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shurisneakers · 3 years

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shut in [epilogue]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, swearing

Word count: 4k

A/N: annnnd we’re done :)) thank you to my resident bully @midnightsunfae for really getting this fic off the ground and helping with the planning. ily upo and thank you to everyone who’s read this series over the 5 months it’s been going on. it’s meant the absolute world to me :’)

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, an indicator of the nervousness that was building to a crescendo in your chest.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, hand placed gently on your forearm.

You nodded, eyes downcast. If you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to find it in yourself to follow through with it.

“I am,” you said quietly, swallowing to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“Okay,” he confirmed, letting his arm drop gently.

Ten minutes to go. You took a sip of water nervously. The glass had already found itself shifting back and forth on the table in search of the perfect place. It was a fruitless quest anyway.

The door was painted a dark green, steps leading up to it from the pavement.

“Are you sure he won’t mind?” you asked quietly, standing a stair below him in apprehension. Neither of you had contacted him or sent a message, just showed up at his place exhausted and covered in a thin layer of dirt.

“I know he won’t.” Sam raised his fist to knock thrice, a pause before knocking two more times.

A code.

He turned around slightly, checking to see if you were fine. The longer you stood out there, the more afraid you were of someone spotting the both of you, putting an end to your life before it even began. You had a feeling that paranoia would continue for a long time.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with blonde hair leaning against the doorway with one arm. There was a nick above his eyebrow, an old scar that hadn’t faded over time. Even though his other hand was concealed behind the door, you could tell that he was holding something by the way his muscles were clenched. Years of training wouldn’t disappear overnight.

"Sam." Surprise overtook his face in a second. "You're alive."

"Don't sound so happy, I can't handle it." Sam rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile on his face. "This is Y/N, we need a place to stay."

“It’s just been a while since I heard from you, man. Coming from a hit?” Riley didn’t think twice about moving aside, scrutinising dried blood on your person as you walk past. “Nice to meet you, I’m Riley.”

It was a cane in his hand. Sam’s mention of his limp flashed in your mind.

You gave him a small wave and a quiet re-introduction of yourself, following Sam into the house.

“You could say that.” Sam paused, a hand on Riley’s shoulder as he says something out of your ear shot to him.

Riley’s face turned stoic immediately, a nod of his head and a deep exhale soon following. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” You pressed your lips together in a straight line with a corner quirked upwards, a half smile of sorts.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to the right.” He pointed out the direction. “I’m getting you some food. Gumbo still your thing, Wilson?”

“Anything other than peanut butter.”

Riley was a blessing you could have never prepared for; knowing exactly what you both would need and anticipating emotions you had no idea you’d be feeling. For someone who had guests show up completely uninvited to crash on his couch, he was ready as ever, given that he had been through the same thing a while ago.

It was difficult. Fuck that, it was one of the hardest things to go; not pretending like everything around you would fall into soon and that you would be fine because you had to. You had worked too damn hard for you not to be.

But you knew things weren’t going to be fine right off the bat and it would be foolish to think it was.

“Sam, look at me,” you commanded gently, but there was an edge of firmness to your tone. You were sitting on the bench near the entrance of the park.

“I’m sorry, things were going good and I thought-” He shook his face that was hiding in his palm, elbows resting on his knees.

His attacks didn’t come nearly as frequently as yours. It was easy to think that he had no trauma just because he learnt how to deal with it better.

“Look at me, Sammy.” It was just a walk in the park, a stroll that should have lasted twenty minutes tops. You had been on that trail before for the same purpose but something triggered him today, someone’s gaze who lingered too long on the both of you.

He clenched his fists, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Breathe with me.” You exaggerated the movements to have him follow, a system the both of you had come up with when anxiety attacks used to hit at random. A temporary solution to an aftermath that would go on for hours, days even.

It took him a few staggered breaths to get there, finally falling into routine with you. He could feel his heartbeat slow to what it was but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t subside for a while.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” you reassured, still making sure he was breathing with you. You were nervous too and your eyes were still darting about to survey your surroundings, but he needed you at that moment. “We’re safe. We’re okay.”

“No one’s here,” he mumbles, interlacing your fingers and bringing it to his forehead to lean against your hand.

“We’re okay,” you repeated, giving him the space he needed. “We’re okay.”

“Will someone be joining you?” The waiter prodded softly. If it wasn’t your incessant tapping at the table, the clammy palms and constant checking of your watch was a clear giveaway that you could use a bit of kindness that day.

“Yeah, any minute now.” You smiled at her. She simply nodded, refilling your glass of water before leaving you alone.

You looked at your watch and sighed.

Seven minutes.

Things were fine. Things were good.

Sam and you were… undefined. Labels almost seemed too constrictive for now and it wasn’t like the both of you didn’t know what the other felt. It was kind. It was soft. Sometimes you kissed his cheek when the sunlight bounced off his face while he watered the succulents and the smile he gave you was addictive. Other times he snaked an arm around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder while you watched the street from the kitchen window.

It made you happy, and so you tried to force away the stem of doubt that creeped into your heart.

Riley had introduced the concept of movie nights and the occasional mob movie would make it in there just to poke fun at. He showed you around the city, inviting you to go grocery shopping with him at the farmers market, the best places to get a glimpse of the music scene or to subtly point out potential date night spots.

He was a genuinely nice guy, and if you thought Sam was fun to hang out with, you were not prepared for the both of them together. You could tell why Sam adored him.

“Y/N, I don’t know how you stayed with him for all that time and didn’t murder him in his sleep.” Riley glared at Sam who had once again left his collection of music CDs strewn around on a couch. It was all in jest; it was well known that Sam found an anchor in music that kept him up late at night for a sense of calm.

“It was a close call sometimes,” you added playfully, giving Sam a grin.

“You weren’t exactly easy to survive with either.” He scoffed. “How many times did we watch Megamind in a row? Eight?”

“You wouldn’t stop watching Die Hard,” you accused, arms crossed over your chest. “It was payback.”

“You made the rule saying we couldn’t watch things more than twice in a row and you broke it first.”

“I’m gonna go,” Riley interjected. “But y’all keep at this. I heard it’s good for your soul.”

“Stay there,” Sam demanded, pointing to where he was standing a second ago. “You’re gonna be play judge since you started this shit.”

“I really don’t want to.” He shook his head, staying put nonetheless, amusement clear as day on his face.

“The laundry.”

“The dishes.”

You both narrowed your eyes at each other. His argument didn’t hold a match to yours.

“You know what, I was wrong,” Riley announced to no one in particular. “I’m pretty sure you guys would kill each other under any other circumstance.”

The smile on your face faltered but you straightened it back out with a clearing of your throat before firing a comeback.

It was barely a second, almost unnoticeable. But Sam caught it.

Four minutes.

Almost time.

The tapping became more intense, and the rate at which you pulled out your phone to check the time increased.

Fuck, this was a bad idea. How were you supposed to behave with him after all this time?

Something was wrong. Something was off.

Sam wasn’t blind to it. He could see it under the smile you eased into at game night, the complaining when too much food was ordered for three people to eat, the good natured teasing when he rolled over to your side of the bed at night to steal your blanket.

Something was eating at you, gnawing at you from the inside.

His suspicion was confirmed when you whispered at 2am one night to what you thought was an asleep partner that you wanted to move out. Find a place of your own.

His stomach dropped instantly but he didn’t so much as move a muscle.

“I need to get out. I need to have a life,” you sniffed, doing your best not to wake him up as you traced circles into his skin lightly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be independent. I won’t know unless I figure it out myself.”

The air had a chill to it and it was one of the times you had asked him to sleep in the guest bedroom with you instead of on his own, knowing that it was one of those nights where you could use a little extra warmth.

“Even when we were in there I couldn’t stop thinking about whether this thing between us was just because we were forced to stay together. You said it wasn’t, and I know that but I can’t help but think-” Your voice cracked. “Would you come back to me if things were different?”

He didn’t answer, even though he knew what he wanted to say with all the certainty in the world. Your fingers continued to draw on his skin. He continued to let you.

Sam didn’t even bring up the conversation that morning, or that week. Instead, he held you a bit closer whenever he could and gave you the space to hopefully open up to him on your own time, letting you know that he’d be there to listen.

It took a while. You both were in the middle of watching a movie that wasn’t Die Hard when you told him that you needed to talk to him about something. The hesitancy in your voice and the fixation your fingers had with the hem of your sweater was painful to witness.

He understood, of course. He always did. That you needed to experience what it was like to live, not survive. That decades of living with other kids, living under an abuser, living in a safehouse for months, was restrictive and suffocating and you needed to find what made you happy.

And so did he. It was something both of you had to do eventually, exit the bubble you had been staying in under such ardent protection for those two months.

Riley was wonderfully supportive of it, vowing to find you the best apartment that New Orleans had to offer. You didn’t doubt it.

His place had been colourful and bright and everything you could have asked for after the monotone walls you were used to. But it wasn’t yours.

A few weeks later you had moved out. Sam left a lingering kiss on your forehead, a sign to say that he’d be here whenever, whatever.

You made a Shakira joke. He laughed.

A completely fresh new start. If you failed now, it was all on you.

And what a terrifying thought that was.

It had been four months since you had left Riley’s apartment behind.

Four months since you had seen either of them.

The cafe was starting to feel too small for this event. Too intimate, too-

When the bell above the cafe chimes, something at the back of your mind instantly wakes up, sending you on high alert.

“Y/N?” he called out from behind you.

You knew he’d be early.

“Sam.” You breathed out, standing up to face him.

Video calls didn’t do him any justice. He had a particular glow to him, an aura of confidence that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. His beard was neatly trimmed and the smile that tugged at his lips the minute you caught his eye was beautiful.

You didn’t realise how different he looked until the time apart. Months of makeshift workouts and peanut butter as your only source of protein had done a number on him. You remembered him being leaner, and what you now realised was the constant burden of fatigue on his face.

“You look good.” An understatement escaped you, but he did.

He had a deep blue shirt on that hugged him in all the right places. Months of seeing him only black and grey had you damn near drooling when he wore other colours after you got out.

Not that you were staring, but his biceps had definitely made a wonderful return.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Sam sent you a smile that instantly put you at ease. “Independence looks good on you, sweetheart.”

You gave a small laugh, gesturing for him to take a seat. Should you have hugged him? Shook his hand? Kissed hi-

“It’s been a while,” he politely interrupted your overthinking. “How are things going?”

You let out a small breath. It was a big question, one that you had answered over text and call a few times but it was different now. He was in front of you now and you couldn’t bullshit the way you used to on call occasionally.

“Weird,” you admitted. “I don’t know what to do with myself now that I have all this time.”

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” He nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair.

A lot of your time went into trying new hobbies. Knitting, pottery, drawing- anything that you could get your hands on. Things didn’t always catch on, some discarded just after the first week. Others stuck, bringing you bits of triumph every time you moved forward with your newfound skill.

“You still seein’ your therapist?” He flashed a smile at the waitress who filled his glass of water.

Ah, yes. Dr. Bishop had been one of the first people you sought out.

“Yeah.” You took a sip of water. “See her weekly.”

You still had money left over from all the hit jobs that you had done. As much as you wanted to leave every inkling of that life behind, you needed the cash to live. You had enough for the time being, but you knew that eventually you had to start working; if not for the money then for the peace of mind.

“How’s that goin’?”

“She thinks I talk in elaborate metaphors. The gang’s what I call my toxic family, he was my abusive father, stuff like that.”

There were moments where you thought you saw someone you knew standing at a corner, vendors giving you icy looks from across the street, footsteps outside your door that seemed too damn loud. But nothing ever came of it.

“Thanks for the tip, by the way.” You extended a smile to him in appreciation for the idea.

“Worked with my therapist, figured it would be the same with yours.” He shrugged casually. It wasn’t like you wanted to lie to her, and you weren’t. But some things were better left in the dark.

“But I think it’s helping.” You exhaled deeply, eyes downcast. “The nightmares are reducing.”

“That’s a lot of progress.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward in pride.

Several feelings erupted from that look, some that you’d spend the whole day revelling in if you didn’t force yourself to move on.

“How about you?” you diverted the subject back to him. “How’s Riley?”

“He says he misses ya.” Sam laughed. “Says he can’t handle me alone, that he needs you back to save him.”

“What have you been doing to that poor man?” you teased, easing back into your seat. “He was fine when I left him.”

“He’s got a fancy new job now and it’s been going to his head. Needed a little humbling.”

“You’re not going too hard on him, are you?” Even though you knew he wasn’t, it was fun to make sure.

“Nah, I’d say it’s just about the right amount.” Sam grinned and you felt the familiar flutter return to your stomach. “I’ve been doing good. Working on getting my license.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?” You were thrilled when he said he was going to look into becoming a youth counselor, knowing that it was something he had been genuinely wanting to do for ages.

“With my background, or lack of it, it’s a little trickier than I thought it would be,” he divulges a bit more seriously. “Riley’s been pulling a few strings and I got a few contacts but it’s gonna take some more time.”

You bit your lip, worry rising for him. He deserved it, he earned it. It fucking sucked that it wasn’t going to be an easy, direct path.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said quietly, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his in reassurance.

The contact brings with it a small spark. You wondered if he still felt it.

“Yeah. We will.” He sent you a soft smile at your action, not making any effort to move it. “You been on any dates lately?”

You let out a snort at that. “Loads. Have fellas lining up at every corner for me.”

“I bet.” He’s more bold, a bit more open than he was in the first month when you both got out. “How many of them do I have to fight off?”

“I’d say six as a rough estimate.” Your expression mimicked one of consideration. “I hope you’ve been getting your hours in at the gym.”

“I’ll kick it up a notch,” he promised, hands raised in surrender.

“You better. We’re supposed to go for laser-tag.” A dumb callback to a joke he made on one of your last days there.

“Or paintball.” He remembered. It made you unnecessarily giddy. “I added an escape room to the list too.”

“Hilarious,” you fired at him, rolling your eyes slightly but the happiness on your face proved otherwise.

His laughter died down eventually, paving the way for the comfortable silence that lingered between you both. Your eyes fell down to where your hand still held his, biting your lip to conceal a smile.

“Y/N,” he called out, pulling your gaze back to his. “Jokes aside… how are you?”

You let out a breath at his question. You knew it was coming.

“Riley found me an apartment,” you murmured.

Sam looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“It’s a nice place. Lots of sunlight. Quiet too.” You toyed with your fingers. “But it’s about an hour away. More if you consider traffic.”

Sam set his phone down gently on the bedside table, indicating that you had his full attention.

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, because I’m not. I wouldn’t, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupted calmly, twisting his body to face you. “I don’t think you’re abandoning me. If this is what you need, then you should do it.”

“I don’t know if this is what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never been-” the frustration in your voice only increased as you went on. “-I don’t even know if this is going to work. What if I hate it?”

“Finding out what you hate is just as important as what you like, I think.” He watched you toy with the fidget square he had gotten you. “And you know that if you don’t feel like it, then you can come back here at any moment.”

“I know.” It was a comforting thought. A safety net.

“But would this make you happy?” That caught you by surprise.

It wasn’t something you had thought of. You thought of the negative consequences, the devastating effects it could have on you, how it could be the worst possible decision you’d ever make.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, a new anxiety setting in. “I guess we’ll see.”

You liked the neighbours who played the piano way too loud at 2am, the really terrible coffee at the therapist’s office and the feeling the paper plane on your dresser gave you when you occasionally looked at it.

You didn’t like how hot the apartment could get, especially during the afternoon, or the guy who sold magazines down the street who cursed at everyone for no reason, or the gentrified Indian food they served at the mall.

But Sam was right. Figuring out what you didn’t like was just as beautiful a journey as figuring out what you did.

“I’m happy.” You breathed out. “Or I'm working towards being happy. But it’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Simply slipped his palm under yours to lift your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m proud of you.”

If anyone could feel the heat that rose to your face they would probably think you had a fever.

The fear that you had, the one of what things would be like if you weren’t forced to survive in a confined space together, had begun to fade the minute he called out your name that day.

It was Sam. Your Sam.

You shake yourself out of your train of thought with a small smile, making a move to gather up your belongings without letting go of his hand for a second.

“Well, c’mon then. Those paintballs aren’t going to shoot themselves.”

“Are you saying this is a date?” There was a smirk on his face that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Would you still consider it one once I annihilate you?” You tilted your head in a challenge.

“That would never happen, first of all.” He scoffed. “Second… I was thinking that maybe we could do something normal for a change.”

That had you more interested than the prospect of adventure sports. You had enough of it for a lifetime, frankly speaking.

“Lead the way, Cinnamon.” He only rolled his eyes at the nickname, sending you a vaguely threatening look. You just laughed.

“This place got good coffee?” He looked around at the establishment and its patrons.

“One of the best.”

“Then I don’t see why we have to go anywhere else,” he offered and you nodded, relaxing back into your place with the same sense of warmth in your heart that only intensified with his proposal.

He raised his hand up to flag the server, the same girl who had been helping you out since you got there, asking for two menus.

The smile he sent her was infectious. It was good.

“Sam,” you began quietly. “I missed you.”

His eyes softened, the sunlight reflecting in it making it shine like dravite. “I missed you, too.”

“Ready to order?” The waitress stands beside you with a notepad.

He looked at you and you nodded with a smile.

Things were different. You were different.

And he still came back to you.

--fin--

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

thank you so much for reading!

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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All For Us Chapter 9

Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me on this one, but it’s finally done! Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but there’s only one chapter left (and maybe an epilogue) on our journey with Mira, Erik, and Cupcake. If you’re just here for Killmonger, I have a couple Erik oneshots heading y’all’s way in the next few weeks. Also, check out The Temple. 😉

As always, don’t forget to look at my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Like, comment, and reblog away! 🥰

CW: a little smut

Word Count: 6,481

Erik’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright through the sand that covered his body in his temporary grave. He was in the heart of the temple where the Black Panther ceremony took place, the City of the Dead. The lost prince pulled himself from the sand and brushed the clay-colored sediment from around his eyes as he climbed the stone staircase leading up into the garden of the heart-shaped herb. When he made it to the top, Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the garden. To his surprise, nothing caught on fire like in his previous dreams. His shoulders relaxed as he took another step into the garden, and another, and another until he was face to face with Bast’s statue. A smile took over his face as he knelt at her feet.

“Took you long enough, Jaguar.”

Erik lifted his head, and her celestial glow nearly blinded him as he laid his eyes on the panther goddess once more.

“Long enough for what?”

“For your senses to come back, obviously.” Bast circled him and laid down, licking her paw. “Pretty soon, you won’t have to be asleep to talk to me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it.”

Erik turned to face her and sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never took them away. You did.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your guilt blocked your senses, Erik,” she sighed. “You had been holding onto pieces of it, but you finally let it go.”

“I felt guilty for ruining our marriage,” Erik mused aloud.

“But you didn’t, so congratulations,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

Bast chuckled at his informality.

“Last time we spoke, I said I would need you to do something for me. I’ve finally made up my mind as to what that is.”

Erik sat with bated breath as he waited for his assignment. For a moment, he was reminded of his military and mercenary days, except this time, he was being given a mission from a goddess. His goddess.

“As you know, Wakanda has never had a Golden Jaguar before. You are an anomaly, but that is a good thing.” She stood up and started walking, making him rush to his feet to follow after her.

“It is?”

“Yes. You know, the good thing about cycles is that with destruction comes rebirth…change. You’ve forced Wakanda to change, and you’ve forced me to think some things over. Truthfully, after the little stunt you almost pulled, I did think about removing your powers. I don’t need to preach about it, though, since you already know all about your wrongdoings, but I heard what you said about your people. We have neglected them, and for that, I have no words of apology that would adequately ease your pain. The Lost Tribe, as my people have come to call you, needs a champion. Wakanda already has theirs, but since you seem to rather enjoy toying with colonizers, I have an assignment for you.”

Erik’s ears were trained on Bast as he hung on every word she said. He walked next to her as they made their way through the catacombs towards the temple’s entrance.

“Before you came to Wakanda, you were involved with Klaue and his hunt for vibranium. Your vast knowledge of African and diasporic artifacts combined with your training makes a great equation for what I need you to do.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to act as the Golden Jaguar on the Lost Tribe’s behalf. I recognize that as just one person, you can only do so much, which is why I will talk to T’Challa about you heading his Wardog program. I would like for you to have an army of spies at your disposal to act instead of just watch and report as they have done in the past.”

“So basically what I wanted to do before but without the world domination?”

“Precisely,” Bast chuckled and stopped walking at the door to the temple.

“Ok,” Erik thought on it as a smile crept up his cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would. I think you’ll like my first assignment. Well, second. First, you need to stop avoiding the City of the Dead in your waking life. You need to go visit the garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said, his nerves twisting in his gut at the thought of actually stepping back onto the sacred land.

“Now, my second assignment: artifact reclamation. Instead of searching for vibranium, which you might find, I want you to return items to their rightful owners.”

“So, stealing,” Erik deadpanned.

“Yes, but for a good cause. I will let you work out the details, but the point is to return the power to the people by building them back up, brick by brick. They were separated from their gods, so the Ancestors and the Orishas are working on bringing them back to us spiritually. They are still working on getting other spirits and pantheons on board...alas, my brother and sisters are choosing to take a more passive approach.” She sighed. “The Lost Tribe was taken from the land, so T’Challa has already spearheaded initiatives to build up other African countries that need his assistance and bring the Lost home to the continent. Now, I need you to bring our belongings home. Our thrones, our art, our history. Take it back. Bring it back to its rightful place.”

“I’m with it, but, um...how am I supposed to do this without getting caught? If shit just starts disappearing en masse, somebody’s gonna notice.”

“They won’t disappear. The colonizers won’t even know they’re gone.” Bast flicked her tail mischievously. “Your wife designs kimoyo beads, does she not?”

“Well, yeah-”

“And your cousins are scientific geniuses, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’m sure that between all of your big beautiful brains, you can figure out a way to make replicas of the artifacts.”

“Why does that compliment feel like an insult?”

“I like you, Jaguar,” The goddess chuckled. “Now go enjoy your time with your wife.” She winked at Erik as she nudged him out into the brightness shining from outside the wide-open temple doors. Erik returned to consciousness, and he was shocked by the feeling of Mira’s mouth traveling up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, girl. This how you waking Big Daddy up now?”

She popped her head off his tip, and he groaned at the sight of a bridge of spit still connecting her to him.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Mmmm, good morning to you, too,” he grabbed her loose curls that she had forgotten to tie up the night before. The silk sheets kept her hair soft and bouncy as her hair spilled over his fist while it rested at the back of her head. He pulled her in for a kiss, and then she went right back to taking him down her throat. “You’re gonna make me nut all down that throat, Princess.”

Mira’s hand cupped and massaged his ballsack while she sucked on his bulbous head. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and her other hand traveled up and down his length, making his toes curl.

“Fuuuuck, you remember just what Big Daddy likes. Imma bust a fat ass nut, girl,” Erik groaned through gritted teeth. Mira giggled at her control over him and continued to work his dick. Her nose reached his pelvis as she took him down her throat, and he came with such force that she almost choked. Almost.

When she pulled off of him, she tongue-kissed his tip before sitting back on her haunches and wiping her mouth. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik let out a breathy laugh, “Like the dead.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t feel me moving. You were out cold.”

“That’s because I was talking to Bast.”

“What’d she say this time?”

Erik sat up against the headboard and motioned for her to come to him. Mira crawled up his body and straddled him, sliding down on his dick so that they were connected as deep as they could be. They had always been like this; whenever they needed to have a serious conversation, Erik would set her in his lap and have her take all of him. They both reveled in the connection they had in that moment, and even in their stillness, their united bodies responded to each other as the words fell from his lips.

“She wants me to be the Golden Jaguar officially,” he said as he kissed down from Mira’s ear to her shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Mira asked, barely above a whisper.

“She wants me to be a champion for us, the Lost Tribe. Wakandans have T, so I’ll be protecting the rest of us with the Wardogs.”

“How, though? That’s so many people.”

He came up from kissing between her breasts to look her in the eyes. “Well, remember how I told you about the museum heist to get the vibranium?”

Mira nodded.

“She wants me to steal artifacts from museums and shit and return them to where they were stolen from.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Mira snarked, and he tickled her sides, making her pussy clench around him, and he let out a groan at the feeling. He grabbed her hips and moved them back and forth.

“It is. I can’t do anything until I visit the garden of the heart-shaped herb, though.”

“Why?” she moaned.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” he sighed.

Mira pulled him into a kiss and cycloned her hips as she wound on him. “Do you need to go alone, or do you want me to come with you?”

He connected their foreheads as he pushed his hips forward into her, and she called out his name.

“I need to go alone.”

Their hips ground into each other as the sexual energy inside them built up slowly and erupted through their bodies. Erik placed kisses all over Mira’s face and neck as she caught her breath from the intensity of her orgasm.

“How about I make breakfast?” Erik asked, and Mira simply nodded and kissed him. She moved to get up, but he held her down. “Nah, I didn’t say right now.”

After another round, the two of them separated from each other, if only because of the rumbling of their bellies. They showered together, and Erik couldn’t help himself from bending her over and eating her pussy and ass from the back. Pretty soon, he was balls deep inside her again, and when he came all over her cheeks, he about keeled over from the way the orgasm shook through his body.

“Aight, I need a break,” Erik said, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their shower without any more funny business.

“Can I have one of your t-shirts?” Mira asked as they slathered themselves in shea butter.

“You can have anything you want, Princess. MIT or Navy?”

“MIT please,” she cheesed at him.

“Coming right up.”

Erik left the room and returned with his maroon-colored MIT t-shirt. The same one she wore the first time she stayed over at his apartment back in the day. He knew it was her favorite and the look on her face when he handed it to her was priceless. She quickly shimmied into it while he slid on a pair of sweatpants that left little to the imagination.

The two of them relocated to the kitchen, and Mira toyed around with her latest kimoyo design on her tablet while Erik got to work on breakfast.

“That a new one?” he asked, nodding towards the design hovering over the counter.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten it to work right, though,” she grumbled as she stared at it. “I want it to be able to apply cloaking tech to whatever it touches, but so far, I can only get the bead to disappear.”

Erik listened to her complain about her failed design for a little while, and when she was done, she turned off the tablet and hopped up on the counter.

“Anything I can do?” Mira asked

“Mhm,” he came over and stood between her legs, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Just sit there looking fine as hell.”

“I’m serious,” she smiled.

“So am I,” he said incredulously with a hand over his heart, making her chuckle at his dramatics.

“Fine, I’ll be your muse.”

“And my guinea pig. Here, try this.”

Erik lifted the spoon to her lips so she could taste the yam hash he had been working on, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I forgot you turn into Top Chef after sex.”

“Gotta feed my woman,” he kissed her cheek and cracked a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the skillet.

Mira giggled, and an idea struck her. She reached back for her tablet again and pulled up her latest work in progress, a story about a decades-long whirlwind romance that she had gotten stuck on. All she needed was a little inspiration, and Erik ended up being just what she needed.

He watched his wife type away with a smile on his face. Erik loved watching her work; the look of determination on her face was always so endearing to him. She’d bite her lip and squint her eyes as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Erik always thought it was adorable.

The smell of fresh vegetables coming in contact with hot oil filled the air, and Mira’s mouth started to water. She looked up from her work to see what Erik was doing but got distracted by his body. She watched his sinewy muscles moving beneath his textured skin, and a chill went down her spine.

“What the fuck is that?” Erik sniffed the air, following the sweet scent that had just wafted from out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” Mira asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

He turned to face her, and his pupils blew wide as the smell hit him again.

“It’s you,” he turned off the burner and stalked over to her, standing between her legs again and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent and let out a growl.

“What is that?”

“My bodywash?”

“Nah, it’s you. What-” he cut himself off when it dawned on him. When he was king for a day, he only smelled fear from those around him. Fear smelled like decay, it smelled rotten, but this was the exact opposite. It was enticing, like the most beautiful forbidden garden, and Erik knew exactly what it was. Her arousal. He bit into her neck, making her moan out as he ground his hips into hers. The aroma grew, and Erik’s composure slipped away the more he inhaled it.

“E-erik, the food.”

He took a deep breath as he stood to his full height. “I can smell when you want me.”

“What?!”

“I wonder if it’s different for every person...shit, I wonder if I can smell other people. I hope not-”

“What are you saying? You can tell when I’m horny?”

“I guess so. I only smelled fear before, but it makes sense. I’m just caught off guard because it hit me out of nowhere, like last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I could hear your heartbeat.”

Mira’s face lit up, “That’s good, though, right? It means your senses are coming back!”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised by that one. I wasn’t expecting all that,” he laughed.

“So...I smell good?”

“You don’t know how good, Princess,” he grumbled as he finished cooking. Mira crossed her legs, making him chuckle. “That’s not helping. It’s all over you.”

“Damn...what else can you do?”

“I need to test out my strength and speed, but my sight was different, too. Everything was brighter, more vibrant. And my brain moved faster...I don’t know how to explain it. Bast said my guilt was the blockage, so they’ll probably slowly come back over time. After they’re back, I’m supposed to start on my mission.”

“You still felt guilty?”

“I thought I broke us. I mean, I did, but I felt like it was unfixable, you know?”

Mira nodded, “Yeah, it felt like that sometimes.”

Erik pulled the dishes out of the cabinet and set them down next to her.

“Mira, I’m-”

“Erik, if you say you’re sorry one more time, so help me, Bast,” Mira said, making a dimpled smile appear on Erik’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while Erik plated the food, and when he handed Mira hers, he left a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and hopped down from the counter to sit at the table. When she sat down, she couldn’t help but stare at Erik as he walked over. Her man, her formerly violent man was really chosen by a goddess to protect Black people around the globe.

He noticed the look on her face and couldn’t quite place it. “What?”

“Nothing, just...look at you, doing the work of gods now.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say that about your mercenary husband,” Erik winked at her.

“Sure didn’t,” Mira laughed, “but it fits. You always had it in you. You know, I’m glad I came out here. I wouldn’t get to see this new side of you otherwise, and so far, I like it.”

--------

A couple of hours later, Erik found himself in front of the City of the Dead with his palms sweating and his breath shaking. He wasn’t sure why the temple unnerved him so much, but it did. Erik knew he had to do what Bast told him, though, and took a step forward. He climbed the stairs to the ornate stone doors and waited as they slowly opened for him. Erik was met with the sight of a surprisingly calm woman in purple robes. He recognized her as the woman he had choked out, the new head priestess.

“My prince,” she saluted him. “Welcome. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He hesitantly stepped forward again and entered the temple. A chill went down his spine as the doors shut behind them, and he looked around the space. He had only been there once before in his waking life, but this time it felt different. It probably had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t scared of him this time around.

“What’s your name?” he asked nervously.

“I am Zaya, my prince.”

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘my prince’ thing. Especially since I...you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should’ve never put my hands on you.”

“I have spoken to Bast about it, and I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

Erik put his hands up in defense, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, you are here to see the herb, no?” She started walking, and he followed behind her.

“How’d you know?”

“I spoke to Bast, remember?” She quipped with an eyebrow raised.

“Heh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious.”

“I assume that is a normal reaction when reckoning with your past.”

The two of them traveled deeper into the temple, and when they reached the door that led to the garden of the heart-shaped herb, he froze. Zaya looked back when she no longer heard his footsteps and smiled warmly, reaching out her hand to him. He took it, and she led him through the doors. Erik almost wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to face his past actions head-on.

He looked around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw there were dozens of tiny glowing purple buds just begging to become full-grown flowers. He laughed in disbelief at what he was seeing. He had burnt the garden to ashes, but now here it was, thriving in spite of him.

“It took us a while to get them to grow again, but thankfully we were able to put out the fire before the roots were harmed,” Zaya spoke as he wandered through the garden in awe.

“And these...they still work?”

“The princess took a sample and tested it in her lab. According to her, this new batch might be a little different, but they should still work. Bast has given them her blessing, so that is enough for me.”

“So, I didn’t ruin Wakanda’s future like I thought...”

“No, just a bump in the road,” she smiled.

Just as he was about to respond, the strangest thing happened. His eyes were trained on one of the buds, and suddenly he could see every little vein in the leaves and the detail of the curled-up petals. The color became brighter and even more purple than most people could comprehend, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled.

He could see again.

“Are you ok?” Zaya asked tentatively.

Erik cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just my senses are coming back, and...they’re beautiful.”

“And resilient.”

He laughed and wiped the tear from his face.

“How about I give you some time alone?”

“Thanks, Zaya, that’d be great.”

She bowed her head in deference and went back the way they came. When she was gone, Erik let out a sigh as he took in the sight before him.

“They really made it…”

“Of course, they did. Did you think I would leave my people defenseless?” Bast’s silky voice rang out through the temple, and he turned around to see her standing there in her mostly-human form. She was a statuesque and curvaceous woman with the head of a panther and locs that spilled over her ebony shoulders. Erik dropped to his knees as she walked towards him. “No need for all of that. Stand up, Jaguar.”

He laid eyes on her once more as he rose from the ground. Her glow was almost blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

“Get used to it. I like to pop in on my champions every now and again. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in your thoughts, and sometimes in person. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you and what you need, or what I need from you.”

“Ok, so what do you need from me?”

Bast chuckled. “Truthfully, nothing this time. I just needed to see you face-to-face.”

“You don’t have an assignment for me?”

“Not yet. I know how much you enjoy the sanctuary, so I’ll let you stay there a little whille longer. Plus, you are just now mending your marriage and need time to spend with your wife and child before I call you away.”

“How much time?”

“Enough,” she winked.

“You’re so cryptic,” Erik chuckled.

“Yes, your cousin thinks so, too. However, I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she sighed. “You have some party planning to do. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Especially when you miss a couple of years,” he murmured.

“Which is why I’m giving you at least a year before I call on you. Make good use of it, Erik.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, Erik.”

“Yeah?”

“Try running back to the palace,” she winked again as she shimmered away, leaving him alone in the temple.

Erik tried to contain himself as he left the garden and ran into Zaya.

“Was your ‘alone’ time fruitful?” she asked knowingly.

All he could do was beam at her with his megawatt dimpled smile.

“Very.”

Erik said goodbye and ran back through the forest to the city, his heart beating out of his chest in excitement. His superhuman speed carried him back in no time as the wind whipped against his body. A smile was plastered on his face the whole time, even when he slowed down as he reached the outskirts of Birnin Zana. He hurried to the palace as inconspicuously as he could and happened to run into Mira just as she was leaving. When she saw the look on his face, she couldn’t help the grin that took over hers.

“So, how did- Erik!” She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around with barely any effort.

“They’re back!”

“Your powers?”

“Well, yeah, but the heart shaped herb is coming back!” he peppered kisses all over her face and neck while she giggled. “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you could be.”

“So I take it your vision came back, and you’re super strong again?”

“And fast. I ran here in like twenty minutes.”

“From the CIty of the Dead?!”

“Mhm,” he nodded as he set her back on the ground.

“Damn, baby, that’s...that’s amazing.”

“I need to test them out some more, so I’m gonna see if T has some time to spar. You going to the lab?”

“Shopping, actually. Okoye and Ayo took Imani so I could get some last-minute party stuff.”

“Need someone to carry your bags?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Especially since you got that jaguar strength again.”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

--------

Early that Saturday morning, as the sun crested over the trees, Mira and Erik stood on the tarmac watching as the Royal Talon descended from the sky. Mira was almost shaking with excitement as the doors opened and T’Challa stepped out, followed by some of her favorite people in the whole world.

“Titi!”

SJ ran down the ramp past the king and flung himself into his auntie’s arms. She held him tight and rocked him from side to side as Stef and Ana approached, with Daveed teetering between the two of them.

She looked up at them and gasped, “Oh my god, he can walk now? How long have I been gone?”

“Girl, too long,” Havana complained as she wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Stefan was next to greet her, and his eyes stayed glued to Erik the whole time as he enveloped his sister in a bear hug, “We missed you, Sammy.”

“No, you miss my cooking,” she laughed as she crouched down to say hi to her littlest nephew.

“You remember Titi Mira?” Ana asked him, and he shook his head, hiding behind his dad’s leg.

“That’s ok, we can get to know each other while you’re here,” Mira smiled at him and stood back up.

“Who are you?” SJ asked when he finally noticed the man standing behind his aunt.

“SJ, this is your Uncle Erik. You might not remember him but-“

He thought about it for a moment before it dawned on him. “Do you still have all those bumps on you?”

Stefan tried to hold in his snickering, and Havana hit him in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Heh, thanks, lil man.”

“So, brother in law…It’s good to see you,” Stef deadpanned. He was clearly not feeling Erik anymore.

“You, too, man,” Erik went to dap him up, and he stared at his hand in contempt.

“Stefan, behave,” Havana said with a roll of her eyes. “Hi Erik, how are you?”

“Much better since I’ve been here.”

“Good, good…”

T’Challa had been standing to the side while the family reunited but decided to intervene when things got awkward.

“Stefan, Havana, let us show you to your quarters.”

“Oooh, our ‘quarters,’” Ana sang excitedly. “Sounds so fancy.”

“It’s a palace, Ana. Of course it’s fancy,” Stef grumbled.

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t act out in front of company.”

Mira chuckled. She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing their playful bickering.

As they made their way through the place, Stef and Ana stared slack-jawed at their surroundings while SJ ran ahead of the group.

“You live here?” Ana asked.

“Mhm. It’s gorgeous, right?!” Mira bragged.

“That’s not even the word…”

T’Challa smirked as he listened to them compliment his home.

“So, where’s the birthday girl?” Stefan asked.

“She is with my mother and Ororo.”

“Ororo?” Stef stopped in his tracks. “Munroe?!”

“The one and only,” T’Challa grinned proudly.

“Holy shit…”

“Language,” Havana chided her husband as she covered SJ’s ears.

“What is it with these men and cursing around children?” Mira shook her head at her brother.

“Girl, I don’t know, but let’s get back to Storm. How’d y’all meet?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Erik nodded towards his cousin.

“Dang, how’d you get her? I mean, I know you’re a king and all, but- Wait, are you a mutant, too?” Stef asked.

T’Challa and Mira made eye contact, and she nodded for him to continue. They were family and would most likely be seeing a lot of Wakanda, so they’d find out eventually.

“I am enhanced, yes.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” SJ chimed in excitedly from a few feet ahead.

“He wishes,” T’Challa complained under his breath as they stopped in front of the door across from Erik and Mira. Both of them chuckled at the king’s arrogance.

“So...you’re enhanced. Why, though?” Stef asked.

They entered the suite, and the interrogation was cut short when the Greenwoods saw how beautiful their temporary home was.

“Holy shit…” Ana mused as she covered SJ’s ears.

Mira gave them a quick tour while T’Challa and Erik hung back in the living area.

“So, you and Stefan-”

“He never liked me, and I made things worse by disappearing,” he shrugged.

T’Challa nodded as he changed into his suit.

“Oh, so you’re coming all the way out?”

“They will find out eventually, so I might as well get it over with.”

Erik nodded as Mira rounded the corner and saw T’Challa in his suit. She smirked and called SJ. He ran back into the room and froze when he saw Black Panther standing there next to his uncle. Ana was next to round the corner and looked at her son questioningly before she looked up and saw what he was staring at with his mouth open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said with a hand on her hip.

“About what?” Stef came next, and T’Challa’s mask disappeared into his necklace. “This place is insane.”

SJ couldn’t move. He was looking at his favorite hero in the entire world, right there in the place he’d call home for the next week. His mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing, and he couldn’t process his emotions. Tears started flowing down his face, and a sob wracked his body.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, baby,” Ana crouched down and wiped his tears as Stef came over with Daveed on his hip.

“You’re not excited to see Black Panther?” He asked his eldest son.

SJ shook his head, and T’Challa deflated. Erik kept his snickering to himself, but Mira shot him a look anyway.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“He’s just in shock. It’ll wear off eventually,” Ana said as she brushed SJ’s locs out of his face.

————

It took way longer to wear off than they thought, and by the time they arrived at the party venue in the palace’s botanical gardens that afternoon, he still hadn’t said a word. T’Challa tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he shied away behind Mira or his parents. Eventually, Erik convinced him to give the kid some space and pulled the dejected king away to the other side of the garden. While the other kids and their parents arrived, SJ kept looking at T’Challa out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, he doesn’t bite...or scratch,” Mira leaned in and said to her nephew as she sat down next to him at the kid’s table. “In fact, he’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

“Does Imani know?” he spoke up for the first time in hours, and Mira was happy to hear his voice again.

“Oh, yeah. He told us when we got here, but it’s a secret so she pinky promised not to tell. You know, I screamed when I saw him.”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. He really needs to learn how to ease people into it, huh?” she asked as she poked at his side, making him giggle. Stef and Ana watched from a few yards away and smiled with him while they kept a watchful eye on Daveed as he waddled around the flowers.

SJ nodded in response, and Mira kissed his temple before getting up and leaving him to ponder her words. Right when he had worked up the courage to speak to his hero, Erik announced that Imani was on her way with Ororo and Ramonda.

“I can’t wait to see my baby girl!” Ana squealed.

Mira excitedly grabbed Erik’s hand, and he kissed her knuckles, making Stef narrow his eyes as he and his family hid behind a mango tree.

Imani appeared with her auntie and future cousin, and T’Challa recorded as she squealed excitedly at seeing everybody. A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, Ade, and all her other friends from school greeted her with a loud “Happy birthday!” The newly five-year-old’s tunnel vision made her almost ignore her parents and other adults completely until Erik picked her up and gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Cupcake!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Mira sang.

“What is it?” Imani asked excitedly.

Erik set her down and turned her around as Mira motioned for her family to reveal themselves. SJ ran out from behind the tree and nearly tackled his cousin to the ground while her aunt, uncle, and baby cousin took a calmer approach.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Stef exclaimed while his eldest son continued to squeeze her tight. SJ let her go, and she ran into her uncle’s arms. Ana crouched down next to him, and Imani threw her arms around her neck.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ana said as she fought tears.

“I missed you too. Wakanda is so cool! I can’t wait to show you everything,” Imani babbled.

“Did you know about Black Panther?” SJ asked, still a little nervous about meeting his hero.

Imani nodded, “I promised to keep it a secret, or I would’ve told you. It’s so cool, right?”

SJ nodded, and Imani dragged him off to meet her friends.

Erik couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as he watched his little social butterfly play with her friends and cousin. It wasn’t until Mira came up and nudged him that he even realized he was staring.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Just reliving some things.”

Mira looked at him curiously and he continued, “One of the few good memories I have from childhood that we talked about in therapy was my seventh birthday party. This kind of reminds me of that.”

Mira smiled as they stood there and watched Shuri, Ororo, and T’Challa play with the kids. The king regaled them with stories of his adventures, and Shuri let them ride on very slow hoverbikes while Ororo harnessed the wind to lift them up and let them fly a couple of feet off of the ground. The kids were having a ball, and their parents seemed to enjoy themselves as well. Okoye, M’Baku, and a couple other people gravitated towards each other and fell into conversation about being single parents. However, the rest of them spent most of their time ogling the royal family.

Eventually, it was time to eat and the parents were able to corral the kids into sitting down at the table. After stuffing their faces with an array of Imani’s favorite foods, Mira led the “happy birthday” song as she and Ayo carried out a huge Doc McStuffins birthday cake. Imani and SJ were the only kids who knew who she was, but everyone enjoyed the cake nonetheless. Erik couldn’t help the tear that almost came to his eye as he listened to his wife sing to their daughter, just like his mother had done to him. Loudly and slightly off key. Next, Shuri led the group in a Wakandan birthday song, and Imani blew out the huge number five candle in the center of the cake.

Mira kept stealing glances at Erik as he sliced it up and handed out pieces to everyone. He looked so happy. Even when one of the kids tripped and got icing all over his pants leg, he just kept on smiling.

Even Stef noticed the change in his brother-in-law’s demeanor and brought it up to Ana, “He smiles too much now. It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that he’s happy?”

“No, it’s just weird to see. He used to be so…”

“Surly and unapproachable.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Maybe you should get to know him?”

“Hmph,” he grunted in response. Ana decided to leave it alone for the time being and left his side to go talk to Erik.

“You think you can handle the sleepover?” she asked him.

“Thank Bast it’s not all of them.”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no, just her little crew,” he pointed to A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, and Ade. “I’m not taking care of all these kids.”

Ana laughed, “Understood.”

“So...your husband still doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” Ana deadpanned.

“Nah, I’d be the same way in his shoes.”

“He’ll come around eventually...maybe,” she said as she placed a comforting hand on his arm before being pulled away by her son to watch the Black Panther and Storm show off their powers some more. SJ still couldn’t bring himself to speak to T’Challa, but it was a start.

As the party wound down and most of Imani’s classmates went home, the few that stuck around relocated inside to the Stevens’ suite in the palace. Even with a handful of screaming children in his home, Erik was on cloud nine. He loved to see a smile on his Cupcake’s face, and he wondered if he looked that happy when he was a kid. He concluded he probably did, and as the kids watched an animated movie, he and Mira curled up on the couch behind them. While the rugrats were distracted, he pulled her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she smiled.

“I’ve just been thinking…”

“About what?”

“About making more good memories, you know? Some of the happiest times in my life were times just like this…and time spent with you.”

Mira looked down with a smile on her face and he brought it back up to look in her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

Her eyebrows damn near reached her hairline and a Grinch-like smile crept up her face as she nodded.

“I’d love to.” Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger x oc #black!oc #all for us

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numptypylon · 3 years

Text

Epilogue

I added a short epilogue to Reunion and Intersection today, but I also wrote a much longer one, full of fluffy comfort, to get through the angst-writing in the first two chapters. It’s unedited, unfinished and ridiculously self-indulgent, and I don’t think it really goes with the story, so I elected to not post it, but I’m attaching it here, under the cut, for those interested. Keep in mind it’s a reject for a reason though; this is what my writing looks like in the explorative phase where I’m looking for the point, and in this case I didn’t really find it XD

~2K under the readmore

Callum got there early. A lot of people eyed him warily, but a letter from Queen Janai was a good smoother-of-grumpy-elf-tempers.

No-one had seen Rayla, so… she was probably not here yet.

He went to the inn, bought a large room, lit a roaring fire in there, activating the Sunfire rock he used to keep warm at night under the covers of the bed, and calling for the tub to be filled. It had the usual Skywing heating arrangement, only needing a good Fulminis to heat the water.

He resisted flying out to find her. He risked missing her again, and her leaving town before he got back.

It was about… hitting the point of intersection.

So, he waited at the city gates. He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he expected, considering the distance she would have had to traverse. Maybe she had recovered and had travelled faster than he thought.

It was definitely her though. A small, lone figure on the mountainside.

He intended to wait for her until she got to him, but then she stopped to lean against a tree and he realized that she had not recovered and was up there sick in the snow… and that resolve evaporated like it had never been.

Like he would ever let her struggle alone a moment longer than she needed to.

It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t notice him until he was basically right in front of her, and even then, her reaction was so much slower than usual.

It still… it was hard to believe it was real. For her too, surely more so.

He numbly pulled his scarf off, packing it around her neck and head. He grazed her cheek and felt it and she felt it and… she felt it, because the tears that had built up in her eyes spilled over at his touch, slipping down her dirty and flushed cheeks.

She looked ready to drop, and felt it too, when he put his arms around her and her disbelief gave way to relief. Whatever ridiculous level of stubbornness had kept her upright for the last day and night of walking through snow and up mountains when she should have been in bed… fell away and she slumped almost completely in his arms.

She sobbed hoarsely for a bit, and he let her.

And she let him, when his hand cupped the back of her head and her hair tickled his fingers and it hit him too that… it was really real, she was here.

They needed to… get to the inn though, so he pulled away and wiped his face. They could… and probably would… have a longer cry and a longer hug later. But she was sick and cold and there was a roaring fire and a filled bathtub two minutes of flight away.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I knew you were coming this way and that you were sick. And I booked a room for… you.” For them both, he hoped, but-

“What?” she blubbered. “But… aren’t… aren’t you mad?”

“I mean, of course I am, but… that’s not really… that can wait.”

“I’m…” she laughed weakly, more tears spilling over. “I’m so happy to see you and there’s… so many things I would like to say and… and I’m such a mess right now and so tired and I’m just… I’m so tired I cried earlier just because a stupid pine branch hit me in the face and knocked me off my sled and it continued down the mountain without me and I’d have to walk instead and-“

“Hey, hey!” He stroked down her flushed, wet cheeks, along fresh scratches where presumably that branch had hit her. Sledding, huh… she always was extremely resourceful and oh so daring. And that explained how she got here so fast. “Rayla, it’s okay. You can rest first. I’ll take care of things… of you. For as long as you want me to, but… definitely for the next few days.”

“How c-can you… are you… here-”

He leant his head against her forehead, relishing in the feeling of contact, even if her skin was clammy and too-hot. “That’s… complicated,” he said. “And also simple. You called me here. I came.”

“Manis. Pluma. Volantis.”

She staggered, when they set down, steadying herself on his shoulder, and Callum was glad he had elected to land in front of the inn instead of at the city gates.

She definitely wasn’t well yet, her breath rasping in her throat, her forehead beading with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed. The fever had maybe broken, but it hadn’t quite left. And she was exhausted, trembling with the effort of staying upright, her eyes dull and glassy.

People were staring, when they went inside, but the innkeeper came over and recommended the soup of the day, and their house-made herbal tea blend with Sky Yak milk, and assured them it would be brought to their room shortly, with a look of very obvious sympathy at Rayla.

And then the door shut behind them.

“I owe-” she started, but he cut her right off.

“No. You’re owed,” he said tightly.

“Owed what?” She sounded… nervous.

“Soup. Hot tea. A warm bed and a fire someone else made. General fussing. Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. A damn break, for once.”

“L-love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Her clumsy fingers fumbled at the clasps of her armor. They were still ice cold when he touched them, the skin red and no-doubt sore.

But she for once didn’t resist any help he gave, sinking gratefully into the tub he had prepared. A warm bath was possibly not great for her fever, but… it was pros and cons and he needed to warm up her hands and feet.

She was barely conscious when he helped her back out of the tub, so he just put her down on a towel on the bed, drying her hair as best he could. He at least managed to get her awake to pull off her own wet underwear and pull his clean night shirt over her head.

“Callum?” she asked, because… she wanted things, and she could have them. “Stay with me? Please.”

He pressed against her back, warm and real.

His hands engulfed hers, big and soft and familiar.

Full of real little details that her brain hadn’t accurately recreated.

The callus at the side of his right index finger, from his charcoal pencil. The scar from a clumsy sparring accident at the second knuckle.

His voice when he said her name and when he told her it was okay.

His kinda… snuffling non-snoring sleep-sound.

And new things, that she hadn’t known to add.

His arms, still skinny, but stronger than they had been.

His too-long hair flopping over his ears.

And things she had yet to find out.

“Morning-“ she muttered, as she woke, feeling warm. And her throat felt a lot better, too and most of that sticky, gross fever feeling was gone, although there was still some sluggish daze, everything just a bit vaguer and floatier than it should have been.

“Afternoon,” Callum corrected lightly, but there was something not so light underneath. “You slept for… 14 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I bet… you were worried.” That was a long time to worry and not wake her to assuage it but just sit in it, watching her sleep.

She reached out to stroke his furrowed brow. Her hands were bandaged though, so she couldn’t touch him properly. She didn’t remember, but did recall something about Callum saying he had called a doctor, and then she must have conked out pretty hard and slept through it.

She clenched and released her hands experimentally. Seemed alright except for being stiff and sore?

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, staring down at the thick bandages.

“Except for the illness that nearly killed you because you’re such a massive dummy? Lots of things.” He took her hands, starting to unwind the bandages. “For your hands, hopefully only frostnip. I’m supposed to check that, when you woke, take you back to the doctor if there’s signs of deeper frostbite.”

There was some thick ointment, probably the reason for the bandages. Her hands looked reddened, the fingers a bit swollen, but… not so bad. Nothing was white or black or blistered, so really, nothing to worry about, where frostbite was concerned.

Callum wasn’t satisfied with a visual inspection though, cupping her hands in his, methodically checking she could feel all her fingers and make a full fist.

“I think it’s okay,” he said, breathing out, relieved. He did tend to catastrophize- “No… no risk of amputation this time-” His fingers slid across her left wrist, the faint whitened scars from where the binding had dug into her skin and where the sunforge blade had burnt her.

“It’s definitely okay,” she said. “Barely hurts.” She cupped his face, feeling his skin just fine against her fingertips. “It’s not like back then, okay?”

“How do you feel today?”

“Better. Way better. I’m ready to go, if-”

“What?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You didn’t hear what the doctor said. But I did, she got here while you were sleeping. And absolutely not.”

“What-“ Was it not just a regular bug?

He breathed, slowly and deliberately. “You’re okay, it’s a regular winter infection going around. But you did a number on your own immune system with the hypothermia and mountain climbing and… she said you were undernourished, dehydrated, stressed and critically exhausted. And that you would do well to take a week or more to fully recover, during which you should eat and rest plenty, stay warm and keep stress down. Does that sound like your regular travel, to you?”

Well… not so much.

“So, I’ll ask again, how do you feel today?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “My hands are stiff and achy. My throat hurts. My legs are wobbly. My head feels full of snot.” She smiled, despite all that. “My heart is happy to see you. It’s okay if you’re- I know… that it’s complicated.”

“It is. We have… some things to talk about. Promise you won’t leave until we do?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Then, I think we should put the complicated things away for a few days. Until you’re better and it doesn’t hurt your throat to talk. Because… we have a lot of talking to do.”

“You don’t… need to stay. For those few days. If it’s hurting you to-”

He sighed heavily. “It does.” Yeah, he couldn’t say that it didn’t. Being around her with so much… unresolved. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t… want to have those long and hard conversations right now either, when she was still tired and fevered and liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. “But it would hurt me more to leave. Didn’t it hurt you? To leave?”

“Yeah.” So, so much.

He reached out to pack his scarf around her throat more closely, the soft, warm knit a soothing feeling against the raw ache.

“Lie down, okay? Be sick? I’ll read you a story. It has murder and dismemberment in it, I asked the innkeeper specifically.”

#rayllum #rayla #callum #tdp #the dragon prince #numpty fic tag #reunion and intersection

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

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young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.”

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad.

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind.

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough.

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case.

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case.

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um��”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’”

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low.

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison.

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach.

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute.

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere.

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale.

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny.

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced.

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had.

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.”

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too.

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar.

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you.

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat.

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho.

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.”

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare.

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again.

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.”

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth.

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room.

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm.

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime.

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—”

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you.

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged.

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.”

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain.

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen.

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking.

You really are a psychopath.

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it —

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy.

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time.

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him.

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day.

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar.

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?”

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago—

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life.

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.”

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson.

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped.

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up.

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’ Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy.

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom.

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen.

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain—

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—”

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy—

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw.

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him.

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him.

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest.

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips.

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells — you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver.

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile.

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering.

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him.

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

947 notes · View notes

heynikkiyousofine · 2 years

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Final Chapter + Epilogue! ~ao3~

Thank you so much guys for reading this fic, I've really enjoyed writing it. InuKag Soulmate Stories will always be my favorite. Super shoutout to @enchantedink-ag for always keeping up with this story. Now, get ready for a new upcoming fic at the end of November! Much Love!

Trigger Warning! Mentions of kidnapping and assault.

Chapter 19

“Sess, how much farther is this place?” Inuyasha yelled after his brother as they ran through a thick foliage of trees.

“Not much.” He murmured.

“Inuyasha, you must not kill him. I know you’re angry, we all are, but we must be the one to do it. The emotional bond will be too much for Kagome to handle, especially in the state she is in now.” Toga’s voice came from his left as he jumped from a tree branch, snagging his red tee on a sharp branch. He was sure his ponytail had leaves in it as well, but he didn’t care.He just wanted to get to Kagome.

“Yeah, I got that, let’s just get there.” He growled, pushing himself to go faster. Kagome, hang on.

Inuyasha almost slammed into his brother as he suddenly stopped, looking around before stepping out behind some building, facing the old part of the city. It was rundown, some of the small shops and restaurants having been abandoned for a while. He didn’t see a single soul and sniffing quickly, trying to get a scent on Kagome, he realized no one had been here for a little while too.

“Which way?” He snapped, his anger growing once more, clenching his fists, trying to calm his breathing better. His inner demon was raging to come out again and kill everyone on sight to get to his soulmate.

“Half a mile north, an abandoned warehouse. We need a plan first.” Toga said as he clamped his hand on Inuyasha’s shoulder, keep a firm grip so he couldn’t just run off.

“I agree. We can’t just run in there, he could kill her.” Sesshomaru nodded, his voice unwavering.

“Every second we stand here, he could have killed her. We are demons for fuck’s sake, let’s just snap his neck, grab Kagome and burn the place down.” Inuyasha grumbled, desperately trying to leave his father’s grip.

“You know why we- actually, that’s a brilliant idea!” Toga smiled and Inuyasha wasn’t so sure he liked the look in his father’s eyes. “Let’s go, I’ve got an plan.”

The three of the began to head north towards the warehouse, coming up along a rotting side. Inuaysha peeked inside, wrinkling his nose at the mildly fragrance, but couldn’t see blackness. He turned to see the two men staring at him, a questioning look in his father’s eyes. He shook his head no and they kept walking along. As they rounded a corner, Inuyasha noticed a window, but when he tried to look inside or open it, it was blocked by some fabric and nailed down tightly.

Grumbling to himself, he caught a whiff of blood. His eyes flashed red and he felt Sesshomaru grab his arm, keeping him still. After what seemed like an eternity to him, his demon calmed a bit, making note of the all scents around. He nodded, giving his family an okay, as Toga neared the next corner, looking before turning back towards them.

“There’s a camera pointed to this corner, one facing the the door as well. Let’s try the roof.” He whispered. Bracing himself, Inuaysha leaped and landed on the metal roof with a soft thud, wincing as the others joined him. They stood silently for a minute, frozen, listening, waiting to see if Naraku had heard them.

Looking around, he could see treetops, more metal roofs, a junk yard and the city skyscrapers in the distance. Gesturing to a small door he noticed across the roof, Toga walked as softly as he could, with Sesshomaru and him following behind. He was getting anxious. He couldn’t smell Kagome, only blood and dirt. He couldn’t hear anything either. He couldn’t feel her either, like her emotions had once again been cut off. Those bastards really knew what they were doing, he thought, his growling growing louder. His father shushed him as they carefully stepped through the door into blackness below.

Kagome looked through blurry vision around her, her neck screaming at her in pain. Naraku was still being kind and caring to her, asking questions, being incredibly doting, making her squirm with uneasiness in the bed she currently laid upon. A wool blanket covered the mattress underneath her, while the box spring squeaked a s she shifted. There were ropes hanging from the metal bed frame and she briefly wondered why he hadn’t tied her up yet. Looking his way, she saw he was busy rummaging through a drawer in an older desk across the small room. Quickly assessing her damages once more, she began to figure out a plan of escape. As soon as an idea began to form in her head, Naraku turned around, lust gleaming in his red eyes.

He slowly walked towards her, a smile forming on his lips and Kagome struggled to sit up. She had a really bad feeling about this. She managed to get to her elbows, her upper body sitting up as he sat on the bed, his weight pulling her aching bottom half towards him.

“Kagome, there is no need to struggle. There will be bliss and happiness from here on out.” He attended to soothe her, rubbing her thigh softly, and she shuddered, frozen in her spot. As he continued to stroke her, her emotions and thoughts slowly began to disappear, leaving her feeling hollow inside.

“What are you going to do to me?” She whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she began to finally understand the situation.

“It’s a surprise, but I’m sure you will enjoy it.” He smiled wider, leaning forward so his chest almost touched hers. Oh kami, I’ve got to get out of here. He moved his body closer, bringing his lips to her ear and began to suck, and her stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat. At first, Kagome continued to stay frozen, afraid that he would shoot her. Doing her best to calm her nerves as he continued to suckle, she used the last of the strength, pushing him off with her arms.

“Now now, we wouldn’t want to hurt ourselves anymore Kagome.” He gripped her arms tightly, his nails puncturing her skin. Little drops of blood dropped to the blanket and realized it was now or never.

“Get away from me!” She screamed, trying to push herself farther away from him and her back hitting the metal frame. He laughed at her, his eyes blazing.Then, he dropped his smile, his emotions flipping like a switch and snarled, the sound making kagome still in her spot. Shit.

“You’re never leaving this bed, you’re mine until I’m done with you. Tell me Kagome, have you said your prayers? Because death is closer than you think.” As he finished speaking his last words, he crawled on the bed, grabbing her broken ankle and yanked her up, closer to his body. She thrashed her body, trying to throw him off as he settled his weight on top of her, ripping the dirtied shirt apart, exposing her bra-clad chest. He used his left to hold her hands together, and his right finger to put pressure on the open cut on her collar bone, causing her to scream louder.

He reached for the ropes attached to the bed frame and secured her hands above her head. Kagome kept trying to throw him off, pushing up with her uninjured leg, but she could feel her strength leaving her body quickly, emptiness taking over. He wasn’t amused with her constant moving and swiftly slapped her, shutting her up quickly. Staring at him with wide gray eyes and felt him run his hand over her breasts, moving to cover her mouth. She watched with his hands over her lips as he grinned and snapped her left wrist, still tied in the ropes above her head.

She closed her eyes and screamed, the sound muffled in his palm and she felt like her entire body was on fire, the pain puling on every muscle. Gathering herself as best as she could, she tried to focus on keeping him from taking her the way he planned, ignore the throbbing pain radiating all over her body. Keep it together Kagome. Don’t let him win.

“Feeling better are we?” He smiled, removing his hands from her body and bending forward, so his nose was near her neck. Leaning on his hands, he kissed, sucked and licked her neck, Kagome shuddering in disgust. He lifted his head and smiled at her, his crazed red eyes baring straight into her soul. She shuddered, feeling exposed and swallowed as his hands began to move lower on her body.

“Just remember to scream my name.” He murmured and she screamed, repeating no over and over again. Bringing her knee up, trying to take out his genitals, he growled, before pinning her legs down with his, leaning forward so she couldn’t move. Tears flowed down her cheeks, wetting the blanket as he pressed his knee in her bloodied thigh. When she looked at his face, she paled. Gone was a crazed, lustful man and now an dangerously furious one glared down at her.

“You little bitch. No one’s coming for you.” He raged and wrapped his hands around her neck, squeezing tightly. She tried to keep air flowing in, taking gasping breaths, but he crushed harder, black spots sporting her vision. This is it. Inuyasha, I love you. A loud crash came from the doorway and suddenly she could breath once more.

“Look, there’s his body. Which way did Naraku take her from the chair?” Toga whispered. Sesshomaru braced himself to fight and Inuyasha snarling as Kagome’s scent and fresh blood, came from the direction her pointed in. What he thought was a muffled scream came from his left and his ear flickered, straining to listen.

“Do you hear that?” He whispered, moving away from Bankotsu’s lifeless body to get a better listen.

“I don’t hear a thing son.” Toga answered, stepping around the large puddle of blood and towards his son. Inuyasha could hear a man’s voice, muffled by the walls.

“Shhh, I hear talking.” As the last word left his mouth, a loud scream filled the room, a chorus of no’s bouncing off the walls. “Kagome!”

He caught his brother’s gaze, nodded and together they leapt towards the door at the far back wall. Ripping the door from its hinges, he tossed the battered wood aside and pushed through. He could hear struggling, Naraku’s voice and louder and coming from the other end of the hallway they stood in. He didn’t have time to waste and ran forward, crashing through the last door, into the small room. When he saw Naraku’s hands around Kagome’s neck, straddling her on the small bed, he snapped, his vision going red. He lunged forward, grabbed the back of Naraku’s neck, yanking him off her. Throwing him across the room, Inuaysha snarled loudly, his fangs puncturing his lip as he watched Naraku crashed into the wall, landing atop the small desk littered with junk.

He felt invincible, his vision sharpened and senses at an all time. His demon merged with him and while the room was tinted with red, he knew he was still in control of his demon. He stepped forward, ready to snap the bastard’s neck, when his father appeared in front of him. Putting his hands on Inuyasha’s shoulders, he stopped him from killing Naraku.

“Son, go take care of Kagome, she needs you.” Toga calmly spoke, watching him warily. As soon as Kagome’s name was spoken, his golden eyes began to reappear and he whirled around to the bed, already untying the ropes her hands hung from.

“Baby, I got you.” He repeated as she coughed and cried, her body limp in his arms.

“Inuyasha.” Her raspy voice called for him, the worked spinning around her.

“Inuaysha.” She called out, trying to blink the spots from her vision and gasping for air into her lungs. She was tired, oh so tired. Looking to her right, she watched just as Sesshomaru stepped towards the broken desk and picked up an unconscious Naraku’s napping his neck before tossing him to the floor . She winced, never being one to like death, even when it’s deserved. Toga stepped into her eyesight, blocking Naraku’s lifeless body from her line of sight. She blinked once more, trying to clear the tears from her eyes and turning to look ahead at her soul mate.

“You came for me.”

“I will always come for you. I’m so sorry it took me so long.” He cried, tears falling down he cheeks.

“Inuyasha, I love you, my answer is yes.” She smiled softly for him. He laughed, shaking his head at her. As her smile faded, she feel like the entire room was fading away, sounds dulling around her.

“Kagome?” Inuyasha yelled, though it was muffled in her ears. “Dad, we’ve gotta get her to a hospital, now.” She felt more tears running down her cheeks and Inuyasha’s nose nuzzling her softly, whispering her name over and over as blackness took over. Inuyasha.

Chapter 20 Epilogue

Kagome did her best to get out of her cushioned seat, to stand with the others as they cheered for her husband, but found it very difficult to do so with a large belly protruding from her abdomen. Sighing to herself as she failed once more, she sank back into the cushions, smiling at the scene around her, rubbing her belly slightly. She could see Inuyasha on the giant flat screen in his parents living room swing his fist once more, effectively putting Koga on the ground. Yelling for her husband, she cheered as her father in law whooped beside her in his large reclining chair. Laughing at him, she felt her mother reach for her had and squeeze it gently, smiling at her.

“I’m fine mom, I promise. Toga is making me laugh.”

“That’s the goal.” He guffawed, making everyone laugh.

“Okay honey, lunch is almost ready. Izayoi is finishing it up now.” She glanced at the screen, “How many more rounds does he have to win?”

“That’s the second. He needs to win three, to win the championship, which I’m sure he will.” Kagome smiled proudly. Izayoi and Kagura walked into the room, carrying trays of sandwiches and fruit, while the girls came running through the backyard door.

“Girls, no running in the house.” Sango called from behind Kagome, holding a snuggly Hisui.

“Yes mommy.” “Yes, Mrs. Sango.” The twins and Rin called, before settling on the floor next to Souta. Gramps was currently snoring in a far away chair, near an annoyed Sesshomaru. She giggled, wondering how her grandpa could sleep through all this noise. Catching Sesshomaru’s gaze, she smiled for him softly and he nodded, turning back towards the television.

“How have your visits been with Dr. Jineji this week?” Sango asked softly. Thankful for being quiet, Kagome turned to comfortable and leaned in.

“Things have been okay, getting better. He thinks I should picking up gardening or something. Something outside, to help with my anxiety. He says the exercise helps with my pregnancy too.”

“Are you still having nightmares?”

“Not as bad, since I get so hungry late at night, I never really get in a deep sleep. I know that doesn’t help the situation, but it’s been nice not waking up in cold sweats.” Sango nodded as she continued. “Inuyasha is doing better too. I only have one more week of physical therapy, but he thinks I should continue it until the baby is born.”

“It does help with exercise.” She murmured.

Everyone continued to watch the last round as the match closed, but soon the entire room was standing and cheering as the referee held up Inuyasha’s gloved fist, announcing him as the winner. Kagome laughed, hugging her mother tightly, while Souta jumped up and down cheering. She pulled away suddenly, feeling a bit weird in her stomach. A frown filtered across her face and she felt the pressure on her right side once more, bringing her hand to cover the spot. Rubbing the spot softly, she didn’t notice her sister in law staring.

“Kagome?” Kagura kneeled in front of her, concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think,” she started, as the adults quieted, waiting for an answer, “I think Moroha just kicked!” She laughed, tears pricking her eyes. Everyone joined her, rubbing her tummy, laughing along, including Sesshomaru, who chuckled softly in his corner.

“Well, it seems sis, she’s happy her daddy won.” Kagura giggled, reaching her hand out. “Can I feel?” Kagome quickly nodded, gesturing for Sango and Izayoi to come closer to feel too.

“Guys! Inuyasha’s gonna speak!” Souta yelled, gesturing at the screen. A reporter in a navy suit held his mike towards Inuyasha’s grin, while Miroku stood on his other side, towel and water bottle in hand.

“Inuyasha, now that you’ve won the championship two years in a row, how are you going to celebrate?” The shorter man asked, looking back at the camera.

“As most people know now, I’m married. My wife Kagome, who’s at home watching, is pregnant with our first child. So, I’m going to shower, go home and spend time with my soulmate, and who knows, maybe take a vacation on a beach somewhere.” Kagome instantly felt a wave of love wash over her and Moroha kick her softly once more. It was in this moment, she was incredibly thankful for the love in her heart and the flowers on her back.

taglist: @enchantedink-ag @sailorlolo@knittingknots@shardetector@shinidamachu @ai-pai @dukina@swaggingtomboy@disneysooner @bitch8901 @inusgirl @alannada@sunsetskys @mynameisnottyler @kawaiichan67 @liz8080@yukinon-writes@maru-chiba @mandirox89 @mcornilliac@dropsofthemoon @lavendertwilight89 @malditamigs @inukagger@kokomiapologist @hopidoodle @sailorbabydoll92 @dawnrider@mamabearcat @adorabubblesblog @malditamigs @coyfoxmama@hazelhalfpint @eriimoonsstuff @gottalottasocks

#love and flowers #LOVEANDFLOWERS #inuyasha #kagome #inuyasha x kagome #mirsan #inunotaisho x izayoi #sesskagu

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cinebration · 3 years

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Cuts & Bruises, Wounds & Abuses (Captain Syverson x Reader) [Part 12]

Your first day back at Warhorse.

Tagged: @scuzmunkie, @thethirstyarchive, @maan24, @igotkatiepowers, @sugarpenchant, @lamthetwickster, @omgkatinka, @helloitsmeamie203, @simply-heaven, @l-u-n-a-m, @fckdeusername, @woterezwhet, @olkathechaoticfox, @bethabear12, @bloodyinspiredfuck, @flor-la-ganga95, @nothingright, @tapismyforte, @thebonzifonzibrothers, @peakymidwinter, @fanfictionaddiction99, @thereisa8ella, @kmuir1, @bichibibi, @love-yourself-first-tfw, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @lou-la-lou, @kat002nd, @babypink224221, @speakerforthedead0, @rn7rocks, @sofiebstar, @wheretheriversrunintothesea, @thatchickwiththecamera, @louiiissa, @october505, @turkish276, @heartfelt-pen, @mstgsmy, @kazzilla, @alyxkbrl, @suhke3, @summersong69, @untraveled-road, @wiccanmetallicrose, @crispysublimecupcake, @evangeline73aster, @eldarwen333, @calwitch, @contentobsessor, @noseyrosey1597

Warnings: mentions of death

Gif Source: demivampirew

The evening air the next night would have been refreshing if you hadn’t been desperately waiting for someone to pick up on the other end of the satphone line.

Your first day back among the men had been…okay. If not for the pity and sympathy from the soldiers, it would have been better. They all glanced at your arm when you spoke to them, reminding you of its presence like the pain itself wasn’t enough.

Mahmoud, at least, tried to brighten your day. “It is good you bought the scarf at the market,” he noted. “To replace your old one.”

“Yes,” you agreed, trying not to think about it.

“You cannot see the sheikh—he won’t allow it—but if you give me a list of questions, I can ask him.”

You glanced up at him in surprise. “You would do that?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I would be happy to.”

“Thank you, Mahmoud.”

The only person whom you didn’t see was the captain. That is, you saw him, but he seemed to be purposely avoiding you.

As the day progressed, his conspicuous absence wore down on your thoughts until you came to the conclusion he blamed you for Deakins’s death. The thought haunted you the rest of the day, curdling your guts, until you retrieved your satphone and went up to the roof just before nightfall.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice nearly broke you. Struggling to keep your voice level, you said, “Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetheart! It’s so good to hear from you. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Your mother paused. “Are you sure?”

Tears pushed insistently at your eyes. You tried blinking them away, but they spilled over. Chest constricting, you struggled to compose yourself.

“Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m not.” The words tore raggedly from your throat. “There was an attack—”

“Oh my God, are you okay!?”

You almost glanced down at your bandaged arm. “Yes,” you lied. “But one of the men didn’t make it.”

The memory flashed suddenly and sharply.

Deakins staggering toward you, flames curling his skin. Lit up against the backdrop of black smoke. Screaming. His? Yours?

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can still smell him, Mom. Burning.”

Thinking about it made your throat spasm. Choking back the gagging, you gripped the phone hard enough to hear the hard plastic pop beneath your fingertips.

“I keep thinking it’s all my fault,” you cried. “He wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t come here. He wouldn’t have been at the market with me. They wouldn’t have gotten attacked.”

Tremors wracked your frame. You curled in on yourself, fighting the urge to clench your burned hand into a fist. Tears poured down your face, quiet sobs tearing out of you.

“You can’t think like that.”

“I know,” you moaned. “But it’s all I can think about.”

“Come home, sweetheart.”

You glanced up at the dark sky overhead, biting your tongue. Of course she would say that. Everyone was saying that.

“I can’t,” you answered, your voice strained but level. “I’m not done.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I just needed to hear the sound of your voice, Mom. Thank you.”

Your mother sighed quietly. “Do what you have to do, sweetheart. I’m praying for you.”

“Love you too.”

You hung up and let the phone fall to your side. The cool wind whipped at your face, making the tears on your cheek sting.

Talking to your mother hadn’t helped.

Clenching your right hand, you pressed the fist against your forehead, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. Choking on the renewed sobs, you clenched your body tight, trying to fight it all.

A cold nose touched your injured hand.

Sharp pain flared up your arm. Crying out, you jerked back.

A German Shepherd looked up at you with soft, expressive eyes. A low whine issued from her throat, her nose nudging your other hand.

Wiping the tears from your face, you gently scratched about the dog’s ears. “Hi, girl.”

The dog pushed her head into your touch, tail wagging in excitement. You brushed your hand down her scruff and back, reached a good spot on her rump.

She flopped over at your feet, exposing her belly to you. A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips despite yourself.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Aika.”

Jumping, you jerked your head in Syverson’s direction. He stood in the doorway leading to the stairwell, his face hidden in shadows.

“You’re like a ghost,” you heard yourself say, trying to shake off the scare.

“You don’t pay attention.”

You nodded slowly, tearing your gaze away from him. “Yeah, always my fault.”

“That—that’s not what I meant.”

You shrugged and stared down at Aika. The dog waited patiently for more belly rubs. You obliged, though with less enthusiasm than before.

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

“I was making a call.”

“Nightfall is snipers’ time.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

The dog scrambled to her paws as you stood, pushing her head under your hand. You headed to the door, waited for Syverson to move aside.

He didn’t.

Frowning, you stared up into his face. “What?”

“I’m…not your enemy.”

Your frown deepened. “It’s okay if you are. One more won’t kill me.”

You immediately wanted to take the words back. They felt like a curse, given power now that they had been said aloud.

#Captain Syverson x Reader #Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Sand Castle (2017)#Netflix Sand Castle

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 19

AN: Only the epilogue to go from here... I hope you guys enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing this.

previous chapter - masterlist - ao3

Rowan had never seen Aedion so hurt.

Pissed off? Sure.

In their first year of college they had fought like the testosterone-fuelled, hot-blooded, young men that they had been. Rowan still remembered the black eye Aedion had given him during one particularly awful fight in their junior year. The bruise had hung around for far longer than the bad blood between him and Aedion and by now Rowan couldn’t recall what the reason for their fight had been, the punches had been thrown and that had been it.

As they had grown older and their friendship had matured they didn’t often fight. They knew each other well enough at this point that any fights ended before they had even begun, any points of view that would provoke the other were reworded before they could launch. Any snipes or taunts were let go before they had a chance to land.

But this–the fight they had had back at the loft they shared with the others. Aedion was hurt. And Rowan had no defence.

He hadn’t been keeping the job a secret on purpose, he hadn’t wanted to bring it up when he applied. He could admit to himself that a part of it had been out of fear of the shame that would follow a rejection. As it kept going however–an interview, a second interview, and then the offer–it had snowballed and there had never seemed the right moment to bring it up.

Truthfully, he had thought it had been a longshot. The position in the law firm in Doranelle had seemed unattainable even with his degree, but seeing Aelin with the doctor had stirred something within him and he had sent off the application. He hadn’t expected to hear back from them and had busied himself with the bar since but now it seemed uncomfortably real.

Since applying he and Aelin had moved further than he had ever been able to hope for, he came home to her every night in his bed, he kissed her before she left in the mornings, he took her for dinner and was allowed the luxury of peeling her clothes off after they arrived back home.

It was why Aelin had been the one person he had wanted to talk to about the job. Aelin was who he wanted to talk to about the busker he had seen on his way to work in the morning, Aelin was who he wanted to call when Lorcan was chewing his ear off, Aelin was who he wanted to turn to when he was lost.

And he was.

But he had still held back, and now it had come around to bite him.

The job offer had been lingering around the back of his mind for the days since the firm had called, and they needed an answer by the end of the week. He had wanted to discuss his options with Aelin beforehand but had never found the perfect opportunity.

He had tried to bring it up the day before but she had been late for a yoga class with Lysandra and had only had time to peck his lips as she had rushed out of their front door. He had tried to bring it up the day he had received the offer but Aelin had looked so pretty with her golden hair spread out across his pillow, only wearing his faded t-shirt with a brilliant smile on her beautiful face that he hadn’t wanted to risk scaring it away.

He hadn’t meant for Aedion to find out. At least not before he had spoken to Aelin, but Aedion had caught the email notification that popped up on his screen before Rowan could clear it away, desperately hoping his friend was paying no attention.

Aedion had demanded to know what the email had meant, even though they had both known it was more than clear. The words Aedion had hurled at him, Rowan knew, had been out of hurt and he had done his best to shake them off.

He had been a coward, yet again, and he had all but ran from the loft, leaving Aedion clenching his fists in their living room, only to find himself face to face with Aelin. Her smile had been so open at the sight of him that his heart had clenched in his chest. He needed to talk to her–and he would–as soon as his shift was over.

The clock on the side of the bar seemed to be taunting him, moving impossibly slowly, he swore at one point the time had even jumped back a minute between him checking the hands on its bare face.

He nodded at the older male he had just served before walking away, wandering over to the other end of the bar. He was stacking glasses on the shelf when a voice sounded from behind him.

“Rowan.” It was Malakai.

Rowan hadn’t thought the night could spare any more confrontations but this was one he knew he couldn’t avoid, he couldn’t save this one for later.

“Malakai,” was all he said as he turned to face the other man.

Malakai’s face was kind as he surveyed Rowan. The lines around his eyes grew deeper as a kind smile curved onto his face. Rowan had always looked to Malakai as a mentor of sorts and he would be sad to see the older man go.

“Have you decided then?”

Rowan sighed, throwing his towel over a shoulder. Malakai wasn’t wasting any time.

“Whether you’re staying or going?”

Rowan couldn’t help the small smile that he knew he wore and Malakai’s own smile grew at the sight.

“Yes,” He said finally. “I wanted to speak to you but I hadn’t found the opportunity. I heard back a few days ago and it’s all ready to go.”

“You’re sure?” Malakai stepped forwards.

“One hundred percent.” Rowan allowed the older male to clap him on the shoulder in as close to a hug as they would ever get. He didn’t hold back from returning the gesture. “The papers are ready to be signed any minute.”

Malakai drew back, a proud smile still on his lined face. “It’s good to hear, I told you this was a great opportunity.”

Rowan allowed himself to laugh as he flipped the other male off.

Aelin left the light off as she lay curled up in Rowan’s bed.

The smell of him surrounded her, his musky pine and snow scent that she had become so accustomed to. She breathed it in deeply, comforted by even the leftovers of his presence. She wore a t-shirt of his, the well-worn cotton soft against her bare skin, and her legs were drowning in the lengths of a pair of his joggers.

She almost hadn’t gone into his room, a dark and viscous part of her mind had wanted to hide away in her own room as punishment to him for not telling her but the rational part of her brain knew that was unfair. In their short moment in the hallway he had asked her to talk and she had to hope that he wanted to tell her. It wasn’t Rowan’s fault Aedion had blabbed.

It was that thought that kept her tucked up in Rowan’s bed. That and her desire to see him.

She hadn’t even known he had been looking for another job. She wondered when he had applied, whether he had applied before or after they had become… whatever they were. Gods, were they even a couple?

Aelin hadn’t thought they had needed a conversation to explicitly discuss what they were doing, she had thought their dates, their kisses, and their time spent together said enough. Surely Rowan agreed. They had always been on the same page.

This job threw more than a spanner in the works. Aelin had a job in Rifthold, and she hadn’t held it long but she loved it. She loved the school and each and every single one of the kids in her class. She loved her friends here. Lysandra and Dorian, Nehemia, Chaol and Yrene. She loved living in the loft, even with Lorcan, and she had become accustomed to coming home at the end of every day to some scheme or situation her roommates had concocted. She wasn’t sure she was ready to up and leave.

Aelin swallowed, the motion an attempt at calm as she flopped onto her back, Rowan’s duvet rustling as she turned. The tightness in her chest at the thought of remaining here and trying to maintain a relationship while Rowan was across the sea in Doranelle told her all she needed to know.

Aelin blinked back the tears as the soft click of their front door being unlocked echoed through the loft. She knew what she had to do.

She stayed quiet as she listened to the thud of a pair of shoes being dumped by their front door, she didn’t dare move as she heard Rowan’s footsteps pause in the hallway outside their bedroom doors. She held her breath as the door cracked open and a sliver of light slid in from the hallway.

Rowan didn’t bother flicking the main light of his bedroom on and Aelin watched as he emptied his pockets onto the desk, flicking out his phone and wallet before pulling his flannel off and tucking it onto the chair tucked under the table. He ran a strong hand through his hair as he leaned against the desk and released a sigh.

“Hey, you,” Aelin said softly.

Rowan’s head jerked towards her and the hand that had been in his hair slid down to rest on his now-bare stomach. Aelin flicked on a lamp and couldn’t help but bite her lip as she took Rowan in in the soft lighting.

His body was powerfully cut and it was a shame it was always covered by those loose flannels he wore. His skin was brushed gold with the faintest dusting of fair hair and the toned planes of his body were a delight. She wanted to run her hands down his chest and feel how his heart would race.

“Hi,” He said finally and his voice was quiet, careful. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in here.”

“Because of Aedion?” She asked, too nervous to bother beating around the bush.

Rowan offered her a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’m guessing he told you.”

“Yeah, he was upset. He didn’t know I didn’t know.”

Rowan nodded. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, it’s what I wanted to speak to you about after my shift.”

“Yeah I guessed. Rowan I–” Aelin kept her voice quiet as she built up to spill the words she had been tossing through her mind repeatedly in the hours he had been gone. “Rowan from what Aedion told me it sounds like a fantastic opportunity. I know we were starting something here and it was good but–”

“Aelin.” Rowan’s own voice was soft as he interrupted but Aelin shook her head. She needed to tell him how she felt. She lifted herself onto her knees on his bed, needing to be somehow closer to Rowan as she spoke. His position across the room had begun to worry her.

“No, Rowan. Please let me get this out.”

Rowan nodded, but a small smile crept onto his handsome face. He pushed away from the desk and began a slow journey towards her, Aelin took his smile as her cue to continue.

“I have loved every minute we have spent together and I love living here and I love our life together here.”

She took a deep breath as Rowan came even closer still.

“Aelin,” He said again as he placed a warm hand at her waist. Aelin almost melted into the touch. The feeling of him against her was enough to make her knees unsteady, even through the cotton of his t-shirt. She longed to kiss him, she knew Rowan’s touch could reassure her but she needed to get this out.

“Rowan, I love all of it.” Aelin lifted a hand to gently cup his cheek, she felt the stubble beneath her fingertips and she could feel the curls of air against her skin as he breathed, slowly and evenly. “And I hope we’re on the same page here or I’ll feel really stupid but,” Aelin swallowed. “If you’ll have me, I’d love to come with you.”

Rowan kept his gaze locked to her own as he lifted his hand to cup the back of her head. Aelin leaned back into his touch and allowed her eyes to flutter shut as Rowan drifted closer.

She could feel him close to her, the heat of his body burning into her. He was still shirtless and it was a pity she had been too nervous to be able to take him in in all of his glory.

Slowly he leaned in and pressed his lips to her own. He lingered for a moment, only a gentle touch of their lips before pulling back. Aelin let her eyes drift open to look into his deep green eyes, swimming with the words he had held unsaid.

He leaned back in to press his lips to her own once more. This time he stayed longer, and used the hand at her neck to tilt her head to the side as he parted her lips with his own. He used his tongue to tell her all the words he was yet to say and he poured them into his kiss.

Aelin let herself lean into him, lining her body up with the length of his as he kissed her. He kissed her with an intensity she hadn’t thought possible and Aelin was swept along. She twisted her fingers into his hair, holding him even more tightly to her as his lips caressed hers.

He let out a soft gasp at the scratch of her nails against his scalp and Aelin smiled into the kiss.

Rowan returned the smile as he pressed a final kiss to her lips before pulling back to look at her. His hand still cupped the back of her head, holding him close to her as he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’d do that for me?” He sounded breathless, only partly from the kiss they had shared.

Aelin smiled. It was the easiest answer she had ever given him. “Of course I would.”

Rowan didn’t speak, he only leant back in to kiss her again. This kiss was stronger and he held her more firmly as he ran his tongue across her lower lip and slid his fingers into the tangles of her thick hair. His kisses told her more than his words ever could, she could feel the tightness in each of his muscles and the passion in each sweep of his tongue.

After a few moments he pulled back once more. His chest heaved under her hands and Aelin ran her palms down the ridged planes of his abdomen, marvelling in the sensation of the velvet-wrapped steel beneath her fingertips.

She lifted her eyes back to his face to find him watching her, an awed expression on his face as he did.

“Aelin, I’m really hoping we’re on the same page here too or else I’ll feel stupid,” He threw her an almost cheeky smile and she leaned back into his arms, her chin tilting upwards to look at his face. “But I love you. I love you and if you’ll have me I’d like to stay here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Aelin threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. Rowan loved her. Her heart felt like it could take off inside her chest and she could only laugh into his shoulder as the relief settled into her. All of her doubts had been unnecessary because Rowan loved her. Rowan loved her and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Rowan,” She pulled back but kept her arms looped around his neck as she grinned at him. “I love you too.”

Aelin closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss to his lips. She could barely kiss him through the laugh that bubbled out of her, unable to contain her joy.

“Wait,” She pulled back with a jolt. As overjoyed as she was she couldn’t let it slide. “We’re not going anywhere? Rowan you can't turn this job down.”

“I can,” He pressed the gentlest of pecks to the tip of her nose. “And I will.”

“Why?” Aelin shook her head, struggling to comprehend all that had occurred since Rowan had returned from his shift. “Don’t you want to take it? Would you regret it?”

“I definitely won’t regret it.” At her brief look of apprehensiveness he continued. “I thought it was what I wanted when I submitted the application but it’s not.”

He punctuated his statement with a squeeze of her waist and if Aelin was stood up she definitely could have swooned.

“It’s not? Why?” Aelin shook her head. “You have me, either way you decide to go.”

Rowan smiled down at her and Aelin could only describe the look in his eyes as he spoke as love. “You don’t think I only had one plan did you?”

The crooked smile he flashed at her gave Aelin a glimpse of the cocky side to him he didn’t often show. He had begun to show it to her more and more since they had started dating and Aelin swore her skin heated every time that cocky smile made an appearance.

Aelin bit her lip as she tightened the loop of her arms around his neck and she fell back to lie on the bed, pulling Rowan into the space between her legs as she did. The weight of him between her thighs and the heat of him against her core sent a pulse through her that set her skin on fire.

Aelin could rest here forever, with Rowan surrounding her and pressing her into the mattress as she curled her leg around his hip.

“No?” She asked finally, raising an eyebrow at him as she remembered the words he had said that had led her to pulling him onto the bed.

“I don’t want to work in a stuffy law firm, I want to work here in the bar.” He took a deep breath, still hovering above her as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He shrugged almost nonchalantly. “A few months ago Malakai came to me about selling his half of the bar. He and Emrys are retiring back to Wendlyn and so he’s selling his share of the bar.”

Aelin felt her mouth drop open slightly. She hadn’t even known the bar was to be sold, and she hadn’t ever imagined Rowan would buy it… But it made perfect sense. The bar was a part of Rowan and it always came to her mind when she thought of him. The same way flannel shirts and the scent of pine did, with the memories of his hand on her waist or the sound of his low laugh in her ears.

Rowan continued to speak, his voice growing more and more sure as he did.

“He offered me a really great price but even so I wasn’t sure I could swing it–or that I even wanted to. And then we were there one night, all of us. Me, you, Aedion, Lorcan and Fenrys–Lysandra and Elide were there too–and I realised I didn’t want the job in Doranelle, I wanted what I already have. I don’t want to leave you or the others or the bar.”

“I’m sure Lorcan will be so thrilled to hear.” Aelin knew her grin was blinding.

He kissed her neck. “Mostly you.”

“So?” She prompted, forcing her mind to stay on task even as Rowan’s mouth roamed her neck, pressing hot kisses along her skin.

He drew back after a final kiss to the base of her throat. His eyes were dark with heat but he cleared his throat, shaking himself out of the arousal she knew he felt.

“So, I went to the bank and apparently years of living with Aedion and his organisation,” Aelin snorted a laugh at the description of her cousin. He was somewhat uptight when it came to money but it always came in handy. “Has left me with a pretty decent credit score.”

“Yeah?”

Rowan nodded as he returned his face to her neck, this time nuzzling the skin gently.

“Yeah. As of tomorrow when we sign the papers I’ll be a majority owner of the bar.”

Aelin smiled as she squeezed her eyes shut and slipped her fingers through the thick strands of his hair.

“The boss,” Aelin crooned, leaning so that her lips brushed his ear. “That’s hot.”

He nipped at the skin under her ear, pressing down with her skin between his teeth enough to make her hiss.

“I know.” Rowan said as he slid his mouth up to the skin under her ear, a tease of what she knew was to come. “I know as much as you front you like it when I’m in charge.”

His words sent a peal of heat through her, curling into her core as she dragged his face up to her own and crashed her lips to his.

Loft meeting, read Aelin’s message to their group text chain.

Rowan wasn’t sure they’d had a loft meeting since Aelin had moved in and the thought of his girlfriend calling one now amused him. Lorcan didn’t look amused to be crammed on their sofa between himself and Fenrys while Aelin stood in front of the four of them, her arms crossed across her chest doing things to her boobs that left Rowan trying not to stare.

“Please get on with telling us why you called this meeting Galathynius.” Lorcan’s tone was playfully bored and Rowan rolled his eyes. Aelin only grinned as she clapped her hands.

“We have a matter to settle.”

Rowan barely held back his groan.

“Don’t moan,” She told him. “It was you two that wrote the loft charter.”

“Yeah,” Aedion scoffed. “Like ten years ago.”

Aelin shrugged, undeterred. “The rules still apply. Any loft disagreements settled with one dig each, and then never to be mentioned again.”

“Aelin, no,” Rowan began and stopped as she cocked a brow at him.

“It’s this or you can talk it out.”

Rowan glanced to where Aedion sat at the other end of the couch. The blond male was avoiding his gaze. From where Rowan stood–or sat–their argument was water under the bridge, he completely understood everything Aedion had said, but Aelin had wanted to make sure the two of them were good.

Without wanting to drag it out anymore Rowan stood from the sofa, pointedly ignoring the wide grin Fenrys wore. He stood in front of Aelin and Aedion squared up opposite him.

His friend’s face was full of remorse and Rowan only nodded in acknowledgement. They knew they were good, this performance was for Aelin’s sake.

“I am sorry about what I said, man,” Aedion began. “You’re definitely not going anywhere?”

Rowan spared a glance to the woman at his side, her bright blue eyes shining as she smiled at him, the golden ring at their centre just as intriguing as it had been the day he had met her. He hadn’t ever imagined he could have ended up in this position, where this beautiful woman wanted him as much as he wanted her. Where she returned everything he felt with just as much passion and intensity, it could make his head spin just to think about.

He offered her a quick quirk of his lips, and delighted in the soft pink that dotted her cheeks.

“No,” He said at last. “I’ve got a pretty good reason to stay.”

“Gods, get on with it,” Fenrys jeered from their side.

Rowan made to flip him off but Aedion beat him to it.

Rowan grinned at his friend as he raised his fists. Aedion nodded as he readied his own.

“Three, two, one,” Aelin counted down.

Rowan swung as Aedion did, landing a dig to his friend’s bicep as Aedion landed his own. As always, it was over before it began and he allowed Aedion to throw his arm around his shoulder, barely hissing as his arm pressed into Aedion’s side.

“Glad that’s sorted.” Lorcan stood, smoothing down the dark denim coating his long legs. “Drinks at Whitethorn’s bar? Now you own it we’re not paying for drinks.”

Rowan laughed and felt Aedion’s own laughter at his side. Slim fingers linked through his own and he squeezed Aelin’s fingers as she joined in their laughter.

“When have you ever paid for a drink in there anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lorcan shrugged as he led the way to their door. “I was warning you I wasn’t about to start.”

Rowan wrapped his arm around Aelin’s shoulders and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head as they followed their friends out of their front door. The echoes of his friends’ laughter and the sweet peals of Aelin’s surrounded him as they made their way through the space.

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds

@bookittothelibrary1

@thenerdandfandoms

@danibutterr

@inthecityair

@autophobiaxx

@imaginedhaven

@endlessdaydream - I’m having an issue with this tag not sure why :(

please as always let me know if there are any issues with tags

#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #throne of glass #a groovy kind of love #agkol #im going to miss this fic so much #rowaelin fic #also i read over this once just because i wanted it posted #so enjoy any typos or errors lol

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ninnodesu · 3 years

Text

“Can I See You?” ch 5 || Modern!Thomas

It's time, guys. We've reached the ending of this little thing I created! I will be writing an epilogue, but the mainstory is now over.

I so hope you liked this little story, and I appreciate every single comment, kudos and share I've gotten from all of you! It's been so much fun actually writing and ending my first ever fanfiction! Thank you, thank you thank you! Tipjar/sneak peek collection

The more you started to walk on your own, the more the atmosphere in the house had changed. You could feel it, it was heavier. Charlie’s eyes had become colder. He started following you when he noticed that Thomas felt safer leaving you alone for longer periods of time. His eyes had almost gotten… hungrier.

The feeling of eyes dragging over your body during times you’d been alone and doing simple things such as baking, doing laundry, reading, was becoming something unbearable. You’d also begun to notice how Charlie had been home more in general. He came home earlier from his patrolling, and left later than he usually did. That is, if he left the house at all.

At first, it didn’t really bother you. You guessed he just wanted to spend time at home in general. But then came the subtle comments from him. Those… hints. Whispers directed at you if you were close enough to hear them; “Your leg looks nice ” and “I wouldn’t be runnin’ yet, though”. It was always either those hints, or he’d come straight up to you to stand close and breath in your scent. Charlie wasn’t stupid, though, he knew to keep away when Thomas was close by, but even if you remained close to your self-appointed guardian, you could still feel a pair of - literally - hungry eyes following you. Today, however, you were blessed. Because Charlie had decided to leave you alone thanks to Tommy, who you had dragged out to sit under one of the big trees at the end of the yard with. The weather was cool, the sun wasn’t as much of a scorcher for once, so you’d taken the opportunity to relax.

Tommy was leaning up against the tree while you resorted to lay down, starfishing in the grass. “Tommy?”, you spoke up, and he grunted in response. So you turned your head to look at him, noticing he had his eyes closed and arms crossed behind his head. “Does your face still hurt?”. Your only response from him was a side glance and a cocked eyebrow. “I mean…”, you sat up. “Does your face still hurt where you cut it?”, at that moment his brows knit together, still not giving you a proper response. “I’m just saying… If your face isn’t in pain…”, looking down you shrugged. That’s when a deep sigh erupted from him and he proceeded to lean forward. He glared at you, annoyance clear as glass, and you knew; You pushed that particular button one too many times “I...I’m sorry I just…”, you stammered out. He was tense as he raised one hand to spell.

‘E’ ‘n’ ‘o’ ‘u’ ‘g’ ‘h’

And that was it. He left you sitting alone on the grass outside as he stomped off, hands clenched into fists. And you knew you’d gone too far. The front door slammed hard enough for you to hear it, even though you were a few feet away and you flinched slightly.

“Shit…”, you mumbled to yourself and laid on your back again.

Looking up into the sky, you traced the clouds as they slowly drifted by, and your thoughts started to venture into your life back home. Sure, you have your family. But the contact with them has always been sporadic. Not because you didn’t care for them, but only because that's just… how it’s always been. A natural occasional communication, which both you and your parents are comfortable with. Friends? That’s another deal. You have a few, and you keep in contact with them, but you’re not close to any of them. Most of them just being the “ I know you through that person who I met at a party ”-kind of friendship. But you always felt that was better than not having anyone at all.

All that thinking about home awoke a sudden urge to talk to your parents, and you patted the pockets on your jean shorts, cursing at the fact that you hadn’t brought your phone out with you. Groaning, you reluctantly got up from your place to head back in. You didn’t get far, however, before the apparent bloodhound Charlie had transformed into grabbed your arm and pulled you around a corner.

He gripped your upper arms hard enough to leave bruises as his eyes undressed you.

“So, your guard dog left ya, didn’t he?”, you just glared at him and scrunched up your nose as the smell of alcohol wafted towards you. "Let me go, Charlie.", you tugged your arms to try and free yourself, but his grip hardened, making you hiss in pain. "It’s Hoyt to you, bitch. ", he growled. "What do you want, Hoyt?", you pronounced his make-believe name in a childish way, doing your best to get your face into neutrality. "Oh, hun'", he started as one of his hands came up to caress one of your cheeks, "I think we can arrange somethin’ real nice." You turned your head from him, you couldn’t look at him, you knew exactly what he meant by that, and the thought alone was enough to make you sick. But your reaction was not what he wanted, as he grabbed your chin in a hard grip to make you look at him before he continued; “If ya can open those pretty legs o’ yours to his ugly mug”, he started breathing deeper, a low moan escapes him as he continues, “then maybe you’ll do the same for me.”

You just stared at him, Doing your best to hide the obvious shock at what he had said. But if his grin was something to go after; he saw it. “Oh, I heard ya alright. You think you’re being quiet, but I heard him fucking ya.”

You frowned at the obvious breach in private life. You shook your head to get away from his grip. “You make me sick.”, the only words you could even imagine giving as a retort before you inhaled sharply, as you felt one of his hands drag itself over one of your breasts. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered;

"I'll make ya feel better than him." You whimpered at his words, doing your absolute best to ignore the prickling sensation of oncoming tears. "That boy doesn't know how to properly treat a pussy." "Please… Let me go.", you couldn’t help the pathetic plea. "Or…" "Or what, bitch ? You'll call your dumb guard dog to come rescue you?"

That disgusting grin off his returned before he made your blood run cold; " I can't wait to eat you. "

Meanwhile, down inside the basement. Tommy was leaning on his hands as he looked into a cracked mirror, Thoroughly inspecting his scars and deformities. He hated what he saw, always had. He didn’t have a nose and parts of his lips were missing. Your words rang in his mind as he let his head hang.

I want you, Tommy.

For some reason, he was annoyed. The fact that your leg is fully healed now means you could just get up and leave him whenever you wanted. But he wanted to believe, by God, how much he wanted to believe that you wouldn’t. That you’d choose to stay with him, become his and, maybe even… He shook his head. That was a dumb thought.

Looking back up, he was met with a darker shade of his usually light eyes. And he sighed as a storm began to rage inside him.

- I told you. - Stop. - No, you stop, Tommy. Open your eyes. - I have. - You haven't opened them for shit. She's leaving you. - You don't know that!

He punched the mirror, and glass rained down. Blood welled up from where the glass cut him.

- I do know that. And you do too. - No. She- - She what? Loves you? - … - Look at yourself, man. You're nothing to her. - We slept together. - She did that to get on your good side. She did it for survival. - No… - Look in the mirror…

Thomas glanced down at one of the biggest shards on the ground;

- And come up with one good reason she would stay for that.

He growled and crushed the shard under his heavy boot before buckling his mask back on and walking up to the main floor. With the feeling of hunger attacking his stomach he did his best to try and sneak into the kitchen, knowing mama is making supper. His plans got spoiled, however, as he was quickly shooed away from the kitchen by words such as "I don't need you eating everything before dinner!" or "Nuh-uh, Thomas Hewitt. Don't think about snacking before dinner!". A towel getting smacked at his arm had him chuckling and raising his hands in defeat. So he decided to trudge to his upstairs bedroom instead.

A satisfied hum left him as he ran his fingers through the dirty locks on his head, his mask hanging loosely around his neck, before finally letting himself collapse on the bed. He grimaced a bit as he began picking on the bloody scabs that were starting to form.

Shit, these went deep…

He shrugged and proceeded to stare up at the ceiling. Again disappearing inside his head.

- Why don’t you go find her? - Why should I? - To tell her the truth. - Pssh. - Haha. See, I told you. - Told me what? - The truth. - That if you’re ever dumb enough to confess, - she’ll leave. - … - I’m just sayin’, since she can walk again. - I’ve told you to shut up. - Because you’re a pussy and can’t handle hearing facts. - She doesn’t love you. - She used you. Fucked you to get on your soft side. - Do you really think she would love you? Are you that dense? - What do you mean? - You think you could live a happy life? - Get married? - Have kids? - I… uh... - Jesus christ, you actually are stupid, Thomas. - …

He was jolted out of his brain as he heard a knock on his door, to which he tapped the floor with his boot in response. "Supper’s ready, hun.", his mama lit up the gloomy room when he saw her head poking in. He nodded and got up, tucking his hand away from sight. If she saw the cuts, he would just get an earful from her, something he was not in the mood for. The smell of food wafted through the main floor, and his stomach made one of the loudest growling sounds he’s heard; chili was on the menu. Looking around, he noticed you were nowhere to be seen… neither was Charlie. A detail that did not sit right in his gut. He tapped the table, gaining mama’s attention, and motioned to your empty seats;

‘Where are they?’

Luda just seemed to look at the chairs, then at Monty who just shrugged. "I don't know, dear." Thomas didn't like this, he couldn't trust his uncle alone with you. He knew Charlie was a creep towards women, especially so attractive ones. He had, unfortunately, both seen and heard it. But The funny feeling in the pit of his stomach began simmering down just slightly as he saw you both walk into the dining room. Your expression, however, made a chill run down his spine. You didn’t look at anyone. All you did was sit down in silence at the dinner table.

All of you hung your head and listened as Charlie began reciting the dinner prayer. Thomas nodded along as it ended with “ Amen ”. Tommy saw how you mainly just pushed food around with your spoon, mostly just taking the smallest of bites. He knew you weren’t the biggest fan of eating human meat, but he did also know you actually loved his mama’s chili. Wanting your attention, he nudged your ankle with his boot carefully, hoping you would look up at him or at least give him a glance. But you didn’t react much.

- I told you - Fuck off.

It mostly looked like you tucked your feet behind the legs of the chair, if the way your thighs moved as he looked over you was anything to go by.

Dinner was silent, only a slight murmuring coming from mama and Charlie. Thomas finished eating first, but decided to stay seated and wait for you. He wanted to know what was up with you and why you looked so… out of it. Your expression relaxed, no smile. Your eyes looked empty, merely staring out into nothingness as you slowly forced yourself to eat. Something was up. But as you thanked mama for the meal and rose to stand up, with Thomas mimicking you; Charlie spoke up. “Thomas, sit down.”, The man stopped in a hunched over position, hands flat on the table, brows furrowed. He glanced over to you, who looked pale and your lips were pressed into a thin line as you left in a hurry. Clatter then came from the kitchen and it almost sounded like you basically threw your plate into the sink. He listened to your footsteps. And finally, a clue. The back door closed shut.

Back yard. Barn, probably.

“Thomas.”, Charlie’s voice rang out again, harder. He just looked over at his uncle with a cocked eyebrow, sitting across from him as he sat back down. “It’s time we talked, boy.”, slowly, Thomas’ breathing increased, brows knitting together as he signed.

‘About what?’

“About your friend, hun.”, his mama spoke out next to him and he snapped his head to look at her before mouthing the word “ no ” towards her. “Tommy, it’s time we talked about this. We agreed.”

‘I’m not killing her, mama.’

His hand movements were stiff, and his face twisted into a scowl. His mama sighed and proceeded to lean back and put her hands on her lap. “I know you like this girl, darlin’, but…”, he was breathing heavily, the thick leather of the mask making every breath sound like a huff. The look between his mama and Charlie made him sick. Banging the table with the palm of his hand he gestured for her to continue before inquiring;

‘But, WHAT?’

“She ain’t family, boy.”, with those words Thomas shot up from the chair, knocking it back on to the floor. He was furious. It was rare for him to get that angry at his own family, which made his motion all the more shocking to the rest of the people in the room. ‘ What do you mean she’s not family?’ In his mind, he knew it was a stupid question. The only one who knew you, was him. They didn’t. To them, you were nothing more than cattle. He stormed out, kicking one of the empty chairs out of his path and making it fly to the corner of the room. “THOMAS BROWN HEWITT!”, his mother called after him. But he ignored her. He couldn’t look at her. All those times she’d talked about grandbabies, and then she was talking about taking away the only person who… He just shook his head and headed off to the barn.

Thomas was off to hunt a specific kind of prey.

The barn was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the settling warmth of the evening sun. You’ve curled up behind an old rundown couch in one of the corners to try and hide from the world. Charlie’s voice echoed in your head. You just wanted to go home, to your apartment, most preferably with Tommy. The only person who could make this hell house bearable. A sudden gust of cool evening wind hit you, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I don’t want to die…”, you mumbled into your arms as you wrapped them around your knees and sobbed. Heavy tears accompanied by hulking whimpers. You were crying loudly, almost screaming out your pain in a desperate way to drown out what Charlie had told you before dinner.

“I hope you said your goodbyes, girlie” “What do you mean?” His smirk, his disgusting grin plastered on his face and that breath that reeked of stale tobacco and alcohol. “You’re invited to our Sunday barbeque,” a tongue slowly dragging over your neck, “but you’re not going to like the menu.”

Heavy, shuffling footsteps alerted you of his presence and made you glance in their general direction before peeking up from the back of the couch. And there you saw him, that beacon of light of yours, how he knew you went out here, you weren't sure. But there he was, and so were you. Taking a deep breath, you swallowed down any remaining tears and hulking sobs. "I'm here.", you weakly called out and threw a hand up from behind the sofa to notify where exactly " here " is. You didn’t have to look up to know he was leaning over the back of the couch, because your entire form was cast in shadow. All you did was curl back up into a ball. "What do you want?", you mumbled, probably too low for him to hear properly, but then the robotic voice you’ve come to associate Tommy with rings out in the barn.

Talk

"About what?", you swallowed again, Fear of what might be about to come bubbling in your stomach.

Charlie

You grimaced as you heard that disgusting name, but you put on a childish voice and imitated Charlie. " Actually, it's Hoyt .", why you did it you weren't sure. But you figured it was because of the sheer fact that you couldn’t stand being mad around Thomas. And you smiled as you heard that deep chuckle of his come from above you. Suddenly, you felt a large hand come lay on the top of your head. He smoothed your hair down, putting a stray strand behind the part of your ear he could reach. Looking up, you were met with those deep eyes of his. His hand pulled away slightly, but all you did was reach for it with your own and put it to your cheek, nuzzling into his rough and calloused but soft palm.

You closed your eyes while enjoying the feeling of his warm hand against your cheek. But then, the memories of what Charlie had told you crept back into your mind. You were invited to a barbeque, but not the way you'd like to be. Reaching up, you grip around Thomas' wrist desperately. Full of angst, fear, a grasp signaling he's the only thing holding you above water. But you couldn't look at him, if you opened your eyes at this moment, the floodgates would open. Because you were too scared of the fact that one day you’d never see his face again.

You didn’t want to look at the man you were going to leave in the worst way possible. Even if you did your best to swallow any and all sobs that wanted to escape, eventually you couldn’t anymore. And you cried. Fat tears running down your cheeks and over Thomas’ hand still resting on you, a big thumb coming to wipe one of them away. His hand disappeared from you before you heard shuffling and a low grunt. Shortly after, you found yourself surrounded by two big arms that lifted you up, only to be sat down on his lap.

His hold was warm, comforting, a castle of coziness and solace. You woke up one day, terrified for your life, looking up into the eyes of the man you’ve talked to online for months, maybe even close to a year, waiting to die by his hand. But now; those very hands were holding you tight to him, shielding you from the real monster, and all you could do was cry. You felt his chest start to vibrate before you heard a low and booming… hum. Thomas was humming a tune, a melody you hadn’t heard before, and soon after, you felt him ever so slowly start to sway from side to side. He was comforting you.

He sighs as he rests his chin on top of your head, calmly swinging while humming the lullaby his mama always sang for him when he had nightmares, or came home after getting rocks thrown at him. He couldn’t be angry at you anymore for nagging on him to start talking. You felt as small as you did during the nights you’d had nightmares and asked him to come sleep with you.

Right then, and right there, he could stay forever. That was better than the first time you’d had sex. When he felt that you’d started to relax a little bit and when he noticed your sobs had started to die down, he swallowed, wetting his dry throat before clearing it with a faint cough. “Mine.” He lifted his head as you looked up at him with huge eyes. An unsure smile danced on his lips before he gave a small, discreet nod. Hoping you would get his message, what he wanted to convey.

You were his. In his heart, you had been his for a long time and Tommy could never live with himself if he lost you without letting you know that you were. He knew the conversation wasn’t over yet, due to the fact that Hoyt would still be on his ass about killing you. And if Thomas wasn’t careful enough; he would do it himself. You weren’t safe here anymore, and he knew that. The deal was that you could stay alive until your leg healed. What would happen after that? Tommy was truly scared that he would lose you, one way or another, and he made the decision to confess his feelings for you then and there. The look you gave him sent the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Carefully, he took your chin and turned your head slightly for him to easier whisper into your ear; “You’ve always been mine.”

He bit back a chuckle when you quickly turned your head to look him in his eyes. “What…”, all he did in response was smile at you and slide a hand under your jaw to caress your cheek with his thumb as he took your face in, making sure to remember it. His eyes travelled over your eyebrows, outlining the shape of your nose... Those beautiful eyes, and the shape of your cupid's bow, loving the fact that your lower lip was just slightly thicker than the upper one. He moved his thumb from your cheek to slowly let it drag on the edge of your lower lip. Your heart fluttered in your chest, butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach as you felt his lips land on yours. It’d been two weeks since you’d slept together. Neither of you had initiated anything more than just leaning up against one another - or mostly you using Tommy as a pillow - while watching late-night TV when neither of you could sleep.

His lips were warm, his raspy breathing fanning over your cheek as you entangled your hand in his dark locks of brown to pull him closer to you as you accepted his kiss. A small delighted hum came from him as you did. He surprised you, however, as he made the decision to deepen your kiss, a sign of dominance he hadn’t shown you before. His heavy tongue asking for entrance by tenderly dragging over your lower lip. And you happily accepted his question, parting your lips to give his strong muscle room to take the control he seemed eager to express.

You only gave him a quick taste, however, then moved around on his lap to instead straddle his big thighs and wrap your legs around his waist. Thomas, ever the shy man he was, reacted as you’d expected him to. His face turned a lovely shade of red, and his hands started to awkwardly hover over your hips. Every ounce of bravery he just had in his body seemed to have just seeped out through his very pores. Hands balled into fists only to unclench again.

You giggled at how fast he relaxed as you took his hands and put them on your hips. “Tommy… Relax.”, you whispered close to his face. “You’ve touched me before. Remember?”, you breathed out a laugh as you saw his eyes shoot open, his face becoming redder as he nods quickly, and his eyes dart around the barn as if trying to avoid you. Your fingers carded through his hair to find the buckles of his mask. After silently asking for permission to remove it, a smile grew on your face as he nodded, closing his eyes as you slowly unbuckled it and put it down next to him.

His shyness always got to you. He was such a hulking giant, covered in muscles made for manual work, muscles made for crushing bones. His mere presence had the ability to invoke fear, yet there he was, seated on the floor behind a couch. A blushy mess, with you on his lap. It didn’t take long after straddling his thighs before he pressed his lips to yours. Again, he asked for permission to taste you. And again you gave it to him. His tongue met yours, and you moaned as he pressed his against it. Tongues, curious to taste and to feel one another. To commit each other's taste to memory. Last time, every kiss you had shared while he thrust himself into you was hurried, Hungry, and in the heat of the moment. But now? The kiss had a meaning, it was a silent communication between the two of you. It was between two people, two hearts connecting. Both of you knew what the kiss meant, you were made for each other.

You’d fallen in love with a perfect stranger, long before he had shown you his face. The way he had talked to you, about his hobbies. The love he had for his family, the passion for his work. He was your shelter and your knight. All it took for Thomas to fall for you? Your voice. He still remembered when you accidentally sent him a voice recording, how you laughed at your dumb little miss click, ending the recording with “oh well, hi” . And to him, you fit perfectly into his arms, the spaces between his fingers made for yours.

A devilish thought hit you, and so you ground once over his crotch and laughed when he broke the kiss with a loud grunt, almost pushing you straight off his lap. An action only hindered by your hands wrapped around his neck. He glared at you and shook his head. “Why not?”, you replied in a sultry teasing voice. He refused with his head and nodded to the open space behind you. “Oh, no one will notice us here.”, his face reddened up again. He kept vehemently indicating “ No. No sexy times in here. ” But you wouldn’t back down. Again, you ground on him, causing him to groan and move his hands to your hips. You attacked his lips, hungry to taste his moans as you moved over his growing erection. After another hard grind, Tommy grabbed your hips hard and took control, Slowly moving you over his crotch while you ate up every sound he made. It didn’t take long for you both to end up in a frenzied dry humping session. At some point his hand had found its way up under your top, lightly pinching a nipple between his fingers. The barn was filled with grunts and heavy moans from the both of you, but a sudden high noise startled you. Your movements stopped. You turned to look towards where the sound had come from, both of you silently listening for more noises while Tommy reached for his mask and buckled it back on over his head.

A bang. And a scream .

Thomas was fast up on his feet, basically throwing you off his lap and bolting towards the house.

The scream belonged to mama.

Inside, Tommy was met by the frightened stare from a woman he had never seen before, something that wasn’t uncommon and Thomas figured she was one of Hoyt’s hookers. The drunk idiot had probably slipped up: he either accidentally told the woman what really goes on in this house, or she snuck off after he had passed out and ended up finding the basement. And so, that woman was holding his mama hostage with what looked like one of Charlie’s guns. She was terrified. Thomas' chest was heaving as he glued his eyes on the gun.

“Drop the gun, hun. And nothin’ is gonna happen to ya.”, Luda’s voice was calm, but Thomas could hear the faint undertone of fear in her voice. She’s terrified but refuses to show anything. ”L-let me go! A-and I won’t call the cops!”. When the woman spoke his eyes snapped to her, so Thomas took one step forward, but she quickly pressed the gun into mama’s temple, making him stop with a muffled growl. "S-stop! Or I'll… I'll do it!", he remained still, opting to look at his mother as she explained the situation with only two words. “She knows, Tommy.”, Luda Mae flinched as the stranger behind her scoffed and pressed the gun even harder into her temple. But her face was locked in neutrality, and he couldn’t help but admire the strongest woman he’s ever known. “Yeah! I-I know! Fucking crazy, inbred psychos…”, she hissed

Thomas raised a hand, spelling out;

'H' 'o' 'y' 't'

His eyes flickered down to her finger doing an upwards motion to the floor upstairs.

Fucking asshole

Was all Tommy could think before the poor woman’s eyes suddenly shot open in shock. Blood bubbled up from her mouth and she sputtered, covering mama's right cheek in crimson. The hand holding the gun fell to her side, and as it did, Tommy made an act at lightning speed to pull mama behind him. He just stared as he saw… you. He saw you pulling the knife out of the hooker's throat. You'd stabbed her. Straight into the jugular, and as she went down he followed her before shifting his eyes to you as you wiped a bit of blood off your cheek. Your face was unreadable. He wasn’t sure what kind of emotions you were conveying at that moment. Fear? Disgust? Anger? Sadness? He didn’t know. But the hand holding the knife was shaking, almost to the point where it would vibrate out of your palm. He listened to your raggedy breaths coming out in sobs before you suddenly dropped the weapon, then leaned over the sink and threw up.

The sound of rushing water echoes on the upper floor where you’re furiously scrubbing your hands while hyperventilating, hands shaking badly as you do. Your thoughts are in a whirlwind, trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’d killed someone. And knowing what will happen to her body now, that she won’t have a peaceful burial in a beautiful grove or surrounded by her family, makes you nauseous. You had essentially just handed them dinner.

Suddenly, your airways tightened and you couldn’t breathe, the room was too small, too hot. And with a bang, you slammed the water off and ran through the house, ignoring the angry voices that yelled after you as you shut the back door. You don’t care. You need air, now . Outside, you pressed your back against the tree that you early on shared with Thomas, before sliding down it as you feel air returning to your lungs. All you did was breathe for a few minutes, focusing on returning to your senses while staring up into the night sky, counting the stars. As you did, your mind wandered back to your apartment far away from here. Patting your pocket, you smiled slightly as you felt you had your phone with you, and pulled it up. You replied to a few text messages, answered the occasional neglected work emails, and finally opened the gallery app.

Looking through it you realized just how much you actually missed it. It was your home after all. You even missed those neighbors who always had loud hangouts, that old lady who seemed to have more plants than her balcony could fit, and then there was that old divorced man and his cat. That… stupid cat who always forgot where it lived and had ended up in your apartment too many times to count. “Dumbass cat…”, you mumbled as you remembered the first few times it had startled you when you got out of the shower or got home from work and suddenly there was a cat laying on your couch.

Then it hit you.

I should call mom and dad.

Before scrolling through your contacts to find your mom's phone number, you looked at the setting sun and sighed, while figuring out what to tell her exactly, but hoping it would go to voicemail. You took a deep breath as you pressed the green phone symbol. Each dial tone sounded heavier and heavier before you were finally connected to what you had hoped for, voicemail.

"Hey, mom.", you started, straining your voice to sound happy. "It’s me. I just wanted to talk to you, but it seems you're busy."

As usual…

"Uhm… I'm sorry, mom. For everything I've ever said.", you pulled a bit at a loose strand on your shorts, going quiet for a minute. "I love you. And I miss you. Please forgive me."

Ending the call quickly as you felt the telltale sign of tears start to emerge, you pushed your phone back into your pocket and brought your knees up to your chest. Hugging your legs you just sat there, with nothing in particular in mind as you leaned your head on your left knee and closed your eyes.

You didn’t remember actually falling asleep, but what you did remember was being enveloped in strong arms that carried you from a cold night's breeze into warmth, along with faint but angry voices spitting nasty words, and finally ending up laying on something soft. The familiar scent of Thomas’ skin invaded your nose as you nuzzled your face into his pillow. A soft hum escaped you as he laid the cover over you. The floor creaked, and you couldn't hide the tired smile tugging at your lips as the sound of a familiar sigh echoed around the room. Reaching your hand for the giant trying to sneak out, you beckoned him. "Tommy…", he turned. Looking at you from the doorway, his eyes flickered between you on the bed and your outstretched hand. "Come." At first, he shook his head. And turned again to let you sleep alone but stopped when he heard you ask for him again. "Please. I’m cold.", a lie. That's when he caved and closed the door before turning towards you. He loomed over you, his massive form shielding you from everything that went on in this house of terror. Carefully, you reached up behind his head, fingers gliding through his soft hair to search for the fastenings to his mask. Even if he’d had his mask off just hours ago, he seemed just as nervous as earlier when it came to you removing it.

But you loved him, even if he didn’t have a nose.

Tommy sighed in relief as he felt the mask leave his face, and though he still hated being without it, it always felt nice taking it off. He pressed his forehead against yours just to feel close, but couldn’t help to smile as your lips came close to his. "It's okay…", you whispered to him., your low voice sending shivers down his spine, and he nodded.

Looking down at you, he realized how much smaller than him you truly were. He knew his muscles would mean death to you if he ever were to lose control during encounters with trespassers. The mere thought of him not being able to distinguish you from any potential dinner victim and going berserk before you was something that scared him. Scared him to the point of sending a wave of anxiety through him. But now, it wasn’t time to hunt. You were here, laying under him on his dingy bed. The only ray of sunshine in the eternal night that was his cursed life. His heart swelled when he saw your smile as he leaned in to capture your lips with his own and he sighed softly as your hands returned to his hair to pull him closer to you. When he felt your tongue meet his, he hummed in appreciation.

Slowly, Thomas tested the waters. One of his hands slid over the side of your stomach under your tank top, feeling the softness of the skin before letting his hand travel down towards your thigh. He was nervous since he’d never taken initiative with a thing like that before. But you didn't stop him, so he continued. His hand reached your plump thigh, one firm delicious squeeze making you let out a pleased hum into his mouth, a sound he happily swallowed down. He wasn't exactly sure why, but you moaning against his mouth sent chills through his body, which made his cock tingle.

You giggled a bit when he suddenly wrapped the leg, which thigh he was in the middle of groping, around his waist, making it easier for him to snugly fit his hips between your legs. His mouth left yours, traveling down your jawline, his small gentle kisses turned into bigger open-mouthed ones as he got to your neck. Your breathing increased as you felt his tongue slowly drag over that one sensitive spot you had. His whole demeanor changed when you moved to get a better hold of his hair and pulled. As you did, he took your wrists and pinned your arms above your head in an iron grip, not leaving the spot on your neck that he seemed hell-bent leaving a mark on. He nipped at you to test your reaction. You gave him what he wanted and let out a quiet moan, a sound that made him buck his hips into the space between your legs. When he finally lifted his head to look at you, arousal raced through your body because of what you saw.

Normally blue eyes taken over by something dark, hungry, and almost… animalistic. The look his eyes held made need surge through you in a way you hadn’t meant for this to end in. You’d given Thomas a taste of pleasure, and all he wanted now was more. You could see it in those eyes. He wanted more, and he was going to take it. “Oh…”, was all you could say as he rose up, squeezing your wrists once and giving you a look that said, “ Try me. ”. He smirked as you looked at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. Letting your wrists go, his hands moved towards your breasts. A shuddering breath left your lips as his big hands cupped your plush skin, groping your mounds deliciously, before pulling your t-shirt up over them. One thumb came to run slow circles around one nipple, while he kissed his way to the other one. A low moan crept up your throat as you finally felt his tongue drag over the hardening bud.

You answered his action by slowly moving your hips, making your sex rub against his clothed erection. A shiver ran down your spine as you heard him groan against your breast at the friction given to him, a puff of hot air hitting your collarbone. Lifting his head, his eyes met yours, and you could see he was as turned on as you, stare glazed over by lust. "I need you.", you whispered out shakily as you moved your hips again. He smiled, and your heart melted.

Thomas moved his kissing down your body until the bed seemed to run out of length.

Only then did his fingers find the button on your jean shorts, clumsily unbuttoning them as he sat up. As soon as he'd gotten them open, they were thrown away, discarded on the floor somewhere. He took the previously broken leg of yours and put it on his corresponding shoulder, a hand running over it and leaving trails of kisses down to your knee. His other hand, not occupied with anything, found its place on your pubic mound. His thumb landed on your clit, a mischievous grin dancing on his lips as he pressed down firmly once on your sensitive spot. "Ah!", you jerked and he chuckled at your reaction. You just pouted at him before your face relaxed into pleasure, his thumb slowly rubbing in circles while his lips kissed your leg gently.

His digit traveled south and found its way inside your needy hole, the intrusion making you buck your hips to the best of your abilities as you groan. His eyes fixated on your face, the way your brows furrowed, your mouth slightly opened as a symphony of moans and gasps came from your lungs. He loved the sight and sounds you made, they only made him braver. Knowing he made you feel good, only him. That despite him being inexperienced, all his attempts bore fruit.

No matter how much his cock throbbed inside his jeans, or how warm he was starting to feel, he wanted to make you cum before him just like the first time. "T-Tom-Haah! Tommy, I'm-!", sweet sounds left your throat right before he stopped, grinning again as you shot him an annoyed look. "That's mean…", he chuckled in response and shook his head. Thomas suddenly lifted you up with no effort, replacing your body with his own as strong hands firmly grasped either side of your hips. And before you knew it, he had maneuvered you above him. His head takes a dive between your thighs, fingers wrapping around generous amounts of your rear and eyes glinting from below you as he dragged his tongue along the inside of one of your plush thighs, making you gasp. The closer he moved towards your aching cunt, the heavier you started breathing. But right as he was about to rub against you, he stopped. Again, you groaned. "Please stop teasing me, you ass.", you whined. One of his hands came into view and he slowly spelled out two words.

'B' 'e' 'g' 'm' 'e'

You silently did as you were told by sliding closer to his face, but all he did was grab your waist and lifted you away from him, shaking his head. That was not what he wanted. He wanted to hear you beg for him to eat you out. Your voice was low as you shakily gave him what he wanted; "T-Thomas, please. Please, please, please… eat me. " He smirked before slowly dragging his tongue through your folds. Relishing in your taste coating him, he hummed when he felt your thighs tremble against his arms as he held you tight, the countless videos he’d watched on various porn sites of this specific position running on a loop in his head. "Oh my God.", you said as you let your head fall back, a loud "Ah!" coming from you as he found your clit and flicked his tongue firmly against it, your hands coming to rest in his hair. The urge to rotate your hips hit you, though when trying it, you were met with a bruising grip on your hips and glaring blue eyes staring up at you. Silently daring you to move on your own accord, his glare told you that you were not in control. You whimpered at the sight but reluctantly stilled your hips.

You gasped as you noticed his tongue prod and tease your entrance, feeling how he moved it slowly, digging the strong muscle deeper into you.

Below you, Thomas found himself in heaven between your soft thighs as he pulled those sounds he loved hearing from your throat. Sounds he knew only he could cause. When he couldn’t hear them anymore, he only pulled you close to his face. And right there, right then, Thomas enjoyed having no nose, the absence helping him reach far into you. "Ah… To-!", your words are interrupted suddenly, your body jerking before tensing as he finds your clit again, sucking gently on it. "Fff-... Shi-.", you couldn’t form words as he alternated between sucking gingerly and massaging your nub with the flat of his strong muscle and moving his tongue in and out of you.

The coil tightened quickly, almost too quickly. Looking down, you met his eyes, glossed over with hunger and animalistic lust. His firm grip on your thighs kept you seated on his face when you were thrown over the edge in a cry, as he gave one hard suck over your clit. He moaned against you as you clamped your thighs shut around his head, lapping up your orgasm like he was actually starving. He then returned to slowly fuck you with his tongue to let you come down from your high. You panted as you looked down at him, fingers lightly scratching his scalp with a postorgasmic smile plastered on your lips. Thomas grinned as he licked your thigh to catch a stray strand of your arousal.

Shortly after you’d collapsed next to him on the bed, Tommy got up to finally take his own clothes off, his tank top sticky with sweat and the fly of his jeans rubbing uncomfortably against his raging erection. He let out a sigh of relief as his dick was finally released, the front of his boxers moist with precum. The bed dipped under his weight as he returned to position himself between your thighs again, letting your legs rest over his meaty ones. His hands gingerly went up and down your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles as he waited for your signal. His stare revealed his hesitation, wanting nothing more than to push himself into ecstasy, but not having the heart to take something he thinks he wasn’t allowed to. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt you. His cock throbbed as it lay on top of your mound, and his chest swelled with pride as he saw the evidence of how good his tongue had made you feel as he waited for your approval to take you. You reached down to gingerly take hold of his cock with your soft hands, your fingers rubbing over his sensitive head and coating him with his own arousal. A thumb lightly pressed on his silver barbell, eliciting a throaty groan from him as you looked up to meet his eyes. "Wanna fuck me, baby?", you asked in a sultry voice as you dragged your hands over his length. You saw how a shiver ran through his body as he nodded, instinctively bucking into your hands.

"Take me."

You gasped as his length pressed into your waiting entrance, and you arched off the bed when you felt him bury himself to the hilt in a swift, desperate motion. "Ohh… oh.. God…", you scrambled to find his arms, needing something to hold on to. Tommy breathed out a laugh before hissing in slight pain as he felt your nails dig into his arms. Even with the wetness from both your orgasm and his mouth, it's a stretch. So both of you needed a minute to adjust.

His breathing was hot over your face. An experimental thrust from him had him gritting his teeth, and you digging your nails deeper into his arms. Craning your neck, you got close to his face with a smile on your lips. "I'm fine, Tommy. Take me. " Upon hearing those words, he pressed his lips against yours, the taste of you still on him, just as his hips started to move. He lifted your legs up only to wrap them around his waist, and soon enough the movement of his hips began pummeling your insides. His cock hitting all those right places in your cunt that made you squirm and moan under him. Your mind went blank, not even trying to comprehend how he was able to so easily transform you from a rational being to only a mess of moans and limbs made off putty after only having sex two times. But not a single nerve in your body was complaining about the fact that he could. Incoherent sounds meant to resemble his name tumble from your throat inbetween loud moans. Down there, inside the room within the basement he was so used to dwelling, Tommy didn’t give two shits if his family heard you or not, he just needed to listen to every sound you made.

You yelped as he suddenly switched everything up. your legs were wrapped around his waist, making it easier to pull you up and onto his lap while he positioned himself on his knees. His cock buried deep into you as you clawed at his back, afraid you might float away if you don’t. His hands came to grope your ass, effortlessly holding you up as his strong arms moved you up and down his cock. The wet smacking sound of your soaking thighs hitting his echoed around the room, only adding to your arousal. His movements were deep and hard, hot moans brushing against your neck as he found your sensitive spot and lightly bit down on it. A loud grunt surged from his throat when he felt your cunt clench hard around him as a result from his biting.

He shifted again, pulling his cock out of you to turn you around and prop you on all fours, a position that gave him a perfect view of your ass and the way his dick stretched your pussy out as he re-entered you. Another shiver ran through his spine as a new kind of deeper moan comes from your throat. His large hands gripped your hips to make it easier for him to pull you onto his dick in rhythm with his thrusting. Your moans were muffled by his pillow as tears of pleasure streamed down your face. Your ears managed to capture the occasional deep baritone of “shit”s and “fuck”s coming from above you, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull.

You let out a whine as you felt a hand snake itself south and a pair of big fingers find your clit. His movements were fast, clumsy and almost desperate as he rubbed your most sensitive spot. The added pleasure making it so the coil in your lower belly tightened much faster. As Tommy leaned over you, you were pressed deeper into the mattress when he propped himself up on the hand not occupied with rubbing tight circles around your nerve bundle. A heavy puff of air coming from him made your hair billow exposing the ear he was looking for. His voice was strained and raspy when grunts and moans tumbled from his throat as he felt your walls clench around him.

He swallowed thickly, desperate to wet his parched throat before uttering one single word into your ear, a demand.

“ Cum.”

The delicious combination of his cock pumping in and out of you and his fingers massaging your clit gave you only seconds to fulfill his demand. The orgasm that washed over you was strong enough to make you scream into the pillow as you clamp down on his cock, your hands desperately trying to grab onto the mattress. Above you, Thomas let out a heavy moan that vibrated against your back as he felt the increasing tightness around him, his own orgasm quickly closing in. Four more hard thrusts into your then battered pussy had him gasping, the hand supporting him pressing into the mattress hard enough for his knuckles to turn white before cumming deep inside you. A satisfied hum came from you as you felt his dick twitch and pump his thick seed inside you, delightfully filling you up.

Thomas hissed as he pulled himself out of your throbbing core, then collapsed next to you with huffs and heaves surging from his tired lungs. You slowly slid your legs down to lay flat on your stomach and turned your head to look at him beside you. He had his eyes closed while running a hand through his sweaty brow, trying to catch his breath. You smiled at him and brought your right hand close to his face to stroke his cheek with your index finger. “Hey…”, you whispered, getting close to kiss the scars on his cheek before pressing your forehead to his temple. He hummed in response, signaling that he was listening to you before you continue; “ I think I love you. ” His eyes shot open and he turned his head towards you, eyes filled to the brim with a combination of emotions as they seemed to search for something on your face. Doubt, maybe? Or ridicule? Lies? But all you do is nod and smile again.

One of his hands came up to the back of your head and entangled slightly in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. It was soft, full of emotions he either didn't want to say out loud or couldn't. But you knew what it meant.

"I love you too."

You snuggled up against him, taking his right arm between your own, giggling as you felt him stiffen slightly when you pushed it between your breasts. Your hand reached down to lace your fingers in his before letting sleep take you.

You were abruptly woken in the night by screaming voices and hard bangs on the floor above you. Thomas was equally startled awake, and sat up, breathing heavily as he carefully listened.

" Thomas!", you heard Hoyt's voice yelling for your beloved, who reacted quickly. But you grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back to you. "Tommy, don't… please .", you pleaded. He gave you a look you've never seen before. You felt small as if a beast was staring you down with a threatening look that said " Let. Me. Go. ". And it was at that moment you realized you weren’t talking to your Tommy anymore, which scared you. The Thomas you’d fallen asleep with just hours ago is gone. And the Butcher of Texas is all that was left. So you listened. You let go of his hand and watched him dress up, holding your breath to avoid starting a fire within him. And finally, your eyes followed him to the door.

Curling up under the covers again, the bitter realization hit you.

It was your chance to leave, to go back home. The family would be busy with trespassers for a few hours, Hoyt most likely harassing some poor woman, Thomas off to ki-... hunt.

Getting out of bed, you quickly threw your shorts on, internally thanking Tommy for never removing your t-shirt. Even if you knew this meant leaving him for good, the man you just hours ago confessed your love to, it also meant you would most likely live, and a normal life at that. Besides, you could always contact him through the phone, and that thought made it easier for you to sneak up the basement stairs. The sliding door was heavy and screeched as you pushed it open. You heard Thomas' chainsaw roaring from somewhere close by, along with Hoyt's encouraging howls and a blood-curdling scream. You felt nauseous and wanted to puke as you knew what was going on, but tried to cast those thoughts aside while you walked on your path to freedom.

You hurried across the old dining room, but probably due to the fear-fueled trembling of your legs, you curse as you trip over your own feet, attempting to swerve around a puddle of blood. Hissing, you rub the knee that took the brunt of the fall. And when your eyes start to look around for any threats, you see him.

Hoyt. The last person you wished bore witness to your endeavor.

Your fall had seemingly alerted him of your presence. As you stood, you kept your eyes locked on him before noticing the sharp pair of scissors laying on a small side table. And upon grabbing them, you taunt him, adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Come on, old man. You’ve wanted to kill me since I got here!" Before you knew it he was on you. The man knocked you to the floor and straddled your waist while pinning your arms above your head. "He ain't here no more to protect ya, bitch.", he licked his lips as you struggled to get him off you. Seeing him lean in close, you took the opportunity to bash his nose in with your own head, causing him to release your arms to grab it as it gushed out blood. You pushed him off you, straddling him instead. Breathing heavily, you grabbed the scissors in both hands and raised them above you, stretching your entire body to get as much power in your killing blow as possible.

Hoyt grinned as he looked up at you preparing yourself, his tongue reaching out to catch fat drops of crimson dripping from his nose.

Your blood ran cold as ice as a giant shadow fell over you. "To-", a huge hand gripped the main hand holding the scissors. His grasp was tight and you winced as a sickening crunch rings out of your joints before the sharp pain hits you. And you screamed, dropping the scissors. The pain was excruciating as Thomas forcefully lifted you up from his uncle and threw you into a nearby corner. You clutched your broken wrist close to your chest and cried as you watched the predator that has taken over your beloved Thomas slowly walk towards you. Both hands moved to grip his chainsaw. Your breathing started picking up, your heart rate going too many miles per hour and the rushing of blood deafening in your ears.

"Tom- Tommy, please. It’s me!", you pleaded as you saw him pull on the snare to start his weapon. "No… no no no!", behind Thomas you saw Hoyt standing up, hollering words of encouragement to him. "Fucking get her, Thomas!", you shook your head as you sobbed violently, berating yourself. Why did you think trying to kill Hoyt was a good idea? He was Thomas’ family, after all, something you weren’t. Something you would never be.

He pulled the string once, and the saw sputtered, then died. He pulled it again, the same result. He growled and pulled it a third time before realizing it had run out of gas, something you took as a chance to run away. But before you knew it, he'd grasped you by the throat, lifting you up against the wall. You cried out as his grip tightened, your good hand scrambling to grab his wrists in an effort to break free.

"Tommy… p- pleas- hck", he clamped your throat shut, interrupting your begging. Your vision started to blur as the air became sparse, and your nails dug into his arm in a desperate attempt to get Tommy back. Your lungs hurt, your brain was in a blur and your vision started to fade. You focused the last remaining strength you had to look at Tommy in the eyes, his usual sky blue irises now taken over by darkness. Hidden behind sweaty hair and the face of someone else. The last air in your lungs is spent on three words.

" I love you."

Crack.

Thomas watched as the dinner guest fell limp against the wall.

"Good job, boy.", Hoyt patted his shoulder blade. Thomas just grunted and threw the body over his shoulder to head back into the basement to finish his work. This was one of three bodies he had to cut up and he sighed as he knew he wouldn't get any sleep the remaining hours of the night. He grunted as he hung two of them up, saving the freshest one for last since that body hadn't been waiting for as long.

Heavy sighs came from him as he finished preparing to cut up the last body. All he wanted was to get back into bed with you and sleep the remaining hours. The last body was small, something he greatly appreciated because that meant sleep was imminent. Thomas removed his mask after he laid the dead cattle on his table as sweat started to pool and stream down his neck. Lumbering over to a bucket of water, he splashed water over his face to cool down.

When he turned back; his heart stopped, blood turning to ice and nausea rolling over him in big waves before he rushed over to the table. This wasn't a dinner guest or cattle. It… "No…" , he was shaking badly as he put a heavy palm on your cheek. A lump formed in his throat as he looked over your body, running his eyes up and down it, making sure there was no mistake, that he wasn’t hallucinating. You were just here moments ago. With him. Happy. Alive. He pressed two fingers at your neck, searching for a pulse. Tommy panicked when he saw the bruising on your flesh. He'd killed you. In the middle of hunting trespassers. The last thing he remembered from his killing spree was walking into the… the old dining room… and seeing someone sit on top of Hoyt threatening him with something sharp. And then there you were, an unmoving corpse resting before him, right on the same table he had sworn not to put you back on. He couldn’t remember anything else, couldn’t remember even seeing you up on the main floor.

How did all this happen?

But what he did know was that there was no going back. Nothing could bring you back now. He took one of your hands in his while mumbling desperate prayers that you weren’t gone. You were just asleep, and he wanted you to wake up. " Please, wake up..." , he sobbed. You were cold, so cold. Nothing like he remembered you just hours ago. When you'd hugged his arm before falling asleep, your fingers intertwined with his, your breathing even against his shoulder. You were warm then.

Not like the unmoving figure you had become. And he let himself cry, something he hadn’t done in so many years, his eyes burned, another punishment for ending your life. Stroking your cheek, he turned your head so you were facing him. His thumb traced your bottom lip as he thought back on the last kiss he gave you. Tommy has never cried for another person as he did now. You were the first one outside of his family that had shown him tenderness, that felt like home. The first one to show him, love. His rage took you away from him, something he had feared deeply since you set foot in his basement. You were supposed to be his forever. His wife. The mother of his children.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he whispered the words he never got to say earlier. " I love you too."

#Can I See You #CICU #thomas hewitt #thomas leatherface hewitt #thomas hewitt fanfiction #tcm: the beginning #tcm #tcm fanfiction #modern!thomas #ninno og #it's the actual ending #only the epilogue is left now #god i hope you'll like it and i'm so sorry

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himbodjarin · 3 years

Text

LUNAR; CH15

18+ Content: General fluff/angst. Din POV. Word Count: 5138 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it’s up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate. Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist / Playlist

EPILOGUE

Whispers.

Din is subjected to whispers surrounding him and clinging to his beskar like seafoam on his boots; sensitive and hushed tones aimed to show their condolences, their pity, regarding the absence of light beside him. They raise their voice no louder than whispers out of fear, not sympathy—sterile beskar contaminated with the sun’s liquidised crux intimidating them into tight-lipped smiles.

Sorrow radiates off him in potent waves that roll over the settlement to drown them in his grieving. It doesn’t need to be voiced. There’s a plenitude of evidence that stacks up against the presumption; the reclaimed rifle adhered to slippery beskar as opposed to cradling its framework into soft flesh, a tattered cloak that now only stretches across one side of his back, broad shoulders appearing so compact in on themselves, and a heavy-footed stride that simply speaks anguish.

If those factors aren’t indication enough, the blood does it.

Dried blood that coats his tan appendage but not his gloved—funny, how he always seems to dirty his hands—thick streaks that have yet to reach that dry point smeared against his armour, dark patches on his flight suit that adheres to the skin beneath.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the scene of The Mandalorian—a stoic warrior capable of pulling the tides that’ll swallow their settlement whole—so vanquished and mourning the woman he loved in such dreaded silence is worth a million and then some.

The element of a bare hand no longer pining to envelope itself from intrusive eyes is grisly. Abnormal. Eerie, all most, as if Mando’s resolve will snap before their inspections. Children are guided behind the adults with a subtle hand but it doesn’t pass unnoticed.

Din suspends in the maelstrom of the locals, helmet burdensome on his shoulders, vacantly swaying side-to-side as though struggling to remain awake on his feet; struggling to not let slip of his eyelids and succumb to the mud that’ll pose as his eternal resting grounds. If it weren’t for the slumbering speck of green nestled in the arms of Omera, perhaps he would allow himself to sink to his knees for the second time that night, no—third. Third time.

There’s no communication between them, no are you okay’s or I’m so sorry’s, just a simple exchange of glances that reads she’s gone, my girl is gone when Din recovers the Child from her arms. Familiar weight in the nook of his elbow, the same elbow her head resided as she lay dormant, he reverts back between the compound aisle of onlookers.

It’s all the same expression—that pouted bottom lip and upturned eyebrow, colourful eyes attentive to his exposed hand and gory armour; anything besides the chilling black slit of his visor, the red thumbprint of a much larger hand impression sitting in the corner of his view field—Din’s chin descends to his chest to avert his eyes from the hands on their loved ones, pulling them to a warmth he’ll soon forget the feeling of, the silent declaration of adoration upon seeing such a depleted man without his.

Voices are deteriorating before him, echoing and remote as if they were isolated across a vast canyon—everybody’s tone blending into one heaped bulk he can’t decipher who or where they’re coming from; a procedure his mind conducted to dissociate from the pity timbres.

Caben…

...I know.

Beskar wrenches their route, initiating eye contact with the two farmers his love died to save—died so that they could live fulfilling lives while she’s devoured by parasites—and his fist clenches by his side. Din doesn’t blame them for her demise, not really, she never would’ve inflicted such a gnarly wound if it wasn’t for the fact the Guild was after him; the fact that rescuing a helpless child would lead to a chain of events that brings him such an acquainted feeling of despair.

And he’d do it all over again if the situation arises—that’s what causes his slitted fingers to curl into his palms and draw blood out the gaps between. Din had breached many rules, some of his Creed’s and others his personal pledges; do not fall victim to a girl’s loving touches. They were there for good reason. Din’s not mad at Caben and Stoke nor Omera for informing him of their situation. Din’s mad at himself because, despite knowing the outcome of it all and despite how her name has been carved into his ribs, he would never not rescue the Child.

Even if that statement alone induces a thousand scenarios in which his beloved dies in his arms. Perhaps it’s his private method of torture; a way to inflict damage onto himself that doesn’t bruise skin but the sensitive heart beneath it all.

Caben and Stoke quiver underneath the leer of a visor blemished with vermillion—someone so black and white touched with the coloured essence of a cherished one—he’s never donned so much vibrancy. Not even when he wore his shoddy spraypainted duraplast armour had he been so rich in hues that no eyes should witness.

Din takes mercy on the men and tears his helmet away, feet falling with a burden into the forest haunted with a spirit that’ll never be able to rest.

It takes a day of being in hyperspace to reach overfamiliar craggy rocks and whipping sand granules—a day of being confined within his home, now a duralloy prison, with a fallen star coursing ripples of glacial bursts. The corpse of his sweetheart had been covered with what little material remained of the cloth on his back for the Child’s sake, not his. Din could never want that pretty face cloaked even with the browning plasma cracking on the surface of her cheek, the dark crescents beneath eyes that holds overtones that now only live in his head and windburned lips that once felt warm and smooth against his own roughened.

There’s a steep drop to his death waiting for a mere slip of his boots against the coarse siltstone—internal bleeding upon the impact that would cater his physique with that unaccounted heat one last time—but Din is versatile and makes it down with limited injuries; some grazes into the paddings of fingers and a sore ball of the foot where he’d dug his boots into an uneven surface a little too vigorously.

Soft sand sits beneath his feet in contrast to the grittiness above, a result of the lack of rays that reach between the gorge. It’s darkened down these parts, plagued with skeletons of unfortunate victims to the brittle canyon edgings.

A mote of black pokes upright from the golden ground, the end of a matte-finished cylinder storing pale grains into its blueprint. The ground swallows his knees whole and adheres itself to his flight suit where it’ll reside in the empty space that’s left behind for journeys to come.

Din combs the sand with cupped hands, bare digits burrowing deep and bandaging around the target to wedge free of its tenacious grip. It extracts from the planet’s crust with falling particles from its bore reuniting with its sum beneath his weight—a shattered chamber decays in his clutch. The stock, its untethered support deeper in the terra, withdraws into his idle grip.

It’s a straightforward design—a barrel he’s stared down into more times than he can account for—but there’s sentimental value in its mere existence, despite Din never having any interest in the dark oil encrusted with scratches and weathered patches around a jammed trigger. Such a stocky weapon for arms crafted of supple beams. The tide could easily harness such a defying artifact; digest the barrel whole into the belly of its trenches, the increased pressure simply too great for it to ever leave. Not the beams, though—they should never be required to carry such unstable weight, such compactness.

The amban rifle was perfect for those hands; nimble and delicate, easy to employ.

Salvaged firearm in hand, Din finds himself before the entrance of a shoddy dome shack; a flap of shroud swaying one with the wind eased to the side with the back of his knuckles, helmet dipping as he sets a lagging foot inside. The sparseness, the emptiness, drowns his lungs and constricts his airways—it’d been ransacked, by Jawas presumably, all of the deconstructed mechanics that should be gathering dust pinched from the schism-riddled wooden slab.

Disconnected halves of a rifle are gently laid to rest on the surface, the skeleton of a shattered Creed shortly following. Its critical gaze eats at the delicate man frontwards, toned eyes melting to a bubbling molten transparisteel that scars his assaulted morals. Three tan fingers spin the helmet on its axis to face the duracrete, allowing the pang in his temples to subside.

Din’s calves encased with his duraplast greeves butt against the edge of a mediocre cot, not too contrasting to his own—cramped with little to no support, but it’s stable and it works—he envisions a bandaged figure curled up on the durasteel, nothing but an oversized poncho to supply warmth that wasn’t necessary on such a heated planet. He sinks to the bunk and pursues the comfort of a merciless prod in his waist, a sweat-slicked forehead pressing into the wall.

If he closes his eyes and breathes deep he’s rewarded with a faint whiff of a rich syrup that combats the stale crux on his platings—the point of a pinky muscle stimulated with a fleeting taste of his favourite flavours. Sand particles deposited by the gusts of winds flood his ventilators from the cot beneath him, slicing through the linings of his insides. In lieu of coughing and spluttering Din deeply exhales and laxes his muscles; the overwhelming requirement for rest inevitably forcing his mind to disable and his breathing to even out.

Kuiil and his craftsmanship came up short as expected.

Even with the labour of three lifetimes, I cannot fix this. I have never seen something this shattered be repaired before. Perhaps you are not supposed to restore its properties.

Din respected the Ugnaught too much to vocalise his thoughts—what a load of bantha—and opted to depart from Arvala-7 before its granular claws burrowed into him more than they already had; his boots packed to his ankles with hot grit that converts the soles of his feet to blisters, flight suit drenched in sweat and blood.

Rather than dedicating a whole five minutes of changing attire, rather than finally ridding himself of the constant reminder of his dead lover clinging to his skin and clothes, he punches the navigation and activates the auto-piloting to his next destination.

The Child has developed some independence in the peak of Din’s mourning, often finding himself entertained with a drifting gear knob in the vacancy of the air before him—he almost appeared aware of the situation, aware of the black hole in Din’s chest narrowing his interiors and destabilising his balance—and he no longer needed assistance to vacate from the Crest when the hatch extended.

His guardian, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager to leave his penitentiary. It was quiet and cold in comparison to the hustle and bustle outside the duralloy cell, the loud exclaim of a snappy mechanic, no matter how late into the night it had to be, scolding her droids.

Are ya looking to get shot at? You know the drill, back away from it!

Din straightens himself out from the floor between the cockpit and the hold’s ladder, the one place he didn’t encounter the phantom of waning memories; they plagued these walls beyond belief. Recollections of brief intimate instances strewn throughout the hold, his bunk, the cockpit—it made operating his spacecraft a difficult chore.

He does his utmost not to glimpse at the emptiness atop the crates, the browning streaks that run down the slopes of the cubes and into the grooves of the Razor Crest’s base, but there’s only a limited measure of self-control residing within him and its line has been blurry as of late. Submitting to the gravitational pull of his eyes is inescapable and he risks a peak; a raggedy cloak that concealed gelid mounds now servicing as a blanket for the bare inventory containers.

Shoulders tighten and footwork falters as he maneuvers to the hatch, the idle purring of a preservation machine in the far corner a reminder of what he’d gone and done—guilt and grief goading his esophagus but he swallows it, greets the sting in his walls with a gruff clear of his throat.

What’s the big idea of stationing yourself here? She doesn’t appear in bad shape at all. I ain’t free parking, ya know.

Shiny credits are flung in her direction, the satchel containing the remainder of what was once a reimbursement to the bisected rifle in his leathers, he doesn’t allow him the privilege of feeling sorrow upon parting with them. Din doesn’t deserve to experience such sensitive emotions when he’s the trigger that snapped against a guard—a cherry bolt of a hand jabbing through the wind and tossing delicate goods down a ravine.

Peli eyeballs the exposed spinal plating of the Mandalorian and compiles the fragmented pieces of his physique, slotting in each individual aspect from his impaired posture down to the crust on his steel. Shards of a rusting man relocate, twisting and turning—no, not there...not quite...oh...—until it connects, a brittle sharp-edged outline of a man receding.

But that’s all it is.

An outline. Incomplete. His jam-packed insides—his essence, his life, his love—has been swindled from within leaving a husk of an exhausted bereaved soul ricocheting off the internal boundaries of beskar in search of its partner.

Din deposits himself in a corner of the hangar tucked away where the shadows push and pull his limbs, steering his appendages across the surface of an eroding strongbox showcasing the deconstructed blaster. Phantoms of apprehensive hands ghost overhead, their primary function programmed to destroy and slaughter not replenish and recover.

Reparations are out of the question. It’s beyond demolished; hardly decent for a mantlepiece let alone functional. It’s laid out like a butchered tip-yip primed for roasting, components scattered and misplaced; a muddle not even the greatest gunslinger could capitalise from.

Engravings on the stock of the rifle stabilise him, a gorgeous aluminium that shines beneath all the oil and base of obsidian. Its lines paint a picture of nothing, overlapping and crossing into a mess, but it fires a brisk bolt against his heartplate all the same. Bare fingers spelunk its origins for its quirks, its stories of a stubborn girl entrapped within it; utilising the elongated barrel like a third arm, a trigger snappy as her words, the scenic stock a mirror to the beauty beside it.

Roughened fingers were a by-product of being consistently handsy throughout the decades but when perceiving the sun rays they were reborn entirely. Soft and smooth and careful. Now that the sun no longer responds to his touch, now that he’s left with cool inscribed metal, they’ve reverted to their nature. Sandy. Sharp. Aggressive.

Aggressive fingers that match the stained violence of his Creed—his beskar that simply won’t return to that elegant silver shine no matter how desperately he rubs against the surface. Water sloshes back and forth in the modest trough of a sink, a tainted red-brown colour accumulating at the bottom provoking an ache in the tender organ residing in his centre.

He’d practically been forced into the shoddy refresher by the mechanic—you got the kid all anxious, just look at you, go get that gunk off yourself.

That’s all it can be perceived as by others; nothing more than filthy smears required to be rid of simply for presentation—to preserve the comfort of others no matter how intense the guilt chews against his muscles as her pith dilutes. Gunk.

Din muffles a sob. It’s her.

She’s abandoning him for a second time. What little of her refuses to part from him is so encrusted it’s become a part of his armour, inserting herself into the nicks and grooves of his platings his fingers fail to penetrate.

Mindless hands shift to his lesioned flesh, unsteady digits summarising the hills of rashy bumps visible only through the lens of steamy caf. Phantoms of lingering touches mark tan terrain in the shapes of slender fingers and cottony lips on his chest, his stomach, neck and face; everywhere that’d been blessed with the loveliest of kisses and nips from the Sun now scarred over.

Pendant held firmly in place pulses a scorching burst through the tissue on his sternum, the beskar skull leaving its claim. Its fraying thread drifts to thick fingers and lays loose between them, irritable skin of a palm flaring at its exuding heat and crisp pang; none of its physical but it’s as though he’s brushed with a hand of a million degrees all the same.

Shiny silver occupies the empty space beside him, a lithe barrel glittering in the substandard lighting of a crummy Tatooine refresher; heckling the helmetless man but he could never glance its way in any sort of negative class.

It hurts to connect with the beskar pendant and perhaps he deserves to hurt, but he can’t sustain it, can’t confront that sting in his throat and eyes each time it shifts against his chest.

Din weaves the lace of his material initiation through the metal perch beneath the shiny stretch of a barrel; dangling and showcased on the paired rifle of his Sun where it’ll reside—operating as a threatening symbol to partner his visor against enemies who dare glance his way.

And it did, far more successful than he could’ve imagined; rumours of his descent traversing parsecs faster than his Crest could vie with.

Did you hear about that Mandalorian—supposedly lost his lover and went rogue. I heard he turned berserk, he’s killed a town’s worth of criminals! Someone ought to lock him up before he turns on us. He’s a threat to us all!

Din didn’t much care for the presumptions. It wasn’t as though he frequented locations to be overwhelmed with the local’s support, though it made discreetly getting around a challenge—no longer were the days he could enter a cantina with a few intrigued eyes devising a way to lay claim to his beskar before returning to their booze.

But now it was people confronting him in false hope he’d be too deep in mourning to fight against their attacks. It never did end well for them.

He’d become a magnet for death, even of his own.

It wasn’t righteous to die in that common house. Not when those disproportionate black eyes observed from the arms of a droid; deep, dark masses that depicted more emotion for his guardian’s condition than perhaps they should. He’d been selfishly greeting his emerging end with an inconsiderate let me have a warrior’s death. It’d be a lie if he was to deny its translation; let me see my beloved.

As is his entire life, Din’s been allocated with responsibilities far out of his expertise but he’s not relinquishing his guardianship to the kid that easily. It’s not as if he could be transferred to any other old sucker either; not everybody has the same compassion for a floppy-eared bounty worth their retirement funds.

No, it wasn’t his time to rest. It’ll come when it’s merited.

That night after the events that’d transpired, Greef Karga bestowed some unusually wise statements underneath the moonless canopy of speckled stars patterning the abyss. Simply reminding Din of its existence; the constant celestials that’ll never desert him no matter what dodgy planet he dwelt.

A new moon is approaching. As a child I had been told stories of a cosmic reset at the commencement of a new cycle; an opportunity to start anew. Perhaps it was all just folklore but it’s fascinating all the same, wouldn’t you agree? I always did like shiny things.

It’d been the vulnerability that encouraged his Guild’s leader to utter those words—that unmistakable change in demeanour since they’d last met, that insecurity swallowing an iron stomach upon hearing a dead name chanted amongst an army of Stormtroopers—Din knew without it being conveyed.

He had been stripped of his privacy and put in the spotlight in front of dozens of lifeforms. A name reserved for a benevolent tone now recognised by the enemy, trespassing on those memories of all the situations it’d been murmured into his bare flesh as if labelling him as a person; a real breathing blood-pumping person and not the Creed he fought for.

Gideon was his name, the man who spoke of his identity as though he crafted it himself. As though he nursed the bruises and traumas of his title and being—not gentle hands that’d remain uncomplaining despite how little Din offered in return.

If Din had inspected his fallen TIE fighter for life, perhaps he could’ve avoided the forthcoming events.

With the naive belief of security, Din encouraged the pursuit of his aspirations rather than the concern of his violations towards his code. His relationship with the Creed had been on thin ice and he’s not quite willing to pardon its strict principles.

An opportunity to start anew.

His brain requests a rebalance—the interest for the Child’s consideration prodding needles into the fleshy mass—demands his sentiments to be torched, cremated until they are stardust particles drifting through the celestials above. They crack and pop in tune to the sizzle of a droughted driftwood pyre bearing the corpse of his lover, profitably filling two needs with one deed; a clear state of mind to focus on his ongoing responsibilities and to allow depleted beams to finally rest across the horizon.

She’d endured suffering enough; receiving punishment from those she trusted, the guilt and onslaught Din presented as a by-product, sustaining wounds until it’d finally become too much.

Even in death, she wasn’t permitted serenity.

Her fucking body is still with me!

It slipped out of his mouth back on Tatooine.

I had to - had to put her in carbonite...she was fuckin’ rotting in my ship. I didn’t know what else to do. What are you supposed to do with the body of your-... I can’t just - just ditch her on some shitty planet all alone like that!

Peli had been of assistance; providing Din somewhere to rest his eyes without breathing in the stench of decaying flesh. She’d even gone ahead and supplied him with a pair of gloves to preserve his corrupted honour though she wouldn’t admit it,—prefer not to recognise you as human, makes it hard to dupe you outta credits if I’m too busy pitying you—she wasn’t repelled by his grieving, the unusual depictions of a man underneath all that shiny steel.

She’d been of more assistance than he could thank her for.

Being on Tatooine facilitated the idea of his Sun’s disposal.

Kote Kyr’am.

It’s the best memorial he could devise. A ceremony he’d attended countless times as a foundling watching his elders fall in battle. The very same elders who’d knock Din upside the head for constructing such an ancient farewell for an aruetii but she’s worthy of nothing less; more, perhaps, but there are no alternatives in the vacancy of his helmet adequate for the burial of a star.

Din’s lips are chapped, his skin is on fire, there’s a rumbling in his stomach. He’s watching his beloved burn to ash underneath the new moon and yet he feels as though he’s the one succumbing to the flames; the heat just as powerful as the dormant embodiment it’s consuming.

Velvety skin he’d allocate his hands, his tongue, and time, never enough time, to now blister and contract, tear and melt, crackle and—

He heaves over, helmet rim caught on a scrunched forehead, and readies his throat for the bite of acid. It doesn’t come. Not even a trickle of saliva disperses. Instead, his lungs impale themselves on his ribcage, contracting and expanding so rapidly he fails to recognise his cheeks are devoured with a downstream.

The salt probes his tastebuds though it’s insufficient to dominate the heavy particles of ablaze flesh. It’s so rich, so potent that it’s evolved to a taste rather than a scent. Din could withstand the odour, his filters stripped the majority, but the taste is intolerable and it just so freely floats in through his agape mouth to nestle among his tongue - as if it belonged there - as if a contrasting sweeter taste didn’t.

Din’s skin reddens from Navarro’s meanspirited terrain but it’s not enough motivation to rise to his feet. He sits there, steel dwelling amongst the molten, and waits because he can’t continue his journeys for two without that flicker of confidence she’s at peace.

He’ll take a crumb of assurance, it’d be plenty for him to muster up the strength and return to the Crest where the Child awaits.

Usually, as is Mandalorian custom, he’d be stripping the shell of armour from her corpse as a keepsake of a life well-lived - to preserve the name of her clan but all Din had of her’s was a shattered rifle that’ll remain in the vacuum of a satchel.

Not to mention the chants—the gruff Mando’a words designed to ensure their warrior’s spirit may join their fallen. Din had his fair share of howling war cries through the years but not this time - it’s not right.

An aruetii wouldn’t be welcomed.

Besides, his Creed had stolen his spirit. It doesn’t qualify to steal hers.

It isn’t until a final blow of wind carries her skywards that Din raises to his feel, latches his helmet back in place, and returns to work.

Din likes the skies, no—loves the skies; the magnificent blues and pinks and oranges that blend as one, the swollen cushiony whites that conceal his naked face from the shell whatever planet he’d roam, but above all else Din loves how the sun blessed him with its astral kisses.

That unmistakable warmth flushed over him; the remnants of his extinguished star’s touches.

There was a peace up there that’d never reach the conflict of the galaxy; serenity that allowed for a moment of buoyancy—floating among the cornflower identical to how one might in the colossal depths of the ocean without the intimidation of anchoring oneself by weighted platings.

It was a real sight to behold up there; unfamiliar without the confines of his Crest.

Din had forgotten the thrill of the sweeping winds through his limbs, the freedom rising in his chest upon cutting through white puffs. But it had been the horizon that lured his attention inwards—the bends and slopes of a shimmering orange star smiling at the returning glint in his visor.

It was the first time he’d genuinely smiled since the loss of His Star. It had something to do with the warmth; the sunbeams managing to penetrate past beskar and into his flesh and organs so intimately, so overfamiliar to delicate fingers stroking the muscles of his chest or the bones beneath his cheeks.

It became sort of a custom in his travels to visit the heavens at least once on each planet. Often times bemused squealing would accompany him. Grogu—Grogu...the kid had a name—had been adamant about participating in his encounters and Din now has no doubt that was his abilities, the Force as Ahsoka mentioned, enabling him to perceive his intentions; his ambition to be touched by someone who no longer lives. It’d be easier to go up against seven Krayt dragons than to convince a power-wielding typhoon to remain on land, thereby he’d hoist Grogu up and above the overcast where the beams kissed the peak of his fuzzy forehead.

Renouncing his guardianship to Grogu had been challenging. Losing another lifeform so that he’d be entirely alone wasn’t a consideration as he journeyed in search of a Jedi, but it was to be expected. The kid was powerful and Din didn’t possess the knowledge to help him wield his abilities. Didn’t make saying goodbye any easier, though.

The situation resurfaced ghoulish remembrances of draining light in his arms; how he never presented his emotions without the guise of his helmet. So, encircled with copious lifeforms, Din removed his Creed before Grogu—introducing that vulnerability and love for a toddler who’d swindled his affection so effortlessly. A claw on his face wasn’t the same as gentle fingers but he didn’t love it any less.

The ordeal was absolving despite the moisture in his eyes.

Din’s ambivalent about what he’ll pursue from here with no mission, no ship, no love, but he doesn’t much care when he’s brushed with the warmth of his lover’s thumbs on his eyelids. It’s his favourite space; lingering above the clouds, head craned backwards with his helmet loosely held in his leathers, savouring how the beams kiss his skin until it’s pink from its spice.

Some days he simply wishes to take a peak, a small little glance to quench him until the desire builds up again. Some days he remains in the skies until his jetpack whines and runs into failures; until it makes its descent and is replaced with a shimmering orb.

He’s envious of the moon; how it so easily recovers its glossy shine and integrity, neglecting to address the events of the eclipse. Its radiance chips away at his armour but the sunshine restores it—realigns the shards and offers a toasty kiss to the steel, commending it for protecting her Mandalorian.

Din suspends in a herd of clouds and sighs into the air. It’s quiet except for the monotonous bursts of thrusters from behind. Sunshine is greeted with lukewarm caf, a partnering smile tugging his lips.

“Beloved Girl,” Din’s voice is raspy from inactivity but so loud, so clear in contrast to everybody else’s he’d consulted.

There’s too much he wants to say but he determines to voice them all. Din expresses his thoughts he’d been too stoic to admit, ranging from whispers to shouts at the sun as if it was a sentient being listening to his passion.

He tells her of how much he longs to see her, to taste her on his lips, to provoke that sparkling smile he loved so dearly. He communicates his guilt and how he loves her more than he can fathom—mentions the successful end of his journeys with Grogu and how he now has zilch but an undesired blade to show for it.

There’s nothing but a sway of wind whipping his eardrums in response and Din hums, accepting it.

Din cherishes the splinters of beams as she comes to rest beneath the horizon and he too sinks from the skies, obscured dimples in his cheeks as he recounts the memories of his beloved wrapped in his arms.

One last thing, Cyare, keep an eye on the kid for me, will you?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @djarrex, @omgreally, @spideysimpossiblegirl

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

“My Fairy Abogado” *Part 10*

Dammit I usually like to keep my stories around 10 chapters, but the whole ice cream banter was too good and the crescendo I want is way too long to not have it’s own chapter. Also, some Barisi thrown in there for ya. LoL.

I suppose it’ll be one more chapter and an epilogue? Maybe?

Tag List:

@dumauier

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@wanniiieeee

Master List

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

FINALE

-------------

After stitching you up, and after a long conversation convincing the nurse that Rafael had not done the number on your body, you two were finally leaving the ER.

“Alright buddy, you promised me ice cream,” You hung on Rafael’s arm as you walked out to the awaiting SUV.

“You really wanna get ice cream without the kids?” Rafael asked as he helped you into the backseat once again.

“Uh are you kidding? I don’t have to fight with them over what flavors they want, or if it’s too expensive and they have to share, and not worrying about Chloe getting it all over herself, doing ANYTHING in public without the kids is a luxury I miss the most,” You felt guilty about rambling about your siblings, but it was awesome being able to just vent.

“Alright Alright, I get it-- having kids sucks,” Rafael laughed.

“I mean don’t get me wrong; I love my brother and sisters. I’m just not...cut out to be a mother. Not right now, anyway,” You looked around the car awkwardly, kicking yourself for bringing up kids so soon.

“Yeah, I never really saw the point in kids,” Rafael chuckled.

“So you don’t want them, ever?” You were a bit taken aback. It shouldn’t be shocking to you really; Rafael was getting up there, and he seemed to like his things nice and tidy. He must’ve seen the look on your face because he quickly added--

“I mean….” He gulped. “I guess, with the right person…”

“You know for a lawyer, lying is not your strong suit,” You snickered.

You finally arrived at a nearby ice cream place; Rafael helped you out and you both walked inside while your copper stood outside.

“Doesn’t he want anything?” You nodded to the man.

“He’s fine,” Rafael replied, not even looking back at him.

“Hey guy, what’s your name?” You turned to talk to him.

“Carisi ma’am, Sonny Carisi,” He nodded at you.

“Sonny do you really not want any ice cream, or is Big Bad Barba being a tyrant?”

“I could go for a scoop,”

“See?” You smiled triumphantly.

“He’s like a puppy baby, you feed him once he’ll just keep coming around,” He nodded at Sonny. “Trust me, I know,” He rolled his eyes.

“You can get ice cream but you wait in the car Carisi,” He looked at him sternly.

“Copy that, counselor,” Sonny replied very seriously.

“Jesus Rafael, what is this guy your bitch or what?” You hit him softly.

“Oh no ma’am, I wanna be a lawyer just like Mr. Barba so I spend as much time with him as I can,” He looked at Barba with puppy dog eyes. “As a mentor,” He quickly added, looking at the ground.

“Oh um-- yeah okay, cool?” You smiled awkwardly at him, then noticed Rafael was getting very uncomfortable the more he talked.

“....Wait… feed him once...Rafael!” You whispered so Sonny wouldn’t hear you.

“ONE night, ONE time,” He rubbed the back of his neck looking around the place awkwardly.

“Mmmm...both sides, noted,” You winked.

“Sonny go ahead,” Barba nodded to the woman at the counter.

“What can I get you?” She smiled at the three of you.

“Two scoops of Rocky Road, please,” Sonny beamed.

“Um I’ll have a scoop of chocolate mint,” You decided.

“A scoop of vanilla for me,” Rafael added.

“Why is that not surprising to me?” You rolled your eyes.

“What? I have simple tastes,”

“Uh huh,”

Rafael paid and the three of you waited for your ice cream at the other end of the counter. Soon enough the woman handed out your ice creams and bid you a good day.

“Thanks Mr. Barba, I’m gonna go call Amanda and see what’s up at the station,” Sonny smiled and headed back outside with his ice cream.

“See? Now he has a new master,” Rafael chuckled.

“Yeah I doubt that-- you’re kind of hard to top, counselor,” You nudged him.

“He didn’t have any problem,” He smirked.

“OKAY, I think we’re good in the ghosts of sexual past portion of the evening,” You declared rather loudly as you sat in a booth near the door.

“Sorry Y/N, I didn’t know you were such a prude,” He smirked.

“I’m sorry if I don’t want to picture mi novio being topped by a dude,” You rolled your eyes.

“Your boyfriend?” He asked in amusement.

“I mean...I did save your life, twice,” You pointed out.

“Mmmm true-- I suppose that’s girlfriend material,” Rafael nodded with a smile.

“Damn straight,” You nodded back, as you both continued to eat your ice cream in snarky matrimony.

“So, no kids, no pets?”

“I don’t have any currently, but I could see maybe getting a cat, or a small dog,”

“Oh my god could you be any more of an old lady?” You giggled.

“Hey! I live in an apartment in New York City, I don’t want some huge dog cooped up in it all day!” He defended. “That’s just cruel,”

“Fair point,” You licked your ice cream. “No kids I can live with, no pets is a deal breaker though,”

“Really now?” He raised his eyebrow as he ate his own ice cream. “Noted,”

“So do you have any?” You nibbled on your cone.

“What?”

“Deal breakers,” You replied in a “duh” tone.

“Just one,” He replied nonchalantly.

“What’s that?”

“If they’re not you,” He grinned.

“Oh gaaaaaaggggg,” You made gagging noises with a giggle. “Be more cheesy, please,”

“Okay okay, one deal breaker--”

“Go on,” You were on the edge of your seat.

“Wearing socks during sex,”

“Are you serious?” You cackled as you swallowed the rest of your cone.

“Yes! I am very serious,” Rafael nodded as he finished his cone. “Ask Carisi,”

“Oh God,” You shook your head with a laugh as you both walked back out to the car.

“Hey uh, Mr. Barba Amanda says they might need you down at the station,”

“Really? Now?” Rafael ask, annoyed.

“It’s what she said…” Sonny replied with a shrug.

“It’s fine, baby I need to go check on the kids anyway, they’re probably freaking out by now,”

“Yeah alright,” He sighed sadly.

Soon enough you were pulling back up behind your back door. Rafael helped you out of the car and just held you in his arms for a moment.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“Are you kidding? The Diablo’s are gone for good, I got a boyfriend AND ice cream!” you giggled, pulling him into a kiss.

“Boyfriend?” Beto’s voice bellowed.

“Ice cream?!” Chloe’s high voice chimed in.

You both turned suddenly to see all three kids standing at the back door slack jawed.

“Are the Diablo’s really gone?” Yaz asked, being the only one who hadn’t joined in yet.

“Yes, they are gone-- THANKS to Rafael,” You eyed Beto while Chloe took off for Rafael’s arms.

“¡Gracias, Rafael!!!” She squealed.

“De nada, princesa,” He kissed her cheek.

“...Did you really get ice cream without us?” Chloe looked at him with the saddest eyes.

“Blame your sister,” Rafael nodded at you.

“Y/N!!!!!” She yelled angrily.

“Gee thanks,”

“You insisted!”

“I got sh---a boo boo!!” You covered your tracks, causing your siblings to finally notice the shape you were in.

“Oh my God what happened to you?!”

“Diablo’s” You said softly.

“Because of HIM?” Beto clenched his fists.

“NO, Rafael saved me Beto,”

“Actually, to be honest Beto” He put a shoulder on Beto’s shoulder “She saved me.”

“We saved each other,” You laid your head on his shoulder.

“Gag,” Yaz made gagging noises behind you.

“Anyway, Rafael is leaving now BUT-- maybe if you guys do all your homework and eat all your dinner AND go to bed early, we’ll see if you can convince him to take you to get some tomorrow,”

“Really?!” Chloe exclaimed excitedly. “I’m gonna go do all of it RIGHT NOW,” She gave Rafael one more hug and ran inside.

“Chloe’s easy to buy off vato-- me, not so much,” Beto approached Rafael.

“I’d be careful Beto, he used to be a Chico Grande,” You warned with a sly smile.

“Wha-- seriously?” Beto’s eyes widened. “No way….tu suaves,”

“Oh really, too soft? You wanna go, ese?” Rafael licked his lips, playing into Beto’s game.

“BOYS,” You stepped in between them.

“You, go do your homework,” You looked at Beto, then turned to Rafael, “And you-- stop picking on my little brother,”

“He started it!”

“esto no ha terminado, vato,” Beto warned, making the “I’m watching you” sign as he walked back inside with Yaz who just rolled her eyes. As soon as they were gone you turned and slapped Rafael across the chest.

“What?! What did I do?” He threw his hands up innocently.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And you love it,” He smirked.

“God help me, I do,” You shook your head as he pulled you into a deep kiss.

“Te amo, mi angel,” He whispered as he stroked your hair.

“Yo también te quiero, Rafa,” You stared lovingly into his beautiful green eyes. He gave you one last kiss and hopped in the front of the SUV. Sonny waved goodbye to you as they drove off and you headed inside.

------

The next few weeks went by pretty uneventful. You decided to rip out the booths that had the bullet holes behind them and put in a stage, starting Karaoke Nights every Friday night. It was a great money maker to your surprise, since it had been Ash’s idea. She was a pretty good business woman, you wondered how much Rafael had rubbed off on her over the years.

One Friday night, Ash was getting ready to host the usual Karaoke Party, when Rafael came through the front door. He was casually dressed, in his jeans and t-shirt with the leather jacket. He had learned very quickly that you much preferred him in paisano, plus he didn’t look like he had taken a wrong turn at 5th avenue. This was the first Friday he was able to make, and when he had come and seen you over the past few weeks Ash had found ways to avoid him. Tonight though, she was right up front when he walked in.

“Ash...can we talk?” He gestured to the side.

“Go ahead, start talking,” She gestured, indicating she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ash I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole story behind the money I gave you,” He put his hand out. “I should have been honest with you right up front but, you were SO young,”

“Yeah….I get it,” She reluctantly took his hand in return. “You did get rid of the Diablo’s, I guess that gets you some points,”

“Well I brought you something,” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Ashtawnja. She took it and unfolded the paper, her eyes grew wide.

“Really? You still want me to have this? Even after I yelled at you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not guilt money anymore,” He nodded at the check. “Look at the ‘reason’ line,”

“Creo en ti” She read with tears in her eyes. “Do you really? Believe in me?”

“Si, Claro,” He smiled, pulling her into a hug. “Of course I do,”. Pulling back from the hug, Rafael felt his phone going off in his pocket.

“Barba,” He answered, listening to the other person. He nodded as they went on, then his eyes began to brighten. “Really?! Are you sure? What time?” He looked over at Ash who just looked at him in confusion, the more excited he became the more she was confused.

“Right right, yeah I’m on my way!” He hung up the phone and hugged Ash.

“Whoa whoa whoa there abogado, you know I hate mushy gushy,” She pushed him off with a laugh.

“Right,” He smiled.

“So who was that?”

“Oh right--- tell Y/N I had to go, I’ll call her later I swear!!” He told her as he ran out the door, just as you were walking up.

“Was that Rafael?” You asked.

“Yeah, he got a phone call and ran out of here, said he’d call you later,”

“Wha--Why?” You looked out the window but Rafael was long gone.

“I don’t know, but he was pretty happy,” She shrugged, putting her check into her pocket.

Who had called him and why was he so happy about it??5

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #my fairy abogado

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starshine583 · 4 years

Text

Crossing a Line (20)

(Hey! I just want to thank everyone for their continued support of this fic!! i’m glad you all have enjoyed it so much and I hope that you find the ending satisfactory!)

Part 1 / Part 19 / Epilogue

Adrien’s eyes fluttered open, the room around him blurring into view. The mansion’s ceiling lay above him, white and tall, and he could vaguely sense the way his body was sprawled out across the floor. Why was he on the floor? When did he come downstairs from the bedroom?

“No!”

Adrien flinched at the scream and sat up, ignoring the light headedness from doing so.

Father was on the floor a few feet in front of him, scowling and writhing to escape the yo-yo that was tied around him. Adrien followed the string to its holder, half expecting to see Ladybug. Instead, he saw a boy with pale blonde hair that was slicked back and dyed red at the tips.

“You can’t do this!” His father continued, regaining Adrien’s attention. “This is betrayal, Felix! You’ll be disowned from our family! Your mother will never trust or love you once I’m gone!”

Adrien’s eyes widened. Why was Felix wearing the Ladybug miraculous? And where was Ladybug?

“My Lady?”

“Would I lie to you, Adrien?”

“Chat Noir, get back!”

“I’m sorry.”

Memories hit Adrien like a truck as the fog in his mind cleared, and he winced, his hands shooting to his head. Had he seen all of that right? Was Father really Hawkmoth? Has he been Hawkmoth this entire time? How did Adrien not notice? Wasn’t he supposed to be a hero?

“Adrien!”

His spiraling thoughts were briefly shattered when Marinette threw herself around him in a hug.

“Oh, Minou, I’m so sorry! Are you alright? Are you hurt?” She asked frantically. How long had she been there? Did she get caught in the fight or hide before it happened?

Wait, did she just call me-

Adrien looked down at her, and she pulled back to check him for injuries, grief and worry plastered across her expression.

“.. Ladybug?”

Marinette paused, offering him a sheepish smile. “Hey, kitty.”

“You’re Ladybug?” He asked again, his jaw dropping to the floor. Looking back at it now, Marinette being Ladybug made perfect sense, but still! First his father, now Marinette- was he just blind to everything?

“Is he alright?”

Adrien’s gaze flicked back to the new Ladybug holder, who still had their foot firmly on Gabriel’s back. Ah, yes. Let’s not forget my brother’s part in this.

“Yes, he’s fine.” Marinette answered, before turning back to Adrien. “You are fine, right?”

Adrien nodded, though he wouldn’t exactly describe himself as ‘fine’. He just discovered that both of his family members are super-villains, for Pete’s sake. What was going to happen to them now?

“Marinette..” He began, not taking his eyes off of Felix. “Is he really..?”

“Is he really Le Paon?”

Marinette followed his gaze and sighed. “..Yes.”

“How long have you known?” Because at this point, how could she not have known? She had to have gotten Felix’s peacock miraculous at some point, and Adrien doubted it was anytime after they arrived at the mansion.

“Only two days.” She admitted. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, I just couldn’t find the right time.”

“No, it’s okay.” Adrien assured, a hint of irritation rising in his voice. “It looks like everyone else has been keeping secrets from me, anyway.”

He didn’t mean to make the biting remark, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been running around as Chat Noir thinking that he was on top of things and that his lady shared everything with him. He thought they had an unbreakable bond built on mutual trust and respect, but obviously, that was wrong. He thought that he knew everything about his brother, but obviously, that was wrong. He thought that, although his father could be cold, he would never be the type of person to hurt others so recklessly, but obviously, all of that was wrong! Everything he thought he knew was a lie!

Adrien clenched his fists. You know what? He didn’t even care about Father being a terrorist! What he did care about, was the fact that he trusted Felix with that fact and not him. Why? Was Adrien not good enough? After everything he’d done to please him? Why didn’t Felix tell Adrien about the peacock miraculous as soon as he had it? Weren’t they supposed to be close? Why was it that no one seemed to find him worthy of dependence? Was he that unreliable?

A part of him understood. Marinette didn’t want to compromise Felix, and Felix probably didn’t want to drag Adrien into the mess he’d gotten himself into. That didn’t stop the feeling of betrayal or grief or guilt from twisting into his heart and eating away at him from the inside out. Even if they didn’t trust him, he should have known. He should have figured out that Felix was Le Paon from the very beginning. If he had, maybe he could have stopped him before it got out of hand..

Tears burned in the corner of his eyes. All he’d wanted was to live a normal life, with supportive friends and a loving family. Why did this have to be the reality? What could he have possibly done to warrant such a harsh punishment?

Adrien wiped away a tear and forced himself to his feet. As furious as he was with himself and everyone else, now was not the time to sulk. They had Hawkmoth and Le Paon, and he needed to focus.

He walked over to Felix, who was still holding a writhing Gabriel to the floor. Felix looked up in a silent acknowledgement towards his presence. It was hard to detect behind the red and black mask, but Adrien noticed a flicker of shame and guilt reflecting in Felix’s eyes as well.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Felix asked after a moment.

Adrien shrugged. “As alright as I can be.. What about you?”

Felix glanced down at Gabriel. “I’ve got a few scrapes and bruises, but it’s nothing I don’t deserve.”

Something about that comment struck Adrien. Maybe it was the way Felix said it so softly, or how he avoided Adrien’s eyes, but it made Adrien realize that he wasn’t the only victim in this situation. Felix has gone through a lot too. It couldn’t have been easy putting others in danger for the sake of their mother, and he obviously regretted it.

Adrien put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We all make mistakes, right?”

In the end, Felix was only trying to do what any normal person would have done. He was trying to save someone precious. Adrien couldn’t fault him for that.

Felix met Adrien’s eyes, clearly surprised. He hadn’t expected to be forgiven.

“You two have a lot to talk about.” Marinette spoke up.

Felix glanced at Marinette, his expression immediately softening. Adrien smiled at the sight. He couldn’t wait for them to finally get together.

“This is madness!” Gabriel spat, regaining their attention. “You’ll all pay for this!”

“Save it.” Felix growled, pushing the man down with his foot. “I think we’ve heard enough from you.”

“What do you guys want to do with him?” Marinette asked, shooting Gabriel a glare. “It’s your decision.”

Adrien frowned. That was a good question. What did they want to do with him? Father didn’t appear to be regretful towards his actions. If they let him go now, he would probably keep coming after their miraculous. So what should they do?

“Call the police.” Felix said.

“What?!” Gabriel blanched.

“Felix, are you sure?” Marinette asked.

Felix nodded. “If he’s not convicted about hurting others, then he’s dangerous. We need to turn him in.”

“Adrien?”

Adrien sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “..I agree with Felix. We can’t trust him.”

“This is outrageous!” Gabriel protested. “You can’t put your own father behind bars!”

“You stopped being our father a long time ago.” Felix snapped. “Now you’ll pay for your actions.”

“I’ll go get the phone.” Adrien announced, spinning on his heel to head for the office. Turning his own father into the police felt like knives sinking into his chest, but it had to be done. For the safety of Paris and for the safety of Marinette and Felix. Hopefully one day, Father will understand.

~~~~~~

Felix watched the police officers drag Gabriel into the cop car. He was screaming and spitting curses the whole way, with Nathalie not far behind him. She’d been knocked out cold on the floor from their previous fight, but as soon as she woke up, she attempted to help Gabriel escape, ultimately making herself an accomplice.

A part of Felix felt guilty for not stepping forward as well. He’d fought beside Gabriel for months, after all. Shouldn’t he take the blame? Was it right to be relieved of all consequences for his treacherous actions?

A soft pat on his shoulder dragged Felix’s gaze from the cop car to Adrien, who was standing next to him. Conflict reflected in his brother’s eyes, and the grief of the situation tugged his lips into a frown. Felix couldn’t blame him. Despite everything that’s transpired, Adrien still had a big heart. He wouldn’t want to outright reject Gabriel as a parental figure just yet.

Talking Adrien down after he woke up had not been a simple task and explaining the relations between himself and Marinette that took place beforehand had been even harder. Adrien always loathed secrets. Knowing that his closest friends and family had been withholding a mountain of information for that long was a hard blow.

Thankfully, however, Adrien was extremely understanding in the end, and Felix gained a newfound respect for his little brother that he hadn’t had before.

“Thank you for your service, Ladybug.” M. Roger smiled.

Felix glanced at Marinette. During their wait for the police, he managed to give her earrings back to her so she could transform. It was a struggle, considering Gabriel was still furious, but they did it. Adrien offered to transform as well, but Marinette declined, saying it might be suspicious if Adrien wasn’t present during the arrest. Felix was grateful to have her advice, because hoards of reporters had swarmed the mansion within the time it took to get handcuffs on Gabriel and walk him outside. The other police officers were holding them back, but only just.

Ladybug returned the cop’s smile. “Of course! As long as the people of Paris are safe.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t get Le Paon. We’ll have to keep an eye out for him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry.” Ladybug assured, flashing Felix a secret smile. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing him anymore.”

Roger cop nodded, oblivious of the inside joke that had just passed before him. “That’s good to hear. Where Chat Noir? Aren’t you two partners?”

“He ran out of time and had to go detransform, but he was a big help.” Ladybug replied. “I couldn’t have done this without him.”

Felix noticed Adrien’s small, grateful smile. It gave him hope that everything might actually turn out alright after this.

“We’ll have to thank you both when we can then.” Roger cop mused. “Maybe the Mayor will throw you a party in your honor.”

Ladybug chuckled. “That’s very generous, but it’s not necessary. We were only doing our jobs.”

“I don’t think a celebration would hurt.” Felix spoke up. “You deserve it after saving everyone.”

After saving me. He mentally adds. She’d deserve everything in the world even if she hadn’t given him a second chance.

Ladybug shot him a side glance, her lips pursing to hide her smile. “And would you be attending this celebration, M. Agreste?”

“To be in company with our gallant heroes?” Felix remarked. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Ladybug hummed, her eyes narrowing with amusement. Gosh, he loved this woman.

“You guys better stop flirting in front of the paparazzi.” Adrien murmured in Felix’s ear, though his teasing smile was evident. “You might end up on the front page.”

Felix felt himself flush. His first inclination was to turn and snap at his brother, but the comment was sound advice. The cameras around them were still flashing, even though Gabriel and Nathalie’s cop car had left the premises.

“Well, I need to get going.” Ladybug said, her gaze slipping back to M. Roger. “I trust you to keep these boys safe.”

M. Roger straightened and gave her a salute. “You can count on me, Ma’am!”

Ladybug smiled and threw out her yo-yo. Only Felix and Adrien caught her wink in their direction as she swung off to the rooftops. She’d be detransforming in an alleyway not far from them. That meant the boys needed to get inside before she reached the back entrance again.

“I think you boys have been through enough today.” M. Roger spoke up, patting Felix and Adrien’s heads. “Why don’t you two go inside and rest? We’ll take it from here.”

Felix pushed down his displeasure towards being touched in such a casual manner and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Adrien said, plastering a smile across his lips.

Taking the convenient opportunity while it lasted, the boys shuffled inside of the mansion where Gorilla was waiting. He’d been the one to detain Nathalie when she broke loose, and Felix was extremely grateful for it. When the world was crumbling around them, it was nice to know that he and Adrien had had someone in the Agreste mansion that they were able to fully rely on.

Gorilla closed the door behind them and grunted his concerns, but the boys assured him that they were alright. At least, they would be. It would take time to adjust to their new life. Gabriel has been telling them how to eat, sleep, dress, and live for the better half of two years. The sudden freedom was going to be.. admittedly strange.

“So.. Does this mean that we’re orphans now?” Adrien commented thoughtfully.

Felix rose a brow. “Adrien, orphans are kids whose parents have died.”

“I don’t know about you, but Father’s dead to me.”

A surprised laugh burst from Felix’s lips. “Yes, but the term ‘orphans’ refers to the literal definition of death. Besides, we still have Mother.”

Adrien’s smile faltered. “Yeah.. do you really think she’ll be able to heal her?”

Felix lightly touched his side, feeling over the bullet scar. “I think we should have some faith in her.”

Adrien nodded, his smile returning full force. “You two have really gotten close, huh? I can’t believe you kissed her, and I didn’t even know!”

Felix chuckled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “It’s not like I could have told you.”

Adrien laughed. “Like you would have either way!”

Felix shrugged. That was true.

“Hey, guys!”

The boys turned to see Marinette waving them down as she ran in from the kitchen. Felix smiled and walked forward, meeting her half way.

“Sorry, it took me so long.” Marinette huffed, coming to a stop in front of Felix. “I had to make sure the police didn’t see me come in.”

“You didn’t take long.” Felix promised. He reached up to brush her disheveled bangs aside, and she leaned into his touch with a contented sigh. He couldn't help smiling at her expression. Giddiness and peace and relief littered her features. It made his heart skip knowing that he was the reason for such a breathtaking look.

With keeping Gabriel at bay and explaining things to the police, Felix had barely gotten time to accept the fact that Marinette was alive and okay. And now that they finally had a moment to relax, all he wanted to do was pull her close and never let her go.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” He asked softly, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks simply to feel her warmth. “You can rest if you need to.”

Marinette closed her eyes, reveling in his touch as well, and lightly grabbed his wrists. “I’ll be fine.”

Felix nodded. He’d never healed someone with magic before and, therefore, wasn’t certain of the physically or emotional backlash that might occur. If she said that she was ready, though, he would take her word for it.

“Oh my gosh,” Adrien grinned, “I’ve never seen you so sappy in my entire life.”

Felix swatted at his brother with a glare, but Marinette giggled.

“You should see him when he’s at my house.” She said, only embarrassing him further. “He’s even carried me bridal style around Paris.”

“That was one time!” Felix defended, though he wasn’t sure what he was defending. He wouldn’t hesitate to carry her around Paris again. The argument that night hadn’t been fun, but the feeling of her in his arms had infected his mind for weeks afterwards. It still did now.

Adrien put his hands on his hips. “Wow. And here I thought that you were never going to be the one to confess first.”

Felix scowled, but Marinette’s hand slipping into his promptly dissipated any on-coming rage.

“Nope! The confession was all him. He did say it right before he took my miraculous, though..” Marinette remarked.

Adrien gasped. “Felix! I thought you would be better than that.”

Felix’s fingers tightened around Marinette’s hand, and he sighed. “You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

The pair chuckled, and Marinette pushed herself onto her tiptoes to give Felix a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t worry. We’ll stop teasing you about it.. Eventually.” She promised, a mischievous glint reflecting in her bluebell eyes. Felix might have been disgruntled about the comment had his chest not been swirling with warmth from her touch. He supposed he deserved the treatment anyway.

“Oh, I need to get going!” Marinette gasped, suddenly remembering the task at hand.

Felix furrowed his eyebrows. “Get going where?”

“You want me to heal Mlle. Agreste, right?” Marinette replied. “I can do that, but I’m going to need some help.”

Help? Who could possibly help her in this situation? The only people who knew about the miraculous were in this room or on their way to jail.

..Right?

~~~~~~

Marinette staring up at the large dome of metal above them as the elevator came to a stop. Seeing Felix activate a secret elevator by pressing secret buttons on a painting had been a surreal experience. Gabriel must have jumped through a lot of hoops to keep Emilie hidden. It made it all the more shocking to know that Felix had actually discovered the elevator on his own, without Gabriel’s help.

Now that the rubble and debri from the fight was clear, Marinette got a much better picture of the secret basement that she’d previously fallen into. The metal walkway stretched out in front of her, cutting through loads of greenery around the room. Her footsteps echoed as though she were in a tunnel, and almost everything was dark and dreary, save for the beam of light that shined on Emilie’s golden coffin. The set-up vaguely reminded Marinette of an abandoned cathedral.

“How long has this been down here?” Adrien asked in front of her. The elevator was two small to take all of them at once, so Felix had everyone take turns.

“I don’t know.” Felix admitted, coming to stand next to Marinette. “Ever since Mother disappeared, I imagine.”

“I can’t believe he would go to such lengths to keep her here.” Marinette commented, absently lacing her fingers with Felix’s.

Felix gave her hand a soft squeeze. “I still can’t believe that old man is really a miraculous guardian.”

“Hey, now.” Master Fu spoke up, glancing over his shoulder to shoot Felix a wry smile. “I’m only 186. I’ve still got a good few years left ahead of me.”

“I found you mugged in an alley.” Felix retorted.

“Did you?” Master Fu shot back, a mischievous glint coming to his eyes. “Or did I find you?”

Felix scrunched up his nose in a mix of annoyance and confusion, causing Marinette to giggle. The shocked gasp that had flown from Felix’s lips when she brought Fu back to the mansion had made her regret that she didn’t have a camera. His face was completely twisted with confusion and disbelief, and she was certain that it had been the most expressive thing he’d ever done in his life.

Naturally, Adrien had been more confused than shocked, but once she was able to explain everything, he got excited. Finding out he had hidden powers gave him a sudden urge to study and learn about his miraculous all over again. Of course, they decided that that could wait until after they healed Emilie.

“Thank you for coming, Master Fu.” Marinette said warmly. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Adrien agreed. “Maybe when this is over, you can show me how to unlock my inner power!”

Master Fu chuckled. “All in good time, Chat Noir, and it’s an honor to help you. Shall we get started?”

Marinette nodded, and they made their way across the room to Emilie’s coffin. She looked as peaceful as ever, almost like she’d lain down for a simple nap. How had her body stayed intact all this time? A coma doesn’t cause your body to decay, but it would keep you from eating or drinking. How had Gabriel kept her fed and healthy?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Marinette reached forward to open the glass casing. How she was still alive didn’t matter. The point was that she was alive, and Marinette was going to heal her.

“Remember what I taught you.” Master Fu said beside her as she touched Emilie’s forearm. “Clear your mind. Focus on your connection with Tikki. Feel the magic in your soul and transfer it to Emilie through your shared life force.”

Marinette drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Feel the magic in your soul.

Her hand tightened around Felix’s as she concentrated her thoughts on Tikki, on life, on healing. Everything around her fell away, save for the life force that Marinette was envisioning. She imagined refilling Emilie’s light with her own, as though she were the pitcher of water and Emilie was the glass that she was pouring into.

Slowly, Marinette felt the spark of magic between her fingers, felt it move to Emilie’s forearm and trail up her body. It took a lot of discipline to not open her eyes as Emilie’s body started glowing a soft pink.

“Wow..” She heard Adrien whisper behind her.

Marinette squeezed her eyes to close them further. She needed to block everything out if this was going to work.

Emilie’s soft glow turned into a shining light, growing brighter and brighter as Marinette transferred more magic into her. Then, when it became blinding, the light started fading again.

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat when the light finally stopped, and her eyes fluttered open. Please be healed..

Emilie remained motionless. Her skin remained pale and lifeless. They waited, hoping beyond all hope for movement, but nothing came.

“It didn’t work..” Marinette whispered, the realization washing over her like a bucket of ice water. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t heal their mother.

“Oh, Felix-” A sob choked out her words, and she put a hand over her mouth. After all of that fighting and planning and practicing.. She still wasn’t able to help them. “Felix, I’m so sorry.”

Felix pulled her into a tight hug, using his free hand to brush through her hair. “It’s alright, it’s fine. You did the best you could.”

Despite his attempts to sound soothing or composed, Marinette could hear the distress in his voice, the heartache. She buried her face into his shoulder, feeling pain lace through her chest as well.

With everyone huddling together to share their comforts and sorrows, no one noticed the slight gasp that passed Emilie’s lips, or how her fingers twitched.

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#Felinette #Marinette #Felix Agreste #Le Paon AU #Crossing a Line

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mafia-nct · 4 years

Text

For _____ Or Worse (Part 2)

Genre: Mafia!AU, Mafia Boss Taeyong, Angst Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Mentions of weapons, Mentions of blood. Word Count: 4.7k Description: Who would’ve thought that a night with, what you thought was, a handsome stranger would change your life forever. Recommended to read this beforehand.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Epilogue

Waking up, you felt like you got hit by a truck. Your head pounded as if a jackhammer was trying to dig into your skull. You tried to lift your hands to rub your eyes, but were restrained by something. You opened them, and got a good look of your surroundings. It was dark, so dark. The only light came from the small window on the right wall. Your wrists were bound to the chair’s armrest. It cracked under your weight at every single little movement. The room smelled of mold, your nose scrunching in disgust. This couldn’t be real. Being kidnapped, thrown into an - almost - windowless room, bound to a chair with no way to escape was every woman's nightmare. You started to panic, your breath was shaky and your eyes started to fill with water. What was going to happen to you?

The door opened in a flash of light. You squeezed your eyes shut and swallowed your tears. Whoever was your captor, you couldn’t let them know you were about to cry.

“Well, would you look at that. The princess is awake” Laughed a man. A broken laugh, with no joy behind it.

You opened your eyes slowly as they adjusted to the, now, lit room. The light coming from a single light bulb dangling over your head. The man was large for his size. The buttons on his shirt held on for dear life. His bald head reflected the light of the room. The cigar between his yellow teeth was halfway done and the scar of the bridge of his nose did nothing to make him look kind.

He came close to you puffing out the smoke of his cigar in your face. He roughly grabbed both of your cheeks in one hand with a wicked smile on his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing!” You shook your head trying to get out of his grasp but he only tightened his hold. “And you’re feisty too. Now I understand why he kept you around.”

He chuckled before releasing you and going to a corner of the room where was another wooden chair. He grabbed it by the back and dragged it across the floor. The noise it made increased the rhythm of your already rapidly beating heart. Once in front of you, he straddled the chair and leaned on the back of it with his forearms. He took his cigar out of his mouth and exhaled slowly.

Finding every ounce of courage left in you, you spoke up. “Who are you? And what do you want from me?”

Looking at you, the man smirked. He threw his cigar on the floor, crushing it with his foot, before answering you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed princess, but I’m the one who asks the questions around here. And you’re in a peculiar position to talk back to me.” With one hand, he reached behind his back and took out a knife. “If I were you, I’d keep my pretty mouth shut and only open it when I’m asked.”

You felt your heartbeat in your ears. It was getting harder to breath.

But you swallowed your fear. You couldn’t let his threats get to you. This is what he wanted. He wanted you to fall apart in front of him. He wanted you to be weak so he could manipulate you however he wanted. So even though you were afraid beyond imagination and even though you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, you put on a brave face. He wasn’t going to win this, you were. You didn’t say anything, letting him continue.

“I’m going to explain what’s going on princess, it’s very easy. Some guy has been getting on my nerves for quite some time now and I need information. Could you give me that?”

You stayed still.

He raised his hand and slapped you. “Answer me!” He screamed.

You swallowed, tasting blood.

“I thought I was supposed to keep my pretty little mouth shut.” You sassed.

He reached for your throat, grabbing it with one hand and squeezing. His face red of anger matching yours. “You answer when I ask a question. Do you understand you stupid slut!”

Your throat hurt. The lack of air made you light headed. You slowly nodded, deciding that being abused was better than being dead. He released his grip and sat back down on his chair as you coughed; air finally reaching your lungs.

“Now, my source tells me that you’ve been hanging with a mafia boss recently.” You stayed silent, curious of where he was going with this. “You see, the guy who’s getting on my nerves is the mafia boss you’ve been hanging out with. And since you two seem to be pretty close, I’ve come to the conclusion that you were the best person to tell me everything you know about him.”

It was your turn to smile, this was ridiculous. “Your source is lying. I don’t know anything about a mafia boss nor do I hang out with one.”

He slapped you again. Your cheek was on fire. The pain almost unbearable but you bit your tongue not giving in.

“My source doesn’t lie princess and I have physical proof of it. Now,” he pointed his knife towards you, “you’re going to tell me everything you know about Lee Taeyong.”

“Who?”

TAEYONG POV

He paced, from wall to wall, his fist clenching and unclenching. He was going insane. He could feel it. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour. Every possible scenarios were playing in his head over and over again. Getting worse and worse every time.

X hated him. Taeyong knew X would do anything to hurt him. And taking you away was - obviously - the easiest way to irritate Taeyong. He wanted you safe. Safe in his arms and he wanted it now. He was like a ticking bomb, ready to set the city on fire just to find you.

Unfortunately, the city wasn’t on fire. He was. No one had given him good news in a while and it ticked him off.

“I’m sorry.” Whimpered Jisung.

“Sorry. You're sorry?” Screamed Taeyong. He slammed his hands on the table starring Jisung down. “Sorry you can’t find her or sorry you’re incompetent? We have everything: camera footages, license plates and you can’t fucking find her!”

Jisung flinched. Everyone stared at Taeyong. He never raised his voice at the youngest member. Jisung was, almost, like a son to him.

“I asked you to do one simple fucking thing: find out where she is. And you can’t fucking do that and you’re sorry!”

Jisung dropped his head looking at his lap. The room fell silent apart from the quiet sobs that could be heard coming out of Jisung’s mouth

Taeyong opened his mouth ready to yell again only to be interrupted by Ten.

“Taeyong that’s enough!” He barked. Everyone’s attention left Jisung. No one would dare to talk to Taeyong when he was enraged. His wrath could never be tamed. But Ten was the only one who had no problem talking back to his boss, sometimes putting him back in his place. “The kid tried everything. He’s been trying to find her for five hours! X knew what he was doing. He hacked the cameras, Jisung told you, none of the footages fucking match. Even the fucking licenses plate change from one footage to the other. It’s not that simple, give Jisung a break!”

Taeyong narrowed his eyes. “Give him a break? You want me to give him a break, when that asshole has my girl locked up somewhere!”

“Yes!” Ten got up so quickly his chair fell to the floor. “You’re acting insane. You’ve been screaming at us for shit that’s out of our control since nine last night. I’m fed up.” Once again, the room was silent. No one dared to move. Ten sighed loudly. “I understand that you’re worried about her.” His voice got soft. “X is the worst, we all know that. He’s been trying to overthrow us for years and now he’s taken your girl. We understand your rage, but if want her to come back safe and sound we need to be logical. We can’t let our emotions get the best of us, that’s exactly what X wants. We need to be a team.”

As Ten’s words sunk in. Taeyong started to feel guilty. He’d taken out his anger on his crew. His crew who were trying to help him in every way they could.

He sighed heavily as he sat back down, dropping all of his weight in his chair. “I haven’t been a leader these past hours and I apologize to all of you. It’s just - “ Taeyong hesitated. He didn’t break down in front of his crew and he wasn’t about to start today. He looked at the ceiling, “I know how X can be hell we all do. I just want her to be ok.”

“We know boss,” reassured Johnny placing a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, “we’ll get her back!”

Taeyong nodded in thank you.

Suddenly, the door of the meeting room opened with a loud bang. Mark stood there. A hand on his knee, panting like he’d run from the basement to the meeting room. His other hand clutched his laptop close to his chest. Finally catching his breath, he straightened up and stared at Taeyong.

“Boss,” exhaled Mark, “I think I found her.”

Y/N POV

You lost count of how many times he slapped you. You felt the blood run down your upper lip into your mouth. Your cheeks burned, they probably were a nice shade of red by now. Every time he’d strike you, you’d get angrier.

Another slap, you grunted before spitting blood on the floor.

“Tell me what I want, fucking useless whore!”

“What don’t you understand in the sentence: ‘I don’t know anyone named Lee Taeyong.’ Do you want me to spell it?” You sassed.

“Cunt!” He walked behind you grabbing your hair in one hand. Yanking your head back. You thought your hair was going to rip out of your skull. You grunted in pain. “I know you’re lying.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. That wicked smile that you wanted to knock off of his face.

He got closer looking straight in your eyes, you spat in his. “And I know you’re a dickhead.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. His stare held flammes. He breathed heavily. He pressed his knife to your neck. “Now, I won’t say it again princess. What do you know about, NCT’s mafia leader, Lee Taeyong?”

You swallowed hard. This what it, this is how you were going to die.

Fortunately, from outside of the room, you heard gunshots, men screaming and things being thrown. Your saving grace.

“What the -”

The door of the room was kicked open, interrupting your captor. Two men stepped in the room. One of them was taller than the other. He held a machine gun towards your captor which only emphasizes his large shoulders. He had black cargo pants, a belt - that held knives, guns, grenades and other things you couldn’t name - black combat boots and a black t-shirt. Next to him, dressed the same, was the one guy you’d recognize anywhere. His red hair being the only speck of colour in the room. A rush of hope filled your chest, but what was he doing here?

The man behind you pressed the knife harder in your throat, bringing you back to reality. “Nice to see you Taeyong. As you can see, I met your girlfriend.”

T cocked his gun and pointed it at the man behind you. “Let her fucking go!”

If a knife wasn’t held to your throat, your jaw would drop. T was Taeyong. That’s why he was here; he came to save you. But no, this couldn’t be real; it had to be a joke or some kind of prank. T would never hurt anyone; you’ve seen him take caterpillars off of the sidewalk only to release them in the safety of the grass. He couldn’t be a mafia leader, because a mafia leader wouldn’t do that, right?

But as you saw the determined look in T’s eyes. How he held his gun like he’d done this a thousand times. How his friend glanced his way like he was waiting for an order. How he almost looked calm. How he stared down the man behind you. You realized this wasn’t a prank; this was real. T was a mafia leader. He lied to you. The rush of hope transformed itself into anger.

Your captor laughed. “We had a deal.”

“Fuck your deal. You always tried to take my crew and I down. Now, you’re threatening my girl. This ends today.”

You could feel the knife starting to dig in your skin. You locked eyes with T. His eyes softened for a second his gun never lowering. If you weren’t angry at him, your eyes might’ve held the same emotion.

“Well,” said your captor, “so does she.”

You closed your eyes. Ready for the end, but following his words, instead of a slash of your throat, came a gunshot.

Opening your eyes again, you saw T rush behind you while the other man crouched down next to you as he took a knife out of his belt.

You flinched.

“Don’t worry, it’s for the ropes.”

He easily cut you free and helped you get up on feet. You couldn’t help but turn around. Your captor was on the floor, blood pouring out of the gunshot wound on his shoulder. He was trying to defend himself as T was above him, landing one punch after the other.

The other man grabbed your wrist tugging on it. “Come on, we need to go. We’re going to blow this place up and Taeyong is going to kill all of us if anything happens to you.”

You wanted to scoff at his words. T had the audacity to lie to your face, but still acted like he cared about you. This was a joke after all.

However, you badly wanted to leave this room, you were done with it. You bit the inside of your cheeks nodding before following him.

Blood. Blood. Blood everywhere.

Blood on the walls, blood on the floor, blood on your shoes, blood on the dead men that littered the floor. It was horrible, nothing could compare to it. They were dead, so many of them.

You clung to T’s friend’s arm as he led you out of the building. Hiding your face in his back every time you’d cross a dead body. The building was a labyrinth of corridor after corridor. Nothing made sense, you turned left and right over and over again. But finally, you made it outside. It was the most blissful thing you’ve ever experienced. The sun hit your face, heating up your cheeks in a pleasurable way. The opposite of what you’ve experienced in the last hours. The air was fresh cleansing your lungs of all the cigar smoke.

“Get in the van, we’re waiting for Taeyong then we’re leaving.” Said T’s friend as he opened the back doors for you before leaving to go sit in the front.

You nodded and climbed in the van. Four guys were already sitting. Three on one side, one on the other. You sat next to the lonely one. Looking at them, you felt like you knew them. You’ve definitely seen them somewhere, but couldn’t pinpoint where exactly.

The guy next to you was busy cleaning his handgun. Two of them, sitting on the opposite side, had bleach blond hair with dark undercuts; the tips of their fringe were stained with blood turning their hair pinkish. One of the blond guys had a brass knuckle in each one of his hands. The other was busy wiping a very big knife on a piece of cloth.

“Sam, where’s the boss?” Asked the last man. You looked at him; he had a deep cut above his left eyebrow and blood on his face that you were pretty sure wasn’t his own. And on his neck, a tattoo, a bullet tattoo.

“He’s coming don’t worry,” answered one of the man sitting in the front, “he wanted to finish the job himself.”

Bullet tattoo nodded a smirk growing on his face.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. If T was the boss and bullet tattoo was here, that meant that every men who sat in T’s living room was part of his crew; part of his mafia. Your mind went back to the day you asked him who were the men that would come in his living room. “Some of them are business partners, others are my marketing team, three are my tech guys, I have data specialist and human resources” He’d told you at the time. You wanted to laugh in disbelief; he really did lie about everything.

You heard two knocks on the side of the van then the motor roared to life. T climbed in the van sitting next to you. He closed the doors with the help of bullet tattoo.

“Step on it Janus,” T commanded, “I ordered the kids to blow this place up in five minutes and I don’t want to be there when it happens.”

“Got it boss!” Answered someone behind the wheel and the van started to move.

T’s hands were red; covered with blood. One of his shirtsleeve was torn a large gash peeking out of it. He turned towards you the damage on his face staring back at you: a busted lip, a cut under his left eye and a black eye on the right.

“I transferred their entire database to ours boss!” said bullet tattoo getting T’s attention.

The blond guy with a knife handed his cloth to T before speaking. “They won’t bother us again boss. I doubt one of them survived!”

The man sitting next to you, shotgun guy, laughed. “Yeah, they didn’t see us coming at all. They weren’t prepared.”

“Thank you Maple, Scythe and CO.” T nodded wiping his hands trying to get rid of all the blood. “Janus what about the others” He yelled to what you assumed was the driver.

“Lightning and Alarm left with the others and the equipment five minutes before us. Chameleon, Ghost, Prince and T-Ray are in pretty bad shape; Rouge and Patch will need help.”

“Ok, contact Zipper and Chip. Tell them to get ready to jump in as medics when we arrive at the mansion. If they need more help, Scythe you jump in.”

The knife guy nodded.

You stared at him, wide eyes mouth slightly open. You didn’t know if you should be impressed or scared. T commanded his team like they’ve done this a thousand times. Well, maybe they have. He obviously knew his team’s skills. He really was their boss. T really was a mafia leader.

Everyone started to chat amongst each other, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from T. You thought you knew him inside and out. Thought you knew him more than any other boyfriends you’ve ever had. Thought he would never dare to leave you in the dark. Thought he’d tell you everything. Thought he was kind. Thought he’d never hurt a fly. Thought he was honest man. You thought you knew him inside out, but turned out everything you knew was a lie. T was a big, fat, liar.

So when he placed his hand on your lap: palm facing up silently asking for you to hold his hand. Followed by a: “I’m sorry, I’ll explain everything I swear.” You bit your tongue keeping you from yelling at him in front of his crew, crossed your arms over your chest and turned your body away from him. Looking the other way.

TAEYONG POV

Taeyong angered plenty of women in his life. So much that he thought he was immune to their anger; they could scream at him, throw things his way, call him names - but he’d never react, never feel anything.

However, the last 24 hours had been hell for him. He felt like his world had ended. He went through every possible emotion. Anger - how could he let this happened. Fear - what if he lost you before your story even began. Sadness - he couldn’t afford to lose you, you meant so much to him already. Joy - his heart skipped a beat when he saw you alive in that room. Back to fear. He’d known from the moment you rejected him in the van the he fucked up. He fucked up the one thing that brought him peace and joy.

As you stood there - in his office - cheeks a dark shade of red, the trace of a knife on your throat, your arms crossed, fire in your eyes refusing to speak; he’d never felt more afraid. Afraid of your reaction, afraid of what you could do, afraid you’ll leave him. At that moment he realized that he wasn’t immune to women’s anger. He just never cared enough.

He sat on his desk playing with his hands on his laps. Trying to keep his fears at bay. “Could you please say something,” he whispered his voice cracking, almost betraying him, “the silence is killing me.”

You scoffed. He felt a pang in his chest. “I don’t know what you want me to say T.” You placed your hands on your hips. “Or should I call you Taeyong. ‘Cause, apparently, that’s your name!”

Taeyong stood up. “I was trying to protect you. If you knew everything you would’ve -”

You interrupted him shouting. “And how did that turn out!”

Another pang to his chest.

Instead of trying to calmly explain, a switch flicked in his brain. He felt anger course in his veins. How dare you yell at him when he did everything in his power to get you back? How dare you shout at him when two of his men were in the infirmary? So he did the one logical thing, he yelled back.

“I saved you didn’t I?”

“By killing a man, wait no scratch that, many men.”

A silence followed, he didn’t know what to say. Looking at the floor as he racked his brain for something to defend himself, he heard a sob. His head shot up. Tears started to fall from your eyes bringing Taeyong back to reality. You must’ve endured hell because of who he was. His expression softened.

“Baby, I -”

“No,” You choked out, “you don’t get to call me baby right now.”

Another pang.

“You lied to me.” You continued. “Lied about who you are, lied about your job and who knows how many more thing you lied about. I thought you were a good man, but you lied to me to hide all of the horrors you’ve done.”

“Y/N, I’ll explain everything.” He whispered.

You shook your head drying your tears with the back of your hand. “I’m not listening to you anymore.”

Another pang.

“You’ll probably make up some other lie that I’ll end up believing. Like how I believed you when you said you had feelings for me.”

“Hey! I never lied to you about that. I really like you and that’s the truth!” He defended himself.

“And how do you want me to believe that?” You whispered.

Another pang. Taeyong’s chest felt heavy. It was getting harder to breathe.

“I’m sorry T, but I can’t be with someone who lies to me. We’re over.”

You dried your eyes again. His started to fill with water. “What?” he asked in disbelief. This was not happening right now. He couldn’t lose you when he moved heaven and earth getting you back. His wish of finally having you back in his arms was crumbling before him. “But, we didn’t even get to try.” His voice cracked, failing him.

You grabbed the doorknob. “Delete my number Taeyong.” You said leaving his office

The final pang.

The door closed with a click. Taeyong felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest. He placed a hand on his desk trying to hold himself up. It hurt, everything hurt. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t see. He fell on his knees; the pain was too intense. He tried to calm down, tried to regain control of his emotions. But it was impossible, it was too much, the pain was too much. So he accepted his faith, and fell to pieces in his office.

He just lost the best thing in his life.

Y/N POV

Two months, four days and fifteen minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since you left Taeyong. Walking out of his office ripped your heart out, but you had to do it. You couldn’t be with someone like him. He was no good after all.

The first few days were pretty hard. Physically, as your injuries healed. Emotionally, as you processed everything that happened.

You told Ru and Ki everything. Leaving anything related to the mafia out and invented a biking accident for your injuries. You were known to be clumsy and they cared more about the breakup anyway. “From what you’re saying, I can feel that you both care about each other.” Had said Ru. “Just talk to him, maybe you guys can figure something out.” had added Ki. If only it were easy. If only it were a normal breakup with some random guy. If only there wasn’t a mafia involved.

The moment you stepped out of Taeyong’s office, you told yourself to forget everything about him. For you, for your mental health. Turned out that following your own advice was harder than you initially thought. You’d found yourself missing him, missing his presences. You’d look at pictures of you two. When you’d receive a text, or call, your heart would skip a beat thinking it was him. Only to be disappointed when it wasn’t. Every time it happened, you’d scold yourself. You were supposed to forget about him. Taeyong wasn’t good for you.

He was a bad guy.

But, how could a bad guy say all the sweet things he told you? How could a bad guy hold you tight at night? How could a bad guy touch you like he did? How could a bad guy text you good morning and good night without a fault? How could a bad guy never fail to make you smile and laugh? How could a bad guy make you feel safe? How could a bad guy shower you with kisses?

You were so confused, was he really that bad? Every time you’d think about it, your heart and brain would go in different directions. A raging headache would always follow.

The only thing that would clear your head, and your heart, was cleaning the apartment. Putting the mess away purified your mind and allowed you to not think about anything for a little while. Especially Taeyong.

Which is exactly what you were doing right now. Blasting music from your phone, folding clothes and putting them away.

As you were vibing to one of your favourite songs, your phone started to ring. You stopped what you were doing and picked up.

No caller ID.

“Hello!” You answered

“Am I speaking to Y/N?” Said the voice on the other end.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hi Y/N, this is Doyoung.” You furrowed your eyebrows; you didn’t know anyone with that name. “I’m one of Taeyong’s man.”

Your shoulders dropped, you didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Look, I don’t know how you got my number and frankly I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with Taeyong anymore. So if he told you to call me, say you ended up on voicemail.”

Doyoung sighed loudly. “I wish he told me to call you.”

His voice wasn’t right; it was shaky and hoarse. He took deep breaths exhaling through his mouth, like he was trying to keep himself together. You had a feeling in the back of your brain. The feeling that something was going on, something wasn’t right.

“Doyoung,” you gulped, “what’s wrong?”

You heard him inhale deeply.

“We had a mission two days ago.” Doyoung took a pause. “Taeyong was shot.” Your heart stopped. “He’s been in a coma ever since.”

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