldn't have been. Don't risk other lives for me. I didn't mean to scare everyone, but I needed to take a day by myself. This whole 'living in a community thing' is new to me."

"You're one of us now. We get concerned where the safety of one of our own is involved. Whether it be you or any of the others, going out alone isn't an option, especially if you just recently recovered from a serious injury. There are plenty of people who, I think, would be willing to join you anytime you wanted to go out."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I reframed. This was a load of horse shit. "I don't need any permission to go where I want to. Hell, I could walk out forever right now if I wanted."

"That's true," his tone was much calmer, but the disappointment in his eyes ate away at me. "But it'd hurt an awful lot of people to see you go."

His eyes bore into me, making the guilt wash over me just before he turned to walk back inside. I had always been so petrified of losing people over and over again, that I had never thought about how they would feel if I was the one to disappeared. Beth had become a close friend, she would be heartbroken, I'm sure. More than she was when her boyfriend died that one time on a run. She hadn't been blinked an eye when she heard the news, but she was just unfazed by shit like that now. I saw the real sadness in her eyes when she would tell me about people from the past, it weighed her down like it did any other person. Carol too. I would chat with her some nights. She had all sorts of people that were taken away from her, we all did, and when she talked about someone like her dead daughter, the hurt was as strong as if it had just happened that day.

That's the thing about loosing people. The pain never really goes away. It chips away at a piece of your heart and that piece never fucking comes back, it's just gone.

I had been one selfish bitch to risk putting that hurt into anyone. God, Daryl would lose his fucking mind if I never came back. Or I assumed he would after how he had worried about my leg healing. He was really keen on being my protector after what we had gone through together, probably because he felt bad for me. Either way he no doubt was worried shitless when I was out alone. I cursed myself for doing that to him. Sure, he drove me crazy sometimes, but I never wanted to hurt him like that.

The cool wind blew hard against me and I went to take my first step towards the door to find Daryl. I owed him an apology, it was the least I could do. But before I got anywhere the door slammed open and out came one wound up Dixon.

I hadn't seen him in days, but he wore the same look that said "I'm going to fucking kill you". Why had I missed that look?

"The hell were ya thinkin'?"

Coming at me like that was not the best move. My defensive walls were up in a second and I was in his face yelling in a heartbeat.

"I was thinking I needed a minute alone. Sorry it got your panties all in a twist to see me enjoying myself instead of wallowing in a cell all fucking day."

"I would've gone with ya," he started, his eyes flashing with a hurt that I instantly wished I could fix. Why the fuck couldn't I calm down and explain everything to him like a normal person. I needed to tell him how depressing the prison was getting and that I know he wanted what was best for my by making me rest for weeks but that didn't stop the fact that I was losing my damn mind. But of course I wasn't that type of normal person.

"I don't think you understand what alone means." I wanted to keep the fire in my voice, but it was flittering away at a rapid pace. I felt like shit and he was making me feel worse about what I had done by the second. I cowered under his harsh stare slightly, my arms crossed over my chest in a lame attempt to make me look bolder.

"I don' think ya understand that ya coulda been fuckin' killed." He was still yelling at top velocity despite me backing down, his voice a graveling husk. I think he expected a heated argument from me like always, but I was in the wrong on this and I knew it. I know when to admit that at least.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't expecting a genuine apology, so he was taken aback by it. It took everything in me to swallow down my pride and continue. "I didn't think it would bother everyone like this. I didn't realize you all cared so much."

His throat bobbed with a swallow. I wished to fucking God that I could read what was going on in his head, but he hid it all so well. "Yeah," he huffed out, nodding his head slightly. "Our fucking mistake."

There it was, another piece of my heart breaking away.

I really fucked up this time. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to scream at him that I was fine and I wouldn't do it again and that I cared about him more than I was even comfortable with. I wanted to get over myself and wrap my arms around him like I had so many nights ago during my panic attack.

I didn't want to loose a friend like Daryl Dixon. I never wanted to hurt people like that. I didn't realize I had the power to hurt anyone anymore until Rick had told me so. I only wished I had realized it sooner.

I didn't want this hurt that pounded in my chest, not only from my own broken piece, but because I had been the cause of a piece of Daryl’s heart cracking away too.

Except maybe this time I could put the pieces back together somehow.

I doubt it.

***

Taglist:

@daryldixonandfrogs @jodiereedus22 @xchrisxevansx

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years

Note

If you don’t mind, could you do the solo mission but with alternative ending with their s/o died during the mission because I want to see la squardra’s reaction toward their s/o death especially Risotto and Ghiaccio. if you don’t feel comfortable to write this then I understand. I am just suddenly want to read something angsty and the solo mission seems to be perfect fit to me at least.

Yeah! No problem! I hope it’s to your liking. I’m sorry if it’s too much or not what you’re looking for.

TW: Death, violence, blood

Risotto: When he discovered your broken and beaten body, his last bit of humanity left this world. He felt like he’d fail as a Leader, as a lover, and as an assassin. As your lover, he felt like he had a duty to protect you from harm, yet he sent you on a mission alone. As a Leader, he was supposed to protect his subordinates, and as an assassin, he wasn’t supposed to allow himself to fall in love and feel happiness. He was supposed to leave all that behind. He allowed himself to become weak, and he wouldn’t allow that to happen ever again. And he knew there was no one else in the world to ever replace you. Everything you made him feel would no longer exist. All that was left was a cold, hollow shell of a man. He contacted the others, to inform them and ordered for them to retrieve your body to prepare a proper burial. Risotto examined your body; he tried to look past your wounds and bruises and just see YOU, but he couldn’t get the image of what happened for this outcome to occur. A burning raging fire was engulfing his senses. Whoever did this to you will regret they ever born. By the time Risotto got his hand on them, they will grovel at his feet and BEG for Risotto to end their life. And he wouldn’t give it to them and would make sure they experience the pain you felt and the pain he felt but refused to admit. When the others arrived, Risotto ordered them to look after your body. He couldn’t allow himself to leave you alone anymore. He watched as Illuso and Ghiaccio carefully carried your body to the car. Prosciutto asked him what he indeed to do, concerned for Risotto. “This mission is still not complete. I will personally handle it,” his voice grave and venomous. Prosciutto watched in silence as his leader used Metallica to disappear. The blond couldn’t fault the man for handling grief in his own way.

Prosciutto: When Risotto called to tell him they found you, his stomach dropped because he knew what it meant. Risotto’s tone was enough for him to put it all together. They had your body, but your life was gone. Everything Risotto was saying was white noise; he wasn’t registering it at all. Mindlessly, he hung up on him and walked with listless movements back to HQ, to be with you. His trembling hands dug through his pocket cigarette pack. He struggled to turn on his lighter, growing more and more irate and ended up burning himself. He cursed and screamed, smashing the lighter on the ground. He began to walk away but quickly turned back to pick up the lighter. It had been a gift from you. He traced his thumb over his name engraved on the metal. He swallowed the lump in his throat and hurried home. Pesci was waiting, eyes red from tears. Under normal circumstances, Prosciutto would have lectured him for his open display, but right now Prosciutto envied him. Prosciutto shot him a look and walked past him to where your body was located. When he entered the room, Risotto and Ghiaccio were the only ones there, pensive. Ghiaccio walked towards him, placed a hand on his shoulder and exited. His eyes fell on you. Risotto took on the responsibility of informing Prosciutto as to what occurred. You had managed to exterminate most of the enemies but there wasn’t sufficient enough information on the gang you were tailing and this happened. “We’ve captured the leader of the gang. Formaggio and Illuso have him tied up in the basement.” Prosciutto eyes never left your body, memories of your time together flooded his mind. Risotto analyzed his subordinate, making sure it was okay to leave him alone. As he walked past Prosciutto, he was stopped by the blond’s sudden question. “Risotto, do you think they suffered?” Risotto turned to see Prosciutto looking at him, his blue eyes now filled with anguish. “I don’t know,” Risotto answered honestly followed by silence. “Risotto, I’ll be here for a while. But promise me something…that son of a bitch you have in the basement. He’s mine. I will personally end him.” Risotto nodded and left him alone. Prosciutto pulled up a chair and sat next to you, laying his head on your cold palm and finally letting tears fall.

Pesci: Prosciutto volunteered to be the one to tell Pesci and when he did, he saw what he expected. At first, Pesci looked confused, as if Prosciutto suddenly started speaking in a foreign language. Prosciutto repeated it to him. “They died.” Next, he had a look of despair which quickly turned to desperation. Asking Prosciutto if he was sure. That you told him that you’d come back successful, you never lied to him before so why would you start now. Aniki must have been confused or telling him some cruel joke or to toughen him up and make sure he didn’t break. That’s it! It was all a test to see if Pesci broke. Again Prosciutto said, “They died, Pesci,” firmer than before. Pesci fought as much as he could but couldn’t hold back his screams and tears. “Aniki, please tell me you’re lying. This is a test, right?” Pesci knew he was lying to himself now and wanted Prosciutto to lie too. Prosciutto grew angry at Pesci’s behavior and punched him. “Be a man and accept it, Pesci! They’re dead! This is the life of an assassin!” Pesci massaged his cheek and openly wept. He hunched into a ball and moaned and whimpered, Prosciutto anger quickly turning into sympathy. Even if this was the life of an assassin, you were still part of the team, and it hurt them all that you were gone. And it hurt Pesci the most, his kind heart and love for you making it all the harder to move on from. “Aniki,” Pesci whimpered, “C-can I see them?” wiping his tears away only for them to run down his face. Prosciutto nodded, placed his hand on his head, ruffled his hair, and wrapped his arms around his shoulder, leading him back to where you were located. They walked in pensive silence. “W-where they successful at least?” Pesci asked. Prosciutto smirked with pride. “Of course they were. They wouldn’t leave this world unless they did.” Pesci smiled as more tears fell. “I-I’m glad,” Pesci sobbed.

Formaggio: He got a call from Illuso who broke the news to him Formaggio couldn’t stop laughing. It was full of good humor, he laughed and laughed until he turned maniacal. Like hell you were dead. Illuso better stop fucking again. He can make fun of his stand all he wanted, but he better not fuck around about something involving you. When he gets a hold of Illuso, he’s going to kick his ass. “Formaggio, I know this is hard to take in, but-” Formaggio laughed again until he lost it. “AhahahaHAHA. SHUT THE FUCK, ILLUSO! IF YOU KEEP THIS SHIT UP, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU. I’LL BREAK YOUR NECK!” Formaggio yelled into his phone, panting. He felt like his stomach as knotting. This is some fucked up joke. He was a fan of telling fucked up jokes, but this is one he couldn’t handle. Illuso was quiet on his end, waiting for Formaggio to compose himself even just slightly. “Formaggio, this isn’t something I’d joke about. Not to you.” Illuso voice was somber even sympathetic. “They…they were successful but it cost them their life…”Illuso continued. “I’m bringing them back to the base. I wanted to tell you so you’d be prepared…” Well wasn’t he fucking kind, Formaggio thought bitterly before he hung up without a word. Formaggio didn’t return right away; he needed a drink or 2 or 6 or 10. He wanted to forget and hopefully wake up and have it all be a stupid nightmare. Formaggio absence prompted Risotto to bring him back personally. He needed him to begin the grieving process in order to have him move forward. When he found Formaggio, he was in an alley, marinating in his own vomit. Risotto didn’t hesitate to throw the incapacitated man over his shoulder and take him home. Pesci was kind enough to change him out of his vomit soaked shirt to help him to be somewhat comfortable. When he came to, he refused to see you. Lashing out at anyone who suggested it. “That’s not them! It’s someone else!” He couldn’t accept that you were gone. He couldn’t accept the person that he loved so strongly and who loved him and his goofiness was gone. “Formaggio,” Prosciutto walked towards him to attempt to offer support as he always did. “You must accept it to truly heal. Formaggio threw a punch, missed, and fell to his knees. “Formaggio,” Risotto knelt next to him, placing a supportive hand on his hunched back. “We must continue to move forward even if we lose the ones we love,” Risotto said earnestly. It finally settled and Formaggio let it out, slamming his fists on the floor. He punched and punched and continued to punch until he was sure he broke his hand, screaming and cursing. You had finished off your target even if you lost your life, but now there was no one left for him to take his anger out on. How can he move forward without anything to hate other than himself for not protecting you?

Illuso: Your death served as a reminder to everyone outside of La Squadra as to why you were feared. Illuso search all of Italy for you and found valuable information as to where you may be. He knew once he was there and saw you were inside the mirror world. After all, no living thing can enter Mirror World unless he permitted it. You being there meant one thing, but he refused to say it or think it. You were dumped in some corner in some dirty, rat-infested room. Almost robotically, he took you into his arms and carried you home. He stared at your beaten face, his eyes losing every bit of life and warmth he had always reserved for you. He walked out into his room and walked directly into the bathroom. He gently removed you bloody, dirty, torn clothing, turned on the water and gently washed your lifeless body with stiff movements. He dried you off and dressed you in your favorite clothing. Once done, he took a long look at you before heading into the living room where Melone was looking at something on his laptop. “Melone, I have a favor. Watch [Name] for me.” Melone perked up. “So you found them? Molto be-” Melone stopped when he looked into Illuso’s cold eyes. “I have some unfinished business to take care of, so I’m leaving them in your care.” Before Melone could ask him anything, he disappeared. Melone gulped and walked to Illuso’s room, hesitating to look inside. When he turned the nob and saw you, he felt like his heart was being squeezed. That explains it…Melone thought, looking at you as sadness and sympathy surfaced in his heart. It ached for his dear friend and the lost love between you that could blossom no more. “Do not worry, [Name]. Illuso will make sure you can pass on in peace.”

Melone: He prided himself in always keeping his composure even when surrounded by death. He wanted to maintain this image even when it came to finding out your fate. His face never fell, but the twitch of his lip couldn’t escape Risotto’s trained eyes. He continued to inform Melone about the failure of the solo mission. A twitch again, this time his hand. They recovered your body, and Prosciutto had already begun the funeral arrangements. “Molto bene. It seems you all have taken care of things,” Melone praised though there was a hint of venom behind his words. Risotto’s eyes narrowed but didn’t want to press it. Melone had his own way of grieving and must leave him to that. “They will not be with us for long before the undertaker arrives. You may do what you like with that information.” Melone left without a word, closing the door roughly. He let himself into your room, where your body laid. It was like you were sleeping despite the cuts on your face that weren’t there when you left. Melone crawled into bed with you and curled up as closely as he could without disturbing you. His eyes softened the more he stared. “You truly are a heartbreaker, Amore. I knew you were the moment I set eyes on you and fell in love.” His eyes grew moist and fought back tears. “How could you leave me alone in this world? But I could never remain mad, Amore. Not at you.” His voice trembled. He laid there until he fell asleep. The next morning, the undertaker had arrived to take you away. Melone had the thought of killing him as he watched him, but he knew he had to let it happen. Melone tried to act with cool indifference, but the others chastised him for his behavior. You were lovers, so why is he acting like this doesn’t affect him? As Melone witnessed as the undertaker disappeared around the corner with your body in tow. Melone followed Risotto back into his office. “The mission they were assigned, it’s still active, no? May I request it?” Melone asked, eyes burning with determination. Risotto pondered, your fate prompting him to reconsider the number of individuals involved. Risotto agreed on the condition Melone worked alongside Ghiaccio at least, Melone accepted without hesitation. Now all he had to do was convince Ghiaccio to let him be the one to end the lives of the scum who took you.

Ghiaccio: He managed to extract the information he needed to find you, but by the time he reached you, it was too late. You laid in a pool of your own blood, surrounded by armed men who were ready to take him on once they did you in. He was only a couple of minutes too late and this happened? The moment Ghiaccio’s eye landed on you, he lost control, freezing everything besides your lifeless body. He turned a small warehouse in the middle of Italy into a frozen tundra. There as no life there, not yours, not the armed men, and he was sure he had died too. Ghiaccio didn’t know how to process everything. When he walked to your body, he pushed the frozen men to the ground, smashing them to pieces. It didn’t satisfy him though. He felt numb, his face contorting in pain. As he walked closer, it was getting harder to breathe. His breathing was becoming ragged and he was wheezing. What the hell? Why was his chest hurting and he was sweating bullets. The room was spinning and he was getting dizzy. He crashed to the ground and looked at you through foggy glasses and hot tears. He dry heaved and held his stomach. Fuck…He was having a panic attack. He was having a panic attack? How? He was a cold-blooded assassin. Sure he loved you, but enough to feel this way? He tried to suppress the rage, pain, and agony that was threatening to erupt. “Oddio…” Melone managed to pry the frozen door open only to find Ghiaccio clenching his chest as tears ran down his face. He had never seen Ghiaccio like this and didn’t have a clue as to what to say, fearing that he may lose control. Ghiaccio looked away and fought to control himself. He muttered curses under his breath and got up on shaky legs. He tried to play it cool as he wiped his tears away. “I-if you can’t tell, there’s no one left alive.” Ghiaccio sniffed. “All that’s left arranging a funeral for [Name].” Ghiaccio picked them up, bridal style. Your blood was soaking his white shirt but he didn’t care. As he put you in his car, he couldn’t let you go. Melone watched in silence before offering to drive even if it meant leaving his motorbike. Ghiaccio nodded and sat in the passenger, placing you on his lap. He cradled and held you close. You were still warm and he shut his eyes tightly as more hot tears escaped.

Sorbet and Gelato: Through their investigative skills they managed to find out information about what happened to you, but it wasn’t the information they wanted. “This has to some fucking joke, right Sorbet?” Gelato looked at his partner to agree with him but his look said it all. You were killed and there was nothing else that could be done. Gelato lost his cool and began throwing things against the wall and kicking chairs and desks, the furniture standing no chance against Gelato’s inhuman strength. Gelato breathed, “Can’t we catch a break? Gelato’s voice shook and Sorbet went to him and held him. They needed each other more than ever. They had to support each other as they both let the pain and sadness consume them. Sorbet rubbed his back, holding each other in silence, allowing them to think about their next move. The ones responsible for your death are still out there and there was no way they were going to let them get away with it. They pulled away and looked into each other eyes, leaning in and press a kiss on each other’s lips. “We’ll keep investigating and make sure those bastards know exactly how we feel, Gelato.”

#anonymous #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #melone #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #jojo hcs #my writing #tw death #tw violence

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paladinsuho-moved · 6 years

Text

it ain’t me [min yoongi]

SUMMARY: you get tired of him crawling back to his gang, ages after he promised he would leave for your sake. but a not so small misunderstanding almost ruins everything.

somewhere along the lines, we stopped seeing eye to eye. you were staying out all night, and i’d had enough.

no, i don't wanna know where you've been or where you're going, but i know i won't be home and you'll be on your own.

who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning? who's gonna rock you when the sun won't let you sleep?

who's waking up, to drive you home, when you're drunk and all alone? who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning?

it ain’t me.

-- it ain’t me // kygo & selena gomez

SHIP: min yoongi (suga) x reader

GENRE: angst with a happy ending

WARNINGS: mentions of violence, language, medical procedures, mentions of alcohol, a slightly unhealthy relationship

word count: 6.8k

a/n: yo this has been sitting in my drafts since last july, and i’m home sick today so i thought why not FINALLY finish this??? i have the BIGGEST kink for blond yoongi, idk. i’m not so sure about the ending, i might go back and re-write this. also, please understand that i don’t condone toxic relationships similar to the dynamic that yoongi and the reader have in this story. if you’re in a relationship where you don’t feel safe, be it because of your partner’s behavior or the circumstances under which your relationship operates, PLEASE get help and try to leave (and jesus christ i KNOW this sounds really hypocritical because of the ending, pls don’t come for me). anyway, i hope you enjoy!! as for the trailer, try to imagine it kind of like the train car from the agust d mv. also pls help bc this gif is,,, killing me

masterlist

BANG.

The noise against the door woke you up, and despite your limbs still feeling numb with sleep, they almost instantly seized up in fear of the unknown.

Two more bangs against the door, and you reached towards the other side of the bed and, barely even registering it was empty, you grabbed the baseball bat that was hidden between the bed and the nightstand.

Shakily standing up, you let your feet pad quietly across the trailer, turning on the light in the small space. You stepped towards the door, one hand reaching out for the doorknob, the other, gripping the bat, knuckles white and hands clammy with fear.

BANG.

This time, the noise caused you to jump back in fear, and you shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. What if it was a thief? A murderer? Why would anyone come banging on your trailer door at this time of night?

You bit your lip, remembering there was no peephole to look through in the trailer. Here you were, holding a baseball bat while dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt and some underwear, so close to passing out in fear, but you had no way of knowing who or what was outside.

Trying to calm your shaking, you crept towards the counter, where the key sat. Grabbing the key quickly, before tiptoeing back to the door and shakily inserting it into the lock, another bang caused you to whimper softly in fear. You gripped the bat tighter, pursing your lips in another attempt to calm the hurricane of emotions stirring in your chest.

The door was swiftly unlocked, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you bit the bullet and opened it, ready to swing the bat.

“Baby!” a familiar voice slurred out loudly, and your stiff body instantly began to relax, not registering the off tone of your boyfriend’s voice. Your pounding heart immediately began to slow down. You closed your eyes in relief, lowering the bat, and giving a soft exasperated sigh accompanied with a relieved smile.

So that was why Holly wasn’t barking, your mind realized, thinking back to the small dog who always slept outside of the trailer when it wasn’t cold.

“Goddammit, Min Yoongi, you almost gave me a heart atta—”

You voice trails off into the unknown as your eyes opened again, and you finally saw his face. Even though there was barely any light, the damage was there, and it hurt to even look at it. You felt your eyes widen as you assessed the damage in the dark, dim light of the trailer doorway.

The worst thing was that he was smiling like that. Like he was off his rocker insane. Yoongi only smiled like that in two different situations: either, he was having the time of his life, or he was completely smashed, and sometimes, sometimes even both.

One eye was swollen shut by what you could only assume was a series of punches, and with the other, you could see a black eye beginning to appear. His nosebleed had dried but it was still visible. there was a cut along his left cheek and his bottom lip was split straight down the middle.

Less than a second later he was pulling himself into the trailer, and you backed away to give him the necessary space as he shut the door, stumbling into your small, shared home.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmured again, and now that he was closer, you could smell the stench of soju and cigarettes that seemed to radiate off of him.

You didn't need to know anything else. He'd been out with “the guys” again. Walking towards the counter and setting the bat down there, you sighed, remembering how he'd walked out the door about an hour before you went to bed, and had claimed he was “going for a walk.” You didn’t need to ask why, you already knew it was a lie.

The fact that you knew and didn’t say anything was like the feeling you get after being sucker punched -- a brief moment of surprise and disbelief, did that really just happen? Before it starts to sink in. You knew, and you didn’t stop him, and now, here you were, your boyfriend’s face split like a porcelain doll -- right down to the pale skin and pretty eyes.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Your voice was quiet yet harsh as you asked him once you’d walked back in front of him, not wanting to deal with whatever excuses he had now, even though you needed to know why. He'd taken off his jacket, and you watched as you threw it on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice that he was swaying under the influence of the alcohol in his system.

You'd been dating Yoongi for four years, and living with him for three. You'd had only vague knowledge about what he did for a living before moving in, but had realized just how bad it was once you finally did.

First of all, he lived in a cramped trailer that you assumed was fine for just himself and the dog, but became too small with the two of you sharing the space.

During the honeymoon phase of when you'd first moved in, you'd thought it was endearing, the idea of the small space being shared between the man you loved and yourself. You would move the small dinner table to the side and fold the chairs, and stay up late slow dancing to soft rock music or quiet hip hop beats, just basking in each other’s presence.

Other nights were spent in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and mapping out your favorite places with your mouths, until one of the two writhed underneath the other and you called his name, grateful that a trailer meant no neighbors who could complain about the noise.

And then that phase ended some six months after you moved in, and suddenly the lack of space was suffocating, and you'd never realized how claustrophobic the trailer made you feel because you had been distracting yourself with the man who owned it, and ignoring both the small living space and his flaws.

Second of all, how almost every saturday night, he would go out with his supposed friends, and you would stay awake on the couch, waiting for him or falling asleep there, and waking up next to him in bed, only to find him asleep with a black eye or a broken lip, bruised knuckles and a hangover always present.

It was when you gave up on waiting up for him, and he stopped carrying you to bed when you did fall asleep on the couch, that the worst days of your relationship began, almost two years ago. All you would ever do was fight. But when he came home to you one night looking through your laptop for a new place to live, it all came to a standstill, and he seemed to realize how bad things were. It was as if he hadn't registered the screaming that upset the dog, the slamming doors or the throwing things when one of you exploded, having had enough. Never at each other, though. Never at each other.

Recently, in an attempt to make things better for the both of you, he was trying to get away from all of it. But to him, you assumed, it was like a drug, and he was hooked. But the idea of a drug always implied the possibility of an overdose, and that was what scared you the most.

Before he could answer, he was stumbling, and you had to grip him with all the strength your tired body could muster at the ungodly hour of four AM.

“I didn't realize how late it was, jagi,” He slurred, leaning on you. As you took a deep breath, trying to let go of some of your anger and to ignore the the smell of alcohol on his breath, you began to move him towards the sorry excuse for a dining table you owned, and managed to get him to sit down.

“Take off the shirt, Yoongi,” You muttered as you opened and closed the cabinets in a hasty search for the first aid kit you kept for occasions like this, even though he'd never come back this bad before.

You heard his suggestive chuckle from behind you back at the dining, and remembered just how horny he could get when he was drunk, and no matter how much you refused to do anything while one of you was sober and the other one wasn't, he would always ask for more kisses than necessary.

“I need to see if you're hurt anywhere else, Yoongi,” You remarked sharply as you pulled out the case and walked back towards him, setting it on the table just in time to watch his suggestive gummy grin fade. He didn’t answer.

Good thing too, you thought to yourself, if he said anything I’d probably have punched him as hard as whoever did this to him.

As you pulled off his shirt, and his pale chest was exposed, you felt your chest flood with relief as you found no cuts bad enough to need more than a few stitches.

“What happened to you, anyway?” You asked tiredly, but with some concern laced in your tone. Total ass or not, he was still your boyfriend.

“He was asking for it, saying I wasn't shit, stuff like that. But if you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” he answered, and you grimaced, remembering the last time you’d seen your boyfriend in a fight with someone else.

It’d been a few months ago, when you’d decided to go dancing because you hadn't gone anywhere together in such a long time, and you decided that both of them needed to get out of the trailer. He'd gone to the bathroom, leaving you for no less than five minutes, and some guy decided it would be a great idea to ask if you wanted to find somewhere more private, and in what you deemed the most cliché experience with a man who couldn't take no for an answer, he decided to go off on you, calling you a slut and a bitch and every other degrading term underneath the big blue sky. But it was when he tried to hit you that things got bad.

Because that was when Yoongi came back, and to be welcomed by such a sight was… well, less than comforting to him.

In the end, you had to pull him off of the other man, begging him to stop. Everyone was watching the scene unfold, staring as you tried to pull your boyfriend off of what was left of the man, who was half dead from Yoongi’s punches, all because your boyfriend had decided to ‘defend your honor’, all while the heavy bass was still making the club vibrate.

After that, the both of you had been thrown out of the club into the cold, the bartender who’d been in charge at the time telling you both to scram.

Neither of you said anything on the way home, the car quiet except for the soft rumble of the motor as you drove, seeing as you were the designated driver. He was sitting shotgun, looking at his then bruised hands, deadly quiet. His display of violence had frightened you enough for him to notice, and so he decided to give you the space you needed.

You could still remember the look of panic in his eyes when you’d gotten home, when he'd tried to put his hand on your cheek but you flinched away. You’d never seen him look so scared, scared that he'd lose you.

That was the thing with your beloved Min Yoongi — he didn't notice how bad he messed up until a small detail put everything into perspective for him.

“Jagiya,” he'd rasped out in the darkness of the bedroom later on, “You know I would never hurt you. Ever.”

You nodded, then realized he probably wouldn't see it. “Yeah,” You whispered, before rolling over so your back faced him, “I know… goodnight, Yoongi.”

He murmured your name, calling for you quietly.

“Yes, Yoongi?”

“I love you.”

“...I-I love you too, Yoongi.”

You forced herself to focus on the task at hand, and pulled out the disinfectant spray from the kit, along with a small pair of surgical scissors, cotton balls, bandages, a needle and thread.

In two quick strides, you were in front of the refrigerator, and you were pulling out the ice cubes you'd been saving for when the air conditioner stopped working as it always did during the hottest days of the summer.

Grabbing a small dish rag, you pulled two ice cubes out of the casing and wrapped the rag around them, before striding back over to Yoongi, pushing a few platinum blond strands out of his face before pressing it to his swollen eye.

“Hold that there, baby,” You said softly, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on the rag, hearing him hiss softly as the cold made contact with his bruised skin. You let go of his hand, and he held it up as you hoped he would.

Not stopping to look at his face, knowing he was watching you work, you decided to get to work. the disinfectant was sprayed on a cotton ball, and dabbed across the cuts on his face and chest.

Moving onto his knuckles, your hands seemed to fly across his skin as you fixed up his hands for what seemed like the millionth time since you first started dating, and as you finished wrapping the gauze around his right hand, you looked up at him.

“Is that too tight?” Your voice was still raspy, you realized, probably as you were still exhausted from your restless sleep. He shook his head in response, flexing his aching fingers to make sure.

“No,” That was all he answered, and you nodded. As you looked across the cut on his cheek, you asked yourself whether it needed stitches or not. You paused, trying to remember if you’d ever gotten to learn about stitches on the face, specifically, or if it was the same as any other stitch on the body.

This was the worst Yoongi had ever been, and if you didn't know how to treat him with your limited knowledge of first aid, then…

“Yoongi, I don't know about this cut, maybe we should get it checked out—”

“No.”

You hesitated in continuing as you heard the firmness in his voice. You knew that Yoongi hated hospitals, for both personal reasons and fear of rival gangs finding his personal information, and along with that, you. If there was something he didn't want, it was you getting dragged into his business affairs.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, before speaking gently. “Yoongi, baby, I don't know if stitches on the face have a different procedure than—”

“Just do it like you normally would,” He seemed to growl, sounding annoyed, as if it were your fault that he was in this dilemma. This only made your anger grow.

“Fine,” you snapped under your breath, and you watched as he looked taken aback by your small outburst, “Put down the ice. I can't do this with your arm covering the way.”

He set it down on the table, and it took all of your strength to not slam your fists on the table out of frustration.

He promised he wouldn't go out with them anymore, that he'd try to leave it for you. For you, he’d said, for us, because I love you.

Blinking back tears of rage, your hands pulled the scissors, along with the needle and thread toward you.

“Does it feel less swollen?” You mumbled half-heartedly, not meeting his eyes as you began to prepare the thread and the needle.

“I guess,” he answered, his voice still slurring slightly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.” Your voice was cold and clipped, and you clenched your jaw in an attempt to calm yourself. “Just let me do what I have to do, okay?”

You brushed more hair out of his face, analyzing how many stitches he would need. You let your eyes rake across the pale skin that had been rudely interrupted by this ugly cut that you could only assume was from a knife. After a few seconds, you deemed the cut worthy of three stitches, threading the needle.

“Sit still,” You warned, and began to work.

As you let your hands do their meticulous job, moving as swiftly and calculated as they could this early, your mind wandered to the moment Yoongi seemed to realize he couldn't do this forever.

It had been almost four months ago, when the both of you had a pregnancy scare. You could remember the shame and fear blooming like a flower before immediately beginning to burn like a brazier out of control when you mumbled those three words to him.

Yoongi, I’m late.

During that next week, after several arguments that ended in you crying and him storming out, you decided to finally buy a pregnancy test and see the truth. At least if you were pregnant, you wouldn't have to live with the constant uneasiness of not knowing.

And to your relief, when you entered the bathroom to do it the test, you almost cried tears of relief when you found that you'd started that very day.

When Yoongi came home that night and you told him the news, after the initial relief that was celebrated between the two of you, after him picking you up and kissing you and holding you for what felt like an eternity, after the celebratory ordering of pizza, you both sat down and had a serious conversation until the sun came up the very next day.

As you cut the thread on the first stitch, you heard him grunt softly in discomfort as the tugging on his skin stop briefly as you began to prepare more thread.

You’d spoken about several things that night: Yoongi admitted that once he thought there would be a small child between the two of you, he'd realized how ready he was to live the rest of his life with you. That whenever he thought of having a baby grow up in this small trailer that the two of you were basically spilling out of, with a father involved in gang stuff, his skin would crawl and he'd begin to feel nauseous.

You agreed that if you did settle down, and eventually ended up having kids, it definitely wouldn't be under these circumstances. You wanted any possible children in the eventual picture to have better lives than both Yoongi and yourself were living in that moment.

And yes, you both knew you could never be the perfect nuclear family with the white picket fence, but it was better than being the washed up family where the father was involved with gangs and the mother who worked two jobs as a waitress.

No child of yours would ever go through that. Not now, not ever.

And so the both of you decided that you’d both try to move out of the trailer by the end of the year. The past months had been filled with searching for apartments within your budget and him trying to get himself a steady job, maybe even two. As of recently he’d been doing some mechanic work, and everything finally seemed like it would work out. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

The second stitch was tied, and you grimaced as you rubbed at your eyes, which were beginning to strain from your concentration and the nagging desire to cry.

Here he sat now, so drunk he could barely stand on his own, as you patched him up like he was some quilt that you could simply stitch back together and you wouldn’t have to give a second thought to it once you finished.

This was your boyfriend, your Yoongi. He was a person, your person -- just as much as you were his, and despite his many flaws, you’d be willing to do anything for him, like an even more twisted version of the tale of Eros and Psyche, a greek myth you’d read long ago; Psyche, in hopes that she could be reunited with her one true love, had spent sleepless nights and gone through unspeakable dangers completing impossible tasks that could’ve killed her, all in the hopes that she’d get to be with her love again.

Deep down inside, you knew you were the same, no matter how angry you were with him right now, and maybe that was what scared you even a little more than the thought of Yoongi getting himself killed in some confrontation like in the movies, as if he were some kind of Al Capone, or Tony Montana.

The thought of losing him was terrifying. So much so, that whenever he was out you would lie in bed and ask yourself when it would happen. Because you knew that if he kept on doing this it was a matter of when, and not if.

You didn't want to be there when it did happen, eventually.

“Jagiya… Y/N.”

His voice snapped you back to reality, and you realized you'd finished the third and final stitch, but had been sitting there without cutting it as you sunk deeper into your thoughts.

“Are you… okay?” He asked once more, his voice quiet but his words slurred. And you nodded, face blank, because you didn't trust your voice enough to not sound like you were about to cry, out of anger, frustration, sadness.

Letting out a shaky breath, and cut the last stitch. You noticed him flinch slightly as his skin was released from the tug you had on it, and you turned his face to get a better look at your handiwork.

“It should be fine, assuming I did it right.” You sounded grim. “But, this could be a bit harder to keep from opening up… try not to move your face too much in the next week.”

“Does that mean no making out?” He asked quietly, tone still slurred and cocky, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Not the time, Yoongi.” Your tone was cold and you didn't look at him as you answered, focusing on putting away the tools you'd used.

“You're mad at me — don't be like that, baby girl…” He said softly, trying to put his hand on your cheek, and as you felt the bandages glide across your skin, you snapped.

In the height of your anger, you slapped his hand away, and the slightly hopeful look in his eyes seemed to fade.

“Don't touch me, Yoongi,” You snarled, not realizing how you'd raised your voice until you heard the silence that followed your outburst.

You lowered your head in slight embarrassment, shaking your head to avoid meeting his gaze. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, twice,” You told him, still not looking up, “The first time when you woke me up and the second time when I saw your face.”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, trying to undo how stiff it felt, before giving a tired sigh.

“One of these days, you're gonna come home, looking ten times worse than you do right now, and I… Yoongi, I-I’m not gonna be able to fix you up like I normally can. W-what's gonna happen if you break a rib, huh? Get stabbed?” You closed your eyes as you imagined the idea, before your trembling voice dropped to a whisper so quiet he had to strain his ears to listen.

“What's going to happen the day you get shot, Yoongi? What am I gonna do then?”

You stood, exhaling shakily as you come to press your palms against the small kitchen counter, facing away from him, your face burning in shame at your anger and how you sounded more like a worried housewife than you wanted to.

Because you didn't want him to feel like you were worried, even though you were. You wanted your words to sting more than a slap across the cheek could ever sting. You wanted them to cut deeper than the slash across his cheek. you wanted to bleed out your anger and have him choke on it, even if just for a little bit. You wanted him to know you were pissed, and that you had every right to be.

You wanted to exude rage, but here you stood, looking sadder than any Margaret Keane painting ever painted.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m angry and you're drunk. I can't… I can't do this to you right now.”

“Talk to me, baby,” He answered a few moments later, as he managed to stand, leaning on the dining table to get a better look at you, “Tell me what you feel, e-even if you think I won't like it.”

“I’ll yell at you when you're sober, Yoongi,” you insisted, scoffing at how cynical you sounded. Pursing your lips, you grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and filling it with water from the pitcher inside of the refrigerator.

“Drink up,” You said as you placed it in front of him, “It'll help get the alcohol out of your system.”

He nodded, not saying anything else, before grabbing the glass and drinking it all in one go as you put back the pitcher.

“You want any more?” You asked, looking towards the door to the outside, considering your options, and you heard him utter a quick ‘no.’

“Well, let's go to bed, then… Do you think you can walk by yourself?”

He shrugged. “You're the one who doesn't want me to touch you,” He replied quietly, monotonously, tone sounding kind of cold; before letting his pair of wobbly legs and trying not to stumble towards the bedroom. You felt your chest pang with the slightest amount of regret at his response.

You watched him use the wall to hold himself up, before collapsing on the bed, kicking off his sneakers and not bothering to change.

You rubbed at your temples, closing your eyes and scrunching your eyebrows together in frustration. After a few moments, not wanting to waste anymore time, you hastily put away the first aid kit and set the empty glass in the sink.

You trudged towards the bedroom, turning off the main light, the lamp next to your side of the bed remaining the only source of light.

You sat down, not looking at him. Once again, you swallowed the lump in your throat, before letting one tear fall down your cheek, quickly wiping it away before he could see.

As you turned to face him, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yoongi, I love—”

But he was already fast asleep, lying on his stomach, platinum blond hair framing his bruised face. his pale skin seemed tanner in the soft warm glow of the lamp’s light.

If his face weren't so swollen and bruised, he would've looked like an angel.

You shook your head in anger, turning off the light, ready to go back to sleep as the trailer was engulfed in darkness. Lying down, facing away from him, you found that sleep wouldn't come so easy—the absence of light left you isolated, accompanied by nothing but your thoughts.

What’s going to happen the day you get shot?

The question echoed in your head over and over again, and you began to blink back tears at the thought.

Whatever the answer to your question was, you knew that you didn’t want to know, because you didn’t want to be there when it happened. Because if you were there, you could lose him, and if you were there, with him, you didn’t want to find out just how willing you were to protect him.

You’d given Yoongi an ultimatum: you or his supposed friends.

You lied there for hours, asking yourself whether what happened tonight was Yoongi giving you the answer you were hoping he wouldn’t give.

Because honestly? You didn’t want him to die. You didn’t want to die, either. After everything you'd been through with him, weren't you allowed to be selfish?

The threat of rival gangs wanting retaliation was a rare, but not unheard of, thing in your relationship, but it had never gone further than a few broken windows while the both of you were out, and the one time Yoongi had woken you up and shoved you under the bed and pulled out a gun while he waited in front of the door, but no one was there. The both of you were too shaken up to sleep afterwards.

But that was the worst it had ever been. It had never gone anywhere further or been any worse; as far as the both of you knew, no one dangerous knew you existed in his life. Physically, you were safe. But your relationship was on a thin sheet of ice that went by the name “Yoongi's work”.

You felt as though you were being suffocated by what was going on, as if the smell of alcohol radiating off of him was a plastic bag that was wrapped around your head, Yoongi holding you down and forcing you to take it.

Were you really capable of holding your metaphorical breath that long?

Did you even want to?

If you stayed and Yoongi got hurt you would never forgive yourself. But if you left… you would never know what happened to him.

Somehow, the thought of not knowing whether he was dead or alive seemed comforting. Because if he was dead, you’d simply assume he was still breathing because, well, you didn't know, and had no way of finding out.

You stayed like that until the sun rose, sleepless, caught in a riptide of overthinking and anxiety.

Finally, when the alarm clock blinked 9:00 in the morning, and Yoongi was still sleeping off his drunken stupor, you felt a feeling settle in your chest, and you knew what you had to do.

By ten, you'd already packed a suitcase and changed, ready to leave. But as you stared at the door, a small inkling of doubt bloomed in your chest, and hesitantly, with trembling hands, you set the suitcase down.

In a few quick, quiet strides you were back in the too small bedroom, and your jaw clenched automatically as the desire to cry returned, stronger than ever.

Sitting on the bed, for what felt like the last time, you looked at the still sleeping figure curled up on the mattress.

Suddenly every kiss, every embrace, every laugh, every argument, every morning waking up next to each other, every sleepless night that was spent either yelling at each other or making love to each other began to come back.

Do you really want to give this up? A little voice murmured in the back of your mind as your eyes drifted to the small patch of sunlight streaming through the small window, shining down onto Yoongi’s bare, pale back, are you sure you'll ever find something this good again?

You looked down at him, still sleeping in the exact same position he'd fallen asleep in. The same position you'd seen him in a million times, except this time you were almost sure it was the last time.

I can certainly find something less toxic.

As if on autopilot, as you'd done a million times before, your hand came up to stroke his platinum blond locks. You smiled sadly to yourself, before leaning forward to leave a soft kiss on his forehead, careful not to move too much in an attempt not to wake him up. You didn't want to have that kind of confrontation.

“I love you,” you whispered, “But I can't live like this.”

Standing quickly, you walked to the door again, pulling it open as you picked up the suitcase, and stepped out as your heart seemed to sink into your stomach.

You closed the door as quietly as you could, because if you were too loud, one of two things would happen: either Yoongi would wake up, and you'd find yourself in the situation that you didn't want to be in, or he wouldn't, and the idea of that loud clang of metal seemed too solemn, too final for your aching heart, and you wouldn’t be able to handle it, and stay anyway.

The trailer had always been parked in an open field that was in front of a relatively calm road — a path had been made where you and Yoongi drove and parked his car. The idea of hitchhiking came to mind, as you didn't want to technically steal his car, but before you could decide anything else, a voice from behind made you stop dead in your tracks.

“y/n!”

You didn't turn around, your blood running cold in your veins, your heart beginning to beat as fast as you wanted to run away.

Instead, you waited until he was standing in front of you, still bruised; barefoot and shirtless, looking more heartbroken than anything. You gathered he must've woken up after everything after all, come outside, seen you and the suitcase and put two and two together.

Yoongi was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn't stupid. He didn't need to ask where you were going or what you were doing.

He grabbed your shoulders gently, and you closed your eyes, not wanting to look at his battered face. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you wished you could dig into your chest with your bare hands and yank out the frustration lying inside.

“Don't do this, jagi…” His voice was quiet, softer than the desperate shout he'd let out moments earlier.

“Look at me, baby girl, please,” He murmured, wiping away tears you hadn't realized had fallen.

“No,” you whimpered, “No, Yoongi, don't do this to me, n-not now…”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you heard him let out a shaky breath, as he gripped your free hand in his and gently tried to pull you back. “C-come on, baby, l-let's go inside—”

“No.”

The contrast between your tone now and the tone you'd used moments before halted him in his tracks, and you felt his grip tighten slightly on hand. He looked down and realized that your hand wasn’t gripping his back.

“I don't…” You opened your eyes, but still a lingering stubbornness inside your chest couldn't get you to meet his eyes.

You sighed in frustration, setting down the suitcase to wipe away more tears that had fallen. “I don't… I can't live like this anymore! Yoongi, I-I can't do it, I don't wanna worry about whether you're gonna come back or not when you go out for a walk, or whatever it was you were doing last night, for fuck’s sake.”

One of his hands reached for your cheeks, and the stubbornness inside made your eyes screw shut once more.

“Jagiya…” He sighed, “...Y/n, please look at me. Listen to me, baby, I’m begging you. Give me five minutes, and…” You heard him groan softly as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

“C-come inside, talk with me for five minutes… I’ll explain everything, and if you still want to leave, I won't stop you.”

The idea was tempting. You wanted so desperately to believe that this could be fixed in some kind of confrontation, but that moment had come months ago; on the night you had realized you weren’t pregnant, and he was still involved in his shady business and you still felt suffocated by the confines of the trailer.

You should've just said no, pushed him off. Walked away and not looked back, ignoring his pleas for you to come back. But, as the last of your resolve softened and melted away, you met his eyes. The swelling had gone down enough for you to see both of them now, and caught how they were misty, as if he were also about to cry. The mid-morning sun shone against them, causing the dark flecks of gold in them to shine.

But did you say no? You didn't. You couldn’t. Not to, him, not to your precious Min Yoongi. It was impossible.

“...Fine,” You responded finally, softly, and you watched as Yoongi’s posture seemed to relaxed, and he flashed a small, hopeful smile, which would've looked so much nicer if his lip wasn't busted in half.

He led you back into the trailer, his grip on your hand tight, as if he were scared that you would break away from him at any given moment. He was right, in a way. Your senses were on alert, red lights beeping as you remembered every single warning you’d gotten against toxic relationships in your life.

Once you’d both entered the trailer, he shut the door and leaned against it, as if trying to stop you from leaving again. Your gut tightened with anxiety at the action, as the possibilities of his body language had you eyeing him nervously. What if you decided to leave and he didn’t want to let you?

“I’m leaving the gang.” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, his eyes gazing at yours. You sighed, shaking your head as you set your suitcase down. “Where have I heard that before?”

He shook his head. “Y/n, I’m serious this time. Let me explain--”

“Sure you are, Yoongi.”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sick of living like this, Yoongi! I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life in this shitty trailer. I feel like i’m suffocating in here.”

“What, you think I’m not?”

“You certainly don’t act like you care enough to do anything about it! You’re the one who went back to them, last night, Yoongi. Not me.”

He paused, blinking. His face scrunched into one of confusion, and you wanted to tell him not to do that out of fear that the stitch on his face would open up. “Wait. Did I tell you why I went out last night?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his deep voice, thinking back to the disastrous night before. “Uh… no. You didn’t.”

He stared at you for a second, before his eyebrows shot up in realization, gaze solemn. “You think I… Oh, jagi, no.”

“What are you talking about, Yoongi?”

He shot forward, gripping your shoulders, pulling you closer, until you were pressed into his chest.

“I told them I wanted to leave last night.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding released itself, and you pushed him away slightly, enough to look him in the eyes, but not enough to have him release his grip on you.

“If you’re lying, I’ll cut your dick off, Min Yoongi.”

He smiled softly, his gaze still sad as a hand reaches for your face to brush a stray hair out of the way, before shaking his head. “It’s the truth, I swear. No need to cut anyone’s dick off.”

“Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if it would work, I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case it didn’t.” He shook his head, lost in thought.

“You should’ve told me,” You murmured, the close proximity enough for him to hear your quiet voice, “All of this could’ve been avoided, Yoongi.”

You wondered to yourself why he didn’t tell you once he came home, before telling yourself he was too drunk to even stand and speak properly, much less explain what he’d done. Combining that with Yoongi’s temper and your outburst, it was easy to figure out that he’d gotten upset at your reaction.

Your hand reached for his face, your thumb brushing over the skin of his cut. “Who did this to you, then?” Your voice was curious, slightly angry at the thought of one of the members of the gang getting violent at whatever he told them.

He sighed, licking his chapped lips nervously. “Namjoon. He was pissed.” The hand on your back let go as he used it to gesture to the cut on his face, “Told me that if I wanted to leave so bad, I could have this as a parting gift.”

You grimaced at the idea, your imagination going into overdrive to build up a mental image of what he’d just said. “Pissed is an understatement,” You replied, imagining how it must’ve hurt. He scoffed.

“You’re telling me.”

“So you’re done? You’re gone?” The uncertainty in your voice is enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s done,” He said, “I’m gone. For you, for us.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, half in relief, half in comfort as he leans to rest his forehead against yours as your mind registered the same four words he’d spoken when he first promised you this.

And as you stand there, in his arms, the reality began to sink in: this was happening.

You might just make it out alive, after all.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #min yoongi #suga #bts scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #bts writing #yoongi angst #bts angst

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thinkyoureholy · 6 years

Text

Your Name Remains The Same [3]

Pairing : Park Chanyeol/ [Fem] Reader

Genre : Angst, future fluff, maybe smut, some violence, Mafia!AU

Words : 1.9k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11. Pt 12. Pt 13. Pt 14. Pt 15.

“You let them escape!” The one in charge of the federal agents yelled at me, storming into the room.

“I let them escape? I did my part of the job, it was your job to keep the other eight occupied while I detained their leader, agent,” I spat out, turning around to face her, “If anyone let them escape it was you.”

“You insolent little bitch. You think you can talk to me like that? Just wait until-”

“That’s enough!” The sergeant yelled out, cutting her off, “I didn’t ask for your help just so you could berate one of my detectives, agent.”

“You gave up all jurisdiction the moment you called us, I have the right to call out a detective that let our person of interest go.”

“Not when the blame was yours to begin with.” The sergeant spoke, his tone low.

She scoffed, turning to walk out the door before she turned back one last time, “You must be glad your baby daddy is still a free man, let’s hope your son doesn't turn out like him. You know the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

With that she walked out, the rest of her team followed her out. I ground my teeth together, my hands forming into fists to keep myself from marching after her and introducing her to my fists. The other detectives shifted in their place, knowing that the subject of my son and his father was a delicate one.

“Why did you call them? We could’ve handled this ourselves.”

“She has a point, Y/N.”

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded that he would agree with her.

“You have a past with them Y/N...there can still be some lingering feelings there.” He said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“With all due respect sir, that’s complete bullshit and you know it. I had a gun aimed at me while I only had a measly knife. I wasn't about to stupidly risk my life in a fight I knew I was going to lose.” I explained, beyond the point of just simple anger, I was livid.

The sergeant and other detectives simply stayed quiet, knowing that the accusation was biased and flat out outrageous. I stood up, grabbing my jacket, “If you doubted me why did you let me take the lead on this case? I was put in that position because of your orders. I let myself be kidnapped and basically risked my life so you could belittle my efforts?”

I walked closer to him, taking my gun out of the holster and putting it on the table in front of him along with my badge, “If you’re just going to doubt me every step of the way then I’d rather stay out of it entirely. Now if you’ll excuse me I have paid vacation days I have saved up and I’m planning on using them...immediately.”

With that I walked out of the room, stopping by my office to pick up my son who was just dropped off by another officer who had been looking after him in a safe house. As soon as I opened the door and Jihyun saw me he jumped out of his seat and came running towards me. Seeing my son’s face made all the anger in me dissipate, a smile on my face as I knelt down in front of him and hugged him tightly. I may have hugged him too tight, Jihyun squirming in my grasp after awhile.

“I did exactly what you told me, mommy. I was a good boy for the nice officer.” He exclaimed with a huge smile on his face.

It was time like this where I saw traces of Chanyeol in him, at least the one I used to know. Jihyun inherited his father’s smile, his eyes, his ears, basically everything. Jihyun was Chanyeol’s clone, making this whole process a little harder for me to do. I knew at some point I’d have to tell Jihyun who his father was, the story I’d tell him would be of the Chanyeol I knew five years ago, the Chanyeol I fell in love with, not the criminal he is now.

I smiled, “I knew you were, now say goodbye to the nice police officer so we can go home and have a movie night. What do you think, we can even stop by and get you some ice cream, how does that sound, buddy?”

He nodded enthusiastically, waving to the officer that had taken care of him before grabbing onto my hand and basically dragged me out of the station. I laughed at the energy he still seemed to have even though it was almost ten p.m. Normally I would enforce his bed time if he was still up at this time but I kind of wanted to make up for everything that happened over the past two days. I had sent him to that safe house yesterday, the day before this whole fiasco started and I had left him with the promise of making his favorite food before Chanyeol had his men grab me. It seems like it was so long ago but in reality it was only five hours ago, the whole thing going down quicker than I had imagined.

“You sure you can carry all that, Hyun?” I asked him, seeing him grab the giant tub of ice cream and the various candies I bought.

He nodded, taking careful step towards the front door, stopping as he noticed a shadow in the corner of our porch. I didn’t take notice until I got closer, immediately dropping my bags and running up to Jihyun. I grabbed his arm, moving him to stand behind me as I shielded him from whoever was hiding in the shadows. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was, the events from earlier playing out in my mind, his face the first I thought of. And low and behold it was him, Chanyeol stepping out of the shadows, a smirk on his face.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up in front of me.”

He simply chuckled at that, taking a step of the porch. I put a hand out in front of me, stopping him from coming any closer, “Take one more step and I won’t hesitate to kill you where you stand.”

“I don’t think you will actually...at least not with little Jihyun watching.” Chanyeol said with a cocky grin.

He took a step forward, his eyes on Jihyun the whole time. I took one step back, a hand on Jihyun to make sure he was following. At seeing me take a step back Chanyeol frowned, his eyes now moving up to look at me. For a moment there I thought I saw a flash of hurt cross his eyes before he quickly masked it. He put on that same smirk, taking another step towards us, subsequently making me take one back.

“He’s my son too, Y/N. Don’t you think I have the right to at least meet him.”

“No. He is my son. You have absolutely no right to even lay your eyes on him. As far as he knows he has no father.” I said, trying to keep my voice low enough so Jihyun wouldn’t hear me but at the same time be loud enough for Chanyeol to catch every word I said.

“You really think I’m about to let you into his life, after knowing what you do? Not a chance. I don’t want my son to know all the disgusting things his so called father has done.” I said through gritted teeth, “As far as I’m concerned you’re more of a sperm donor than anything else.”

“I am his father. Whether you like it or not and I have every right-”

“No, you don’t!” I yelled, cutting him off.

I heard a small whimper coming from behind me, now realizing that Jihyun was crying this whole time. Forgetting about Chanyeol I immediately knelt down in front of Jihyun, wiping his tears away.

“W-why are you fighting? I d-don't like it w-when you yell, mommy.” Jihyun said through his sobs, making my heart wrench at the tears falling down his face.

“No--no Hyun we’re not fighting, right?” I turned back to Chanyeol, my eyes sharp as I urged him to say the right thing.

“Huh...oh! Yeah, yeah we weren’t fighting, your mother just got a little too excited is all. No need to cry little man.” Chanyeol said softly, a small smile on his face.

With that I turned back to Jihyun, relieved to see that he stopped crying. Pulling the sleeve of my sweater over my hand I wiped at the tear streaks on his cheeks. Making sure to keep him as far away from Chanyeol as possible I walked him to the front door, letting him inside and assuring him that I’d be there soon before closing the door.

With irritation filling up my body I turned back to Chanyeol, marching up to him and grabbing him by the collar, dragging him away from the door. My grip on his collar didn’t loosen as I pushed him up against my car, “You show up again, in front of my house, in front of my child I will not think twice about arresting you. If you manage to weasel your way out of it again you better fucking pray that I don’t see you anywhere around me or my son because that’ll be the last time you see the light of day.”

I pushed him away roughly, hearing his back hit the metal of my car just as roughly, “This is my last warning Chanyeol. Don’t ever come back here again.”

With that I turned my back on him, ready to just spend the rest of the night with my son. I didn’t get very far, Chanyeol grabbing onto my forearm to stop me. I turned around to face him again, yanking my arm out of his grasp only to have him grab my wrist instead.

“Why are you being so selfish? I’m doing all of this to give you and Jihyun a better life.”

“What?”

“Five years ago I found out you were pregnant, the pregnancy test not as well hidden as you thought. That’s when I decide to leave and come back once I could provide the both of you with the lives you deserved, wanting money to never be a problem.” He explained, his other hand now grabbing onto my other arm.

I stared up at him in shock, my brain not knowing how to respond to this. He knew...this whole time, he knew and not once did he think about coming back until now. He must’ve known how much I suffered all these years without him, how much I had to sacrifice to make sure my child had everything he needed yet he just...didn’t care. He stayed away and went on to become the criminal he is today. With my jaw clenched I brought my hands up and pushed him away from me, taking a step back as well. I felt the tears well up in my eyes but I refused to let them fall.

“This whole time...you knew and instead of trying to find us and try to make yourself apart of your lives you were out there...hurting and killing people? Chanyeol are you even hearing yourself?” I paused, wiping away a stray tear, “This is the last time I repeat myself to you...don’t ever come near me or my child again do you understand me?”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything else as I turned my back on him, closing the door behind me once I was inside my home. With a heavy sigh I leaned my back against the door, regaining my composure before heading towards Jihyun.

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