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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 14: The Summons

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

When the Amulet of Nero is stolen from within Raines Corp. the time comes to call a special Summons of the Council. And that's just what Gaius wanted.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Nadya waits on the curbside for twenty minutes. Tells herself he probably just got caught in traffic or something. It had snowed for the better part of the day; that wet, sticky kind of snow that clung to roadsides and turned luxury cars (however practical Adrian insisted they be) into useless little wagons.

Even she’s a little disappointed in herself for waiting that long and not just making her way to the subway. She’s gotten spoiled.

[TEXT]: hope ur ok. grabbing the subway instead

By the time the metal cars squeal into her stop Nadya is suitably confused. It’s not like Adrian not to read his messages. Out of the underground she tries to call — the phone rings three times then straight to voice mail.

Confusion melts into worry when she tries Kamilah instead — same thing; ring. ring. ring and nothing.

There might have been a few more steps in between, but when Nadya turns the corner to the sight of flashing red and blue lights and three police cars in front of Raines Corp. she jumps all the way up to panic and breaks out in a run for the building entrance.

“Miss, this is a closed scene.”

“I’m an employee.” She fumbles for the badge she so rarely uses down in her purse, fingers shaking from fear and the cold and she’s never really done well with authority figures so the deep-set frown the officer fixates on her isn’t helping. When she finally fishes it out, though, the uniform looks away — couldn’t care less.

“You need to leave, miss.”

“Hello, can’t you read?” Nadya raises her voice and tries to press her badge a little harder into the woman’s line of sight. The responding glare she gets is not a kind one.

Bad move, bad move bad move —

Thank god she catches sight of Adrian and Kamilah through the revolving door. And she doesn’t feel the least bit sorry when Kamilah breezes her way through and all but throws the cop to the slushy curb to bring her inside.

“What’s going on?” Nadya looks around; latches herself to the woman’s side because relationship-be-darned there are people in black jackets carrying boxes and kits and officers in uniform and suits everywhere and she’s never seen anything like this outside of Most Wanted. “Kamilah — what happened?”

Halfway to Adrian and still without an answer Nadya stops, digs her heels into the tile slippery from melted snow and grabs onto Kamilah’s sleeve. It’s enough to stop her but she can tell right away the vampiress is distracted in a way Nadya isn’t sure she’s ever seen the like of.

“What happened?” she tries again, and finally (finally) Kamilah focuses on her.

“There was a break-in.”

What? “Here?” Dumb question. “What—when—is anyone—or—what —”

Hands heavy with the weight of ages fall on her shoulders and its almost scary how naturally she relaxes under them. Something Kamilah notices too, without a doubt, but neither of them comment on because there’s too much going on.

Nadya gathers herself under that touch. Only when she’s at least mostly certain her words will come out in the right order does she try again.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Three security guards were killed.” She says it so easily. Nadya covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

Kamilah continues; “Adrian was able to get to me before the police, but there are protocols that must be followed for businesses such as ours. To our benefit, Lester has most of the detectives here under his thumb. We wait until they complete the official paperwork to discuss this, is that understood?”

Which is harsh, even by Kamilah’s standards. Especially seeing as Nadya’s on the verge of blubbering panicked right now, because even under the normal scents of metal and the night janitor’s floor polish she catches the familiar smell coming through the air vents.

Blood.

“Kamilah…” How is it that after everything she’s seen and done she still manages to sound so frightened?

Thankfully though the woman seems to catch herself. She slides her palms down to Nadya’s upper arms; feels the trembling beneath her coat and presses in with her thumbs. Something familiar, something grounding.

Nadya swallows around the lump in her throat. “This is too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

After all who just wakes up one afternoon and decides to rob a biotech corporation?

Kamilah confirms her fears with a nod. “It was an impulsive act, but the wounds are unmistakable.”

Vampires.

Trying to play dumb would only be willful ignorance at this point. There’s no other reason vampires would break into the building.

The moment Nadya understands Kamilah is there to hold her steady; like she was waiting for it.

“Yes, Nadya. They took the Amulet.”

It shouldn’t be any consolation that she can feel the worry ebbing into Kamilah’s voice normally so sure and steady. Or that when she can feel her legs solid enough to keep walking Adrian looks at the pair of them over a detective’s shoulder with a face so worn from exhaustion.

It shouldn’t be, but it is a little bit.

Because the city has to bring in a coroner it takes more than a few hours for everything to clear up. Nadya takes it upon herself to stand outside and give calm and understanding explanations to the employees who had the misfortune of showing up for work anyway — and maybe she does it with a little extra side-eye to the officer who had given her so much trouble in the beginning, maybe she doesn’t.

Could she be blamed?

Only when sunrise starts to peek over the man-made horizon does Nadya realize who exactly Kamilah had been referring to when she mentioned some of the detectives were on their side — or at least on their payroll. They’re the ones who don’t question it when Adrian starts up a fuss about how long the force has been taking in his lobby, about how exhausted he is; whatever it takes to get them to clear out as fast as possible.

She makes sure to throw a sympathetic smile his way. Nadya knows how much he hates having to put on the airs of a corporate douche (Jax’s words, not hers in the slightest). And she can tell he tries to return it as much as he can… but it’s a lot for him.

When the atrium finally empties and Nadya has shooed away most of the crowd they venture down to the labs.

Nadya finds it strange to think only a few days ago she was down here with the rest of them. The pristine white space not bothered by crime scene tape or the smudges of fingerprinting powder on every surface. Part of her wants to look away from the blood splatters hovering ominous without bodies to place them. The rest of her feels like she has a responsibility to bear witness.

In an impressive display of strength the large steel door is nearly ripped from the hinges. The bolt sealing it shut is still partially inside the wall. Whoever broke in was in a rush — yanking open drawers and cabinets until they found what they were looking for and careless to whatever was in their way. Now all the files and even a few chemical tubes are strewn across the floor in disarray.

She carefully avoids stepping in the pool of dried blood just in front of the vault entrance.

“It’s as though they didn’t know where to look,” comments Adrian as he crosses the taped-off doorway, “only what they were looking for.”

Nadya recalls briefly the sight of Kamilah in these very basements on the other side of the building. Where she lifted the stone lid from Lily’s empty coffin without so much as a furrowed brow.

“So we don’t have to guess who did this, right?” She looks between the vampires and hates that they all share the same thought. “They tore through solid steel like it was paper.”

It was their fault for pretending like the Trinity wouldn’t come for the Amulet. A darker, more cynical part of Nadya is surprised they didn’t try something like this sooner.

Still — it would be nice if either one of them had something helpful to say. But neither of them do, and the silence tries achingly to make them accept the truth.

“We must assume the worst;” Kamilah admits with a heavy sigh, “that the Amulet is now in Gaius’ possession, or nearly so. It’s time we summoned the Council, Adrian. We can’t keep them in the dark any longer — not if we have any hope of getting them on our side.”

Nadya frowns. “Why wouldn’t they be? This is Gaius we’re talking about. You all stood up to him once before.”

“Yes — and if you recall it was the hardest thing we have ever had to do.”

“Which means it should be easier the second time around.”

Adrian’s voice takes her by surprise as he exits the vault.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “And why is that?”

“Just because. You’ve felt it too I’m guessing —” the vampires exchange looks that Nadya doesn’t quite recognize, that has her whirling around back and forth until she’s so dizzy she might fall just to try and understand what isn’t being said out loud, “— ever since I saw the empty sarcophagus it’s like he’s been looming over me; a shadow I can’t quite see.”

Hesitantly Kamilah nods. “I’ve found myself entertaining thoughts I never would have in the last century. It was only a matter of time before his influence began to reach out to us, unfettered. And if we have felt it there is little doubt Cecil and Lester have as well. Even if they aren’t conscious of the truth.”

Nadya bites her lip; chews it so hard she nearly breaks skin.

“Is that why you’ve been acting weird, Adrian?”

He nods once; curt and like just that little act causes him an immense pain.

When I said I wanted answers… but she doesn’t finish the thought. There are more important things to do.

“Then let’s get it over with.”

Nadya wipes her forehead with the back of her hand again — this exhale just as shaky as the last. She had not thought this through.

“Are you sure you’re okay for this?” Lily asks and, just like the three times previous, Nadya nods with lips pursed tight to keep them from wobbling with strain.

Because she couldn’t not be here now. She has to see this through. Only the last time she was in this particular room it hadn’t gone so well, had it? The memories of that awful throne and now she has the displeasure of knowing the voice of the wretched man who once sat upon it and both of those things echo inside her skull in a surround sound she can only describe as sickening.

It’s saying a lot that she prefers hearing the red-faced rage of the Baron over whispers of ghostly memories. Neither are preferable, but not much Nadya can do to change it now.

“What do you mean, ‘the Sarcophagus is empty?!’”

Lester tries to appear like he’s sitting the picture of the calm his fellow Council member isn’t. But his bouncing leg betrays him. “Not to say anything against your credit, Kamilah, but are you certain you weren’t perhaps imagining things?” His smarmy smile isn’t returned by any of the five faces all turning to glare at him as one.

“What? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had similar ones over the years.”

Jax’s brow ticks in frustration. “And what are you saying about Raines and I, then?”

“Bite your damn tongue, boy!” The Baron’s face bulges with every word, like the pounding of his temples might swell his head before he pops inside of his tight and outdated collar. Of the three of them Nadya wouldn’t have expected him to have the worst reaction of the three.

And while she tries not to compare the ramblings of a guy like Lester with her own, she instead focuses on Priya — the uncharacteristically silent one.

She doesn’t know much about the former youngest of the Council, only what Adrian had told her in his brief run-down of what to expect now that she was his assistant in all things business and vampiric. Priya was the only one of the seated members (barring Jax, now) who wasn’t Turned by Gaius. The Council had their enterprises sure but she was Priya Lacroix. She ran a fashion empire. Even the likes of Lily and Nadya — meaning those who had never spent more than department store prices on a pair of jeans — knew her label and the outrageous trends she was known for creating.

At Adrian’s trial, Nadya had learned the hard way that Priya was on no one’s team but her own. Back then that had meant siding with Vega.

What did it mean now, she wonders, and holds her churning stomach at all the ways that little thought alone could go wrong for them.

To Kamilah’s credit she waits until the Baron has stopped huffing and puffing to continue.

“It was no illusion. The Onyx Sarcophagus was unbound and opened. For some time, from the looks of it. Surely you’ve felt his reach even if you had no name for it until now.

“If you still have trouble taking me at my word Cecil, then I ask you this; when was the last time you remember seeing your key?”

Lester thinks he’s subtle when he reaches to pat his trouser pockets. But the relief on his face is clear, even when he catches Adrian staring at him from across their semi-circle of seats. “Don’t look at me! I have mine!”

A grinding noise makes the vampires and their sensitive ears flinch. All but Priya, who continues to let her stone chair chip away at her manicure as a look of bewildered anger darkens her normally sultry expression.

“I can’t remember. Why the fuck can’t I remember?!”

The Baron tears open his collar to reveal more of his flushed chest; which does nothing for Nadya’s upset stomach. Lily dramatically buries her face into Maricruz’s shoulder as though to shield herself from blindness. On her left, Cadence swallows down a gagging noise.

“I— Where is my damned key?!”

He goes to point an accusatory finger at Kamilah, but is cut off by Adrian before he can say something he’ll very likely regret.

“It’s our belief that once the keys were taken from us, a very thin layer of psychic suggestion was put in place to keep us from looking. Enough time had passed that we weren’t checking up on him frequently.”

“Well no shit,” Priya grumbles, “the last time I did it the smell of his rot stunk up my favorite Amur shawl.” She pulls a stunned nail file from her messy high-bun and starts about fixing the damage done.

Even Adrian looks like he can’t believe the day has come where he and Priya agree on something. “Sure, that… too.”

“But who would be so foolish?” asks Lester. “We all knew the dangers of his ideas — and what he would do to us if he was ever freed.”

Kamilah clenches her jaw. The Baron doesn’t miss it and throws her a sneer.

“Having regrets, Your Highness?” Though every trace of his accusation withers under her red-eyed stare.

“You would do well to watch your tongue, Cecil.” And Nadya sees the way she shifts tense in her seat; the look she throws the throne beside her under the guise of closing her eyes and gathering herself. It makes her want to run across the Chamber to Kamilah and hold her tight. To make promises that everything was going to be okay even if she didn’t know whether or not it was the truth.

“If you recall, it was my betrayal that sealed his fate.”

Priya scoffs. “We have just as much to lose as you if he’s coming for us.”

“Oh he’s coming for us all right… make no mistake there.” And though his voice wavers in fear Priya doesn’t deem Lester’s warning worth a reply.

“Unfortunately, Lester is right.”

Kamilah, Adrian, and Jax trade silent nods. They’ve come this far — and without the Amulet going back is impossible. The men defer to Kamilah and the authority of her years.

A burden she doesn’t take lightly. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this is something Jax, Adrian, and myself have known about for some time. It was our hope to deal with the situation swiftly and silently; to prevent this very Summons from occurring. But to keep you in the dark is no longer an option, not without putting you and your Clans in significant danger.”

“The world is in danger as long as that mad king roams free, Kamilah.” Lester says with a sigh. Kamilah doesn’t disagree, but continues.

“In our investigation we’ve come to learn several things. Firstly, Gaius has had an agent acting under his orders for a decade at the least, though it’s more likely that he has kept Jameson under his thumb the entire length of his imprisonment.”

The other Council members react with mixed shock and anger.

“Jameson? But he always seemed so… demure.”

“Eugh, I always knew he was a freak. Anyone that obsessed with frock coats would be.”

The Baron growls at Kamilah yet again. “Am I the only one remembering just whose Clan he was part of?”

“Of course not Cecil,” Kamilah snaps back, “but it was not I who made him. And we all know the power of a Maker’s thrall. Taking into account that Jameson and Isseya both are naturally gifted in the psychic arts…”

With a snap Priya’s file breaks in two; half splintering in her closed fist while the other slips and falls to her heel. “That bitch is involved?”

“Both of the Trinity are,” Adrian answers; gives Kamilah what looks like a much-needed respite with a short nod and by while leaning with his elbows on his knees, “and its more than likely they have been since the Awakening Ball, at the very least. Which brings me to our next point… and the reason we called this Summons tonight.

“Under Gaius’ orders, they have been hunting down the Amulet of Nero. The Trinity’s third was tasked with keeping it hidden until Gaius had need of it, but when the man died the Amulet’s location was lost with him. I was able to track the Amulet down to a supernatural auction in New Orleans and securely bring it back.”

It would be a valiant summary to a heroic story… if he didn’t leave it with an awkward silence. And by now the rest of the Council — well they’ve already gotten so much bad news already in such a short amount of time. Nadya doesn’t blame them for waiting for the other pin to drop.

“But?” presses Lester. Even Priya — though maybe more so now because she doesn’t have anything to distract herself with — seems rapt with attention.

“But despite his best efforts, my little soldier always seems to fall just short of the mark.”

Back at Persephone, Nadya just knew the Trinity was alone; that Gaius wasn’t with them. Didn’t know how she knew or what it would have even felt like if he was there.

It would have felt like this. An oppressive, suffocating heaviness in the air seeping its way both into her throat and wrapping around her from the outside. Squeezing, tightening with every breath; filling her with terror and anger and (nauseatingly) a kind of joy that should never be associated with the smell of death that wafts into the Chamber and into her every pore.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

If his very presence wasn’t so terrifying she might have the stomach left to laugh. Gaius doesn’t bother with a glamour this time — no he’s much too pleased for that. The joy whistling between his rotting teeth as he descends the steps into the Chamber and looks out on them all with a literally lip-splitting grin.

The night wind howling above the city filters down and screams like a thousand roused graves. They dance around him, make the wisps of his hair shift around his hollowed face, and disperse like an omen around them.

Witness him. Behold him. Tremble before the King of Vampires.

All around Nadya the vampires rise together; a front united in only one thing — fear. Just like at dinner she stays seated but there’s no willful defiance here. She just can’t move.

Like that stops Gaius from honing in on her anyway. “I told you Nadya — that throne is mine still, even after all these years. Such a tragedy that the pretenders to my kingdom haven’t taken care of it as they should have, though.”

Lily and Maricruz step in front of her — she appreciates the gesture but wants to scream at them to run and save themselves. I’ve seen what he can do. I don’t want that for you. But she doesn’t, not even when she feels the towering form of Cadence at her back.

And Kamilah is so far away…

Strange that the thing that gets her to stand is the sight of Jameson coming up behind his Master’s back. Like a caricature, huddled behind Gaius like an immortal shield. Seeing him brings her to a boiling point, makes her remember living through Lily’s death—living through her murder—and all the pain it caused, continues to cause…

“What are you doing here?”

The only ones surprised when Valdas and Isseya appear at the rear of Gaius’ awful entourage are the Trinity themselves. Mortified, Valdas stares at Cadence and grabs for his lover’s hand. She takes it wordlessly; her expression unreadable.

“Now now Valdemaras, this isn’t the time.”

Just like before; his pretty words so cold and cruel. How they make him recoil, how they make Kamilah’s eyes flash with the briefest hint of pity.

The Council are equals but they bend to Kamilah on this — let the eldest be the first to step forward on the chopping block.

“Gaius.”

He fixates on her in a flash of milk-white eyes. His sunken features barely able to hold his twisted frown.

“Kamilah, my Queen.”

The word stings her like a slap to the face, but Kamilah keeps her composure.

“The years haven’t been kind.”

“No, I suppose they haven’t.” He reaches up and presses at his skin with fingers that aren’t in much better shape. Priya tries not to gag and might even turn her face away if she weren’t fixated on him in terror.

“And who do I have to thank for that, I wonder?”

Kamilah inclines her head but says nothing. Adrian steps up behind her, ever at her back. And if he’d hoped to draw Gaius’ attention away it worked — and a little too well at that.

“And Adrian, my lovely little soldier. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the part you played all those years ago.”

“I would hope you ha—”

“Sssh…”

All Gaius has to do is hold up a finger and the entire Chamber falls silent. The vampires, the wind; Nadya even finds her thoughts waiting on hesitant breath to hear what he has to say. How it feels so terribly vitally important.

It makes him croon in satisfaction. “Much better. I hate to see how quickly you’ve forgotten your manners; all of you. But I suppose it’s to be expected when you don’t have a guiding hand to show you the way.”

Slow and purposeful he strides deeper into the Chamber. His cape catches on the packed dirt underfoot but it’s just another way for the literal world to yield to him. “I should thank you, first, for convening yourselves and saving me the trouble. I would have hated to have to hunt you down one by one — this way retribution will be swift and just.

“But the real reason I’m here is to offer my congratulations.” But Jameson, ever gleeful, is the only one who claps. “You’ve had a very profitable… how many years was it? Ninety-nine, I think? Part of me almost wished to wait and make it an even century. But I could not find enough benevolence in me to give you the satisfaction… as they say — nobody’s perfect.

“But I wonder if you have given ample time to consider the ramifications of your success. How far back you’ve bent to this sniveling population of chattel in pursuit of your backwards notions of them. The belief that they are somehow equal to us given sheer numbers alone.

“The infestation of them would not have spread so far had you not committed such a heinous crime.”

“Our only crime was defying you!” Adrian spits out, red-faced and the exertion it takes to resist whatever spell he holds them all under shows in the sweat beading on his brow.

“And that was crime enough!”

All around Nadya the vampires flinch as if struck by the back of an invisible hand. Even Jameson, who recoils away but refuses to let himself be lumped in among the masses of those Gaius deems as traitors.

For a walking corpse though, it’s impressive how quickly he regains his composure. Just as quick as he had lost it. He smooths back the wisps of his hair and eases blind rage into the same yellowing smile.

“Ninety-nine years is a long time. Though I’m sure I don’t need to tell any of you that.” He gestures wide to the Council at large, open arms spread in the same arrogant pride has he had at the banquet table.

“Long enough for you to become titans of industry and advancement, and to grow complacent in your greatest lies. You have deluded yourselves, my children, into thinking that you live in times of peace. You believed the evil vanquished and the world spared of a so-called price which you deemed too high… despite not being the ones who would have to make it.

“Some might call this loyalty. I would call it treachery. Your loyalty should never have been to humans, to the plague of them that stretches across the world. It should have been to me.

“But I suppose the only one truly at fault is myself.” Gaius hangs his head forlornly. “Somewhere along the line… I must have been too lax, too forgiving. I followed the tools She gave me to the letter and yet even in the first of my line I could never inspire quite the same devotion as She could. Not without the missing link.”

His grey palm twists upwards and the fire pits lining the Chamber walkway catch on glittering gold and red. The Amulet of Nero rests, neatly cradled in offering; as though it belonged there. Then it isn’t Gaius holding anyone captive, not any longer — the Amulet does that job for him perfectly, possibly even better.

A fact that isn’t lost on him. Reverence choking at his voice as he gives his audience the chance to admire it.

“It is to my understanding that you’ve been hard at work trying to open the Amulet. Points for understanding it is not the Amulet itself that holds the power but what lies within it. Though I suspect, my dearest Bloodqueen, you have a little something to do with that.”

Kamilah glares down at him. And would very well take his words and impale him on them if she could. He’s giving her the chance to speak but she can’t—or won’t—take it.

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Gaius knows this, and seems heartbroken by it. “I see, and this is truly the path you wish to take?” But again the only reply is the hollow quiet. He thumbs the gemstone almost absentmindedly.

“Very well.”

Gaius throws his head back, familiarity gently shaking away a head of thick hair no longer there. Watching his fangs descend is more like seeing maggots crawl from an open wound — something Nadya has never seen in person and now will never need to. They’re as stained and rotting inside-out like the rest of the teeth left in his skull and surely they once have must been long and proud; something of a status symbol. Not anymore.

But they are no less sharp. And in the silent hall the wet sound of those fangs sinking into the sagging flesh of his exposed wrist is terrible; just like the stench of foul death that follows. Nadya tells herself it’s a trick of the (lack of) light that when he pulls back the blood dripping from his mouth is almost black.

“Nothing you could have attempted would have proven fruitful,” says Gaius, mouth full of his own blood that spills down his chin through his smile, “because only the purest of blood could relinquish the spell here. Nothing so diluted as what filthy muck most of you had crawled from; not even that of my own line. Only those Turned with the blessing of the Goddess would be able to ensure Her return… I made sure of that.”

His self-inflicted wound takes its sweet time to heal. Plenty of time for him to bring the Amulet close, cradled like a fragile trinket (which was definitely not the case, and they had a list of ways that had been proven) and let his blood drip—drip—drip over the jewel with purpose.

Whatever enchantment was holding it closed was also holding the true nature of the thing back — that much is obvious. The latch of it comes undone so soft she doesn’t hear a thing, then he pries the pieces apart with a rotted thumb. The Amulet’s influence comes in waves so strong Nadya, too, can finally feel them. Feels the magnetic pull of it and she wonders with all of her awe if she were to jump from the ground wound it bring her ever closer, would it finally then have hold over her?

She has the sense not to, thank god, but Lily’s knees buckle under the pressure. Nadya and Maricruz hold her up quickly, Nadya’s sleeve wiping away the sweat at her temples.

“It’s…” She struggles to find the words. Lily Always-With-Something-To-Say Spencer is speechless. And she’s not alone.

Even the man himself gazes in reverence. Plucks something from the heart of the locket and lets it fall away, unenchanted and plain, back to the dirt where it belongs. Its contents are its value. Gaius holds it up to the light; a little red vial, no bigger than her thumb, with designs on the glass that catch in the dancing flames.

Nadya realizes a bit too (foolishly) late that it isn’t the vial that glitters, but what’s inside of it. Blood, undeniably blood, but the brightest and most beautiful blood she’s ever seen. What she had thought was the reflection of light is actually flecks of gold dancing within it.

Dancing to a song that, if she closes her eyes and listens with all her might, Nadya thinks she can hear.

The blood of the First Vampire.

And they understand all at once and in a horrifying way exactly what he plans on doing with it.

He breaks the vial’s waxy seal and raises it in his sole cheers. “To my good health.”

“NO!”

Flecks of blood dot across Kamilah’s cheek. But she and the rest of the Council are still held immobile by the power of the vial, no longer captivated but forced to behold it. All but Adrian, his own blood dripping red and violent from his nose; his ears. Breaking out from the vial’s spell—from Gaius’ spell—has him pale and shaking, and whatever willpower he found to do it is stronger than his ability to heal.

Nadya watches with tears burning in her eyes and teeth clenched in a struggle between wanting to keep him safe and needing him to save them.

Her cries — silent but desperate. Please Adrian, please!

She’d like to think he almost makes it. Optimistic failure — that’s what her life has been reduced to. But it’s better than nothing, even if it’s still failure.

Adrian falls to his knees with Gaius just out of reach. He struggles, maybe he even knows its in vain, but reaching out as he does, still trying to claw his way to the vial, fighting through agony — it just hurts.

“Aagh!” When he yields its clutching his head, its threatening to tear out clumps of his hair and more blood falling down his face and sticking awful to his lips. “My… hh-head…”

His Maker looks down not with disdain but with pity.

“Time and time again my soldiers keep disappointing me,” he laments; like he’s the wounded party when Adrian hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him, “First Valdemaras, then Banner… I had hoped to break the cycle with you, Adrian. My strong Adrian… a little too willful at the end but I would expect nothing less.”

“You bas… bas…” But whatever is hurting him is too much. Gaius sighs.

“That is enough, Jameson. He’s earned his last words.”

Behind him the psychic vampire withdraws; pulls his hand back and instantly Adrian slumps to the ground. Too weak even to stop the way Gaius brushes the back of a grey finger over his cheek.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” snarls Kamilah.

Gaius looks up to her sharply.

“Now — a few last efforts I may tolerate. But such blatant disrespect is beneath you, Kamilah. You would dare order me?”

“Do not. dare. touch him. Gaius.”

And with that — he’s done. He steps back in a flourish, his warped face twisted in rage. “Enough of this insolence! You’ve forgotten manners, respect — you have forgotten to fear me. But that will change.”

He looks down at Adrian, struggling on his shaking limbs — fighting to stand, and shoves his progeny down beneath his heel. Gone is the man who found amusement in their torment, in playing sick games and offering speeches with false praise.

With Adrian trapped under his heel Gaius raises the vial to his lips and downs the contents whole.

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katebacks · 5 years

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Daddy Issues Part I - Jeon Jungkook (M,A)

— pairing | Jeon Jungkook /Reader — word c | 7,592 — genre | Smut, angst, Stalker au! Killer au! psycho au!, horror. — summary | [ When you started dating Jungkook, he was your gateway to all the pain but when you finally find out who he really is, you realize it’s too late to go back. You are in danger, and you know it, but worst of all is that you don’t want to escape. ]. — warnings/tags | Bad words, oral (female receiving). violence, use of alcoholic beverages, drugs, sex, harassment. If you do not feel well with these themes, please do not read.

“Joy, this is a very bad idea, if we're seen leaving school at this time, we'll be suspended.” You said as your friend pulled you down the corridor to the stairs leading to the first floor where there was an exit to the school garden.

“Sure, and where are they going to send us? We live here, (Y/N), they cannot suspend us because our parents pay for us to stay here and not in our homes.” She whispered, looking from side to side, being careful not to catch anyone's attention. “And today is Friday, we should enjoy our teenage years a little while we still have one, or we'll end up like Mrs. Fritz, unhappy at age 45, with a house full of cats to feed, waiting for death.”

“Okay, and where do you intend to go? The college is in the middle of nowhere, remember? There's only forest on all sides. The city is very far.”

“Taehyung is waiting for us at the entrance of the school. We just need to run.” She said and you rolled your eyes. You didn’t like to do wrong things, at least not anymore.

The last time you did something wrong, you were sent to that boarding school as your father's punishment. But being honest with yourself, you would rather stay there than to be forced to see your father taking a different woman to your home every day. You and your father had lived alone since your mother decided divorce him and marry a richer man. Your father spent most of his time working, or drinking in bars. You had lost count of how many times he had come home drunk and yelled at you, saying that it was all your fault, that your mother had left him was your fault, and when he was sober, even knowing what he had done , he acted as if nothing had happened. Your father had never done anything to physically hurt you, he just screamed how useless you were.

So when he decided he would send you to a boarding school after he had picked you up at the police station one early morning, you couldn’t feel any more relieved to be able to get away from him. You loved him, he was your father after all, but you didn’t want to go through all that humiliation any more. You'd miss your old friends, but it was better that way.

It was two years since you were there, and Joy was literally your best friend, she was the first to talk to you when you arrived and introduced you to all her friends, and they eventually became your friends too. Of all of them, Taehyung was the closest to you, he treated you like a younger sister although you have the same age, but Joy always said he had a crush on you, but you never listened, Joy always spoke too much. But you couldn’t deny that Taehyung was a handsome boy, he had those innocent, sincere eyes and that contagious smile. He was tall and always affectionate. But you would never see him otherwise.

After you reached the school gate, running away from all the night guards, you and Joy jumped on the red Taehyung’s convertible and he sailed away from there.

“Girls, you are stunning.” The blonde said smiling at the two who smiled back. You wore black slacks with some ripped, a white top and leather boots. Joy already wore a plaid mini-skirt with a red top with black boots. She always liked showing off more than you and you were okay with it.

"Where are we really going?" You asked after a few minutes on the road. Taehyung looked at you in the rearview mirror and Joy turned back, smiling at you, and did not even have to say anything to let you know where you were going. “Please don’t tell me we're going to Hell hound.”

“Oh yeah, baby.”

“Did you go crazy? They say that place is super dangerous, full of regulars gangs, and dangerous people. They said that many people were murdered and raped inside. Not to mention all the times that the police invaded that place and arrested drug dealers. And fuck, we're underage, if we try to get in there, we’ll get in trouble and...”

“Chill out, doll.” Taehyung said laughing and stretching his arm back, touching your knee, trying to calm you down. “We'll be fine. Nothing will happen to us. There's a lot of underage kids there, we're probably going to find half the school there, they all use fake IDs, but I have someone who's going to get us in there without us needing it. Just stay in ours, we will have no problems, okay? You can trust me.”

"If I die, I'll come back and kill you." You said leaning back and crossing you arms, pouting, which made the boy laugh.

“We have a deal.”

Taehyung really had someone to put them into the Pub without asking for identity or asking questions, which led you to think that he could only have bribed the securities, because money wasn’t a problem for him, since his father was one of the richest in the country. As soon as you entered the bar, you noticed how dark it was inside. You stopped to watch the dance floor and some tables around it. People danced rubbing each other and you didn’t know if you felt claustrophobic or happy to have agreed to go out with your friends. You've never been a fan of crowds. As you went down the stairs to the floor, you found yourself facing some of your classmates, many of them hadn’t even seen you since they were too busy eating someone propped up on the walls, getting drunk or using drugs. And those who saw you three just nodded and continued what they were doing.

Some people bumped into you and forced you to get even closer to Taehyung who was in front, leading the way.

The worst part of the parties for you were the drunks. Sober men can’t hear a no, so imagine drunk men? You hated it. You hated being touched without your permission. In fact, all women hated it.

Somehow, by the time they got to the liquor counter, Taehyung got some drinks for you, and even if you were not a big fan of alcoholic drinks, you gladly accepted it. You sat at a table facing the dance floor and you kept quiet listening to the two of them chat while you watched the place. It didn’t seem as dangerous as everyone said, just a little promiscuous and full of drug users, which really didn’t matter to you, you didn’t care about the lives of others unless they were your friends'.

While you were steeped in thoughts, you felt a chill, as if something was about to happen. You started looking sideways, searching for something you didn’t know what it was, until your eyes fell on a man, which made you totally lose your breath and choke. He had his black hair thrown back, and he was leaning against the wall under the stairs, across the room, almost hiding in the dark. He had his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted to the side. He wore an all-black outfit, from his blouse to his shoe. And he was looking at you.

It was hard to describe in words what you felt when you could even feel the intensity of his gaze on you, and what your body felt when his eyes passed through you. Your entire body warmed and involuntarily you squeezed your thighs, feeling your clit throb. God, what is this?

“I want to dance.” Joy said and suddenly you were being pulled onto the dance floor, losing sight of that man.

“Why don’t you take Taehyung?"

"Because Taehyung is a man and if I rub myself on him while I'm dancing, the guys here will think he's my boyfriend."

“If they see you rubbing yourself in a girl, they'll think you're a lesbian.” You said it loud enough for her to hear, and she laughed.

“Well, men have a fetish with two women dancing sensuously together, whether they're lesbians or not. So do me a favor and dance sensually so I can get a fuck tonight, or you'll have to put up with me masturbating in the bedroom for the rest of the month. Again.”

"You're a bitch."

"I know, honey, I know."

And Joy was right, two girls dancing together call more attention than a girl dancing alone, but you didn’t like the looks you were getting from some men standing around. As soon as a man approached you, you stepped back as he approached Joy. He was very handsome, was her style, so it was not long before the two of them were dancing and kissing in the middle of the dance floor. The music was very sexy and you loved to dance alone in your bedroom, pretending to be a sensual dancer, but you had no ounce of courage to dance the way you wanted to in the midst of all those people. Feeling uncomfortable there, you decided to get out of the crowd and go to the bar or look for Taehyung. But as soon as you moved, you spotted that same boy who was propped up under the stairs. You were hypnotized by him again.

He pushed away from the wall and all the other people in the room began to move in slow motion as he walked confidently toward you, not taking his eyes off you, not even looking where he stepped.

The sensual beats of music just helped you run out of air each time he got one step closer to you.

Push a little further on the edge

And it was closer.

Crawl a little further on the bed, babe

And closer.

I'm burning up, yeah, all I see is red

As soon as he was under the light that lit the dance floor, you can see him better and you were definitely right in feeling horny, aroused and intimidating at the same time, he was simply the most handsome man you had ever seen in life.

She said: Fuck me like I'm famous I said: Okay

“Breathe.” His voice said when he was very close to you, and only then you see that you had forgotten to breathe. Your cheeks burn. You felt like an inexperienced virgin, gasping for breath at the sight of a handsome man. You tried to open your mouth to say something, but the intensity with which he looked at you was making you unable to say anything. “I'm Jungkook.”

“(Y/N).” You answered lower than you should and didn’t know if he had heard because of the loud music, but he smiled and repeated your name, making melody to your ears. You've never been so fond of hearing your name come out of someone else's mouth.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the party.” He said, looking you up and down slowly. "And you don’t seem to like dancing either."

“I like to dance…"

“Its not what it looked like a few seconds ago.” He said moving his eyes from you to Joy who was busy kissing a guy and then looked back at you. “You don’t seem the type who likes attention.”

“How do you know?" You asked, intrigued.

"The way you walk, you move in a way as if you don’t want to touch anyone, you have good moves to dance, but don’t let go of it with fear that draws much attention to you and I saw how quickly you moved away from all the guys who were trying hit on you. You're wearing black and white, neutral colors, colors that don’t draw attention. And you've arranged your hair in a way that makes it easier to hide your face when you're ashamed.” He said and you lowered your head, trying to hide the redness in your cheeks. “Just like you’re doing right now.”

"You seem to be very perceptive.” You raised your head trying to stand firm and not tremble beneath that man's gaze. "I don’t like crowded places."

"If you don’t like crowded places, then why did you came here?" He asked without taking his eyes from yours. You shrugged.

“My friends wanted to get out of the ... routine.” You answered. "They wanted to have fun in other ways.”

"You don’t look like you're having fun. That's not fair.” Jungkook licked his lips, almost making you stop breathing again, and looked around as if looking for someone. Soon after he looked at you and pointed in one direction. When you looked, you saw Joy walking away with that boy. And as soon as he pointed to another direction, you saw Taehyung sitting at one of the tables with a girl on his lap. You definitely were not amused watching your friends leave to be with other people. Wait, how did he know you knew Taehyung?

You turned to him with a frown and he looked at you with an unshakable expression.

“How did you ...”

"I saw you coming in with them."

“That's kind of bizarre.” You said, and he laughed, making you delighted by his laughter.

"It's not bizarre. I just got interested in you, shouldn’t I?”

You bit your lips and saw his eyes darken, staring at your mouth. He bit the corner of his mouth before approaching your ear, making your whole body shiver.

"Do you want to get out of here? We can talk in my car.”

"Don’t get me wrong, Jungkook, but we just met and I don’t know if I can trust you …"

“I understand.” He said with a disgruntled sigh, you really thought you had spoiled your chances with him, but then he reached into his pocket, took a key ring, and flung it over the people, across the dance floor. You stared wide-eyed, surprised at his action. “Well, I just threw my car keys away and I doubt I'll find them so soon, so now there's no way I can open my car, throw you in the trunk and kidnap you.”

“You're crazy.” You laughed out loud, still not believing what he had done. That was something. He was handsome, looked sweet and polite. What could go wrong? You nodded, giving him a smile.

Jungkook then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he guided you toward the exit, pushing away anyone who accidentally or purposely approached you. As you left the pub, you walked a few yards to the side of the bar, where there was the parking lot and a black Mustang parked a few feet from where Taehyung parked his car.

You two sat on the hood of the car and started talking like two friends, getting to know each other. It was already past midnight and during the conversation, you discovered some things about Jungkook. He was 23 years old, he was mechanic, had his own car workshop downtown, he was a good student at school and received letters from major universities but denied all, not wanting to spend four years of his life studying and then spend the rest of it behind of some table. Jungkook wanted to live, and as he liked cars, he had decided that he would start his own business. He was not from there, but lived for almost two years in the city. His parents lived in the countryside.

“I don’t have much to talk about me. My story is very boring." You said without taking your eyes off your hands that were on your lap. His hand came to rest on top of yours, making your attention turn to him. He looked at you sweetly, almost innocently, smiling shyly at you.

“I'm sure your story can be anything but boring.” He said it much lower than when you were at the party, since there were no loud songs and no thunderous noises to disturb your hearing. His voice was as soft and sweet as his smile. His fingers began to caress the back of your hand as he still stared at you.

“The story can be long ...”

“I have all the time in the world.”

You then told about what had happened to your family. You told how your mother left you, how things went after she left, how your father acted around you, how many nights you wished you hadn’t even been born. You told him how you became shy at school, how you pulled away most of your friends, and told about the night that ended up at the police station. Jungkook listened to you intently, ignoring the looks of some people walking through the parking lot.

"Has he ever hit you?" He asked with a certain tone of irritation in his voice, which went unnoticed by you.

“No, never, but the way things were, it wasn’t going to take long for that to happen.” You said laughing sarcastically. Jungkook took a deep breath and released the air slowly, looking away, clawing at his jaw. “But let's not talk about it. Tell me about your car workshop.”

So you continued to talk for a long time. And you couldn’t deny that you was attracted to him and him for you, so when you felt an ounce of courage while he talked about something, you leaned over and kissed him. He didn’t look surprised by your gesture, because he immediately reached into your hair and deepened the kiss. It was so intense you could barely breathe and it was so good that you couldn’t contain your moans as he pulled your hair.

In a few seconds he had come down from the hood and was now between your legs, one hand in your hair and the other over your breast, and neither of you cared to be in an open-air parking lot, you were more worried about the horny you were feeling.

"You shouldn’t have thrown your keys away." You whispered as soon as his lips left yours to kiss your neck. Your hands went to his hair and he laughed against your neck.

"There's another way to open a car, my dear."

”Then do it." You said raising his face. "Or fuck me against this car, now."

"I think I'm going to fuck you against this car. It seems more exciting to me.” He said thrusting his hand between your legs and stroking your clit over your pants. You moaned and pressed your nails around his neck, because the only thing you needed now was his dick inside you. “It looks like you're enjoying the caresses.”

“You have no idea, Jungkook.”

“(Y/N)!” Taehyung's voice caught your eye and you and Jungkook looked away, seeing your friend walking towards you. He looked at Jungkook from top to bottom, frowning before looking back at you and throwing his hands up as he stood beside the car.

“What the fuck are you doing out here? I looked for you everywhere. I was worried.”

“She is with me. You have nothing to worry about.” Jungkook replied staring Taehyung that stared back.

"And who the hell are you?"

“This is Jungkook, we met at the pub...”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to come to a dark, empty place with a guy you just met, (Y/N)? Are you crazy?” He didn’t even let you finish speaking before giving the sermon. You opened your mouth to answer, but he held up his hand to signal you to remain silent. “Let's just go back inside and get Joy. We are leaving.” He then turned his back and started walking toward the Pub.

“What if I don’t want to leave?” You asked standing up. Taehyung stopped abruptly and turned to you with frowns, as if he had not understood what you had said. “What if I want to stay for a few more hours? You will force me to go with you?”

“What the hell are you talking about? You said yourself that you didn’t want to come here, that this pub was full of junkies and violent people, but three seconds ago you were letting this stranger get his hand on your body.” He said loudly, almost screaming.

“Yes, I'm letting this stranger touch my body, and yes, I didn’t want to come here, but I came because you wanted me to, and now that I'm having fun you want me to leave?” You answered it in the same tone of voice. Jungkook leaned against the car and folded his arms, watching Taehyung's next actions, he was ready to intervene if necessary.

“Guys, why did you leave me alone in there?” Joy appeared out of nowhere, hugging her body because of the chill of dawn. Her hair was tousled and she had no more lipstick in her mouth. “Can we leave? I'm tired.”

“Sure, we're going.” Taehyung said without taking his eyes off of you as Joy entered the convertible. He was waiting for you to do the same, but instead you took two steps back approaching Jungkook and crossing your arms.

"You can go, I will not go now." You said, and even though it was dim, you knew Taehyung's face was red at that moment.

"I will not leave you alone here …"

"I'm not alone, I'm with Jungkook, and you don’t boss me, Taehyung. I'll leave when I want.”

He was annoyed, irritated, ever since Taehyung knew you, he had this protective spirit, he felt he had to protect you and when he couldn’t, he felt helpless, and that made him furious. Taehyung glanced toward Jungkook, who was in the same position as before, but now he had a more serious look on his face, and stared at Taehyung as if challenging him to say something.

"If you hurt her, I swear I'll come after you."

Jungkook let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back and chuckling at the boy's failed attempt to intimidate him.

“Yeah, yeah, just go, bro. Stop embarrassing yourself.” He said, waving his hand at the boy who took one last look at you before getting in the car and getting out of there. You took a deep breath, hated fighting with your friends but you was tired of always living for other people. You wanted to live for you now.

Reminding that Jungkook was still there, you stared at him with cheeks burning, ashamed that he had witnessed it all.

“I'm sorry... That ended the whole mood." You said putting your hand on your neck and looking away from him.

“It's okay, don’t worry.” He said holding her chin and making her look at him. He was smiling carefree, as if it hadn’t done effect on him. "There's a snack bar two blocks from here. We can go there, have a milk shake and eat something. Then I'll take you home. Or I can call you a taxi if you prefer.”

“I'll take the Milk Shake." You said smiling at him. "But only if it's chocolate."

It had been four months since you met Jungkook, and every opportunity you had to get out of that school and go somewhere else with him, you did. With that, you ended up moving away from your friends because even though you could only use the cell phone once a week for fifteen minutes, Jungkook had bought a new one for you so you could communicate with him, so all your free time, dinner, breaks, you were talking to him.

"What are you doing here, you freak?" You whispered laughing at the sight of the boy leaning against the wall behind the school building, waiting for you. He smoked a cigarette and was relaxed as usual. It was almost five in the afternoon when you received his message, saying that he would be waiting for you behind the building, on the north side of the school, where you used to go to jump over the walls without being caught. One of the only places that wasn’t monitored by cameras. "If they catch you here, you'll be arrested."

"They will not catch me." He said holding your waist and pulling you close to him. “Besides, you worth the risks.” Then he kissed you, a calm, passionate kiss. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and used both hands to hold your face and caress it at the same time. "I missed you." He said between the kiss, lowering one hand to your waist and squeezing it. He bit your lip, making the fire inside you burn.

"Me too." You whispered as he slowly turned his body, placing you back against the wall, lowering one hand to your thigh and lifting it, placing it on his waist. "But I don’t have much time. In fifteen minutes I need to be in the gym." You said as his kisses touched your neck, causing you to roll your eyes and hold yourself so you didn’t moan.

“So I have to make you cum fast." He said putting his hand between your legs, inside your panties, caressing your clitoris that was already swollen and soaked with your juice. You gasped and grabbed Jungkook's arm, preventing him from moving. He looked at you with a sassy look, waiting for you to say something.

"You know I can’t be silent. Someone will catch us."

"No one will get us, baby. Don’t you trust me?"

"With my life." You answered without hesitation, and he smiled, leaning forward and kissing you. Then he kissed your cheek, your ear, your neck, your breasts over your T-shirt, until he knelt in front of you and gave you a wicked look before lifting your thigh and placing on his shoulder, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to side and start to eat you out. You immediately covered your mouth and threw your head back, your body shuddering as you felt Jungkook's tongue caressing the full extent of your cunt. Your other hand went into Jungkook's hair and you moved your hips against his mouth, unable to control yourself. You needed to come.

“You're so sweet.” He whispered against your clit and his tongue licked again, spurring you even more as he stared into your eyes. His free hand gripped one of your thighs, increasing the strength he used and the speed of his tongue. You felt your cunt pulsing, You was reaching the apex. Jungkook seemed to focus on one specific point, which made you let out a hoarse groan and finally cum as the spasms spread through my body. You closed your eyes as you felt his tongue wandering around your entrance, sucking all your juice. Your mind cleared, your muscles relaxed and you felt good.

He stood up and kissed you, hugging your still shaking body.

"I love you," you whispered as he let you lean your forehead against his chest. Jungkook smiled and stroked your hair. That was the first time you'd said that.

"I know." He said and you laughed punching his arm and moving away from him. He laughed and took a step back.

"Idiot, I'm serious."

"Me too." He laughed approaching again and using his large hands to hold your face. And then he looked serious and stared your eyes with the same intensity he had whenever he looked into the depths of you, as if he looked at your soul. “I love you too, my lady.” And he kissed you again. "And I want to see you tonight."

"Same time?" You asked with closed eyes, delighting in the short, slow kisses he gave in your lips.

"Yes, I'll be waiting."

"Okay, now go, or you'll get us both in trouble." You said pushing him away. Jungkook looked indignantly at you.

"You use me and now you throw me away. Women are all the same." You laughed at his failed attempt to be innocent. You gave him a quick kiss.

"See you later, asshole." And so you turned away. Jungkook watched you walk away.

"I cannot wait for this."

You were in love with him in a way you couldn’t explain, you thought about him all day, wanted him all day. You wanted to be with him all the time, because Jungkook was intense, he was relentless, he gave you life, and that was what you loved him the most.

Everything was going well until the day you were discovered by school security. You and Jungkook were in the car, a few yards from the entrance of the school, you were on his lap in the backseat, rolling in his lap and kissing him when a strong light struck your face and you two looked to the side, seeing one of the school security guards there, knocking at the door and ordering you to get out.

That was weird. The security guards only patrolled the perimeter of the school, the gates and walls inside, there was no way they knew you were there. And your suspicions were confirmed when the same security officer said that someone had made an anonymous denunciation of an out-of-school student. And you were already sure who did it.

The security guard woke the principal to tell him what had happened, and he said with a furious expression that he would talk to you the next morning. When you reached the bedroom, Joy was asleep on her stomach in bed. You could wake her up and question why she had told them about your hang out with Jungkook. but if you did, you would yell at her and wake up the entire dorm, putting you in even more trouble, so you waited the next morning.

“Why did you do that? I thought you were my friend. Why did you tell him? "You asked the girl who was confused by both her drowsiness and your questions.

“I told you I didn’t say anything, (Y/N). I swear. The only person I told was Taehyung, because he wouldn’t stop asking where you were and I had to tell him, but I swear it was only for him.”

It was when you connected the points, if she didn’t say anything and only told Taehyung, then he was the only one who could have told the security. You knew he had some anger at Jungkook, but you didn’t understand why. Of all the time you studied there, those were the happiest months of your life, so why would he ruin it?

You turned your back on Joy and left the room already wearing your school clothes, heading toward the men's dormitory where girls were barred, but you were already really screwed, so you just don’t give a fuck.

As soon as you reached the bedroom door, you punched it hard until a sleepy, irritated Taehyung opened the door. The moment he saw you there, his face softened, but after seeing your condition, he knew he had fucked it all up.

“(Y/N)...”

"Why did you do that?" You asked before you let him make an excuse. He sighed and left the room closing the door behind him.

“Look, I'll give you my reasons, but it has to be later. You need to get out of here, if the monitors catch you ...”

“No, Taehyung, I want to know now.” You raised your voice. “Why the hell do you hate Jungkook so much? Why do you want me to break up with him? And why the hell did you tell the security guard that I was with him last night? Are you aware of what this will cause to me?”

"I don’t trust that guy…"

“You don’t have to trust him, you asshole, I have, he's my boyfriend, not yours.” You screamed furiously, your face turning red. “Stop intruding on my life and make the decisions for me, Taehyung!”

"(Y/N), he can be dangerous." He shouted back and some of the students left their rooms, curious to know what was happening. “Look, I've been researching, asking some people, and he might be involved in drug trafficking and even murder. Many people on the north side of the city are afraid to even pass near him because they say he is extremely violent.”

"You went out asking questions about my boyfriend? Throughout the city?" You asked, taking a step back, not believing what you were hearing. “You must be kidding me.”

“Yeah, I did it. I needed to keep you safe ...”

“No Taehyung! You needed to keep me single for one day finally build up the courage and say you like me.” You screamed furiously toward him. Taehyung was paralyzed, his eyes wide for a few moments, simply without reaction or words for that moment. “You want me single because you want me for you and you don’t want me to be someone else's.”

“Where you...”

“Joy told me." You interrupted him and he was pale. “I hadn’t believed in the beginning, because to me you were only treating me as your best friend, but now I understand that you want me to break up with Jungkook to stay with you, but this will not happen Taehyung, because what I feel for him, I will never feel for you.” You hissed bitterly. You were so hurt with him that you wanted him to get hurt too, and from his gaze, you had managed to do that.

“You shouldn’t be here, young lady." The dorm monitor, who was also a student, said, and you turned to him in disgust.

“Fuck you." You exclaimed and turned away, heading to the stairs and out of there. As soon as you stepped into the garden and walked toward the women's building, one of the students said that the Principal was looking for you. You sighed and went to the principal's office, hesitating to go in because you knew what would happen from then on.

As you entered the room, you were surprised to see your father sitting in the armchair in front of the boardroom table. He was red, the expression on his face was the same as he used have when cursed you and blame you for everything bad in his life, but this time he seemed to be sober.

You sat in the armchair beside him, not daring to look at him, just listening to what the principal had to say. He said that your behavior was unacceptable, that leaving school out of the allowed hours was against the rules and dating as well. He quoted everything he had to say and said that he wouldn’t just kick you out because you was a good student and had the best grades but would suspend you for a week. He allowed his father to take you home that week, and he just nodded, not saying a word to the principal.

Once you were released, the principal said you should go to your room and pack your bags, and so you did. You and your father walked side by side until you got to your room. When you opened the door, he pushed you tightly inside, making you lose your balance and fall on your knees on the floor.

“It was for that I sent you here?” He screamed, slamming the door behind him and advancing against you who had no chance to defend yourself when he grabbed your hair and pulled you violently up, making you moan with pain. “Did you come here to fuck with thugs? Hmm?” He threw you violently against the bed, banging your back against the wall and your head on the headboard. "You're a bitch just like your mother."

“This is not true.” You said it trembling, forcing yourself to sit and brush your hair off your face, trying not to stutter, but then you fell back down when he hit your face with a slap, throwing you back on the bed, making you scream and not hold back the tears.

“Shut your fucking mouth. You're never going to change, it's always going to be this bitch that only brings me problems. What is the difficulty of you not getting into trouble, (Y/N)? Do you have any mental problems that keep you from being rational?” He screamed and you cried, with your hand on the cheek that he had hit the slap, curled in the bed. “Do you think it's fun to go out there doing shit so I have to fix it later?”

“Dad...” You started to speak, but he grabbed your arm, squeezing it hard, lifting you brutally, making you even more desperate to see the furious look in his eyes. You had never seen him so violent. He'd never leaned a finger against you to hurt you, so why was he doing it now?

“You and I have a lot to talk about this week, you whore. So you better stop crying and start packing your bag before I lose my patience and drag you out of here by the hair, without any belongings.” He said between his teeth and pushed you back to the floor once more. So he turned his back and left the room, slamming the door behind him and you shrank on the floor, crying, feeling the pain in your body and in your heart. Why was that happening? You had done nothing to deserve it. Why did he seem to hate you so much? What had you done to him?

The cell phone that Jungkook had given you, began to vibrate beneath your pillow, and you knew that at that moment, he was the only one you wanted to talk to. You raised your arm and reached under your pillow, answering the phone, sniffling and sobbing.

“Love, what happened?” He asked from the other end of the line and listening to his voice only made you cry even more. Your chest was aching, you felt lonely, helpless and certainly in danger. “(Y/N), why are you crying? What is happening? Where are you?” He started bombarding you with questions and you could hear his keys on the other side.

“Jungkook.” You only managed to say his name before breaking into tears again. You heard the car door slamming across the line.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m coming to you. Stay where you are, okay? I’ll come to you. Don’t worry, don’t cry, your Jungkook is coming.” He said and before you could try to say something, or that he could hang up, your dad came screaming back into the room, making you scream too and crawl away from him, squeezing the phone between your fingers, afraid he'd take away the only thing that was giving you security at that moment.

“Who are you talking to, you slut? I told you to pack your things.” He yelled as he yanked the cell phone out of your hand, making you moan at the force he used, hurting your wrist. You were desperate and could hardly breathe, your body was shaking too much for you to react so you just started screaming for help and cringed once more. You were horrified at everything that was going on, scared, confused, and just wanted your father to get away from you. He looked at the phone screen, seeing that the call was still active. “Are you the thug who was eating my daughter, your bastard?” The only thing he could hear from the other side was the sound of the car moving, followed by Jungkook’s cold voice.

“You are dead.”

So the call dropped and at the same moment, two security guards who had heard your screams entered the bedroom, then pulled your father away from you, who started protesting in shouts that they should let him go. As they walked away from the room, you finally breathed again and stood up, legs trembling, hugging your body and walking slowly out of the room where some of the girls began to appear and looked wide-eyed at you.

“Oh my god, (Y/N).” Joy approached you, intending to hug you, but you pulled away from her, holding the cry again, a lump forming in your throat. As you walked down the stairs, with all the female dormitory students looking at you, you could hear your father's screams from the security guards outside the building. As soon as you left, the students watching your father now looked at you. Among them was Taehyung who had wide eyes and put his hand to his mouth, horrified. He didn’t hesitate to move toward you, to comfort you, but you pushed him hard back.

“This is all your fault.” You shouted with all your strength to him, making his eyes fill with water.

“(Y/N)...” He started to speak, but the Mustang's engine roar could be heard, and you looked at the road through the forest, watching Jungkook's car come in with everything, knocking over the guardrails of the secondary gate and skidding on the wet garden grass. He stormed out of the car, slamming the door and striding toward the crowd at the foot of the staircase. He had fists clenched and a killer look in his eyes. You had never seen him like that, and honestly, he was scaring you. As his eyes hit yours, he frowned and ran toward you, just as you did, burying yourself in his chest, tearing into tears once more. Jungkook pressed you against his chest and stroked your hair as his eyes scanned the place, trying to identify who had done that to you. That was when he saw the man shouting at the security guards, his voice the same as the man on the phone. He seemed to be blind at the moment.

Jungkook released your body, making you open your eyes, missing his embrace and passed among the students, shoving them all violently away from his way, before approaching the security guards who were on their backs, distracted trying to contain their father, and overtook them, hitting the man's nose with a sharp punch that fell immediately on his back.

The security guards tried to hold Jungkook, but he managed to knock them down too.

“Do you think you can hurt her and not get punished for it, you fucking asshole?” He screamed in a menacing voice, making everyone step back. He then hit a kick in his stomach, making him moan in pain and you cover his mouth, stiffing a scream. “I'll teach you to never touch what is mine.”

And before he could strike another blow, Taehyung stepped in front of him, pushing him back. Jungkook didn’t hesitate to advance against Taehyung as well, and the two began to roll on the floor, exchanging punches and blows. And most of the time, it was Jungkook who hit him. He stood over Taehyung, immobilizing him with his legs, holding him tightly by the neck and began to strike blows against his face.

"Jungkook." You called for him and he stopped his fist in the air, looking over his shoulder at you. You were scared, destroyed. You'd never seen him be so violent with anyone, so that scene was shocking.

He took a deep breath, as if controlling his killer instinct, and stood up, walking on his back for a few seconds, watching the fallen men on the floor, before turning and approaching you, wrapping his arms around your back and beneath your legs, carrying you toward the car where he put you in the passenger seat and got in, driving away from there.

The way to his house was quiet, he did not say a word and you did not either. You were too shaken to say anything. In your head, the images of your father beating you and Jungkook spanking Taehyung looped in your head and that made you wonder if you could trust him, if he would not do you, the same as he did with others.

As he parked in front of the house, he was the first to leave the car and opened the door for you, holding out his hand and waiting for you to pick it up. Still sobbing, you held his and got out of the car, being guided by him inside. You then paused for a moment, not knowing what to do.

"Baby." Jungkook stood behind you, hugging you from behind and placing his chin propped on your shoulder. It was strange how with him, you calm down easily, even after what had happened.

"I want to take a shower." You whispered and he nodded, releasing you. You then walked to the bathroom and leaned against the door. You took off your clothes, feeling the pain in your body, and tossing them to the floor. You turned on the shower and went under the warm water. Still not believing what was happening, you started to cry, sliding to the floor, sitting down, cowering and crying compulsively. Lamenting everything. And without even realizing it, Jungkook was joining you, still in his clothes, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap, letting you cry as the water washed away your tears of pain and betrayal.

“It's okay, baby.” He whispered to you, kissing the top of your forehead, staring at the wall in front of him with dark, menacing eyes. "He'll never hurt you again, I promise.”

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hangmanshands · 4 years

Text

Hangman’s Commissions #1

Here it is! My first commission ever. A big thank you to @hicsaster for working with me through this process and, of course, for commissioning me! This series was a lot of fun to work on, and I hope we work together more in the future! Please enjoy! Summary: Soraru returns home from tour. Mafumafu's been having a hard time since he's been gone. Established relationship. TW: Mentions and discussions of self-harm, stalking, threats of various kinds.

Home, Sweet Home (1684 words) [Mafu, I’m Comin' Home Part I]

Soraru has been on his latest tour for three months. The rush of playing directly for his fans, digital avatar on screen for their amusement, is nearly unparalleled. It’s better than any drug, any rollercoaster, any thrill--except one. He loves his job, just like he always hoped he would as a child, but he’s beyond excited to finally be going home. He lands at four p.m. and has his bag by four-fifteen, impatient to get home to a shower, to his bed, to Mafu. He rushes out to find the car they’ve sent for him.

It’s easy to find. They always send a nondescript silver car, something like a Volvo, a vehicle middle-class middle aged white men might drive. Nice and vague. Surely nothing that the face behind a famous Vocaloid would ever be caught dead in. Soraru’s team arranged for it to take him from the airport directly to his home. His driver is the retired father of one of the members of the marketing team this time. They change it up frequently--even more often now, considering the threats Mafumafu’s been receiving lately.

Soraru frowns.

He feels guilty, having left Mafu to field such a dangerous--and, to be frank, treacherous--time alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be done. Contracts are contracts, and he’s got to honor them. They won’t get anywhere if they’re not selling music; the harassment and the protection have the same origin. He sighs. He wishes there was more he could do about it. But, he’s not police or security, after all. He’s just a concerned boyfriend.

It takes an hour to get home because of the traffic. Despite pleasant conversation with whoever’s father this is, it leaves Soraru in a sour mood. He thanks the older man shortly, and heads up to the apartment he shares with Mafumafu. His heart feels heavy as he inserts his key into the lock, but joy creeps in as his door creeps open. “Mafu!” he says. “I’m home!”

He closes the door behind him, dropping his bag and stretching. Home smells like peace, like quiet. He stretches, satisfied. The lights are off, so he makes his way to the bedroom. He needs to freshen up as much as he needs to see his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He’s sure he’d have heard if something had happened to Mafumafu while he was gone, but it’s infinitely better to see him in person.

He walks in the room with a big, loud greeting ready, but Mafumafu is very much a curled lump on the bed. Soraru imagines that this is the result of Mafu not watching his diet as closely as he should. As much as Mafu likes to say that it’s under control, but he’s as guilty as anyone about being lazy when no one holds him accountable for how his eating impacts his health and this causes him to end up in bed feeling sick more often than he’d like. Sora is used to this.

The bathroom light is still on, illuminating a single stripe that crosses Mafu’s body. He aborts the greeting and heads to the bathroom instead to freshen up before waking his boyfriend up.

Sora takes the state of the bathroom in, and comes to a very simple conclusion. His normally picture-perfect bathroom strongly resembles a fucking crime scene.

At least, the kind of romantic, stylized crime scene Sora’s seen countless times in movies and on television--there’s signs of a struggle: soaps knocked off of the edge of the sink in a hurry, cracked caps spilling pearly soap in pools on the tile, skidmarks through the wreckage. There’s a pile of disheveled towels, the top one stained crimson and turning maroon with half-dried blood. There’s discarded bloodied toilet paper and ripped bandage wrappings in the garbage. They half-obscure discarded glass shards. The sink is coated in rivulets of dried, cracking blood, smeared and half rinsed away. There’s blood on the box of band-aids and gauze threads stuck in the residue caking the basin. There’s a bloody thumb impression on the medical tape. Tweezers. And the mirror. Cracked in a spiderweb pattern around a singular impression--sized for one small, bony fist.

Sora very easily pieces together what kind of struggle took place in the bathroom before he got home. Mafumafu knocked the soaps to hell. Mafumafu threw a punch. Mafumafu shattered the mirror. Mafumafu used the broken glass to hurt himself. Mafumafu tried to fix it. Mafumafu went to bed.

Sora reaches under the sink for the Clorox wipes. He cleans the sink first, tossing everything bloody in the trash. He uses a towel to clean up the soap and throws away the unsalvageable bottles. They can always buy more. When he’s finished, he throws the towel in the hamper and the wipes in the garbage. The bloodied towel joins the trash.

Soraru leaves the light on and the door wide open when he exits the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand over Mafumafu’s side. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Are you awake?”

Mafu flips over and wraps his body around Sora’s in the fetal position. “Thank you for cleaning up,” he responds, voice just as hushed.

Ah, so he’s been awake.

Sora pets Mafu’s white hair. “Want to tell me what’s happened?”

Mafumafu sighs quietly and presses his head into Soraru’s hand. “Suzumu called me while you were gone. A lot of times.”

Sora feels his stomach turn over and over, as if in the dryer. “What did he say?”

“He threatened our home. Our cars. My family.” He swallows, closing his eyes tight. “He said he’d spread rumors about how terrible I am to you, discredit my work, say that I believe in horrible things and hate women. He said he’d turn all of our friends against me, and then you.”

Sora feels Mafu tremble under his hand.

“He said he’d have people find me and hurt me, Soraru.”

Anger blossoms, explosive, in his chest. Every cell in his lungs is a match head, aflame. “He won’t,” Sora says, vehement and venomous.

Mafu continues, “I started to panic after his last voicemail. I know I shouldn’t listen to them, but I can’t help it. I have to know.” His voice is weak, apologetic. “I locked myself in the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I looked so scared and helpless. I looked so....” he makes a disgusted noise. “I looked like a child, useless and reliant on his mother. I couldn’t stand it. I... I punched myself in the mirror.”

Mafu snakes his hand out of the blanket and shows Sora the damage. There’s gauze wrapped around his knuckles like boxing tape, lightly stained with blood. Below that, a large brown bandage needs changed, a red rose bud soaking through the pad. It’s not nearly as bad as the bathroom looked, and that alone makes Sora feel better.

“I’m sorry, Sora,” Mafu says. “I know I promised I would stop. I didn’t mean it, I-I just needed to ground myself! I was out of control--he’s driving me crazy. A bird flies in front of our window and I scatter like a cockroach.” Mafu clenches his fist and lays it on Sora’s leg. More red stains appear on his gauze. “I couldn’t take it--I still can’t. I had to, Sora. It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

Sora pulls Mafu up and holds him tight against his chest. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Mafu leans back, his unharmed hand on Sora’s chest so Mafu can look at him.

“No,” he promises. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Mafu. I know how hard all of this has been on you. I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re getting better still, and doing your best to do so. This is a hiccup. I’m glad you could control the situation to the extent you did. I’m glad I came home to you, alive. That’s what’s important to me. Recovery isn’t linear, and I’m so proud of you.”

“You swear?” Mafu asks, red eyes big and teary.

Sora nods. “I swear. I’m very angry at Sumuzu. No one should treat another person like this. Especially not one that I love. But, you have to know he’s full of hot air by now. He’s all threats and no action. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and it’s going to take a lot more than that... that... soulless copycat to take you away from me, Sweetheart. I promise you that.”

Mafu throws his arms around Sora, pulling him tight. The dam--full of three months’ dread and fury, helplessness and loneliness, and pure, cleansing relief--breaks. He cries with his cheek against Sora’s shoulder, ugly and too-hard. He can’t control this, either, and it’s freeing. The catharsis of falling apart in the place you’re the safest is unlike anything in the world.

Sora kisses his head, tender. He rests his cheek against the back of Mafu’s head and speaks softly. “I’ve got you,” and “I’m here, now,” and “I won’t let anything happen to you,” and “Let it out,” and “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” and “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When there’s nothing left inside of Mafumafu but the calm, he leans back up and wipes his face. He looks up at Sora and smiles. “Thanks,” he says, almost embarrassed. “I needed that.”

Sora runs a hand through Mafu’s pretty hair. “Feel better?” “Much,” he agrees. He pauses. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sora says with a shrug.

Mafu smiles. “I’ve been so nauseous-anxious for the last couple days, I haven’t really eaten.”

Sora’s eyes are the size of tea plates. “Mafu!” He peels the blankets off of his boyfriend. “Get to the kitchen! Go!” He pulls Mafu off the bed by the uninjured hand. “What do you want?”

“Something spicy?” he asks, playful.

Sora makes a disgruntled noise. “I said I thought you were doing better!”

Mafu laughs, following Sora into the kitchen.

#hangman's comissions #mafu im comin home #part i #soramafu #utaite fic #thank you for commissioning sweetie!

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quirkykayleetam · 4 years

Text

Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer

Beth knew something was wrong as soon as Jay didn’t walk through the doors of their apartment building at exactly 5:37 pm.

She imagined what always happened at time, what should have been happening then: Jay would check their mail, draining the last drops of soda from a Grape Crush can. Condensing the aluminum, they would smile to themselves and deftly toss the can into the recycling bin while humming a wordless tune. They would switch their mail to their left hand before heading up the stairs to knock on Beth’s door and tell her the stock market index. Beth didn’t know why Jay did this. To her knowledge, neither of them owned stocks, but it made Jay feel better, so Beth always smiled and wished them well.

That was their routine. That was safe. This emptiness was not.

“Calm down,” Beth muttered to herself, sipping herbal tea from a hideously orange discount mug. “The kid could have a night out with friends. (On a Thursday?) They could work late. (Despite their painstaking precision) They could...have a date?”

Beth shouldn’t be worried about them. Not when they were just a few minutes late.

But then Jay didn’t show up to the apartment’s lounge the next morning to help Beth with her crossword puzzle. They didn’t tease her about ignoring the Sudoku or make faces at her mug of tea. Beth grit her teeth and shut her eyes. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to act, to do something, to try to right this wrong in the world.

“What’s the name?”

“Jay. Well, technically Jonathan Anthony Young. Junior. Their dad died a few years ago and they’ve gone by Jay ever since.”

Beth knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. The police station made her nervous and the cop behind the desk just wouldn’t seem to listen.

“Age?”

“26. Maybe 27? They don’t talk about their birthday much because they hate being the center of attention and never want folks to make a fuss.”

“And you are?”

“Their neighbor.”

“Just a neighbor?”

“A friend.”

Beth squeezed her hands together. She needed more caffeine.

“Look, are you sure he didn’t just go out of town for a few days without telling you? I mean, it’s not like you’re family,” the cop said, fake sympathy dripping from her voice.

That was it. Beth had had enough. She slammed her shaking hands down on the desk in front of her.

“Look, the kid has OCD, okay? They don’t break their routines, not for anything or anyone. So when I say Jay didn’t meet me for tea and crosswords this morning I’m not saying that I miss them. I’m saying that they’re MISSING. If you don’t let me file a Missing Person’s report whatever happens to them is on you.”

***

72 hours.

Beth cursed under her breath as she left the precinct. 72 hours before the police would do anything. 72 hours before anyone else would even care. Beth tried to hold out half a hope that Jay’s fancy-pants computer job would notice when he didn’t show up in the morning, but she was too angry to think straight.

Jay was in trouble and she couldn’t help him. All she could do was wait.

Months passed. Beth had never felt more useless. Somedays her godawful mugs were filled with more whiskey than tea.

Then there was a knock on her door in 342 B.

“Elizabeth Martinez?”

The man in the suit eyed Beth warily, but remained professional. Whoever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t an overweight 38-year-old secretary. His hands were full of papers and he was backed by stiff security guards.

Beth straightened her posture. She wouldn’t intimidated without a damn good reason.

“Yes,” she said, parking her body in the middle of her door.

“You were listed by Morgan Security as Jay’s emergency contact.”

The words almost made her knees buckle.

“What happened? Did you find him? Is he..?”

“He’s alive.”

Beth breath wooshed out of her in a rush. She felt something like relief for the first time in months and it terrified her.

“We’d like to discuss the details,” the suited man continued. “May we come in.”

Beth stepped back from the door.

***

Torture.

Beth’s hands gripped her mouth and her chest as they told her. Jay had been TORTURED. Apparently they’d held up well, hadn’t given up anything. Beth couldn’t care less about that. She just wanted to spare him that pain. That agony. Jay was just a kid. They didn’t deserve…

She shook her head and turned back to the conversation. That train of thought would take her nowhere. She couldn’t help Jay then, but she could as hell help them now.

Morgan Security didn’t want this to go public. Their clients’ trust in their company was paramount. The business didn’t want it shaken by a scandal like this. They offered to pay for all of Jay’s medical bills, rent for a house out of the city, a generous stipend for Beth so she could take care of Jay full time.

Remuneration, they called it. Thanks for Jay’s hard work and loyalty.

Beth called it Hush Money.

She still signed on the dotted line.

“Jay’s mother?” She demanded before the deal was done.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s sick. Lives in a psych ward at Felicity General. Jay always spent a considerable amount of their salary to keep her cared for and comfortable.”

“Certainly,” the suit said. “We can continue those arrangements.”

“Good. Now when can I see Jay?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Beth squared her gaze and prepared for a fight.

“Jay’s parents are out of the picture. Their father is dead and their mother can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw. What do you want to bet that Jay put me down as primary carer on his medical forms too? Wait, I bet you already know that. So if you want to try to stop me from tracking that kid down and ramming 12 lawsuits down your throat, be my guest. I think it would be easier if you took me to him. Now.”

The suit straighten his tie and cleared his throat. He nodded.

Beth grabbed her purse to follow him out the door when she heard a soft murmur from the security guard behind her.

“All this trouble for one broken computer tech…”

Before she knew it, Beth was at the man’s throat, finger pointed firmly at his nose.

“You will never call Jay broken again, you hear me? They may be hurt. Hell, they may be hurting for the rest of their life. But they are a person, not a thing you can toss on the ground and just leave. They gave everything for you and even if they didn’t, they would still deserve your respect.”

She spit in the guard’s face. No one else moved.

“Now come with me,” she said darkly. “I’ve got a job for you.”

***

A flurry of activity met Beth and the suit as they walked into Jay’s spacious hospital room. Guards were stationed at every entrance. Beth wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make Jay feel safe or to protect Morgan Security’s investment.

“What’s wrong?” the suit said.

“Jay’s asking again,” said a nearby nurse, walking by with a used IV. “We’ve tried telling them that the operation took 8 hours or that they slept on and off for 3 days. They’re still agitated. We don’t want to sedate them until after the doctor has examined their ribs.”

Beth breezed passed the conversation until her eyes found the hospital bed. Immediately, her hands went to her mouth and chest again.

Jay was hardly recognizable. Even at 6’2,’’ they looked small. Starvation had withered them down to a bean pole. The parts of their skin that was visible above the blankets was purpled with bruises that seemed to sink into their body like they were still being beaten. Their hands were suspended above them, encased in white plaster casts with splints everywhere that Beth could see.

Jay was clearly exhausted and disoriented. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed in the wildness within. They thrashed against their restraints, trying to meet the gaze of everyone around them.

“How long?” they asked, voice cracking. “How long?”

“7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” Beth said loudly. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. She kept her eyes planted firmly on Jay’s.

“You’ve been gone for 7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” she continued, motioning the security guard she accosted in her apartment to bring over a formidable cardboard box. “And we noticed, Jay. We missed you every second. We would never let you fade away.”

The patient’s struggling ceased. Jay looked back at Beth, still lost.

She went to the box and lifted newspaper after newspaper out of it, bringing all she could hold in her arms to Jay’s bedside. She held them up one by one so Jay could see the dates, the tangible proof that time existed outside of whatever cell he was held in, proof that they were out of there and that this, this was real.

“That’s today’s date, Jay-bird. That’s the date you are free.”

Jay, however, just kept scanning the page until he found the Sunday crossword.

“You didn’t do it,” they whispered.

“Of course not. I didn’t do any of them.” Beth said, gesturing to the box of papers. “I couldn’t. Not...not without you.”

She brushed curly blond hair back from Jay’s forehead as it tightened into a frown.

“But, I can’t...I can’t help you,” Jay said miserably, gesturing with his head at his splintered hands.

“Pfft, as if I ever let you write on my crosswords anyway!” Beth said gently. “Now will you settle down and let these doctors do their job? I don’t know about you, but I need a nap. Then you can help me with 12 down. It’s a stumper.”

For the first time sense the Faceless Men jumped them, Jay smiled. They settled back against the pillows, fading quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

@dragonyoudownwithme requested Anger Born of Worry. I’m pretty darn sure this counts!

I really wanted you all to meet Beth and (hopefully) love her like I do. Please let me know what you think!!!

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!): @stoic-whumpee, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @0idril0, @fallingstormphoenix, @whump-fantasies, @imagination1reality0, @whumpback-wail, @whump-tr0pes, @untilthepainstarts, @captivity-whump

#Whump #Hurt/Comfort #Broken Pieces #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Anger Born of Worry #Original Characters #Beth #Jay #quirkykayleetam writes #Hospitalization #Broken Bones #Aftermath

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lilacmoon83 · 4 years

Text

Swan

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 5: Found

It had been months since they had awakened and disappeared. Months and she was still livid. They had likely moved around enough or were in a smaller community so the feelers she had put out to law enforcement agencies seemed all but useless. She wasn't surprised though. She had been vague in her information, because she didn't want outside law enforcement attention on Storybrooke.

Instead, she had decided to hire a bounty hunter to track them down. A person such as this could be paid for discretion and was more likely to do something shady for the right price. She was getting impatient, but little did she know, her waiting was about to pay off. Her phone rang that afternoon, just as she was coming out of the diner.

"Hello?" she answered.

"I've found them...what do you want me to do?" he asked. She smirked.

"Bring them to Maine...the coordinates we discussed. And do not underestimate them...they are far more formidable than they seem," she warned.

"I'll contact you again when I'm close," the male voice said, as she hung up the phone and smirked.

"I'm going to get my revenge after all,"

~*~

A few months had passed and summer had come and gone. It had honestly been one of the best times in her life and she knew it was the same for her husband and their children. In addition to making sure David had the documents he needed to function in this strange world, they had obtained papers that could be filed with the schools that would hold up legally and showed that Emma and August were their children. They technically were forgeries, but Emma really was theirs and if they could have legally adopted August without all the questions, they would have. But for their little family, this was good enough and would allow them to still fly under the radar, so to speak.

They had a wonderful summer together and she spent a lot of time with their kids, while picking up a part time job at a coffee shop while school was out. David was doing well at his job too and they were so happy and finally raising their daughter together and with the addition of a son that they adored.

That's why tonight was doubly special. Not only were they going to celebrate Emma's eleventh birthday...she planned to tell them that they would soon be adding one more to their family. She was so excited and she knew David would be too. She just hoped that Emma took it well. She was scared that she would react badly since she had a foster family that sent her back when they were going to have their own baby.

She still couldn't get her mind around how anyone could do such a thing. She couldn't imagine giving up a child, unless she was forced to in order to save her child's life, as she had been forced to do with Emma. She hoped she never met those people that threw her daughter away, because she had some very unkind words for them.

She had stopped at the grocery store to get stuff to make Emma a birthday cake and now she was on her way up to the apartment. David would be home soon and she could finally tell him her surprise. It was practically bursting from her and the thoughts of raising a baby with him alongside Emma and August was a dream come true.

She unlocked the door and slipped inside.

"Emma?" she called, but received silence, which was very odd.

"Auggie?" she called and then saw the top of someone's head sitting in the chair. Dread filled her, as the chair turned and revealed a man sitting there, armed with a gun.

"Welcome home, Miss Blanchard," he drawled

"Who are you? And where are my children?" she demanded to know. Little did she know, David was hearing everything through the door and kept his presence concealed.

"Your children are in the bedroom and I've already called social services. They're on their way and I've told them everything. The Police will be here to arrest you and your husband for abandoning your child in the woods," Regina said, as she emerged from the bedroom. David's blood ran cold and he quickly ran out of the building, before climbing up the fire escape. He knocked on the window and August scrambled to let him in.

"You know what we talked about. You need to take Emma and run to our safe place. Snow and I'll meet you there when we can," he whispered.

"Daddy...I don't want to leave you," Emma sniffed.

"I know princess...I don't want to leave you either. Mommy and I'll find you, I promise," he said, as he kissed her forehead.

"Go…" he urged," as he saw them out through the window and picked up a baseball bat that he had hidden in Emma's room. He approached the closed door and waited for the right moment to make his move.

"The police will arrest you and David, your children, most importantly your daughter, will be lost in the foster system, and my curse will be secure," Regina said.

"I know you hate us...but how can you be so cruel to Emma? You know we didn't abandon her!" Snow cried.

"Oh yes, I know...that's just where she came through, but that's not exactly going to be convincing to the legal system in this land," Regina replied.

"Please...Emma needs us. We don't care about breaking the curse...we just want to be a family. That's why we left," Snow pleaded with her.

"No...you don't get to be happy! Not if I can help it," Regina hissed, as they heard a noise from the bedroom.

"See what they're doing," Regina ordered the bounty hunter.

"Who is he?" Snow asked.

"Just someone that's been paid to do a job," Regina replied, as the bounty hunter unlocked the bedroom door and was surprised to see a man in the doorway, waiting for him. He aimed his gun, but David him him with the bat and tackled him to the floor and the gun went flying. Snow scrambled for the gun, but Regina got to it first and pointed it at her.

"I'd stop where you are, Charming...or I shoot her," Regina warned. David froze, but then surprised her by shoving the bounty hunter directly at her. It startled her so much that the gun went off and the man took a bullet to the head. Snow gasped in surprise and covered her mouth in horror, as a pool of blood slowly leaked onto the floor beneath his body. Regina looked at the gun in her hand in horror and realized there was nothing she could say that would convince the police that this had been an accident.

"Looks like the police might have bigger fish to fry now," David said, as he grabbed Snow's hand and led her to the bedroom where their kids had escaped.

"Wait!" Regina called, as she pointed the gun at them.

"You're not leaving me here to go to prison!" she hissed.

"Oh you mean like you were going to do to us and throw our children back into the foster system?!" David roared. Regina looked at them and the gun, as she heard the sirens. She tossed the gun away.

"Then a truce...none of us goes to jail, assuming you can get us out of here," she said. Snow and David exchanged a glance and he tried to resist Snow's pleading stare.

"She'll stab us in the back the first chance she gets," he whispered to her.

"Probably...but we'll keep an eye on her and she's at our mercy. Her fingerprints are all over that gun and she's already made the mistake of making contact with the police," she whispered back. He sighed.

"I hope you're right…" he said.

"Fine...you better be able to keep up," David said, as they climbed down the fire escape and hurried to the truck.

"This is what we're escaping in?" Regina complained.

"Would you like to walk?" David snapped, as they got in and she reluctantly did as well.

"You couldn't just leave us alone, could you!?" David snapped, as they sped away.

"Oh, so you could come back with Emma years from now and break my curse?" she questioned.

"Yeah…I guess I should have known you'd find a way to come after us. Ripping apart families is what you do best," he spat.

"Spare me the lectures, Charming," she retorted, as he turned onto a gravel road and headed out of town.

"Where are we going?" she demanded to know.

"A safe place," Snow said quietly, as she cuddled against her husband, while he drove them away and she prayed their children had gotten away too.

~*~

Emma sniffed, as August pulled her along through the woods.

"Come on Emmy...it's not much further," he promised.

"What if Mommy and Daddy don't make it?" she whimpered.

"They will...they'll always find you," he promised, as they saw a light ahead and ran to the cabin at the mouth of the dirt path. It was well hidden and seemed to have all the modern comforts if the generator outside was anything to go by. August knocked on the door and a blonde woman answered with a small smile.

"You must be August and Emma," she said, as a dark haired girl peered out from behind her legs. She ushered the children inside and closed the door.

"Go on...get warm by the fire," she urged, as they sat by it.

"Lily...go get our guests a couple of blankets from the linen closet," the woman said.

"Are you really Maleficent?" August questioned.

"I am," she confirmed.

"I assume you're only here, because there is trouble," she said, as Lily returned with blankets and handed one to Emma.

"Thanks," she squeaked.

"It's Regina," August revealed. Mal frowned.

"She's here?" the blonde asked. He nodded.

"What do we do if they don't get away?" August asked, with trepidation in his voice.

"I'm not sure...but we must have hope," she replied.

"Hope...that's what mommy would say," Emma chimed in. Maleficent smiled.

"Well...your mommy and I didn't always see eye to eye. In fact, they almost wronged me very badly once. Instead...they helped me escape so I could raise my daughter. They were supposed to escape through the portal too...but they didn't make it through," she explained, as she stroked Lily's hair.

"They gave up their chance for us and now I will do what I can to help them," she promised, looking at Emma, who was trying not to cry.

"Regina told the cops that they're the ones that abandoned Emma in the woods eleven years ago. By now, they probably called the Maine precinct and now Snow and David are wanted," August warned.

"Dammit...well, then I was right to call someone with a few more resources than me. I just hope she comes through," Mal said.

"Do you trust this person?" August asked.

"No...but we don't have much choice. She has money," Mal replied, as the door burst open, revealing Snow and David.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Emma cried, as David scooped her up and they hugged her between them, both kissing her head. David pulled August into the family hug too and they looked at Mal.

"Mal…" a voice said and the color drained from the blonde's face.

"You brought her with you!?" she cried in alarm.

"Things went badly and now she's wanted too. For murder," David replied. Mal smirked.

"Which means she desperately has to rely on us," Mal said, as Regina looked very surprised to see her.

"Mal...how are you here?" she asked.

"I escaped your curse, thanks to Snow and David. They almost did me wrong...but came to their senses. I don't blame them for their momentary lapse in judgement. They were scared for their daughter, as was I," she replied.

"And we would have escaped with you if it hadn't been for that psychotic puppy killer," David said.

"Oh...did you miss me, dahling?" another voice said from the doorway.

"Oh hell…" he said, as a visible shiver went down his spine.

"What the hell is she doing here!?" Snow demanded to know.

"I had no choice...she has money and resources that I don't have," Mal replied.

"Besides...it looks like we both invited some unwanted company," she added, looking at Regina.

"Well...if this isn't a wonderful reunion," Cruella said, as she strode into the cabin and wrinkled her nose.

"Dahling...please tell me this isn't where you're living?" she asked.

"You may have been willing to marry some old codger for money, Cru...but some of us have dignity," Mal retorted.

"Yes...it's no picnic, but mummy has certain living standards. If only the rich ones looked like him...hello dahling," she purred, as she tried to trace a finger along his handsome face. But he batted it away and then hid behind Snow.

"Try to touch him again and I'll cut your bony finger off," the raven haired beauty warned.

"Why did you call her? She's insane...and the reason we didn't get through the portal," David said.

"I know...but like I said, she has money and resources. Meanwhile, you brought the murder Queen with you," Mal retorted.

"People please...fighting gets us nowhere," Ursula interjected, as she appeared in the doorway and shared a hug with Mal.

"Okay...since everyone is here now, I hope," Snow said.

"We need to figure out what to do now," she continued.

"And what to do with her," Mal added, as they looked at Regina. To say the situation was complicated would be an understatement, but for the time being, the cabin would be safe long enough for them to figure out the next move.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #feat young emma #and young August #Regina Mills #Awake AU #6x17 AU #romance #adventure #family #Swan

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dememarquette · 4 years

Text

Stockholm

It has been a rough year. Complete Hell, actually, but we made it. We're home. Home. 2018, where the leaves are turning red, cable can be paused, and our old record shop exhausted itself into extinction.

That's all I needed. After death, my standards dropped through the concrete. I found gratification in the mundane. I appreciated the small things. I enjoyed the understated conversations, the intimate ones, the quiet. Just- Any time absent of violence. Pain. When I didn't have to worry about the orders being screamed at us, or the anxiety living under the heel of someone much bigger and nastier. Was it a lot to ask? Generally, no. Following a thwarted attempt at societal collapse? Maybe. We made it back half a year ago. That was six months on the run. We were fugitives. 'War criminals.' We avoided trouble by bouncing back and forth from Hell, running missions, training, and staying on the move while ensuring Buné's new order- Point is, I've been exhausted. I leaned against our apartment. I lost track of what city we're in but when you're anarchists of the divine, it stopped mattering. I didn't want to think about it. I didn’t want to think at all. I let my world fall into serenity and I took peace in as cars passed. I felt the breeze on my skin, the procession of life outside the damned. There was normalcy in the city. I offered smiles to the pedestrians that walked by. I reminded them of a preacher, the charismatic one they used to watch every Thursday night. I obviously wasn't the same guy. I was a disheveled, sadder version, but some smiled back- Before a loud crash sent them running. "Son of a BITCH." Metal clanged against stone. One girl dropped her umbrella. She ran. Her rubber boots beat the pavement until she turned a corner, a block away. "Mother. Fucker. LIED." Adria kneed a recycling bin. "I should have known this would happen. It was too fucking easy." "Too easy...?" "No one gets promoted that quick! Doesn't MATTER if you do all his dirty work," The bin split. "Start an apocalypse," Glass shattered. Garbage blasted down the asphalt. "Beat the new guys in!" I had no idea what part of the last few months had been anything short of excruciating. I just knew better to argue. I picked up the discarded umbrella, shaking off the puddle. "Is it off the table, then?" I asked, spinning it. "Obviously not! I'm up here aren't I?" "Why, then?" She violently bucked her leg. A tenacious grocery bag that clung to her boot. "He wants another job! Another fucking errand before I can prove myself, get OFF! Stupid-!!" She dislodged it, but not without throwing out her calf. The cops would be here in fifteen minutes. In twenty, she would be destroying our wall instead. We weren’t getting that security deposit back. "I thought that's what Glenshollow was." I shuttered the umbrella's canopy closed. Peace was over. "Proving yourself." "Yeah well, it wasn't enough!" "'course it wasn't." It never would be. There was always more hoops, more grunt work. She punched a trash can into the street. It launched past me, aluminum warped. When her fist whipped back around, it specked the wall, corrosively leaving hissing black holes in the brick like the spray of a Tommy. "One more." She huffed. "Just- one more. He says I'm close." "When you're immortal everything is close. What if he never promotes you? What if he is a liar, like he's always been?" "Shut up." My brows furrowed. "Adria. What's the point in trusting him if-" "Shut up. This was the limit. I knew it. There was no reasoning with her. She glared, shoulders heaving with a finality saying I was a much more satisfying target than a garbage bin. I let it drop. I receded to the street in silence. Back against the wall, I stood at my post: Protecting the outside world from Adria. - - - The attack on Delgado yielded over 200 casualties. Months of preparation amounted to a twelve hour skirmish. Powers above squashed the epidemic in no time. It was an incursion controlled by dinner yet the effects rippled through the decades. History was made. It was covered up, then made again, but Buné never cared about petty tragedies and coverage above the surface. He cared about what happened after. It was a victory, not a failure. Overnight, his army doubled. They arrived onto his doorstep in droves. Marked. Branded by their wrath, the shambling husks were primed soldiers. Their consciousness’ were forever crippled into malleable potential Buné can use. Due to her stellar efforts, Adria earned respect, boons, and prestige. Just not the title. Her notoriety made her optimal for missions back in the present. He turned a blind eye to her angelic compatriot, and gave her a team. None of whom she cared for, but she thought maybe her parade of volatile dumbasses was a start to prime her for the big leagues. It wasn't. 'Lieutenant' was a bar being raised higher, and Adria's patience was burning out. Having a team didn't mean jackshit if she was still at the bottom. There was no repose to be had under someone else. While I also yearned for a delusionally quiet life- It just wasn't feasible. Details arrived the following morning. "What is this?" I wandered into the kitchen to find Adria pouring over blueprints. They were three feet by one thin drafts of paper, and full of intricate blocks with barely legible text. I'm by no means an architect or mechanic, but ‘boat’ was a safe bet. She was sitting there, nails knotted in her bangs, reviewing them like she had any idea of what they meant. "His assignment." "And this is what will supposedly get you promoted?" I said, skeptically. "It better." 'Or else what?' I wanted to ask. "And this is supposed to be harder than zombies?" "It's not supposed to be harder. It's finishing what we started." "How does that make sense?" I said, picking at another sheet. I didn't trust our 'team' to go get milk without fucking up, much less a heist? "I do what I'm told so I can get out of this shithole." While I intended to correct her on the ‘we’ situation, of that we could agree on. No matter how far this rabbit hole goes, I was sure there was something to be found at the end of it. Call me an opportunist. I hopped onto the counter. Tilting my head, I realized if you removed the claws, fangs, subterfuge, this felt familiar. I imagined a kitchen. Countertops crowded claustrophobically with congratulations and community love. A bare room that felt like bustling potential and a new lease on life rather than a pit stop. I scooched closer, crossing my legs to wedge between an imaginary dinette set and unpacked vacuum- She knew me by now. Too well. I could see it when her shoulders tense, her eyes snap to meet mine. ’Don’t-’ All that mattered was that her subconscious beat her to it. “So if you're promoted soon…” I rehearsed. “How are we going to celebrate?" Finding no room there, he crossed his legs instead. She was unpacking a mess. An obstacle course of bins, stacked impossibly high. There was no space except the marble. Adria had a hard time throwing anything vaguely sentimental out, and the collective town of Ashwater sent her off with enough supplies to stock a bunker. In lieu of helping (as he had invited himself over to do) he read over her acceptance letter to the Modena Police Academy three times over. He had the message memorized, and its creases too. The edges were folded from her happy dance, and the text smeared from her tears. How many Shakespearean ways could he recite it to her? How many ways could he decree her new title? The answer was a lot. But when that stopped being fun, he asked. "Soooo with this new promotion.” He slid closer. “How are we celebrating?" This came after a mandatory lunch. 5 box milestone. 15 minute break, then a ten. Finally dinner, and now a catch-all celebration. She looked up at him grinning, arms full of silverware. She was hopelessly behind, and would’ve had the place done at noon on her own, but what could she say? "How about we celebrate by...unpacking the kitchen?" "C'mon dep- oops." "Detective." “Detective Kyriakoulopoulos.” He waggled his brows. “It’s time to party! One does not become the most esteemed detective of the wild, formidable city of Modena every day.” "Not yet!" She swiped the letter. Before he could protest- talking with his hands, like he always did- she grabbed them, effectively silencing him. He was pulled to the floor, where his strategy switched. He hooked both arms around her waist, pulling her in. She’d weakly protest. "Come on,” She said, not fighting it. “I need to make it look like I got something done. My family is coming over tomorrow." "And they're going to be real disappointed if they don't have anything to unpack.” He grinned. “Think of Basil and Elyse, all bored. They want to help." “And you don’t?” "...Champagne?" When she came to I was off the counter. It'd been days since her last episode. Weeks. So few and far between, on days where she was kicking some guy’s teeth in, I worried they were gone for good. But she blinked. I held my breath for the fallout. Only she saw these memories, but I felt them. I lived in them every time her eyes went dark, when her lips twitched, and I knew she was following the subtitles. In those quiet moments where the pit of venom in her heart receded, Adria crawled back from her grave. Always in painfully brief snapshots, but she was there. These were the tick on her EKG, the surge in hope telling me she was still alive, under all the cruelty and malice. She didn’t receive them as well. She never did. They hit like a jackhammer. No matter how light, they weren’t her life, they were fake, and she didn’t give a shit about them. Getting as worked up as I did was a small betrayal but one I couldn’t resist. She hated me for it- But still. She was quick to tell me how useless I was when she didn’t oblige. How I would mope for weeks if she couldn’t recite this ‘stupid fantasy’ back. It was the only thing I had, despite promises I’d made to the contrary. We never said it, but we both knew. "What did you see?" I asked, breathless. She dug the heel of her palm into her eye socket, burrowing into it like she’d scrape it off her retinas. “No.” She growled, low. "Adria..." I begged. “NO, Demetrius.” She snatched the blueprints. “I don't have any time for this shit today! I have work to do." “Please.” "Mission. First. Are you going to come with me or not?" The answer was a given. - - - Under the cover of night, we hit the docks. I wasn't given the specifics. That wasn't to imply they did, because they didn't. Wrath demons maximized their shadiness. We never had any idea what we were walking into because Buné expected us to handle it- especially his aspiring lieutenants. There was no hand holding. We had a location, a number, and a time limit. Be a good soldier, and that's all there was to it. Adria corralled us to a neighboring container ship. The ship Buné marked- The Sandfly, an antiquated naval cruiser- bobbed beside us. We were to board, grab our shit, and leave. Casualties didn’t matter. Fifth didn’t care about getting dirty if you had something to show for it. Even so, sneaking past enemy lines didn’t mean a thing when there was friendly fire. She and her ‘team’ had been trading blows the whole way here. One lost a tooth, another revived an ancient blood feud, and a third tried for Adria’s head in a manner that was custom. He was promptly put down. "ENOUGH," Adria slammed him into a metal wall. Spines chipped on impact, and the wall buckled. It wasn’t the first time she cracked a bone on her own soldiers, and she never laid hands on them without leaving something to remember. His wound audibly sizzled and but it was so routine no one revelled in the example. "ALL of you are idiots, but if you want to live, get your shit together NOW. Buné does not care about you stupid peons, and I don’t even remember your names! Do you understand? You're fucking expendable." Three grumbled reluctant acceptance. The forth hissed from the ground. Her patience was thinner than mine. I stood idly by, impassive to the petty demon squabbles. They tended not to mess with me. Not seriously, anyways. They didn't care for me being here. I couldn’t escape errant comments but I never cared about hecklers. Adria abraded anyone who tried harder, and operating under her coriaceous wing meant I learned how to defend myself. Procedural power-grabs out of the way, we moved as a group to board. Those with the spare limbs to do so glided to the bridge with no problem. I needed the extra help- not without snide remarks but Adria shut them up with a heel through their feet. We convened on the other side, up to five injuries before mission start. "I go in first.” She debriefed after egos were bruised, and rebellious spirits squashed. “On my command you will join, one at a time! Any sooner I'll kick your ass back down to Hell. I want us in and out, no showboating. Understood?!" "Yes." They said. No one was ignorant of how important this mission was to her career. She told me on the way here she’d bury anyone who stood in the way. But I was the one interrupting this time. "No-" I said. "Wait." I held a hand to the wall. Nonsensically I felt comfort since boarding- and not because Adria held me by the waist to fly me over. I felt warmth. A metaphysical type. One that replaced the ever-present rotting in my chest I've come to associate with Adria (it’s an acquired taste, psychologists would claim). Whatever this ship was emitting- this cloying homesickness- couldn't be good. My disruption was met with the usual scorn. Special privileges meant I could speak out when others got a boot to the face. She took any input from me during these missions seriously. For reasons that were obvious- I didn't talk much otherwise. "What?" I moved my palm with the wave of energy. The feeling persisted down the entry hatch, and upward, as if part of the ventilation. “Let me go in first. I think it's a trap.” "Of course it's a trap. What else would it be?" The other demoness on our team spat. "Since when is your pet calling the shots?!" "He's going to get us killed." It wasn't unusual for members of her meathead party to be disgusted when I said anything. Perks of sleeping with the boss; I had seniority, even if it didn't align with their thug rules. One bland look and she threw out their objections. "Back off!” She snarled, slapping them behind her.“He's going first." "But-" "No arguing!!" I dipped inside. Their fragile hierarchy devolved into fighting. Stealth was never part of their operation but Adria had been in the game long enough to hold off all four. I padded down the corridor, unconcerned, and tracing the path. The ship was a relic of the past. The whole thing was corroded ceiling to floor, suffering a carmine splattering of rust. Stairs were welded grates, and the doors were embedded with port holes too scratched to see through. It was an asbestos goldmine but I wasn't looking for the ways it'd kill a person. Where the heat ended, the nauseating rot of corruption was back, even if I knew our team was far behind outside. Demons. "-Two of them are in." A radio transponder scratched. Sound feed bounced off the metallic halls. Luckily, I'd been quiet. "She's not." "What's she doing?" Said the room's inhabitant. "Standing guard?" I slid around the door frame. His back was to me. He flicked a lighter in his hand, reclined all the way back in a dubious office chair. On, and off went the flame, prompting me to look above. What I was feeling above was the sprinkler system- conveniently blocked in this room. As tempted as I was to trip a holy water shower, knowing she'd be safe, I knew better. "Yeah." Said the radio. "Seems like it." “She's not one to be a pussy.” "Well she is tonight!" "Maybe she needs encouragement.” He hunched over the command station. It wasn’t modern enough to be outfitted with anything more than ham radio and inscrutable dials. I approached from the behind. I wasn't armed. I never carried anything on me because I never came on these missions to do anything but protect Adria. Anything that could truly hurt her was beyond a pistol or rusty shank. “Shake down one of her lackies, make it real loud. She'll come running." "While you're in there and I'm out here?" The conspirator barked a laugh that crossed the feed like a spike in static. "Hell no. She isn’t known for her patience. Give her time." I wasn't going to. I gripped the back of his chair. Using all 150 pounds to my name, I tipped it. It's wheels spun out from under him. He crashed into the floor, the collision ringing out like gun fire. I took advantage of his momentary disorientation to stomp on his wrist. "What was that?" The disarmed radio chirped, fuzzy. "Was that them? Are they in?" It earned a good kick under the desk. Volume whirred as it spun, revolving on the tile, but safely dispatched. By the time I turned to him, he'd gotten to his feet and was bracing for me. Rigorous training meant I knew how- in theory- to respond to hand-to-hand combat. I was no natural. I didn't have the years of combat these guys did. I didn't have to fight my way out of a sewage pit to survive. I had the eye for one move at a time, not chains. I thoroughly leaned on what she taught me. Eye which foot was forward, recognize where he was putting his weight, while minding my own. So while I was able to lean away from the first hook he threw my way, that's where my advantage expired. The second his fist whirred through the air past me, his leg compensated for the dodge and lobbed the office chair into my knees. No matter the power behind it, in our cramped space with plush seating, that move was good for nothing except bruised knees. She taught me to be skeptical- so as I stumbled awkwardly back, my hands flew up to my face. He hopped the chair. Feinting for another hook, his opposite hand drove heavy punch to my gut. The small, obstacle-ridden area did not give him much of a charging period for momentum but he wasn’t exactly lanky or baby-soft. It hurt- God, it hurt- but pain meant a lot less when you could habitually heal faster than the damned. My block fell to latch onto his forearms. I grabbed him before I could go down. I was winded but he was wailing. I fired them up- I pumped wave after wave of bright energy into his forearms, clinging for dear life. Contrary to the way I set this fight up, I have nothing flashy. Months under her tutelage taught me none of her instinctual killer moves, technique, or style. Maybe for a lack of trying but this was it. My God-given and only finisher- it never failed me before. Why would I stop now? My ribs just stopped aching when he bucked. He took three solid jerks to try to rip my arms out my sockets. All failed when I kicked at knees, and hung off his arms like my next kick was going for his gut. It didn't- he'd drop me, and Adria swore that loss of balance is deadly. Instead I bowed and jumped, headbutting for his jaw. He tucked his head to protect his throat. I got his nose instead, but noted from pitch of the swear, I was doing a whole lot more damage from the arms. I seeked to remedy that. Before I could go for another, he dissolved the height difference and dropped. He twisted- twirling under my arms like a grade school dance. Just when my arms were at the apex (having never let go- his arms were gruesomely soggy in my grip) he jutted up. I arched across his back, then over his shoulder, into the air, and then on the floor. I crashed into the ground dazed, lifting my head just in time for his spined tail to pull a filing cabinet drawer into my temple. It was a miracle I stayed conscious. The collision whited out my vision. Pain lanced through my brain like an electric volt, my head humming. But I didn't need to see him when I could feel him. Those senses worked on another level. I blindly reached out. I found his leg, one hand after the other. Forgoing healing, I devoted every spare bit of Holy power into a lateral pull-up that caved his calf between my fingers. The splitting headache motivated me beyond precedent. His flesh squished, bowing with the pressure fingers exerted like memory foam that didn't bounce back. He collapsed. The muscle was rendered useless, and his cry was ear-shattering through the cellar, and the only thing that pierced the intense ringing in my skull. The lighter fell out of his opposite hand. I swatted that under the desk, too, to join the radio paging frantically for updates. They were right; she would come running when she heard us. I felt her now. "You were going to kill her." I pulled myself to a slouch, hand slipping on the rustle of papers and demon grease of my palms. “You were going to kill her.” He was emerging blearily through the spots in my vision. His hands hovered over his disabled calf, unable to tend to it after I shaped it into an apple core. "What do you care?” He half-cried. “For fuck's sakes, you're the fucking laughing stock of the whole circle. The bitch calls you her pet-" She did that in front of me. "She thinks you're wrapped around her finger!" And she does. Glow from my hands reached my elbows, reflecting in his inverted eyes like cataracts. "Remind me why you care about our relationship?” "Relationship? Is that what you call it?" His leg wobbled. While one arm reached for leverage, the other was after something in his back-pocket. "She's using you. She doesn't love you." She says that to keep up appearances. I followed him to his feet, unconcerned that my vision hadn't fully returned. This fight wouldn’t last much longer. "You were going to kill her." I repeated. "What happens when you fall, huh? What happens when this catches up to you and you aren't worth shit to her anymore? When she has no use for y-" My eyes flicked upward one second before her hand plunged through his neck. Knowing just the way to circumvent his spine, four fingers wiggled through the opposite end of his windpipe. Venom bubbled out his mouth before blood did. Poison seared canals through his lips. Chips of his eroded teeth landed in his lap. His body tipped. "What's with you and talking to them?" She snarled, irritated. She flicked excess onto his back. His final syllables gurgled into the tile, and my power guttered with it. "You were wasting time. You should have taken care of that!" "Sorry," I said, still. I got around to healing my temple, clearing up the humming. Just in case she had anything to refute about what she heard. She didn’t. "What's I say? No time for playing around. Let's go." - - - Shortly after taking care of the riffraff, we had the cargo. It was delivered back to Buné at once. Theoretically this was supposed to prove Adria was competent at not just societal overthrow, but leading too. I didn’t care enough to join that meeting back. I went straight home to cook dinner and mentally prepare for disappointment. When she returned, she slammed the door as per usual. I had dinner on the way, and was wrestling a can opener for dessert. She wasn’t immediately razing the town so it must’ve been good news, despite the firm set of her brow implying the contrary. “What’s the word?” I asked, confused. "My coronation is tomorrow." “...For lieutenant?”

Her promotions thus far have been unceremonious. ‘Now you don’t have to live in the mire,’ ‘Now we won’t beat the shit out of you,’ ‘Now you don’t have to work minimum wage to support a zombie apocalypse.’

"I didn't picture Buné to be one for fanfare." "Yup." "That's- that's great! Isn’t it?" "All that's left now is to get rid of everything holding me back." I frowned. She said it so cold. So sterile, and she hadn’t made eye-contact with me since she walked in. She just threw down her brass knuckles and kicked off her boots under the table.. "-Me?" She snorted. "No, not you." For the barest of seconds I felt relief. With the way fifth worked, that probably meant axing some a big cat, or turf-war over a street above ‘sea level.’ It concerned me as much as any of her new hobbies. But that relief turned to restlessness, and that restlessness to desperation now that we were both here, back in our quiet kitchen, absent of screaming and bloodshed. It was 2 AM and this time was traditionally ours. “What did you see?” I asked. “Earlier I mean.” She glared, snapping out of whatever she was daydreaming about. “You think you deserve that?” I didn’t respond. “You didn’t even take care of the scraps today. You acted like that guy was going to make you cry.” I looked back at her. Looking at her like this used to make her face fall. Back when she felt things like remorse or concern. This Adria held her ground, yielding only when dinner was going to burn. “Whatever. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” “For your coronation…?” “Yes.” She knew how I hated going to demon things. “It’s not going to be in Hell.” She elaborated, when it must’ve been apparent on my face. “Where then?” "Ashwater." I stopped, pot boiling behind me. "...What? How is that what’s holding you back? You want nothing to do with it." "Buné's orders. He wants to make sure. You coming or not?" "Of course.” I said, my conscious late to catch up. Funny how it deteriorates with disuse. “It’s not going to be a team thing, is it? “Nope. You and me. Just how you like it.” “Good.” - - - That night when she showered, I stole her phone. This was double suicide. She'd kill me if she found out, and she'd kill who I was talking to for good measure. If that happened she'd rot in Hell forever, and they would never have a chance. She'd never have a chance. I ducked outside, and shut the sliding glass door behind me. I cowered behind the curtains. Finding the number required an incognito tab. I punched the number through the cracked glass, and prayed for an answer. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon-" I beat against the balcony rail. It was several painful seconds of ringing, but at the third note, I had an answer. "Hello!" She answered, drowsy. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Margie!" I cradled the phone with both hands. "I need you to pass on a message. Now." "Huh-?" Her sleepy customer service persona dropped. In the background, a Gilmore Girls rerun muted. "Who is this? I don't understand-" "Get the Kyriakoulopoulos' out of town. I don't care how you do it. I don't care where they go. But get them out of Ashwater. All of them." "What-?" "They are in danger," I swore, wishing she could see my face. I couldn't intone the right amount of peril. Not with Adria listening one thin motel wall away. "But they're in danger if you tell. Trust me on that." "Who is this-?" "It doesn't matter." "Deme...?" She faltered, in disbelief. "Deme? Is that you?" I squeezed my eyes shut. "Just do it. Please. It's their only chance. I don't care if Theo has a gun. It won't help, not against this. It will only make things harder. This is your only warning, for the love of God listen. You're the only one who can help. I trust you." "But, this is- I?" I hung up and blocked the number. - - - The following day we made the drive out to Ashwater. I rode backseat, arms wrapped around her waist. If I had to pick any aspect of our new life to love most, it was this. The very concept of a motorcycle was terror before immortality was in the equation, but this was a way to be close. I learned to love it: it was a way to hang onto her that felt organic. Nothing at all like the way she touched me now. It was a two-hour journey that breaked thirty minutes outside Ashwater. She'd nearly toppled the bike when she jumped off. I held it in place, as she hit up a gas station. She pulled two cans from the saddlebags, and kicked the machine until it caved. It spilled gasoline over her fingers in exchange for a crumpled twenty. "What's this?" "Preparation." I lifted the glass of my helmet. "Preparation?" "Buné says I can't commit without burning some bridges." "Literally, huh." Not necessarily a novel concept in our lives. "Sort of like the hideout?" Her head whipped to me- indignant, before letting it go. Cyrus was never on the discussion table. Any proximity to the subject was too close, but whatever was on her mind disarmed the usual backlash. It gave me a little hope that this is what he meant. Lord knows I'd be more than happy to burn down an elementary school if it meant I was wrong. “Help.” “On it.” Together we straddled four full tanks on the bike. But instead of the compound, our first stop was her old police building. Their town never needed more than two people. It was no surprise when there were no cruisers out front. Cameras were new but our faces were shielded by a thick plate of black plexiglass of our helmets. They wouldn't know how to explain what they saw if they saw it. Demetri and Adria were gunned down at the corner of Lancaster and Franklin. They had a monument in their honor, maybe some ghost stories, but they have been dead for years. Dave, too. She doused the front. She sprayed their unfunded equipment with gasoline.. We watched it burn from the tool shop across the street. Kitschy knick-knacks aside, tourism didn't change the town integrally. Ashwater was asleep by ten. The fire alarm blared, but no one was around for miles. Assistance in arson was no small sacrifice but it’d been gutted of Adria from the inside out. I wondered if she realized the irony of this- burning away a past she supposedly didn't remember. “Why does Buné care about the police station?” I asked, as the front buckled. Electrical equipment I helped fund popped, shooting sparks into the flames. She crossed her arms, staring into the flames. Her expession, unreadable. Adria was never a mystery when it came to her face- I was reading too much into it. There was just nothing there. “It’s not why he cares. It’s why I care.” “You care?” “Not anymore. Come on,” She said, kicking back into gear. “Next stop.” When we moved out to Modena, we didn't leave anything behind. I wondered if she remembered her house on the edge of the property. In her false timeline, it was never hers. She hit the road as a delinquent. In reality it was probably repurposed since her move. Perhaps sold, or given to Celia when she graduated. I wasn't volunteering its existence, and she seemed to ride past it without incident. My gut rolled as we pulled up to her parent's place, though. I was right- even though I was hoping we'd detour. I'd love to burn Cyrus' shit a second time, spit on his memory. I would be just as ecstatic as she was- But she stopped out front, kicking the stand, and parked. No cars lingered in the driveway. There was the daunting possibility Melina's van was in the garage but I needed, needed, to believe Margie worked her magic. "Stop, no." I followed at her heels. My charade broke after she marched up to it in grim determination. "This isn't necessary." "'Isn't necessary'?" She jerked the gas can at the house. Three years ago we enjoyed pie and coffee on the stairs. We listened to Celia's poetry where the gasoline splattered the wood. She was spitefully through, going as far as to break a window for further access. "Those people never cared." "Then why does it matter?" I arced around her as a bodyguard of the front door. "Fuck them. Fuck them all, let's just go. You think he’ll double check a small town in the middle of nowhere? " Tension was heightening. Something snapped. She pitched the empty gas can at the porch, breaking the glass inches from my face. I flinched "SEE? This is what I'm talking about!" She stabbed a finger into my ribs, knocking me back. "This bullshit is why I couldn't get promoted! It's you! It's fucking you! You haven't learned since Mark!" "Me? You said it wasn't-" "Yes, you! You and your stupid, insane sentimentality! This fake life you’re holding onto!" "How is it- NO" She struck a match. I snatched the end in my palm, snuffing it. "Don't." She slapped my hand, grabbed my arm. Bending it in a way it didn’t belong, she slammed me against the door. "What's your hold up, huh?! Spill it.” She threatened. “Give it up. I don’t give a shit about any of this- why do you!" I squirmed. How do I explain? It’s the one thing that’ll bring her back. It’s the last enduring piece of her life that’ll exorcise this monster she’s become. "They cared.” I kept my hands up, placating. "I know you don't want to hear it but they did. J-just go inside. Once. I can see it from the mantle-" I'd burn my whole arm if I had to, I'd throw myself into the fire to spare it. "You'll see the pictures- you don't even go that far ! The halls are covered, Adria. Covered. They have a shrine for you. Remember the school play-? Tree number four? That's how I knew about it." "I DON’T CARE what you think you know! That isn't a thing! It's not a fucking thing, Demetrius!" God, just look to to your left. In the window, where she was smiling. She was missing teeth in a family portrait from the 90's. “LOOK-” "No." Her grip loosened. She lit another, holding it outside of my range. Her nails narrowly clipping it together. "Y-you don't even have to!" My voice cracked. In a spark of courage, I pried her claws and jumped past her. I grabbed the knob. It was locked but that barely can be considered an obstacle compared to the Hell we'd been through. I'd break a window. I'd throw my shoulder out, I'd bust the door in. I'd rob their house, dragging every knickknack onto the lawn like a fucking yard sale to get one memory out of her. Her unhappy childhood wasn't real if there was photos of her playing the recorder at six. She wasn't dead if I could prove she tripped across the stage at her high school graduation, and she wasn't a thug if Melina had clippings framed every time she made the paper thereafter, a hero in their smalltown. "I'll find them for y-" "Don't even think it," she said, icy. "You don't have to come! I'll show you. Buné doesn't have to know-" "NO," She wrenched me inches from her face. "Walking through that door means you're attached to a fucking lie. Are you?" She shook me when I didn't respond. "Are you?! Are you wasting my time?" "No!" "She's dead. You said you understood that so prove it. Prove it, Demetrius." But why are you ignoring the truth? Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you want to see? The look in her eyes said it didn’t even matter. My fingers twitched on the handle. I knew I didn't care if she lit the building with me inside if it meant I had proof. A piece of our past. Hers was a family of love, encouragement, and support that created the most perfect being I knew, but this Adria didn't understand that. Her eyes were heartless and black through the tinted glass. She didn't care if anyone was inside. She didn't check. She’d be just as quick to dismiss cold hard proof as planted evidence of my delusions. Either that, or that Adria was never something she wanted to go back to. I swallowed and let go. My arm dropped to my side. "So." I said, numb. “What's the plan?" She knocked me aside. I stumbled to the other side of the porch. "We get rid of it. Just like the police station." "Great." I said, hollow. "Not so fast." She jammed a tank in my chest. I looked down at it. The acrid scent burned my eyes, even through the helmet. "What?" "This is a test for you." "I don't understand-" "You care a lot more than I do. Clearly." She started at me, cold and hard. I was one wrong answer from failing. “...Fine.” Without taking the time to acknowledge what I was doing, I shook the gasoline over the house. Thinking about it meant I’d see my Adria smiling back. In her uniform, at attention from the living room. My heart twisted. I dropped the light. It went up in minutes. Heat buffeted my face when I lifted my helmet. I hoped physics of some sort would spare the pictures in the frames, maybe a magnet on the fridge but in truth I wasn't looking at them right now. I staggered back to where she was sitting in the dirt. Legs crossed, she watched it burn. We answered everything with fire. It wasn't a stretch to want something out of this. The optimist, opportunist in me says it can't be a waste. I needed something. Anything. Anything that reassured me I didn't sever my own past in the process. I needed to know I wasn't throwing away all physical evidence. Everything that could bring her back. Her memories took shape in the stupidest things. Like a touch at the theater or stupid joke in the car. I pleaded for her to see something . But she watched on with no emotion. No bitterness, no remorse- Nothing. Perfectly blank. Perfectly alien. Her head tilted as we smelled the rubber dripping of Damon and Elyse's bikes, leaning against the side. I breathed in the ash of her destroyed home. I buried my head in my arms. shutting my eyes tight. There was numerous moves I could make here. So many callbacks to the formative flames that made us who we were- 'Fancy meeting you here.' 'Just like that?' Just any time we won. How we reacted with humor, conquest, and of course. Fire. But this wasn't the same. We stayed. We sat there until the roof crashed into the lawn. "Did you wanna know what I saw?" she said, after I'd gone quiet for too long. The smoke in the air was turning to a different scent. Chemical. I imagined this meant the kitchen was up in flames. with it, all of the kid's art, and Melina's recipes. "Yes," I answered, muted. She had removed her helmet. Her green eyes reflected the fire monstrously, until they adopted a brownish tint. Her braid- dark, but not black, fell across her back. Messy, but in the way I remembered it. My heart skipped- the first real thing i felt in a solid hour. "It was a small one." She said. "The first time you held my hand." I picked my head up from the grass, confused. That was not the set-up I used. I brought up her promotion. Usually prying was hopeless. She didn't delve deep into these things, as they were never her life, but I had to try. "Tell me about it." I said, quiet She watched the burning building, hugging her knees. For not remembering her old life, she sure was mimicking it. She looked softer as she tried to recall. But too soft- it was forced. "It was easy.” She said. “I just remember how easy it felt. Carefree." The first time I held her hand I was on a lot of morphine. We both survived a grievous monster attack. Carefree was a funny way to put it. I stayed quiet, before I noticed she wasn’t going to go on. "At...the hospital?" "Yes," she said, too keen. "At the hospital. And what happened after. What she said to you then." My eyes slid to hers, suspicion clawing. She must've known how hard it was to look at her. How much this felt like a continuum of her sick trial. "...The first time she accepted a date, to Jo's? Once we were both patched up?" "Yes." My breath hollowed within my chest. "Yeah." I said, dead. "We always were saying how she had the best coffee in town, didn't we?" "Yup." I buried my face in my hands and laid on the ground, wishing I could sink into the dirt. It took salt in the wound to realize this isn't who I was. I wasn't a man who lived in the past. There was always something new and exciting ahead. I thrived in the moment, and I planned five paces ahead, but this is where I've been months. Disjointed. A fraction of my former self, whittled down into core needs brought out of my by Adria. I am not who I should be and this wasn't who she should be. I needed to go. I needed to cut the dead weight and leave. Today was the last straw- that sick joke was it- She's not there anymore. She was gone. My Adria, the one who always knew what to do, my loving, compassionate, spitfire Adria- would be as disgusted by this monster as I am. And the monster I've become, chasing it. This house was a pyre. A testament to the last chance l had. Adria died in Mark’s basement but I was the one who took every last trace and cremated it. But if there was nothing left for me down here, why was I here? I was doing more harm than good. I could have left her memory in peace. I could have treasured that golden smile, those fond memories, and the way she got high of danger- not sadistically drunk off it. I could have mourned, at left her be in her prime. Instead, those memories were being replaced. They were overwrit by violence. How many times could I watch this Adria cave in a head, before I forget how she'd kiss mine? How many times can I watch her lose her temper, felling the world into destruction behind her before I forgot how she'd cry at pound commercials? How many times can I watch her callously disregard the innocent, before I started to forget how she'd stop at nothing to save them all? At what point is there nothing left of Adria, and I am just as complacent in her murder? The answer should have been never but it was already starting. I aided in the apocalypse. I accepted her deal. I torched her parent's house. I didn't know if she knew what I was thinking or if it was some twisted reward for playing by her rules but she leaned into my shoulder. Her lips were parted, enough to feel the heat of the threat without the intention. I looked to her mouth. Fangs she forgot to hide pressed against the bottom, the pitch black shine reflecting the flame before she licked away the venom. I wasn't looking at my Adria's face. I was staring at a choice: what felt nice versus what was right. But what felt right and what felt right didn't co-exist outside of us. It was learned- and she taught me that yet this year of living off scraps took it back. Without Adria I regressed to where I started: selfish man driven by whims. If I held onto nothing but the way she make me felt, I could have saved her. If I remembered how her embrace was rough, but tender I'd know this Adria was an imposter. If I had held onto nothing except the way she felt against me, I'd reject this monster that gripped me obsessively like a vice. But I didn't. In these long months I forgot it all. I couldn't bring myself to do without, because even a cheap imitation was something. And eventually- everything. I collapsed on the grass, dragged by her hold. She held me against her, rolling until her wings blocked out the firelight. Until the smell of Hell replaced the Melina's singed garden. Until the possessive traction of her lips made me forget I was kissing this demon on Adria's grave I was never going to leave.

#i was going to hate myself if i didnt do anything during qurantine #bitch!adria #bad end #took long enough ):#story

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musicnoots · 5 years

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Ice Cream and Aliens - Storming Area 51 (3/3)

Band of Brothers

A/N: The final part. Enjoy I’m tired

Synopsis: After the successful raid on Area 51, the boys head out to eat ice cream and reflect on their adventure.

Part 1 Part 2

Tags: @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @higgles123 @wexhappyxfew @dustyjjumpwings @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl @curraheev @those-dusty-jump-wings

After the guys stormed Area 51 successfully, the first place they headed to was to the nearest ice cream parlor. Dick wanted to go home, but then Ron said that he could just walk home while the others went to get ice cream, so he complied.

The escape from the highly classified area was very hectic, for most people. Buck’s group ended up leaving first because they got bored looking at all of the shiny scrap metal being displayed on the shelves, but the real reason was because Joe tried to fight the guards for Web. After thirty minutes of him complaining about missing Web and how they shouldn’t have sacrificed him like that, he made a run for it while Buck and Harry were busy taking things and shoving them into their pockets. Joe really didn’t make it that far—he started screaming at the first guard he saw and threaten to punch him as Buck tried to pry the man off the guard’s face. However, not too far behind them, Web was sitting on the floor, being useless while detained by the guards and when Joe saw that, he ran for him, and that was the end of it.

For the other group, their escape wasn’t the smoothest, but at least they left before the guards and security could arrest them. It was after Lewis’ sixteenth photo with the alien specimen that they decided to leave, pockets full of alien stickers and keychains for their friends back home. A lot of them were for George because they felt bad for not inviting him to the trip. They also tried to find an alien toothbrush for Perconte but to no avail. Unfortunately, the group left when Liebgott was dragging Web back to the exit by his hair with Buck and Harry following close behind, screaming Hi-ho silver bitches! Web, c’mon! We’re getting out of here! Bill and Joe followed in pursuit, wanting to leave as soon as possible while Lewis tried to get Ron out of here. The thing is—Ron locked the vault door, so he could have some meditation with the aliens surrounding him, to become one with the aliens.

The boys came sprinting back into the car, filing in like high schoolers trying to get into the lunch line thirty seconds after the bell rang. Lipton took a quick count of the boys, his hand on the wheel and foot on the gas before realizing that Ron hadn’t come back with them.

Fifteen seconds later, they all saw Ron run out of the facility with an alien. An alien. A full grown extraterrestrial that was running side-to-side with Ron as he was its mother.

He didn’t say anything about it when he got inside the car, demanding that Dick get in the backseat because he wanted to sit in the front. Lip floored it out of there, but not driving that fast because he still wanted to obey the speed limit there. He doesn’t want to get a parking ticket.

It was ten minutes on their journey back home that Lip asked Ron what he brought back, and he simply said Alien and that was the end of the conversation.

Now, the men were sitting at three conjoined tables at the nearest ice cream parlor for a small snack after their alien hunting adventure in the scorching Nevada heat. Lipton originally asked everyone to share two big sundaes, but then everyone decided on their own single scoop orders, so he paid for all of them because he didn’t want anyone to feel left out. The most expensive of those orders was Bill who decided it was a good idea to get a deluxe banana split sundae with extra whipped cream.

“I can’t believe you ate all of it,” Buck said to Bill, who was still scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon even though there was literally nothing else. “So I take that you guys had a helluva time there?”

“Pfft, I wish. We got aliens in jars, but Nixon wouldn’t stop talkin’ ‘bout his boyfriend,” Joe said, and they looked at Lewis, who was currently showing Dick every photo he took and going in depth about each one while the red-haired major mixed his mango sorbet with his spoon while nodding and mumbling Yes, Nix, that sounds wonderful over and over again.

“At least you got something interesting. All we got was random metal scraps and Lieb complaining about us leavin’ Web. I mean, we had to leave him! He wouldn’t have done anything!”

“I’m right here,” Web, who was sitting right next to Buck said.

“Yeah, and you should know that you would have been useless in that situation.”

“I’m not useless! I graduated from Harvard!”

“Boy, you literally thought we were going to the beach,” Buck said, focusing on his ice cream again before leaning over to Web’s ear. “And I graduated from UCLA, you smart ass bitch.”

Lieb patted his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Web, don’t listen to him. He probably pours milk before the cereal.”

Web shrugged him off in annoyance. “How does that make me feel better? You make me feel like an idiot!”

“I know, but you’re my idiot. Also, you did think we were going to the beach, you dumb.”

Webster flail his arms in the air. “You were the one who told me that!”

Ever since they got Webster back, Liebgott has been all over him like never before. The last time this happened was when Web was gone for a couple of months to finish his education at Harvard, and when he came back, Joe would not let him go. Literally. He wouldn’t let Web leave the house without him, turn on the stove without adult supervision, or talk to strangers because stranger danger.

His attachment to the Harvard graduate was not as extreme as Ron’s attachment to his new alien.

“Do you like strawberry? Is that what you got?” he asked the alien, and it nodded. Yes, even the alien got a scoop of ice cream. The alien’s ice cream was actually on the house because when the cashier asked for it to pay, Ron simple flicked open his pocket knife on the counter as a threat. “That’s great. I think strawberry is a bit too sweet for my tastes, but I the rocky road is really good, too.”

It was really uncomfortable whenever Ron spoke to the alien, let alone the alien’s presence. When he said that he was going to get an alien and bring it home, everyone was scared. Even Dick feared for the worse. But Ron did get the alien like he said was going to, and it was the best thing that ever happened to him. He has won the game of life. He can retire peacefully knowing that he accomplished something no one can ever.

“Do I need to get the guest room ready when we get back home?” Lip asked.

Ron nodded, eyes still fixated on the alien eating the ice cream. “Yes, please. Also, can you bake cinnamon rolls when we get back?”

Lipton sighed. It wasn’t the alien that stressed him out, it was the cinnamon rolls. They’re just too damn hard to make. “Of course, Ron. Does your friend want any? Should I bake extra?”

“Are we just going to sit here and not acknowledge the fact that Speirs brought a freakin’ alien back?” Web yelled, gathering everyone's attention.

“Web, lower your voice,” Dick warned. He knew Ron too well to know what was going to happen. Guns blazing. Knives on the dining table. Police cars in the front. It was all too familiar, unfortunately. “We’re in a public place.”

However, Web would not shut his trap. He almost stood up, for Christ’s sake. “Wha—How in the world did I get sacrificed for this? You all saw Speirs push me into the guards just to distract them, didn’t you? He didn’t even go with you guys! He went his own way!”

“Well, Speirs is actually helpful, unlike you,” Harry said, mouth full of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Oh, you like mint chocolate chip ice cream—what do you know?”

“Pipe the fuck down, nerd,” Bill popped in, almost ready to lash out and beat up the poor kid. “Ron did something none of us could have done, and you have the fuckin’ audacity to even open your pothole? Trick ass bitch—how dare you? He came and conquered, and you got detained and did nothing about it.”

“I am a child of the law.”

“Nerd!”

“Pfft. Whatever. Aliens aren’t real anyways. Ron probably got a mechanical alien.”

That was the breaking point. Ron had enough of hearing this nonsense coming from someone who wasn’t even present to see all of the wonders or Area 51, someone who was much more interested in sharks rather than the glorious creature that are aliens.

Everyone was silent for a brief moment. Dick was waiting for the guns to come out—thank God Chuck didn’t come, or else he’ll have the big guns. Lip was getting ready to restrain Ron, and Buck was unusually nervous which is impossible. He can’t be nervous, he’s Buck Compton!

Ron reached over and slapped Web’s cup of ice cream off the table and onto the floor, the ice cream spilling out of the cup and onto the floor.

“No cinnamon rolls for you,” he said and sat back down.

Web froze. He was dumbfounded, mouth open waiting for the flies to come. It was like his entire world fell apart with that ice cream cup, and all he could feel was Joe’s hand rubbing pentagons on his back, telling him It’s okay, you deserved it, but it’s okay. No one’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Lewis was still trying to explain every photo he took in the facility to Dick. Each photo took him five to twenty-seven minutes to explain because Lewis wanted to go in depth and tell Dick about the background, how he felt, what it’d feel like if he was physically there, and how annoying Bill and Joe were in that moment.

“See, here—” he leaned closer to show him the photo on the camera, “I took a photo with this jar of alien specimen. It looks the same as the last one, but it’s not! This one had more alien juice, and you could see Joe’s thumb in the corner because he clearly doesn’t know how to use a camera and—hello? Dick?” He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey! You’re not paying attention! Pay attention to me!”

Dick was mesmerized by the presence of an alien in the same room as him. He was a nonbeliever, but after seeing it in the flesh eating ice cream, he’s not even sure if he can trust himself! I mean, Ron’s wiping the alien’s mouth of ice cream as they speak. This was the weirdest moment in his life, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. He’s too scared to answer that.

“Dick!”

He snapped out of his trance when Lewis violently shook his shoulders. “Huh? Oh, sorry...just looking at the...alien.”

“Oh, so the alien is more interesting than me?”

“Well, if you put it that way...” he hesistantly nodded, “yeah. Yeah, Nix, it is.”

Lewis frowned, heartbroken and shocked because he never thought Dick would say that. He thought he was the most interesting thing in Dick’s life. “Oh...okay. But can I keep showing you the pictures I took?”

Dick sighed. “Nix, all fhe photos you showed me are the same—do you have any photos with the aliens themselves?”

“No.”

Dick almost choked on air, and he wishes he did. He stared at Nix like he was a crazed man, like he was a big fat liar that dragged him all the way to Nevada for an alien hunting party but came back with pictures of aliens but not the damn alien itself! “So you’re telling me that you kidnapped me and dragged me to the middle of Nevada for the aliens but didn’t actually meet or touch an actual alien?”

Lewis smiled sweetly.

“I am leaving,” Dick groaned before Lewis pounced on him, keeping him from escaping.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Don’t leave! If you wanted an alien for yourself, you could have just told me instead of acting mad.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—“

“Lip, start the car! We’re going back to Area 51 just for Dick!”

This time, Lewis made sure to take Dick with him to see the aliens.

#band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #joe liebgott #david webster #dick winters #richard winters #lewis nixon #buck compton #harry welsh #bill guarnere #joe toye #ron speirs #ronald speirs

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 5 years

Text

In My Mind x 04

*Re-uploading because I've edited these to flow a little bit better. Thank you for your patience!

All the things one has forgotten

scream for help in dreams.

~Elias Canetti

---

“So your plan is to use humiliation as a tool for blackmail? Uh uh, no.”

His eyebrows arch in challenge.

“I said no!”

You stare at Erik from your position on his couch and shake your head. His place is beautiful and spacious, the top floor of some building. If you had this, you’d be ecstatic. However, you can’t really enjoy the aesthetics as you’re exhausted from the back and forth of fussing with this guy. You’ve been going toe to toe with him over the same issue for the past twenty minutes and he is not taking no for an answer.

“You ain’t gotta do anything that’s gonna cloud ya innocence, you just gotta ride with me and try to focus in on him, that’s it. Then just tell me what you see.”

“For WHAT?”

He swore he was slick, but for what good purpose could he want to invade the privacy of someone else’s dreams?

“Nia, do you know what this muhfucka does all day? He kills niggas for a fuckin PAYCHECK! He’s the police chief and I’m bout sick of this shit happening to our people, ain’t you? Or do your MORALS detract from your compassion?”

Guilt. That’s his tactic.

“Don’t try to manipulate me into being your weapon. That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Babygirl, LIFE ain’t fair. It’s SHIT! Because the people who could do shit to help it, don’t do shit.”

That’s you apparently. Somehow this is becoming your fault.

“It’s not like I’m a kill him, I’m just gone give him some initiative to leave our people alone. I’m keeping the streets safe, something we both know people like him don’t give a damn about.”

His finger lifts your chin and his eyes are full of sincerity. You pull your face away from his hand. He’s sincere in his passion, but not his intentions, you can feel it.. an intense bloodlust.

“Nigga, I’m not dumb. You’re gonna kill him and then you’re gonna try and justify it saying he deserved it.. and he probably does! But what happens after that? You get another one in his place and this continues.”

“You ain’t sayin shit I don’t know. I told you, we just gone shake him up a bit. Wouldn’t you want someone to step in for you and yours?”

You eye him. It’s really late and you’re tired, but you know you can’t complain. This is a man who hardly sleeps because he’s seen too much to keep his eyes closed.. literally and figuratively.

“What’s the use of having power if you don’t use it to benefit your people?”

Ol’ super woke ass.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you say and he’s all ears. “I’ll try it. IF.. we go to sleep tonight and you actually sleep.”

Hesitantly, he takes your hand and guides you into his bedroom. Now it’s your turn to look about. The room is dark and masculine like you expected. It's fairly impersonal. There are no real personal touches. Other than a-

“Hey, that’s the journal from your dream,” you point out the worn leather journal on the nightstand. In his dream it was full of symbols that he seemed to understand. The journal obviously held strong purpose and direction for him.

He looks from the journal to you and collects it smoothly, moving it away from you. He doesn’t want you near it. Pressing your lips in a tight line you follow him with your eyes as he exits the room reappearing without the journal.

“You’re aware I’ve already seen some of what’s in there, I just can’t read it,” you deadpan. He pulls his shirt off and there are the little marks he showed you some of before. You knew you’d felt stabbing over your entire torso and now, bit by bit, you're beginning to understand what these marks really represent.

You walk back to the living room space to give him some privacy. He looked like he was ready to strip on the spot whether you stayed or left, gathering his things to shower. A minute later you hear another door close. So a minute or so after that, you determine that he must actually be in the shower. Time to explore. Popping your head back in his bedroom, he's gone. You don’t know where he put that journal so you can’t sneak and look at it.

Back in the living room you quickly walk through noting the dark paneled walls with white accents matching the dark floor, broken up by floor to ceiling glass windows. The glass is thick, you can tell. The outside sky, black. Very dark and semi-gloomy, befitting of a villain’s lair. This is the penthouse.

The living room looks like it can seat twenty with its large white couches and arm chairs. The open kitchen maintains the black theme with its wall of black drawers and trap doors hiding appliances. There's the black island with black bar stools.. liquor in sight. It’s all impersonal, yet sleek.

The only character you can see is in the traditional African masks crafted in wood or iron and the paintings alternating and strategically lining the walls that aren’t black panels.

Then there’s the bookcase and the game system. You go to the bookcase. There's The New Jim Crow. Assata. Emmett Till. Mechanical Engineering. Xhosa, Russian, and German dictionaries. Taxes and financial literacy, law books.. steep, pretty steep. Picking up the Xhosa dictionary you flip through it. The symbols match what you saw in the journal and you decide that if you ever get the chance, you’re decoding that worn out journal. You put the dictionary back like you found it and walk further into his home. He has a ridiculous amount of space.. and money aparently.

Your sixth sense tingles and you dash silently back to the living room, making sure to breathe and act normal. A few minutes later Erik rounds the corner waving you back towards him. You follow him back into the bedroom and he hands you a t-shirt.

“Shower’s all yours. Sleep in this, we’ll get you some clothes tomorrow.”

—

The steaming cascade was restorative. You silently rejoiced under the stream. Many people underestimate the wonders of a hot waterfall and privacy, but not you. You were thankful. The bathroom was so large it could’ve been a spa room or a multi-stalled toilet. You towel off and put the t-shirt on. It goes just past your butt, modest enough if you don’t bend over. Your energy saps you all of a sudden and you double over on the sink feeling your exhaustion. You just want to sleep.

You walk back to the bedroom and Erik is in the bed, eyes closed. No wonder. It’s partially your own exhaustion and partially the pull.

You slide underneath the comforter and top sheet fighting the urge to cuddle him for your own comfort. Your arms feel empty and wanting. You turn your back to him to counteract that feeling and slip under a veil of p i t c h b l a c k...

Ghanaian ceremonial mask used for religious and mythical purposes. Benin mask of Queen Mother Idia. She has a beaded headress and her scarification is like yours, something these white people will never understand but like to pretend they’re the experts on. So, how is it they ended up with OUR shit? The FUCKIN British Empire. And here go this pilgrim looking broad, like clockwork. Drink up, bitch.

“Good morning! How can I help you?”

Fake ass. You been watching me like this shit ain’t all encased in glass. If I were a normal citizen how would I get into the shit, Karen?

“I’m just checking out the artifacts.. They tell me you’re the expert.”

“You could say that.”

Uhuh, that coffee real good ain’t it, Susan?

“They’re beautiful.. Where’s this one from?" Of course, she answers. Knowing every fuckin thing. "Forreal?” You stall her.

Dumbass.

“And what about this one?… Now, tell me about this one.”

“Also from Benin, 7th century. Fula tribe, I believe.”

You 'believe'... Time to end this.

“Nah. It was taken by British soldiers in Benin, but it’s from Wakanda.. and it’s made of vibranium.”

THERE'S the realization in her eyes. Too late though. You fight a smile, but it wins.

“Don’t worry, I’m a take it off your hands.”

“These items aren’t for sale!”

The damn irony. All this knowledge of history and she ignores the fact that they NEVER were for sale.

“How you think your ancestors got these? You think they paid a fair price? Or did they take it like they took everything else? You got all this security watching me since I came in, but you not checking for what you put in your body… CALL A DOCTOR!”

Her body drops to the ground and a team of men in yellow reflective gear charge in. Gunshots and more useless bodies hit the floor. This is what you’ve been waiting for. One shooter, a white man with a grey bald fade and tattoo on the back of his head, lets a guy go and you think of going after him until he caps him mid-run.

“Why you ain’t just shoot him right here,” you question.

“Because it’s better to leave the crime scene more spread out. Makes us look like amateurs.”

Nigga what the fuck? It’s okay I’m bout done with your ass anyway. Just get me and Lynda to Wakanda.

Jetplane. Black girl. Intense feelings. You love her. She’d die for you. For the vision. She’s the Bonnie to your Clyde, all you need and the future queen of Wakanda. She’s beside you like a queen should be, holding her own.

“Drop us off in Wakanda.”

The grey haired man declines but somehow you knew he would. There’s a gun in your hand and you raise it to shoot the pilot. You should’ve shot the grey haired man first. Now he has your world in his hands and there’s a gun to her head.

“Baba?”

The mulitated body of your father soaked and lying in a pool of crimson. You wrap yourself around him trying to bring him back, every tear a prayer. You’d give anything.

“I’m sorry, Erik,” she pleads. No “Don’t kill me” or “Save me” just “I’m sorry.” She knew this could happen, but you’d miscalculated.

“If that happens, shoot me and KILL him. No matter what, keep going,” she’d told you when you were planning the takeover of Wakanda. You were so confident when you kissed her that it would never come to that. The gun stalls in your hand for the briefest of seconds and then you remember…

Everybody dies.. It's just life around here. None of you are exempt.

“It’s okay,” you say sending her a bullet as cleanly and painlessly as you can. Her body drops and the grey haired man is next.

Everybody leaves. Everybody dies. It's just how it is.

You’re numb.

A whirl of color and a throne room.

"IS THIS YOUR KING?!" The question burns in your throat as you look at the faces.

Blood. Sweat. Ritual combat on top of a high waterfall and you almost bust your ass grabbing that nigga and tossing him to his death. Bombs are exploding. Fire rises and releases its choking smoke. The stench of decay fogs the air. Blood and dirt.

“SHOOT HIM, STEVENS!”

I’LL KILL THAT SMILING MUHFUCKA!

The screams of fear. A crowd of Wakandans blind to the world’s suffering. To your suffering. You swing and keep swinging and you bring it all down, but it gets back up.

A knife jabs and plunges deeply into you but it doesn’t hurt as much as the realization that you’ve failed.

Everything is gone. And for what? You tried your best. Your whole life and it wasn’t good enough. All your life to get here and it’s where you die.

“I should’ve taken you back long ago,” a familiar voice cuts in. You've missed him more than life. “Instead we are both abandoned here.”

Baba.. the lost tribe. But are we truly lost?

“Well, maybe your home’s the one that’s lost that’s why they can’t find us.”

You pull the knife from your body and collapse only to wake up in a lab. A little black girl with braids in two buns like Princess Leia.. standing beside the nigga who killed you staring intently.

“Erik?… Erik… It’s Nia.”

Nia?

“I’ve been here. I saw it all.”

Nia

“Erik, you didn’t fail. We know about Wakanda today because of your sacrifice. They are reaching out to blacks in Cali, and now I understand why. Even if the world doesn’t know, THEY know. I know. And YOU know. You’re a hero. An antihero, but a hero nonetheless.”

Don’t patronize me

“I’m dead serious.”

I’m waking up now

“Wait-” Your eyes flutter open slowly and adapt to the light coming through the window. That dream was.. insane. To think that this is his life. You wouldn’t have made it through all of that. You turn over and almost have a heart attack. His face is close and his eyes stare into yours, filtered in calm. Though awkward, this is progress from the last time he woke up.

“Good morning,” he mumbles in a deep voice that goes directly through you. Keep it together, Nia. You’re self-conscious of your breath so you stay silent. Humor lights his eyes and they squint adorably. Not a word you’d normally attribute to this man.

“What your hair look like under that lacefront?” He smirks.

Annnnd he ruined it.

Other Chapters:

#erik killmonger #original #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction

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digimonadventuretimelines · 4 years

Text

[16 - Team Up!!]

Lupinmon returned back to the headquarters, dizzy and injured. His servants came to give him assistance and treat his injuries, but he felt unable to understand why that human kid and the adult man made him froze in battle. He was supposed to stop them, to eliminate them!

So, why was he freezing every time those humans appear in front of him?

“Master,” Magnamon arrived and took a look at his commander “... What happened to you?”

“A fight. I lost a fight. If you say anything about it…”

“Who did this to you?”

“The Chosen Children, but no worries they weren’t taking the fight seriously. However, the human man said… He was here looking for someone important to him.”

“Someone… Important?”

“Didn’t the Roar of Freedom capture one of those humans a long time ago? What happened to them? Did they die or what? But the kid… The kid strikes me something I don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“... A feeling. But let’s forget it. Send two tough scouts this time. We need to close the gates and retrieve all of the digimon in the human world. And, getting rid of the human colonies in our world.”

“As you wish, master.”

“WHAT!?” Taichi shouted on the phone “Daisuke is WHAT!?”

“Is being controlled by the enemy, yes. He thinks he’s Lupinmon and I assume there’s some amnesia or mind control.”

“Ken, hold up. Did you find something on him? Evil Ring or Spiral?”

“... No. And you saying it quite of implies that I could’ve controlled everyone with those, something I never had thought of before. Neither want imagine what could’ve happened if I had tried to.”

“Oops, sorry I meant no harm! Someone could’ve gotten your old gimmicks and used it on humans.”

“I know. But no rings, spirals or even Black Gears. Could’ve been something deeper, under the skin. But I assume their original plan was getting me and Daisuke messed with it by saving me and letting them capture him instead.”

“Always doing self-sacrifices” Taichi sighed, “We need to find a way to bring him back. Anyway, any more news?”

“... Daisuke’s son has a digivice and a digimon partner. Not only them, but also Daisuke’s daughter, my children and an unknown children codenamed ‘Brave Tamer’ who is constantly involved into battles.”

“I knew about Hoshi and Eiji thanks to Hikari. Huh, so a new generation is showing up… And they’re our children this time.”

“Do you know if Taisuke got a digivice and a digimon, Taichi”

“No, I don’t think he has gotten one or a partner. Unless he hadn’t told Sora and me.”

Miyako was glancing at her children, arms crossed and foot tapping the floor.

“You two lied to me.”

“I’m sorry mom--”

“We had a reason” Daichi was all pouty, “But you lied to us too. When were you going to tell us the truth, mom? About… About that the legends were real? That you and dad were part of the legendary Twelve?”

Miyako felt a headache, she didn’t expect that talk to be so hard or even earlier. Daisuke would’ve helped her to make things less tense, but… No, she had to be strong for her family. And handle it alone.

“We were going to tell you when you were a bit older.”

“I’m 14! How much old do you mean!? You were 12 years old and dad 11 years old when you had fought evil digimon in the past!”

“Watch your language, Daichi. I’m not your enemy!”

“And my dad isn’t either!”

“H-hold on everyone…” Kiyoko interrupted them, “Natsu explained why you didn’t tell us before. It was to protect us, right? Then… Now it’s useless because we got digivices and digimon partners. You can’t not let us get involved with it.”

“I wish I could, but you will have to be prepared for what’s coming” Miyako sighed, that discussion had taken a good chunk of her energy, “One, your father is working for the enemy against his own will. Two, the digimon you fight will get stronger battle by battle.”

“We know” Daichi replied with a serious voice of tone “But if we fight together we can save dad, we can save everyone!”

“That I agree, but… I will be afraid of losing you two as well. I need time to accept--”

“Everyone,” Natsu invaded the room with the digimon “Miyako’s digivice received a message of a digimon attack! We need to… Do something!”

“This will be your first trial, let’s solve it as soon as possible. But first take these communicators, put them on and keep me informed.”

“Hey kid, there’s a digimon sinal nearby.”

He took the D-TimeRune and looked at the screen. BlackAgumon was inside and his icon appeared on a map. It was close to a Digital Gate.

“Really, now? Whatever, we’re going…”

“Release me so I can evolve kid.”

“Right.”

He pressed a button on the digivice, changing his clothes in a blink of the eye. BlackAgumon popped out of the screen and the kid scanned the back of his hand, next pointing the digivice to his partner.

They left the area quickly.

“What’s happening!?” Reika exclaimed, after seeing a blue Greymon pass in the horizon. Jin and Mike asked the same after.

“That blue Greymon again” Hoshi clenched her fist, then looked at the other kids “Please help me to evacuate the area. I need to call the others.”

“Call the others?” Jin repeated.

“Miss Hoshi there are two digimon nearby!!” the partner digimon inside Hoshi’s digivice said.

“... We’re going with you” Mike gave a serious gaze at Hoshi “If with these we can help… Then we will.”

“Thanks. Follow me guys!”

“Huh, I heard you!” Mirai responded to the voice messages sent by Mitsuki on the voice chat “I’ve detected two digimon close to the west digital gate. Hold on, I will tell Daichi asap!”

“Mirai, I’m scared… What if those digimon come after me?”

“Don’t worry Koh, you don’t like to fight but my friends and my skills are enough to keep you safe! Uh-oh, one digimon moved away and is on rampage. Mitsuki are you still here? Go to north, some digimon and people are in danger…!”

Panic and digimon screaming. Some babies from the hatchery building had been carried by humans and child level digimon. The rest started bouncing, running and flying away from the Dinobeemon, a digimon combination of XV-mon and Stingmon.

Hoshi’s Stingmon flew in the skies and stood in front of the enemy. while the children tried to save the babies.

“Hold it, creepy thing” the audacious girl stopped a few meters away from the fight “Sting, let’s show em why to not mess with those digi-babies and people!”

“Sting?” he looked back.

“K-Kiyoko’s partner has a name so I can’t lose to her! From now on you will be called by ‘Sting’ and will be my loyal guard.”

“Miss Hoshi…” he blushed, and Dinobeemon hit him with a kick, sending him against a building “OOF!”

“I think it was a bad hour to…talk about it” she facepalmed.

The non-partnered human trio had been taking the babies away from the danger, but a wild squad of Tsuchidarumon (a mud/earth subspecies of Yukidarumon) appeared to block the area.

“What should we do!?” Reika asked the boys.

“Fight” Mike responded with a serious glare, and he took the digivice “I dunno how it works but…”

“I will fight with you!” A Tanemon said to him, “Show me your brave heart, human!”

“We will fight too!” And a Pukamon and a Upamon shouted to Jin and Reika.

“Those little ones wants to… fight with us?” Jin blinked.

“I have no objections, as long they don’t get hurt.”

the instructions on the digivices appeared on the screen, and just like the other kids… Reika, Jin and Mike followed those instructions. On the screen of Reika’s digivice appeared a scale symbol. On Jin’s and Mike’s, the crests of Reliability and Sincerity -- respectively.

Upamon, Pukamon and Tanemon evolved to Armadimon, Kamemon and Floramon.

“SCRATCH BEAT!” “ALLERGY SHOWER!” “POINTER ARROW!”

Floramon’s pollen paralyzed the enemy, letting Armadimon’s claws and Kamemon’s pointer missile hit them. they opened the way for a few minutes, taking all the innocents away from the battle. Sting and Hoshi tried to keep the enemy distracted, preventing it from going after the other kids and the rescued people plus digimon.

Meanwhile… Daichi and Kiyoko were on battle with a humanoid version of Kuwagamon -- MetallifeKuwagamon! The mysterious Brave Tamer was also there.

“Ulforce!” “Captain!” “Right!” “Yes ma’am!”

With their digimon evolved, and Miyako behind the strategy they could prevent the gate devices from being destroyed. However, Brave Tamer was finding that mission too easy. Three Adult level digimon against a Perfect level. Then, an Ookuwamon came from the digital world’s gate.

“H-HUH!?” Kiyoko exclaimed

“Don’t worry, i’ve called for Ken’s assistance. Stay focused” Miyako told her children.

“Uh-oh, there it is…!” Someone was talking with Brave Tamer, and that voice seemed to be Mirai’s!? “I think this is the time you need a backup plan. Hold on, you’re with Daichi right? My radar caught two digivices and digimon linked to.”

“Yeah, that kid is here--”

“You know you don’t need to pretend on this channel. It’s secured, with a strong cryptography and lots of filters. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Sigh, fine… Gimme a plan. I will talk to Daichi later.”

On both fights, backups of the police dept. had came to help the (Neo) Chosen Children in the fight. A KnightChessmon and a GrappuLeomon appeared in the Kuwagamon species battle, one releasing darts against the enemies and another punching the Ookuwamon with high speed.

“Here’s the help!” Miyako chirped, “Ken is focused on another battle though…”

“Ok, there’s only four digimon here-- Huh, the blue Greymon is here!?”

“You noticed it only now, bro?” Kiyoko had some annoyance in her rhetorical question.

“Those support digimon are from the police unit” Mirai informed Brave Tamer “OK so the plan is: Two can handle Ookuwamon, I suggest leaving it to the PawnChessmon and GrappuLeomon. The rest is up to Daichi, Kiyoko and you.”

“Nice. I will meet with them right now” Brave Tamer responded, then approached from the Motomiya siblings. Kiyoko stared at him, while Daichi kept expressionless.

“We met again…” Daichi calmly greeted him.

“It’s not like I wanted to, but the digimon need to be saved. You will follow my lead, I got a plan.”

“Who’s that kid?” Miyako asked her children, “Is it that the one Hikari mentioned before?”

“I dunno mom” Kiyoko replied, “But we need all help we get. So start talking, kiddo!”

“Well, Your digimon fly and all of all three have long range attacks. If we combine out attacks, coming from three different directions we might beat it and protect the gate device.”

“... I see” Daichi smiled, a small smile though “Ulforce, Captain, did you hear it??”

“Yeah” “Aye, sir!”

“Sting don’t dare to lose!!” Hoshi shouted, she was thinking what to do but Dinobeemon was way stronger than her partner. Then she had the idea of taking her digivice and saw something blinking on it. Was it a hint? “Why… Uh, scan enemy? Okay then.”

She scanned the digimon opponent and got data of it, “P-perfect level…? Isn’t Sting on his adult level? So, this means he’s weaker-- ??”

A very shiny and gallant insect-humanoid digimon -- Jewelbeemon -- popped in, hitting Dinobeemon with his spear. She heard someone calling her name and then saw...

“D-Dad!?”

“Let me handle this for now” Ken told her, “Get your partner back and assist the people and digimon to evacuate this area.”

“B-But--”

“Please, that digimon is too strong for you yet!”

She nodded and then called Sting back, who took her and flew away.

The attacks combined hit MetallifeKuwagamon, KnightChessmon and GrappuLeomon had finally knocked out the other enemy and joined forces with the heroic trio. their strength increased the power and then they knock out the remaining opponent.

“It worked!!” Kiyoko grinned and showed a thumbs up to the mysterious kid.

Brave Tamer smirked. To Daichi it meant he was a bit arrogant, but didn’t worded said thoughts. The rest of the police unit came, and with Natsu’s help they all captured the criminals. But by Kiyoko’s reaction Daichi was able to find something odd in the picture.

“So I guess you have to show yourself,” Mirai talked with Brave Tamer “You can’t fool Daichi anymore, he probably got you.”

“... We should go home now” but Daichi seemed exhausted “Thanks for the help… Stranger.”

Oof, that sounded like sarcasm, but actually was him unable to think straight. He had Natsu denying information of the past, had intervened on a battle between his dad and officer Ichijouji and had confronted his mother. All of that in the SAME day. Daichi’s mood had done a 180° flip and he had no desire to get more stress.

“Heh, you have to know your place” Brave Tamer sounded like a treat, he was a show off kid. Daichi had no energy to get mad either, “This alliance was only for now. I work alone, and while Lupinmon is out… I will protect the innocents! All Baddies will not win against me.”

“Oh cut it out!” Kiyoko hissed, “Let’s go home Daichi. There’s some people who never learn!”

“Heheh, nice” Brave Tamer smirk didn’t disappear though, “We will see again, losers~” the blue Greymon grabbed the tiny and chaotic kid with his hands and left the area.

“Ugh! I hate this!” Kiyoko pouted.

“... I know what you meant. Hey mom? Is everything okay already?”

“Yup. Ken already handled the other digimon attack. Innocents are moved to a safer place. Let’s eat Paella today~”

“... What’s with Spanish cuisine all of a sudden?” Kiyoko gave a deep sigh.

“L-look, it had been ages since the last time I eat it! And… I need something to shove those thoughts away!”

#daichi arc phase 1 #datl text chapter

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mimedusa-blog · 5 years

Photo

a low-profile extortion by the name of JANG YEONGMIN as decreed by Hydrus, presided over by MIDNIGHT and FALLACY (@myeongchokrp )

some people go back to school to advance their careers. others go to career and skills workshops to get the promotions they want.

this isn’t any different.

medusa knows that murder can’t be all there is, and once she begins thinking about being told what to do – no matter how much she enjoys doing it – it often niggles at the back of her head like a centipede crawling into her ear and twisting around in her brain. as much as she loves her work, and as much as she’s proud of it, her father had larger plans for her. in a different world, perhaps her ambitions would align more with a perfectly acceptable position for a sociopath; like, say, a CEO. like all others, however, it seems she has to work her way from the bottom.

still, she takes instructions with a grain of salt and a healthy degree of interest. when she asked to be trained in this, she decided that she would excel in it, no matter who she had to kill – but this doesn’t involve that (unfortunately). it’s far more boring than she expected, but she won’t back out now, or ever. she still has her pride to uphold.

her supervisor, a senior extortionist going by ‘midnight’, eases her nerves before they go into the shop, saying it’s just like murder. no – no, hold on. it isn’t nerves. it’s boredom. no matter what information she gets from their backup hacker, ‘fallacy’, it just seems so boring. this is small fish, and she’s casting her net wide, but she supposes it’s better than nothing. one target at a time. maybe it’s cumulative.

she nods when midnight pats her on the back before they enter the small barbershop, located at a side street in yeongi. “just a good word?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and laughing a little, rolling her neck and her shoulders, taking it as a challenge. “how about a bonus?”

her senior probably says something, but it doesn’t quite register when she’s already walking away and pulling a new mask over her face; she also has some really nice shades on for the occasion (this time, it’s a face mask with the ‘uwu’ emoji on it. it’s cute, and goddamnit, if it’s a job, she might as well look presentable.) probably something about her finances. you don’t need more money, or something preposterous like that. how stupid. she always wants more money, and that’s the issue.

she steps inside the barbershop, even going “hello!” as if it’s a great day; as if she’s still obligated to be friendly. there’s only the two of them here now. behind her, she clicks the dial to a locked position and turns the sign to ‘closed’.

her target is a middle-aged man named jang yeongmin. his business isn’t too big, and he owns another apartment that he rents out to visitors. (it’s not doing well.) his barbershop is decent, but vacant on a wednesday afternoon. most appointments are closer to the weekend, and the middle of the week, during these hours, is quiet, with only the low thrum of the fan in the corner of the ceiling and the idle chatter of a small, indistinguishable TV behind the tall counter to keep their silence company. it stinks of hairspray and shaving cream. there are three security cameras in the establishment that run on a rudimentary closed system, and she hopes fallacy is as good at their job as they say they are.

she expected to see a short, stout old man. instead, yeongmin is tall and middle-aged. he has the face of a rat, she notices, when he looks up from the TV. he freezes when he hears the lock click closed and she draws a gun. “hands up, buddy. c’mere and have a seat,” she instructs, cheery as ever, patting an aged leather chair in the middle of the row. there are three. he knows how to listens to instructions, it seems, when there’s a gun pointed at his face.

he walks over cautiously, saying, “i – i don’t know what you want from me, but –,”

god, even his voice is grating. she could kill him now if she wanted. if she could. she should. she’d be doing hydrus a favour. but, in a show of great restraint, she just lets him ramble on about how he has money, how he can pay her, etcetera etcetera. he’s still sitting down on the chair, and she keeps the gun pointed at him when she sharply interjects, “so how do you do this whole… shaving thing?” medusa heads to the nearby drawer. there’s some shaving cream, some old-fashioned razors meant for shaving. she takes out the set, the cream, and lays it out in front of the mirror, in front of him. “is this it?”

he looks confused, but nods. “wh-what…”

“you have a very annoying goatee.” with one hand, she takes the razor; with the other, she tucks her gun behind her back. that same free hand takes hold of his hair and pulls it back just enough for him to expose his neck and be able to look at his reflection. “and a very annoying voice.” she presses the blade to his adam’s apple; it bobs as his eyes water up.

“i have children!” he blurts out tearfully. his voice even trembles.

“i…don’t want them?” she answers right back, slightly confused. is he offering them? she isn’t usually in the business of killing those. they have more time to make mistakes, and they aren’t nearly as satisfying to kill. “look,” she continues, pulling her head back as if that’ll make it so that she doesn’t have to hear him crying when he does start to sob. she even lets go of his hair, but keeps the blade to his neck, and places her hand on his shoulder. just in case. “you owe hydrus a debt. i don’t know how stupid you have to be to do that, but you do, and you’re a fucking idiot, and we know that, right?”

oh, he’s really sobbing, now. it would be so. easy. to swipe the blade through his skin and muscle and windpipe right now. but he nods, like he can even hear her through his sniffling. “y—i – hic – d-don’t have en-n-nough to pa-ay th-is month – pl-please – oh g-ohu-ood –!”

oh my god. oh my god, he’s so annoying. is that the test? to see if she can withstand the job without killing anybody?

damn, that’s good.

“it’s not money we’re after,” she tries to say past all that, moving her hand to his hair again and pulling hard. “although…yeah, i heard you owe us. kinda have to grab the rest of what’s in your cashier after this, but – will you shut up?!” she presses the blade harder against his skin. he bleeds, but stops crying, seemingly trying to hold it behind a closed mouth. good enough. “look, someone who knows someone who knows someone knows that a certain police officer passed by here and blabbed about where they’re hitting us next. so, you need to tell me that, and y–,”

“the docks! the – fu-ohhuuhuhu – oh g-go-od, don’t kill me – god help me! – it’s the docks! w-warehouse… five or – or ten – or three – one of th-those!”

“and the code to your register! will you let me finish?! – actually,” she amends, “you better open it for me, so i know you won’t do anything even more stupid, like call the police.”

what he says isn’t lost on her. it’s not entirely useless, which is good for him, and she makes a mental note of it. he follows her instructions like a trembling, frightened old dog. for good measure and to motivate him further once the blade is off his neck, she takes out her gun and presses it against his back as they walk behind the counter.

someone laughs in the tv as the register dings open.

“and everything in your – i don’t know what you call it. the other money that’s not here that you keep, you know? you know what i’m talking about, right?”

he nods, bends down and opens the little cabinet under the register. there’s a fat stack of rubber-banded cash. she should know what it’s called, working for jieun’s little boutique now, but she doesn’t, and she won’t bother to. it’s money that shouldn’t be touched, and that’s all she knows, but she knows now that all shops have to have them. float, or sink, or something like that.

“put it in a bag.”

he does. it’s for the little cosmetics that not many people buy from a barbershop – hair wax, gel, 2-in-1 shampoos – and would rather buy from other local stores. she takes it from him and sighs a sigh of relief. finally.

medusa takes a step back and grins. not that he could see it. “now close your eyes and do the macarena.”

she takes another step back, and another away from the counter to move in front of it. the man is sobbing, now, and actually dancing the macarena, even singing it tearfully. she takes a video of it and lets him do the rest, walking back to the door slowly. when she opens it, his eyes dare flutter open, and his arms stop mid-raise, but she quickly shoots her gun at the ceiling and snaps, “did i tell you to stop, dickhead?”

he sobs harder and continues, absolutely butchering the song, even as she tucks the gun behind her back (it burns a little) and lets the door close. to the rest of the street, she’s walking out with just a bag and looking absolutely cute. as soon as she gets back in the car with midnight and fallacy, she’s greeted with laughter and praise.

“yeah, shit, i know, right?!” she laughs right back, finally letting it out and giving the bag to midnight, wheezing a little, having had to hold it in. “fuck, let’s get outta here.”

maybe this gig isn’t so bad, after all.

#so.low #mi:prompt2 #tw: mentions of violence

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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princeescaluswords replied to your post:

Alex Summers, after the most recent of 128979889...

Why don’t you write Marvel? You couldn’t possibly do any worse and I could use the laughs!

Lol, its a nice dream, but realistically I don’t think there’s any universe in which Marvel would ever let me write the X-Men.

Like, my very first story would probably have Bobby refreezing the Arctic while Storm heads up a team of elementals to combat climate change. And then a Republican senator and a Democrat senator would go on TV and make a bipartisan show of expressing their gratitude towards mutants for helping save the planet and this is the real future of humanity, this is them all building a world where they can live side by side in a mutually beneficial -

And then the broadcast would cut off because Cypher just hacked every satellite worldwide and said “all your binary codes belong to me now, resistance is futile, blah blah” before turning the camera to Sunspot who’s all decked out in his snazziest suit and dressed to the nines. Roberto yawns and flips the whole world off and says “LOL fuck you, the X-Men are done with respectability politics, we took a vote and our democratic process actually works, we don’t have a fucking electoral college. We only saved the planet because it happens to be the planet we live on, dipshits, nobody did it for you, you’re still cordially invited to go extinct. Or you can play nice and try getting along with the rest of us for a change but good luck trying to make Sentinels happen again, lmao, funding’s gonna be an issue for you pretty soon I think.”

He turns off the camera and goes back to planning his and Sam’s wedding, because look, I have my priorities, okay.

Then Mystique unleashes her new Fellowship of Evil (Same Name, But This Time Its Evil as in STFU, Its Ironic U Assholes) Mutants that she’s been recruiting from the ranks of the young and disenchanted. Overnight, the market is flooded with gold and gems transmuted from ordinary materials by mutant powers, as well as a bunch of shit ‘liberated’ from the coffers of the 1% via her Fellowship’s alliance with her son-in-law’s Thieves’ Guild. Value plummets instantly, and then technopaths join in the fun, crashing every banking system worldwide.

“Whoopsie, I broke capitalism, money’s worthless now, vive la revolution, everyone eat some fucking cake,” Raven sing-songs merrily from the chaise she’s lounging on while eating grapes. The city outside her window is burning. Meanwhile, a fiddler is playing nearby. She calls him Nero, because Aesthetic.

“Oh relax,” she rolls her eyes when Remy attempts to frown at her disapprovingly. “I had my teleporters evacuate the city before I set it on fire. I’m not a heartless monster, you know.”

“You mean you didn’t want to spend the next ten years dealing with your children yelling at you about innocent civilians and how could you,” Remy says dryly.

Mystique just shrugs and eats some more grapes. “Or that.”

Far-right dominated police forces and white supremacist militia groups attempt to forcibly establish martial law, except mostly they’re just standing around clutching their heads and trying to cope with the mother of all migraines as a gestalt of telepathic minds headed up by a Cerebro-powered octet of Jean, Emma, Betsy, Rachel, Quentin, and the Stepford Cuckoos psychically screams FAKE NEWS!!! into their brains every time their CO’s attempt to bark out new orders.

“Best school project ever,” Quire shouts. Emma smirks.

“Extra credit to the first person to psychically leak the full extent of just how extensively governments have invaded their citizens’ privacy with surveillance extremism in the name of national security.”

Jean attempts a half second of chastisement, but with them all linked this closely, there’s really no way to hide that she’s mostly just amused. Oh no, she and Emma are seeing eye to eye on something and there are witnesses and everything. The revolution was a mistake.

Atlanteans and mutant hydrokinetics team up to shove the worst oil and toxic waste and trash spills up onto the shores of every beach marked ‘privately owned’. The mile-wide ‘island’ of plastic debris that formerly sat in the middle of the Pacific is now parked off the coast of Malibu.

There’s a twenty foot demon from Limbo sitting in the Oval Office. It burps. Illyana beams and boops its nose. “Good boy.” It wags its tail and breaks the Oval Office.

Kitty and Kurt direct teams of similarly powered mutants in raiding the top secret R&D facilities of major pharmaceutical companies for all their research on diseases that never made it to mass production because they decided those treatments or cures wouldn’t be profitable in the long run because healthy people don’t need to spend a ton of money on medical care. Teams of healers are standing by to vet the viability of various research, while Hank, Cece and other mutant geniuses are already working on filling in the gaps on all the projects that were shutdown and Forge, Madison Jeffries and tech-based geniuses are converting existing infrastructure into the necessary machinery to take over mass production of these drugs, prosthetics, and sweatshop labor in general.

Speedsters and teleporters are redistributing food and stocking up the millions of properties worldwide that have just been sitting there empty for god knows how long, useless. Colossus is standing in the smashed remains of a mansion with his arms crossed sternly while a man who is definitely not meant to resemble the CEOs of either Tesla or Amazon or look like some kind of Musky Bozo hybrid cowers on the floor.

“You are a very stupid man,” Colossus says. “Why are you wasting billions funding research into space travel when there are aliens with a strong grasp of the technology in the ships that brought them here on every superhero team on Earth? You could have easily provided the Earth with working and widely accessible space travel by now if you weren’t so miserly.”

“Yeah,” Juggernaut says behind him, scratching his head. “Aliens have been coming and going from this planet for like fifty years. There are tons of fancy spaceships anyone could’ve just reverse engineered and mass produced by now. How come nobody’s ever done that and we’re all just acting like space travel is some far-off dream when everyone we know’s been to space like at least ten times?”

“Stupid people,” Colossus rumbles again. Musky Bozo wets himself and Piotr sighs and shakes his head. He didn’t even touch him.

Cyclops and Wolverine and their teams of bruisers are already done with the ICE facilities and have progressed to busting open prisons and liberating all nonviolent offenders. They inform everyone else that they can appeal to a panel of telepaths to read their minds and see for themselves that they’re innocent.

“Guilt determined by mind-reading?” Someone asks. “Lots of potential for sketchiness there.”

“Absolutely,” Scott says. “Which is why laws about boundaries and oversight have to be established. For now, its a volunteer basis only. Nobody has to get their mind read, but its an option available in the meanwhile as we sort out a better system for determining who’s been imprisoned for crimes of premeditated malice and abuse and who’s just been railroaded by an unjust and biased system.”

“So this is your new utopia, huh?” Sneers the prison warden, from the floor where he’s on his ass with a busted face because, idk, Reasons.

Scott just shakes his head. “No. It’s merely a start.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, but if its broke and you wanna fix it, you gotta start somewhere,” Logan says gruffly. “Shit was broke. This is ‘starting somewhere.’”

He and Scott share a very Passionate look of camaraderie. Rogue sighs loudly.

“Just fuck already, jfc.”

Logan grunts. He already offered, but apparently all Personal Business must wait until after the Revolution was over, because a Scott Summers who put himself first was very clearly an impostor, so its not like Logan could even fucking get mad considering Scott putting in a pin in sucking each other’s faces after their We Were Both Dead But Now We’re Not and Also What the Fuck Was Up With Us For the Five Whole Years Before That reunion was what confirmed that it was definitely the Real Scott’s tongue in his mouth.

“Alright, let’s move it people,” Logan barks, clapping his hands. “There’s three more joints to hit before sundown. We got a timetable here.”

Jubilee squints at him suspiciously. “Since when are you efficient?”

“Mind your own fucking business.”

At no point does anyone suggest they erase the most sacred sites of all the world’s major religions and call them all fake or randomly resurrect a bunch of dinosaurs and release them on unsuspecting and innocent populations, because those are terrible ideas and make no sense and just because they’re stinkin’ commies now doesn’t mean they’re fucking morons.

Also, nobody grows a ridiculous beard or stops using shampoo or starts wearing flip flops or robes, because apparently those are not actually essential components of being a stinkin’ commie or even just a garden variety peace-aspiring socialist. They checked. Extensively. It was almost a dealbreaker. Emma, Monet and Roberto all threatened to side with the Capitalist Pigs if that was not thoroughly clarified before proceeding any further.

Thus ends my first issue. I email Marvel the script. They email it back, almost entirely redacted in red, with the note “This isn’t quite what we were looking for. Do you have anything about a new cure for mutants, maybe?”

I email them back: LOL NO. MAGNETO WAS RIGHT.

I am promptly fired.

I go back to ranting about how Marvel sucks on the internet.

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cannibalisticskittles · 6 years

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then fixed his teeth your heart beneath

pairing: saeran/reader notes: vampire au for @crytalstellar that got out of hand. warning for somewhat graphic descriptions of a wound? happy halloween!!

You're folding laundry in your bedroom on a night so quiet you’re nearly dozing off when you hear a crash from the living room.

It’s so loud it makes you jump, hanger slipping from your hands and falling with a clatter to the floor. That’s… not a good sound.

You push the already-folded clothes off your lap and stand with haste, then hesitate. It’s… well, it’s hopefully nothing to be alarmed about -- probably nothing, even! -- but that was…

Okay, that was loud as shit, there’s no way that was normal apartment noises or the sound of the foundation settling. You grab a heavy knickknack off your dresser, something that was probably supposed to be a paperweight but has, until this moment, just been useless clutter. You hold it firmly in one hand before pushing the bedroom door open, and --

There he is.

The source of the noise, who is definitely, definitely not supposed to be here.

You register the shock of white hair first, stark against his dark clothes, and then the oddity of his position -- through your window.

Although he didn't even make it all the way inside your apartment. He’s just sort of laying about halfway in, slumped on his stomach on your windowsill, head down and arms draped uselessly so that his hands rest limply on the floor.

He raises his head weakly when you stop, shocked, staring at the scene.

“Hey,” he says, flashing a weak but still somehow flirtatious smile, and then his eyes flutter shut and his head drops again.

And then you start to panic. There's -- blood, and there's glass everywhere, so no wonder there's blood really, but -- what in the actual shit?

You clutch at your hair, your thoughts spilling out in a near-incoherent stream. “Oh my god what the fuck who the hell are you how did you get here, did you somehow fall? Through my window? ...sideways?? What the shit, how the shit, I--”

He hasn't lifted his head since that first moment. Oh no.

You take quick steps over to the window and kneel with trepidation by him. You can feel broken glass through the fabric of your pants.

“Oh my god please tell me you're alive and you're not going to die halfway in my living room I am not equipped to deal with that.” With shaking hands, you reach out and raise his head, palms against his cheeks and fingers under his jaw. “Hey, hey, look at me, can you hear me?”

He blinks blearily at you, squinting through eyelashes wet with blood. “Mmn.” Okay, that's -- not an answer, exactly, but he's not dead yet, thank god.

You fumble for your phone in your pocket, but when you manage to get it out and start swiping at the screen with desperate, clumsy motions, his hand clamps over your wrist.

“Don't,” he says, and draws in a wheezing breath, “wait--” He cuts off with a long, wet-sounding cough that leaves him panting shallowly.

“It's okay, it's okay, I'm going to call an ambulance,” you soothe, “you'll be okay, don't worry!”

“No,” he groans, “don't take me to the hospital.”

“What? Why not?” Especially when he's practically dyed his shirt through with his own blood -- and it's started to seep into yours, even more so when you wipe your hands on your shirt, hoping that typing will be easier now that your fingers are no longer blood-slick.

When he speaks again, his tone is pleading. “They'll find me there.”

And that gives you pause. His hand falls limply and oh, god, now there's a bloody imprint of his hand on your arm. “Who -- who's they, and, and what should I do instead, then?”

He draws in a shuddering breath. “Threw me… through the window.” Jesus fuck.

“And they’re still out there? Wait, what are you--?”

He shifts, pulling an arm back, and you yelp at the thought that the change in angle might be digging some of those glass shards further into his stomach, but this does not stop him, and moments later, he is handing you a phone.

It's a little slick with blood now, and there's a crack spiderwebbing across the screen from one corner which looks near-crushed -- from impact, or from something before? He drops it into your palm and then sags a little with the effort. “Get… get my brother,” he pants. “He’ll help… get me somewhere safe...”

“Okay, alright, um -- what's the passcode?” This phone does not look factory-fresh, this looks modified, heavily. ...does this have a 16-digit slot for his passcode?

He rattles off numbers through labored breaths and, luckily, you manage to catch each one.

Once you’ve unlocked it, you start scrolling through his contacts. “Okay, um, what’s he listed as?”

“Idiot.”

“Is than an answer, or are you -- okay, yeah, I see him.” Wow. ‘Idiot,’ plain as day. Must be close. “I’m dialing now, what do I say?”

“Just… tell him Saeran needs his help.” He presses his palms against the windowsill, struggling to rise, and mutters, “and to hurry his ass up.”

As the phone rings, you tuck it between your shoulder and your ear, inclining your head so it stays secure, and stand so that you can try to gingerly remove him -- Saeran, you now know -- from the window. Glass crunches underfoot as you shift your weight, but you still wince as you hear the wet squelch of the glass that hadn’t yet broken off slide out from his stomach.

Jesus, look at that gash.

You pull his arm over your shoulder, and manage to assist him in swinging one leg over the windowsill when the line stops ringing and you hear a voice at last. You begin talking immediately.

“Yeah hi, um, Saeran -- is in trouble, he’s hurt and he needs your help and --”

And it’s then you realize that you’ve reached his voicemail.

“--leave a message at the tone! Thank you~”

You droop as it beeps at you, beginning to lead Saeran to the couch, then shake yourself off. “Saeran is hurt,” you say, more firmly this time. “He needs your help.”

You fill in Saeran’s brother -- or his voicemail, anyway -- on your name and address before hanging up, and when you lower the phone, Saeran is watching you with half-lidded eyes, propped up against the arm of the couch. Rather striking eyes, too. Pale, but bright. Might be unsettling, if not for how weak he looks right now. Kind of robs him of that enigmatic vibe.

“Voicemail,” he says flatly.

“Yyyeah,” you admit.

“Figures.”

“So… then if he didn’t answer, what--” You pause as you hear a howl from outside that sounds… close. Unsettlingly so, with your window busted open like this, offering such an easy way in.

His lips twist and he mutters something nearly inaudible. “Stupid… dogs.”

“Don't like dogs?” Interesting time to divulge that fact. Then again, he’s hurting, so maybe the sound grates on his already frayed nerves.

“Mmn.” He hunches his shoulders. God, he is not looking good right now.

This is absurd. You can’t just sit and wait here, you’ve got to get him some medical attention. “Okay,” you say, “look, if someone… tossed you through my window and then didn't come bounding up the fire escape to follow you, I think you're… probably good on that count.” He’s frowning, trying to push himself up on the couch, but you press on, saying, “I can’t just leave you to bleed out on my couch, you know that, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he protests, and this elicits a sharp burst of disbelieving laughter from you.

“You’ve got part of my window in you!”

“And I’ll be fine ,” he says, now through gritted teeth -- though that may be from pain more than anything else, as he’s got an arm pressed to his waist as he tries to sit.

“Yeah, okay, how about we let the experts decide that, huh?” You’re pulling out your phone as he teeters closer to you -- and then the fire escape rattles.

You pause. It rattles again, louder. Sounds like someone’s coming up. On… very heavy footsteps. And is that breathing you hear? Clear enough, even from the center of the room?

You take a step back, closer to the couch.

“...what the hell is that?” you ask, voice small but sharp.

“Those -- fucking dogs followed me up,” he growls, then winces in pain.

“Oh, they have dogs,” you say. “That’s… that’s what you meant, huh?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the window as the footsteps grow louder.

Something snarls, low and much, much too close for comfort.

“...my car’s on the parking lot on the other side of the building, if we move through the hallways, we can go straight to it and be out before anyone sees us.”

When you glance at him, he's gone stiff, gaze also pinned to the window. “Great,” he says, “let’s do that thing that involves not getting caught.”

You dart forward and bend so he can drape an arm around your shoulder, and together you wobble towards the door. You snatch up your keys and then hesitate as you close the door behind you, then begin to lock it.

“Are you serious?” He asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “Just go!”

You don’t respond until after it’s locked and you’ve tucked your keys into your pocket. “I live here,” you mutter, starting down the hallway with him, “Things are already weird enough, I’m not gonna just leave my home open.”

“Yeah,” he pants, “and that broken window’s not an open invitation?”

“I can’t do anything about that, okay? Besides, it’s fine, even if that was someone looking for you, it’s not like they’re following us now.” As you reach the end of the hallway, you hear a loud thud from behind you.

...a little faster couldn’t hurt.

But he’s swaying something fierce. “You still think you’re fine?”

“ Mmh .” He frowns as you round the corner, stumbling a little. “I am fine.”

“Look at you, you can hardly walk.”

“But I’m doing it.”

“I’d argue that I’m doing it, actually, you’ve got most of your weight on me.”

“We don’t need a hospital,” he insists, “I just need to get home.”

“Yeah,” you say, and grunt with the effort of hoisting open the door to the stairs while not letting him slip, “I’ll be sure to make a note of that in the police report, that’s definitely going to keep me from being arrested for letting you die in my apartment.”

“Technically,” he says, “there's better odds that I would die in your car at this rate.”

“Oh, that’s optimistic,” you grouse, but ask, “Doing okay?”

His breathing grows heavier as you both head down the stairs, but still he nods.

Thank god you parked nearby. You help him into the passenger seat and to buckle, though he laughs weakly at that.

“You think that’ll help me now?”

“I think if you go through a window twice in one night, that’ll be the end of you.”

“Where are we going?”

You glance over at him as you settle into your own seat. He’s already… seeping into your car, jesus. “Hospital.”

He groans.

“Look, we’ll compromise, okay? Where's your brother? Or… your home? I’ll go to one in that general direction. Can you just… here.”

You unlock your phone, then toss it to him so he can put in the address as you begin to pull out of the parking lot.

After a moment, he hands it back, and you give a low whistle as you glance at the screen. “That’s… pretty far.” He's holding up surprisingly well, all things considered, but that looks like it's beyond city limits, and there's no way you can risk it.

Not that you'd risk it even if his house was close. This isn't a situation where home remedies would work.

It's a little slow, limiting your typing to when you're stopped at lights and crossroads, but you manage to pull up a list of hospitals, urgent cares, and clinics.

“There's something on the main road out of town, which looks like the way to your brother, okay?”

He makes a noncommittal noise, but the question is more for courtesy’s sake. It's only about a five minute’s drive away, so it should be fine, right? Maybe only about a minute farther than ones not on the route to his house, but he's still conscious so that's -- fine. Right?

Otherwise you're pulling a truly dumbass move just to get this dying stranger to be a little less surly.

You're so focused on sticking to the route and not missing turns that it takes you a while to process a new noise.

It's soft, just an occasional little clink, but still you look over.

And then you yelp.

He's currently preoccupied with pulling bits of glass from his stomach and setting them on your dashboard, which has already accumulated an alarming little pile.

“What are you doing?” you cry.

He looks at you, then as his stomach, then back to you. “Fixing it myself.”

“That's not -- don't do that!”

“You’d rather I just leave it in me?”

“Well -- yeah! Isn't there that thing about stabbing where you're supposed to leave whatever stabbed you there so it doesn't leave gaps or something? That's not -- nngh.” You wince as he pulls out a piece a few inches long, longer than the width of his palm. He contemplates it for a moment, looking oddly impressed, then flicks it onto the pile.

“It'll be fine,” he says, and continues.

“God, I wish I had your confidence,” you mutter, but luckily, you only have this last turn to make and then you won't have any reason to worry.

But panic begins to bubble up the moment you pull into the parking lot, as even from the outside, it seems more reminiscent of a store in a strip mall than a proper clinic.

Oh, man, this place looks a lot smaller than you were anticipating. Shit. Well, it's still billed as an urgent care, it's gotta be able to help, right?

“We shouldn’t be here,” he protests, but allows you to help him out.

As soon as you make it through the door, your doubts double. It’s empty.

Well, no, there's a receptionist, and to her credit, she's immediately raising her head to focus on the pair of you as you enter, but it's not a particularly large room, and yet there's no shortage of empty chairs.

She stares at you for a moment and then picks up the phone as you help ease Saeran into a seat, and as you stagger closer to try to explain, falteringly, “there was an accident -- he's lost a lot of blood--”

He's already started picking out more bits of glass. You can hear them hit the floor behind you.

Shortly, she sets the phone back on the receiver, an annoyed look crossing her face for only a moment before her expression smooths out.

“Wait here,” she says. She speaks firmly, leaving no room for uncertainty.

She stands and goes running and you let yourself sag against the counter. It's fine, it's okay, she's going to come back with a doctor and they're going to sort him out, he's going to be fine, you're going to be fine, they're going to stitch him up and hook him up to an IV and do whatever else needs found and he'll be fine.

And, odds are, there isn't anyone in your apartment now and your insurance will probably find the whole thing funny in the morning and that'll get sorted out easy, too, and it'll be fine, it'll be okay.

You raise your head when you hear the sound of footsteps nearing and then the receptionist is back.

“The doctor on call is just a step behind, there's nothing to worry about, just --” She stops short. “Where's your friend?”

“What? He's right there, he--”

Isn't there. You do take notice of a terrible looking trail of blood that looks smeared, like someone dragged something over it, or crawled or something, leading to a side door, but then there's bloody footprints over that that continue until they overlap with the ones that you trailed inside.

You're off like a shot because by that logic, if you follow the footsteps back out, you'll probably find --

“--Saeran?”

He's sitting in the passenger seat, knees up to his chest, sullenly sucking on the -- straw of a juice box.

You come over to the side of the car and try the door, but it's locked. “ Saeran .”

He meets your gaze and for a moment, he doesn't do anything, but then, at last, he resents and pulls the lock up.

You open the door. “What are you doing.” Your voice is flatter than your meant it, but really, what is up with this guy? All you want is to help him to not die of severe blood loss, does he really have to fight you every step of the way? Who does he think he pissed off, the mob?

“...called my brother again,” he says. “Finally picked up. He's on his way.”

“Well that's… good, but if he's already coming here, why don't you come back in and let them look at you while you're waiting?”

He meets your eyes again. “No.”

“No?” You fold your arms and try to resist the urge to snap at him. “And why not?”

“I've already got most of the glass out, and it won't take long to heal.”

“Are you--” You pause to let the irritation drain from your voice and in the silence he takes another sip out of… whatever he has. Where the hell did he get that, anyway? When you narrow your eyes at it, trying to get a better look, he frowns and cradles it protectively to his chest, effectively blocking your view.

Whatever. You'll find out soon enough anyway. You draw in a slow breath, then try again. “You realize that you are… not in great shape, don't you? You've left so much of a trail behind you that I can't imagine you have much left in you anymore. What possible reason could you have for not going in when we're right here?”

His gaze is beyond stubborn. “Don't wanna.”

“Do you have a death wish?” So much for that ‘no snapping’ thing.

“It's too late for that anyway,” he mutters.

“Oh, the hell it is.” You lean closer, resting one hand on the roof of the car. “Look, I don't know what your hang-up is, but I am not going to let you bleed to death sitting outside a clinic. If you don't want to walk in, fine, I'm sure I can get someone to bring out a goddamn gurney if necessary to get you in there.”

He rolls his eyes and stares resolutely over your shoulder -- and then his eyes widen and he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls you in.

You protest even as you fall, flopping across his lap, and he pulls the door shut and slams his fist down over the lock.

“Hey, what the fuck ,” you complain. You try to wiggle into a better position to sit up, but he puts a hand on your back to push you back down and leans down, curling around you.

“What--”

Something hits the car, hard enough to rock it, and you shriek.

For a minute, all you can think is that you've just been t-boned by another car, but an experimental shift of your feet proves that they're still intact, as is the passenger door they're pressed against.

You scramble to sit the moment the car stills, falling to the floor in front of the passenger seat and rising to peek out the window.

Immediately, you wish you hadn't.

You have no goddamn clue what hit you, if not a car, but whatever it is is big, and fast, and coming straight for you again.

As you scramble back, you fall against him, and he draws in a sharp, pained breath.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you mutter, tripping over yourself to drag yourself over him and into the driver’s seat while fumbling for your keys.

You jam your keys into the ignition just as the thing hits you again.

You clutch your steering wheel for dear life as the car tips almost perfectly on its side. Dimly, you are aware of Saeran’s seatbelt clicking into place. How nice that he's paying attention to that sort of thing now .

And then, miraculously, the car tips back.

The impact isn't the most pleasant sensation, but you're too relieved to be right-side-up to really care. You turn the key with enough force that it feels like it might snap in half, pull the gearshift into reverse, and slam on the gas. You end up overcompensating and reversing halfway across the parking lot, probably way too close to where that thing is, but it's fine, it's okay, you're moving now, as long as you keep moving it'll be fine.

You've only got the barest plan of where you're going, but you're suddenly grateful for the near-empty parking lot. At least the odds of crashing into another car while trying to figure it out are pretty low.

Exit there on the left, hang a right, follow the road back down where you came from, another right, and then straight on, back on the path to his house. You’ll figure out if that’s actually your end goal once you've put some distance between you and this place and that… thing. Right. You can do this.

You switch gears again, press down on the gas, lurch forward -- and hit the thing as it comes barreling out from the sidelines.

The car jerks to a stop. “What is that what did I just hit what the--”

Saeran is pushing frantically at your arm. “Drive drive drive!”

So you do.

You actually go careening over the curb at that first turn, too panicked to accurately judge the angle, and overcompensate at the next, swinging into the bushes bordering the lane.

You don't let yourself think about it, just right your course with shaking hands and speed along on your way. First ten, then twenty, then thirty miles over the limit. Nothing seems fast enough, nothing seems far enough, and your heart is pounding from a rush of adrenaline that floods through you and does not cease.

Every flash of light or movement from the corner of your eye seems like the thing , and you nearly veer into another car paused at a stop sign, because in the moment before you identified what it was, it seemed strange and foreign and dangerous.

It doesn't help that he'll toss in little suggestions as you go, reminding you to turn here, or take that road instead, it's quicker, and all the while urging you to go, faster, hurry up!

You adjust to these changes as best you can, but you're sure you must be a sight to see, switching lanes last minutes and darting down side roads in little neighborhoods that really weren't meant for the speeds you're going. You're lucky you haven't been pulled over, though the late hour probably contributes to that.

Finally, on an empty stretch of road, Saeran says, “pull over.”

“Here?”

“Yes.” His voice is even, unshaken, and you envy that stability.

This doesn't seem nearly close enough, based on what you remember of the map, nor does it feel far enough away from the clinic, but the idea of rest is making the adrenaline drain out of you, and so you pull the car over at the side of the road and turn it off.

For a moment, you just sit there, hands white-knuckled as you grip the steering wheel. “What,” you say at last, “the hell was that.”

“It was that goddamn dog,” he mutters, distaste in his tone, but you jab an accusatory finger at him.

“That!” you cry, “was no goddamn dog! That was -- that was -- big enough to be a fucking bear, but it didn't move like one, what was --” And then you pause. “Are you texting right now? Right now, while I’m freaking the fuck out because I'm dragging your ass away from something that shook my car like a toy and you just -- have you -- been doing that, texting calmly this whole time? Should I follow your lead and not be panicking, somehow?”

“Hey,” he snaps, now scowling, “excuse me for trying to find us a way out of this mess.”

“Doing a single goddamn thing to help after fighting me every step of the way doesn't make us square and even,” you protest. “And what exactly did you do to ‘find us a way out?’”

“I told my brother where we are,” he says, mouth twisting in disdain. “He's on his way. It's better than waiting around here.”

“Okay, you told me to pull over and wait, otherwise we'd still be driving, so that's really not a fair assessment.”

“If you hadn't insisted on a hospital we'd already be there, so yeah, it really is.”

“Oh, okay, sorry, silly me, not wanting you to die, my bad!”

You indicate his stomach, and he curls an arm protectively around his middle -- and then his shoulders shake with a sudden coughing fit.

“Ahh -- shit, are you okay?” You hesitate, hands hovering outstretched, and then you awkwardly pat his back as he coughs.

“Mmn.” He wipes his mouth weakly when he finally straightens, eyes looking a touch more unfocused, but at least he's not wiping any blood away from his mouth. “Yeah, ‘m okay.” He sounds groggier than before, and certainly less agitated.

His phone beeps, and with only a cursory glance at it, he says, “he's here.”

Sure enough, you hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and when you look to see who’s approaching, what pulls up is the flashiest car you have ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Saeran groans beside you.

“I'm guessing that's him, huh?” you ask as the car parks just ahead of you and a man steps out.

Even just from your headlights, his hair is bright enough to rival the red of his car, and as he comes up to your car, he seems brighter still.

He knocks on your window, and it's only then that you realize that you've just been staring. You roll the window down and he offers a tense smile.

He looks nervous, though some of this nervousness seems to ease when he looks behind you to see Saeran in the passenger seat.

He holds out a hand, politely stopping just before the point that he would be actually reaching into your car, and you find yourself somewhat charmed by his consideration, already more than his brother has shown you in the much longer span of time you’ve known him.

“Saeyoung,” he says, and you introduce yourself as well, though you already did so when you called earlier.

“You were the one who left a message earlier, right?” You nod, and he beams, a little sheepishly. “Thank you for that,” he says, and inclines his head to indicate Saeran. “And for this. And sorry, too! I was in the garage and didn't hear the phone ring, you're a lifesaver.”

You duck your head, embarrassed by his praise, and hear Saeran scoff beside you. Fair chance he's rolling his eyes, too.

Saeyoung’s gaze shifts to his brother. “Saeran, can you walk?”

“Yeah,” grumbles Saeran, “no thanks to you.”

“We should go,” Saeyoung says. “Avoid… another encounter. Saeran said you already ran into someone tonight?”

“We sure ran into something ,” you say carefully, and Saeran snickers.

“Then we should hurry. They might still be following.” The thought brings an unpleasant shiver.

“Who were they?” you ask, and Saeyoung gives a helpless shrug.

“Someone who wanted to hurt my brother, and who seems to want to hurt you, too,” he says.

Saeyoung rounds the car to open the passenger door, and though Saeran bats at his brother’s hand at first, he accepts it after a moment of struggling to stand on his own -- which doesn't stop him from stumbling, knees buckling seconds later, when he steps fully out of the car.

Saeyoung lifts his head to look at you. “Would you--?”

“Oh! Of course!” You snatch your keys from the ignition and scramble to get out and lock the car quickly so that you can join Saeyoung. Together, you support Saeran the short distance to Saeyoung’s car.

Saeyoung opens the back door, then pauses. “I know we've only just met, and you have no reason to want to stick around,” he starts, a little hesitant. “But… can I ask for your help a little longer? It'll be safer for you, too,” he promises.

He's right. There really is no reason why you should agree. Even assuming that the thing is after him, or even you now, what's to say it won't find you with them? You could just keep driving on your own and your odds would probably be better. And you'd be agreeing with Saeran’s confident prediction that just picking the glass out of his stomach will make him right as rain, if you came along.

Also, this is a little like the set-up to a tragic missing person case, but… your clothes are already soaked through with blood, you're still shaken from what you saw earlier, and fuck it, your apartment’s probably trashed now anyway, where else are you going to go?

So you nod, and relief spills across Saeyoung’s face like sunshine.

You climb into the backseat first to help ease Saeran in, and Saeyoung waits anxiously until Saeran settles, then returns to the driver’s seat.

“Keep him awake,” Saeyoung says as he starts the car, “he should be fine until we get there, but…”

You nod. “Got it.”

Saeran buckles his seatbelt, tugs it until it's comfortable -- and then lays across the seat instead, settling his head in your lap.

“Hey,” you say, “doesn't this seem a bit counterintuitive to trying to stay awake?”

“Mmn. Hurts.”

“I don't doubt that. But it's gonna--” Well, you can't say it's gonna hurt more if he falls asleep because the risk is that sleeping is a sign that he's fading away. “...alright, so staying awake won't ease the pain, but you gotta try anyway, yeah?”

He shows no sign of moving and so, hesitantly, you card your fingers through his hair. His eyes slide shut and he practically purrs, squirming to settle in further.

“This is bribery to stay awake,” you say. “If you start getting sleepy, I'm gonna stop.”

“Got it,” he says, and then yawns.

You pull away. “Hey, I mean it.”

He whines in protest and grabs your hand, pulling it back down to his head. “‘m awake. Keep bribing me.”

“Fussy,” you say, but continue. His hair is soft, at least -- where it's not matted with more blood.

...still has that juice or whatever. You try to surreptitiously reach for it, but he shoots you a baleful look, brings it up to his mouth to take a sip, and cradles it out of sight again. Stubborn brat.

You ask him questions every once in a while, make sure he's awake enough to answer, and it's during one of these times that you ask, “so what exactly happened to make something chase you, follow you around so… determinedly?”

He frowns, though he keeps his eyes closed. “Said something someone didn't like. Guess they didn't like it more than I expected.”

“...and what did you say, and… to who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, they've got you bleeding out and they tried to flip my car, so I’m a little curious.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and then, “hurts too much to talk.”

“Oh, you little liar.” His lips quirk up at that, but he still doesn't elaborate.

He lays like this, content to receive your attention, the length of the drive, and you have to admit, it's sort of soothing.

Although you lose some of your inner tranquility when your destination comes in sight.

Somehow you know from the moment you see it that Saeyoung is going to make the turn into the path leading to the dilapidated old house rather than pass it by. Today has already been so strange, this may as well happen.

“So you live here, huh?” you ask softly.

“Yes,” says Saeran, staying still in your lap with his eyes closed. “Unless we're not at the house, then no.”

You huff, but can't stop a smile.

Saeyoung pulls up in front of the house and parks the car. It seems even more worn-down from this vantage post. Still, they must find some charm in it, if they stay here.

“This place looks… nice,” you remark, giving it a once over as you extricate yourself from the car, immediately taking up your position supporting Saeran.

“It's a fixer-upper,” Saeyoung says, spinning his ring of keys around his finger s.

“Uh- huh. Bit of an odd sight, though, such a nice car in front of your… fixer-upper.”

He gestures to the car and says, “Normally I would park in the garage, but it's quicker to go through this way.” Still, he gives it a troubled, contemplative look.

“Oh, who cares if they scratch up your precious baby?” Saeran complains.

“Of course I care more about my precious baby brother than my baby car!” Saeyoung enthuses, and Saeran groans.

“ Stoooop. ”

When you get close to the front door, Saeyoung carefully slips out from under Saeran's arm and… leans close to the door to murmur something?

There's a whoosh like an escaping of air, followed by a decisive click , and Saeyoung pulls the door open. He gives an exaggerated little flourish and a goofy grin. “After you~”

Boy, you sure hope it's a little better taken care of inside. And that it's not a remote murder-house and this was all an elaborate ruse to get you inside. Hoo, boy, you are not making the best decisions tonight, are you?

The door thuds shut behind you, followed by another click , so it's a little too late for those sort of thoughts.

As you glance around the room in the dim light, you feel a hand settle on your shoulder -- Saeyoung, given that Saeran’s got one arm around your waist to help support his weight and the other is dangling at his side. You want to turn and ask Saeyoung what’s up, but you can't really twist when you're holding Saeran, and you can't see much of him when you look back behind you.

Saeran squints at Saeyoung behind you and then he shakes his head vehemently. After a moment, his expression shifts to one of disdain. What--?

But Saeyoung steps past you to put an arm around Saeran. “Well!” he says, voice bright, “I’d give you the grand tour, but I think that'll have to wait until we get this taken care of.” He inclines his head to gesture to Saeran, and you nod.

“Do you need… help?” you venture.

“Oh, I might! I should get him settled in bed first though, and there's some tricks to his room that should be taken care of before you come in. After, though, I’ll let you know!”

“...tricks?”

“Security measures.”

Saeran mutters, “not that they keep out who they're supposed to.”

“Speaking of--” His hand leaves Saeran's side briefly to fan out towards the front door. “It's locked tight right now, so if you need out… come and get me?” He shrugs, tone marginally apologetic but still sounding carefree. “Unless you know Arabic. It's secure, though, so there's that!” He offers a cheerful grin.

“...Arabic.”

“It's even stupider than it sounds,” Saeran deadpans.

Saeyoung seems unphased. “So! While I get things set up, feel free to look around if you like, though there's mostly just bedrooms upstairs, which would be…”

“Ill-advised,” says Saeran.

“A little rude,” agrees Saeyoung. “Or you could take up residence on one of the couches if you like. Or all of them!” He glances around. “We have a light switch around here somewhere… ah!” He actually snaps his fingers. We have roommates -- Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun is tall.”

“And Yoosung?”

“Isn't,” says Saeran.

“Illuminating,” you say.

Saeyoung laughs. For all his worry about Saeran, he seems to think his brother is at least well enough to stay untended for the duration of this little chat. Though… it might be the lighting, but Saeran seems to have a touch more color in his cheeks than he did earlier. Which is good, you suppose, if you're not imagining it.

Before Saeyoung leads him away, Saeran presses something into your hands. “Here,” he says, “since you were so curious.”

You wince as you watch them slowly ascend the stairs. You hear faint, pained exhalations until they move along the hallway and out of sight.

Damn, though, this place is fancy for being so rough outside.

Feels a little like you're visiting someone's once-esteemed grandmother, or a slightly haunted house -- all the furniture you can see looks antique, with gilt and claw feet everywhere, as well as a heavy, musty smell of dust. Inherited, maybe? Or rented out, and the owner kept all the old-ass trappings from the Victorian era?

Maybe you can ask when they come back. Either way, you're a little too wary of the dust cloud you might unsettle by sitting, so you'll put that option on the backburner for now.

There are two sources of light you could investigate instead -- left, behind the staircase, or right, a little brighter, at the end of another hallway.

Though you suppose you should look at what Saeran has given you, first. You unclench your hand and bring the mystery gift up to your face -- and freeze.

Is that a… blood pack?

An empty blood pack?

You smooth it out as best you can and peer closer for another look, but it’s unmistakable. O+, too.

“What… the hell,” you whisper. Had you seen it wrong? Had he really been… sipping out of this thing? Maybe he was just holding it. But then, it's empty, so how -- and why ?

Maybe he took it from the clinic to use for a home transfusion and it spilled out in the car? Or -- don't they make energy drinks packaged like this now? But then, how would he get that, if he didn't have it when he crashed into your apartment? You can think up a variety of possible answers, scenarios both plausible and far-fetched, but there's a nervous knot in your stomach at the uncertainty of it, not knowing if his intentions were dangerous or benign or just bizarre.

Still staring at it, your feet move without conscious thought, seeking answers, and you don't realize you've started up the stairs until you hit something that makes you stumble back, losing your footing.

There's an intense jolt of vertigo as you slip, even as some part of you recognize you were just a few steps up, but as you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact, a hand shoots out and grabs your arm.

Your breath catches as you're caught and drawn forward, and when you open your eyes, you realize you are cradled in a strong but gentle embrace.

A chuckle comes from above you, in a voice low and rich. “Are you alright?”

“Yyyes?” It doesn't sound like one of the brothers, and he certainly seems, tall, so… “Hyun?” you guess.

He laughs again, sounding delighted. “Do you know me?” He loosens his arms at last, allowing you to pull back and get a look at him and oh, wow, is he gorgeous . He looks like he's stepped straight off the cover of a magazine, with striking eyes and a face that seems carved from fine marble, even if there is something antiquated about his clothes.

“I don't know you,” he says, after a moment of studying you. “I'm sure I would have remembered a face as lovely as yours.”

Heat rushes to your face at the sincerity in his voice. “No, it was -- Saeyoung told me about you.”

“Did he? Good things, I hope?” he asks, voice amused.

“Just -- your name. And that you're tall,” you say.

He smiles warmly, dazzlingly. “Well,” he says, “hopefully I can leave you with a better impression of me than that.”

He doesn't need to worry about that.

“But you're sure you're alright?” He angles his head to look you over, hands moving from your waist to your shoulders.

“Yeah, I'm fine, really, I was just… a little startled,” you say, and laugh wryly. “Probably should have paid a little more attention to where I was going,” you begin.

“The fault is mine,” he says, and then he clicks his tongue, a look of frustration passing over his features. “My inattentiveness could have seriously hurt you.”

“Oh, no,” you say, even though he's not technically wrong, but you weren't paying attention, either, and he seems so remorseful that you just -- feel bad. “Really, don't worry about it! What's done is done, anyway, and I'm fine, so…”

His smile remains as he looks at you warmly.

“...what?” you ask.

“You're kind,” he says, and there's that embarrassment again.

“That’s -- not necessarily true, but I’m -- glad you think so,” you fumble.

“I do,” he says. “Aside from that… clumsy introduction--” And here he looks remorseful again. “It's wonderful to meet you. Though I suppose we haven't been fully introduced just yet…”

He pauses meaningfully, and your name comes out along with a flustered laugh.

“It's good to have a name to put to your lovely face.”

He holds out his hand, and at first you think he means to just shake hands, but when you move to reciprocate the gesture, he takes hold of your hand and places a gentle kiss to the back of it, then to the tips of your fingers.

Before you can recover, he gently turns your hand and places a kiss to the underside of your wrist and lingers, and you feel yourself faintly flush at the implication -- and then there is sharpness.

Pinpricks of pain, so sharp and sudden that your only initial reaction is a soft gasp.

And then he -- laps at your wrist, what the hell?

“Wha- at are you doing?” Somehow in the midst of your panic you find the time to be embarrassed by your voice cracking

He looks up at you, still fucking biting your wrist and you --

Freeze isn't quite the right word. It feels… warm. Why would you want to pull away?

His eyes are such a lovely shade of red and it feels like you're falling again but you're cocooned now. Safe.

When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy, and heavier still with each passing second. Your breathing evens out from the panicked hitch there before. You are at peace.

There's a distant noise, and then closer, louder -- “Hyung! She's a guest!”

Immediately, Hyun stills. The expression on his face is… well, he looks like his soul has just left his body.

He pulls away, and some of the haze clears. You blink blearily at the source of the noise and find Saeyoung in the hallway at the top of the stairs, clutching the railing and looking bemused.

You glance back at Hyun and he is mortified. He takes a sudden step back from you so that you are no longer touching.

Saeyoung is… starting to laugh. “You really think I'd bring home a donor without introducing you first?”

“You mean like the last three times?” Hyun snaps. “She knew my name, that seemed like your usual introduction--” He groans. “‘Someone’s here’ has never meant anything other than that before, I thought you’d say anything else if it was -- different!”

Saeyoung laughs. “Yeah, I guess that was misleading, huh?”

“You think ?” Hyun snaps.

“Sorry~” says Saeyoung, sounding anything but. “I didn't think you'd run into her before I came back for her.”

“How was I supposed to know--” And then Hyun squeezes his eyes shut and groans again, then mutters, “oh, that's no excuse.”

Saeyoung laughs louder. “It really isn't!” He sounds delighted, what the fuck.

“Hey,” you say, shooting bewildered looks at the both of them, “does anyone want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Hyun has his face buried in his hands. Muffled, you hear: "It was meant to be a courtesy bite but that was. The least courteous thing I could have done."

“To be fair,” Saeyoung says, “it is usually the polite thing to do.”

You pause. “Explain,” you say.

At this, Hyun lifts his head. “Saeyoung…”

“Okay,” Saeyoung says, clasping his hands together, “I may have… not explained anything. To anyone. But Hyung…” He shakes his head mournfully. “I can't believe you stopped for a snack when my brother is bleeding out in his room.” The thought elicits a moment of panic, and then you register the tone of his voice. You can assume, then, that Saeran is not actually bleeding out. Probably. ...if he is and that's how his brother breaks the news, you're in trouble.

“You said it was nothing to worry about,” Hyun says hotly. “That you had everything under control and it would just be a quick favor for you if you didn't have to run back and forth to get the backup blood.”

“Did I?” Saeyoung taps his chin, looking thoughtful.

“ Seven! ” Seven?

“Okay, you're right, I did. I do kind of need it, though, so…”

“You're not going to get it yourself? After you’re already halfway there?” Hyun protests.

“You said you’d do it!” Saeyoung reminds, and then he points at you. “I actually came to ask if you could come upstairs when you're ready -- he's almost decent.” And off he goes.

Hyun is muttering his subdued fury. “That guy...”

“What does he want you to get?” you ask, staring at the space where Saeyoung recently vacated.

There's a pause that stretches on longer than is comfortable. “Blood.” You can hear the wince in his voice .

“Quick, uh, quick question?” you say.

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck .”

There's a sharp bark of laughter from him, which he then looks sheepish about. For a guy who went to town on your wrist, he seems pretty nice.

“Okay,” you say, trying to think. Everything about this night is absurd. Maybe you miscalculated and this is all just a particularly vivid night terror. Maybe this is really happening and you're just experiencing your new standard of living. There's always something that doesn't add up whenever you try to theorize, so you do the only thing that makes sense: “Take me with you to get what Saeyoung asked you for,” you say.

Hyun hesitates. “That's not going to… scare you?” He looks doubtful.

“Oh, hell yeah, it is, but if you show me what's going on I can either stop being scared out or freak out more.”

So he hesitates, then nods and gestures for you to follow him. He starts off down that hallway to the right of the stairs, where you saw a light in the distance.

You are silent as he leads the way, thoughts unable to settle on just one avenue, but finally you begin, “so… I still haven't gotten much of an explanation.”

“Not sure I have one to give,” he says, sounding apologetic. It’s at this moment that you reach the end of the hallway and discover the source of the light at last: a kitchen. Huh. “We've… never had someone here who didn’t know about all this.” He makes his way over to the fridge -- stainless steel, real modern-looking. More than a little out-of-place with the rest of the kitchen decor. The kitchen doesn’t look quite as antiquated as the rest of the house, but it’s gotta be a couple decades behind at least.

You ask, “And ‘this’ is what, serial killer tendencies? Bloodplay fetishes taken way too far? Black market dealings? Like wh--Jesus Christ, this proves my point actually, this is a hell of a lot of blood packs. Why do you… have these?” It's just -- flush with blood. Closed containers, blood packs mostly, but… shit. You pause, taking it all in, then cast a sideways glance at him. “I'm not going to like this answer, am I?”

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Okay,” you say, “great. Then just… tell me, is it -- are you -- dangerous?” There's a moment of hesitation, and your stomach drops out. “Oh, god.”

“No, no!” he says hastily. “We're not going to hurt you. Just--” He gestures to you, and you are reminded of your bloodied state.

“I'm not hurt,” you say after a moment. “But… I see what you mean, I think. Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“No,” he says, palming a blood pack, “but more often than it should.” He hesitates, then offers it to you. “Do you mind…?”

And you're already in this deep. You might as well. “Sure,” you say, and allow him to pass you a few more, which you stack in your arms. “Y’know, maybe I should have guessed that something was up when the, uh, mess that is currently me didn't raise any questions.”

He laughs softly, gathering up a few for himself as well. “I'd imagine you've had a long day,” he says kindly.

He pulls back and closes the door to the fridge, and you ask, “Did Saeyoung tell you what happened?”

Hyun makes a face, lips twisting in distaste. Somehow, he still manages to make this look pretty. “No. All he said was ‘hello hyung, Saeran isn't as bad as he looks but I’d appreciate it if you could grab him something to patch him up, and by the way, someone's here!’” His eyes widen and he adds a lilt to his voice in an impression of Saeyoung that's… pretty damn good, actually.

“Ah,” you say. “Well, I can't shed much light on what happened, but Saeran came crashing through my window, chased by… something. Keeps insisting that he's fine, even though I thought he was about to keel over in my living room.”

He clicks his tongue and mutters, “That boy, always so rude,” and you grin.

“Got him to a clinic which he refused to use, and then something knocked into the car.” You hesitate. “...I think I hit it on the way out.”

“You didn't see what it was?”

“Not a good look, at least. Seemed big. Wasn't really interested in sticking around long enough for a better view.”

“Better to be safe,” he agrees, then frowns, looking contemplative. “I wonder why…”

“Saeran said he, uh, said something to piss someone off. So. Still don't know what that was or who he said it too, but he seems to think that's the root of the problem.”

“That boy …”

You reach the front area once more and start up the stairs with him. “Just so I'm clear, are all the emergencies that happen here Saeran’s fault?”

“This doesn't happen often,” he says, and then concedes, “but when it happens on this scale, the odds are good that he's why.”

As you make your way down the hallway, following his lead, a thought occurs to you. “...is a fridge the right temperature to store these?” You ask, glancing down at the bags in your arms. They're cool against your skin, but maybe not as much as you'd expect.

“This one is.” He shakes his head a little. “Don't ask me if it's like that on its own or not, I had nothing to do with setting it up.”

“You just live here,” you tease, and he agrees.

“Seven’s the tech expert. Well, Saeran too, but he keeps his projects to his room, at least.”

“Why d’you call him Seven?” you ask, just as he pauses outside a door.

“Ahh, just a nickname. Something he uses when he does his thing.”

“And what's his thing, exactly?”

He gives a helpless shrug. “You'd have better luck asking him. He's explained it to me but…” He shakes his head. Hell if I know, he seems to say. “Now…” He knocks on the door. “Seven?” he calls.

Saeyoung’s voice floats through the door in singsong. “Who is it~?”

“You--” Hyun huffs. “Just tell me if it’s safe to come in or not,” Hyun huffs.

“Mmm… almost! But it's fine, it's fine!”

“I have her with me!” Hyun calls.

“Oh! Tell her not to come in yet, it's not ready!”

Hyun sighs. “Sorry,” he says to you. “You could wait here while I give him these, if you want. Or there's a sitting area just over that way if you'd prefer that.”

“D’you think it'll take that long?”

“Mmm… if there's still some of Saeran’s traps laying around, Saeyoung is probably still tending to Saeran. Might be a while, but maybe not? Depends on whether he just cleared enough of a path to help Saeran or if he's been working his way through the rest.”

“ Why is Saeran’s room trapped?”

“Seven,” Hyun says simply. “I don't think it works.”

“Ah.”

“Seven should have them all dismantled for you before you come in so you won't get caught up in any of them.” And then he mutters, “just me.”

You wince. “Good luck,” you say, carefully handing over the blood packs in your arms.

“I'll make sure he doesn't forget the rest of them for you,” he says, and as you thank him, he turns the doorknob and steps inside.

You stand there for a few minutes, waiting, but there is only silence. So, with some reluctance, you head down the hallway in the direction he indicated.

You're nearly to the end of it when you hear a crash followed by muffled cursing. Sounds like he was right. Poor Hyun.

You turn back when the door opens a moment later to see Hyun, looking a little flustered as he smoothes down his hair. When he spots you, he gives a wave, but shakes his head. Not ready for you, then.

You nod back and continue down the hall.

The sitting room, as he called it, is an interesting contradiction. The couches here look as old as the ones downstairs, but there's a flatscreen tv against one wall along with various gaming consoles. Is that a wii? Huh.

You pick one of the couches -- pink velvet, an interesting choice -- and take a seat.

And wait.

And… wait.

Didn't Saeyoung say he might need your help with Saeran? Of course, home surgery seems like it's tricky business, so maybe it's just going to take longer than you'd thought.

God, why are you going along with this again? The clinic, you think, that's where things went off course. Up until then, you were only doing what felt necessary, but you should've -- ran back inside and stayed there when he refused to go in, or something.

...you abandoned your car by the side of the road. God damn, you had better hope this is just a weird but ultimately mostly-harmless situation, because if not, the wikipedia page about your murder is just going to be embarrassing.

If they're murderers, they're a merry bunch of murderers. Kind of… inept, too. Maybe your odds are just fine.

You hear the soft creak of a door opening, and you cock your head, listening for Saeyoung’s voice, but it doesn't come. Might just be Hyun heading back to his room.

You sigh and settle back into the couch, letting your head drop. It's kind of a nice couch, actually. Doesn't have that veneer of dust over it like the ones downstairs do, and it's soft when you run your palm over the seat beside you.

A floorboard creaks and you raise your head.

There is someone padding closer with quiet footsteps, coming from the direction of the other hallway.

You startle a little at the sight of him and the fact that you only barely heard him coming, though his appearance take away the sharpness of that shock.

He looks soft , with big, violet eyes and slightly-unruly blonde hair kept in place with bright clips that barely manage to keep it down in spots. He comes to stand in front of you and fidgets with the sleeves of his oversized cream sweater where they drape over his hands.

He's… adorable.

“You're the one who brought Saeran home?” He asks you.

“Uh -- yeah, I am,” you say. “With Saeyoung, but… yeah.”

He nods, glances at the seat beside you, and slowly pads over to sit beside you.

You almost want to check and see if his feet are dangling off the couch, although he's not that short. Saeran’s assessment, you find, is right. Hyun is tall; Yoosung, who this must be, just… isn't. Honestly, he's probably a perfectly average height, he’s just… not as tall as the others.

He offers you a faint smile. “Thank you for getting him here safe. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't help him out. How does he seem look? Is he… okay?” He -- Yoosung -- asks you.

“Well, I… haven't seen Saeran since Saeyoung took him up here, but he looked... pretty rough.” Really, you still think a hospital would be better. They have blood, but do they have any way to facilitate a transfusion?

Yoosung nods, eyes sliding to the floor.

He looks… entirely morose, and you find yourself scrambling to reassure him. “But he and Saeyoung both seem confident that he'll pull through, and Hyun too, so -- I'm sure he'll be just fine!”

Yoosung nods again, but now he looks teary-eyed.

“Aww, hey, it's not -- that bad.” His eyes flick down to your bloodstained clothes, and you wince. “I mean it's not that good , either--” His face crumples. “But still, I'm sure he'll pull through! He made it here, after all, he seems pretty resilient.” Stubborn, more like, but that's not a particularly comforting assertion. “So… don't you worry, Yoosung.” That's it. That's all the comforting words you can think up. You've got no clue how Saeran's doing, and you have more hope than certainty when it comes to your stance on whether he'll be alright in the end.

“That's a good sign,” he says, wiping his eyes, “if he was well enough to tell you about me.”

“Yyyeah! Yeah, it's a very good sign.” You won't inform him that it was Saeyoung that gave you the rundown, and Saeran mostly stood there looking woozy with only the occasional comment.

There's a moment of silence. “I'm just,” he begins haltingly, “so worried.”

He turns his big, watery eyes on you and your heart aches. Poor thing, concerned about his friend. This is a reaction that makes sense to you.

Hesitantly, you open your arms a little. You really don't know him well enough to be casually offering him a hug, but you have no idea what you could say now that would help him.

Your worries about whether this seems awkward are unfounded. The moment you shift, he collapses into you.

Boy, he is soft. He clutches at your shirt, burying his face in your chest, and he sniffles as you tentatively begin to stroke his hair.

This is… sad, but admittedly puts your mind at ease about what kind of people they are. Strange, still, but if he's this affected by Saeran's state, at least they're not entirely used to situations like what Saeran -- and you -- went through tonight.

Yoosung says nothing as he winds his arms around your waist, just nuzzles into you, so the hug is helping a little, at least.

You're feeling slightly proud of yourself for managing to put him more at ease when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, turns his head, and bites the newly-bared flesh.

You yelp, letting your arms fall. “What--” Looking down at him confirms that no, it was not an accidental punch or anything so innocuous, and he has indeed sunk his teeth into the swell of your breast -- and he doesn't seem like he plans on letting go.

At first, stunned as you are, you just try to lean back out of his reach, but his arms are anchors around you.

You feel his tongue lap over your skin and he looks up at you, still attached. His eyes seem to be a particularly vibrant violet, bright and vivid and lovely, and you find yourself blinking heavily -- and then you remember how hazy everything got when you looked into Hyun’s eyes earlier, and you don't even want to think about what's going on with that, but you squeeze your eyes shut and ram the heel of your palm against his forehead.

It doesn't quite have your full weight behind it because Jesus, what if he takes some skin with him as he goes, you'd like your chest to stay intact, thanks -- but it still works, and he pulls away.

“What the fuck ?” you cry out immediately, scrambling back to the arm of the couch and pressing a hand to your chest protectively.

Through this, dimly, you register that while it did hurt, it wasn't much pain, and there wasn't that feeling of crushing that you'd get if he had clamped his jaws down on you.

He has the decency to look somewhat sheepish, but barely -- but then he actually licks his lips .

“Explain yourself,” you demand.

“Seven said he brought someone over,” he complains.

“Okay, I've heard something about ‘courtesy bites’ tonight and that sounds like some kind of bullshit already, so don't you go saying that's what this was because I didn't buy it then and I'm definitely not buying it now.”

He pouts at you but oh no, you are not falling for that cute facade now, so eventually he lets it drop and huffs, “Why would I need a courtesy bite?”

“Hell if I know! Hyun said it was the polite thing to do, though no goddamn biting at all seems much more courteous to me.”

The pout is back. “Hyun can bite you but I can't?”

You are not responsible for the noise of extreme disbelief you just made. “He sure as shit can't . And you can't, either! Why the hell would you ever think otherwise?”

“Seven said --”

“Do you normally go around biting people or is Saeyoung saying you have company some kind of sleeper code that turns you into some bite-obsessed creep?”

Yoosung does not deign to reply to this. “It used to be so much easier to get a meal,” he mutters, sulkily resting his chin in his hands and staring at the floor. “Didn't have to deal with cameras or streetlights. Could just enthrall someone for a day or two and that was it.”

“--I'm sorry?” you ask. “What does that--”

He raises his head and you realize you have made a mistake and let your guard down too much, because whatever it was that made his stare hypnotizing before is on full-force now.

“Son of a bitch,” you murmur as you start to go limp, falling back against the couch.

He resettles himself, finding a more comfortable position, and as you watch him draw nearer -- is he going for your neck? -- you say with effort, “I swear to god, you try and bite me again and I'm going to raise hell.”

He frowns, pausing. “I just want a taste!” he protests, voice a plaintive whine. “I'm sick of those blood packs!” With a sullen expression, he moves in again.

“Yoosung, fuck off .”

The authoritative tone is marred by the fact that Saeran is leaning heavily against the wall and he looks fairly weak in the knees, but Yoosung turns away from you, and the spell is broken.

Saeran aims a glare at Yoosung, but Yoosung just wraps his arms around you. “But Saeran, we’re having so much fun!” You must have missed that memo. Saeran’s glare intensifies and Yoosung tightens his embrace, then switches tactics, protesting, “I barely ate!”

What the hell . “No!” you say, just as Saeran say “no.”

“No?” he asks. He looks from you to Saeran, and then his petulant expression returns. “Don’t take her away now, I'm hungry ,” he moans. He turns to you and puts more effort into his pout, trying to elicit your sympathy.

You wiggle your arms free from his grasp and shove him to put some space between you. “That would work better if you'd ever actually asked me, you know,” you snap.

He blinks wide eyes at you. “Please?”

“Little late for that now!” You push at Yoosung’s arms again and wrest free of him at last, stumbling a little as you move away from the couch.

Saeran pushes off from the wall as you near, but sways, so you hurry to slip an arm around his waist, and he slings his arm over your shoulders.

You toss a glance behind you as you go, to see Yoosung still sitting on the couch, arms crossed, knees folded up to his chest, looking put out.

You’re unable to resist the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him before he disappears from view, and you think you hear him make a scandalized noise as you walk away with Saeran.

“Sorry,” Saeran mutters as the pair of you start along the hallway, “he's not usually a problem.”

“Not usually so clingy?” There’s a sardonic lilt to that last word.

“No. He’s always clingy. Not often with guests, though.”

“Lucky me,” you mutter, then ask, “how’re you feeling?”

“Like I got thrown through a window.”

“Shit, you’d better after what you’ve been through. I’d be more worried if you couldn’t feel it. But you’re up and walking anyway?”

“Mmh. Came to get you.”

“...your brother is busy?”

Saeran pulls a face as you reach his bedroom door. “Defanging my deterrents. None of them worked on him, anyway.” And he opens the door.

His room looks like a goth paradise. God, is that a canopy bed? He's living the dream.

He staggers inside with your help, and scowls when he sees Saeyoung, although he still moves forward with your help until he can sag down on the edge of his bed. “You've done it. It's taken care of. This was not an open invitation. Get out.”

“You patched him up alright?” you ask Saeyoung. There's nothing you can see that he would have used, except what you brought up with Hyun. Some of the packets are ripped open, though there don't seem to be any signs of spills on the sheets.

“Yes ma'am!” Saeyoung gives a salute, and Saeran huffs.

“So… do you need me to help at all, then?”

“Guess not!” he says cheerfully, and before you can ask why Saeran found it so urgent to come and get you himself, if that’s the case, he narrows his eyes like he's about to divulge some great secret and says, “Saeran wanted to talk.”

“Yeah?” you glance at Saeran. “Must've wanted that pretty bad to go looking for me when you're still feeling like you got thrown through a window.”

It might be your imagination, but he seems to pink. He addresses his brother instead responding to you. “Didn't I say to get out? Go.”

Saeyoung shrugs and heads for the door, but stops just in front of it, turns back to you, gives a little flourishing bow, and then turns on his heel and heads out. “Yell if you need anything!” he advises as the door shuts behind him.

Saeran mutters something, and you can't help but laugh at the annoyance on his face. “Too much?”

“Just has no off switch,” he mutters.

You nod, and as you glance around, you realize that while you had taken note of the blood packs set out on the bed, only now do you see that some of these do not look like they were packaged professionally.

Some have the blood type scrawled in messy handwriting along with a few details you can't quite make out, and another is just -- double-bagged in resealable plastic bags.

“Do you -- need these still?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not right now,” he says.

So you clear these away, setting the unopened packs carefully on his nightstand and the open ones beside these after a moment of deliberation, then help him scoot back on the bed. He props himself up against the backboard with a pillow behind him, and you do the same, coming to rest next to him.

“Feel okay?” you ask when he winces after adjusting himself, but he nods.

“Just stings a bit,” he says.

“...can I see?” you ask after a moment, curiosity overwhelming you.

He lifts his shirt carefully, and you hiss in a breath. There's no glass there, and you can tell that the area has been cleaned up some, as there's no blood around his torso or abdomen, but contrary to what you imagined, there's no sign of sewing to be seen, no stitches. Just a lonesome butterfly bandage on either side of the gash.

But it's not as open or as oozing as you'd expect with that in mind. The edges already have that pinkish sheen of new skin.

Still, it's wide and raw and definitely painful. “Geez,” you mutter, and he lets the hem of his shirt drop.

Technically, you never did get a good look at his wounds, but you did see the mess that was left behind, and how much he picked out of himself, and you know you saw him pull himself off that long shard when you helped him into your apartment, and this just doesn't quite match up with that.

You settle back on the bed, crossing your legs and resting your hands in your lap.

There's a thought that won't leave you alone, that keeps you glancing at your wrist where Hyun had bit you earlier, where there's just two little marks.

You tug at the collar of your shirt to better look at yourself, and it's the same on your chest.

There isn’t a sign of the teeth marks you’d been expecting from an encounter like the one you had with Yoosung, not even fading ones, just those same twin punctures. You should be more surprised than you are, but you can't bring yourself to be shocked. It just feels like one more piece in a puzzle that you really don't want to see revealed.

Blood, biting, and -- well, either remarkable resilience in the face of what should be a far more life-threatening wound, or he's healing up faster than you've ever seen, or… you're losing your grip and misjudging what you saw.

“This has been… a really weird night,” you say at last.

He snorts.

“Two of your roommates bit me. One of them referred to me as food. You seem to be drinking blood, or else you pulled the shittiest prank on me in the car by pretending to do that. Fuck you for giving me that empty pack when we got inside, by the way, that nearly gave me a heart attack.” He grins smugly. “There's a lot of conclusions I could draw from this, and to be honest, I don't like any of them. I just… want to know what’s going on, but it doesn't click together right.” Forgetting likelihood, forgetting what is so outside the realm of possibility that you should reject the thought immediately… You draw in a slow breath. “I have… a theory,” you say. “And I like that least of all, but I keep coming back to it.”

“What’s the theory?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You won't tell me?” You shake your head again and he narrows his eyes at you. “Why is that?”

It all comes out in a rush. “Because it’s -- look, I’ve been through a lot, okay, not to discount what you went through because damn, I would not want to trade places with you, but I’m still wrapping my head around everything, it's very possible I am jumping to conclusions because I'm still panicking, right?”

“...right.” He looks faintly amused.

“Right. I could be… misinterpreting, or forgetting a vital piece of evidence that would explain everything because I am, as you know, freaking out.”

“Right.” Now he looks more than just faintly amused.

“And -- you know those prank shows they do? Where they -- they focus on the person and try to make them look like a fool? I have no desire to be a part of that, okay, they always look like idiots and that's the only thing people remember about them, so yeah, I'm keeping my mouth shut, because what if that's what this is and I go blabbing it out, and then what am I, the girl who just accepted the existence of vampires on live television? No, thank you.”

Wait --

Fuck.

He's just barely holding back a grin.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, burying your face in your hands, “oh my god .”

He laughs, and then gently places his hands over yours, tugging gently to coax you into showing your face.

“That's an interesting theory you've got there,” he remarks teasingly. “Mind sharing how you reached that conclusion?”

You huff. “Look, you -- or they -- are obviously aiming for that sort of aesthetic, or… lifestyle or --” You make a face at him when you see his still-amused expression. “What do you want me to say? You just have blood . In your fridge. Like that's a normal thing to have. And your roommates bit me. And I think one of them might have been wearing a cravat, so this feels like what they want me to believe, at least, and if it's going as far as biting me, then at least in terms of how it affects me? Doesn't matter if they're really just black-market dealers with a fetish, they're basically vampires. No functional difference there.”

He laughs softly, and you frown and turn away.

“What would you say if I told you you were right?”

You fix your eyes resolutely on the wallpaper. “...might just start yelling,” you say. But there's a part of you that keeps you listening intently, pulse beginning to race at the thought that he might be serious.

There's a moment of silence, and then: “If you let me bite you, I can prove it.”

And that gets you to turn back and look at him again.

He certainly seems sincere… Still, this is absurd. A bad idea in the -- impossible! -- scenario that you were right, and an equally bad idea if he's just some weirdo trying to pull the wool over your eyes. You shouldn't.

You have to say yes.

“You try any funny business and I'll be… very unhappy,” you caution, and he nods. “And… okay don't laugh but your roommates did that swirly-eye thing and I did not like that, so you… don't do that. Okay?”

“No swirly-eye things from me,” he says, laying a hand across his chest as if he is solemnly swearing to it.

“Dick,” you mutter, and he smirks.

He hikes his shirt up so that his wound is still visible when he lets go. “Keep an eye on this,” he says, “and come a little closer. You scoot so that you're kneeling right beside him and he takes hold of your hand and flips it, then frowns.

You look down. It's the wrist that Hyun bit.

“Oh,” you say, “that's from Hyun.”

He lets that hand drop and reaches for the other one.

“What, you don't want to double-dip? You're gonna hurt my feelings with that attitude.”

“Ha ha,” he mocks. “Just watch the wound.”

He flips over your other hand and runs his thumb gently over your wrist. It tickles a little and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I should make you use the other one,” you say, “just for being rude like that.”

He makes a face at you but doesn't reply, just lowers his head.

You almost flinch when you feel his breath against your wrist, and you do jolt a little when you feel his teeth sink into your skin.

It's only a slight pain, but it's… surreal. You stare at him fascinated, though you can't really see anything with his head bowed over you.

You shiver when his tongue runs over your skin, half from the surprise of it and half from… well.

He looks up at you and you freeze, staring into his eyes, anticipating a repeat of your earlier experiences, but he pulls away just slightly. You can see new puncture marks on your wrist, beginning to bead up, and when he runs his tongue along his lower lip, you can see the extra redness there, and…

He chuckles softly and you blink yourself out of your trance. “Watch,” he reminds you, and he lowers his head again.

You finally drag your eyes down to his stomach just as you feel his teeth against your skin again -- and holy shit.

It's… closing .

Slowly -- very slowly -- as he laps at your skin, the wound shifts before your eyes. Around the edges is where it's easiest to tell, shallow cuts closing until the butterfly bandages rest on new, pink skin.

You reach out and touch the skin there to be sure.

Holy shit.

By the time he pulls away again, it hasn't closed much, and it still looks worrisome, but it's just a hair better -- and there's more color in his cheeks, too.

“Okay,” you say, voice wavering, “uh.” Your voice wavers. “Weird as hell. But I believe, you, I guess. Christ.”

He smirks and licks his lips again. “Hard to take in?”

“That's putting it lightly. At least that was… one of the more pleasant biting experiences I've had tonight.” Your lips curl in distaste as you remember, “and definitely politer than the last one.”

“Mmh,” he says, brow furrowing, “You said you were bit twice.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So Yoosung already got to you before I came in.”

“Mm hmm .” You tug down your shirt to show the marks on your chest, and roll your eyes. “Courtesy of your roommate, the tit-biter.” You let go of your collar. “...y’know, he'd better actually be a vampire, because if he's just some jerk who decided to chow down on my chest for no reason--” You shake your head. “Well, it was a dick move either way, just extremely worrying if he doesn't even have that scrap of an excuse going for him. What's the deal with him anyway, huh? Hyun was sweet, so why was Yoosung so demanding?”

Saeran actually rolls his eyes. “Hyun’s always nice to cute girls.”

“Oh o , I'm cute, am I?”

He pinks and turns away pointedly. “Not…what I was saying.”

“So you don't think I'm cute?”

“I didn't say--” He turns back to you quickly, and then his face goes from pink to deep red. He huffs, and you laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Finish your story.”

He gives you a reproachful look, but continues. “Yoosing’s sire was very wealthy -- the person who turned him. She spoiled him constantly, gave him a steady stream of… willing victims.”

“She fucking what.”

“Not as morbid as you might be thinking. Just… meals.”

“Ah.”

“Plus,” and Saeran rolls his eyes again, “he’s cute so people like to dote on him, even strangers, and he knows it. Makes it easy to manipulate people into doing what he wants. Usually doesn't cause problems, but sometimes he can be… bratty.”

“I've noticed,” you mutter.

“He'll probably run into Hyun later, who'll make him eat something, and when you see him next he'll be a total pushover.”

You smirk. “Definitely preferable. Hyun’s fashion is a bit… outdated. Is he…?”

“Old as hell? Yeah. He and Yoosung both. Turned around the same time, they say. Their sires ran in the same social circle.”

“But Hyun isn't similarly demanding.”

“From what he's said, he doesn't sound as…” Saeran shrugs and waves a hand. “Taken by the lifestyle as Yoosung was. Squabbled more with his sire. He sounds like a real piece of work, but I've never met him, though Hyun says he's still around somewhere. Yoosung's might be, too. Never met her, either.”

“And yours?”

His face sours immediately. Oh.

“Forget I asked,” you say, waving a hand as if to dispel the thought, and he nods slowly, looking slightly relieved. You're still curious, but… it’s not right to push, given his reaction. Instead you ask, “so… if blood can heal you up, why are you not already healed?”

“It's not a quick process. …and there's only so much room in my stomach.”

“Oh.” Avoiding overfullness. What a… normal problem. “Still -- there's a few of these around here,” and you pick up one of the blood packs on the nightstand, “opened and drained, way more than what you got from me, but that wasn't enough to close that up?”

“You should have seen what it looked like before.”

“Bleh, no thanks.”

He smirks, then hesitates. “...I don't know why, but they're never as effective as…” He glances at your wrist in lieu of finishing that sentence.

“Oh,” you say. “Huh.”

“...wasn't turned too long ago,” he says, surprising you. “Not nearly as long as Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun thinks that has something to do with it. Says you get more from it, whatever the source, with age. He could probably have done it with one or two.” He makes a face. “But I get to take it slow.”

“And the thing about healing better when it's… uh, from the tap?” He snorts a laugh.

“Warmth?” he guesses. “Freshness? Hell if I know.”

“You sure it's not just an excuse to get close?”

He opens his mouth to respond. looking flustered, but you rush on.

“But--” And you’d better say this quick or you'll lose your nerve. “If you… feel up for it, I'd be willing to… help you heal a little more.”

He stops in his tracks, stunned, and his reaction heightens your embarrassment, making you trip over your words a little.

“Doesn't even really hurt, and I can't say the same for your condition right now, so…”

He nods rapidly, his enthusiasm radiating off of him.

“Where's the quickest spot for blood flow?” You ask. “That works for your…” You wave a hand vaguely. “Technique?”

“...neck,” he says.

Now it's your turn to be flustered. “Ah.” But it's just a bite, and only for a few minutes, so that should be fine, right? “Well… sure, then, let's get going, huh?”

He nods again, but winces as he starts to sit up straight, which only strengthens your resolve.

“Here,” you say, “just… stay there for now.”

You move closer to him until your hip fits snugly against his, leaning against the headboard again, then tilt your head to expose your neck. “Does this work, or should I move?”

“...I think you're good,” he says.

Slowly, carefully, he moves closer, angling himself to fit against you better. He rests a hand on your hip and tugs gently, so you shift so that you're meeting him halfway.

He hovers above you, unsure, and your eyes flutter shut as he nears.

You brace yourself for pain, but when his breath spills over your skin you let out a sigh, somehow comforted by his caution.

His teeth -- fangs, you suppose -- rest against you without breaking the skin for a long moment, and you're so wound up with anticipation that when he finally bites down, you let out a sigh. It tickles more than it hurts, just a pinch and then the pain fades to nothing.

There's hardly anything to worry about. Why were you so nervous?

-- and then he drags his tongue over the bite marks and understanding floods through you. Along with, uh, something else.

You realize quickly that this position has… a lot more contact with him than when he just bit your wrist. You can fill the chill of him better now, not cold, exactly, but a few degrees cooler than you.

Bite, lick, repeat. It's not quite an even cycle -- more licking than biting, you think, and maybe that's just when the marks start to coagulate? But god, it's wreaking havoc on you.

Can he tell that your shivers aren't because of his temperature? You clutch at the back of his shirt when he actually sucks at a spot on your neck, and that's gotta just be to get blood that's running down, but you just barely suppress a moan. It comes out in a little stuttery whimper instead, and he pauses, then tightens his grip on your hip and returns his arreion to your neck with renewed vigor.

Your hand strays up to tangle in his hair and you pull him tighter against you.

...there's a major vein in your thigh, isn't there? You wonder if maybe --

And then you realize yourself. You gasp, and he draws back.

He looks panicked at first, but when he sees your expression, it eases with relief.

For a moment you just stare at each other, flushed and panting slightly.

“That might've been… a bit much,” he says at last.

“Just a bit,” you say. If you look at him for too long, you feel in danger of straying back to those thoughts.

Oh, but did it work?

As soon as you reach out to his wound, he jolts away.

“--your stomach.” You say. He stares at you for a second longer, then lifts his shirt. It actually looks better -- still worrisome, but a bit more pulled together.

But what did he think you were -- oh.

Well.

You can't really blame him, considering where your thoughts were straying.

Your eyes meet and you both laugh nervously, then he averts his eyes.

He brushes a hand through his hair, then looks at you from beneath his eyelashes. “...will you stay?” His voice is so soft you almost miss it.

“You're staying anyway,” he asserts, “since you might be followed if you leave. And we don't have a guest bedroom. And…” He averts his eyes. “...you're warm.”

You place a hand over your chest. “Why, Saeran, are you asking me to sleep with you?”

He meets your gaze. “...yes.”

“Then I accept,” you say, pushing aside the implications that -- you, actually, brought up. Damn, you've got to watch yourself better.

He scoots so that he's laying down.

“Oh, right now? Right now.” You settle in next to him, and he curls into you, draping an arm over you. He presses his nose against your shoulder.

“Warm,” he remarks, and you laugh.

“Glad you approve.”

He nuzzles into your neck. “I do.”

“Hey,” you say, “...what was chasing us anyway?” You never did get a clear answer on that.

“Werewolf.” He’s so nonchalant about it that you almost accept it unquestioningly.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” he says, and you can't help but giggle at those words spoken in such a sleepy voice.

“...Saeyoung knew, didn’t he, and he still acted clueless.” Maybe didn’t lie, exactly, but definitely waved away your concerns and pretended like he didn’t know. You’re distracted from this thought when Saeran pulls himself up just enough to look you in the eye.

“Hey,” he says, frowning slightly. “Don’t talk about my brother.” His gaze is steady, but there’s a hint of a pout to his expression.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “No brother talk in bed.”

He makes a face, but nods before resting his head again. “Good.” And that’s all he says about that.

For several long moments, long enough that you start to feel in danger of drifting off, eyelids growing heavy, you just lay there.

“...thanks,” he murmurs, leaning more heavily into you.

“For what?” you laugh.

“Mmm… this. Helping. Staying. Everything.”

“Everything, huh? Even the parts where we both just yelled at each other?”

He frowns without opening his eyes. “Shush. Dunno. I'm tired."

“I would imagine so,” you say, barely suppressing a yawn. Really, it's a miracle he's stayed awake this long.

Sleepily, you reach to grab at the sheets around you. It's not particularly effective since you're both laying on them, but you do your best to pull them to cocoon the pair of you. It probably looks a bit misshapen, but if it's warmth he's after, this'll do the trick.

“...you thankful for how warm I am, too?”

He turns to wrap his other arm around you. “Yes. Stay.”

“Don't worry,” you murmur, “just get some rest.”

You stroke his hair and he whines in satisfaction, pressing himself closer to you in a tired daze.

It's been… a long day. For the both of you. It's certainly not how you thought you'd be ending the night, and there are… things you'd change about this night, if you could, a great many things. But somehow, you're not entirely unhappy with where you are now.

You wrap an arm around him, and you drift off, content.

#saeran #saeran choi #mystic messenger #mine #saeyoung choi #yoosung kim #hyun ryu

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

Text

This is taking place after 3X10, The Sin Bin, because I had a lot of feelings after that episode. Mostly of the not so good. I have to admit feeling a lot of frustration with this season but… I tried to make it better :p

The main idea for this story (Lucifer’s wings popping out because of his frustration and anger) was @disappearinginq ‘s and she was kind enough to let me run with it.

[FF] or [ao3]

Bloody Hell, They’re Out Again!

Lucifer observed the oblivious woman walk swiftly to the door with her arms full of grocery bags, hidden in the shadow of the wall. He hadn’t meant to make an impressive entrance – a white lie, he always meant to make impressive entrances – but it was not his fault if that part of the building wasn’t well lit at night. It was actually a flaw in security he would see rectified as soon as possible, it didn’t sound very safe for Chloe or the spawn. He didn’t bother worrying about Maze. Maze was more likely to kill the potential threats lurking in the dark than being hurt by them.

“Detective.” he said, stepping out of the shadows as she struggled to balance the bags out to grab her keys from the back pocket of her jeans.

She startled badly and barely managed to keep a hold on her groceries.

“Jesus, Lucifer.” She glared at him and then resumed looking for her keys, muttering under her breath. “One of these days I’m going to tie a bell around your neck.”

Any other day, he might have answered that with an innuendo.

Any other day, she might even have been waiting for that.

“We need to talk.” he said.

“I don’t have anything more to say.” she snapped, gritting her teeth, probably still furious because of the events of that afternoon. The death of the Sinnerman, the disappointment… It filled him with so much… rage. It was unfair. Just as unfair as when his father had judged him without giving him a chance to explain himself. It was… Chloe finally found her keys and she placed them in the lock, taking a deep breath. “Look, come in, say hello to Trixie…”

“No.” he growled. “I do not have time for the child. I need you to listen to me now. It’s important, Detective.”

Anger and frustration were clearly perceptible in his voice but he didn’t care. He had zero patience tonight. Not when a man who clearly should have been a corpse after being stabbed in the heart had just risen again. Not when he wasn’t sure what it meant. Not when…

“Yeah? What is it now?” she scoffed. And it seemed she was angry and frustrated too because she turned her back to the door to glare at him some more, almost shaking with the strength of her indignation.

He wasn’t sure how they had ended up there. He longed for the earlier days when it had been… easier. He knew the distance and tension between them were more likely his doing but…

“Marcus Pierce.” he spat. “He’s not who you think he is.”

She rolled his eyes. “Another of your delirium?”

It was a cruel gibe and it hurt more than it probably should have. Plenty of people didn’t believe his claims that he was the devil and, most days, it suited him. But Chloe… How many times had he tried to tell her? And he couldn’t prove it. Not until he had his devil face back. The devil face was his true self and that was how he wanted to explain, to make her believe. He wanted her to believe, to understand. Maybe then…

“I never lie.” he reminded her, irritated beyond measure by her refusal to see…

“Maybe you never lie, but you sure trick the truth.” Chloe scowled. “Like today. What was today, Lucifer? You did what you wanted without a thought for the consequences. As usual. Without a thought for me.”

He almost choked on the sheer stupidity.

“You’re all I think about!” he retorted. “And if you were a little less stubborn…”

“I’m stubborn?” she repeated, incredulous. She shook her head and snorted. “I think you should go home before things are said we can’t take back.”

He took a few steps closer, very much into her space but not especially caring that he might look threatening. She didn’t look threatened. She never feared him. Never. That was one of the things that made her so… Chloe.

“He killed the Sinnerman in cold blood, Chloe.” he hissed.

“He killed the Sinnerman because you were about to do it.” she replied.

It hurt.

It hurt so much it ripped him apart.

“I punish, I do not kill.” he snarled and even that snarl was wrong.

Gone was the devil, his face, his crushing presence… He didn’t know if it was her dulling it or another side-effect of the feathery pests that kept growing back. He snarled and it should have been a terrifying sound, the snarl of the beast hidden in the dark, instead it sounded… pathetic.

She stared right into his eyes, her face closed, her lips pursed tight to prevent the words she didn’t want to say. I don’t believe you. It was all over her face, in her gaze, in her stance.

“Listen to me.” he hissed. “Marcus Pierce isn’t his real name. The Sinnerman was working for him all along. He’s the one who really had me kidnapped and…”

“And who is he supposed to be, then?” she cut him off with an almost mocking annoyed chuckle. “Another angel? A demon? A saint maybe?” She averted her eyes, staring at his neck instead of his eyes, her voice suddenly turning calm and almost detached. “You need help, Lucifer.”

He gritted his teeth and took another step forward. His chest was pressed against the grocery bags now but still she didn’t move back or turn to the door. It would have been so much easier if his powers had worked on her, so much easier…

“His real name is Cain.” he explained, even though he knew it would be useless. “He’s…”

“I know who Cain is.” she sighed. “First murderer. Killed his brother.”

“Yes! Exactly!” he exclaimed in relief. Maybe she was getting it. “My father cursed him to wander the earth for all eternity. He came here because he somehow found out you made me vulnerable. My take is he thinks that if you can make the devil bleed you can probably break his curse and…”

“Lucifer, this is insane.” she interrupted. “Do you even hear yourself? Lieutenant Pierce saved you today. You could have gone to jail. You could have gotten fired. He…”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” he cut her off right back. “Why are you so bent on believing him over me?” And suddenly it was right there, between one breath and the next. The reason plainly written on her face for the grand total of a brief second. And he laughed. He laughed. A bitter cold laugh that made him step back, out of her space, out, out, out… “You like him.”

The accusation lashed in the air like a whip.

Chloe clutched her grocery bags tighter to her chest, defensive and annoyed. “No. I don’t. And even if I did… It’s none of your business, Lucifer.”

“Isn’t it, now?” he asked, still laughing bitterly. His head was light and he was dizzy. Had that been Cain’s plan the whole time or was it just a cruel twist of fate? Or more likely a cruel twist of Dad. He closed his eyes, forced himself to take a deep breath… It wasn’t enough to stop the sneer or to stop his whole body from tensing. When he spoke, it was in a low dangerous hiss that had sent humans running in terror before. Chloe, of course, didn’t even flinch. It infuriated her even more instead. “Listen to me, Detective. He is not who you think he is. All he wants is to use you. Once he’s done that…”

“He will run to Vegas and get married to a stripper?” she finished for him with so much venom it brought him short.

“That was…” he started to raise his voice and then stopped. “I had my reasons for that.”

“You always have reasons for everything. It doesn’t mean they’re good ones.” she snapped. “I don’t know what your problem with Pierce is. I don’t know if it’s just jealousy or…”

“Jealousy?” he scoffed. “Did you listen to a word I said? It’s not about… It’s not about us, Chloe. Cain is dangerous. He’s…”

“His name is Marcus Pierce. He’s a police officer not some biblical figure.” She shook her head. “Call Linda. I’m done.”

“Biblical figure or not, he killed the Sinnerman.” he spat.

“Because you were about to.” she shouted, finally losing her cool.

And it was the last straw.

He felt the tiny amount of patience he still had evaporating into thin air.

“He killed that man in cold blood!” he roared. A proper roar. A roar worthy of the wrath of the Heavens. As if in answer, thunder rumbled in the sky. “Why won’t you believe me?”

Chloe’s eyes grew wide and she stepped back, her grip on the grocery bags slackening. Cans rolled out of the bags when they hit the floor, something audibly broke…

Lucifer stood there, panting, suddenly out of breath with rage and frustration…

There was fear on the woman’s face but not fear of him, fear of… There was awe there too.

The apartment’s door opened on Maze’s concerned face. He ignored the knife in his demon’s hand, he ignored the mess on the floor, he ignored Trixie’s head peeking out from behind the bounty-hunter’s hip, and he ignored the stunned Detective to meet Maze’s gaze.

“Bloody hell, they’re out again, aren’t they?” he asked.

Maze glanced from him to Chloe and pocketed the knife, placing a protective hand on the child’s head. The spawn was the only one who didn’t look confused or flabbergasted. She seemed to have accepted her new reality with a blink and a shrug.

Because Lucifer could feel them now, huge and terribly beautiful looming behind him, a soft glow chasing the night’s shadows…

“Right.” he scowled.

He had refused to use them since they had come back but, right then, all he wanted was to get out of there and faster than his corvette could take him. In a blink, the apartment complex was gone and he was back in the penthouse. He only stayed long enough to pour himself a drink he tossed at the wall with a scream of rage.

The wings itched.

Now that he had purposefully used them once… He yearned for the sensation of the wind in the feathers, he yearned for dangerous canon ball dive with impossible save at the very last moment, he yearned for the reckless flying Amenadiel always chided him for…

With a snarl, he grabbed the curved knife and opened his wings again.

In a flash he was on the beach.

He dropped on the sand, close enough to the water that waves licked at his feet. He fished his flask from his inner pocket and took a few steady mouthfuls.

He laughed.

A bitter laugh that ended up in a chocked sob.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. That the Detective was attracted to Cain, that she didn’t believe him when he told her the truth or that she believed he cared so little for her when the very thought of her getting so much as a paper cut killed him.

The beach was deserted at this time of night, so he grabbed the knife and went to work.

It wasn’t easy to cut one’s own wigs off but he had plenty of experience now.

He piled them up afterwards, his muscles straining in agony, poured what was left of his flask over them and then tossed his lighter in the mix. He flopped back on the sand next to the blaze, bare-chested and in pain, and he let his eyes wander to the sky like he rarely did. He could feel the sand sticking to the wounds that refused to stop bleeding.

Why weren’t they closing?

And then, of course, the answer came in the form of a distant shout.

“Lucifer!”

Wouldn’t that be ironic if he bled to death because of her…

“Mommy, he’s hurt!” the spawn cried.

Why did she have to bring the spawn?

“Chloe, you need to go back to the car and drive away.” Maze’s voice ordered.

“What? No!” the Detective protested.

There was a scuffle and he thought he heard Linda’s voice trying to mediate between Chloe and Maze. And then, of course, his view of the stars was blocked by the big ugly face of his brother.

“Why…” he drawled out, a little too weak for his taste. “Isn’t it quite a party…”

“Lucifer, are you really hurt?” Trixie asked, falling to her knees next to him, her small hand coming to rest on his shoulder, her eyes full of tears.

He found he hated seeing the child hurt as much as he hated to see her mother in pain.

“Just a scratch, darling.” he denied, his voice still distant to his own ears. “Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”

Amenadiel was crouching next to him now. He wasn’t sure at which point his brother had changed positions. The Detective was still too close and he was slipping.

“You are a reckless idiot, brother.” Amenadiel declared and then looked up. “Is it done?”

“Linda is going to drive away until we call her.” Maze confirmed, not gentle at all when she grabbed Lucifer’s arm. “We’re taking him back to the penthouse.”

Between the two of them, Amenadiel and Maze hauled him up and back to Amenadiel’s car, Trixie hurrying behind them.

He started feeling better long before they reached Lux. The wounds were closing and while he was still weak from the heavy blood loss…

Something strange was tugging at his heart.

The silence in the car was heavy. Maze was driving, her eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on her thigh… Amenadiel was staring through the window… Trixie had yet to release Lucifer’s hand, she had been clinging to it ever since his brother had dropped him in the backseat… Somewhere, Linda was probably explaining everything to a baffled Detective…

He wasn’t sure why they had all come to that beach, ran to a needless rescue…

But it made him feel… Good.

Like… A family.

The only missing ones were Daniel, Charlotte and Ella and then… Then it would have been more of a family than his real one had ever been.

Trixie wasn’t satisfied until he was lying in his bed, with pillows properly patted, covered with a blanket and spooning chicken broth she had forced Amenadiel to prepare. He kept swearing he was doing much better but the girl wouldn’t be deterred and she could glare like the best of them. She sat crossed-legged on the bed next to him and she made sure he ate every spoonful because apparently that was what you ate when you were sick – and hurt was a kind of sick.

His brother seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

At least until Linda and the Detective arrived at the penthouse, having been told it was safe to come back, and the strange tension between the angel, Linda and Maze kicked up again.

Lucifer didn’t want to be left alone with the Detective, truth be told, and when the idea came up he tried to defuse it with mindless jokes, hoping Maze or Amenadiel would pick up on them. No such luck. Maze declared she would bring Trixie back home, all the while watching Linda and Amenadiel suspiciously, and the doctor immediately replied she needed to go back to her office even though it was long past office time. Amenadiel didn’t actually say where he would be going but he left not long after Linda.

Lucifer could have lived without the suffocating hug Trixie gave him but the girl had clearly been shaken by what she had seen so he patted her back twice.

Once the penthouse was silent once more, Chloe hesitantly took the spot her daughter had just vacated by sitting on the empty space next to him on the bed.

He had carefully avoided looking at her since she and Linda had showed up and he didn’t make an effort now, preferring to stare at the red silk sheets instead.

Silence, he thought, could be deafening.

“I’m sorry.” she said eventually in a soft pained voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

He wanted to say it was alright, that he didn’t really care about her not believing him because how could she have ? But he never lied and so he nodded instead, accepting the apology without claiming it was enough to erase the memory of the pain her refusal to trust him had inflicted.

“Never say I don’t care about you again.” he answered. “Don’t even think it. You have no idea of everything I have done to protect you, to keep you safe. You have no idea.”

Uriel, Charlotte, leaving her, the Sinnerman…

He felt her hand tentatively hover over his arm before finally making contact. He still didn’t look up.

“Why do you cut them off?” she whispered, sounding horrified by the thought. “Linda said… She said you keep doing it.”

“They’re not me.” he shrugged.

“Does it hurt?” she insisted.

“It’s not pleasant.” he dismissed.

He wasn’t prepared for her to shift, to lie down next to him and rest her head on his shoulder. He was still bare-chested and he could feel her warmth directly on his skin and… She pressed her palm in the middle of his chest, over his heart.

“If it hurts, don’t do it again.” she demanded.

And, just like that, he knew he would never cut his wings off again. Because she had asked. Because she cared about him being in pain. Because him being in pain apparently caused her pain.

“I don’t know what Cain is up to but I know he is dangerous.” he declared, switching topics. He didn’t want a repeat of the earlier fight but it needed to be understood.

“We’ll find out.” she offered. “What he’s up to. We’ll find out. You and me.”

“I’m the devil.” he stated because nobody had said the d word yet and all she had seen of his divine self was the wings. He didn’t want any misconception. He wasn’t the kind of angel she might mistake him for.

He didn’t know what had happened in the car, he didn’t know what kind of conversation she had had with Maze and Linda or even his brother… He hadn’t expected such quick acceptance of the whole angels are real thing.

“You’re Lucifer.” she retorted. “You’re not what they say you are, you’re not some monster with horns… You’re still… my Lucifer. Right?”

“That might be the most accurate description of me there ever was, darling.” he snorted, only a touch bitter because everything had been so tense between them lately. But hers… He liked the idea. Being hers.

“Alright.” Chloe accepted.

“Alright.” he echoed.

It wasn’t, not really. It would take time to make things completely alright, to repair the fragile wavering trust…

But, he thought, they would make it through.

#lucifer #lucifer on fox #deckerstar #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer fic #the devil sings so well stories

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