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moonstrider9904 · 2 years

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Failed Reunion

Chapter 17 of Moonwalker: The Batch

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Summary: The boys have their inhibitor chips out, and it seems like Sarah can finally catch a break, but the arrival of imperial ships on Bracca will force a heartbreaking reunion on her and the batch.

Word count: 5.5k

Tags/warnings: Mature. Still pretty angsty, some fluff, hurt with some comfort, polyamory, mentions of broken bones, allusions to sex and masturbation, mention of burns.

A/N: Hmhmhmhmhmh self indulgence time

Songs: long reach, ended up drowning

Rex’s last words to Sarah bounced back and forth in her mind, words she wouldn’t forget.

“Remember, Sarah. You can save him if you go about it right. It’s worth it, but you already know that.”

Standing between Hunter and Tech, staring into the endless sea of rust and debris of Bracca, a sight made unexpectedly peaceful with the deep blue sky in its final gleams of twilight. With her arm still wrapped in a cast and resting on the cloth Tech fixed for her, she thought about how in the universe she was supposed to go about it right.

She’d proven that going alone to save Crosshair from the Empire wasn’t an option. Logically, an attempt would be made to go as a group, but the whole squad, even with Rex’s help, had barely survived against Wrecker when his chip activated.

How would they ever survive Crosshair under the chip’s command?

A gentle bump on her shoulder snapped Sarah out of her daze, and she turned to see Hunter and Tech looking at her, eyes softened with concern, until a gentle stroking on her arms drew her attention onto her Guardian.

“What’s the matter?” He asked her.

Sarah sighed. “Just thinking too much over something Rex said.”

“What was it?”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” she rubbed her eyes.

Hunter’s features dropped. “Sarah, how long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Too long,” she looked up at him. “I’m fine, okay? I’m just tired and on painkillers.”

She pressed herself up to Hunter, her head resting on his chest, and without a second thought, Hunter wrapped his arms around her.

“Just hug me,” Sarah said quietly.

Hunter gave a light chuckle before kissing the top of her head. “That I can do.”

If she had just let herself drift off for a bit, Sarah would have fallen asleep in his embrace, feeling warm and protected. She thought back to when they were on Jedha, the way he held her close as they were both asleep, how it felt to wake up engulfed in his warmth.

Maybe that was all Sarah needed; some time to recover, to be in the arms of her Guardian, for once feeling like everything was okay, like she was safe, like she hadn’t let anyone down, and like her mistakes didn’t matter or define her.

But she couldn’t quite forget everything and set it aside for the sake of peace, rendering her doomed to face everything head on, if only for a while longer. Perhaps her team was always ready for anything, or at least it seemed that way, but while Sarah attempted to keep a strong front, all she could think of at that moment was how small she felt. She felt tiny in a huge galaxy that had managed to slap her in the face constantly for months.

She didn’t know how to go about anything at that moment, but she didn’t want to. All she wanted at that moment was to curl into a ball and sob while someone hugged and comforted her.

But while she wasn’t necessarily curled into a ball and in a blanket, Sarah was being hugged by someone, someone who loved her unconditionally, who would protect her even at the cost of his own life. Someone who, for the life of him, would never blame her for the mistakes she made, would always seek out her well-being, who would prefer to hug and comfort her before smacking her for her stupidity even if she deserved it.

With a shaky breath, a single tear rolled down her cheek before more and more came, and quiet as she was, she could feel Hunter’s embrace tightening.

Echo and Wrecker finished bringing their haul of stunned scrappers, accompanied by Omega, who curiously hopped behind them. As they set them down next to one of the walls on that makeshift balcony, Sarah stepped out of Hunter’s embrace, her gaze now drifted to Tech, whose gaze was yet again buried in the holopad he always carried, looking up who knows what.

He looked different. The inhibitor chip removal had forced him and Hunter to shave off parts of their hair, and while Hunter could easily cover it with his bandana—he would never cut the luscious curls off, that much was obvious—Tech embraced the new look and shaved off the sides of his head, giving him a soft sort of mohawk that somehow made the brown curls on his head look more graceful.

It suited him, and Sarah would lie if she said he didn’t look handsome.

“Remind me what we’re still doing here,” Echo spoke up. “We can’t have many more close calls.”

“We need the money, and there’s a lot that we can loot here,” Hunter told him.

“Rex offered us to go with him,” Echo argued. “We could have left with him and forgotten about our debt with Cid in the first place.”

“That’s not how it works, Echo,” Sarah spoke, calmly. “If you owe someone anything, especially credits, you get hunted down. If you get lucky, you get a warning, but it’s better to pay up and be on good terms.”

“I suppose that’s your pirate past speaking,” Echo couldn’t help but smirk.

“Yeah, which means it’s better if you trust me,” Sarah answered.

“Hunter and Sarah are correct,” Tech intervened. “My scans not only indicate a large amount of weapons and equipment that we could definitely profit from, but also the possibility of intel stored in the cruiser’s central control system. If I can get my hands on that intel, we could sell that alone for worth far more than any weapon.”

“Alright,” Hunter said. “Head to the bridge and see what you can find. The rest of us will go to the armory and load up on whatever we can get our hands on.”

“Try to get something for us to use too,” Sarah suggested. “Wrecker will know what.”

“Hell yeah, I will,” Wrecker grinned with confidence as he and Omega pranced off into the ship.

Before they left, Sarah knudged Hunter’s elbow.

“Mind if I go with Tech to the bridge?” She said. “I can’t do much carrying, anyway.”

“Since when do you ask me for permission?” Hunter smiled at her. “Go.”

“Oh, I’m not asking for permission so much as for an opinion,” Sarah grinned deviously. “You know I do whatever I want.”

“I’m familiar with that,” Hunter gently kissed her forehead. “Now go.”

Tech had put his helmet on before he and Sarah made their way to the bridge. At times, he had to hold her to help her through the rough areas within the old, corroded hallways of the cruiser, all of them eerily dark. For comfort, Sarah looked around them and tried to imagine them brightly lit, gleaming in full glory like they would in the old days.

“Were you guys frequently on cruisers?” Sarah asked Tech.

“Almost never,” he replied in his easy-going tone. “We pretty much got around on the Marauder since the start of the war. I’m guessing you had your fair share of times traveling aboard a Jedi cruiser.”

“I sure did,” Sarah replied, nostalgia bathing her voice. “Anytime we were deployed on missions, we took gunships that always flew from cruisers. We’d be briefed in the hangars, wish each other luck before stepping in the gunships; sometimes it was light-hearted, other times we were all terrified of the battle ahead. General Skywalker would usually be on one gunship with Rex, and normally I’d take another one with Ahsoka and the rest of Torrent Company.”

Just as she finished reminiscing, she and Tech had arrived at the bridge, far sooner than she’d expected.

“Alright, let me get the power back on,” Tech began to crouch.

“You can do that from here?” She asked him.

Tech shot her an are you kidding me? glance from the ground, to which she could only chuckle. He finally went underneath the ship’s main panel, lying on his back as he fidgeted with the controls.

“Would you please hold a lantern up for me in the meantime?” Tech asked. “You only need one hand for that.”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah teased.

“Come, now,” Tech spoke with an audible smile. “I asked nicely.”

She sat and held the lantern while Tech worked on getting the power back on, and their conversation at times made the two of them laugh. Sarah thought of how she always got on so well with Tech, how natural and easy and simple it was to be around him, never mind his incredible intelligence. Being with Tech was simply a matter of reciprocating the art of listening.

Unsurprisingly, Tech succeeded in getting the cruiser’s power back on, bringing another smile on Sarah’s features.

“Now what can I do?” She said as she powered the lantern off and hooked it on her belt.

“Sit,” Tech told her. “I’d rather you don’t exert force that may injure you further.”

“It’s fine,” she persuaded, glancing at her broken wrist. “You did a great job with it.”

“Of course I did,” Tech answered. “Even so, I’ve already performed all the operations I’d like on your wrist. The rest is a matter of you keeping it still so that your bones can regenerate.”

Sarah smiled. “Fine.”

Sarah couldn’t help but stare at the engineer as he lay on his back, doing what he did best. The angle gave her an obscene view of his legs, bent and slightly parted as he worked, his focus unwavered. His physique, alongside Crosshair’s, was often overlooked when compared to his two brothers, both more muscularly built, expected to use their strength to succeed. But while Tech’s intelligence was his key asset, anything regarding his physical capabilities was not meant to be underestimated.

After a moment, Tech emerged from below the control panel and took his holopad, sitting on the ground with his gaze glued to it.

“How do you feel?” He broke the silence.

While it wasn’t the first question she’d expected to hear from Tech, Sarah recognized how loaded it was.

“Woozy with painkillers,” she answered. “I really just want to sleep.”

“You know what I mean,” Tech momentarily lifted his gaze from the holopad and found hers.

Sarah sighed, turning away, suddenly unable to meet his own gorgeous eyes.

“Do not evade me, Sarah,” Tech said. “I know Rex got you thinking about Crosshair again, as I’m sure the removal of our inhibitor chips did as well.”

“It sometimes feels like I’m the only one around here who still thinks of him,” she went to sit on the ground, cross-legged, in front of Tech.

“You are not,” Tech replied. “I do, and Wrecker does too. Before you and Echo came along, he and Crosshair were by far the closest—but I’m certain you noticed that before the war ended. I believe Hunter is the only one who won’t allow himself to admit he misses Crosshair, especially not after…” Tech’s gaze went to Sarah’s chest. “That incident.”

Sarah exhaled. “Rex said that if we do it right, we can save Crosshair too. I only wish I knew what the right way was.”

“Well,” Tech lied down under the panel again, “you are someone who always sees opportunities, and you have quite the amount of gut feelings to help you in your decisions. I’m certain you’ll know when to take the chance.”

Her insecurities manifested in silence, bringing Tech’s attention to her once more. He left the panel alone and sat closer to her, expectant of what she had to say.

“I don’t doubt that the Force tells me what’s right,” her voice went quiet. “But maybe I misinterpret it.”

“You do not,” Tech said.

“Then how else have I screwed up so badly?” Her eyes began to gleam. “Supposedly, I know how to do things. Supposedly, I know how to keep myself and others safe, and yet, nothing I’ve done has gone right since the war ended. I always fuck up one way or another, and it’s all on me.”

“Sarah,” Tech placed a hand on hers, quieting her down. “You insist on doing things alone. You don’t have to. And whatever you choose to do, mistakes will always happen. There is a margin of error for every endeavor that the human mind sets out on, one that is bound to manifest. It is not your fault, it is the nature of things. The error is not as important as what you do to solve it afterwards.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “Tech…”

“Try not to go alone next time,” Tech continued. “You can count on me, you always will.”

She smiled softly at him. “I never thought I’d hear you being so emotional.”

“I meant you will need someone to see all the technicalities of your mission,” Tech removed his helmet and adjusted his goggles, giving a sigh. “Sarah, you are a beautiful person who is incredibly capable of figuring things out, all you need to do is get back up.”

Her cheeks reddened, and her skin under his hand began to feel warm.

“Did you just call me beautiful?” She smiled.

Tech reciprocated with a hint of a chuckle. “Everything I say is intentional.”

“Even if your overall sentence had nothing to do with my beauty?” She raised a brow.

“I have to make it known somehow,” Tech smirked. “If Hunter had his shot, maybe I could too.”

“You made your feelings very clear back on Ord Mantell, genius,” Sarah laughed. “You still have the bra, by the way?”

“It does wonders,” Tech grinned.

Sarah playfully rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle smack on the shin.

“You know,” Tech continued. “We could always run away together and forget about the other two.”

Sarah openly laughed. “Watch what you say, Tech. I still have one good hand that I could smack you with.”

Tech let go of her hand, laughing softly. “I would thank you for that, princess.” He then reached for his comm. “Omega, I need you on the bridge.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to have her wed us,” Sarah teased.

“Sadly, no,” Tech said as he reached for the holopad. “I need to copy the master drive of the ship’s informational storage, but that is a task that requires two hands.”

“Oh, Tech,” she purred. “You’d be surprised at how much I can do with just one hand.”

For all his sly comments, Tech was left staring blankly at her, cornered by her remark.

Sarah shrugged innocently. “You started it.”

Tech’s shock turned into another laugh. “Very well, you win. However, Omega is on her way. We should probably tone it down.”

“We definitely should,” she agreed.

Tech resumed his work on the panel, leaving Sarah to stand and gaze at the scenery outside. For a moment, her mind lingered on what Tech had said, even if, for the moment, part of it had been a joke. What if she were to run away with someone she hadn’t had any drama with? What if they could just leave, and forget all that had been weighing them down?

But, once again, Sarah was reminded it wasn’t possible, and that real life was what was in front of her: waiting with a broken wrist while her squad scavenged for intel and weapons to clear off a debt, after which they’d continue to work as mercenaries.

And then, just as Omega paddled happily onto the bridge, eager to be of help, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge those big, starry eyes. A shudder overcame her while she felt a disturbance in the Force, bringing her gaze back up to the scenery of Bracca as night fell on the planet.

Just as the shudder cleared from her chest, she saw piercing brown eyes flashing in her mind.

It’s him.

A red light on the ship’s controls began beeping on and off, sounding an alarm, and the shuddering returned to her.

“Tech?” Her voice broke with nerves.

He immediately went over to her along with Omega, flanking Sarah’s sides. The engineer stared at the beeping light for a moment, his hand hovering over it. “It’s the proximity sensor, but it must be glitched. It should only activate when there is a vessel nearby—”

“Tech, that’s just it,” she began to pant. “He’s here.”

His eyes widened, knowing what Sarah meant. Just then, the whirring of engines sounded above them, and through the bridge’s windshields, they could see three imperial shuttles flying just above the cruiser, landing in front of it.

Sarah’s comm bepped.

“What is it?” Hunter’s voice came in. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

Of course he’d sense her distress and the pain that overcame her at the idea of seeing him again, of not having prepared enough to actually have a chance of saving him, of meeting him only to surely lose him again.

Slowly, Sarah pulled her comm up to her mouth, watching as the shuttle in the center opened its door.

“Crosshair’s here,” she declared.

Upon hearing the words come out of her, Hunter and the rest of the squad rushed to the bridge. As soon as they arrived, Hunter gently squeezed Sarah’s hand before taking the binoculars Tech handed to him. By that point, the troopers who were in the shuttles had already exited them and taken their formation, leaving the final, dark-armored elite squadron to be the last ones setting foot on the planet’s ground.

“It’s him, alright,” Hunter said lowly.

“Im jamming their transmissions now,” Tech spoke.

“That won’t stop him,” Hunter put the binoculars down and held tighter to Sarah. “We have to move.”

“We might have to hide,” Sarah said. “He’s going to find the Marauder and lock it down.”

“That might only entrap us more,” Tech said. “I’d rather we hurry back to the Marauder while he looks for us in the cruiser, that is, if we won’t make the attempt to get him to the medical bay.”

The room fell quiet.

“What if we bait him there?” Sarah suggested.

“It’s too big of a risk,” Hunter said. “We’ll be outnumbered and cornered. I’d like our chances more if we encountered him on more open ground before taking him there.”

A rush passed through Sarah’s body, and she feared once again it would be stupidity rather than confidence.

“Should we try it?” She asked.

Hunter looked at her, worried, nostalgic, but wanting more than anything to support her, hard as it may have been for him.

“You decide,” Hunter told her with utmost trust.

But Sarah felt she’d break. What if she was wrong again? What if her decision cost them dearly again, perhaps more this time? She’d seen how they’d struggled against Wrecker, and she knew firsthand that Crosshair probably wouldn’t fight the chip for long enough to not hurt any of them, not with his programming being enhanced. What was more, back on Kamino, Crosshair hadn’t had nearly as many troops backing him up as he did now. Facing three attack shuttles’ worth of troopers would be difficult even for her and her squad.

Running away seemed like the only sensible option.

But if they left, if they ran away and safely returned to Ord Mantell, where would that leave Crosshair? The imprint was still there, Sarah could still feel him. Could she ever forgive herself if she left Bracca, and in those last seconds, felt Crosshair watching the ship fly away? How could she possibly talk of wanting to save him from the Empire if she turned her back on him now?

Whether they left or if they tried to bait Crosshair to the med bay wasn’t clear, all she knew was that they had to leave the bridge.

“Let’s go toward the hangar,” she said.

They walked down the dark hallways only to find that Crosshair had predicted their movements, and they opted for heading towards the artillery deck instead. Just as they were arriving, Hunter reached Sarah and stopped her, gazing at each other in the darkness, while she tried to make out his expression underneath his helmet.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Hunter hesitated. “I don’t want him to see you. Not yet.”

“He won’t hurt me—”

“We don’t know that,” Hunter’s voice broke. “Sarah, if he sees you’re alive, he’ll either rejoice or finish the order he was given. I can’t risk that again.”

Sarah sighed; he made a good point, one she couldn’t afford to ignore.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll stay hidden.”

As they made it into the rusty artillery deck, its structure on the brink of falling apart, Sarah felt a brief hunch warning her of the incoming squads. As though on cue, Hunter reached for her and helped her crouch behind one of the cannons, allowing her to remain unseen as the soldiers ran inside. The squad watched as they were surrounded by endless troopers in white armor, void of any detail and personality, until finally, when they looked toward their north flank, they saw him.

He was already aiming his rifle at them, backed by the rest of his new squad, all of them donning armor as dark as his.

Silence crushed the artillery deck, with tension only rising as brother watched brother, the barrier of their helmets raised as they aimed their blasters. Crosshair facing off his former squad, and his former squad facing off against the one who was taken from them, the one who’d been left behind.

“Crosshair,” Hunter spoke, his tone riddled with nostalgia and with an underlying grudge. “Brother…”

“You became predictable after the war ended, Hunter,” Crosshair spoke.

Sarah could feel how clouded by grief and anger Crosshair was, his usually smooth, monotonous voice sounding strained.

“Why come after us?” Hunter inquired.

“You’re all traitors,” Crosshair answered.

“No,” Hunter took a step forward, still aiming the blaster. “That’s your inhibitor chip talking. It’s controlling you, Crosshair. We can help you, just lower your weapon.”

“I don’t want your help, Hunter,” Crosshair said. “I’m past it. I only want to complete my mission, but I’m leaving it up to you if you want to come with me or if I’ll have to fire at you too.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Hunter said. “The same way I know you didn’t want to shoot Sarah.”

“Don’t speak her name!” Crosshair yelled.

It became clear to Sarah that Crosshair’s own turmoil had clouded him from being able to sense her, and if he had sensed her, he’d deemed it a hallucination. But it was time. She got up from behind the ruined cannon and walked up behind Hunter and Omega, as much of a risk as it was, she had to see him and try to get to him, and she’d listen to the voice inside of her telling her Crosshair wouldn’t hurt her again.

“Crosshair,” she said.

He flinched when she spoke his name, lowering the rifle in an instant. He stared at her, and after a few tense seconds, Crosshair surprised everyone by removing his helmet, his eyes wide with sorrow and shock with a hint of relief, but most of all, guilt, as he looked at her.

“You’re alive,” he said quietly, gradually raising his volume. “How are you alive?! I—I shot you, I saw you die! You were dead!”

He stumbled, falling to his knees as tears rolled down him. “I killed you…”

Sarah let out the sob she was holding in, shaking her head slowly as she held out her good hand. “You couldn’t, Crosshair. You never could.”

Crosshair shook, still looking at her, finding it within himself to stand up again. He stared at her hand, extended, offered to him, before looking back into her eyes.

“Come,” she said. “Come back to me.”

One of his troopers leaned over beside him, getting his attention once more. Slowly, Crosshair reached for his rifle and his helmet again, putting it back on as he stood up, prompting Hunter to stand in front of Sarah and shield her from him.

She’d failed again.

Before anyone could fire the first blast, the cannons of the artillery deck began firing without warning, rattling the fragile place to a point of destruction. The thick tension had now broken into an outburst of chaos, one Sarah caught herself in the middle of.

She’d lost sight of Crosshair in the middle of the firefight, and as she looked for him, she felt Hunter reaching for her and taking her with him, running after Tech and the others who had taken advantage of the mayhem to find an improvised way out.

Sarah was still trying to get over the image of Crosshair crying on his knees as she walked behind Hunter, and by the time she got a grip of her surroundings, Sarah noticed they’d wound up in the ion engine chamber—crazy as it was for an exit, it would be the safest bet. It was huge, dark, and it still smelled of oil and blast primer coating; they walked carefully along the edges, making their way down, with Hunter remaining close to her the whole time, helping her down the tougher heights.

Once they were all lower and nearly at the final edge of the engine, a blast suddenly hit one of the engine’s beams, nearly knocking Tech off balance from how close it had been to hitting him, and Sarah’s mind raced.

Crosshair fired that as a warning rather than to hurt Tech, because as they all were painfully aware of, he never missed.

“How did he know we’d come out through the engine?” Wrecker said.

“Beats me,” Hunter answered, “but we need to find a different way out now.”

“We could always try the bottom part of the engine,” Tech said. “These chambers have trapdoors for repairs, I simply didn’t choose them from the beginning because we’ll land onto more debris.”

“I think that’s true for any corner we choose,” Hunter said. “But if there are less troopers, it’s worth a shot. Lead the way, Tech.”

“You got it,” Tech answered.

Just as they began to follow Tech, a loud, booming rumble filled the engines followed by the terrifying sound of it powering up. When they looked up, they saw the engine’s center begin to flow with light blue, freshly-ignited plasma.

“Tech?” Hunter said, frightened. “Can the engines be powered on?”

Tech looked at all of them; even he seemed scared. “Yes. I reactivated general power on the ship.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Sarah comforted him.

“But…” Omega said. “Crosshair wouldn’t. He wouldn’t!”

“We can’t afford to stay and find out, we need to move out of here, now!” Hunter said.

“The explosives,” Wrecker spoke up. “We can use them to break away from the engine!”

“Everybody grab one!” Hunter ordered.

Sarah did the best she could, lining the lower part of the engine with explosives while the others did the jumping and climbing, until at last, the engine’s inner circumference was lined with a detonator every few radians. They all regrouped at the bottom, pressing themselves to the ground as they waited for the explosives to go off, and in the desperate waiting, Sarah felt Hunter’s hand squeezing hers tighter than ever while he held onto Omega with his other arm.

Then, it all happened fast. The loud boom of the engine engulfed the area as well as the various explosions from the thermal detonators. The cone that they were at rumbled and creaked loudly, and soon, they felt its force overpower them as it fell with a loud crash, splitting in two parts in the process.

Sarah rolled as she fell and lost sight of whoever was nearby, but before she hit the debris on the ground, she caught a small glimpse of Tech, Echo, and Wrecker rolling down considerably far from her. The worry of being separated from them was washed over by the overwhelming pain of having landed on her broken wrist, wincing when she shifted to put her good hand on the ground. Alas, she had expected to land on earth to heal, and instead, it was all metal.

Solid, rusty old metal on the brink of decay wouldn’t help her heal.

“Is everyone okay?!” Hunter called through the comms.

“I’m alive,” Sarah confirmed, strained with pain.

“We’re all good,” Tech replied on behalf of him, Wrecker, and Echo.

“Meet back at the Marauder!” Hunter told them.

Sarah was about to head towards the ship when her marks began going warm, and she turned in the direction they told her. Something, or rather someone was far closer than she’d expected him to be, and she wouldn’t leave him now.

It took a lot of climbing, a difficult and agonizing effort, but by the gods, Sarah would reach Crosshair even if she had to do it in pieces. Eventually, she reached the point where he’d been sniping from, and after looking around for him, she noticed Crosshair bent over more debris, breathing heavily, looking weaker than ever.

She ran to him, quick to grasp his shoulder, her voice shaking as she noticed his injuries. The right side of his head had been burned, and some of it had extended onto his body; she panicked, knowing he looked far more injured than he had back in the cave on Kashyyyk, when he’d risked himself to save her.

And suddenly, Crosshair’s breathing became faster when he opened his eyes and realized she was with him.

“Sarah…” His voice was nearly a sob. “You’re alive…”

“Of course I am…” her eyes began to well with tears.

Weakly, Crosshair reached a hand out to caress her cheek, his finger trailing over the new additions of her now blue marks.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She forced herself not to cry yet, taking his hand as she leaned into his palm. “Come on,” she was about to take him in his arms, but he stopped her.

“You have to leave,” Crosshair grunted. “They’re on their way.”

“Then we have to hurry,” Sarah resolved.

“No,” he said, applying more force to his touch, making him strain. “Sarah, leave… please.”

He stopped all of her movement and, with his head tilted away from her so that she could only see the left side of his face, the side that hadn’t been burned by the engine’s thrust, he looked her in the eyes. Sarah didn’t know if he was pushing her away due to pride, spite, warning, or if he was trying to protect her too.

But if Sarah had to guess, she’d say he didn’t want the Empire to find her there, because while they would help him heal, they would certainly try to hurt her.

She wanted to believe that he was protecting her, and the warmth on her marks as he touched her only helped her confirm it, but it only made tears fall from her as she squeezed his hand.

“I can’t leave you again,” she whimpered.

“We don’t have time,” he began, only to be compelled to shake his head, his usual response to the chip taking over his emotions. “Please, leave, Sarah. They won’t be kind to you.”

Sniffling, Sarah’s gaze jerked up in the direction she could hear comm chatter from, only to feel Crosshair squeezing her hand with resolve.

“Now,” he said, his eyes pained at having to push her away, even though he desperately wanted and needed her there.

Sarah wouldn’t let it all be in vain, and once she knew she’d have to leave him there, she leaned in and sealed her intent with a tender kiss on his lips. As they kissed, Crosshair felt soft, he felt warm, like a home to her heart, and when she tried to part, Crosshair shifted forward despite the pain he felt, chasing her lips to kiss her again.

They kissed for as long as they could until a shuttle’s engine could be heard in the distance—Sarah had to leave, or she wouldn’t make it. With a soft gaze, she looked Crosshair in the eyes.

“I will go back for you, somehow,” she said, and then, unable to look out of there, she went down the way she came. Not long after she disappeared from his sight, a shuttle flew up next to Crosshair for a medic to retrieve him while Sarah watched, hidden in the debris.

He’d kissed her. He’d begged her to leave and showed relief that she was alive. Perhaps it was the injury, but the real Crosshair was shining through the chip more than before, and Sarah allowed herself to feel hope.

“I’ll go back for you,” she whispered into the night as her final promise before she began making her way back to the Marauder.

But the sorrow of leaving Crosshair was quickly shadowed by the sudden, terrible feeling that Hunter was hurt. With her marks going cold, Sarah rushed through the debris, following where their bond told her Hunter would be.

Taglist: @zoeykallus @rexandechosandwich @nunanuggets @sageislostinspring @dangerousstrawberrypie @salaminus @ladykatakuri @whore4rex @seriowan @kimageddon @rain-on-kamino @prozacspice @eyecandyeoz

Thanks for reading!

#moonstrider writes #the moonwalker series #oc sarah adhara #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #tbb hunter x oc #sergeant hunter x oc #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb tech x oc #clone force 99 #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x oc

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demigoddessqueens · 2 years

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Angsty+Fluff+reunion request plz for a reader who is a child of Scanlan that he kinda forgot and so when years later when y/n joined the gang as a swordsman/woman after some time they kinda tell our scanly here that they are looking for their “scum” father and basically they’re talking shit about him without even realizing that it’s him, idk I think it would be hilarious 😂🤷‍♀️

Y/n is pulling a similar move from the stream!! 😂 😆

When you talk about him, Scanlan looks like he’s seen a ghost. When you first joined, he noticed some similarities but brushed it aside at first. Yet there was always that gnawing feeling

Then the little things started coming up. Small mannerisms here and there, and when he asks about your life story, oh he’s sweating bullets

The timeline adds up, there’s a resemblance, and the one time you mention your other parent, it’s a done deal and you piece it together too

It’s a huge blow out when you both realize, him incessantly apologizing and you more ferocious than a dragon. It gets so loud the rest of the group has to intervene

You give him the cold shoulder for a good while, with Vox Machina taking sides in trying to patch things up. Granted most of them can speak much for ever-present fathers, but they won’t let this one go down

It takes a few near-death attempts and a few tavern visits (drunk feelings make for honest truths) for you and Scanlan to take the first steps in making amends.

It takes time, but after a good while, you two come around to forgiveness and acceptance. A trip home to also make amends shows you how serious Scanlan is taking this

Plus a father-kid bard-sword duo makes for interesting fight combos and many a “I’m so proud of you!”

#critical role #inbox answers #headcanons #scanlan shorthalt #inbox requests #tlovm #vox machina #inbox asks #critical role x reader #critical role x you #inbox open #critical role x y/n

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flammedoudoune · 1 year

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Finished volume 3 and I’m a bit disappointed to say I don’t think I loved this one as much as the first two. I’m still really enjoying this series, I’m still invested in the characters and the story, but there just were a few things in this volume I’m a bit on the fence about.

Felt like the whole first half of the book was a bit slow, I was honestly just waiting to see Ophélie and Thorn reunite. And I’m not sure how to feel about their first interactions once they do meet again. I like me some angsty romance, and I get why there’s a shift in their dynamic, and that in this book they’re both supposed to be undercover and to pretend they don’t know each other, and that he’s trying to protect her etc… But the way he treated her at first just felt unnecessarily cold, even for him. I know Thorn’s whole deal is that he’s a deeply unpleasant guy with zero social skills, but what makes him such a compelling love interest is that despite all that, he genuinely values and respects Ophélie and he always tries his best to do right by her. So the chapters following their reunion felt like a bit of a step down from all the development he went through in the first two books. And Ophélie spending most of the book feeling guilty for not doing enough to help him even though she’s been going through so much, ugh! Like girl, I know you love him but it’s not your fault your husband acts like a dick. Also the scene where he uses his claws on her… I know he didn’t do it on purpose and didn’t even realize he was doing it, and I get why Ophélie didn’t want to mention it later on, and I get it’s part of Thorn’s character development that he can’t control his powers as well as he used to anymore. But just, “man can’t deal with his emotions in a healthy way and ends up unintentionally hurting the one he loves” is a trope I deeply dislike.

However, these scenes put aside, Ophélie and Thorn did have some very cute moments towards the end of the book. The last scene where he showed her his scars and she kissed them? Litterally the most important thing in the world to me. I’m serious, nothing will ever top a character who’s been in pain and lonely their whole life, finally trusting someone else enough to be vulnerable around them and to accept their love. Nobody talk to me right now, I still need to process this scene.

Other than that, I liked seeing a different ark, even though I think I was more interested in what was happening at the pole in the first two volumes than with what’s going on in Babel in this one. I was excited at first when I saw this book was finally introducing some POC, but uhh… Let’s say I’ve heard enough people criticizing JKR for naming her one chinese character Cho Chang, so I’m gonna go ahead and assume that Christelle Dabos naming her east asian character Zen is not much better. I was also a bit on the fence when I saw that the first gay character of the series is litterally the unluckiest man alive, but turns out he’s in gay love with the grumpy political dissident so that’s fine actually.

There’s a lot going on with the plot now. It gets a bit confusing at times. I’m also not sure I like Ophélie being the one responsible of the fate of the world. I usually prefer when the main character is just some guy rather than them being the chosen one or stuff like that. I’m excited to start reading the last volume soon though, and see how it all comes together.

#sorry for posting about this series every 5 minutes #i have the flu so reading these books and sleeping have been my only two activities of the past few days #currently reading #la passe miroir

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toomanybandstocare · 2 years

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Y’know what would be so cool is if you did like an epilogue kinda thing where she meets Eddie again. Maybe Chrissy broke his heart and he grew up and matured a little or they ended up in the upside down years later somehow or she’s working somewhere and he meets her there like idk I loved it but part of me wanted some sort of closure or reunion after the whole drama but I think a time jump would work cause there’s no way you’d face someone again straight after that I’d literally skip town hahaha. Just an idea of course you don’t have to consider it or even read this or reply to me I’m just greedy for your writing lol

hey, camper!

i needed to sit on this and think about how i wanted to word how i feel about this series before answering.

i've mentioned in a different ask that i think for a lot of people, they seek fanfics and works as a way to escape. they want to ignore real life for a multitude of reasons. and real life just isn't something a lot of people want to read. that's just the way fiction is. we want to immerse ourselves in these fantastical adventures or feel overwhelming emotion or have a slice of comfort.

i didn't want to include closure in this fic, because in real life, you don't always get that. and since this is a primarily an angsty fic, i thought it would best fit here. rather than reader going through angst at the end, they finally let go of their feelings causing eddie to endure angst. then they move on. they go have fun. they enjoy the company of their best friend, steve. they're ready to start the next chapter of their life, how ever they want.

so i will not be writing an epilogue for the Heartbreaker Series- for the time being. i'm certainly open to the idea, but i want to take a break from this series and return to it later with a fresh perspective and new ideas. but i'm not promising i will write one. i wrote this series over the course of a week, and i could tell that, esp in p.4, that it started to feel less emotional and i wasn't as invested in it as i was at first. should i want to come back to this series, i want to improve the ending within the epilogue. and for that, i need to move onto other ideas and focus on fostering my creative writing skills once more. i am not the type of person who can just work one type of work for a long period of time. i like to bounce around!

so i'm going to be focusing on other ideas and stories to help myself grow and feel more confident in my writing again! currently, i'm working on a summer carnival series where each of the ST characters on my roster and i am so excited! i think partially is because my town fair is coming soon, and i'm really looking forward to going again. and i'm currently open for requests, so if you or any other campers have an idea or story you want to send my way or even chat about, i would love to hear from y'all! :)

probably not the answer you were expecting, but i wanted to try and express how i feel about this series. i absolutely love it and i'm so glad it was my re-debut to writing. but something's not clicking with it anymore. so i need to take a step back.

hope you're doing well!

Counselor Mythos, out! <3

#camper ask #annon ask #camp halfwit letters #counselor mythos report #counselor mythos notice

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obsessivelollipoplalala · 1 month

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11 12 13 43

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

I pretty much write them in order. If I have an idea for a future scene that I really don’t want to lose, I’ll jot down a few lines of dialogue in a Google Doc, but I won’t write the whole scene.

12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

No, not really. See the above answer lol. I might have a document with some future snippets of dialogue written down, but I’ve pretty much always written fic by just sitting down and seeing where the characters take me.

13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

Yes. I’m always listening to Sondheim lol, but video game music is good to listen to while writing. Music from Zelda for beauty and moving scenes, music from Silent Hill for angst lol

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

Hmmm, not really. I think childhood friends to lovers could be done really well, especially with some kind of fallout in between childhood and adulthood which makes their adult reunion angsty, but I don’t see myself having the opportunity to write anything like that with the kind of media I’m into.

More fic asks here

#thanks for the ask!#my fic #replies #Anonymous

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georgeodowd · 2 years

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I wrote a bunch of stuff, because idk why

I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about GAY PIRATES which are now in full whirlpool mode with the season 2 announcement, but here goes. I've spent an obsessive amount of time trying to figure out what needs to happen in season 2, to the point that I've spent the past month writing a bit of fan fiction about it (okay, 100K+ words, but who's counting). But I realised with today's announcement, there's like... MASSIVE JOY but also anxiety? I wanted to kind of unpack that a bit here. I perhaps too obsessively collect David Jenkins tweets and interview quotes to try to piece together what he's planning, and I think one thing in particular has been nagging me. He's expressed various flavours of: 'Ed will have to become the Blackbeard he was always rumoured to be' and 'season 1 was about falling in love for the first time; season 2 is about getting your heart broken' and the freaking logline is about whether or not our pirates will survive their love.

Now I pretty quickly decided that Ed was going be derailed from going 'full Blackbeard' in my fic by Izzy fucking off for more violent waters and the rest of the crew stepping up to show him how to put himself back together in funny and heart-warming ways. When I heard that that's not likely to be the plot of season 2 (and after discussing this with a friend who has wildly different ideas and wants a full on 'dark af' season 2), I felt a lot of discomfort. I thought it was just because I had gotten it wrong, failed to predict what would happen, was not in some kind of mindmeld with our Saviour Jenkins.

Today I realised it's something else, and maybe my fears are misplaced. Look, as a queer kid who is just stepping fully into their genderqueerness as well, I am SO USED to getting hurt by the stories I love. I've talked at length on here about queerbaiting. I literally was blown away when Jim was a canonically enby character, and I actually looked up the actor on IMDB partway through an episode because I was SURE they had cast a cis actor and I was prepared to get kicked again. To put it mildly, I am gun shy. I am so prepared to be hurt that I'm already anticipating season 2 of this ground-breaking, healing show hurting me, too. And maybe here's why.

Taking poor, misguided, chaotic, survival-mode Ed down the 'dark Blackbeard' path - letting his only outlet for the extraordinary pain of his first real heartbreak be violence - is such a reinforcement of toxic masculinity, that I just don't see it being a huge part of the show. Will it happen? Yes. Will he stay in that place for long? I really don't think so. As much as this show is a queer fantasyland, it's also an unabashed love letter to positive masculinity, to deconstructing what it means to be a man in so many delightful ways. And I trust Jenkins to know that in his bones, because that's the personal part of the show for him. He's tweeted about it before. I think something, or someone, is going to come along pretty early on in Ed's descent and give him a more positive, healthier outlet for his feelings. It may be three or four episodes in, but I think he really has some fun ahead of him to heal - BEFORE he reunites with Stede. Unpopular opinion, but I don't think Stede should be the thing that saves him. It rips all of his autonomy away to be at the mercy of Stede's whims in that way. I want them both to step into their own power separately, before they find each other again. And yeah, I absolutely want a homoerotic reunion swordfight that comedically transitions into some pretty epic fuckery (of a more literal sort). But they gotta save themselves before they can save each other.

And I guess that is why, despite how scared I am that it's going to be a very angsty season, I think I've talked myself down from my real fear that it's going to be the story of a scared, hurt man lashing out through violence unchecked. I think the real power will be in giving Ed another outlet to express his feelings in constructive, cathartic ways. And I'm going to trust these amazing writers to give us that.

#OFMDMeta CantStopWontStop GayPirates4Eva

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darlingshane · 2 years

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In Other Words, Until I Die

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: T // Warnings: Angst, Language. // Word Count: 4,843

Summary – @gabymiller asked – can I request a frank castle fic where he’s married with a baby girl and they see on the news that he is dead but with the help of Curtis his wife finds out he’s Pete and they have a angsty fluffy reunion ❤️

A/N: This came out more angsty than I expected but I hope you like it anyway. There’s still some fluff and many bittersweet moments. // A/N 2: Lisa is Frank and Reader’s baby, with all my respect to Maria and the Castle family. A/N 3: The title comes from the song Baby, I'm yours, by Barbara Lewis. It's mentioned a couple times if you wanna listen beforehand.

- You can also read at AO3.

Frank came back for good.

That's what he believed. That's what he needed. To be home and become the husband and the father he always wanted to be, but the universe cared little for what Frank Castle wanted. It had other plans for him and wasn't going to let him settle that easily just cause he had a change of heart.

No, it wouldn't be that simple. Not after what happened during his last deployment. Not after Cerberus.

His bliss at home – with you and getting reacquainted with Lisa, who had just turned one, – was quickly cut short only three weeks after settling back in your lives.

What pulled him out of that delusion was when one day, while you were at work; he took Lisa to the park and on his way back he found an envelope in the mail slot with no stamp or address on it. Just his name and CD that contained a very damning video of his last mission in Kandahar.

A couple of days later, he disappeared before you woke up.

He took that piece of evidence as a threat and in order to figure out who was behind that, he had to be as far away from you as possible. It was the only way to keep you safe cause he knew that that mission was different, and while he hoped it had ended with that bullet, it didn't. It followed him back home, and he couldn't have that. He wasn't going to be the reason to put you and the baby in danger.

He wrote you a letter, though, that felt like a joke where he vaguely explained that he had to go away to figure things out and that he didn't know if he would ever come back. He said that you and Lisa were better off without him, that he'd never be what you wanted him to be.

You couldn't understand how he could have sunk that low to bury your relationship in such a crude manner like it was nothing. And despite being mad as hell, deep down you were certain that those words weren't true. If he was trying to make you angry, he knew how to. But he couldn't possibly believe that you were stupid enough to buy that.

You've been together long enough to read between the lines, and if he thought you were going to give up that easily, he was wrong.

Something was off, and you needed to know the truth, and the best way to do that was to visit some of his closest friends.

None of them knew shit, or so they said. Except for Curtis, if the others had lied, Curt didn't. He couldn't. He was an honest man and told you straight up that Frank had to leave to keep both of you safe, that there were people after him who weren't going to hesitate about hurting you to get to him. He also reassured that Frank didn't love anything more in the world than you and Lisa, that he was completely torn apart the last time he saw him.

But that wasn't very reassuring at all. It was bullshit. You loved Frank, but it didn't make sense to you what he could've done so wrong that prompted an escape number instead of going to the police or coming up with something else.

A lot happened in the next few weeks since he left. To say it turned your life upside down was an understatement.

First, you were stunned by the bombarding news and headlines pointing your husband as the perpetrator of a series of murders, including his former CO, Ray Schoonover.

Quickly after that, you were brought in for questioning twice, once by the NYPD, and a second one by Homeland Security, claiming that he was part of two bombings along with a man named Lewis Wilson.

They got warrants and all kinds of bullshit to search the house. To their disbelief, they didn't find anything that could point them in Frank's direction.

It was then that you understood the coldness of his words in that letter he wrote. He wanted everyone to believe that he had abandoned you, so they'd leave you alone. He anticipated that happening, and they still went at you either way, but not as viciously as they'd have if they believed you knew what he was up to.

It was heartbreaking seeing your husband dissected by the so-called experts and people who once knew him, trying to put the pieces together of this person they claimed was a psychopath.

You wanted to believe Frank was innocent, but the evidence kept piling up against him.

At the end of the day, you missed him dearly and there wasn't a side or another, it was only his and yours and Lisa’s. And you were certain that behind all the secrecy, there was a good reason for his actions. You wished he had told you. Maybe he thought you were useless to him, or it was as dangerous as he said it was for you to be privy to all that, but being in the dark was just as bad. You'd have done anything for him if he had asked.

It was exhausting, you could barely keep it together. Most nights you didn’t sleep. And if it wasn't for your commitment to Lisa, you definitely would've lost your mind a long time ago. Taking care of her and making sure she was happy and healthy was the only thing that kept you going. She had the most beautiful face and smile, and you marveled at how much her eyes looked like Frank's every time she opened them in the morning, and you could even see it at night before she closed them.

Every evening before bedtime, you'd hold her up in your arms, showing her the picture of daddy in his dress blues sitting on the mantle, cause you wanted her to remember him as the good man you knew. As that same guy you met five years ago who stood in line for ten minutes every day just so he could talk to you for one while he ordered his coffee; until one day he was brave enough to ask you out.

“Don't believe anything you hear, okay? Daddy loves you,” you whispered in her little ear, staring at Frank's portrait, as if she could understand anything that was going on.

“Dada,” that night she stuck out her arm and pressed her tiny finger against his nose over the glass.

“You like dada's nose? It's kinda funny, isn't it?”

She stared at you and repeated dada.

“Don't tell him I say that,” you smiled tiredly and glanced at the still portrait of Frank one more time, holding back tears, blindly hoping he’d come back some day.

In an old building near the river, Frank was watching the whole thing through the cameras he had David install in the house, so he could keep an eye on you. The pace of his heart picked up, capturing his baby girl calling him dada behind a screen, and as much as he wanted to run back home and hold the both of you, it was nearly impossible. You were being watched, not just by him, and there wasn't a safe way for him to contact you without arousing suspicion.

He could see how tired you were and how much you had endured. You were strong, he had no doubt, but he hated seeing you suffering, and if he could go back in time and change the course of his actions, so he could be there with you, he abso-fucking-lutely would.

Once Lisa was asleep, and you turned in for the night, he laid back on the uncomfortable cot. He closed his eyes, as all those beautiful memories he built up with you flashed behind them. From the moment he saw you behind the counter at the café till the last: your first date, your first kiss, a couple of arguments in between, all the times he made love to you, countless times speaking on the phone, your wedding, the day his baby girl was born…

If you had Lisa, he only had his treasured memories wrapped in an old song that started playing in his head that you first danced to on the second time you went out with him. That same song was later the one that played at your wedding. It’s called– Baby, I'm yours.

Frank could hear the melody clearly and still feel the weight and touch of your hands when they linked around his neck on the dance floor when he invited you to dance. He couldn’t do the twist, but he could definitely swing with you to a couple of slower songs like that one.

It was at the fundraiser at a VA center in Brooklyn, where everyone was dressed like it was the 60s. He would have never agreed to go to a themed party like that, no, but it was for a good cause, and it also gave him the opportunity to ask you out on a second date. So, he bought the tickets, found himself a classic, nice suit like Don Draper wore in Mad Men, and traded his tactical boots for oxfords. Admittedly, he didn't consider himself as handsome as Don, but you made him feel that way. He wasn't a cheater either, so, all things considered, he could take pride in that, but he was too humble to recognize his own good qualities and wasn’t going to start any time soon.

For all the times he called himself old-fashioned, that day he looked the part too. He showed up with a bouquet of flowers and tucked his elbow out, so you could link your arm with his as you walked up to his truck. It was adorable how bashfully he looked at you and the way his lips curved up when you kissed him at the end of the night.

He wished for more moments like those. His life couldn't end like this without getting to hold you and Lisa again. Could it?

That unbearable need pushed him to keep going, to settle his score, clear his name, just so he could return to you and make new memories.

But again, his plans were destroyed once more the night on the pier when he found who was working with Schoonover…

All his dreams of getting back to you blew up in that explosion. The puzzle was more complex than he initially thought, so he ultimately had to let you go for good and let the world, including you, believe that Frank Castle had died in that boat.

In his wake, he kept working in the shadows with his partner while watching you helplessly bury a burned body that wasn’t his. He had David hack and falsify all the appropriate DNA and dental records, so nobody would glance at it twice, and it worked.

The world finally left you alone after his death and when they stopped watching– he stopped too because you deserve to grieve and live in peace; and because every time he saw you on the screen it was like being run over by five cars in a row.

He'd still get an update or photo of Lisa from Curtis, who tried to convince him many times to let you know that he was alive, but he wouldn't budge. He still believed you were safer not knowing.

Curt hated lying to you and after the funeral you only saw him a couple of times, briefly. First, you didn't want to face people at all for a while, and second, you stayed focused on Lisa and your job, and that didn't give you much time to do anything else.

Frank grew a beard, got a new identity for the time being, and kept his dead down. He lived like a ghost for ten months, hitting wall after wall of bullshit that kept him from finding out who was the real asshole behind Cerberus. That was the last piece he needed.

Being dead was easy, kind of. He didn't have to worry anymore, cause nobody knew what he was up to. And becoming Pete Castiglione gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased, even during daylight, he’d just slip a cap on and call it a day.

What kept him up at night was abandoning the two of you. His whole damn word that he missed so much, it physically hurt. You were so close, barely a handful of miles away, that he could just be there in less than an hour if he wanted to. And that was it, he always wanted, alas the fear of putting you in peril was greater.

He’d stare at the picture of the two of you every night. Traced your features with his finger before succumbing to reading instead to keep his mind occupied. He had never read as much as he did during those months.

One day, he was getting a couple of books at this bookstore, cause he had already gone through Curt's and David’s entire bookshelves, and he needed new material.

In there, he was taken aback at finding you with Lisa on your lap over the kid's section. It seemed like some mommy and me kind of class, with mostly moms and a couple of dads, surrounded by babies and toddlers listening to a young girl and boy taking turns reading from a Dr. Seuss book.

Lisa had grown so much since he last saw her, obviously. And he couldn't turn his gaze away, memorizing every detail of his baby girl from her hair held in two buns atop of her head, to her outfit of a flashy purple shirt with a dinosaur, jeans, and sneakers. He was stunned by the way she freely gestured, expressing herself like he hadn’t seen before, laughing at the kids’ funny voices, and being nothing but inquisitive at her surroundings. She wouldn’t just stay seated on your lap and would stand several times up on her short legs, spin around, and go over to the front row with the other kids whenever she pleased.

His eyes welled up, realizing how much he'd missed. She could walk now, and he wasn't there to see that happen. She was about to turn two and wouldn’t be there to witness that either out of his own stupidity.

He tried making himself invisible, peering behind a bookshelf, so he could see you smiling and quietly sharing just a few words with one of the moms on your side.

His heart stopped when he saw Lisa’s little hand waving at him in one of her spins like she had recognized him, but she was just probably playing around. She couldn’t have. Could she? It’d be astonishing if she could.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could barely see Frank any more behind all that hair. Maybe it was the eyes that gave him away, or the nose, probably. He figured you kept showing her pictures of him and telling stories no matter how painful it was; and he was right, you did.

His lips turned into a smile, and she smiled back widely, showing all her baby teeth before returning to mommy’s side.

When the class was over, he quickly slipped his ball cap back on and strode away towards the exit because if he didn’t, he might’ve ended up doing something he regretted.

“Bye-bye, dada,” you heard Lisa say to your surprise as you were putting her jacket on.

Your brow turned into a frown, glancing over your shoulder to see if she had seen someone that looked like Frank in the bookstore. That was the only explanation for it, you had never seen her say that other than when you put her to bed that she wished his picture good night.

She was too little to understand what death was, so you saved that conversation for later, all she knew that even if she didn’t see daddy again, he’d always be with her. Maybe that was a little confusing too for an almost two-year-old.

“You wanna see dada?”

She nodded, and it broke your heart a little more, if it was possible, after everything you’ve been through.

You handed invitations to a few moms for Lisa's birthday party that you planned for next week and chatted with them for a bit before heading home.

As you were finally starting to feel more like your old self, those few days left to her second birthday quickly changed that again. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you could tell someone was watching you, and it started to creep you out that Lisa kept babbling with her little vocabulary that she saw Frank more than once. The first was at the bookstore, you thought it'd end there, but there was another time at the grocery store, and a third time at the park.

It was like his ghost was haunting you. After all this time, only Frank would dare to show up right when you were pulling yourself out of the suffocating pit of sadness.

On the day of Lisa’s birthday, you found a package addressed to you on the porch, but it was a present for her. Since there was no return address you opened it first, just for safety, unsticking carefully one side of the wrapping paper to find a box that had a stuffed green dinosaur inside, a cute card wishing her Happy Birthday, and a book titled ‘One Batch, Two Batch’ with a big bear and a baby bear holding a cookie on the cover. You knew she’d love that, so you put it back together as it came and hid it for later, wondering who could have sent that.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” you told Curt after the party, fidgeting with Frank’s wedding band that was hanging on a chain around your neck.

He stuck around to catch up and helped you clean up, cause you hadn’t seen him in a few months.

You had put Lisa to sleep already, which wasn’t hard after all the excitement of the day. She enjoyed every single second and went to sleep with that stuffed dino cradled to her chest from the mysterious sender.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just… she keeps talking about Frank and I feel like he’s watching over us or something.”

You saw Curt swallow as he towel-dried the dishes.

“I am crazy, am I?” you said when he didn’t give you a reply.

“No, no… I was just thinking. That doesn’t sound crazy at all. You miss him, and so does she because you still tell her about him.”

“You think I should stop?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying it is normal to miss him. He's a great part of your life.”

“Yeah, but I’ve always missed him. This is different. It feels like I'm back to the beginning when he left, and I knew he was out there, but I couldn’t see him, you know?”

Curt simply nodded.

He couldn't keep up with the lie anymore and hated seeing you hurt because of Castle, which he was sure now he had been lurking around for what you’ve just had said. He wished Frank would've listened to him earlier. You needed to know the truth, but it couldn't come from him.

It was a few days later that you left Lisa with the babysitter in the afternoon and drove to St. John's after getting a text from Curtis saying that he needed to talk to you alone, that it was important.

The sky was already dark, since days were shorter then. As you pulled up at the end of the street you saw a few people coming out of the church, some gathering on the pavement to have a smoke and a few words before parting ways.

Curt was waiting for you outside when you got to the doors, a couple of guys were saying goodbye to him as you walked up the stairs.

“I need you to keep an open mind,” he started, treading carefully and motioning in the direction of the staircase that led to a basement.

“Okay.”

You didn’t know what to expect to be honest, but all the secrecy made you a little nervous. You started biting the inside of your cheek and tucked your hands in your jacket’s pockets, following him in silence down the stairs and across a long hallway until he came to a halt before reaching the end.

He glanced at you, tilting his head to the side, pointing to the room where his meetings were held.

“I need you to take a deep breath and go in. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“What? Who?” Your brow narrowed.

“Trust me. You gotta see for yourself.”

There was no breath to take but an exasperated sigh that left your nose before taking a couple of steps forwards. When you crossed that little threshold into this room you found a tall man, all dressed in black, leaning against the big, yellow tiled wall, with his head hanging down.

You looked back, over your shoulder, for a moment and Curt was already gone or out of sight, and for lack of words facing this stranger, you cleared your throat loudly in order to claim his attention.

What came next was probably the last thing that you thought of finding here. You’ve never been hit by a bullet, but at that moment – as the mysterious man slowly lifted his head, you captured Frank's features behind disheveled curls and a bushy beard – it felt just like one went straight through your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, and it sounded like gravel coming out of his mouth that made the skin at the back of your neck rise at the texture of his familiar voice.

The utter shock that took all over your body didn’t let you move or speak up. You wanted to scream, but you could only stare, noticing your face quickly heating up, and it took you a moment to realize you were already crying.

Your heart pounded anxiously in your chest, begging you to take a breath.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here,” he spoke again.

It felt like a cheap trick your mind was playing on you because that person in front of you couldn't be Frank Castle. It was absolutely impossible. You buried his body, almost in disgrace, after all the things they said he had done.

You blinked once, and twice more, as he moved closer, slowly presenting himself more and more as the man that once you recognized as your husband.

He was barely standing two feet away when you finally let a shaky breath fall between your lips that was held beneath that huge knot in your throat. And when his mouth opened again to say he was sorry, you used both hands to push him back with all the force you could muster, which wasn't much to be honest.

Frank merely swayed, and you pushed him again, harder, and he let you, and a third one.

“Let it out, sweetheart.”

On the fourth push, you started sobbing uncontrollably, and his arms finally surrounded you, holding you tight against his chest.

“Shh, shh. It's okay.”

“I hate you,” you repeated thickly a few times, falling apart against his hoodie, balling the fabric in your hands.

“I know, I know… I'm sorry.”

You felt his lips pressed on your head and a hand soothing up and down your back. He kept you like that until your heart settled at a normal pace and there weren't more tears to shed, at least for now.

With a little hesitation, you pulled your head back to take a good look at him again, calmer this time.

Locking eyes with him, you brought your hands up and framed his face, rubbing your thumbs on the bags of his eyes that were tear-soaked just as yours.

“You coming home?” Of all the questions you could have asked, that was the only one that mattered to you.

“I can't. It's not safe,” his gaze fell low.

“Will it ever be?”

“I don't know.”

“You're an asshole, you know that?” He nodded in your hands, and you released his face, turning your back on him in frustration, “you lied to me and left me alone to deal with all this. I've mourned you… and for what? You should've stayed dead.”

You didn't mean that, but emotions got the best out of you at that moment.

“Please, Frank. I miss you,” you begged right after, letting out a sob.

“I wish I could, baby. I wanna tell you everything and go home with you and Lisa, but there are still people out there that would hurt you if they knew I was alive.”

“Then, tell me what to do, I'll help you. Whatever you need,” you wiped your face and shifted on your boots again to face him.

“You can't. One of us has to take care of her, and I'm already dead.”

“You let her see you, didn't you?”

“I just…” his lips twitched nervously, “I saw her at the bookstore, and she smiled at me and waved. And I had to see that again. I tried to stay away, but she's just…”

“She's perfect and misses you too,” you finished his sentence, fitting your hands on either side of his neck, capturing the warmth of his skin. “Come by the house later at night, even if it's just for a little bit, just to hold her for a while.”

“I wanna. I really do, but if anyone catches a whiff that I'm around…”

“Nobody will. I promise,” you whispered and brought your fingers up to move his curls away from his forehead, “look at you… you look so different, I could barely recognize you.”

“Dunno know how she did.”

“She’s smart for a two-year-old,” you laughed softly, petting his beard next.

“She got that from you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you sighted as Frank got hold of one of your hands and brought your palm up to his lips.

A tap on the door frame interrupted the moment, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Curt looking apologetic for having to cut your time short.

“Everything good with you two? I need to close up.”

You both nodded.

“Thanks Curt.”

He was a saint. Whatever he did to convince Frank to show up here to see you, it mustn't have been easy.

Frank rode with you and explained everything on the way back home, every single detail without overstating or sugarcoating anything, and you listened quietly without judgment. You always knew he had his reasons, and now they were all out in the open, and you didn’t know how to process all that in that short time frame. You couldn't get behind all of it and wished he had found another way, but you couldn't resent him either.

“Do you still love me after all that?” he asked once you were in the garage.

“Frank,” you stated his name as if it wasn't obvious already that you'd never stop no matter what. “Until the end of time.”

It was a cheesy line from that song you both loved so much.

“Until the stars fall from the sky?”

“Until I die,” you leaned closer and pressed your lips chastely against his, and couldn't help but smile at the prickling of his facial hair.

Then, he cupped your face so tender as his forehead touched yours, staying there a moment in silence, gathering some much-needed courage to face your baby girl.

You went into the house first and when the sitter was gone he came in through the back door.

Lisa was soundly asleep, sucking on her pacifier, in her toddler bed that was converted from her former crib. That same crib Frank built three days before she was born because he got home just in time to see that happen. Then, she spent about three months sleeping in a bassinet next to your bed afterwards anyway. There was no rush, you told him, but he spent a day just putting all that together cause he needed something to do.

You switched the night light on that turned the room into soft blues and yellows, and projected stars and moons across the ceiling as Frank took a seat in the rocking chair.

You carefully picked up Lisa and laid her on her tummy across Frank's chest. She stirred up a little but stayed comfortably curled in daddy's embrace without fussing too much, even tucked her arm underneath his beard.

Your heart swelled watching them both, and you propped yourself on the arm of the chair, tucking your legs over his lap and hugging his neck.

#the punisher #frank castle #jon bernthal #frank castle x reader #lisa castle #curtis hoyle #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction #angst #darlingwrites #fanfiction #in other words series

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taleasnewastime · 2 years

Text

In the wake of your leave | Part 1

[ PART TWO TO GROWING PAINS ]

Summary: It’s been six years since you’ve been home. Six years since you’ve been in this city. Six years since you stood in this house. Six years since you saw all these people. Six years since you’ve seen Jimin. But you’re back now, your father’s funeral the reason for your return, but this time you don’t plan on leaving and this time you’re going to take what you want no matter what.

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Unrequited love; brothers’ best friend; slow burn; mafia au; angst

Word count: 16.2k

Warnings: Angsty feelings, unrequited feelings, Jimin uses the nickname Princess, swearing, mentions of death, blood, there’s a physical fight, I guess just lots of things you’d imagine from a gang/mafia fic but overall it’s also not that dark.

Authors note: Here it is!! As I’m sure you’ve seen this is part two to Growing Pains, you may be able to read this as a stand alone but there are a lot of references to part one so it might make more sense to read that first. I feel like this has a really different vibe to part one so I hope you still enjoy!!

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He’d heard you’re back. Whispers going around the house about your return. Six years you’ve been gone, far longer than your university course and rumours have been muttered the whole time. But now they’ve reached a crescendo.

The words have always been pure speculation, no one actually knowing what you’re doing, but he can hear the curiosity in everyone’s tone now you’re back. How have you changed? What will you be like? How long will you stay? Words of who you are and what you’ve become reaching Jimin’s ears no matter how quietly people say them and no matter how much he tries to avoid them.

They say you’re darker now. They say you’ve grown into a woman, the little girl long gone. They say you’ve not come back alone. They talk about what you did while you were away, that the family blood in your body must have amounted to something because studying wasn’t the only thing you’ve done, the other things a lot darker. And though not all the stories sound true, Jimin still dreads that some are. He at least knows one thing to be true, he’s not expecting the little girl he still pictures in his mind.

Your departure was far from smooth. As much as he wants to remember that happy smiling girl, whenever he pictures you all he can see are the tears streaming down your face. He can still feel you in his arms when you saw AJ dead on the floor, can still hear the words you admitted to him and then the way your face changed when he broke you.

He can remember every moment on those steps outside the house. The moment he realised that his words weren’t working, that he’d have to lie to you to get you to leave. He can remember slipping into that part of his mind he hates, that he swore he would never show you, or at least never use on you. He can remember picking the pieces of yourself you hate the most, the insecurities he could manipulate enough to make you believe he was telling the truth. He can remember the pure determination in your tone when you said you wanted to stay and can remember thinking that as much as it would hurt both you and him it was better to hurt you and get you to leave than the alternative.

Six years and yet he can still remember every detail, every tear.

If he’s honest with himself he’s dreading seeing you. He’s dreading seeing what you’ve become, he’s dreading seeing your reaction to him, he’s dreading the possibility that you may cry again. But most of all he’s dreading seeing you and realising you haven’t changed at all.

Your father’s death is hardly a happy reason for your return. It’s not like there will be some grand party thrown in celebration of your return. No, instead it will be an all-black occasion, sadness rather than happiness in the air; the reunion of a family broken by a tragedy. It’s not exactly how Jimin pictured seeing you again.

Because it may have been six years, and your last meeting may have been filled with heartbreak and tears, but Jimin has always dreamed of seeing you again. You were always a ray of sunshine in his day, the little girl who was so different from anyone else, who was innocent and harmless in comparison to every other element in his life. He knew your feelings towards him, he knew you hid them, but he knew you better than you realised. You couldn’t hide anything from him, no matter how hard you tried.

He loved you, still does, but never in the same way as you did him. You were too good for him, deserved more than he could give you and he always saw you as more of a little sister than anything else. Still, it broke his heart as much as it did yours when he did what he did.

But you needed to go. Over the years he could see you changing. He knew you wanted to be a part of the gang, knew you were too soft and innocent and young to be involved, but he could also see how you changed and became more and more corrupted by your surroundings, changed to try and fit in. He didn’t want to see you trapped like he is, because although this is his family and though he would die to protect them, that’s what he is, trapped.

He would do anything to save you. And so he did. He broke you to save you.

But now you’re back and Jimin doesn’t know what to do.

He has to control his face when he first sees you. Well, when he first realises it’s you, because when his eyes first glance at you they keep moving, only to shoot straight back.

Six years. He shouldn’t have expected you to still look like that eighteen-year-old girl, but he truly hadn’t imagined this. You are less girl and more woman now. Long gone is the heavy-handed make-up and the mass manufactured clothing. Instead, you stand in clothes that look tailored just for you, the material hugging every curve, hair styled to eradicate every whisp, make-up expertly applied to look like you’re not wearing any. You look even more beautiful than he remembers. Because you were beautiful as a girl, but now as a woman you’re something wholly else.

He’s screwed for.

His eyes linger on you for a few seconds before he’s moving on. If he pretends you’re not here then maybe it’ll become a reality. He knows that it’s a poor idea before he’s even decided that’s what he’s going to do. For one, if this is the only time he’s going to see you then he wants to see you up close, to talk to you and find out how the last six years were. He can’t go another six years without seeing you, he’s missed you.

He takes his time though, lingers around the room talking to people and accepting the drinks given to him. And though he’s trying to ignore you, his eyes can’t stop finding you. You talk to people, though you seem mainly interested in the guy you’ve brought along, someone Jimin has never seen before. You sip at drinks, but none of them look alcoholic from what he can tell. You don’t really smile, your lips turn up at the edges but you don’t beam like you used to or laugh the way he remembers.

It’s not just your looks that have changed, you’ve not shed a tear, not now and not during the long service earlier. He was worried about seeing the tears, worried the memories from all those years ago would come back to hit him, but he had nothing to worry about. While that should be something that gives Jimin peace, it only worries him. Maybe the rumours are true, maybe you have changed, you certainly look like if from here.

He takes a shot of alcohol. The alcohol doing nothing to help him, he’s abused the substance for too long for it to have much of an effect on him now. Still, the burn down his throat is enough sensation to kick him into action. Eyes set on you, he does what he does best and acts like nothing is bothering him. Jimin’s life is an act, and he’s never going to need that skill more than now.

You’ve never been more miserable. Not because you’re at your father’s funeral, but because of everyone currently staring at you, judgment and curiosity in their eyes.

Six years since you’ve been around all these people and now you’re back, you remember why it’s taken so long to return. You can still feel how unwelcome you are, how you don’t fit in, don’t belong. Even at your own father’s funeral you can sense the judgement.

“Here,” you look to the deep voice on your left, take the glass offered. “Drink this.”

You offer him a small smile, one of the only genuine smiles you’ve dealt out tonight, the only other ones also given to him.

“Do you think it’s spiked?” You say flatly but the joke still gets delivered as intended, Jungkook having to fight the corners of his lips from curling upwards.

“Probably,” he shrugs before a glint appears in his eyes. “Want me test it for you? Make sure it’s not poisoned.”

“You’d do that? For me?” You mock surprise, going along with the joke.

“You’re more important than little old me.”

“But if you die, who’ll protect me?”

He nudges your shoulder with his, a smile finally breaking through. “I know you could take out half the men in this room without even thinking.”

“Only half?”

A small laugh escapes Jungkook and the noise at last causes your lips to curve up into a smile.

You take a sip of your drink. Ice cold water. Not poisoned, not that you really thought anyone here would do that, not at your father’s funeral at least. No, it’s more a joke between you and Jungkook, something to relieve the tension that’s in every inch of your body.

You’d worried about bringing Jungkook, but now you’re here you’re so glad you didn’t stop him. He knows everything about you, everything about everyone in this room – or at least everything you know about everyone in this room – and still you’d worried. But you can’t imagine standing here alone.

“I think he might have finally gathered the courage,” Jungkook says over the lip of his cup, his eyes flicking over your shoulder.

You stiffen. There were only two men you were nervous to see today. Yoongi and Jimin. And one of them you’ve already seen, had a long conversation with. You’d spoken to Yoongi on the phone occasionally over the past six years, he was the one who had broken the news about your father’s death and while you spoke to him on the phone from time to time, you were still nervous to see him in the flesh.

But Jimin, Jimin is a completely different story. While you’ve had some contact with Yoongi over the years, you haven’t seen or spoken to Jimin since that night six years ago. By the sounds of it that is soon to change.

“The Princess has returned.”

That nickname. Even with your back to him a shudder runs through you. But you school your features just before you turn to him, put a blanket of unfeeling over your face.

You step next to Jungkook, can see the pure pleasure in his face even if he’s feigning indifference. He knows enough about you to know what this means and he’s manged to bag a front row seat. You not so delicately bang your arm into his as you twist and face Jimin, a small reminder to not enjoy this too much.

You’ve had a long time to prepare for this moment, and yet you’re still under prepared.

He’s aged. Six years hasn’t felt that long in the grand scheme of things and yet Jimin looks a lot older than you thought he would. It’s not that he has grey hair, in fact he’s dyed the naturally brunette hair a lighter shade, or that he has wrinkles, no, his skin is still annoyingly perfect. It’s more that he’s bulked out, still lean but more obviously powerful now, and his eyes hold something they never did, or maybe it’s something they’ve always held, he just never let you see, a darkness he thought you were too young for.

Surprisingly, out of everyone you’ve met today, not smiling at Jimin is the easiest. All those years of love and laughs and smiles and yet all you can see when you look at him is the way he broke your heart. He’s the reason you left and he’s the reason you almost didn’t come back.

But what hurts the most is that he’s still beautiful. You can still see the Jimin you loved. That broad smile on his face, that crooked tooth still there, those eyes still crinkling at the edges. He’s aged, but he’s still Jimin.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” it feels like a second thought, something everyone’s been telling you all day and just as strange coming from Jimin. He was your father, there is a certain sadness attached to him dying, but everyone knows your feelings towards him, how little you will morn his death.

“Thank you,” you say flatly, giving him nothing.

His eyes flick between you and Jungkook, you can tell he’s feeling awkward despite trying to hide it. It seems that not everything has changed over the years, you can still read Jimin’s tics. You can tell he’s vying for an introduction to Jungkook, but you’re not going to make this easy for him, if he wants something, he’s going to have to ask.

Jimin weighs up Jungkook, something you’re sure he’s done from a distance, but now he’s doing in front of him, an intimidation technique. Jungkook stands a few inches taller, his frame much larger, but you still feel him straighten next to you, still feel him try to extenuate his size. Jimin just stares, disinterested before flicking his eyes back to you.

“You’ve made friends.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I can actually make friends.”

You watch him wince. Such a small movement, but you still see it, gain a small amount of satisfaction that you caused that.

“How was university?” He abandons trying to find out who Jungkook is, taking a long gulp from his already half empty drink.

“As pointless as I expected.”

“Hey, you met me, didn’t you?” Jungkook nudges your arm with his but neither you nor Jimin look at him.

“Not completely useless it seems,” you shoot Jimin a small sarcastic smile.

“And when do you return?” There’s a small pause before he clarifies. “How long are you here for?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“Just wondering how long we have the pleasure of your company,” Jimin returns your earlier sarcastic smile.

“Well, I haven’t received my big welcome home party yet, so I guess I’ll have to stay at least as long as that.”

You’re being purposefully vague, kind of enjoying this new, weird, slightly grating thing you and Jimin have. You knew you’d be acting like this with him, cold and distant, but you hadn’t expected him to change around you. You thought he’d be his usual nice and kind self, thought he’d be apologetic about what happened. Six years has obviously changed a lot. That or he’s still worried you’ve harboured that crush all these years, wants to make sure every single hope is extinguished before he goes back to how he was, lest you confess your love again.

“You might be waiting a while for that,” Jimin says bluntly, again, the tone and words something he previously would never have used around you.

“Shame. Guess we’ll be here longer than we expected,” you look up at Jungkook and see the glint in his eye, he’s enjoying this as much as you. “Hope you packed enough pants.”

“Does your brother know you’re staying?”

You cut your eyes back to Jimin, your heart changing pace at the look in his eyes.

“Obviously not if he’s had the oversight of throwing me a party,” you relish the way you can see him working his jaw.

“Well perhaps you’ll be leaving after tomorrow’s meeting?”

You can’t hide your shock, only a small widening of your eyes but still something Jimin catches and now it’s his turn to look smug. He’s caught you out, finally has the upper hand.

“Perhaps,” is all you reply.

You can see Jimin wonder whether it’s worth carrying on the conversation, but he must deem it’s over before it’s barely begun as he finishes off his drink before levelling his gaze at you.

“Until tomorrow then,” his eyes flick to Jungkook and he gives the smallest of nods. “Jungkook.”

His eyes flick one last time to you as if to see the reaction there at the fact he’s known Jungkook’s name this whole time. You watch as he twists and walks away and then wonder what the fuck just happened. You hadn’t expected apologies or flowers or pretty words, but you really hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected him to be so cold.

“Well, that went well.”

You draw your eyes away from Jimin in favour of glaring at Jungkook. There’s a wide, shit-eating grin on his face that only makes your frown deepen. You throw a middle finger up at him, the gesture only earning a chuckle.

It’s weird seeing your brother behind the desk your dad once occupied. Yoongi isn’t much smaller than your dad, and maybe it’s because you’ve grown, your perspective changing, but the table looks so much smaller than you remember, Yoongi smaller than you remember your dad always looked. It helps you fake the confidence you’re currently trying to exude.

Jungkook sits next to you, his chair so close your legs are almost touching – your chair so close, because you shuffled it as close as possible when you realised who would be sat on your other side.

Jimin didn’t even flinch when your chair scraped across the floor away from him, didn’t even turn to look at you, but Yoongi’s eyes pinched together. His eyes going from your movement to the man sat next to you, not Jimin but Jungkook. He doesn’t say anything about the man being here, but you know he disapproves. But you weren’t about to turn up alone, not when you knew Jimin was going to be here, if Yoongi hadn’t invited him then you wouldn’t have invited Jungkook, which is probably why Yoongi says nothing.

“Shall we get on with this?” You break the silence that’s gone on too long. You want this over and done with.

Yoongi drags his eyes back to you, takes his time with it, knowing the silence is killing you. It’s really disconcerting how quickly he’s fitting into his new role.

“You want in,” he says, not a question but it also doesn’t feel like a statement.

“I want in,” you parrot.

“And what’s happened over the past six years that’s going to make me change my mind?”

“I’ve grown up.”

He doesn’t speak, it’s not enough, you knew the statement wouldn’t make him open his arms to welcome you, had prepared for his questions and silences but wanted to see how much he’d prepared. It seems your brother still knows you well enough to know what you want. And it also seems that being family still isn’t enough on its own. You’ll have to prove yourself the way you’ve always had to.

“And because you’re in charge now.”

“You think I’ll want you when dad didn’t?”

The words bite. And while Yoongi doesn’t blink you can see Jimin turn to look at you at the words and Jungkook moves his leg to graze yours. You don’t react to the words though; you know that’s why he said them. You said you’ve grown up but he’s testing the theory.

“Dad didn’t see how useful I could be.”

“And how’s that Y/N?” Yoongi relaxes back into his seat, his eyes fixed on you as if preparing for a long story.

“You’ve all seen me being female as a weakness, but I think it’s a strength. You might think you need brute strength in this business, but you’ve never considered that there are other ways of doing business,” you pause, wait just long enough to know that you have his attention and the fact he doesn’t interrupt you tells you everything; he’s interested, he wants you to continue. “This gang is outdated; it’s run by a load of hot-headed men. Plus, growing up I was always taught how family comes first, how this is a family business, yet I was pushed to the side lines. Do you not think that shows weakness? Do you not think that’s maybe why dad was killed, because there’s no unity here? Because those hot-headed men saw that weakness and decided they wanted a change? He sold this gang being like a family to so many, and yet he so easily threw out one of his own, who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to anyone else?”

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch at your accusations, just remains leaning back, his eyes heavy on you as they weigh what you’ve said.

“You think insulting me and this gang will put you in my good graces?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know I’m just telling the truth.”

The few seconds of silence now don’t weigh so heavy on you. You can tell it’s because Yoongi is weighing up his answer, he never says anything without meaning every word.

“And you think someone murdered dad?”

This time you do outwardly react, you roll your eyes as you fall back into your seat and while it’s not the most respectful gesture, you think you see the ghost of a smile on Yoongi’s lips when you look back at him.

“I take back my earlier statement of you being smart.”

“I have an offer for you,” Yoongi says, ignoring you. “Find dads killer and you’re in.”

You sit up straighter, eyes going wide. You’re not sure what you expected from this meeting, because you hadn’t really expected to be accepted into the gang, at least not without a hard fight, but you really hadn’t expected this.

“What,” the word doesn’t come out of your mouth even though it’s what you’re thinking.

Yoongi doesn’t look at Jimin and his clear annoyance at the offer. It should please you that he also didn’t know this offer was going to be given, but you’re in too much shock to feel anything about the man who’s shooting Yoongi daggers.

“You want in, you do something for me, and I’ll give you a place. You find the rat, and I’ll repay you.”

“What place? What role?” The questions tumble off your tongue without much thought and you’re so glad for Jungkook and the prep he helped you do; even if you didn’t think this meeting would amount to anything he forced you to consider all avenues. His leg is now a solid presence against yours, a steady and silent reminder that he’s there and that he at least thinks you have this.

“What do you want?” Yoongi shrugs.

“I want what you have,” again the practiced words come easily and still Yoongi hardly reacts. “I want to lead, I want power, I want respect.”

“Then earn it,” Yoongi’s tone is flat, firm, not so much a telling off but almost a challenge, a reminder that he can only do so much.

You nod your head at him, it’s only small but he returns the gesture. Deal.

You look at Jungkook, he can’t hide the smile as easily as you can. It’s something you love about him, he may be tough and may be able to beat someone up with seemingly the effort of a blink of an eye, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. When he chooses to, he gives his whole heart to everything, no halves, he’ll tell you what he thinks straight but if you’re on his side he will back you to the hill. After moving and having your whole life seemingly smashed into pieces, it was exactly what you needed.

You shoot him a small, barely visible smile before standing. You feel Jungkook follow your lead as you look back at Yoongi. He’s still watching you, still silently calculating and you don’t say anything as you twist and leave, Jungkook trailing behind you.

“What the fuck?” You didn’t even look at Jimin, but you can picture his face with the tone he’s used. You’ve not even left the room and yet he’s so openly challenging Yoongi. “Why they hell would you do that?”

You open the door, swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat, but still don’t look back. No matter how much you’ve buried Jimin in your mind, no matter how much you now hate him, the words still stab through you. You wish he didn’t affect you, wish you didn’t feel anything towards him, but you loved him for too long, too deeply for that to be the case.

You can still hear him arguing with Yoongi over the deal as you walk out the room, the door closing behind you.

The laugh dies in your throat as you walk out of your room and see Jimin leaning on the wall opposite your door. The mask of indifference you’ve been wearing around him easily takes shape. But it’s a second too late, Jimin saw the laugh and saw it so easily die at his presence and you think you see a pang of something akin to hurt cross his features before a small sly smile takes his lips.

“Morning,” he says easily as if he saw nothing, as if his face didn’t give anything away. He pushes his weight off the wall he was leaning on, standing tall to greet you.

“Morning,” Jungkook parrots and though Jimin’s eyes flick to him in surprise you know he said the word more to irk you. He couldn’t stop going on about how amusing he found it seeing you so easily annoyed by Jimin last night, something Jungkook so rarely saw. While you silently seethed about the day, Jungkook wouldn’t stop babbling on and replaying all the ‘highlights’ of the day.

You don’t say anything as you start walking to the stairs. You hear Jungkook follow close behind and a second after you pass him, hear Jimin’s steps fall in line too. You try not to grind your teeth.

“What are we up to this morning then?”

You clamp your teeth down, no longer able to stop grinding them together. You can almost feel a stress headache forming.

“Me and Jungkook are off to breakfast.”

“Aw. Where was my invite?”

“Must be lost in the post,” you say flatly, none of the light, sarcastic humour Jimin’s tone held.

“Well, it’s a good job I caught you now then.”

You reach the bottom of the steps, stop as you twist to look behind you. You catch the smile and glint in Jungkook’s eyes before he steps to stand behind you and then you’re met with Jimin. He looks exactly how you remember now, that wide smile on his face you were so used to seeing growing up, but after hearing him swearing at your brother last night you don’t buy it, at least anticipate that the smile is due to him knowing something you don’t. You don’t take the bait though, would rather be left in the dark then admit you’re at a disadvantage.

“Fuck off Jimin,” you give him a sarcastic smile despite the biting words.

Jimin raises a hand to his chest as if hit by a bullet. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

The words are said more seriously and hit that bit harder. Jimin’s smile drops an inch as his eyes dance across your face.

“Where you going first?” All sarcasm has dropped, he’s being as serious as you now and despite the talk of breakfast previously you know he’s referring to the conversation from last night, who are you talking to first to find out who killed your dad? Still, you’re enjoying toying with him too much to let it drop that quickly.

“I told you,” you say, spinning on your heels to head to the door. “I’m off to breakfast.”

You hear two sets of footsteps follow you and even though you expected it, you roll your eyes.

“It’s only booked for 3 people and unfortunately we’ve already invited someone else,” you say over your shoulder.

“Then he won’t be able to come,” Jimin says referring to Jungkook.

“You know, Jimin,” you stop with your hand resting on the front door, turn to look at the two men staring at you. “No matter what you thought, you never have been able to control what I do.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, the look more unnerving than anything else he’s done. You can almost picture what’s currently going through his head, wonder if he’s thinking of the same memories you are. Him telling you to go to school, him asking for cake but having to force you to give it to him instead, him telling you not to do business with AJ – all the things you ignored.

“I know,” the wicked smile remains and you brace for whatever he’s about to unleash. “But just like then, I don’t need to control you to get what I want. Because just like then, my opinions are shared by those who do control you.”

He starts to walk towards you and you only have a second to jump out the way before he’s pushing through the front door you were blocking.

“Your brother requested I accompany you on any business,” Jimin explains over his shoulder as he goes down the steps to the car. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

You glare at his back, continue to glare through the blacked-out windows as you try to calculate a way out of this. You could walk away, could get in a different car, could do a hundred other things, but you know this is your only opportunity to prove yourself, if you throw this away, if you defy the orders of your brother, you may as well not bother.

You turn to look at Jungkook who has a raised eyebrow. He already knows what you’re going to do, but he at least will wait to hear you say it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you glare at him.

“Just curious what you’ll want me to do while I stay here all alone,” he replies.

“Continue to look into my fathers last movements,” you wave a hand at him.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he quips, smile starting to appear on his face.

“And don’t let my brother know anything,” you add, Jungkook nodding at your words. “I mean it Jeon. Not a fucking word.”

“Yes boss,” he does a mock salute as you finally turn and follow where Jimin left.

You have to remind yourself that this is worth it, that this is what you want, that you just need to get through this, and you’ll have everything you ever wanted. You catch Jimin moving in the back of the car and take a breath. It’s going to be fucking hard though.

You’re tapping on your phone, replying to emails that really don’t need to be responded to, but in this too stuffy car you’ll do anything to distract yourself from the man sat a seat away from you. So far he’s ignored you, his gaze out the window as he watches the world pass by. But as time ticks by you can feel his need to talk increase, you could have predicted the moment he would break before he even talks and you hate that you still know him well enough to know that.

“Who we meeting?”

You don’t look at him, continue typing on your phone, head angled away from him. You can see him out of the corner of your eye turning his attention towards you though, angling his body towards you and not to the window. Once you would have relished in the attention, now you want anything but it.

“Conan,” you give a straight answer.

“You think Conan killed your dad?”

“I never said that.”

“But you’re still meeting him?” There’s a pause and when it becomes obvious you’re not going to answer him, he carries on. “You do remember what your brother said right? And I know he didn’t give you a deadline but if you take too long it’s only going to point at –”

“Do you ever get bored of hearing yourself speak?” You cut him off, still looking down at your phone.

“Not particularly,” Jimin tries to say it in the same carefree tone you used but you can hear the bite of annoyance.

You hum. “Well, it’s getting awfully boring to me.”

“Listen, all I’m trying to say is –”

“I know what you were doing,” you cut him off again.

“I’m just trying to help.”

You hum again, it might be sadistic, but you gain way too much pleasure in how much the noise seems to irk Jimin.

You feel the car slowing and when you look up you can see the restaurant you gave the driver the address to earlier. You glance down at your phone, finish tapping out the last sentence before locking the phone and slipping it into your purse. You finally glance at Jimin as the car stops and the driver gets out to open your door.

“Maybe try and keep the talking to a minimum,” you say. “Wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself.”

He opens his mouth to reply but your door opens and you slip out before he can say anything. You allow yourself a small smile before you hear a car door slam closed behind you and heavy-footed steps speeding to catch you. You manage to wipe the smile before a strong hand grabs your wrist and forces you to face an angry Jimin. He’s close, his eyes near black and if he wasn’t so close you wouldn’t be surprised if you could see steam leaving his ears.

“Careful Princess,” you flinch. That fucking nickname, the one he used when you were growing up, the one that once made you feel special and now only makes you feel sick. His grip tightens slightly as he looks down at you, you know he didn’t miss your reaction however small and you’re not looking forward to how he’s going to use that information against you. “I still hold more power than you, you’re still not in this gang, you can’t go ordering me around yet.”

“My brother may have sent you to baby sit me, but this is still my business. Sit in there and do whatever it is Yoongi is sending you to do, but otherwise don’t get involved.”

His eyes flick around your face as if trying to read something there, a frown forming between his eyes as if he can’t quite work something out. You start to heat under his gaze and at the proximity and his hand still around your wrist. It’s all a lot. You blame it on your change in feelings, that you now hate him, rather than because of your old feelings towards him.

Still, you snatch your hand out of his grasp and take a step back as if the distance will help make your heart stop beating so erratically.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Jimin admits, voice softer.

“And that’s the problem,” you reply. “You always assume I’m going to get hurt.”

You stare at him a second, don’t hide the years of hurt from shining through. You used to think Jimin was different, used to think he was a good guy, that he wasn’t like your brother or dad. But he proved you wrong. And you’ll never be able to forget that.

Your heart still pounding, you turn and head into the restaurant. There’s no point dwelling on the past, no point in feeling sad about what Jimin did or didn’t do. You need to focus on why you’re here.

Conan is exactly where you expected, where he always sits in this place.

He’s already drinking, a Bloody Mary in his hand, alcohol disguised at this early hour. He’s as large as you remember him, his frame taking up most of one side of the booth. He still slightly terrifies you, the man closest to your dad, he reminds you so much of him even though he hardly looks like him.

You walk towards him, keep your head held high as you feel Jimin trailing behind you. You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t think Conan killed your dad, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. He may not have made a move to gain more power but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lot to gain from your fathers death. If anything you can relate to him, someone always in the shadows, you wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted more. Still, it doesn’t make killing someone right. If he killed your dad. Information is the main thing you want from this, if you get anything else, any inkling to more, then great.

“Y/N,” your name booms around the room when Conan spots you. He staggers to his feet, holds his arms opened wide as if waiting to be embraced. He’s acting like your friends, like he’s happy to see you, when you know for a fact he would have been the first to throw the party when you left.

“Conan,” you say in a far quieter yet still firm tone and hold your hand out for him to shake.

“So sorry about your father,” Conan carries on, taking your hand in both of his, his head shaking lightly as if truly distraught by the fact. Well, you guess he was as close to your dad as anyone could be, if anyone has a right be sad about your dads death, it’s him. “But I guess if we can see any bright side, it’s that you’ve finally come home.”

You don’t miss the lie in his words, but don’t say anything to call it out. This is all an act and luckily that is your strength.

“It’s appreciated. And I never got to say thanks for your lovely speech at the funeral. It was beautiful.”

It wasn’t, but the line works given the way Conan’s lips slightly curl upwards. Outwardly he only gives a dismissive “no problem” before letting go of your hand. You take his lead, let him take his seat before moving into your own, Jimin falling shortly behind so he’s sat next to you. Conan gives him a quick glance before his eyes fall back onto you. You hadn’t told him Jimin would be coming, but he doesn’t seem at all threatened by it.

“What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I believe my father was murdered.”

Jimin stiffens next to you, clearly caught off guard by your bluntness, but your focus is wholly on Conan who gives nothing away. He doesn’t look surprised by your statement, doesn’t look shocked you’ve put it do plainly, doesn’t seem surprised you’re here raising it with him. You make a note of everything.

Conan tilts his head, the gesture saying everything he doesn’t say; that doesn’t answer my question.

“You were close to my dad, if anyone has any idea who could have done it, it would be you,” you say. “What were his last movements?”

“I wasn’t he secretary,” his words are biting even though his face is all smiles.

“Oh, sorry, should I have gone to them? Would they have more information than you do?”

Your bait works, drawing him in, hook line and sinker.

“I was away,” he snaps, smile dropping off his face. “On business. Your father’s business in fact. Took his place last minute. I don’t know how this has anything to do with his death.”

You shrug, act unbothered. “It’s just a theory. And you’ll be one of the first to say that most theories I come up with are nonsense.”

Conan levels his gaze on you. The corner of his lips turns up slightly as if amused by your self-deprecation. And though he keeps his eyes on you, his next question isn’t directed at you.

“And what do you think about all of this, Park?”

If Jimin is surprised by the question directed to him he doesn’t show it, or at least his posture doesn’t because neither you nor Conan bother to look over at him.

“The Boss thinks it’s worth looking into and that’s all I care about.”

You see the flicker in Conan’s eyes at that. The Boss. Yoongi, no longer your dad. And here Conan sits where he once had Jimin’s role and now is drinking alcohol at 10am. He’s stooped in position since your father’s death, enough for most people to rule him out as a suspect. But you’re aware of something most people won’t be, that Conan now holds no power and that breeds its own desperation. He’s on the outside looking in like you always have been and you know the lengths he might go to try and regain his place.

“I’ll write you a list,” Conan finally says before taking a long gulp of his Bloody Mary, finishing it off. “Though I’m sure nothing exciting will rear its head. After all, I’d be killing the fucker if I thought anything had happened.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you reply, almost sounding bored. “Have it sent over to the house when it’s done,” you push to your feet, Jimin having to do the same so you can make your way out of the booth. “Sorry we couldn’t stay for food.”

There are no pleasantries as you leave. No goodbye’s or shakes of hands, Conan doesn’t even reply as you walk to the door. Jimin, however, is hot on your heels and you can sense his boiling desire to speak. He at least waits until you’re outside, the door to the restaurant closing behind you before he says anything.

“Well, that was a waste of time.”

You ignore him as you open the car door and slide into the back seat. You get a blissful few seconds of peace before the other door opens and Jimin slides in next to you.

“You know, I warned your brother that you’d be in over your head. I think that just proved it.”

“Going to run and tell him like the good little lap dog you are?” You can’t help but bite at the bait you know he so clearly left for you, twisting to look at him as the car pulls away from the curb.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Maybe I’ll enjoy watching you destroy yourself more.”

You roll your eyes, fall back into your seat. “Do you ever get bored of using the same lines over and over?”

“Haven’t so far.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, turning to look out the window.

The silence draws out for only a couple of seconds before Jimin breaks it. It would have been too good to think he’d remain silent the whole time.

“What good is a list going to do?”

“Maybe I just want to make Conan feel like he’s doing something useful.”

“Since when have you ever cared about him?”

You don’t reply to that one, just watch the world flashing past your window. The leaves on the trees are starting to come out, flowers blooming up from the ground. Spring has always been your favourite season, new life and new hope. And yet Jimin is ruining all of that peace by not keeping his mouth shut.

“Yoongi will be asking for reports,” he says and you pull your gaze from the beautiful world outside to the searingly handsome man sat next to you. “What am I supposed to tell him? That you’ve asked Conan to make a list? And you’re going to do what exactly with that?”

“Well, that wholly depends on what he writes.”

Jimin doesn’t seem impressed by your answer. His smile fading only for yours to blossom, like a weird game the two of you are playing.

“That’s not going to be good enough for Yoongi.”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.”

Jimin’s eyes turn to fire. “And what if you get what you want? What if you get a place in this gang? You think Yoongi will be satisfied with these answers then? No, you’ll be gone before you’ve even joined.”

“It’s lovely to hear you still have such undying faith in me Jimin,” you bite, turning back to look out the window.

The tension in the car rises, both of you brooding but neither of you saying any of the words that whirl around your heads. It’s silent the whole way back to the house and you’re not sure if that’s better or worse than hearing what he has to say.

The bag swings lightly away from you, swinging back only for you to punch it away again. It feels good, the slight ache in your arm at the impact, the force of your fist hitting the punching bag. It drives your thoughts away, it gets your anger out, it helps you think straight. Because that’s what’s happened since you got here, or more what’s not happened; you can no longer think straight here.

Six years, you’ve had six years to prepare for this and yet why do you care more about what some guy thinks then making this all work. You shouldn’t be getting so riled up by Jimin, you should have forgotten him and moved on, but it doesn’t help when he is seemingly everywhere doing everything he can to not let you forget him.

You hit the bag again, watch and prepare yourself as it starts to swing back. Jungkook taught you, well, you taught yourself what you could at first and then there were those few lessons with Jimin, but it was Jungkook who really taught you. It’s how you met, in fact. At the gym, so far from where you stand now, you so un at ease, Jungkook looking like the gym was his home, all muscle and bulk.

It was one of your first weeks away at university and though you’d been so shamelessly shunned from your home and family, you still had a desire to join the gang. So there you were, stood in the gym, hoping to do some sort of training. But except for Jimin, you’d never actually exercised or punched in front of people before. It was daunting, and Jungkook seemed to take that in and offered you a helping hand. No one had ever done that before, well, one person had, and he’d subsequently broken your heart, so it was no surprise that you were wary. But Jungkook took you under his wing and over time you got closer. He was the family you had never had, and you shared your dreams with him and much to your surprise he said he wanted to help you achieve everything you wanted.

He's your best friend, your confident, your right-hand man, your brother.

You punch the bag and this time when it swings back towards you, you lift a hand to steady it to a stop. A bead of sweat rolls down your face, your hair damp with it.

You could spend all night here punching away your annoyances and still be left standing not rid of them all. But you can’t do that, you have more important things to do, like work out who killed your father.

“So what is it today?”

“Do you ever sleep?” You say the words through gritted teeth as you see Jimin leaning in the same spot he was yesterday morning.

“Or maybe it’s who or where that I should be asking,” Jimin ignores you.

You ignore him, do what you did yesterday and keep walking. Jimin tracks you with his eyes, only pushes off the wall when you reach his side. He falls into step behind you, the noise something that’s been haunting your sleep. Jimin, trailing behind you.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

You’ve heard the question so many times, people see how close you and Jungkook are and assume that there must be more than friendship there. Ordinarily you would ignore them, what’s it to them if the two of you are intimate or not? But something about the way Jimin says it, or maybe because it’s Jimin who’s asking, irks you.

“Not my boyfriend,” you reply flatly and you’re not sure if the silence is because he’s surprised, actually thought you and Jungkook were a thing or because he’s considering what to taunt you with next.

“Still doesn’t answer my question. Where is he?” He replies a second later, giving no hint to what the pause was about.

“Where are we going? Who are we seeing? Where’s Jungkook?” You parrot his questions back to him as you enter the kitchen, stopping to turn and look at him only when you’re the opposite side of the room to him. He’s already leaning against the door frame, a small smile on his face, amused rather than annoyed by you. “You really have risen in power in the years I’ve been gone if all you can be trusted to do is follow me around all day.”

“Oh,” a wicked smile spreads across his lips and you prepare for the words. “Here’s me thinking you were going to be the next big thing? Isn’t it an important job to help important people?”

Your heart leaps even though you know it’s a lie. Jimin doesn’t think you’re important. If you couldn’t hear it in his sarcastic tone, then you can see it the way his eyes dance and in his crooked smile. Still, you have to turn away from him to gather some composure. Hope is a dangerous thing, and you don’t want any of it sparking inside you.

“How very sweet of you,” you say in the same sarcastic tone, back still to him as you busy yourself with making a coffee. “But you’re let off the hook today. Jungkook’s already left and I’m off to the spa, nothing you’ll be interested in.”

You turn, coffee made, to see a frown between Jimin’s brows. You try to act nonchalant, blow gently on the hot liquid in your cup as you stare at him through the steam.

“The spa?” He questions.

You nod. “My skins a mess. I need a facial.”

The words only make his frown deepen, like he’s trying to work out an impossible puzzle. He doesn’t reply, just stares back at you for a moment as if hoping to find the answer there. And then, as if by magic, it all disappears, the frown, the confusion, the stare, all replaced by that easy look he had before as he pushes himself straight. He walks towards you, standing right next to you as he makes a coffee for himself. He looks down at you, the proximity and glee more unnerving than the confused stare he was giving you moments ago.

“When do we go?”

“We?” The word bursts out of you and it gains another amused smile from Jimin.

“I thought we’d already gathered that I’m your babysitter,” he drops some sugar in his coffee, stirs it round as you stare at him, seething. “That means I go everywhere you go Princess.”

“Even to get a facial?” You ignore the nickname.

Jimin shrugs, that stupid smile still on his face. “You know, my face may be beautiful, but it could also do with some pampering.”

You’re not sure if it’s a dig. Neither of you have spoken about or acknowledged what happened six years ago, but the words still hurt. As much as you like to pretend, you’re still not over it.

“I’m surprised you’re not telling me I should be doing more to work out who killed my dad.”

“You know, I’ve never thought you were stupid Y/N. In fact, I’ve always thought the complete opposite, which is why it’s always surprised me you want to be here,” his words are so casual and yet your heart thumps with each word. You’ve never been this deep, this honest with one another, at least not since your return, and yet he’s acting so blasé about it. “I’m assuming there’s method to your madness. Or maybe, I want you to fail.”

You can see he means it by the look in his eyes. But for once he lacks all nastiness. It reminds you of all the times he said you were too good when growing up, that you were better than the gang, that you should aim for more. You’d not thought of that in a long time, even when he said it at the time you’d pushed it away, because what could be better than the power here, than belonging somewhere, having the large family that the gang presents itself as. But is that what he’s saying now? In his cool, unbothered manner, that he wants you to fail not because he can’t stand the sight of you but because he still thinks you’re better than this place?

You grow hot and break Jimin’s gaze, opting instead to walk back towards the door.

“We leave in ten,” you say over your shoulder.

You’re not here for a facial, as Jimin predicted, and you’re not sure if you’re more annoyed he didn’t believe the lie and therefore came or happy that he didn’t believe the lie and therefore is at least starting to not think so little of you. You don’t remind yourself of his words; I’ve never thought you were stupid Y/N, because that would imply he’s always had faith in you and you’re still in too fragile a place to fully evaluate why that’s such a painful a thought.

You may not be here for the primary reason of getting a facial, but it’s a perk of the task at hand. You sit, leant back in a chair, oils being rubbed into your skin with Jimin in the same position next to you. He wouldn’t have been your first choice in companion for a couples session, but it seems his trust of this being more than you implied only ran so deep – he wouldn’t let you come in here alone, no matter how hard you tried.

“I really needed this,” you say, eyes closed as the woman above you gently applies pressure to your temples.

“You look stressed,” the woman agrees. “We have some products that are good for under your eyes, might help with the dark circles?”

You can almost picture the smirk you know Jimin has on his face at those words, but you push your annoyance down and rid the image from your brain; you need to focus on why you’re here.

“That would be great,” you say. “I haven’t been sleeping well recently. My dad passed away recently.”

It’s not a lie, you’ve not been sleeping well, though the reason for it isn’t because of your dad, or more not because of his death. You’ve been staying in your old bedroom, and it’s become so hard to sleep at night with all the memories tied to the space. You could sleep anywhere else, could have a pick of the rooms in the building – not that it would help – or you could pay to stay in one of the many hotels in the city. But, be it stubbornness or something else, you chose to stay in your old room.

The woman doesn’t catch the lie though, as intended she hears what you say and her fingers falter on your face for half a second. Not much, but enough for you to know she’s caught on.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she mutters. “We have some essential oils that might help you get to sleep better?”

“You know, I heard that he used to come here,” you ignore her question, feel her fingers stutter on your face again, can almost hear Jimin turn his attention towards you. “He liked to come as a way to unwind. I wonder if you ever met him.”

Her fingers draw away, slow as the room grows silent. You sit up and turn to look at her, her eyes are looking everywhere but you, body taught, she’s clearly very uncomfortable.

“I’ll go get those oils,” she mutters and starts to take a step before you stop her.

“What did he promise you? What did he do to you?” Her eyes go to you, wide, scared, and something you can’t read. “How did he hurt you?”

“He never hurt me,” her voice is lower, not the happy customer service tone she was using before.

You cock your head to the side and try not to sound too satisfied. “So you did know him.”

She blanches, but at least doesn’t try to run now.

“What did he give you?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I never wanted anything –”

“If you say you didn’t want anything but him, I think I might be sick.”

“He was different here. He wasn’t the man that he was pretending to be outside.”

“He was a gang leader,” you deadpan.

“He loved me. He cared for me.”

“Yeah, you and who else?”

You watch her jaw clench, and her fists roll into balls. You brace for her to step forward and hit you, but she doesn’t, just stands silently seething. You can see the truth in her eyes, can see that what you said was a good guess. She wasn’t the only one, and she knows it. But you can also see the fact that she isn’t capable of killing because of it, that your dad might not have really loved her, but she at least loved him. You can’t speak for the others, but if you’re information serves correctly she was the closest to him, if it was going to be anyone it would have been her.

“Don’t bother with the oils, I think we’re done here.”

You stand, see Jimin doing the same from the corner of your eye, you’d almost forgotten he was here he’s been so quiet.

“He didn’t deserve you,” she says, obviously not fully grasping who you are or what your relationship with your father was.

You turn and give her a full smile, the gesture causing her to flinch as if you’d pulled a knife out on her.

“Yeah, you’re right, he didn’t.”

Jimin is already stood holding the door open for you. You try to ignore the fact your hair is scraped back and you still have oil lingering on your skin. Ignore the looks you gain as you walk through the lobby and out to the car waiting for you.

Jimin slides in next to you and for once doesn’t talk immediately. There’s a minute or two of silence and then when he finally breaks it his voice is soft and the words aren’t a jab.

“How did you work that out? No one knew he had girls on the side.”

“Is that a compliment?” You look at him, mock shock in your tone.

He shrugs, neither confirming nor denying.

“I don’t know, it’s as if I can actually be useful. As if me wanting to join this gang isn’t because I think it’ll be shits and giggles, but because I’ve actually given it some thought.”

There’s a pause and then Jimin says softly, “Why?”

Confusion is written all over his face from your words. He doesn’t get it, he never has.

“I always saw you as a little girl, someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly. You were all smiles and giggles whenever I caught you on your own, so innocent despite where you lived,” he’s not saying it as a jab, purely stating facts, but the fact that’s how he saw you still makes something deep inside you burn. “You changed though. Not just now, but then too. You grew up and you became so twisted by your environment. And I never got it, I still don’t. You had a chance to get out, to have a normal life, to choose something other than this.”

There’s no question, but you still hear it. You let out a sigh before you start.

“It’s family,” you say, your voice now as soft as Jimin’s, both of you dropping the pretences if only for a moment. “Something I never grew up with, because even if I lived there, they never welcomed me and it was something I always craved, still do. I don’t have to love them, they don’t have to love me, but I still want their respect.”

“You don’t need it. You could have so much more.”

“But I want this.”

He shakes his head, a gentle movement, but enough to show you he still doesn’t get it.

“I’m not fragile. I can do this,” your voice has a bit more bite to it now, a small amount of annoyance seeping in.

“I know you can,” Jimin says, voice still soft. “But it doesn’t mean you have to.”

You take in a long breath. You feel like you’re going around in circles, swear you’ve had this conversation a thousand times and it’s still ending the same. He’ll never get it, none of them will ever get it.

“I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“I can see,” Jimin mutters across you, words so low they’re barely audible.

“I can make my own choices.”

Jimin sits up straight, his eyes roam your body, his head slowly nodding this time. You try not to blanch away from him, let his eyes wonder all they want until he finally comes back to meet your eyes. He stares at you, deep and his eyes full of something, like he’s about to say something. But then his eyes flick behind you and when his eyes go back to your face the look is gone, replaced by a certain emptiness, the mask he always wears around you now back on his face.

“Your brother wants to talk to you.”

You don’t expect it, eyes flick to the window to see what Jimin saw, you’re pulling up to the house. You look back to Jimin, wait to see if he’s going to say whatever was on his mind a second ago, but you can tell the moments passed. He looks closed, back to the Jimin you hardly recognise.

Someone comes to your door, opens it up as you stay sitting staring at Jimin.

“Right,” you say flatly, still silently hoping for more time, for just a few more minutes of not acting like you hate each other. “I guess I’ll go then.”

You sit and wait a beat but only get a nod from Jimin. And after everything that’s happened, there’s a certain amount of sadness as you step out of the car and head into the house, an emptiness in you as you walk to Yoongi’s office.

He’s sat looking at papers when you walk in and close the door behind you, doesn’t even look up to greet you.

“I heard you found his mistresses,” he glances up at you. “Congrats.”

You don’t say anything as you walk and take a seat opposite him. He lets the silence drag, takes his time to examine the paper in his hand before setting it down a levelling his gaze at you.

You’ve never had a close relationship, didn’t grow up like most siblings who tease each other, laugh and cry together. You hardly had anything to do with each other, him seven years your elder, too busy trying to impress your father to bother with you. But he was still your brother, still protected you, still took you under his wing at times. You were never close, but he still at least treated you like family, gave you a fair chance that no one else did.

“It’s more than you’ve managed I hear.”

He doesn’t wince or react to your backhanded words. Instead, he leans back into his chair, relaxes into the conversation.

“And what else have you managed to find out?”

“Jimin not doing a good enough job?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

You shrug, buy yourself a second or two to work out what you want to tell him and what you want to keep to yourself. Because although Jimin has been following you this whole time he’s still naïve to it all, can’t see the wood through the trees. You’ve used it to your advantage, the fact that they’re underestimating you is currently working in your favour, and you know far more than they realise. For one, Jungkook has been able to do what he wants, hasn’t had a tail like you, can go and talk to people you don’t want other’s hearing about. Feeds you information that only the two of you are privy to. Because if you’re going to do this, you don’t want there being any risk that it’s not clear that it was you who did it.

“I’m still working things out. But I know it wasn’t the girls, even if they had the opportunity and enough prerogative, they couldn’t have killed a man.”

“Ok,” Yoongi says, leaning forward so his elbows are on the desk. “And that’s all? You’ve ruled out some girls and no one else?”

You shrug, pretend to be disinterested and unbothered.

“I can call this deal off at any time. I don’t need you, I’m doing you a favour here.”

“And I’m grateful,” you say with a sarcastic smile.

It’s a dangerous game, you know, you just can’t help yourself. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s people looking down on you.

“So tell me what you’ve found Y/N. Something useful,” his voice is dark, a warning behind the words.

You don’t answer straight away, use his tactic against him, let the silence seep into him. He doesn’t let it show that it bothers him. At least he can take what he gives out.

“Do you know why dad hated me?” You watch a shadow cross Yoongi’s face, he wasn’t expecting you to say that, but he doesn’t stop you. “He told me once. Sat me down right here in this chair, in this room, like we are now and told me. I was eight years old and he told me that I reminded him of mum. I remember smiling as he described how my eyes were like hers, my smile, my kindness, my weakness. All like her.”

Yoongi stares at you, the darkness still in his eyes, but now it looks like it’s for a completely different reason. He seems more taught, seems to lean towards you as if he doesn’t want to miss a word. And though the anger boils up in you at the memory of little you being shattered apart, you’re glad that Yoongi is at least giving you the space to talk about the thing you’ve never told anyone.

You don’t know why you’re telling him, you’ve never told anyone before. A hidden secret between you and your dad. It always felt nasty growing up, something you didn’t want anyone knowing because if no one knew, maybe you could change it, maybe you could prove him wrong. But you’re done with being afraid of your dad, he’s dead, there’s nothing he can do to you now. And maybe it was the conversation in the car with Jimin, both of you opening up more than you have before that makes you tell Yoongi now.

“He told me that I would never amount to anything, just like her,” your voice is level despite your hammering heart. “The woman who he had children with, who gave birth to me, who died because of him. And he sat me down and said that I was so like her that he could hardly bare to have me living in the same house as him, that he couldn’t wait for me to leave and not be his burden.”

The silence seems stunned now, Yoongi’s stare almost sad. It at least makes you happy to know that he never knew that.

“He had to keep me around, couldn’t kick me out on the street, but he made it plainly clear what he thought of me. For all those years and everyone went along with it. Because he’s the boss, and what he says goes; I’m weak and I don’t belong here. I don’t blame you for the past, I just hope you’ll be better. I just want a chance.”

You don’t know what you wanted, outrage, sympathy, a promise or possibly a fight to contradict it, that he’s not like that. But what you get is silence, his signature.

You let out a short sigh before pushing yourself to your feet. His eyes follow you as you rise above him.

“I still need something from you,” his voice sounds thicker even though it doesn’t waiver. You hear everything he doesn’t say. You still need to do this, you still need to prove you deserve a place here.

You give him a small, short nod. You’re on the same page. Even if he welcomed you with open arms you’d need to prove yourself to everyone outside this room, still need to earn their respect. Yoongi can only do so much, he alone might be able to give you a place in the gang, but he alone can’t convince the hundreds of people below him, it might only ruin how he’s viewed.

You can do this. You want to do this. You give Yoongi the barest of smiles before turning and heading out the door. There’s a lot of work to be done.

You don’t go to the gym tonight, instead you go and watch people fight. You slip out the house the same way you do when you go to the gym, no one seeming to take note of your movements this late at night, as if they still see you as that young girl who has to go to bed at a reasonable time.

The fighting is not exactly what you’d call entertaining though. Men hitting men for money always feels barbaric to you. But you still stand in the crowd and watch unflinching, because although no one pays you any attention, you know there must be eyes on you.

Blood and spittle fly across the gym mat, sweat drips down each men’s face’s and you’re honestly surprised they’re still standing and still look so well put together. Well, at least one of them does, the other not so much. Still, round after round is punched and neither man claims victor. You’re not sure if it’s because the one man is enjoying taunting the other so much or more likely because he’s being paid to prolong it, but you’re sure he could have knocked the other man out and be finished in round one.

You clench your jaw as the weaker, more distressed man lands what looks like a solid punch on the other’s jaw. Are surprised when he seems to only shake off the hit, no teeth missing.

“He has your problem,” you tense at the low words whispered in your ear. You weren’t aware of anyone approaching and certainly no one standing so close, even in this crammed room. “Has his fist raised too high, so it lacks all the power.”

You twist you head to the side and almost bump your nose with Jimin’s he’s stood so close to you. You flinch back a centimetre and yet Jimin doesn’t move at the close proximity, stays exactly where he is.

“I don’t do that anymore,” you defend, trying to hide the flinch, a sure sign of weakness when Jimin didn’t react at all.

“Ah, because I taught you everything you know?”

“No. Jungkook did that,” you say flatly, no lie, but something crosses Jimin’s eyes at the words.

“Well, I at least taught you that,” he nods his head to the fighting ring, his voice lacking any humour now.

You turn back around, now fully aware of Jimin’s presence all down the back and right-hand side of your body. Has he moved closer or were you really that blind to his heat before? You turn in time to see the stronger, less ragged man finally land a knockout blow. The other man falls like a led balloon to the floor, no doubts of the clear win but still someone counts down from ten to see if he will rise. When he doesn’t the room erupts, and the stronger man does a half-hearted celebration.

“You definitely didn’t teach me that,” you have to turn back to Jimin to make sure he catches the words over the roaring of the crowd.

“I taught you to punch,” he raises an eyebrow.

“I taught myself to punch.”

“I taught you how to punch properly.”

You roll your eyes at him even though the small smile on your lips betrays you. Turning your head to look back at the fighting ring you catch the winning man going under the ropes in search of a quieter space.

A hand catches yours as you start to follow and you naturally tense.

“So I don’t lose you,” Jimin says lowly into your ear, his hand tightening in yours when you try to slip away.

In all the years you’ve known Jimin you can’t remember a time you held his hand, at least not like this. Warm, soft, you’d have imagined they’d be tough with callous, but they’re not. You could pull out of grip, tell him where you’re heading so he doesn’t lose you, but you do none of these things, keep his hand in yours and guide him through the room.

Even when you’re free of the crowd, where Jimin can walk comfortably by your side, neither of you let go of each other’s hands. At least not as quickly as you could. Instead, you wait until he steps beside you. He squeezes your hand in his and you can sense him looking down at you, but you don’t look at him, not sure what your face will give away if you do, and just like that the warmth of his hand is gone.

You try not to miss it, after all Jimin’s still there, the warmth of his body seeping into your side rather than the heat of his hand. And it’s not like it meant anything, not like you wanted it to mean anything.

“Where are we heading?” Jimin’s voice is further away than before but it still sends a tingle down your spin. You supress it though, remain stony faced, focus forward.

You don’t give him an answer, it’s obvious where you’re going and you know Jimin’s only asking it to break whatever tension has risen between you. At least you’re not the only one feeling something after that short hand hold, though you doubt Jimin’s feelings are the same as yours, he’s probably feeling more awkward about what he did, worried it will spark feelings you’ve long buried, and he long ago dismissed. Well, he has nothing to worry about, he well and truly made sure you will never tell him your feelings again, at least no positive ones.

There’s a burly man stood at the door that leads to the back rooms. You don’t even deign him with a look and you can’t help but feel immense pleasure when he doesn’t stop you from pushing through the door. You don’t even consider it’s more likely because Jimin’s in your presence, just feel a course of power going through you you’ve always longed to feel. This is what you want, this is why you’re doing everything you’re doing. It gives you a spark of new determination and your strides become longer and firmer as you push through the named locker room door.

There’s only a single person in here, the man who won. He’s shirtless, sweat dripping down his chiselled chest like beads of water, his hair is damp, ruffled as if he’s been running his hand through it. He’s sat, hunched over on one of the wooden benches, doesn’t even look up as the door opens and closes.

You take a minute to survey his body, for bruises and scratches you tell yourself, though you can’t deny the smooth pains are a perk. So what if your eyes linger on the hard bumps on his stomach or the wide pains of his shoulders?

There’s not a scratch on him, and though it takes time for bruises to swell and show you can tell that none will appear however long you wait. There are drips of blood on him, but you can tell even that isn’t his own. It’s impressive, you may not have enjoyed watching the fight but you can’t deny that he holds skill in the way he so easily controlled the fight for so long.

“Congratulations,” you finally break the silence and still the man doesn’t look at you, just stares down at his bloody knuckles. “It looked like a tough fight.”

It’s a lie, it didn’t look like a tough fight at all, the man had complete control over every punch – his own and his opponents. But it at least gets him to flick his eyes up at you. They go up, back down to his hands and then as if something caught his attention, go back and fully settle on your body. A heat akin to satisfaction goes through your body at the way he stares at you. You’d been hoping for it, had worn clothes that hug and accentuate your assets, but still, there’s nothing like a plan coming together.

“Did it?” The man cocks his head in question.

This time you let him see you look at him. Are slow with the way you drag your eyes down and then back up his body. And when you meet his face again, and even though he looks to be as chiselled as a Greek statue, there’s a flush to his skin.

“No, I guess it looked pretty easy,” you smile at him and to your satisfaction see him start to smile back.

“And is that why you’re here?” Though his face is tinged pink, his voice is still silky smooth, the bass of it reverberating through you. “To congratulate me?”

“Is there something else you’d like me to do?”

The man sits up straighter, his chest now fully exposed to you as his eyes widen, drinking you in and no doubt thinking of the many other things he’d like to be doing to you. You let him look, let him imagine it all and don’t baulk away from it.

But, before he can open his mouth and reply, before he can tell you all the delicious things that are running through his mind, something – or more someone – steps up beside you and ruins your fun.

The mans eyes go from you to Jimin as if only just realising you’re not the only two people in the room. He straightens, not in the way he did when reacting to you, but more becoming stiff and rigid.

“Park.”

“Joon.”

Of course, they know each other. It would have been too good to have assumed Jimin’s presence would go unnoticed. But when you turn to your side to look at Jimin and shoot him a look of disdain, he’s as stiff and taught as the man sat down.

“Good fight,” Jimin says, eyes not drifting to look at you and your glare. In fact, he has the audacity to take another step forward, now stood slightly in front of you, his body partially blocking you. You could strangle him you’re so annoyed. “How much did you make from controlling the fight like that?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see the man – Joon – look from you to Jimin, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowing.

“What is this?”

“Ignore him,” you push past Jimin, possibly a bit harder than necessary. “He’s just my bodyguard.”

Joon’s eyes light up as they go to Jimin. “Park Jimin, a bodyguard? Well there’s a turn for the books.”

“I prefer the term protector.”

“Not that there’s anything to protect,” you smile sweetly at the man and take a step closer so you can hold your hand out. “Y/N.”

He holds your gaze as he takes your hand. “Namjoon.”

His hand is as large as the rest of his body, warm and luckily the blood has long dried so it’s not wet. His grip is firm and it’s not your fault if your hands linger in his a little longer than necessary. It’s only Jimin shuffling behind you that gets Namjoon to break eye contact and only a glance behind you that has him immediately dropping your hand. Yep, you’re going to murder Jimin and his protective ass.

“Ignore him,” you say. “I don’t even know why he’s here.”

And you don’t, now you think of it, you assumed no one followed you. But then, wasn’t it Jimin’s job to follow you. And you may have mixed feelings towards him at the moment, but you at least know that he’s thorough enough at his job to not have let you slip out unnoticed so easily.

“Yeah, you have nothing to protect here Jimin,” a wicked, cheeky smile takes over Namjoon’s face as he looks from Jimin back to you. It makes your stomach coil in a good way. “And what is it I can do for you?”

“Many things,” you purr.

“Let me rephrase. What do you want me to do first?”

You pause as if to consider. “Well, I would say you look like you could do with a shower.”

The implication is left in the way you say the words and a glint sparks in Namjoon’s eyes. He shuffles as if he’s about to stand up and then a hand comes to your shoulder and you’re dragged a step backwards.

“Whatever the fuck this is, you’re not doing it and pretending I’m not here,” Jimin says lowly from beside you.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you’d want to be involved,” you say in a butter wouldn’t melt voice, sarcastic smile on your lips before turning back to Namjoon. “Do you mind?”

Namjoon doesn’t smile back, the playful glint in his eye is gone and you know it’s because of the death glare he’s receiving from Jimin. The man just easily won a fight, controlled it perfectly, and yet he’s scared of Jimin. You know Jimin has a reputation, have heard stories growing up, but you have never witnessed this before, only the respect he’s earnt from the gang, not the fear he gets from outsiders. You’re not sure how you feel about it, but something inside you flutters.

You can almost feel the annoyance rolling off Jimin, more than ever before. As much as you’d like to keep pushing this, part of you is worried what might happen if he were to finally give up with your shit and snap.

You roll your eyes as you look back at Jimin. “What? It’s not like you’ve ever been interested before.” You see a flash of something cross his eyes before you turn back to Namjoon. Jimin doesn’t stop you when you take a step back towards him, hand going into your pocket for something. “I came because I’m a fan. And because I’d be interested to talk. Maybe another time?”

It takes him a second but he accepts the card you offer him, blank except for your phone number written on one side. His eyes flick over the digits before he gives you a small nod. Satisfied you tell him you’ll speak soon before turning and heading out the door you entered.

There’s another fight happening, but you pay it no attention as you go to the exit. You know Jimin’s behind you, can sense all his feelings flowing off him in waves.

You pause when you get outside, the car you told to wait for you is gone, and you stopped lets Jimin push past you. He doesn’t say anything as he goes to the parked car a few spaces away and gets into the drivers seat.

You fume, stand stubborn in your spot. It’s a predictable move, Jimin telling your driver to head home and he’ll make sure you’re safe, but it’s not something you’d thought of. And you’re resistant to get in Jimin’s car.

Both of you wait each other out. You stood unmoving. Jimin idling in his car.

You give in first. Let out a huff only you hear before you walk to the passenger side of the car and climb in. The door is barely closed, your seatbelt not even on, before Jimin goes into first and accelerates away.

He doesn’t have to say anything. His body language, the way he’s reacting telling you everything. He’s pissed. You just can’t tell exactly which part of the night he’s most pissed about. The fact you left the house alone without telling anyone? Where you went? The fact you went and spoke to Namjoon, flirted with him? Or the fact you did it all so un-bashfully in front of him as if he wasn’t there?

You have to look out the side window to hide the fact there’s a small smile on your lips. There’s something about this protective, jealous Jimin that amuses you. Sure, he’s an ass and has no right to feel any of this towards you, but still, it gives you some form of pleasure to witness it. You’d never tell him that though.

“What’s your game?” Jimin finally says after a few minutes.

You continue to look out the window, hide your face from his inquisitive eyes you know are flicking in your direction, trying to read the answer there.

“No game,” you lie.

“So you’re telling me you went there tonight because you actually wanted to watch a fight?” His tone is flat, like he can’t even imagine you answering yes.

“I’m a fan of Namjoon’s,” you say before turning to see his reaction. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road. “Just wanted to make some more friends.”

“You didn’t even know his name.”

“Sure. But come on, even you can admit one look at him and there’s not many that wouldn’t instantly want to know him.”

He shakes his head. Eyes flick quickly to you and then back to the road.

“You’ve changed, Y/N. You’re not the young girl I used to know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You just never chose to see me back then. I’ve not changed at all.”

“Says the girl who refused to see that every boy was chasing after her. Who wasn’t interested in boys at all, let alone flirting so openly.”

“Yeah, well that was because I only had eyes for you.”

Even in the dark light you can see the flush that creeps up Jimin’s neck. You didn’t say it to have the upper hand, you just said it because it’s the truth and you’ve been dancing around the topic for too long. You don’t particularly want to sit down and hash it all out, but you’re also kind of sick of pretending that it didn’t happen. It changed and shaped you into the person you are, everything Jimin has done for you has, and you’re sick of pussy footing around it to what? Save face? Well, you’re sick of feeling embarrassed about it.

“Anyway, I meant that you always saw me as the young dumb little kid.”

“I didn’t think you were dumb,” he’s quick to rebut. “Do you really think that’s what I thought?”

You don’t reply and your silence is answer enough. It’s not that you thought that, but more that you know he always saw you as a little sister, and though he took you under his wing, you knew that he was just like everyone else with his thoughts that you didn’t belong in the gang.

“I thought the complete opposite – I think you’re smart Y/N. You went to school, got into university. Hell, I could hardly make it through the few classes I actually attended growing up.”

“You don’t even know what grade I got at uni,” you mumble.

“A first,” he replies easily and you shoot your wide eyes to him. You can tell it’s not a guess or assumption, he says it with a certainty that shows he knows the answer. “You may not have spoken to me, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t forget about you or want to know what you were doing with your life.”

Your heart cracks a little at the knowledge. You thought he’d abandoned you that day he broke your heart, thought that was him throwing you out with the trash. You had never thought for a second that he still thought about you, you hoped but you never thought those late night fantasies could actually be truth.

“You never messaged me,” your words come out slightly husky, full of emotion.

Jimin shrugs as if it’s not a big issue. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

The idea sounds bizarre to you, because even thinking back on everything, you know for a fact that if Jimin had reached out at any point you would have leapt on it. Even after feeling betrayed, after the disappointment, after all the tears and at times the hatred you felt towards him for the way he went about things; you’d still have loved for even a simple message from him. He may have rejected you, may have broken your heart, but Jimin meant so much more to you than a simple crush. He could have sent a simple hi, could have let you know that he was thinking of you, could have said anything, but he didn’t. And now your relationship is this; weird and taught with an awkward tension and hardly able to hold a conversation with one another.

“We really messed up, huh?”

Jimin glances over at you, uncertainty in his eyes until he sees the small smile on your lips. The smile doesn’t show up on his lips and a spike of worry goes through you. He focuses back on the road as he speaks again.

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

You tense, it wasn’t spoken as a threat, still said in the same soft tone he’s been using for the entire conversation.

“I’ll forever feel guilty for what I did to you, for how I made you feel, but I’ll never be sorry for it,” your heart hammers as you watch Jimin talk. “I’ve missed you, but you don’t belong here Y/N. You can’t stay here.”

“I thought we just went through this,” you whisper, voice husky.

“I can’t watch you break. I can’t watch them break you Y/N,” you’re pulling into the drive and Jimin rolls to a stop before any of the outside lights reach your windows. He turns to you, even through the darkness you can see the raw emotion in his eyes. “Because that’s what they’re doing. Kill you, twist you, change you, it’s all the same and I’m not going to sit here and watch it happen.”

Your eyes flick between his, frown between your eyes. He’s never been this real with you and you wonder if it’s because you’ve never truly been alone until this moment. Walls have ears in your house, but here in Jimin’s car you might be the most alone you’ve ever been.

“Then don’t watch.”

Jimin shakes his head. “Don’t you think I would if I could.”

“Then leave.”

He huffs out some air, a laugh lacking any humour. Frustration, this time you’re the one not understanding him.

“Don’t you think I would have done that a long time ago if I could. I’m tied now, I can’t leave. But that doesn’t mean you can’t, you still have time.”

He sounds desperate, wants you to understand while he has you here listening. He leans towards you as he speaks, his words spilling out of him as if they’ve been locked inside and now they’re finally able to escape they trip over themselves in the rush to get out.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper, and you think you see something break in Jimin’s eyes as he falls away from you. “Is that why you did it? All those years ago, you knew I’d leave if you turned me down so cruelly.”

A muscle twitches in Jimin’s jaw as he looks away from you and it’s all the confirmation you need to know you have him. Things click into place, the long dead hope starts to spark in you. It’s still not easily forgiven, but it at least makes sense.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did. And I didn’t want to leave.”

You sit staring at Jimin as he stares out the window.

You’ve never been so open with each other while also never feeling so far apart. At least you’re getting things out, but at the same time you wish he hadn’t said anything. Your minds whirling, everything you thought was true is now thrown into question.

You don’t know what you do now, don’t know where you sit with Jimin.

You look out the window to the house, see the door closing, your eyes missing however walked in. You want to say more but also have nothing to say. Emotions are still raw and though you’re opening up you’re not sure that either of you can go back to how things were, too much has happened.

“Thanks for the lift,” you say eventually.

Jimin doesn’t reply, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move as you unbuckle and climb out of the car.

Your mind can’t move away from the conversation as you head inside. Passing by people you hardly take in their stares as you blindly walk to your room. You feel so angry, yet also somewhat relieved. Like some weird paradox inside your mind.

He didn’t want to hurt you. Bullshit. He knew exactly what he was doing. You know he did it on purpose. But now you know he did it to get rid of you, not because he thought you were weak, not because he thought women don’t deserved a place here, but because he thought you deserved better. It’s something he’s always said, and yet why is it only sinking in now?

And then all that shit about being trapped here. You’re not naïve to how the gang works, how it’s easy to join – in every case but yours it seems – but it’s so much harder to leave. But you’ve always viewed Jimin as different. He isn’t trapped, he joined as a young child because he wanted to and has stayed because he’s good and he wants to. That’s right, right?

And it irks you that he can’t stop going on about how he viewed you back then, and how much you’ve changed now. Yeah, no shit, you’re not a young kid anymore. What was he expecting? Everyone changes through their teens, let alone now into your early 20s. Is that why he seems to hate you now, why he has been acting so different around you, because you’ve changed and he can no longer stand what you’ve become?

But then he was also nice. He opened up to you. He actually talked to you about his thoughts and feelings. And even if you disagree with so much of what he said, isn’t it a step forward? Shouldn’t you be happy? It’s at least a step to going back to how you were, because although you shouldn’t care, you can’t deny that you miss Jimin, that you wouldn’t leap at the chance to have him back in your life.

You stomp up the stairs, throw your door open so that it hits and then rebounds off the wall. You’re fuming. Start to pace not even realising you’re muttering let alone noticing that there’s someone in the room with you.

“Someone’s got their knickers in a twist.”

You stop, turn to glare at Jungkook, jaw clenched shut. He’s leaning against the wall, something in his hand. There was a smile on his face before you looked at him, but by the time you saw it was swiftly falling away.

“Why is it men always feel the need to lean on things?” You snap.

To his credit Jungkook doesn’t stand up straight, just stares at you before raising an eyebrow.

“Men are fucking annoying is all,” you grind the words out.

“While that’s a very sweeping statement, I can’t disagree,” Jungkook replies smoothly.

You want to retain your anger, don’t want Jungkook to make you feel better. You’re still not done brooding, still not finished being angry at Jimin and his stupid fucking ideas.

“What is it Jeon?”

Finally Jungkook stands taller, his face falling flat, more serious. A nerve twitches in your jaw, mentally you prepare yourself. He lifts his hand, that thing in his hand you’d dismissed coming back into view. A piece of paper, nothing special, but your eyes flick from it to Jungkook, anxiety rising in you.

“I went where you told me,” he states, his voice dropping an decibel. “And I found some stuff you need to hear.”

Part 2

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popplyken · 2 years

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Dawn (MC): The pokemon and clothes here as so cute. Ingo: Yes, but I do not think they are familiar to me. What about for yourself? Dawn: Yeah... they aren't familiar to me either. Some art for a silly self-indulgent AU of PLA I made to kind of combat a lot of the angst. (I have my own Angsty AU but this one is more for fun and silliness.) Also I’m surprised how well this came out since I can’t usually draw fire and haven’t drawn Dawn or Ingo EVER. (Dawn’s outfit is based on a Scorbunny and Ingo’s is based on his TeaTime outfit though I looked up some old clothes refs. AU info under cut.

Some more AU info:

Dawn and Ingo have very few memories. Dawn kind of has memories of Barry and her mom but it's mostly just that her mom read her stories (not her face) and that she knew someone very impatient.

Dialga and Palkia can't send them to where they're from originally since neither know where that was so they are kind of stuck hopping around time and space.

They spend a day or two in the places they land to see if anything feels familiar or if they get any memories and if not they move on. They might also spend extra time there if they get roped into helping people or if they aren't quite sure if it's familiar or not. They take their pokemon with them and occasionally Lady

Dawn and Ingo know that they are from the future, but aren't sure quite how far in the future they are from. Originally they assume it might not be too far they are just in the wrong place, but as time goes on they begin to assume they are a lot farther in the future then they thought.

They both assume that they are probably from the same place at first since from what they can remember the place has the same attitude about pokemon and have a similar things. How many places can be like that?

After a week of hopping around they return to Hisui to recuperate and get supplies before trying again. They decided to have time pass equivalently in Hisui so they spend a week there and a week hopping in different locations.

Their friends in Hisui wait for them to get back with info on if they have found where they are from or not. They also tend to try and cheer them up after every failure. Cyllene has told Dawn that if she does find her home she still has to come back so they can give her a send off before leaving permanently.

They bring back gifts for their pals that they get with the money they get from battling people. They also occasionally get new pokemon just because I think that's cool and I like to draw those kind of things.

Dawn likes to show new pokemon to Laventon and sketches/photographs the pokemon they see since she won't catch any that dont want to permanently want to join their time adventures.

Ingo wont be wearing his usual coat and hat since it has been a year or two since Dawn came to Hisui and his old clothes are falling apart so bad that hes put them away to keep them save. Additionally they have agreed to get clothes more typical of the places they go to so that they dont stand out too much. This is mostly so I can practice new outfits.

They dont always hang out too long in place even if they got one part of it right since it still feels unfamiliar. For example, they are in the present for them, but in Kalos so they just hang around for a bit and then leave.

People have recognized them but they didnt notice.

As they pop around closer to their original time they go back to jumping around only a few months at a time compared to years at a time since things seem familiar.

They have definitely been in Nimbasa, but Ingo hadn't gone missing yet so people didnt really notice anything was wrong.

There are definitely reunions on the horizon, but for a bit they keep barely missing the people who know/care about them.

Anyway that's what I have so like if anyone wants to talk about it I'm so down.

#Pokemon #pokemon legends ingo #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon akari #pokemon dawn #ingo #my art #my au idea #submas #timetravelers au

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beakeoghan · 2 years

Text

we don’t have to pretend

Pairing: Shang-Chi x fem!reader

Summary: Being best friends since high school, the reunion prom finally serves as an excuse to confess your long lasting feelings for each other.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Fluff, it was supposed to be angsty but has nothing angsty about it. Cheesy promposal and cheesy song choice.

Author’s note: It took me some time but my first Shang-Chi one-shot is finally here! I took some inspiration from the beautiful @wint3r-h3art 's song recommendation, Around by NIKI, but also had a little of everything, from Deadpool references to inspo by the video clip of In the Dark by Swae Lee ft. Jhené Aiko. At this point I'm mastering self indulgent fics, I just can't help it. <3

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are really appreciated! <3 As always, thank you so much for reading!

Shang-Chi was lying down on his bed with his back stretched out and feet still touching the ground. His eyes were looking for answers on the plain white ceiling where he knew he wouldn’t find. The whole incident with the Ten Rings, his dad’s death, and family history were way too much, still. After meeting with Dr. Banner and Captain Danvers, his life had been much more crowded and rushed, always counting on Wong to transport him back and forth to New York.

His heart almost gave out when he heard the bell ringing — he wasn’t expecting anyone. It was a Saturday, the only day he reserved for himself, or to be available in case you were too. He still hadn’t time to tell you about his double life, and he certainly didn’t want to drag you into this mess. He did feel guilty, though, with sneaking around and pretending he wasn’t there when you called him.

Especially since he was in love with you. How could he expect to have you around when he couldn’t even bring himself to tell you who he was?

He heard your voice outside by the door and his reaction was immediate. He left the bed with a jump, quickly pacing to open it for you. He fidgeted on his hair for a bit before letting the sunlight enter the apartment. He was as happy as a puppy on his first time walking out of the house.

“When I said you could always come by, I didn’t mean that you could simply show up like this.” He said playfully, leaning into the crack of the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have company?” Your sarcastic tone made him chuckle, he loved how you would always find a way to tease him, ever since you were teenagers.

“I mean, I could have. I’m very important and busy.” He gestured that you were welcome to come inside, but almost regretting it a second later. “Sorry for the mess, didn’t have time to tidy up.”

“Yeah, dude. You haven’t run errands with me for four weeks or so.” You took off your shoes to place them by the entrance. “I miss my laundry buddy.”

“I miss you too.” He said, gazing past you. If only you knew just how much he did miss you, not only to run errands but to everything. He missed talking to you, being around you. But he promised himself he wouldn’t let you enter into the danger he was already putting Katy into. Not until he was ready to.

“So, are you coming tonight?” You said as you sat down on his undone bed, running your fingers through the creased sheet. “To prom?”

He looked at you, forehead crinkling up in doubt. “What -, are we back in high school?” He closed the door behind him, still not losing sight of you.

“You didn’t get the invite? We have that reunion prom, remember?” Your cellphone was already in hand and you scrolled through your cleaned-up, perfectly organized email inbox. “See? Tonight at seven p.m.” You showed him the screen as he moved to your side, sitting down on the bed.

As he did, the mattress weight made you jump. Did Shaun get stronger? Better yet, did your best friend ditch you those past weeks to work out? To be honest, it could be. It was the closest you had been to him since he disappeared for god knows how long. You even had your doubts whether you were his best friend anymore.

Not meaning to stare, you drifted your gaze away as he scanned through the email.

“I didn’t receive it… let me search.” He picked up his phone and scrolled around the hundreds and thousands of emails he must not have been checking. Right down the bottom of the inbox, he saw it. “Shit, I must have ignored it.”

He looked straight at you with apologetic eyes. But, you weren’t looking at him.

“What is that?” The perfectly preserved box in which his dad stored the Ten Rings was wide open by his nightstand.

Well, that was promising.

“Erm.. my workout gear?” He said with the most unconvinced voice you had ever heard. Shaun quickly left your side and closed the box, putting it away in his messy closet and closing the door.

“Why do you need ten of whatever that was to your training?” You pointed your fingers at it, even if you couldn't see it anymore.

“You count so fast, huh? And why are you playing detective on me?” He forced a laugh, which was embarrassing. How would he get out of that one?

But you were smarter than that. Whatever he would try to do to stall you, you would read past it.

You sighed. “Shaun, what is going on?” Standing your ground, you patted the bed as you would always do when you needed a moment to talk to him. “Can we talk? Like we used to.”

He knew he was in trouble. He had never been able to keep things away from you when you would talk like that, face to face. Admitting defeat, he sat beside you, his legs crossing over one another.

Shaun, or, Shang-Chi, as you learned now, couldn't seem to stop talking. It was weeks worth of happenings, after all. It did take him a moment to choose the right way to begin, but once he did, it was an open gate.

The words kept falling out of his mouth, and soon enough, everything was on the table. He told you about his sister, his parents, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector — all of it. Including his new occupation as a side hero and protector of the earth. When he finished, you seemed astonished. You were confused, maybe? A mixture of anguish and uncertainty.

Your silence was keeping him on edge. What if you didn't believe in him? What if, in your head, you had already decided that it was too much for you to handle? You knew him forever. Would this be the end of the line?

All he could do was hope for the best.

After a while, with your head downwards, facing the loneliness of the white sheets beneath you, you finally looked up to him. "I'm so sorry, Shang-Chi." You reached him for a hug, which he embraced with the biggest relief on his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"What? No, it wasn't your fault." He said with a stuffy voice, his mouth slightly covered by your hair. "You couldn't have known."

You stayed like this for a couple of minutes. Entangled in each other's arms, his sorrow being cured by the sheer presence of your touch. Your longing desire to be near him, gently healing all opened wounds he had in his heart.

It seemed like you cared more for him than this whole mess surrounding his past. He didn't know whether you did not realize the dangers that would come with it, but he chose to believe that you did and were only trying to make things lighter on his shoulders. That is the type of person you have always been.

"I wish I had told you sooner, but I was afraid you would drift away. I don't want you to get hurt." He slowly distanced himself from the hug, still holding on to your arms. "You are my best friend, and my only wish is that you stick around with me."

A shy chuckle escaped your mouth. "You wanted to keep me around by lying to me?" Your hands were just like his, grasping onto his arms.

"I never said it was the smartest idea." He said, playfully. "You are the brains, I'm the idiot that follows you. And Katy is the goofball.”

"You're not an idiot. Well, maybe sometimes, but still." You softly placed your hand on his cheek, stroking lightly. "You're my idiot."

Shang-Chi tilted his head, a smile creeping upon his face. He squinted his eyes, teasing you. "Wow, what was that? Did you just confess you love me?"

You threw your hands up as if quitting his little game, laughing. "I'm leaving! Not going into this again."

"Slow down, pretty girl." He imitated you, a chuckle almost keeping him from talking. "Now that everything has been said and done, can I take you to prom?"

"Oh, now you wanna take me to prom? You wouldn't even know about it if it wasn't for me, and I would go by myself, like last time." You pretended to be mad, pouting and crossing your arms over your chest.

"In my defense, I was going to ask you back then, but you wanted to go with that Nick boy." He rolled his eyes, exaggerating his voice. "Pretty-boy-can-do-everything-Nick."

"That's on you if you think he was perfect. But I wanted to go with you, loser." You hugged a pillow nearby, knowing damn well that you had just slipped the biggest secret you've kept from him. "I just pretended to not want to."

It was like adding two plus two. Simple and easy, yet, how could he have missed it? He was always jealous of the boys around you and it took him some time to realize why, but it never occurred to him that the same was happening to you. You've known each other for half of your life now. All the teasing and nagging, you both cared so much and did so little to show it.

"I guess we should stop pretending." He seemed so serious out of a sudden. Your eyes were locked into him, and you threatened to open your mouth, but he was faster. “I know you know what I mean.”

There was no time for laughing and joking around anymore, or so it seemed. Shang-Chi’s gaze lingered on your face as you assimilated what he had said.

“I don’t, I -” You started mumbling, but before you could continue, he took your hand into his. His eyes spoke more than you could ever say in words, and you just stared back at him. “I agree.”

He sighed as relief washed over his body. He felt as if for the first time, he was seeing you as you are, and you seeing him as he was. Just honest and heartfelt tenderness.

“Now that you admitted you love me, let me do this right.” He stood up from the bed, only your joyful laughter filling the air.

He took a piece of paper and pen lying on his nightstand and wrote something, his back was concealing it from you. He reached for his phone in his pocket, his fast fingers scrolling with only one hand.

The familiar saxophone intro started playing on the lowest volume, the clicking noises of the buttons making it sound louder and clearer as he turned around to face you.

“WHAM!” Shang-Chi whispered, nodding his head in rhythm with the song. As he did it, the paper with a poorly written P-R-O-M? made you burst out laughing.

“Seriously? Careless Whisper for a Promposal?” You stood up as well, your feet curdling up to reach him, your face inches close. “How cheesy.”

“What did Deadpool say? You don’t have to be the hero to get the girl, the right girl will bring the hero out of you?” He smiled, tossing the paper and the phone on the bed, placing arms around your waist, hands closing together to keep you inside his embrace. “You will please, go to prom with me?”

“When you’ve put it so nicely, yes, of course, I’ll to go prom with you.”

Your lips finally touched for the first time. The desire and eagerness from both of you were so intense, it was a little sloppy, but you didn’t mind it at all. You were kissing him, the love of your life. Small pecks here and there, his hands gently made their way through your back until resting on your neck, keeping your face in place.

As you both stood there, bodies refusing to stop the embrace, the song kept playing in the background. It was almost like you were dancing to your private prom, every single thing was perfect because you were together.

His forehead touching yours, your feet in perfect synchrony, swaying away to the romantic ballad, he said: “Is it a bad moment to say that I don’t own a tux?”

You laughed with your eyes shut, picturing him in pajamas right below the sparkling globe in the middle of the dancefloor. “You know what, you could be with the dirtiest shirt you own, it wouldn’t matter to me.”

“God, I love you.”

He meant it. You could see it in his eyes.

As you danced around his messy apartment, the sweetest smile on your face, he could only recall loving you this much from the day he met you.

Shang-Chi would be lying if he said that he didn’t fear for you, your safety, your protection. But at that moment, he had nothing else to lose, you loved him and he loved you.

And that was enough.

#xu shang chi #shang chi x reader #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #shang chi fluff #shang chi x fem!reader #xu shangqi #shangqi x y/n #shang chi fanfiction #shangqi imagine #shangqi x reader #shang chi imagine #shang chi one shot

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quindolyn · 3 years

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could write a sub!regulus X Dom!fem reader fic?

One where it’s angsty as Regulus had been acting different around the reader, and eventually after being questioned about it alone, Regulus breaks down and admitting his parents forced him to get the dark mark (there was nothing he could do about it), and the reader comforts him while they fuck. Regulus had been through a lot and the reader wants him to know that they love him.

Including: praise kink, subspace regulus, scar/mark kissing, aftercare for regulus, riding, and anything else you think would suit this situation <3

Resilience || Regulus Black

Word Count: 6154

A/N: Do I hate this? Yes, most definitely, without a doubt. Did I only proof read 5/15 pages. Yes, again, certainly. But I'm tired and I'm with my friend so it's not gonna get better than this. I love you all and hope you enjoy it

warnings: pretty much included in the ask, can't really think of anything else

Being light on your feet it doesn’t appear as though Regulus notices you tip toeing your way across the Slytherin common room. As you come up behind him you peer over his shoulder; he has his legs tucked beneath him with what appears to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook resting in his lap. Standing over his shoulder you let your eyes scan across the pages laid open and what you first believed to be a chapter on counter curses you realized was actually detailing how to cast the curse.

Realizing what you’d just read you let out a small, involuntary gasp that catches the attention of the boy sitting in front of you.

“(Y/N)!” Regulus quickly exclaims, glancing over his shoulder before slamming the book closed and sliding it into his book bag which sits next to him on the plush, green velvet sofa.

“What was that Reg?” You ask, brow furrowed as your eyes lock onto Regulus’ grey ones.

“Just a book love, that’s all.”

“Your Defense textbook?” You ask, hoping he would slide it back out of his satchel to show you the familiar scarlet cover you’d scratched your initials into on the bottom right hand corner.

“Something of the sort,” He answers vaguely, pushing himself off the couch to face you. Instead of making his way around the couch to meet you he stayed on the other side of the piece of furniture. Feet planted, hands fiddling with each other while instead of making eye contact with you his gaze seemed to be directed just past your right ear.

“Don’t lie to me Regulus,” Your voice is clipped, when you’d come to check in on Regulus after he’d come home from winter break at his dreaded family’s house this wasn’t what you had expected.

Regardless, it was what you’re met with, “What the hell is that book?”

Your voice jumps and you can hear the panic rising in it. Regulus had spent the weeks up to his departure date dreading the time he would have to spend at the Black Mansion. You’d stayed up countless nights, wishing you could somehow keep him from having to go to that hellish house but when it came down to it there was nothing either of you could do.

Finding him pouring over some dark arts book the first time you saw him after nearly two weeks apart wasn’t exactly the reunion you’d been picturing in your head. Nor was it comforting.

You can barely make it out but you believe you hear him whimper something about “it’s nothing” as his gaze drops from just over your shoulder to his toes.

You two stand there for a minute, then two, each waiting for the other to say something, anything to break the tension currently hanging heavy over the room. Regulus silently begging you to let it go, to leave the room and give him some time to stash the book before coming to find you to act as though nothing had happened and it was all fine.

Unwilling to yield, you hold your ground, maintaining your silence while your eyes bore into the top of his head, awaiting his explanation as to what you’d walked into.

You’re the one to finally break the silence.

“If it's nothing, then I’d like to see it Regulus.” It's the second time in the span of five minutes you opt for his full name instead of one of the nicknames coined by his brother, who he’d recently mended things with, and made popular by yourself. You knew it would strike a cord for him but you were scared, you were on the offensive.

With a deep sigh Regulus retrieves his bag from the spot it’d fallen to on the floor, pulling the book from the bag, bound in emerald green, Regulus hold it both far from his body and with a surprisingly tight hold, somehow both wanting it as far from him as possible and not wanting it to leave his grasp.

Though visibly ancient the book appears to be in remarkable condition, engraved on the front cover in gold leaf reads “Mendel's Most Malicious Curses”.

Studying the cover you don’t recognize the book’s title but based on what you’d glimpsed inside of its pages you hadn’t expected to. Even as a fifth year you doubt this would ever be included in O.W.L. curriculum.

Despite knowing better you can’t help but feel a strange, strong attraction to the book, an overwhelming urge consuming you to take that book. Your fingers itch at your sides as you imagine getting your hands on the book, wondering how hard Regulus would fight before relinquishing it from his grasp.

Somewhere in your subconscious you register that these thoughts are not organically your own, that somehow that book is influencing you and that in reality you want nothing to do with it. Frightened thoughts simmer at the back of your mind but they are lost in the shadows of your curiosity regarding the secrets that lie beneath the ornate designs swirling over the cover.

Expectantly you extend your arm, a nonverbal signal for Regulus to hand you the book but your movement throws him into action and has him clutching it close to his chest, both arms cradling the text.

“No no no no no,” He chants frantically, shaking his head as though to shake off the thought of relinquishing the book to you. “I can’t give you this (Y/N),” He swallowed deeply, shining silver eyes seaking out yours, ablaze with conviction.

“And why’s that?” You challenge with a raise of your brow.

Inhaling deeply he seems to be bracing himself to respond, “Because you’re a muggle born, it’s not meant for you to touch.”

You can feel rage bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to spill out your mouth in a flurry of angry words admonishing Reg for his remarks, “What? Is my simple muggle born mind not worthy enough to read words in that precious little pureblood book of yours? Do I need my pedigree intact to understand what it says? Not meant for mutts, is that it?”

You thought you were past this, you thought you’d left the aloof little third year you’d first met who’d called you a mudblood and asked you to move to a different table in the library because he didn’t want you looking at his charms homework behind.

Had the past year and a half of apologies and growth on Regulus’ part all been a lie? Was that hate not as small a part of your boyfriend as you’d thought? Did it really only take just shy of two weeks back with his biggoted relatives for him to start spewing this pureblood nonsense again?

Bouncing around in your head those questions overwhelm you as you try to ignore the most pressing one, pushing at the forefront of your mind.

Does he even love you?

“B-because you’re not a pureblood, this book (Y/N), it can’t be held by anyone not of pureblood,” Reg’s shaking voice broke through the flurry of questions wreaking chaos in your mind.

“God damn it Regulus! I thought we were past this! I thought-”

“It’ll kill you (Y/N)!” His voice is frantic and you pick up on the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over.

Those words that seemed to carry a fatality in themselves cleared away the din clouding your mind, everything went silent. Too silent even as the implication of those words wash over you.

That book may as well be a gun, cocked and being held steady at your temple as you feel tears of your own begin to well in your eyes, distorting your vision.

The mess of questions doesn’t return to your mind, instead they begin thumping one by one at the base of your brain though they all carry through the same theme.

How could he have brought that near you?

“Kill me?” You curse yourself for how obvious your voice is shaking but the book that just moments earlier you were dying to get your hand on seems to have cast an oppressive air over the room and has you recoiling away from your boyfriend.

Regulus nods, holding eye contact with you as he slips the book back into his bag, sliding it under the sofa before cautiously striding towards you.

“That's why I can’t give it to you to look at, it's cursed and if you so much as bump it you’ll…” His voice trails off, the words too terrible to speak aloud.

Your arms wrap around yourself, clutching as hard as they can as you fight to wrangle your thoughts under control. His response revealed to you that he doesn’t intend to hurt you, not with the book anyways which has dozens of other worries popping up in your head. You’re desperate for answers as to what happened to Regulus at his house. He seems ready to give them to you as he offers to take you back to his dorm away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk about in the Slytherin common room.

You’d both agreed to arrive back at school two days early hoping to get some alone time in but that didn’t mean that the castle was empty and that anyone couldn’t walk into his common room at any moment.

You stall as he lets you into his dorm, you’ve been there a thousand times, often under the mask of night but your usual spot, atop his always made perfectly bed, seems wrong now. Without answers to your countless questions the entire room feels foregin to you and leaves you standing by his desk, not quite leaning against it but also not quite supporting your own weight.

Regulus seems equally awkward but eventually settles on his bed, perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, he barely looks comfortable.

You stay there so long in silence that after a while your breathing syncs, the singular sound becoming the only noise in the drafty room.

Long after it becomes clear Regulus isn’t going to speak first and you finally tire of the silence you find your voice, somewhere deep inside of you summoning the words to your most pressing worry; “What happened at your house Regulus? What did they do to you?”

Your words have him crumbling, your usually stoic boy folding in on himself until he is but a ball hanging off the bed.

You hesitate for a single second before you’re racing towards him, dropping before him at his knees to cup his face in your palms. Directing his visage upwards to meet yours you feel your heart wrench in your chest as you take in his puffy, red eyes, red nose and flushed cheeks already marred with twin trails of salty tears cascading down his face.

“Regulus,” You choke out feeling tears from earlier resurface as you push yourself off the ground to take your place next to the scared boy beside you.

Pulling him into your lap as much as his size permits you too you take great care in cradling his head, clutching him to your chest as your rock gently back and forth humming into his hairline in hopes to calm his sobs. Raw and ragged they each tear at the fragile, brave exterior you’ve erected in hopes of comforting the boy, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Whispering sweet nothings into his ear you feel him melt into your touch, slowly the breathing becomes stronger and his sobs quiet to weak sniffles swallowed by the occasional gulp.

Feeling him shift under your touch you can tell he’s working himself up to something, he always gets fidgety when he’s trying to summon the courage to do something hard, his movement triggers a memory.

It floods through your mind as you’re reminded of a similarly terrified Regulus, knees bumping against the table at breakfast one lazy Sunday as he repeatedly bounced them, seemingly unable to sit still. He’d spent weeks working himself up to speaking to his brother for the first time in far too long.

The memory of him being so strong and brave even as the entirety of the Great Hall tracked his movement from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor had you drawing a deep breath. The strength the memory provides you has you summoning the breath to prompt Regulus into some sort of explanation, anything.

“Reggie, your mother gave you that book didn’t she?”

He goes still at your words and even involuntary actions seem to still, his lungs draw no breath and his pulse seems to fade away under your touch.

“Bellatrix,” His voice is hoarse from crying, “Her idea of a Christmas gift.”

“That bitch,” You spit.

“Walburga’s was worse.”

You pause at the mention of her name, there is no doubt in your mind that he is the one who’s actions have sent Regulus into this downward spiral of despair and fear. You’re not even sure if you wanna hear what he has to stay but what you want stopped being important a long time ago.

“Do you wanna show me Reg?” You ask, breathless.

“No,” Comes his meak voice, “But I need to.”

You nod understandingly as you regrettably allow him to slip from your grasp so he can turn to face you, one leg tucked under his bum and the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

His eyes are downcast before he peaks them up through thick, dark lashes to meet your gaze, “Do you promise not to hate me (Y/N/N)? I don’t know if I can do this if you hate me.”

Your brows are drawn together as your response comes emphatically, “I could never hate you Regulus, I could never and I will never.”

“You can’t make that promise,” He says through a watery chuckle, leaving you wondering where the hilarity in the situation was. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Regulus,” You latched onto his hand before he could turn away from you, “I am incapable of hating you my love, please. Tell me what happened.”

Silver eyes locked with yours as though they would reveal the solidity of your promise. You’re not sure what answer he found in them but regardless he broke your gaze as he snuck his hand out of yours.

You watch as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and an idea as to what he’s going to show you begins to form and you find yourself regretting ever demanding to know what’s going on. You quickly shove those thoughts back down, there's no use in even entertaining them, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away.

Your worst fears are confirmed as Regulus rolls the sleeve of his black sweater to reveal swirling black ink sunk deep into his skin. Even just by looking at it you could feel the permanence of the ink, the meaning behind it causing a chill to shoot through your bones.

In the back of your head this had always been a possibility but not one you’d ever truly considered. You always thought that you would be able to get yourself and Reg away from everyone, from everything. Blood purity, the ministry, his family.

You were going to get out and you’d thought you’d have plenty of time, half way through his fifth year neither of you ever expected him to be forced to take the Dark Mark before his eighteenth birthday.

You were supposed to have until his eighteenth birthday.

Staring at the ink that seemed to pulse with life against the pale white of Regulus’ skin you suppose that it doesn’t really matter what you were supposed to have, what was supposed to happen. Regulus has taken the dark mark.

Godric, Regulus has taken the dark mark.

“Y-Your mother did this to you?” Your voice wobbles, anger, confusion, and terror evident in your voice, each betraying the strong front you’re trying to keep up for Regulus.

“She came for me in the middle of the night, (Y/N/N). First time I’ve ever been woken by her instead of Sirius or a house elf and she forced me up, made me get dressed before taking me downstairs and they were all there,” His voice cracks as a silent sob racks his body, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to relive the horrific events of that night. Hoping to provide him with any sort of comfort you inch closer to him, throwing your arm around his shoulder allowing him to rest his head on yours before continuing.

“They were all there (Y/N), not just her and Father. Bellatrix, Cissa and her husband, the Lestranges,” He pauses to swallow, “ And him. He was there.”

Regulus needn’t clarify who “he” was. The idea that he had even been near Regulus made you sick to your stomach and you could feel the distinct sensation of bile rising tickle at the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it's okay Reg,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as sobs shake his body, “It’s going to be okay Red we’re going to figure this out.”

“He did this to me,” He sobs as he shakes in your lap, letting the enormity of his circumstances finally sink in after suppressing it for the past week, the fear of your response keeping him occupied.

To say you aren’t scared would be a lie, you’re fucking terrified but holding Regulus’ trembling form you know that this decision was not his. He would never swear allegiance to a group hell bent on destroying you and people like you, a few years ago maybe but not today. Not the Regulus you’d come to love, even if it began despite yourself.

Without hesitation you reach out, wrapping your hand around the skin now stained by dark magic.

Regulus let’s out a hiss at your touch and you feel him tense under your hand, afraid you’ve hurt him you start to pull away, “Does that hurt Reg?” You ask warily.

“Yes,” He spits out through gritted teeth, “But don’t let go please,” He pleads, raising his gaze to meet yours, “Please don’t let go.”

“Not gonna let go,” You promise, keeping your hold on his forearm tight.

Dipping your fingers under the strong bone of his mandible you turn his visage upwards to meet yours, heart breaking at the sadness and pain swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of his. Slowly you lean in before your eyelashes are brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks and your eyes flutter closed as you watch his do the same.

Your lips brush each other’s gently as your hand cups the side of his face, giving you complete control of the kiss as you keep the swipes of your lips light, you can just barely make out the taste of the pomegranate lip balm you’d given him as a part of your holiday gift to him.

“I didn’t wanna take it (Y/N/N),” He sniffles against your lips, “I don’t wanna be a Death Eater, I don’t wanna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice has more tears welling in your eyes, you just can’t bear to see your beautiful boy in so much pain.

“Oh I know you don’t bubba I know,” You calm him, throwing a leg over to the other side of his lap so that you can perch yourself atop the hard smooth surface of his thighs. Gently pressing kisses along the canvas of his face you feel his arms wrap around your waist and the tips of fingers graze against your ass as his hands hover above it.

“Can I touch you please?” His words are barely audible but his desperation is loud and clear.

You grant permission as you lean forward to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. Posing little, if any, challenge before letting your tongue delve into his mouth, quickly claiming dominance over his as you feel his palms clutch the globes of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he holds onto you as tight as possible.

With care you slowly guide him onto his back as your lips trail from his down the column of his throat, in your journey down you leave sloppy hickeys along the delicate skin of his neck. Pulling away slightly you smile to see the various shades of purple and blue painted along his pretty ivory skin.

You know you’re going to have a real conversation about this later, what it means, what the two of you are ready to do about it but right now all you can think about is how you can make your pretty boy feel better, how you can show him that your love for him hasn’t changed. And there’s one way you know how to do that best.

“Do you want me to make you feel good Reggie?” You whisper against his skin as your lips ghost over his collar bone, drinking in his scent.

“Please,” He whimpers, “Need you.”

That’s all you need to hear before your hands are delving under the hem of Reg’s sweater, hands sliding against the smooth planes of his abs, your hands gliding over the occasional ridge of a long healed scar.

Sliding the hem up all the way to his collarbone you look down to see the beautiful lines of his chest and stomach. The scars you’ve become used to seeing a dark but faded pink now shine an almost brilliant purple as though the dark magic imprinted upon his arm had somehow interfered with scars caused by Walburga, most of them when he was much younger. You know for a fact that there are more ones on his back, deeper and darker from taking longer to heal.

“Come on pretty boy,” You coach, propping him up so that you can slip the soft sweater over his head before discarding it over your shoulder, “There we go, that’s a good boy.”

He lets out a low whine at your praising words as his hips thrust up towards yours which are perched directly atop them.

While removing your own sweater you smile, realizing it’s actually one of Regulus’ old Quidditch jumpers from the year prior. With no bra beneath your top your tits are left bare for Regulus’ viewing. His eyes gloss over as lust creeps into the stormy grey of his irises, they’re locked on your tits as though they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Do these hurt more than normal baby?” You ask as your fingertips graze over the raised scars on his chest, if the dark magic of the dark mark made his scars more sensitive you wanna be careful not to hurt him.

“A little.”

Frowning you lean down to press your lips against the puckered scars, your kisses light and fleeting as you trace the dark lines with your lips.

Dancing from one scar to another you hear him exhale deeply and the tension seems to be slowly leaving his body as he settles into the mattress and he becomes malleable under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful Reg,” You praise against his scarred skin, needing him to understand just how much you love him.

“I love you so much,” You look up through your lashes to see Regulus’ eyes already locked on your body.

“I love you too.”

With that your lips are ceasing his once more as you feel the overwhelming need to comfort your boy. Gently, you grind your hips up against his as you become lost in the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours before you feel a familiar bulge pressing on you.

Your hand ventures back down the hard muscle of his stomach before you bump against the bulge of his erection, straining against the soft material of his sweatpants. You palm gently over his cock as your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, giving him sweet, light kisses while teasing his throbbing member.

“Please,” Comes his choked pleas at being teased, “Please, need more.”

“Of course pretty boy,” You promise as you lift yourself off of him, giving him one last kiss at the waistband of his sweatpants before helping him ease off his bottoms and boxers.

Once he’s devoid of all clothing you too strip down so that you’re both bare naked, your eyes are fixed on the red, weeping head of his half hard cock, sitting against the inside of his muscled thigh.

He whimpers as your hand wraps around his member, pumping up and down his hardening length, brushing your thumb along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Wanna be inside of you,” He whimpers, hands grappling for your wrist to stall your movements and pull you on top of him but all he succeeds in doing is making you stubble closer to him.

You release your right hand from his cock, instead taking his hand in yours while your unoccupied hands resumes stimulating his member.

“I know you wanna be inside of me, pretty boy, but I gotta get you hard first.”

“But I am hard,” He argues in a pretty little whine, and now that he mentions it you realize that he is harder than he was when you’d pulled him from the tight confines of his pants.

“Your cock’s so gorgeous,” You murmur watching the way he twitches in your hand, “Think you’re hard enough now, yeah?”

He nods his head, squirming as he fights the urge to buck up into your hand.

Making sure that he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillow at the head of the bed you brush away the hair that’s fallen into his face as you straddle his lap, the shaft of his cock pressing against the warmth of your cunt.

Lifting yourself a few inches off his thighs your help guide his prick to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him you allow yourself to take your time accepting each and every inch of him inside of you.

Reg’s eyes are glued to your pussy as he watches himself disappear inside of you, all the way down to his base. His eye brows furrow from the overwhelming pleasure that swims through his veins, sinking deep into his every nerve at the bliss of being completely surrounded by your warm pussy.

Pleasure shoots up your spine at the sensation of slowly becoming full, once you’ve finally taken every inch of him inside you you throw your head back, mouth dropped open as the breath is stolen from your lungs. It feels so good to be so full with him you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Good boy,” You say breathlessly, rubbing your arms up and down his flexing arms, fists furled with the sheets between them as he too adapts to the sensation that comes with being inside of you.

“You ready for me to move?” You ask once you finally become used to the full feeling.

Desperate nods answered your question, it takes you a minute to find your rhythm but soon you’re grinding his hips against his, lifting yourself slightly off his cock before grinding back down onto him.

Your movements are slower than usual when you fuck Reg, but after the terror he’d gone through in the past weeks you’re deliberate in your gentle movements.

As your hands grip the muscles of his arms you hear him take a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, landing on his face, your movements stalling before you realize that you’re clutching the newly marked skin on his left forearm.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” You apologize, loosening your grip on him as your lips frace the dark lines of the ink against his skin.

Seeing that mark on anyone else would’ve made you recoil, have ice shooting through your veins as fear petrified you. While you would’ve preferred never to see that symbol of hate tattooed into Regulus’ skin it didn’t evoke its usual reaction from you. The only fear you have is fear of the future, fear of what lies in wait for the two of you beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is comforting your boy, all you think about as you press your lips to his mark.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear sobs break through Regulus’ lips, quickly you abandon the stain of ink , moving to cradle his head so that your tits are right in his line of vision.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” He cries into your chest, tears wet the soft skin of your tits.

“No baby, I’ll never hate you, not ever.”

You feel the wet warmth of his mouth brush against your right nipple, gazing down you see his tongue lazily circling the pebbled flesh and you’re reminded just how cold the room actually is but pressed up against Regulus it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You wanna suck on my titty Reggie?”

He responds with a weak nod and quickly you’re easing your nipple into his mouth, helping him find the correct angle all the while stuttering your hips against his.

“You fill me up so good Reg,” Your praise, fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls.

At your praise he begins lifting his hips in times with your thrusts, helping you as you fuck youself on top of him, wanting so desperately to make you feel as good as you make him.

“There we go, that’s a god boy.”

“M’getting close,” His words are muffled by the soft flesh of your tit stuffed into his mouth.

You too are nearing your orgasm as your clit brushes against the hard bone of his pelvis pulling a sharp whimper from you. To better grant Regulus access to your breast you’ve settled on rolling your hips in circles, ceasing the up and down movement from earlier so as to not disturb him.

A familiar tightness is brewing in your belly as Regulus’ hands run up and down your back before gripping the globes of your butt, maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

“Go ahead bubba, go ahead and cum. Fill me up pretty boy, want your cum. Need your cum. Godric I love you,” You ramble, seizing his lips again, needing them against yours as you feel him cum inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters as your cunt grips around him with the tell tale signs of your quickly approaching orgasm.

“Y’gonna cum with me baby?” You ask as you press your lips to his forehead, his mouth having once more found the plush of your breast.

“Yes,” He nods, “Please.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave of pleasure racing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm, continuing to move your hips as you simultaneously help Reg through his. Stars flash behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure building up finally releases, sending you into euphoria so intense it seems to cloud your every sense.

The second he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock it tipped him over the edge and as he lost himself in pleasure, rope after rope of cum releasing inside of you, he tried his best to match the movement of his hips to yours.

You flutter your eyes open as the warmth of his cum floods your pussy as you come down from the height of your orgasm, letting yourself collapse so that your chest is pressed up against his.

With your chests pressed so close together you notice the exact moment that your breathing syncs, feeling as Regulus’ arms wrap around your bare torso keeping you close to his body.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur against the ivory skin of his chest, keeping your voice hushed.

“Better. A little happy.”

Glancing up you catch the smallest smirk slink across his lips as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Happy?”

“You make me happy,” His eyes flicker to yours as he pulls you closer to him causing his softening prick to slip out of your tight hole. You both hiss as the cool air hits his cock and the cum he’d emptied into you begins flowing out yout pussy.

Regrettably you push yourself off of him, pulling his sweater over your head before waddling into the connecting bathroom, being ever so conscious about the sticky white mess between your legs as you wet a washcloth using warm water from the sink before applying it to the insides of your thighs. Ginger touches hastily cleaning up the excess cum before rinsing the wash cloth to take it to Reg.

“Hey pretty boy,” You coo upon reentering the room to find him in the same position you’d left him in, “You ready for me to clean you up?”

“You look so beautiful in my clothes (Y/N/N),” He responds instead of answering your question, pushing himself onto his elbows so that he can watch you, his black sweater enveloping you all the way to your lower thighs.

“And you’re just beautiful,” You smile, sitting next to him on the mattress. You aren’t lying, he looks absolutely gorgeous leaning back, mop of dark hair in tangled tresses, grey eyes glossed over, abs sheening with sweat as are his equally toned thighs. Merlin bless the poor bastard who invented Quidditch.

Dragging up his muscled legs your eyes settle on his softening member, just as pretty as the rest of him.

With care you make quick work of cleaning the cum off his cock, resting your hand on his thigh when he tries to squirm away from your over stimulating touch.

“I know baby, I know but I gotta get you all nice and clean for me.”

“Hurts,” He mumbles in a pathetic pout.

“I know it does pretty baby but look,” You say, pulling the cloth from his skin, “All done already.” Pressing a kiss to his temple you go to stand but you’re quickly pulled back down to the mattress by cold hands wrapped around the warm folds of your waist.

“Don’t go,” He mumbles into your hair as he keeps you tucked into his side.

“Just gotta go put the washcloth back Reggie,” You explain trying to slip from his hold but he’s not having it and just tugs you back against the hard planes of his chest.

“No,” He says simply before reaching over to the bed side table where he’d set his wand, mumbling a quick banishing spell the rag flew from your hand before flying into the bathroom.

Resting your head against his strong shoulder you yank a blanket from the end of the bed up to throw it around your bodies, nestled close together.

“You said you were happy Reg.”

“Mhm,” He responds with a noncommittal hum.

“What else are you feeling, love?”

You hear him take a deep inhale, as his own answer seemed to overwhelm him, “I don’t know. I’m scared, I’m really scared but not so much now that I know that you don’t hate me.”

You nod against his chest, you can only imagine how petrifying that thought must’ve been for him and you can’t deny the tug you feel in your chest at the idea of Regulus ever thinking you would hate him.

“I’m still terrified but I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’re gonna be okay Regulus, you are capable and strong and smart and the bravest boy I have ever met,” You can feel the blush radiating off of him at your words.

“Thank you (Y/N/N),” He mumbles bashfully into your hair once more.

You were telling the truth, if there was one thing that you know for certain its that Regulus is just as resilient as he has proven to be and if Walburga, or anyone else for that matter thought he was going to take this lying down. If they thought you were going to take this lying down, they have another thing coming. There is no doubt in your mind that Regulus will fight for what he knows to be true and if there was ever a point that he would have obeyed his mother’s every command without question that time was long past.

Reg isn’t to be underestimated. He’s just as every bit courageous as he’s proved to be over and over again. To underestimate him is to dig your own grave; and unlike Walburga you aren’t ready to count him out quite yet. On the contrary actually, your boy wasn’t about to take this lying down and even if it meant total self destruction, the two of you are about to raise hell.

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