#to thinking 'it is worth going to jail if i can knock this old bitch's dentures out'

[keyh0use]

I was hoping the suspense would kill you

Months after Rafe supposedly passes from an overdose, Barry starts seeing ghosts. TW: mentions of overdose, implied suicide. NSFW

Four months, sixteen days and three hours since the police were called and Tanneyhill was swarmed with first responders. Only seventy-three minutes after Rafe had been released from county jail and five hours after Barry put him there.  

The scale rattles off a number and Barry twists the baggie closed tight, tossing it on the table to sift through a pile of green bills. He fucking hates drugs. All of them. Continuing to deal makes his brain foggy with too many big emotions and the sight of addicts begging for their fix has his teeth aching, a steady tremor in his overworked hands threatening to reach out and shake them by the shoulders, plead with them to stop. 

Because Barry has. Cold turkey. 

It's comical, really, belly-laugh inducing that a kooks death is what knocked him off a path he's always been on, but it did. Barry has watched friends get their brains splattered on the walls from intentional and stray bullets alike—yet he still touts guns. Watched his own father drink until the old man's organs gave out—yet Barry practically exists off a diet of alcohol to numb the pain these days. 

"It's all there," Garrett comments, bracing himself on the table to hover in the dealers personal space. 

Rafe has always hated Garrett, right from their very first interaction. For months the kook would return to the trailer, only to find them lost in conversation after a deal, and would wear a look of betrayal for the rest of the night. And then one day Barry was shoved down on the ratty couch after greasy red hair had retreated, Rafe saying sweetly I don't want that guy here anymore, okay? once they were rutting shamelessly, cock buried to the hilt in his boys tight ass when he replied breathlessly: okay, baby, alright, without argument. Because no matter how much Barry liked to claim it was the other way around, he was Rafe's bitch.

He would've done anything for that boy. 

Throwing the wad of cash back down soundly, Barry wipes at his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger until they come together to pinch the bridge of his nose. This is all his life is now, monotonous and triggering, plagued with memories of what he had and lost.  Sucking in a deep breath to compose himself, Barry mumbles, "Yup, see that. Go on now." He almost has a heart attack when a hand settles on the nape of his neck.  "You know, Barry..." starts Garrett, ignoring the direct order in favour of shifting closer. "I heard something once about speeding up the grieving process." 

The change of tone isn't lost on Barry. He knows the touch of another might ease the loneliness for a pinch, offer comfort and warmth in his otherwise bleak and miserable life...but then when Barry tries to sink into the pleasure, if he can at all, he'll be snapped out of it by the sudden realisation that the hand wrapped around his cock lacks the usual cool tinge of too many rings and probably vomit.  It's too soon. A detailed suicide note, a missing boat and no body to beg forgiveness to. No answers, no sleep, or moment of peace for months. It's too fucking soon, too full on uncertainty and rapidly declining hope. Even considering it feels like cheating. 

"Get off me," Barry forces out, slow and careful. 

"Come on," Garrett flirtatiously continues. "You've heard the saying: fastest way to get over someone is to get under somebody else. Worth a shot, don't you think?" 

Yeah, Rafe always hated Garrett and now Barry realises he was naive to shrug the kooks worries off, so used to the all the jealous and possessive behaviour that it didn't even occur to him that this time all the insecurities could be valid. 

Barry remembers one night at a party neither of them really had any desire to attend in the first place, Garrett had shoved Rafe while mouthing off and three minutes later the dealer was cornered by his boyfriend, barely having enough time to utter a word before a tongue was shoved down his throat. 

Neither of them were into voyeurism, no matter how touchy Rafe could get. Yet Barry couldn't stop violent waves of arousal from crashing over him or a wet patch soaking through his basketball shorts as the boy sat directly on his dick, thick outline pressed snug under Rafe's ass through thin layers of cloth as his bulge was ridden. The room was dark and smoggy with various types of smoke, but Barry knew Garrett had seen the aggressive show of ownership before stomping away. 

Rafe was just like that; needing constant reassurance. It used to make the older man uneasy, worried about what their friends would think at the very public displays of affection and how the behaviour was infectious, Barry growing more territorial over time but fuck did he miss it now. 

If he could only go back and get another chance, no fucking way would he feel even a smidgen of embarrassment over having the hottest piece of ass on the island fawning all over him. He would be proud and receptive and appreciative. 

Yeah, Barry would do a lot of things differently. 

Barry opens his mouth to protest, but then there it is—a flash of flesh and blonde hair. Just like he's been seeing all over the damn cut for weeks. Barry freezes his readied insult to follow it along the treeline with sharp attention through the dirty window splattered with raindrops, watching as the figure stills. The image is distorted, like a seers vision or a midday dream, clear enough to assume but distant enough to question. The skin wrapped around Barry's tense muscles feels too tight and bile rises in his stopped-up throat, choking him with emotion.  Another slew of unimportant comments fall from Garrett's mouth, close enough to make Barry stumble half a step back in surprise before he's caught by the bicep. The sting behind his eyes builds until salt streams down his cheek to drip off his jaw. Barry fights against the hold with languid, uncoordinated movements, still focused on his baby standing out in the muddy yard. 

Rafe is gone, the rational part of Barry's brain screams over and over but it's futile because Rafe—whether a figment built out of guilt or a fucking ghost—is right there!  There's a pocket knife open on the kitchen table within reaching distance. Barry's fingers itch to curl around the black handle so he can plunge it right into Garrett's voice box, shut the bitch up forever for even thinking anyone could replace Rafe.  Heavy footsteps on metal rungs make both men startle and separate, Barry's back bumping the fridge as the door handle jiggles in a specific pattern to knock it loose, a trick very few people have had the privilege to learn. And then all the oxygen is being sucked out through the entryway as the barrier is thrown open, a walking corpse storming in. 

Tension crackles through the air as rain pounds against the metal siding, all three men standing stock-still, predator and prey trapped in the same small enclosure. In all the years of knowing one another, through all the pogue bullshit and family drama, Barry has never seen Rafe so full of anger—he's vibrating with it, hands balled into tight fists at his side's. 

"Thought you were dead," Garrett stutters out. 

Quick as a whip, Rafe spits, "You fucking wish, dickhead." 

"Rafe?" Barry calls brokenly, shaking his head in confusion. Because Garrett can see the illusion, too...can communicate with it, and it back to them. 

Rafe answers through clenched teeth, "He's not allowed to be here." 

"Go," the older man demands, shoving at Garrett's shoulder, who doesn't need to be told twice before rushing by Rafe to escape. 

The man standing before Barry is undeniably Rafe. Though this tall, sturdy figure seldom resembles the boy he lost a few short months ago. Rafe is donning a golden tan, broad shoulders squared and stance defensive. And blonde hair has been buzzed short, much like Barry's own. He remembers staring at his reflection in the mirror after a shower, curls dripping lukewarm water down his back and no slender fingers carefully untangling them and suddenly he didn't fucking want the reminder anymore. Barry wonders if that's what happened to Rafe. 

Brown eyes trail down over a ticking jaw until Barry can take in what the kook is wearing: loose fitted jeans and a button-up plaid shirt, looking dishevelled and damp from the weather. It takes Barry a long, long time to be able to tear his attention away from the foreign sight. 

"What? Nothing to say to me?" Rafe probes, bringing the dealer out of his trance. 

"You've been stalkin' me," mutters Barry in realisation. It makes him dizzy. "Messin' with my head, fuckin' haunting me..." But Rafe is alive! Rafe is alive and that's all that matters now. Not his lurching stomach or cloudy vision, just that Rafe is here with a beating heart. 

Rafe purses his pink lips, says with a careless shrug, "Maybe...or maybe it was just your conscience catching up with you. A little too late, but—" 

"Ya' don't know what this has been like me," counters Barry in a rush. 

"I don't care," dismisses Rafe. It's almost convincing.  But Barry can hear a thousand echoes from previous arguments after Ward would go on some bullshit spiel to play on Rafe's fears; that dealer doesn't care about you, son. Time to give that lowlife up, he's only after our money. Do you really believe you're the only one he's doing this to? Probably has every naive rich kid in his bed, funding his lifestyle. And Rafe would come home with tears soaking the fabric of his polo shirt, seeking out hours of reassurance, Barry pressing gentle kisses into swollen eyelids and stroking soft hair.  Even though it was immensely selfish, Barry was desperate for those nights because it meant he was wholeheartedly wanted. Needed—just like he needs Rafe. 

And now, barging in to interrupt Barry with another man...it must mean Rafe still cares. That what they have isn't over. 

Barry asks, voice slow to enunciate every word, "You have any fuckin' idea what you've put me though? How much I've—" 

"Probably something similar to what I've been feeling since you betrayed me," Rafe fires back. "I was stupid enough to think you loved me or something." 

Barry wants to lash out, to beat on the kooks chest and hurl vile words until he feels better. Instead, he reasons, "You were gonna get yourself killed, probably me, too. That sound like love t'ya, boy? Hmm?" Some of the relief and confusion Barry has felt since the first sight of Rafe alive has drained, slowly being filled back up with rage. "I would'a never done this to you." 

Rafe has taken a threatening step forward, within reaching distance now and fuck, does Barry want to touch. "What you did was worse," he spits. 

Two sets of hands find purchase on the others body, knocking chests with an aggressive pull. There's so much between them, electric and addicting and it's the first time Barry's felt anything but sadness in too long, choking out something close to a sob. Rafe's hands—bigger and rougher than he remembers—cup his jaw, his own curling tight around the boys trim waist. 

Pushing, tugging, panting harshly...looking into bright blue eyes is like coming home, the trailer surrounding them nothing but a tin shell. 

Buttons scatter like the last remnants of Barry's sanity as the crisp shirt the kook wears is torn down the middle, feeling mad with want and disbelief. Their lips meet with a wet smack, not timid or gentle like a reunion kiss ought to be, all twisting tongues and nipping teeth. By the time the two stumble across the kitchen and into the bedroom, both are naked from the waist up, fumbling hands yanking impatiently at Barry's shorts.

And then Rafe jerks away like he's been burned, staring at a point over Barry's shoulder. An old chair sits tucked in the corner, taking up too much space in the small room, pastel clothing strewn about with right where they were dropped four months ago. 

Barry colours in embarrassment, every voice of support he had ringing in his ears telling him it's healthy to box everything up—something he couldn't bring himself to do. 

Blue eyes trail away from the chair to the far bedside table, still littered with gold pieces of jewellery and scraps of paper used to scribble Ward's rushed instructions on. Thirty minutes ago packing all this shit away felt like a task too heavy for Barry's grieving heart and now it just feels like a fucking shrine. 

"Did you think I was coming back?" Rafe asks, a mean bite to the question that's so foreign when directed at Barry. 

"No," Barry stammers, brows pinched as he scrambles for a way to salvage the mood. "I just...it was too...I missed—" 

Rafe unceremoniously shoves Barry hard, the older man stumbling back with a panicked shout before falling on the stiff mattress, gaping up at the ceiling. "I'm not coming back to you," the boy insists, toeing off his own shoes so he can drop his jeans. "I'm not! So don't think that's what this is." 

"Okay," Barry whispers in reply, swallowing around the lump of emotion that's once again found a home in his throat. 

"This is the last time we're ever doing this." Shorts are shimmied down to Barry's knees before Rafe crawls over him with determination, giving his girthy length a few dry tugs.  Barry wants to plead and cry, crush the boy to his chest and never let go, but instead all he does is nod in understanding. "Okay," he repeats on a whisper, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as precome is smeared over the swollen tip. 

If it hadn't been so long, the words surely would have wilted his desire. Instead, Barry keens at the harsh touch as Rafe stretches to retrieve the lube, left right where it was. It's a shock to the system when a cool stream of gooey liquid pours over the purpling cockhead, the kook paying no mind to Barry's shocked gasp. 

"No, no, hey," Barry breathes out, calloused hands untangling from the bedding to grasp tight around sharp hip bones, now straddling his own. 

Rafe insists, "I'm fine." 

"You're not, let me—" 

"Just shut the fuck up, lay there and do nothing," orders Rafe, positioning the leaky tip against his unprepared hole. "I mean, that's what you do, isn't it? Sit back and let me take the fucking fall while you get off scot-free?" 

Any response Barry could have come up with shrivels up and dies as the boy sinks down slowly, strong thighs tensing on either side of his body, grimace firmly in place. Relief floods Barry as he takes in Rafe's uncomfortable expression and quickly softening cock, all the confirmation needed to prove he wasn't being fucked around on during their time apart. He can't help but let warm, sure palms stroke up and down the lithe body, a familiar urge to comfort bubbling up inside him. 

It'll be okay, baby, keep goin'—he'd say, just like the first time Rafe took him like this. It'll feel good soon, once your body's trained t' know better, promise. 

Rafe's heedless act is dropped the moment he's breached, feeling uncomfortably stretched once the tip is fully inside, chest heaving and mouth slack. There's a nervous glint in his eye that Barry instantly picks up on—much to the kooks dismay—and soft-spoken praise is being muttered up at him, encouraging him to take the sizeable length at a leisurely pace. 

"Fuck that," Rafe spits, gritting his teeth to stop from crying out as Barry's cock fucks him open, wet shaft dragging along dry walls. "And fuck you." 

Barry's too busy focusing on not prematurely blowing his load to listen, stomach caving in with his effort. No matter how hard his fingers flex, digging painfully into Rafe's sides, the boy doesn't give him a moment to collect himself before starting to bounce.

Above Barry, Rafe winces every time he bottoms out, bracing himself against the older man's tanned chest. The stretch is bordering on way too much, more intense than ever before without being properly prepared, the kook scrunching his face up to keep quiet. 

There was never a time Barry wasn't eager to take full control in the bedroom—or wherever else they got into it—but this time was different. So different it's hard to stay erect, to stay in the moment. Barry wants to talk more than anything, despite his pulsating cock and pull behind his belly button begging for sweet release after weeks of denial, heart strings pulled too taut to get it up before now. 

But Rafe looks like this is what he needs more than anything else, grinding his ass down in Barry's lap with newfound vigour, distressed grunts giving way to needy whimpers. He's so beautiful and he's right here and he's alive, the dealer staring up at him in awe. 

All that shatters when watery blue eyes glance down to meet Barry's appreciative gaze. 

"This is..." Rafe gasps out between high-pitched moans, trying to school his cock-drunk expression into something more stern before continuing with, "The last time, yeah?" 

But Barry doesn't have half the mind to pretend anymore, shaking his head against the duvet beneath him, fucking up into his boys tight body with reckless abandon. 

Rafe warns, "Barry—" but it comes out breathless, wet tip smacking against him on every thrust, precome glistening on his abs. 

"No," the older man forces out. 

"Yes," Rafe hisses back. 

Barry plants his feet firmly on the mattress to ram into the bundle of nerves inside Rafe with precision, tough hands kneading the boys ass. There's no fight in him, now or maybe ever, overwhelmed with both bodily pleasure and relief. 

The new position knocks Rafe forward, catching himself on the bed next to the dealer's head, only inches between their ruddy faces, sweat pouring down his temples as he's fucked. Maybe it's to get the upper hand for once or maybe it's just to be mean, but Rafe forces himself through wanton moans to say, "I'm gonna find someone else." Beneath him, Barry's movements falter and the broken look that crosses the other man's face almost makes Rafe relent. Almost. "Someone better." 

Those words play on Barry's biggest fear: he's not enough. He's never been enough. 

They've never been into that sort of thing; teasing one another about cheating or leaving or both. If this were before, Barry would've pulled out the moment the sentence was uttered with a soft prick and direct threats. Before Rafe would have never said some shit like that. 

But that was before and this is now, and in the now Barry needs to prove himself. 

"Did you hear me?" Rafe whispers, ducking to nip at the other man's bottom lip. "We're done. I fucking hate you—" 

Barry can't look at him right now, just like Barry couldn't look at him on the marsh. 

A ragged sob wretches out of Rafe when the thrusting ceases without warning, barely registering he's being manhandled onto his stomach with a pillow shoved under his groin, Barry's slippery cock sliding back in from behind.

Its just a means to an end—Barry pulls out only to cram himself back in twice as hard, starting a punishing pace that makes the boy wail, pounding into the fucked-open hole like it belongs to a toy and not the love of his life.

Rafe needs to come, Barry resolutely decided. Then we can talk. 

The kook is a mess of whimpers and fresh falling tears on the bedding, absentmindedly squirming under the harsh onslaught against his prostate, stretched wide around the base and trapped under the weight of the older man, who doesn't let up no matter how much Rafe whines: too deep, too big, too fucking much. 

It may be too deep and too big and too fucking much but that's how Rafe liked to be taken, that had been abundantly clear from the first time Barry spread his legs open. 

Searing kisses are dropped along the column of Rafe's neck and he can't help but reach back, cradle Barry's head as bruises are sucked into his tanned skin. 

"I love you," Barry groans, for the very first time. 

Rafe tenses up, fingers digging into short dark hair to anchor himself as he comes against the flattened pillow with a cry of the older man's name.

Stilling his jerky hips to spill deep inside, violently constricting muscles milk every last drop from Barry, who's struck silent from the burning intensity, mouth gaping. Even though the orgasm was impending from their very first touch, it still takes him by surprise, nearly dropping the entirety of his weight on the kook while recovering. 

"I love you," he repeats quietly, nuzzling Rafe's nape as they come down from the high. "Missed you so much, baby boy—" 

The contentment Barry feels is interrupted by a sharp elbow to his ribs, causing him to pull away from the warm body beneath him and in turn, yank his flagging dick free from the sensitive hole with a pained hiss. 

Rafe snaps, "Get the fuck off me, what the fuck. Shit. Get off me!" And rolls off the bed without word, working quickly to locate his jeans before slipping them on along with his boxers, all while Barry watches in shock. No cuddling, no shifting sore hips to get comfortable or giggly complaints about come soaking the sheets. 

Any warmth between them, any sliver of a chance at this being a sign they could return to normalcy is getting torn to shreds as Rafe readies to leave, bending to tie his sneakers after slipping his socks back in place. 

This is it. This is really it. Rafe is leaving him. 

"We need to talk," Barry stammers out, panic settling in his chest. "Rafe, I—look, what I did was wrong, I was wrong...wasn't thinkin' clearly, aight? I messed up, but I want—" 

"You're right, you weren't thinking," Rafe cuts in with a scoff, crossing the floor to pick through his leftover belongings on the nightstand. "And now I'm going for good and you're going to regret it for the rest of your miserable fucking life, I count on it. Actually, it's the only thing that brings me any peace these days." 

Barry guesses, "Daddy gon' kill me finally?" 

"No." Rafe's jaw jumps at the assumption, avoiding the other man's pleading eyes. "Don't get me wrong, he would if he knew but I told him some bullshit cover story about how you played into the arrest to help me from the outside, said it again and again until he genuinely believed one of the pogues was the rat. Fuck, he still thinks we're together, can you believe that? Such bullshit." 

"It's not bullshit," insists Barry. He doesn't reach out to Rafe, but he desperately wants to. "I want that—to be together. Let me...y'know, try to win you back. I'll prove how serious I am, just sit back down and we'll talk." 

Rafe makes a grab for Barry's discarded shorts, fishing around the pockets until his fingers curl around the dealer's outdated phone. "Why don't you call Garrett?" he suggests, tossing the device down on the bedspread. "I'm sure your little boyfriend would love to come talk to you. I've got better shit to do." 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Rafe, for the first time in their relationship, isn't doing as told and not just because he wants to be punished. The bedroom door is left open as the kook leaves. The sound of footfall carries in from the hallway, then the kitchen, and then a lock clicks back into place as the front door is shut. 

Then it's just Barry again. 

The next morning, when Barry has no choice but to roll out of his rumpled bed, a pile of tear-soiled tissues on the side table and red swollen eyes making it hard to see, he goes through his daily routine on autopilot. 

Piss, brush teeth, tie up wild hair, get a bowl of cereal, sink into the couch, scroll through his shitty phone...

The name Cameron glares like a beacon in the night, Barry's thumb flying across the screen to click the news article linked, reading and rereading the paragraphs in disbelief. They tell of honourable Ward Cameron, not just a leeching business man but a doting father, speaking freely in support of his recovering son. The story goes; Rafe confessed to a harrowing struggle with addiction while in a very dark place, which led to his father taking initiative by checking him into a rehab centre eight hours away, the family booking an Airbnb in the region to lend support. 

There's a special section at the end on how thankful and apologetic Ward is for all the concern, claiming the whole family had stepped back from social media to lend their full attention to Rafe's betterment. 

The whole thing has Barry's entire body aching with fatigue. Plagued with how he wept for months, sick every time he caught sight of a pink shirt in a crowd or heard the familiar rev of a dirt bike speeding by. How Sarah and Wheezie—whom he loved like his own damn sisters after all this time—ignored every text, every call. And he deserves it for what he did, he knows that, still he aches. 

Barry tosses the phone screen-down on the cushion beside him, stewing with his racing thoughts for well over an hour, now empty bowl perched on his lap. He tries telling himself over and over again it's enough to know Rafe is alive, even if his boy isn't his anymore. He repeats the sentiment until it's almost believable.  

Yeah, it'll be enough. It has to be.

#Sorry I slipped plot in the smut again guys #Here's the reason: this was originally part of a posted fic #But I changed the direction of that story and didn't want to lose this so here it is #I think there's a dozen different ways Barry would respond to Rafe confronting him #Crying and acting desperate isn't one of them until he thinks he's the reason Rafe offed himself #Originally Barry ate his come out of Rafe's ass but the tumblr character limit doesn't want me to thrive #this is also why I didn't elaborate on Rafe stalking Barry :( #I wish this was longer desperately nobody understands #barry x rafe #rafe x barry #rafebarry #rarry obx #obx fanfic #obx fic #obx fanfiction #barry obx #obx #rafe obx

[dubblebubbletea]

The most I can say about my relationship status is that he is 6 years older than me, previously hurt and wanting- but afraid- to settle down, and I am in my early 20s, still growing, and prone to bouts of life-ruining anger

#i can miss taking my meds for 2 days at most. after that i am a walking disaster #i go from being the sweetest person you have ever known #to thinking 'it is worth going to jail if i can knock this old bitch's dentures out' #when i say extreme i mean EXTREME #anyway i would like to try dating him but unfortunately i am afraid my mental health is going to make me ruin it #it seems we are both pretty dedicated with each other #i guess i just have growing to do #and also more therapy to attend #once i get health insurance #at this point i could probably afford health insurance but not enough to be comforable #i currently take lexapro and it's fantastic #unfortunately i have adhd and a week later i'll be literally rampaging and wondering why life is awful when i realize #that i have been off my meds for over a week #or i'll forget to pick them up for a week #i really need to try adhd meds #i've been diagnosed with adhd 4 seperate times #but when i went to my doctor they said :) i need to see a psychiatrist and get diagnosed again #first session is $495 #they do not accept insurance #i know a girl with adhd who has offered to share both her ritalin and adderal #but i do not want to try a variety of prescription drugs from someone i dont know and risk us both having trouble #i just want to live life and do things like a normal person #i want to experience joy and pay attention #and be able to be proud of myself #.txt #actually adhd #depression #actually mdd

[thevioletjones]

Wow, congrats on the kudos, that a big number you hit there. The prompt list is very fun and I like two, so you can choose between 18 and 38 :)

Thank you! I included both and it came out really cute, actually!

Prompt 1: “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” + “Watch me.”

Long Overdue

“Yo,” said Lip, bursting through the door of the Gallagher house.

Ian was lounging on the couch next to Mickey; Franny and Freddie happily playing at their feet.

“What up?” he asked his brother.

“You’re not gonna believe this shit…” Lip’s gaze flicked back and forth between the couple.

“Okayyyy?” replied Ian.

“I just dropped by the Kash and Grab for a pop, and guess who the fuck is back in Chi-town?”

Ian grimaced and glanced at Mickey, whose eyebrows suddenly shot up very high.

“Fuckin’ Towelhead?” Ian’s tactless husband inquired, his voice going high at the end.

“Nice bigoted slur, Mick,” Lip deadpanned, eyes snapping back to Ian, “but yeah.”

Ian could honestly say he hadn’t thought about Kash in years. He hadn’t even seen Linda around, since he avoided his old job premises like the plague, on account of the many weird, ancient memories attached to them. It wasn’t really an imposition, seeing as there were countless other convenience stores in the neighborhood. That entire chapter of his life was so closed, he didn’t care to think on it. Save the Mickey part, obviously, but even then he preferred to edit certain things out. Fuck knows they were always drowning in drama in the beginning; were maybe still known to swim in some, but the waters seemed a lot more navigable now that they were adults with rings on their fingers.

Ian just shrugged, unwilling to make himself care again, but Mickey shot to his feet.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to get even with that piece of shit?” he exclaimed, cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck muscles.

Ian exhaled loudly and stood up too. “Mick,” he said in a tone of warning. “Everything that happened with Kash was a long fucking time ago, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore. Let it go.”

“Fuck you I’m gonna let it go.”

Ian sighed and glanced around, Lip looking much more amused than he should be for getting Mickey riled up like this, before meeting his husband’s gaze again. “Can we talk about this in private, please?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, turning heel. “You can follow me to where I keep my Glock.”

It was times like these that made Ian want to knock him upside the head with a large fist, merely to save his ass from pulling stupid shit that could get him thrown back in prison. He followed him up the stairs and shut the door behind them as Mickey rifled around their sock drawer for the locked case they now kept their weapons in.

“Mickey,” Ian pleaded again in a stern voice, “I’m serious about this. You can’t go bringing this bullshit back to life. What’s the point?”

Mickey chuckled derisively as he unlocked the box. “The point is that’s the fucker who put a damn bullet in me and sent me to juvie. Not to mention, he fuckin’ statch-raped you when you were a goddamn moony-eyed, baby-faced kid. Dickhead’s gotta pay.”

He pulled the 9mm out and checked the chamber. Ian placed his hand over it to stop him.

“You don’t gotta explain to me why he’s a dirtbag creep, okay? I’m just sayin’ that it’s irrelevant now. What’s done is done. Takin’ a gun down to the store like it’s 2011 is a terrible idea. How many times do I have to beg your stupid ass not to get arrested again, huh?”

Mickey cocked the slide with a slick click and shoved the gun in the back of his pants. “I don’t give a shit how long it’s been. How come that bastard never got thrown in the damn clink? Back in the day, we used to bury pedos in the backyard. Street justice ain’t got a statute of limitations.”

It was Ian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Bullshit this is about street justice. You just have a vendetta, cuz he popped you one and got you busted. Don’t try to make it about defending my honor.”

“It can be two things, Gallagher. This dude deserves to get robbed, shot, and strung up by the balls. I’d do more, but ya know, not worth takin’ the time.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Maybe at one point I did, so what?”

“So? So you can’t just resurrect this crap, Mick! You’re gonna give him the opportunity to fuck up our lives again? It’s not worth it. You can’t do this.”

“Watch me.”

Mickey tried to slip past him then, but Ian stepped back and leaned heavily on the door, barring his dumbass husband from getting to it.

“I’m not watching shit, Mickey. Put the damn gun back and cool the hell off.”

“Get outta my way, Gallagher. I’m fuckin’ serious.”

“What are you gonna do, shoot me instead?”

Mickey’s face became very serious, but Ian wasn’t shaken. “Ian. Back… the fuck… off.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “Don’t make me fucking tackle you to the floor. You didn’t even switch the safety back on, you degenerate.”

“I’m gonna count to three. You better move.” Mickey was pointing in his face very authoritative like.

Ian couldn’t hold in his snort, and that just made him crack up, as Mickey’s shoulders slumped and he looked both indignant and resigned.

“I’m so tired of fighting with you, Mick. Can you please just stop? If it really means that much to you to get some petty revenge on Kash, then let’s come up with something better than rehashing an old storyline, okay?”

Mickey glared at him for a minute, then rubbed his lips together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that maybe if we do it the right way, we could get him some jail time just like you think he deserves.”

“Like I think—” Mickey started. “Bitch, you should think he deserves it more than anyone. You were what? Thirteen? Fourteen? The fuck, man?”

Ian stepped forward again and put his arms around Mickey, trailing his left hand down toward the waistband of his husband’s pants.

“Are you done?” He eased the gun out and deftly flipped the safety on, walking them both backwards until he could set it on the dresser.

Mickey’s breath was hot on his neck, and he was somewhat red in the face. “Can’t believe you’re still protecting that motherfucker.”

“For the last time, you’re the only one I’m protecting here. You and me. Get that through your thick fucking Milkovich skull, okay? And if you do, maybe I’ll reward you in some way.”

Mickey’s body was still rigid against him as he scoffed, “You can’t bribe me with sexual favors anymore, dipshit. We’re fuckin’ married. Bangin’ is part of the damn contract, ain’t it?”

“Not if I don’t want it to be.”

Mickey laughed truly and deeply. “Yeah, okay, Captain Horndog. I could stay away from you longer than you could stay away from me. Guarantee that shit.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jesus Christ, I thought this was a negotiation for me gettin’ a reward. I’d rather just redeem it for cash value. Which wouldn’t be much.”

“Hey!” Ian cried in affront.

Mickey just cackled again, backing up toward their bed. “Get over here with your dumb dick, then, Firecrotch. My ass ain’t gonna fuck itself.”

“I don’t know why I married you.”

“Yeah you do.”

Yeah, he did.

#ian x mickey #ficlet #gallavich #fanfic #fanfiction #asks #answers

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33-Epilogue

~~Day 2 of Lucy’s testimony

“Ms. Heartfilia, on the night of the kidnapping please start from the moment you got off the train and were walking back towards your apartment building.”

“O-Okay.” Lucy closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. ‘Just tell the truth, let the prosecutor direct her answers...’ She opened her eyes as she began. “We had a system in place, so whenever I was out alone, I would stay on the phone with someone. That night, Natsu was on the other end. He talked and kept me company. I was maybe halfway to the apartment building when I heard something behind me, but before I could turn to see what it was, I felt a hand wrap around my face and a cloth placed over my mouth. I-I screamed, and I heard Touka’s voice, and Natsu screaming over the phone but everything went black as I passed out. It happened really fast.”

“What was the next thing you remember?”

“I woke up in an apartment that I didn’t recognize. I remember being dizzy, my head hurt, and my eyes were all blurry. My... m-my hands and feet were tied up, and I was lying on my side on the floor.” Lucy stopped again to take another deep breath before continuing. “That’s when I heard noises like drawers opening and closing. I couldn’t see where it was coming from at first, but I guess my mind told me it must be Touka. So, my survival instincts kicked in at that moment. I stayed still, pretending to be asleep, but I cracked my eyes open to see what I could.”

“And what could you see?”

“I s-saw, like a couch, and a wall, and it was covered with photographs of Natsu— just completely covered. And I could see there was all kinds of them, close ups, far shots, old stuff, new ones, clippings... but they weren’t just Natsu. I could see a lot of me and our friends too, and that really creeped me out cause I knew she was watching us, but just, you know, to see it— that was really hard. I tried so hard to stay focused on what was happening. I just kept thinking, I’ve gotta find a way out of there.”

Lucy took the jury through that night, step, by step just as she’d been coached by the prosecutor. The closer she got to the main event, the slower she moved through each detail. They covered all the visuals she saw from her vantage point, inching their way to the moment Touka had begun her physical assault. Lucy’s hands sat in her lap, but they constantly opened and closed into fists to disburse the building anxieties in a physical way. It was a technique her therapist had shown her specifically to use during the trial. Thank goodness for all the preparations by her therapist, because recalling these memories were to re-live them and that was all extremely difficult.

“You testified that Ms. Shiromajyo did not know you were already awake. So, how did she wake you up?”

Lucy took a deep breath knowing this was the hardest part, but the prosecutor needed her to tell the tale. “She kicked me really hard in the back which made me roll over to try and defend, but before I could she stomped me in the stomach, and just kept kicking me over and over...” Lucy’s body trembled as she relieved the event in her mind. “I-I couldn’t do much because I was tied up tightly, so I kept rolling to the side and curling up in a ball. I didn’t wanna scream, because... b-because I thought that’s what she wanted to hear, and I wasn’t gonna give her that satisfaction. But I think it only made her angrier.”

“Was she saying anything through this attack?”

“Y-Yes...” Lucy’s voice cracked. “S-She was calling me a slut and a bitch and blamed me for the pain she was feeling. Said if only I’d walked away like she’d warned me to, I wouldn’t be in this situation. So, I snapped back that hurting me wouldn’t make Natsu love her. That killing me...” Lucy sucked in a breath, “wasn’t worth going to jail over. I thought— that maybe if I try to reason with her, get her to see this wouldn’t change anything, she’d stop, but— it didn’t faze her.” Lucy shivered at how cold Touka’s eyes had been at the moment. “She said, “if I can’t have him, neither will you.” That, “don’t you think I know that?” But she didn’t care. This woman was going to kill me, and she said it with a straight face. That’s when I knew she was serious, and I started preparing myself to die.”

Eventually, Lucy couldn’t even look in Natsu’s direction. She could see the utter turmoil on his face, and it only added to her anxiety. So, instead, she looked at the jury members themselves. That was another tactic the prosecutor instructed Lucy to do. ‘Talk to them,’ he’d explained. ‘Think of this as your opportunity to tell your story. Let them see all the emotions you were feeling then, or feeling now, because they need to know how much Touka’s actions have affected you.’ So, that’s what Lucy did her best to do, scanning just above their heads. She still couldn’t make eye contact because just like Natsu, listening to her story brought a lot of pain to many of their faces.

With tears trickling down, Lucy continued giving a blow by blow account leading up to Natsu’s arrival, and what happened before the authorities arrived. How she got the cut on her neck and other injuries, and how they were fighting against Touka as hard as they could. Tears trickled slowly down her cheeks as she spoke, but she didn’t stop talking. She told them how Natsu begged Touka to leave her alone, even willing to give up his life for it, but once Natsu admitted that he loved her, that really set Touka off. “That— T-That not how I wanted to find out he loved me!” Lucy screamed through the tears. “That’s not how anyone should find that out! And she took that beautiful thing away from me!” Lucy slumped in her chair, trying to stop the heavy sobs wracking her body. Saying it out loud, the anger was seething inside of her because she hadn’t expected to have this reaction. Maybe she’d buried it for far too long?

“Ms. Heartfilia, do you need a break?”

“N-No,” she wiped away the sloppy tears. “I can finish this. I-I need to keep going.”

“Take a moment to compose yourself,” the judge explained, “then continue.”

Lucy nodded to the judge in acknowledgment, then after a long deep exhale, continued to tell the jury how she’d watched as Natsu defended her and what was going through her mind as she saw him stabbed. “All the blood...” she whimpered, fighting the urge to bawl again. “There was so much blood from Natsu’s injuries. I started freaking out because I didn’t wanna die and I didn’t wanna watch my boyfriend killed! So, I-I grabbed the closest object which was a hardcover book— her school yearbook and just started swinging as hard as I could despite my wrists being tied. I was just running on adrenaline at the point knowing it had to be either her or us, and I’m sorry, but I did not want to die.”

At that stage of the testimony, Lucy took the jury through the police’s arrival from her perspective. What she’d observed, and how they finished subduing Touka. “Once they took her into custody, I think I was just in shock. Frankly, I don’t even know how I managed to stay focused through the whole ordeal, I just remember thinking if this woman was gonna kill me, I’d make it as difficult as possible.” Finally, Lucy covered the timeline for the jury between the scene and going to the hospital for treatment, including the panic attack and his she had to be sedated.

“And how has this affected you since the incident?”

“Objection! Leading! This has no relevance to the case!” The defense attorney argued to the judge. “The witnesses state of mind after the fact could be contributed to multiple factors and there’s no way to attribute it solely to my client or the events revolves around my client.”

The prosecutor countered, arguing that Lucy’s continued reactions to the events over the ensuing months was relevant to the case.

But the judge only ruled partially in the States favor. “Re-word you question counselor to the event itself.”

“Ms. Heartfilia, please provide any specific factors you’ve suffered relating to your experiences with Ms. Shiromajyo.”

“W-Well, my panic attacks and nightmares are because of what happened. I keep seeing and reliving things like a movie replaying in my mind. Especially the attack, I literally wake up screaming because of bloody dreams, and this causes me problems, like I don’t get enough sleep, I couldn’t focus on school. Just the fear of leaving my apartment has kept me from doing anything really for months. I’m scared of being kidnapped, even though logically I know Touka is in jail, it doesn’t just make those feelings go away. I wish it did— Heaven help me, I wish it would just go away, but it doesn’t.”

“So, you still fear Ms. Shiromajyo?”

Lucy stiffened and nodded her head vehemently as she shrunk down in the chair. “Yes.”

“Thank you, no further questions at this time. We reserve the right to recall the witness.”

“Cross?” The judge asked the defense, to which they also responded with reserve the right to recall. “Then Ms. Heartfilia, you may leave the stand, but be available in case of being recalled.”

Lucy nodded quietly at the judge, then slipped out of the courtroom. The bailiff lead her to a back room, along with her therapist so she couldn’t hear what was going on. Once in the safety of the room, she broke down. All the emotions she’d tampered down to get through the testimony, rushed out. She’d shed tears during her testimony, but now she was free to sob openly.

“You did great,” the therapist cooed, soothing the young woman. She tightened her hug, “that’s good, just let it all out.”

A knock at the door came, as Natsu and Levy were allowed inside. Natsu immediately went to his girlfriend and took over for the therapist. “Shh,” he spoke softly and smoothed his hand against her hair. “You did amazing babe!”

“Lu, you did great up there! We’re really proud of you!”

“Thanks, guys,” Lucy sniffled into Natsu’s chest. She was proud of getting through it without having a break down, but the nagging knowledge of this wasn’t over yet, still loomed large. The defense was surely going to recall her at some stage, and even if the attorney didn’t, the prosecutor could, plus just the waiting sucked! “Can we please go home? I-I just wanna go home.”

#nalu #nalu fan fic #nalu fanfiction #nalu au #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #Natsu x lucy #angst #nalu fan fiction #strangers on a train #ch 29

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 17: 1x23 The Omega Glory

Watched the very uneven episode “The Omega Glory” today. Upon some reflection.. I think I have seen it? But I think my last rewatch ended abruptly after “By Any Other Name” so it might have been some time ago.

Anyway, it was... something. Decent, I might even say good, until the last 10-15 minutes and then it just went off a cliff? That’s how I’d summarize it.

Sulu, my beloved. I’ve missed you.

Kirk knows where all the ships are. I mean, obviously, but I love to hear it.

Phasers on heavy stun huh?

It’s so weird to be on a different ship. That looks like the same ship. It’s so empty and haunted looking.

With creepy crystal remains of bodies everywhere.

“These white crystals... are the crew.”

Something was thirsty!! Perhaps... a water vampire? Perhaps... a former McCoy girlfriend?

(Honestly having watched the whole ep...they could have expanded this intro longer. It was creepy and mysterious. Then cut the last act.)

Oh no, they’ve been infected and now must quarantine. Sort of. I guess.

...Oh no, is this Vietnam? Again?

“Our old enemy, Vietnam.”

My mother suggested the disease might be communism and I don’t think that metaphor tracks through the whole episode but you know what.. anything’s possible.

I don’t like this whole “you can’t leave the planet or you’ll get sick and die” thing. Too familiar.

"I may never be able to leave this planet but I have a worse problem: a colleague may be breaking a rule."

Says the man who has frequently violated a directive that has never been referred to as Prime before.

Kirk is getting very mumbly. That’s his serious voice.... bu it’s also his Denny Crane voice lol.

Like bio warfare in the 90s? TOS really thought the 90s was going to be the dark ages, didn’t it?

Only 90s kids remember...

Spock bursting in with a wounded man, just bringing the drama, as he does.

He’s not even listening to McCoy. Rude.

Spock absolutely 100% would have killed Captain Tracey on instinct as soon as Kirk is threatened.

Sulu’s in command? I love Captain Sulu but where is Scotty?

Kirk is so good. Clever, strong, smart. Knows all the regulations.

Tracey’s so dumb. “They’ve eradicated disease and live for hundreds of years!” Man, have you considered that they are...aliens? And their life spans are simply.... naturally longer than human life spans? And even if you could isolate the serum, it might not work on humans?

And his master plan is to isolate their immunity and bottle it for profit. It’s our old enemy... capitalism and the exploitation of intellectual property.

A fight scene!

“The pointy-eared one stays.”

Another fight scene!

Spock is watching all of this, and you know what, I feel like he’s not upset about it. It’s just like Pre-Reform Vulcan. Perhaps some... Amok Time flashbacks? “Damn, I wish that was me.”

Peanut gallery Spock.

“I wish you could teach me that.” / “I have tried.” Omg where is my scene of Spock trying to teach Kirk the nerve pinch?

And then that look Kirk gives him.

I don’t get the point of this scene but it amuses me that as soon as McCoy sees the pretty girl, he feels better.

A post-apocalyptic alien world... a very interesting concept. Like you could do a lot with that idea imo.

“That’s our worship word [freedom too.” Umm.... questionable.

Damn bitch, that was cold. Just knocking him out like that.

Damn yankee.

...Yankee and Communist dammit.

McCoy’s not even surprised to see Kirk and Spock out of jail.

Nature created a natural counterbalance to the biological disease. Where is OUR natural counterbalance, I ask?

McCoy sounds extra Southern rn. It’s all the stress.

I really don’t think Shatner gets enough credit for his subtlety. His face when McCoy explains the whole situation...

Oh he's mad now. "You've hurt Spock for nothing! Oh yeah and also killed thousands but MOSTLY THE SPOCK THING!”

Whereas Tracey really doesn’t seem to care about anything but war for its own sake. He knows now that his master plan for immortality was nothing the whole time...but he still needs to call those Yangs.

In other words, another once-reputable figure of authority now gone mad.

Kirk’s voice is so casual when he’s talking to Uhura and Sulu, you feel like he’s gotta have something up his sleeve. He can never hide when he’s really upset about something.

...Apparently what he had up his sleeve was his crew knowing regulations and then another full body tackle. Fight scene 3!

"My need for attention is vital.” Same, Spock.

This is a very attenuated and unbelievable connection Kirk is making but he’s Kirk so I’ll assume it makes sense that he’s putting it all together so fast.

Alternate Universe: Vietnam canon-divergence lol.

For anyone keeping track, this is right about the point where the episode goes off the rails.

YOU’RE A ROMANTIC, JIM. Well he’s right about that at least and he should say it.

Oh no, an American flag.

Cloud William, chief and the son of chiefs. That’s continuity of government for you.

(Also pretty hilarious that this society is supposedly So American with our exact flag and Constitution and everything... but they’re not a democracy.)

I really don’t want to believe that “under God” is still in the pledge 200 years from now.

"You're confusing the stars with heaven." Kirk thinks he's being called an angel.

The absolute mishmash of meaningless, referent-free words here. America. Native Americans. Communists. The flag, the Constitution. God. Angels. Devils. What???

Like how can they both be flag worshippers AND...believers in God? Who is their God? Alien George Washington?

So rude to call Spock Kirk’s “servant.” That’s his space husband!

Is that a literal picture of Spock as a demon in their.. Bible?

I can’t even follow this anymore.

“You command him.” I mean...yes, that’s how the military works.

“He has no heart.” Wow, rude.

“His heart is different!” I stan one (1) Southern Doctor.

I feel like Spock is just... not having this at all. His face loos like he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

Oh no is that the CONSTITUTION??!

“Kill his servant” wow Tracey is obsessed with Spock, isn’t he? I guess everyone in the Fleet knows about them and their special relationship.

Spock is even amused by the knife at his throat. His eyes say "I am distressed--but fascinated!"

A FOURTH fight scene? And here I thought Kirk was going to recite the Constitution.

“I’m open to suggestions.” He’s just as worried about Kirk as McCoy is, bu the doesn’t show it.

...Yep, he’s being telepathic again. Not really in line with his usual telepathy but okay. Alien magic is flexible.

Okay I have a JD and I can confidently say there is nothing about good defeating evil in the Constitution.

And now this alien guy is immediately ready to make himself a “slave.” That seems problematic. What happened to the holy word “Freedom”?

Wow, Kirk's in a bad mood. "You can't pronounce your own holy words worth shit."

“This is only for the eyes of a Chief,” he says and Kirk just pushes him away.

Spock literally turns Tracey around for Kirk’s big final speech like “Listen up, bitch, my boyfriend’s talking.”

Is this the 4th of July episode?? Feels like there should be canons and fireworks going off behind him rn.

Idk, the words of the Constitution can't be so unique and unprecedented if a WHOLE OTHER ALIEN CIVILIZATION just came up with them, too, on their own, like monkeys typing Hamlet. (Given the timelines here... they probably did it first too lol.)

"Liberty and freedom need to be more than just words." Like what does that even mean in this context? Sounds nice but it’s very hard to put into the context of all the rest of this.

“And uh be nice to the Kohms,” after most of them (?) were probably just killed.

I really was into this until the last 10-15 minutes and I think there were under-explored concepts that could have taken the fever dream of whatever that bizarre-o fever dream at the end was. The abandoned ship. The leftovers of bio warfare. The whole weird and under-explained concept of immunity. The tragedy that so much was destroyed,, including but not limited to the whole Exeter crew, for no reason. What happened to Tracey to so destroy him--was it just greed? What about the “Prime” Directive? Is it important or not. They just leave at the end after (as Spock pointed out) doing quite a bit of their own meddling, even though meddling is allegedly the worst. Also, we know almost nothing about the Kohms at all. The “American” society clearly wasn’t democratic. Were the Kohms literally Communist?

I’m willing to accept a certain degree of alternate Earth scenarios--like Miri (though imo that was not a necessary component of that story) or Bread and Circuses, but this was too much. TOO unbelievable. And frankly unnecessary. You could do an allegory for alternate-Vietnam, and it would be just as clear but even more effective. There wouldn’t be any distraction in the form of “what the fuck is that flag doing here?”

There is a potentially incendiary concept here, which is the same one I thought of reading about actual COG plans--certain aspects of the Yanks’ culture survives, but with absolutely no meaning attached. They have a Constitution but they mispronounce all the words. They have this tattered flag but it has no other meaning. They’ve turned the symbols of the government into a religion, but they don’t practice any of the civil aspects of it--they have chiefs, not democratically appointed leaders, for example. Like, COG asks “what IS the country, and how do you make sure the country endures no matter what?” This was an opportunity to show the worst of that: the country continues to exist as symbology only--incredibly strong symbology, but only that--and all of the actual values that were supposed to be stored with that symbology have disappeared. Similarly, their hatred of their enemies endures. It’s lauded in the ep as their attempt to get “their land” back but what if it’s just war for its own sake, as Tracey seems to be engaging in? To tell that story, especially in the 60s, against the backdrop of Vietnam, and with the references to bio warfare and nuclear warfare, could be powerful. And I know TOS can work in metaphor and comparison. It doesn’t need to bring out a literal fucking flag.

Honestly, it was like they had one good, classic, sci fi story but it didn't fill 52 minutes so they tacked on the American Pride 4th of July Propaganda Extravaganza at the end.

It really felt like the lesson was “America good” lol.

I liked the concept of the post apocalyptic society in the aftermath of bio warfare as a cautionary tale for 1960s America, and I'd be up for crazed snake oil salesman Starfleet Captain (or...whatever his rank was) if it were a bit better explained. But the rest of it....

It also... could have been kinda incendiary with the idea that the Constitution and flag are religious symbols... I mean some people do treat them that way and I've always found that, first, blasphemous, and second, bizarre in such a hyper-Christian country. But I feel like instead of digging ito that, they just tempered it with "But also they're Christian, as you can tell by their drawing of devil!Spock, for some reason."

Idk, this story could have been complete with out the whole weird “Vietnam AU” back story or alternately it could have been a biting commentary about what defines America, and about whether or not our symbols might be more enduring--or even more important to people today??--than the laudable but more complex and difficult ideals that underpin the country’s founding. Are the words of the Constitution just gobbledy gook? They are if you don’t live by them, and America has always struggled to do that. It definitely would struggle even more in the aftermath of an apocalypse.

...I’m more annoyed now, thinking about the possible sci fi story that could have been...

Anyway next is an ep I’m fairly sure I haven’t  seen, so that should be fun.

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek #star trek tos

[noladyme]

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 7

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

This might be a rough one for some people.

TW: assault

7

We went back to TM. Phil drove my car there for me, with me in the passenger seat. I was too shaky to ride with Jax.

We were met in the lot by an angry looking Clay. “What happened, Jax?”, he growled. I went to sit by a picnic-table, outside the clubhouse. Jax lit a cigarette; and looked Clay straight in the eyes. “Truce with The Nords is over”, he declared. Clay snarled. “Goddammit, Jax!”.

Jax didn’t flinch. “If it was mom…”, he said. “This peace was bullshit, Clay. You know it”. “You had your revenge on Darby’s guy”, Clay snarled. “We only took half of Ollie’s dick”, Chibs said. “He’s still got an angry inch flopping around down there”.

Clay wasn’t appeased. “I already got that ATF bitch up my ass; I don’t need you complicating our situation more – starting some blood feud with the skinhead army!”. “Stahl has nothing on us, man”, Jax said. “We’re clear of that shit… Did you call Unser?”. Clay looked towards me. “Yeah. He’s taking care of it”. Jax nodded. “Thanks…”.

He stepped over to me, and took my hand; leading me into the clubhouse. “Lockdown is back on again. You don’t leave the compound for anything, except extreme emergencies; and someone always has an eye on you”. I frowned. “Can I pee in private?”, I grumbled. He sighed. “This isn’t something to joke about”, he grumbled. “Clay’s right. Going at Darcy like that – threatening his business… I might have kicked a hornet’s nest. Put that on top of your psycho ex…”.

I let out a deep breath. Jax stroked my cheek. “You’ll be fine, darlin’”, he said. “Will you though?”, I said. He smirked. “I always am”, he said. “I have to run. I have a meth-lab to burn down”. I groaned. “Ok. I’ll just wait here… with the armed bikers, and the alcohol”. “You’ll have a blast”, he smiled; and kissed me softly.

He walked towards the door. “Jax…”, I called after him. “Yeah?”. “If you die, I’ll kick your ass”. “Yes ma’am”, he smiled; and left.

---

Bobby was babysitting me; looking like the father of a teenager who’s threatened to run away. I went to look through my stuff in one of the back rooms; and he followed me – standing in the doorway as I rummaged through a box. “The window is too small for me to get through; Bobby”. I gestured at the tiny window under the ceiling. “Just due diligence, sweetheart”. “Jax thinks I’ll make a run for it?”, I chuckled. “Will you?”, Bobby muttered.

I turned around and looked at him incredulously. “You don’t like me…”, I said. He shook his head. “I have nothing against you, Cat”, he said. “I’m just worried about Jax”. I clenched my jaw. “You think I’ll hurt him?”. “Not on purpose; you don’t have it in you”, he said. “But when you realize this life isn’t as sweet as it looks – when you break – so will he. He doesn’t want to see you hurt”. I sighed. “I won’t break. Shit, I’ve been here 3 weeks; and I’ve never felt more at home anywhere in my life”. Bobby nodded. “And that violence you saw the other night?”. I looked him square in the face. “You want to know what happened, after I saw Jax torture a man for me?”, I sneered. “I went home. I had sex with my old man; and spent the next day caring for his son… I didn’t run”.

Bobby let out a breath. “All right. I’m sorry”. I swallowed. “I get it. You’re protective of your friend. You love him… but so do I”. The biker smiled. “That’s all I wanted to hear”, he said. “Come on. I made banana-bread”.

I stepped towards the door to join him. He put a hand on my shoulder. “For what it’s worth; I do like you, puddin’. You’re might be just what this club needs”. “What’s that?”, I asked. “A good person; and a hell of a gogo-dancer”, he smiled. “Burlesque…”, I frowned. “Burlesque. Whatever”, he muttered. “Let’s go. Banana-bread”.

A little while later we were chewing on the baked deliciousness Bobby had created. “How come you’re all such good cooks; and you still want your old ladies to do all the housework?”, I asked, wiping my face with a napkin. “We’re not all tied down in domesticated bliss”, he chuckled. “We gotta live on something”. “Baked goods and whiskey?”, I smirked. “Covers most of our nutritional needs”, he said; and pulled out a joint from his cut-pocket. “This takes care of the vegetables”. He lit the blunt. “I believe you”, I laughed.

“Shit; I forgot…”, Bobby said. “Rat dropped off your purse this morning”. He got my bag from behind the bar, and gave it to me. I got my phone from inside it. Lyla had dropped a few messages; and there were four unanswered calls. I checked my voicemail.

Sunday, 11 am. “Miss Rose; this is special agent June Stahl from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. I’d like to talk to you about your association with Jackson Teller. I believe you might have some important information; that’s critical to an ongoing investigation. Please give me a call back”.

Stahl… The ATF agent. This wasn’t good.

Thuesday, 1.15 pm. “Miss Rose. This is agent Stahl again. Please give me a call back. It’s critical that we speak. I’m worried you might be in danger. I can help you.

Bobby looked at my frowning face. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. I shook my head, and listened to the next message.

Wednesday, 3.30 pm. “Catherine; it’s June Stahl. I’m worried you’re ignoring my calls at this point. You are with a group of very bad men. You have to get out of there. I have received information you’ll want to hear; from one of your old friends. He’s worried about you; Cathy. The Sons of Anarchy are going down. Get out; leave town. Joshua Kohn has promised me he’ll make sure you make it back to Chicago safe. We know about you attack. It’s only going to get worse from here on out. Jackson is going to jail. Don’t be there when that happens. They’ll put it on you…”. 

I felt sick. Bobby frowned at me. “Cat; talk to me”. “Where is Jax?”, I said with a choked voice. “On his way up to Darby’s cookery”, Bobby said. “Why?”. I breathed shakily. “Something’s wrong”.

I listened to the last message.

Thursday, 1.46 pm. A little over an hour ago. “Kitty. It’s me. I’m very sorry it had to come to this for you. I understand you had a visit at your motel. I didn’t want to do that, my love… but I had to. (sigh) Honey; I’m coming to get you. I know where you are. Be outside the compound at 3 pm. We’ll get out of this town together… Look; I know we have issues, kitty-girl; but we’ll work through them. I forgive you… I do… Be outside when I said. Don’t tell anyone where you are going. I don’t want to do this to you; but if you’re not there… I know where the Teller is. I’ll call Stahl and give her the address. They have SWAT standing by. Teller’s is either ending up in an orange suit, or a body-bag. You can stop that. I love you, my Catherine. See you soon”.

I put my phone into my purse. The gun Jax had given me; was still in there. I picked up the small bag. “I have to go to the bathroom”, I muttered. “Sweetheart?”, Bobby said. “Just… to much banana-bread”. I tried to smile.

I stood up; and walked down the hall. My body was shaking. I love you Jax. I’m sorry…

I closed the door to the bathroom, and locked it. I had to go. Jax would never go down without a fight. He’d die today, if I didn’t leave with Joshua. I would never see Jackson again. I would never see Abel – but if I didn’t leave; he’d never see his father again, either. Jax became someone else for me; turned of his humanity to protect me. It was my turn to repay the favor.

Bobby knocked at the door. “Cat?”, he called. “Are you ok? ‘You gluten allergic?”. “I’m fine?”, I squeaked. “Just need a minute”. “You sure?”. I thought fast. “Shark week”, I said. There was a pause. “Ok… I’m gonna go away now…”. I heard him walk off.

I looked up at the small window above the toilet. I could make it. I just needed to be quiet.

Carefully opening the window, I climbed through it; and landed on a dumpster by the side of the clubhouse. The loud bump from my landing made me gasp; and I looked towards the auto shop; worried someone would have heard me. My cheeks where burning, but otherwise I felt cold all over.

Rat was standing by the tow-truck; parked just a few yards away. “What are you doing?”, he asked. “Dance practice”, I said. “I have to go”. “Why did you climb out of the window?”, he frowned. “Cardio”, I muttered. I needed to deescalate the situation. “Do you… have a cigarette?”, I asked smilingly. “Shit, yeah”, Rat smiled, and handed me a smoke; lighting it for me. “Look, could you tell Jax… tell him I’m sorry…”, I said. “For running off”. “For dance class?”, Rat said. “Yeah”, I smiled. “Tell him I love him”.

Calmly as I could; I walked towards the large opened gate – leaving behind my second home; my love – and the life I had thought was mine. All I had to remind me; was the blue, plaid flannel shirt I was wearing.

---

The street outside was quiet. People we’re going home to prepare dinner for their families; live their lives. I walked down the street, my breath hitching; and tears welling up in my eyes.

A dark escalade pulled up next to me; and the window by the passenger-seat opened. I looked inside.

“Hello, kitty…”. Josh was smiling warmly at me. “Get in, honey. We have quite a drive”.

He opened the door for me; and I got into the seat. “Buckle up, my love. And put out that cigarette. I hate it when you smoke; you know that”, Josh said brightly. “I brought road snacks!”. He handed me a bag of peanuts. “There’s water in the back seat”. I looked behind me; and saw a cooler standing next to a shotgun. “Josh…”, I croaked. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s just for our protection. Are you armed?” “My purse”, I said. “Gun”. “Thank you for your honesty. Throw it into the back”. I did as I was told. “See; we’re already building trust”. “Yes”, I croaked.

We drove for a while; passing the sign at the town border. The name says it all. “Not so charming, huh?”, Joshua chuckled. I took a gasping breath; and he grabbed my shaking hand. “Hey… You’re ok now. I’m taking you away from here. You don’t ever have to come back”. “Where are you taking me?”, I asked. “Home”, Josh smiled; returning his hand to the wheel. “Our future”. “You… came all the way here for me”, I said. He nodded. “Arrived shortly after you”, he said. His jaw clenched. “I would have come for you sooner; but I knew you needed some space. Kept my distance”. I looked at the passing road-signs. We were going east. “So… you called my job. Sent those papers…”, I muttered. “That wasn’t the right place for you. You know it”, he said. “You were getting in too deep – too fast”.

I let out a deep breath. “You’ve been watching”. His face twitched. “I had to make sure you were safe”, he almost growled. “I understand that you needed to let loose for a bit… sow your wild oats; before you finally settled down… but him…”. I swallowed bile. “He’s not… you don’t have to worry about him”.

Josh slammed his hands into the wheel; and the car swerved; making me yelp. “I saw you two that night! His hands all over you. Where’s your sense of respect for what we have?”. “I’m sorry, Josh”, I whimpered. He looked at me with wide eyes, and sighed. “I know, Catherine… but you can’t do that anymore. I’m not going to let you destroy my love for you; it won’t work”. “I understand”, I whispered. “Do you? Really?”, he asked. “Yes…”, I said. “But… I need to know. Did you tell that agent…”. “Where biker boy is?”, he snarled. “No. I don’t like what he does; who he is… but it’s not his fault that you made some bad decisions”.

Jax was safe. I couldn’t help but smile through my tears. “Does that make you happy?”, Josh said; almost daring me. “I can still call her”. “I’m… just happy that I didn’t ruin anymore lives”, I said. Joshua’s face softened. “You are a good person, honey. Deep down. You just needed to be reminded where you belong. And with whom”. “With you”, I muttered. He took my hand again. “With me”.

His hand was clammy. It made me sick to my stomach to have him touch me; but I didn’t pull my hand away. I have to save you, Jax.

We drove for about an hour. Josh kept talking to me; telling me about how he’d redecorated his apartment so it would fit us both. “I had them put new wallpaper in the bedroom. Pink roses. Your favorite”. “I’m… happy”, I smiled as genuinely as I could. I hated pink roses. I would always hate pink roses. “Josh; I have to pee… can we pull over?”. He shook his head. “I rented a motel room about 30 minutes away”, he said. “Hold it”. “Why?”, I asked. “Stop asking questions”, he snarled. “I-I’m sorry, Josh”, I stammered. “I was just wondering why you got us a room… I didn’t mean to question you”. He paused for a second before answering. “We need a fresh start, honey”, he said. “A romantic night together is just what we the doctor prescribed”. I swallowed bile again.

Josh pulled up at a small roadside motel. The rooms were individual cabins. “Privacy”, he smirked at me. I tried to smile back; hiding my tears. “Perfect”, I whispered. “No, you’re perfect”, Josh breathed; and leant towards me. I closed my eyes; and he put his lips on mine. They were cold and clammy; like his hand.

He got out of the car; opened my door; and led me to the door of one of the small cabins. He locked the it behind us.

The inside of the room was faux rustic – from the plastic antlers on the wall, to the Walmart patchwork on the bed. Josh was smiling gleefully. “Oh yeah. Look at this!”, he said; and popped a quarter into a slot on the wall by the bed. “Lay down”. I hesitated. “Honey, don’t worry. We’ll take it slow”, he said, and put his hands on my waist, backing me against the bed. His lips were on mine again; and I exhaled through my nose. “Lay down”.

I sat myself on the bed; before laying my head against the pillow. Josh pushed a button next to my bed. It began vibrating. “A nice massage, for my kitty”, Josh smirked. “You like that, don’t you?”.

He began crawling over my body. “I missed you so much”, he breathed against my neck; and put his lips to my skin. “Please, Josh…”, I whimpered. “I can’t…”. He looked at me with scrunched eyebrows. “Honey… I just love you so much. I want you to feel good…”. He put his hand on my breast. “Don’t…”. I began sobbing; and tried pushing him away.

Josh sat up; straddling me. I tried to sit up myself; pulling myself backwards to create distance between us. “This isn’t our first time. Just relax and let me love you again”. I shook my head. “We didn’t… make love”, I said; anger in my voice. Joshua’s face became enraged. “We made love!”, he yelled at me. “We had sex. That’s it”, I said. “That’s all it was to you?”, he growled. “You whore!”. He backhanded me across the face; and I felt my ears pop from the blow.

“And him? Teller? You made love to him?”, he growled. “I gave you a year and a half of my life. He’s known you – what – a month?”. “We weren’t together that long, Josh. You just never accepted that”. Josh smirked at me. “Once we’re done here; I’m going to go back to Charming, and burn down that clubhouse… kill that homewrecker”.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed him off me as hard as I could; and sprang for the door. Josh was on me; and grabbed the back of my head; slamming it against the wall. I fell to the floor; feeling blood coming from my nose. “Why do you have to make this so hard?”, he roared. “Please”, I whimpered. “I want to go home…”. Josh grabbed my arm; and pulled me up. “We’re going home tomorrow”, he snarled. “Tonight; you show me that you still love me!”.

He tore at the buttons on the flannel I was wearing – struggling me for dominance. I grabbed at his face; dipping my nails into the skin; and leaving marks down his cheek. “Bitch!”, he yelped; and kneed me in the gut. His arms went around me; and I grabbed his hair – pulling it hard; and biting into his neck. Josh roared, and let me go.

I ran towards the door; and unlocked it; running outside – screaming for help. I saw an elderly man in the cabin next door, look at me through the blinds, and close them quickly. I ran to the car; and ripped the door open; grabbing my purse.

Josh had followed me outside; and kicked my leg; making me fall to the ground. I managed to keep a tight hold of my bag; when Joshua grabbed the shotgun and cocked it – aiming at me. “Get back inside, Catherine”. I stood back up slowly, tears running down my cheeks. “Inside”, he repeated.

I limped back into the cabin. Josh closed the door. “Put down the purse”. I obliged; his shotgun poking my back. “Turn around. Slowly”. I turned around and met his face. It was calm – and cold. “Good. Now take of your clothes”. I sobbed, and shook my head. “No… please”, I cried. “Take of the goddamn shirt, you dirty whore!”. I shrugged off the shirt; making it land on the floor. Jax… “Now the top… slowly. Make it worth it”. I took a deep breath, and pulled the hem of my t-shirt over my head.

Josh looked me over. “Still so beautiful”, he breathed. “Now the pants…”. He began removing his own shirt with one hand. I had a metallic, bitter taste in my mouth. “Do it!”, he screamed. With shaking hands; I unbuttoned my jeans.

I looked down at the floor, where my purse was laying; slightly open. “M-my boots”, I stammered. Josh nodded. “Take them off”, he said.

I bent down; and removed one boot; making it look like I was about to take of the other. With a quick glance up at Josh; I then threw myself at my bag; grabbing the gun inside. Josh’s shotgun went off; and I felt a soaring pain on my arm. He’d missed me; but a few buckshot’s had grazed my upper arm.

I hear a roar of engines outside. Josh turned around; and I ran at him; pushing him in the back. He toppled over, and the shotgun slid under the bed. I pointed my gun at Josh. “The safety’s on”, he snarled. I flicked my thumb. “No it’s not”, I growled; and pulled the hammer.

Josh threw himself at me; making me fall to the floor. My gun went off; shooting a hole in the ceiling.

“Cat!”. It was Jax’s voice; coming from outside. “Jax!”, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Josh punched me in the face; and put his hands around my neck; beginning to choke me.

The door was kicked open; and Jackson was in the room. With a roar; he dragged Joshua off me; throwing him against the wall; and slamming his fist into the monster’s face. Opie and Chibs ran through the door; and grabbed Josh – pinning him to the floor. Chibs locked Joshuas arms behind his back; and Opie put his foot on his neck – making it impossible for him to move.

Jax rushed over to me; and lifted me into a seated position. “Baby!”, he croaked; his face anguished. “He…”, I couldn’t finish my sentence, but began sobbing. He put his hand on my cheek; looking at the bruising Josh’s beating had caused. I tugged at his cut; and wept into his chest; leaving a bloody trail on his white t-shirt. Jackson held me close, and stroked my hair. “I’m here, baby. It’s over”.

“You slut!”, Josh growled. “You’ve probably spread your legs for all of these scumbags!”. Opie moved his foot from Josh’s neck; and kicked him in the gut; making him let out a croaking sound.

Jax tensed up. He took the flannel from the floor; and draped it over me; before standing up and walking over to repeat Opie’s action.

“Let him go”, he snarled. Chibs stepped back; and Josh stumbled onto his legs. “You’re gonna die”, Jax growled; and attacked Joshua; throwing him at the wall; and punching his chest and face. Joshua fought back best he could; but he was no match for the beast that was a rageful Jackson. My old man was a wild animal; slamming his fists into Josh’s body, every opening he could find. In the end; Joshua was on the floor again; gagging for breath.

Opie went over to me; and helped me put on the shirt. “Come on”, he muttered; and got me on my feet. “He has to die…”, I hiccupped through my tears. “He’ll come back”.

Jax turned to look at me. I held out my gun to him; and he furrowed his brow. I limped over to him; putting the gun in his hand. “Kitty…”, Josh croaked. “You worthless cunt…”. I spat in his face. “Get her out of here”, Jax muttered. Opie supported my weight; and we went outside; leaving Jax and Chibs with my assailant.

I heard a loud pop; and my legs gave in. Opie held me upright; and I sobbed against his shoulder. “Shh, Cat. It’s over”, he whispered; and stroked my hair.

Suddenly; we heard sirens in the distance. “Shit. ATF”, Opie muttered.

No! No, no, no… You can’t take him.

I tore myself from Opie; and stumbled back into the cabin. Jax was standing over Josh’s limp corpse. “Go…”, I whispered. He looked at me incredulously. “What?”, he breathed. I walked over to him; and looked down at the corpse at his feet. “ATF is coming. You just committed murder. You have to go”, I said. “I’m not leaving you!”, he said.

I put my hand on his cheek; and kissed him softly. “I love you”, I said; and took the gun from his hand. He tried to hold on to it; but Chibs pulled at his arm. “Come on; Jax”. “I can’t leave her”, Jackson yelled, and looked into my eyes. “Come with me!”.

I sighed; and looked down. “I have a ride…”, I said; and looked towards the blinking lights coming closer. I pried his fingers from the gun; and stepped away from him.

“Jax, come on!”, Opie yelled from the door. Chibs dragged him towards the exit. “I love you, Cat!”, Jax whimpered. “I love you Jackson. Go”, I said; voice calm.

They sprang on their bikes; and drove fast as they could; down a dirt road behind the cabins.

I sat down on the bed and waited.

---

A few minutes later, two SWAT-officers sprang through the door – guns aimed at me.

“Put down the gun! Hands behind your head”. I dropped the gun on the floor; and kicked it towards the officers; before putting my hands behind my head. “Get on your knees!”. I shook my head. “I can’t”.

I heard a woman’s voice. “Are they in there?”, she called out. “No, ma’am”, one of the officers answered. “She’s alone. With a dead body”. A woman in a grey suit stepped in behind them. “Shit! We needed him red handed”. She looked pissed.

“Get on your knees!”, the first officer repeated. “I can’t! My leg’s busted”, I sneered. The woman shook her head. “Let it go”, she muttered. “You’re Catherine Rose, I take it”. “Cat…”, I said. “Cat”, she smiled. “Meow… well, this is a shitty ass situation for you. You’re alone in a room with a dead FBI agent”.

I looked at her with cold eyes. “Where’s Jackson Teller?”, she asked. “Not here”, I said. “So who killed agent Kohn?”. I looked away. “I did”, I said. “You did…”, she repeated with a chuckle. “And I take it you gave him that beating as well”, she continued; walking over to examine the body on the floor. “He attacked me. Beat me. Tried to rape me”. Her smile disappeared. “Huh”, she scoffed. “So you kicked his ass; and shot him in the head”. “Adrenaline”, I said.

She sighed. “Cuff her. Take her in”.

One of the officers pulled me up into a standing position; and pulled my arms down; zip-tying my wrists together. “Catherine Rose. You are under arrest for the murder of Joshua Kohn. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say; can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”. The rest of his words disappeared into a blur; as the two officers supported my weight out of the door.

I looked back towards Joshua’s body one last time.

I hope you burn in hell…

---

I was driven to St. Thomas; and given a once over by a doctor. Once they had taken skin samples from under my nails; and I was cleared of any serious injury – beyond the almost torn over tendon in my knee; and the bent ribs on my right side – I was driven to the police station, and put in a cell for the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, I was brought to an interview room; where a kind looking lawyer was waiting for me. “Catherine; I’m Abby Lowen”, she said. “Cat”, I said. “Are you a public defender?”. She shook her head. “Jackson Teller hired me”. She let out a deep breath. “He filled me in”. “So you know I killed Jo… agent Kohn”, I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “He gave me a slightly different story”, she said. “Then he’s lying. I killed him”. She shook her head. “I want to help you, Cat”, she said quietly. “But I can only do that, if you tell me the truth”. I stared her square in the face. “I’m not sending Jax to jail”, I said. She leant back in her chair. “Ok”, she sighed. “So tell me what you think happened”.

I swallowed. “Joshua has been stalking me for over a year. I tried getting a restraining order; but he used his pull to make it go away”, I said. “I came to Charming to start over… but he followed me here. He kidnapped me; beat me – and tried to rape me. So, I killed him”.

Lowen let out a deep breath. “I know part of that is true. And I am very sorry that happened to you”, she said sincerely. “I managed to pull out a record from six months ago; citing an attack on you, at your old job”. “Yeah. Kohn”, I said. She shook her head. “The report says the attacker was never found. That you didn’t name him”. “I did!”, I frowned. She opened a file in front of her. “I also have another record, stating that you were under the influence of cocaine while at work as a middle school teacher”. “Kohn”, I repeated.

She sighed again. “If we can prove that agent Kohn attacked you; you’ll probably be cleared of charges – citing self defense”, she said. “But if would be easier for you if you just…”. I slammed my hand into the table. “I am not giving them Jax”. She nodded. “I get it. Ok. Let’s move forward with your story”. “I’m sorry”, I muttered. “I know you’re trying to help…”. She smiled crookedly. “Let’s fix this, Cat”, she said quietly.

I swallowed. “Am I going to jail?”, I asked. “We’ll try to avoid that. For now, agent Stahl wants you here, for some reason”. “She wants to use me against the club”, I said. She nodded. “I think so…”.

The door opened, and agent Stahl came in. “You’re free to go”, she said. “What?”, I said. “We found the shotgun under the bed; with Kohn’s fingerprints on it. And you, my dear; had buckshot’s in your arm when we found you. It doesn’t make him look good”.

Lowen shook her head. “What’s going on, Stahl? You arrested her. She confessed”. The agent chuckled. “Are you trying to keep you client in custody?”, she said. She looked at me. Her botoxed face gave me the shivers. “It looks like you were telling the truth, kitty”. I wanted to smack the filler out of her lips.

“So, what now?”, Lowen asked. “You’re not in the clear”, Stahl said. “If it turns out what happened was in fact murder; you’re back in here”. Lowen shook her head. “Double jeopardy. You can’t do that…”. Stahl looked at her seriously. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. We, as women, have to believe in ourselves!”. “You can’t arrest her twice for the same crime”, Lowen said. Stahl shook her head. “There was never any arrest”, she said. I scoffed. “Your guy literally arrested and read me my rights last night”. She smiled brightly. “Turns out he was hitting the hooch”, she said. “He’s suspended; and the arrest was deemed null and void”. Lowen looked at her incredulously. “So, if you change your mind; you can pull her back in and charge her again”. “Exactly!”, Stahl grinned. “Now, get your belongings, and skedaddle”.

I was flabbergasted; and began limping towards the open door. “Oh!”, Stahl called after me. “The gun used to kill agent Kohn… it didn’t have a serial number. Did he bring that as well?”. She narrowed her eyes at me Lowen took a hold of my arm. “You don’t have to say anything”, she muttered; and helped me out the door.

“Your boyfriend is waiting outside the station”, Stahl called after us. “Have a nice day!”.

I said goodbye to Lowen – promised to call if I needed her – and limped out into the daylight.

Jax was leaning against his bike; and when he saw me; he walked over, and helped me down the stairs. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Can you ride?”, he muttered. “Yeah…”, I whispered. He gave me his helmet; and got on his bike; letting me get on behind him. Without a word; he started up the bike, and drove us away from the station.

---

He took us home; and helped me through the door; transporting me to the couch; and putting a pillow under my leg, to lift my knee. “Need ice?”, he said. “I’m good. Thanks”, I said.

He nodded; and hesitated for a second; before leaning in and giving me a chaste kiss on my lips. He walked in to the kitchen; and grabbed me a bag of peas from the freezer – coming back to put it on my knee. “I said I was good”, I muttered. “It’s swollen”, he said. “Keep it on there”. “Ok”, I whispered.

Jax moved towards the front door. “Jax?”, I croaked. “You’re safe now”, he said; back turned to me. “Look at me…”, I pleaded.

He met my gaze. His eyes were indifferent. “I have to go take care of some stuff”, he said. “Gemma’s got the kid for a few days”. “I can take him…”. “No, you need to heal… It’ll be a late one. Don’t wait up”.

He left without looking back. When I heard him start up his bike; I instantly began sobbing.

After a while; I managed to get myself into the bathroom; and take a shower – leaning against the wall for support. I stumbled into the bedroom; and fell onto the bed – tears returning to my eyes.

Lyla came by; letting herself in. She’d brought a casserole; and a thermos of her special brew. “How are you feeling?”, she asked, after she’d helped me into the kitchen. I shook my head. “He… he’s dead. It’s over”, I said. She nodded. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been through so much”.

I looked at my friend’s face. She was so kind, and – porn-star or not – almost angelic in her demeanor. “What happens next?”, she said. I sighed. “I have no idea…”, I said quietly. “I might get charged again… might not. It’s all just up in the air”. “Jax’ll make sure you’ll be fine”, she smiled. “Yeah…”, I whispered.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”. I shook my head. “He wouldn’t talk to me…”, I said. “He just left for… I don’t know what”. She squeezed my hand. “Must have been something important”, she said. “He loves you, Cat. It’ll be fine…”. I tried to smile, and nodded. “I want to get some sleep”. “Of course!”, she said. “I have to pick up Piper from soccer anyway”.

I limped after her to the door, and she kissed my cheek. “Everything will be ok. You just have to heal. And so does he”. She left; and I stumbled back into the bedroom.

I fell asleep; and woke at 3 am; from the sound of Jax moving around in the bedroom. “Are you ok?”, I whispered. “Yeah”, he said; and kissed my chin quickly; laying down next to me. “Go back to sleep”. He turned his back to me; and pulled the covers over his body. “Goodnight”.

He didn’t touch me all night.

---

I woke up late the next morning; and limped into the kitchen; to find Jax smoking a cigarette; and drinking a cup of coffee. He’d found a set of crutches somewhere; and put them against the counter. “Thanks”, I said. He nodded at me; and went to grab me a mug. “Did you eat yesterday?”, he said. “I wasn’t hungry”. “Lyla brought food…”, he muttered. “Like I said…”. He shook his head, and got up – getting a bowl; cereal and milk – setting it all down in front of me. “Eat”.

I sighed. “Would you please talk to me?”, I said. He sat down again; and took a draw from his smoke. “What do you want me to say?”. “You killed a man, Jax!”, I sneered. He blew out smoke. “Yeah, I do that”, he muttered. “I talked to Lowen. She told me what happened. That was stupid of you…”.

I frowned. “I wasn’t going to send you to jail!”. “I’ve been inside before. I’d manage”. “This was murder! You wouldn’t have come back”. “Cat…”. “No! Why are you mad at me?”.

He met my eyes. “I’m not”, he said softly. “I’m just… what happened. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have left the clubhouse”. “I had to”, I muttered. “Kohn knew where you were. He would have sent Stahl after you”. Jackson bit his lip. “You shouldn’t have left”. I fought tears. “I wanted to protect you”. “I know…”.

We sat in silence for a while. “I have to go”, Jax said. “Why”, I whimpered. “I have a deal to tie up”, he said; and stood up – putting on his cut. I gave in, and let the tears fall. “Don’t… Cat; I’ll be back later, ok? Call Gemma, if you don’t want to be alone. You shouldn’t drive until your knee is better”.

“What Josh did to me… I just wanted you to come and take me away”, I sniveled. “I did come; but you didn’t come with me when I asked”, he answered. “And now… you can’t even touch me or look at me”, I said He sighed, and took my hand. “I love you Cat. But I don’t know what you want from me”, he said. “He’s dead. It’s over. You don’t have to be afraid anymore”.

He leant over me; and kissed my lips gently. “We’ll get through this shit with Stahl”, he said. “Just… heal up. I’ll see you later”.

He walked out the door; and I was alone again.

#jax teller x oc #jackson teller #jax teller fic #jax teller #jackson teller fic #soa #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy

[staranon95]

what friends are for

a red hood au drabble

Matt doesn’t mind being known as the ‘tech guy’ of the crew. He doesn’t. He likes technology. Technology is easy to understand. It’s easy to work with, for the most part, and it doesn’t try to kill him. Well, at least not purposefully. If he dies from electrocution, then it’s probably his own damn fault.

Working with technology usually keeps him away from the nasty business on the streets. Usually, he can walk down the street and not be bothered by someone who has a grudge with him because those people wouldn’t know him if they saw him. They only know him through the Trojan viruses he infects their computers and security systems with.

He’s not a fighter. He doesn’t want to be. He wouldn’t know how to get out of a hold. He can handle a gun only minutely, and he knows and accepts the fact that he’s a damsel in distress whenever someone grabs him. He’s all fine with this.

What he’s less fine with is dealing with this current ‘Red’ situation. As if the moniker Red makes it any easier to determine who this person really is. Gavin has a theory that it’s actually someone who’s been dead for five years—Alfredo Diaz. He was once an acquaintance of the Fakes, but then . . .

Well . . .

Mistakes happen.

That’s what Matt refers to them as. You can’t carry forward in a job like this with the guilt of someone’s death on your hands. Otherwise you might as well run up the white flag and call it quits.

But Alfredo was the one that made them all ask: was this all worth it?

And now it seems he’s returned. But for what purpose? Why pretend being dead all these years? Why the cat and mouse games?

So Matt goes digging as he usually does with puzzles like these. He likes watching murder mystery shows because it’s fun putting the pieces together in his head and making the correct guess ten minutes in and watch everyone else flip out when he’s guessed right.

So he starts at the beginning. The crime scene.

Arson investigation. Case closed. Three dead. Four in hospital. Blah, blah, blah

Ah, here we go.

Diaz, Alfredo, 20.

Damn, he was so young.

Not like Matt was any older.

They found his DNA at the scene, and some of the bodies had been burned to the point of being unrecognizable. So it’s entirely possible that they could’ve been mistaken about who truly died that nigh.

But then how could he have gotten away?

So Matt looks to the hospital records of that night. Who was brought in? None of the Fakes. They have their own doctors on payroll for that. The four brought in were just common thugs of a different crew they’d been tangling with back in the day. And all four has since been arrested. One of them had the charges dropped against them with the other three landing in jail, with two of them still there to this day.

Returning to the question at hand: how did Alfredo survive if all the evidence clearly said he didn’t? Was someone using their dead friend’s identity for their own gains? And if so, why?

A rapid and sharp knocking at his door draws Matt away from his computers. He looks through the peephole and sees Trevor on the other side. He sets about unlocking the door and letting him inside.

Trevor is usually well composed. He dresses smartly like Geoff used to back in the day before Geoff said, “Trevor, you’re the man of the house now,” and promptly left without another word. But this Trevor is frazzled Trevor. His hair has been ruffled. Running his hands through it has been a nervous tick of his since Matt has known the guy.

“What is it?”

“Have you found anything?” Trevor asks. Another thing about frazzled Trevor is that he is painfully direct. No time for pleasantries. No time for ‘hey, I haven’t seen you in two weeks! How’s it going!’

“On Red?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing that stands out. I was just looking through the old crime scene reports. I honestly think this guy is just fucking with us. Probably picked up his ID and looked to see what history ‘fredo had with us.”

“Gavin was so sure, though.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a soundbite to do some sound analysis shit on it. If you can get this guy talking clearly and record it for me, then maybe I can work some magic. Or better yet! Some DNA would be nice?”

Trevor paces the length of Matt’s living room, and it’s now that Matt is seeing the wear and tear on him. He should’ve thought that this was eating Trevor up more than he was letting on.

Matt sighs and moves to the kitchen to fill some glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. He sets them down and sits on the couch.

“Trev, you need to tell me what’s going on, man.”

He walks the length of the room twice more before sinking into Matt’s recliner, holding his head in his hands. It’s a solid minute before he moves for one of the glasses and another two before he speaks.

“I don’t like thinking about that night,” he says.

“Neither do I. You’re not alone in that.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up either, you know?”

“I think it’s natural if you do. It’s . . . it’s odd. That’s for sure.”

“Like.” Trevor pauses, runs a finger over his lower lip. “He could be back. He could be trying to come home and I.” He breaks off and leans back into the recliner, folding his hands behind his head. When he gets uncomfortable, he avoids eye contact, he fidgets. Matt gives him all the time he needs because, while he knows he’s not exactly able to show it, this is weighing heavily on Trevor.

“I don’t know what to do here,” Trevor says. “Geoff says we’ve got this. That we don’t need him to draw this Red guy out, but I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

“You know Geoff is probably taking this as hard as you are. He’s the one who brought you and Alfredo on.”

“Yeah, I know that. I just wish he had more to say than ‘you’ve got this’ when clearly I don’t.” Trevor huffs and goes boneless in the recliner.

Matt pulls out his phone and opens Uber Eats. He scrolls through to find a place he knows Trevor will eat from. He places the order and reaches for the remote to his TV.

“I’ve been on a Yu-Gi-Oh binge lately,” he says.

“Yeah? What season?”

“Season two.”

“Oh, the Marik stuff.”

“Yeah and Kaiba’s about to be a real bitch to Ishizu. Food will be here in like thirty minutes.”

Matt stands to at least shut his computers down for the night. It’s been a while since Trevor has crashed here and he wants to be there for his friend. Trevor needs this. Red can wait another day.

#fake ah crew #fahc #gta au #star speaks #star writes #red hood au #in sticking with my red hood equivalents #i guess this would make matt the Oracle? #the eyes in the sky perspective

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 5 - In Which Jack Attempts to Become a Semi-Respectable Member of Polite Society and Charles Succeeds in Becoming a Completely Disreputable Trophy Boyfriend

Max and Mr. Scott – probably mostly Mr. Scott, who still has his finger on the pulse of London real estate in a way that's almost frighteningly omniscient - somehow land Jack and company a lovely house that's been subjected to a series of absolutely atrocious renovations and sat empty since the late nineties. So Charles and Anne spend the first few weeks of laying low pulling out all of the hideous carpeting and knocking down the terrible wood paneling – and in one case, an entire (non load-bearing) wall, which they attack with sledge hammers and far, far too much glee. And Mary, bless her, spends the week sweeping and scrubbing and peeling wall paper. Until the house sits an empty shell, stripped down to the stately bones that lay beneath the shag carpeting and twee plasterwork.

Jack spends his weeks learning to play tennis.

He hadn't had much chance to learn growing up, being an impoverished guttersnipe and all, so he's got a lot of ground to catch up. Because, see, the counselor – the one who'd sided with the Spanish over Lord Hamilton, allowing for his final downfall, the one who controls all of London's planning permission, the one Max needs an in with. He absolutely adores tennis.

He adores it with all the fervor of a middle class man who'd seen it as the gentleman's game growing up. And now that he's a gentleman – by wealth and importance, if not by birth, which still stings him, bitterly, and is the reason for his overcompensation – then by God, he's going to play tennis.

And since Jack's first job from Max is to get the counselor on side, he's got to learn to play tennis too. Well enough that whatever skill level the counselor actually has, Jack can play to it, keep the games close. Just barely beat the counselor or just barely lose, but keep it close enough that he keeps coming back for more. Which takes considerably more skill than simply learning the game and playing to the best of his ability.

So Jack practices and practices and practices, all with the help of a draconian ex-professional instructor Max found for him at a mid-level club nowhere near where the counselor plays for the entire month his house is torn down around his ears.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Eleanor and Woodes Rogers's world is coming down around their ears as well. Anne pays Max enough visits that she's always flush with the latest gossip – the sort of thing that goes beyond the polite, antiseptic description that has been in the papers. And the long and short of it is that Woodes Rogers is ruined. Fired from his job, disowned from his family, and, most importantly, the rich person version of penniless.

So he just doesn't have any resources to come after them, if he even suspected anything. And he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up in jail because apparently Eleanor's creative approach to accounting has been helping him evade taxes for a good long while as well. And now that he's too poor to be protected – and his reputation too tarnished – he's looking at the possibility of a five stretch.

Eleanor will probably avoid seeing the inside of a cell, mores the pity. She's too cunning to be taken down with her husband. But her social capital is destroyed, along with a good portion of her money, used to bail out Woodes Rogers with the various criminal elements he was indebted to. And with this new revelation of her less than legal exploits, it means that she's been let go from her position as well – not because she'd done anything they hadn't asked her to do for them, of course. But because they can't bear to have even a whiff of scandal or people might stop trusting in the sanctity of the British financial system. And we can't be having that.

At any rate, all of this means that Jack is able to move in the open again, which is good because he needs to start establishing himself as a quasi-legitimate member of polite society sooner rather than later. So that second month, in addition to playing tennis, Jack starts an Instagram account detailing the renovations on his house.

There's pictures of Jack choosing furniture and wallpaper and fabric swatches and rugs. There's pictures of the interior of the house, featuring Anne as Jack's PA, scowling and holding a clipboard menacingly. And Charles appears frequently as Jack's muse/boytoy, posed artfully shirtless and oiled up and muscular.

Mary, as his new social media manager, has had a lot of good ideas about how to sell Jack as a flirty and flighty and nearly terminally stupid fashion designer and she and Jack and Max have worked hard to make him appear harmless. Someone with money and influence but who was too wrapped up in pretty clothes and pretty boys to ever use it. Someone who could approach the counselor – and offer him valuable access into the upper echelons of society – without appearing threatening to him like Lord Hamilton had been.

And the bitch of it is is that it works.

Jack applies for and gets a membership to the councilor's exclusive health club – and the approval committee explicitly comments on the settee he'd had reupholstered in yellow silk for the upstairs sitting room in his induction hearing, so at least someone's looking at his Instagram. And he begins playing tennis there, familiarizing himself with the layout and the staff and the other patrons. So he can just ever so coincidentally grab the court opposite Councilor Featherstone during his weekly Saturday morning game.

They don't talk much during the game itself, but afterwards. Afterwards...

There's the usual handshakes and good games and shows of good sportsmanship from both sides. Jack had just narrowly, ever so narrowly, eked out a victory. But the councilor had more than made him work for it.

So Jack gets invited to a rematch next week – a rematch he'll make sure the councilor wins, just as narrowly. Because you've got to leave them wanting. You've got to leave them hungry for it. And they won't be if they win the first time. But they'll give up if they don't win the second and third. So you've got to walk that fine line of wins and losses until the whole thing's a habit and they couldn't walk away even if they wanted to.

That's what made Jack such a success as a pusher – not his product, but his approach. His way of knowing people. And the councilor is so very eager to be known.

Certainly he starts off with polite inquiries into how Jack's settling into London. Questions about the house and the neighborhood and the progress of the renovation.

But Jack is quick to talk about how difficult he's finding London to navigate, compared to the Bahamas, where they've decided he'll be from. How stand-offish people can be. How it feels like they snub him every time they hear him speak, or they find out that he doesn't know so-and-so from such-and-such school.

Oh, he doesn't come out and complain about it or anything. Just hints at it. Plants little seeds for Counselor Featherstone's own complaints to blossom forth.

And he has complaints aplenty. How it's such an Old School Chums crowd. How many incompetent idiots run various departments based on legacy rather than any actual ability. How put upon Featherstone is by all of them. How they all ask him for favors and expect to give nothing in return – because he should be overjoyed they're even deigning to talk to him and why wouldn't he want to do things for them, everyone wants to do things for them.

And Jack makes the appropriate noises of understanding and commiseration without actually volunteering very much about himself. Because that's the other half of the sell. Make the mark think that you're their friend. That they know you as well as they know themselves so they'll spill all the dark – or in Featherstone's case, mildly frustrated – parts of their soul. Make yourself their confidant, the one they can always turn to, because you think just alike on all the important points. So if you ever disagree, well, it must be my dear friend Jack in the right, he would never steer me wrong.

Of course, you can't do it all at once. It has to be done slowly and carefully, so that the mark never cottons on. But, as born out by Jack shaking Councilor Featherstone's sweaty hand and promising same time next week, he's certainly made a start on it. So that ought to make Max happy.

Jack wipes the sweat from his brow with an obscenely high threadcount towel provided by the club and goes off to assess Charles's progress on the other half of Max's request. Because while Jack has been honing his tennis game and scoping out the club, Charles has been there as well, spending mornings in the gym and afternoons sunbathing by the pool in the smallest bathing suit they'll allow him to wear. Which is quite small indeed. And it's therefore no surprise that Charles has accrued rather a crowd of rich bored socialites around his little flotilla of deck chairs, drawn like moths to a sexy, sexy flame.

Charles just dangerous enough to be interesting. But safe, because he's taken and (presumably) gay. Just a sexy backdrop to their boring, catty lives. Able to blend right into the scenery.

Meanwhile, Charles listens to - and dutifully recounts to Max – all the idle gossip he becomes privy to due to his position as living ornament. Because, to Max, information is worth its weight in gold. And you wouldn't believe what kind of things you can overhear simply by being ignorable.

Plus, Jack thinks as he sets his bag down next to Charles's deck chair and he looks up at Jack from behind his knock-off Coach sunglasses, Charles is having far, far too much fun playing Jack's boyfriend.

As evidenced by him sprawling his thighs even more obscenely open and practically purring, “Hello, darling.”

An obscene mockery of Jack's own favored greeting. And a slight that will not stand.

Jack kneels between Charles's spread legs. “Hello yourself, Chaz.” Jack tilts his chin up for a brief peck on the lips. “Have a good day, dear?”

Charles further escalates things by pulling Jack down onto his lap and nuzzling against his ear. “Better now that you're here, darling.”

And Jack's going to have to do something drastic if Charles keeps this shit up.

But before Jack can retaliate, escalate, they're interrupted by tittering laughter.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” one of the rich ladies coos.

There's general agreement amongst the ladies. “And so fashionable,” one of them says, giving Jack's tennis outfit a once-over.

“Perks of the job darling,” Jack says lightly.

And then one of them – the leader, if the obscene amount of designer and diamonds she's wearing – says, “You both simply must come to my bachelorette party.” She studies her nails faux casually. “It's going to be a real rager.”

This is exactly the kind of thing Charles has been waiting for since Max assigned him this stupid job. And getting on Max's good side is infinitely preferable to even her neutral regard. So Charles'll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers  – even if he has to play some boring bitch's gay best friend for a whole night.

He tips his fruity umbrella drink in her direction and looks at her over the salted rim. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Jack resigns himself to a night of drunken socialites vomiting in the back of a limo. “We'll be there, darling. Never fear.”

It'll be an opportunity to move some blow, if nothing else.

#black sails #i travel troubled oceans #jack rackham #charles vane #charles vane/jack rackham #max/anne #maxanne

[lumiolivierlithium]

The Good Old Days Chapter Ten:  My Brother Sold Me Out...

A/N:  Hi, friends!  I don’t know why, but I got such a soft spot in my heart for this man.  Especially in this chapter.  I know when you think about Frankie, he doesn’t necessarily come off as the ball of sunshine type, but there’s one thing that can bring that out in him.  Well, two things, but you already know about the other one.  Anyway, here.  Have a chapter.

ICYMI: Chapter Nine:  Beauty and the Streets

I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine that’s got me damn near skipping down the street or the genuine excitement in my heart that’s got me damn near skipping down the street, but there’s no way in hell anything can get to me.  I knew exactly what it was.  Not what I had in my cup, but who sat across from me.  I shared a cookie with her.  I know it sounds so pure and innocent, but I would gladly share a cookie with Vanessa any time she wanted.  We only had barely an hour together, but fuck, I wanted to do it again.

 I couldn’t be happier. A new, good job, a family that loves me unconditionally, and now, the possibility of a princess like her in my life. Is this finally it?  Is this the light at the end of the tunnel?  God figured I’ve suffered enough, so He sent me an angel?  I don’t know how or why Vanessa was put in my path, but fuck I’m glad she was.  It was one date.  Just one!  And she already had me like this.  What in the hell has the world come to?

 “Mama!” I called into our apartment where César was comfortably nestled in the couch.  I got a subtle nod out of him, “I’m home!”

 “Hola niño,” Mama came to the door, kissing my cheek.  But then, she froze.  Not in fear or anything like that.  More so out of sheer curiosity.  She leaned into me, “Francisco…”

 “Si, Mama?”

 “Why do you smell so nice?” she wondered, “You smell like hotel rooms I’ve cleaned.”

 “What?” Damn Mama’s bloodhound nose.  And even more so, mi hermano laughing his ass off.  Well, in my defense, I was in a ritzy ass department store with the Old Man today, but I’m sure she’d bitch at me, saying we could’ve gotten so many months of groceries on my vanity, “That’s kind of a weird question, Mama.”

 “It’s probably Vanessa,” César came down just enough to slam his own coffin shut.  I may kill my brother later.  We share a bedroom.  One quick pillow is all it would take.

 “Who’s Vanessa?” Mama stared me down.  Oh, shit. I’m fucked.  Because I know how Mama can be.  Especially when it comes to her baby.  Mama knows my track record with women.  And with every passing notch in my bedpost, she grows more and more skeptical.  Along with her skepticism comes her need to get involved.  I like Vanessa.  I don’t want to scare her off.  And I really don’t want Mama to be the one to scare her off.

 “She’s a new friend,” I went into the kitchen and grabbed a soda out of the fridge.  There.  That should be enough for Mama to latch onto.  That should be the end of it.  For the most part anyway.  At least I sure as fuck hope so.

 “Is she a special friend?” Nope.  Fuck. Dammit, Mama.  I love you.  I really do. But I don’t know where Vanessa and I are going.  I didn’t need her sniffing around it too much.

 “She might be,” I admitted, “But it’s still pretty new.  We’ll see.”

 “So…” Mama assumed, “I meet her soon, yes?”

 “We’re not quite there yet.” In that moment, I knew I signed my own death warrant.  Saying no to Mama was like spitting in the face of God. I’m sure she wouldn’t say the same, but it came pretty damn close.  But I realized how fucked I was even more when Mama’s face slowly fell into an angry scowl.  Oh, yeah. I’m boned.

 “Francisco…” she growled, “I meet her soon.”

 “You will meet her,” I promised, “Holding her hands, “All I’m asking is for a little patience.”

 “Francisco…”

 “I swear to you, Mama,” I begged, “A girl like her is totally worth waiting for.  One day, I have no doubt you’ll meet her and fall in love with her.  Just give it some time, ok?”

 “Francisco…” Mama leaned in once more, “She smells expensive.”

 “I’m thinking she comes from money.” Mama glared daggers into me.  Fuck…I had to cover my tracks.  If Mama goes to meet Vanessa with a bad taste in her mouth already, she won’t even give Vanessa the time of day.  And I’m sure it’d make for an awkward Christmas, “No.  I know what you’re thinking.  She’s not that kind of comes from money.  She’s sweet, Mama…And smart…Y muy hermosa…”

 Mama started to ease up. Just a little.  Just enough to make herself comfortable, “Es tu corazón, mijo?”

 “Tal vez,” I admitted, “Just…Give it some time.  Please?”

 I could see it all over her face.  Mama’s impatience was all over it.  But she knew. Just from the way I gush about her, she knows she’s special, “Ok.”

 “Muchas gracias, Mama,” I kissed her cheek, “I need to go see the Old Man.  I’ll be back later.”

 “Ok,” she let me go, “Te amo.”

 “Te amo, tambien, Mama,” I threw my arms around her, making sure to extend a sturdy middle finger to my asshole brother behind her back.

 “Hey, Frankie,” César sat up, “Is the Old Man going to need us later?”

 “I doubt it,” I wasn’t in the mood to deal with babysitting detail tonight.  Granted, I knew I was still relatively new, but I picked up on the job a lot faster than I thought I would.  And I’m sure whatever the Old Man had for me, I was more than capable of handling it on my own, “Hasta luego.”

 I left my mother and my brother, curious as to where Tony ran off to.  He wouldn’t have done something stupid like go into work early tonight, would he?  No.  We all made a pact when we started working the restaurant that we’d never go in early if they asked.  Overtime at the end of the day?  Oh, yeah.  We’ve all fallen victim to that once or twice.  But never go in early.  However, this new job down in the Narrows?  That one I’d be more than happy to go in early for.  Mostly because the Old Man and I got along like a house on fire.

 It’s weird.  This bar was starting to feel like a second home to me. Even though I could see the first one from here.  It’s not like it was very far.  Much better than the half hour train ride.  So much better.  And I’m not treated like shit, so that’s a plus.  I’ll call that a trade up.  But instead of comparing apples and oranges, I think I had an office door to go not knock on!  I learned. I didn’t have to knock on the old man’s door.  Although the right and polite thing to do, I was good.

 “Hiya, boss,” I sat on the business side of his desk.

 “Frankie!” the Old Man chimed, “Always a pleasure to see you, kid.”

 “Ditto,” I gave him a nod. Like I said, the Old Man has always taken a strange shine to me.  Since day one.  I didn’t get it, but maybe I didn’t have to, “So, what do you got for me this fine evening?”

 “Another collection job, if you’re up for it,” he told me, writing some things down, “Nothing too difficult.”

 “Sounds easy enough,” I wish the Old Man would put me on something a little more…Well…Something better than collections.  I got a skillset here that’s being grossly underutilized here, “Where to?”

 “A couple restaurants, a tattoo shop, and a club,” the Old Man slid the list across his desk, “I’m giving you a five hundred dollar limit tonight, so if you’re looking to enjoy yourself a little bit, I can look the other way for a bit.”

 “Old Man,” I know I hadn’t been here long, but I knew better than that, “I know damn well you’d be throwing one back with me.  Don’t give me that you’ll look the other way bullshit.”

 “You’re not wrong, kid,” he agreed, “But you do seem a little wound up.  Speaking of shit that’s got you wound up!  How’d it go with Vanessa today?”

 “Great!” I wasn’t going to hold back.  The Old Man gave me an in to gush over Vanessa and dammit, I’m taking it, “It was amazing.  I mean, she had to go early, but…”

 “Hold on,” he stopped me, “Did she have to go early or did she need to go early?”

 “She had to,” I clarified, “She had a communications class she needed to get to.  She’s smart, Old Man.  She’s so fucking smart.”

 “Do you know where she’s going to school?” he wondered.

 “Somewhere in Manhattan,” I remembered, “But according to her sister, she looks for every opportunity to come to Williamsburg.  I don’t know why, but that might be a good thing.”

 “That’s definitely a good thing,” the Old Man applauded, “And now, she’s got another excuse to come down here.  What’s her major?”

 “She’s pre-law,” I melted inside, “She’s on the fence about her practice, though.  She’s bouncing between estate law and becoming a defense attorney.”

 “Get her to lean all the way to defense attorney,” the Old Man insisted, “Someone’s looking to the future, isn’t he?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Come on, Frankie,” he gave me a little nudge, “If she goes down the defense attorney route and you two end up getting married, then you’ll always have someone to keep your ass out of jail.  Especially in our line of work.”

 “I thought you said what we did was relatively on the up and up,” I pointed out.

 “Yeah,” he nodded, “Relatively on the up and up.  Sometimes, that line between legal and not so legal is a big gray area.  Sometimes, we need someone keeping our asses out of jail. And if Vanessa keeps her maiden name for her practice, then they can’t call her out on conflict of interests.”

 “I see I’m not the only one thinking ahead,” I chuckled to myself, “Jesus, Old Man, you sound like you’re already preparing to marry me off to this girl.  We’ve been on one date.”

 “It doesn’t sound like you’ve only been on one date,” he argued, “Has she said anything about the second date?”

 “I’m calling her tonight,” I admitted, “I like her, Old Man.  I like her a lot.  I’m sure she’s flawed somewhere, but for the most part, she’s absolutely perfect.”

 “Oh, Frankie,” the Old Man awed, “You’re adorable, kid.  You know what?  I’d almost like to meet the girl.  Just so I can see for myself what’s got you in such a jumbled mess.”

 “I wouldn’t say I’m a mess…” That was a lie.  I’m absolutely a mess for her.

 “Would you be ok with me meeting her?” he wondered.

 “Really?” I rolled my eyes, “That’s twice today!”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Mama,” I explained, “César the asshole outed me about Vanessa to Mama earlier today and she asked if she could meet her.  Well…I say ask.  Demand is more the word here.”

 “Your mother is definitely a force to be reckoned with,” the Old Man agreed, “But I understand. She meets Mama first.  By the way, how is Sariña?”

 “She’s fine,” I said bluntly, “Old Man…No.”

 “I know, I know,” he brushed me off, “But would that be something you’d be ok with?  Me meeting Vanessa?”

 “I’d have to run that by Vanessa,” I told him, “But I don’t see why not.”

 “Is she cute?”

 “She’s so cute,” I swooned. But then, I remembered who I was talking to.  The Old Man and I were good and he was a hell of a guy, but…Like I said.  I remembered who I was talking to, “No.  Old Man, I call dibs.  She’s mine.”

 “I wouldn’t even dream of it,” the Old Man promised, “I wouldn't’ do that to you, Frankie.  Even I’m better than that.  Besides, I have a limit.  And I’m pretty sure she’s half my age.  Cradle robbing to a certain extent is ok, but when I can vividly remember my twenties being the year she was born, that’s when it gets unsettling.”

 “It’s good to know you got a moral compass.”

 “Alright then,” the Old Man got up, “I do look forward to meeting Vanessa, but I understand if you want to wait a while.”

 “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Mama,” I reiterated, “It’s still too new.  When we got things better figured out, then we’ll see about meeting everyone.  I’m pretty sure everyone can agree on that.”

 “That’s not our decision to make.” Bless him.  Bless the Old Man.  He’s a hell of a lot more understanding than Mama was.  He didn’t jump on the defensive right away.  But I couldn’t tell Mama that.  It’d break her heart.  And I refused, “But go on, kid.  You got my money to get.  You got a girl to chat up.  Go on. Get to work.”

 “Got it, boss.” Now, with the Old Man’s collections list in my hand, where should I start?

#The Good Old Days #OC backstory #fan fiction prequel #mafia au #switch #for the family

[psycho-slytherin]

Last words

You go undercover and encounter the last thing you’d expect as an assassin– competition.

Pairing: Spy!Jungkook x Assassin!Reader

Genre: Angst, idiots to idiots


Warnings: Strong language, violence, murder


WC: kill me 8.9k


|mlist|

“Please let me go. Please! I have a family! My husband, my daughters…” tears stream down your target’s face as he struggles with his restraints.

“Your family isn’t paying me,” you reply, finger twitching on the trigger. Why is he trying to evoke sympathy? You don’t do sympathy, and you certainly don’t let targets go.

“I-If it’s money you want, I’ll pay!”

You lower the muzzle. “How much?”

“Uh, twenty thousand? Please, just spare me!”

You suck on your teeth, raising the gun again. “No can do, they’re paying me more.” Maybe if he’d suggested an offer worth considering, you’d take longer to think about it. As it is...

“Wait-” But the man is cut off when you pull the trigger, and a neat hole appears in his head. His lifeless body slumps forward, but given that he was already on his knees he doesn’t have far to fall. The range was close enough that your bullet went right through him, and you pick it up with gloved hands. It’s always a good idea to collect whatever evidence you can. 

People seem to think that a person’s last words are thoughtful, deep, artistic. You’ve been present for a lot of last words, and they’re rarely beautiful. Usually wait or no or fuck you. There’s little glamour in your line of work– unless your clients pay extra.

You pad downstairs. The old warehouse you brought him to is scheduled to be demolished in five hours. Another clean hit, and some good commission.

~~~ Three weeks later

“What’ve you got for me?”

You can hear AD typing quickly over the phone. “You’re in luck. Where are you?” Code for new assignment. Are you alone?

“I’m safe.” You’re staying at a farmhouse, far from civilization as you wait for your next hit. No cameras, no mics, no company. 

“Alright, name’s Bang Si-Hyuk, he goes by ‘Hitman’ Bang ‘cause he plays dirty with his guards. He hires killers-turned-security, and he’s always surrounded. The man’s got half the underground– and way too many politicians– in his pocket.”

“Dude. Are you giving me an assignment or a goddamn death sentence?”

“It’s a forty-five thousand dollar job. What are you gonna say to that?”

You whistle. Your assignments usually range from fifteen to thirty thousand– above forty is halfway to ridiculous. “Yes sir.”

AD chuckles. “That’s what I thought. We’re gonna send an anonymous death threat his way so he starts hiring again– you’re playing bodyguard, got it?”

“I got it. Rough-and-tumble.”

“Yep. Your character is basically gonna be you, but lamer. We’ve got documents and ID waiting for you at the drop location. Your interview is this Friday, dress code is mean. I’m sending all the info to your phone.”

“Sounds good. How long will this take me?”

“However long it takes for you to get close to Hitman. Y/n, be careful, okay? You’re gonna be surrounded by a lot of professionals with your background. You have to confirm Hitman was your kill, so don’t let anyone get to him first. And you can’t afford to let your cover slip.”

You scoff. “When have I ever let my cover slip, AD?”

“Just take care. If you get hurt, I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces, figuratively or otherwise.”

~~~ Friday

“Next!” 

You stand and stalk into the gym. It’s empty, save for two men sitting behind a desk and a gigantic guy in the boxing ring.

“Name?”

“Kang Soo-Jin.”

“Yeah, we got her,” one of the men says, shuffling some papers. “I thought she’d be bigger.”

“I thought she’d be a man. So, Kang,” the first man looks you up and down from over sunglasses. “What’ve you got?”

“I was a killer-for-hire for five years,” you recite in a bored voice. You’re using enough of your real life to ensure your character’s authenticity, but not so much that they’ll recognize your reputation. “Forty confirmed kills. Turned to security after a jail scare. I’m fluent in six languages, and I can bullshit my way through four more. Trained in multiple martial arts– fighting dirty’s more fun, though– and ‘bout every weapon I could get my hands on. I’m educated enough to talk smarts and lived on the streets enough to talk shit. What else you wanna know?” Technically your kill count is sixty-two, but you’re supposed to have retired from the life you’re leading now. Like AD said– yourself, but lamer.

Sunglasses flips through your profile. “Can you fight in that outfit?”

You’re wearing black boots, sweatpants, and a longsleeve with a leather jacket. Gotta look the part, and the dress code was mean. “Better than anyone.”

“You’re confident, girlie. Prove it. Get into the ring.”

Thanks to AD, you knew this would be part of the interview. You’re not worried– you’ve been fighting men bigger and stronger than you since you were a kid.

“Are you armed?” Sunglasses asks as you shrug off your jacket.

“Is that a trick question?”

“Very funny, girlie. This is hand-to-hand only. No guns, no knives. No tasers or other bullshit.”

In view of the three men, you remove two handguns from their hidden holsters and a knife from a sheath on your hip. You’ve got another knife on your thigh, but they don’t need to know about that. You slip into the ring, stretching your arms above your head to loosen up. 

“Alright, Kang, let’s see what you can do. No killing, try not to break any bones– besides that, fuck shit up.” Sunglasses signals, and the giant in the ring stomps towards you.

He’s big and strong. You’re small and fast, and unarmed.

“If you can’t win, run. If you can’t run, hide. If you can’t hide, fight. If you can’t fight, lie.” Such is the assassin’s motto.

Wasting no time, the giant swings a fist at you. You jump backwards, ducking and weaving around an onslaught of blows. This guy is trained, well enough that you can’t afford to slip up. Still, you’re not one to go all-out unless you need to; you need to fight just well enough to get hired, and badly enough that you can take your employers by surprise if you must.

The next time he throws out a hook, you duck and roll forward, ending up behind him. He turns around, shifting his weight onto one foot as he steps, and that’s your chance. You swing your leg down and around, connecting solidly with the back of his knee. 

“Ugh!” With a grunt, he falls forward. Like any trained fighter would, though, he begins to rise right away. You know grappling is a big no-no for opponents bigger than you, but he’s right there, and given that you’re not allowed to put a blade in his back, it might be the quickest way of ending this performance. In the split second before he’s standing, you leap onto his back, scrambling until you’re sitting on his shoulders. You have to move fast– if you can’t neutralize him quickly, he can just fall backwards and pin you down, or grab your legs and launch you forward. You lock your legs around the giant’s neck and squeeze– it’s what you’ve nicknamed the Romanov chokehold, given how much the Avenger utilizes this inconvenient move.

The giant gasps for air, punching and slapping at your legs. You hiss, withstanding the blows of a struggling man. You can feel his strikes growing weaker as you keep up the pressure, squeezing your thighs tighter around his throat. 

Are you actually going to win a fight with the Romanov chokehold? You’re gonna owe AD fifty bucks, dammit.

Suddenly, you feel the man’s arms snake upwards and grab your hands, which were locked under his chin. He pulls hard, yanking you off– you land flat on your back, the wind knocked out of you. You can hear Sunglasses and the other man chuckling. Ugh. You don’t like embarrassing yourself, but whatever it takes to convince them you’re not a threat. 

If you can’t fight, lie.

You get up, chuckling ignoring your aching back. “Nice. I bet you win all your fights this easy, huh?”

The giant raises his fists, tensed, on guard. “You ain’t distractin’ me, girl.”

“Who says I’m trying to distract you?” You throw a quick punch, aiming right for the center of his face. Conventional deflections mean that he’ll parry to one side or the other. Lucky for you, he’s conventionally trained. As your fist glances off his block, you use the movement to grab his ear and pinch his earlobe between your nails. You’ve got a lot of experience with which body parts can withstand the most pain before there’s a protective reflex. Earlobes have one of the lowest thresholds, which means...

“Ah! What the fuck?” He claps his hand over his ear, forcing you to let go. Perfect. He’s right where you need him. With his arms raised to protect his sensitive ears, you have a chance to lunge forward. He might think you’re going for his eyes or throat, but you have another goal in mind. 

You open your mouth and bite down hard on his bicep, your canines grinding together as though trying to meet through his flesh. You know from your training, and from personal experience, that biting this particular bit of skin and muscle hurts like a bitch. The giant roars in pain and stumbles in an attempt to pry you off of him, and you use his imbalance to grab his shirt and pull him backwards. He lands with a resounding THUD and, teeth still digging into his arm, you press your elbow into his throat, cutting off circulation for the few precious seconds that you need...to...win. As soon as his eyes flutter closed and his head falls back, you release your hold. 

You climb out of the ring to see Sunglasses and the other man staring at you.

“I broke skin, you’re gonna want to make sure he gets that disinfected,” you supply, reaching for your jacket.

“You… you pinched and bit him. What kind of fighter are you?” Sunglasses scratches his head, his voice revealing disbelief.

“The kind that does what she has to do. You told me not to break bones or kill. All I did was fuck shit up.”

Sunglasses whistles. “Welcome to the team, Kang. You’ve got the job.”

~~~ Monday

You’re dressed in your new uniform. Sunglasses, whose name you’ve learned is Agent Jung, introduces you to “the team”: Agents Kim, Kim, and Kim; Agent Park; and Agent Jeon. Of course you’re the only woman on a seven-person team. In your line of work, that’s not uncommon. 

“I’m in charge around here. That means I say jump, y’all ask how high, got it? Aight. Here’s the deal– three guards will be present with Mr. Bang at all times,” Agent Jung says. “The other four of you will be split into pairs to patrol the area. Six-hour shifts, and you will work two shifts per day. Agents Kim Taehyung, Park, and myself will take the first shift with Mr. Bang. Agents Kim Seokjin and Namjoon, take the east half of the estate. Agents Jeon and Kang, the west half. Stick together so nothing goes wrong. Meet back here in six hours to exchange posts. Dismissed.”

Dammit, how easy would it have been if you had the first shift with Hitman? It’s fine, you’ll just play along as a good guard until you can get closer to your target. 

You follow Jeon through the labyrinth of a house, which seems more like a castle. Where is this guy getting his money?

“Okay,” Agent Jeon says, stopping suddenly. “Let’s split up.”

What? “Jung said not to.”

Jeon folds his arms, raising a brow. “And you’re going to obey?”

You exhale sharply. “I’m going to do the job I was hired to do.” Splitting up and disobeying on your first day will cast you under scrutiny and suspicion. You have to play the good girl for now. 

“Whatever,” Jeon chuckles. “I’m going.”

“Really, dude? You’re gonna get me in trouble. At least wait for a shift when we’re not paired together.”

“Why should I care about a girl who can’t even fight?” Oy vey. Is he provoking you on purpose? “I can fight fine, man.”

“Prove it.”

Why is he challenging you? What is with him? “We’re on duty,” you snap. “Quit slacking off and let’s do the work we’re paid for.”

Jeon whistles. “Feisty.”

“Shove it up your ass, Agent. I don’t need another man telling me I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Oh, so I’m just one in a long list of shitheads, huh?” Jeon leans against the wall. You remain standing straight up– you don’t know the last time you’ve let down your guard. 

“You wouldn’t make top twenty,” you reply. 

“Yeesh. I get the message. Well, since we’re gonna be stuck together for a while…” Jeon sticks out his hand. “Call me Jungkook.”

Unexpected. But okay. “I’m Soo-Jin. Are you new, too?”

“I’ve been here about a month. The longer you’ve been here, the more they trust you as one of the boss’s personal guards. Trust me, you’re gonna be stuck on perimeter patrol for a while,” Jungkook says, as though he knows what you’re thinking.

Dammit. This job is going to cost more time than you were hoping. Still, 45k, 45k, eye on the prize.

“So, six hours. Do we talk, or…?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not if you’re going to keep on with the misogynistic digs.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Sorry about that,” Jungkook says, laughing as he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll be less of an asshole, promise.”

You smirk, turning to scan the halls. “It’s so empty.” Two cameras on the eastern wall. A big mirror at the end of the hall– is it a two-way mirror? Probably. The ceiling is well supported by strong beams. You could probably escape to the roof if you needed to, but how much of an escape is that? 

“So what’s your thing?” Jungkook asks suddenly, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What d’you mean?”

“I heard you’re an ex-assassin, and like, all of the best have a thing. Did you mark your bullets?” Jungkook taps his gun. “Were you a Robin Hood? Did you kiss all your victims?”

“Gross, man!” You laugh. Clearly the only experience he’s had with your line of work is through movies. Why’s this puppy working for Hitman? “No, I never kissed a dead body. Never stole from the rich and gave to the poor, unless the poor was yours truly and the rich were stubborn clients. And marking bullets messes with the aerodynamics.” You’re worried that you’re being too honest, telling him about your life– what if he’s an undercover cop? But Hitman’s men were double- and triple-checking applications, according to AD. Besides, Hitman has every police department in the area feeding from his hand. 

“So what was your thing then? Did you have a signature?” In Jeon’s eyes you can see the excitement of a child. 

“The best signature for someone like me is the lack of a signature. And what’s got you so happy?” You ask amusedly. 

“Oh, I mean…” And Jeon’s voice has dropped again to that of a seasoned guard. “I grew up thinking I’d be a cop. Circumstances didn’t work out, and I landed myself a security job. I always wanted to do what you did, though. Never had the guts for it.”

“Trust me, it’s nothing to be jealous of.” You think of cold evenings on rooftops, unnerving undercover work, hopeless spirals with the monster in the mirror. “It means a lot of lonely nights.”

“Well, you won’t be so lonely anymore,” Jungkook says, before turning red. “Wait- that came out wrong. I’m not hitting on you, I swear!”

“Good, ‘cause you’d be doing a terrible job.”

“I’m a great flirt when I want to be,” he replies, his tone dramatic.

You snicker. “I’d take a page out of your book and ask you to prove it, but I’d hate to watch you embarrass yourself in front of a pretty girl.”

Jungkook whistles. “Did you just insult me and compliment yourself in the same sentence? It looks like I’ve met my match.”

Oof, cute and funny. And he hasn’t called you “girlie” once. You’d better end this before you let yourself get too carried away. It’s just a job, and he’s just an obstacle between you and your 45,000-dollar target.

“It looks like you’re slacking on the job, Jeon.” You’ve reached the end of the hall, and so you spin on your heel and begin marching back the way you came, scanning your surroundings. If another assassin got to Hitman first, your prize money and reputation would go down the drain. Play the character, don’t be suspicious, and don’t get attached. 

“Sheesh, don’t be so uptight,” Jeon says, hurrying after you. 

“Whatever, let’s just patrol.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeon replies sarcastically.

The rest of the shift is spent in relative silence. After several hours, you and Jungkook head back to the main room to meet with the other agents. This transition period might be the best time for you to strike, you’ll have to mention that to AD.

The next shift is your break, and after commenting about how tired you are, you head ‘home’. That is, you drop your things at a safehouse, along with any identification, and change into civilian clothing: baggy, boring, anonymous. You fit your earpiece in and contact AD.

“Y/n?”

“AD, hi. I’m gonna scout the perimeter of the estate now, alright?”

“Keep me posted, I’ll be on the line.”

“Yep.”

It’s well past midnight when you arrive at the estate again. You always spend the first night on an undercover job toeing the property line, so to speak.

“It’s like robbing a bank,” you murmur as the house comes into view. “Only harder, ‘cause at least in a bank the only armed murderer is me.”

“Eyes on the prize, y/n.”

“Yeah, whatever. Cameras on the southern and eastern walls. The gate’s heavy– I could climb it, but…”

“Hitman got one of the best security firms in the country to rig it, that shit’s electric.”

“Right. The grass is soft, not a great sign… maybe if I wore the work shoes they gave me? I’m leaving footprints either way.”

“Those shoes are your size, and it’s not amateur hour ‘round here. Did you manage to get the WiFi?”

“They didn’t give it to us. But there’s a network called ‘Bang 5G’ so at least you know it’s there– hey!”

“Y/n? What’s going-” you don’t hear him, you’re too busy sprinting after a black-clad figure. With gloved hands, the person gets a grip and vaults clean over the gate, landing on their feet on the grass beyond.

“AD, someone just scaled the electrified fucking gate,” you pant. Even with gloves, that’s crazy.

“Go after them! You can’t let someone get to Hitman first.”

“How do I get over the gate?”

“I’m not the legendary assassin with sixty-two confirmed kills! Figure it out!”

“Dick.” You look around wildly– the gates are connected at the corners of the estate by brick pillars. Good. That’s something. You run at the pillar closest to you and leap, scrambling up and over it using only the power of adrenaline and your poor fingertips. You land hard, sinking into the soft grass of the lawn, and look up in time to see the figure running along the edge of the roof. How did he get up there? And where’s his climbing gear? The walls are smooth, vertical, with no handholds to speak of on the lower fifteen feet. 

If you can’t get up, bring them down. You withdraw your handgun and line up your shot. You might not be an acrobat, but you can shoot.

You pull the trigger, the bringer of death a familiar weight in your hands. You don’t kill unless you’re paid for it, though. The bullet grazes your target and you see them stumble, clutching their side. With one backwards glance at you, they catapult themselves off the roof and land on their feet on the other side of the gate. What the fuck. What kind of strength does this person have?

“Y/n? I heard a shot, what’s going on?” AD speaks urgently into your ear.

“Abort.”

“What?”

You start running back to the gate. “Fucking abort, AD. We’re done for tonight. Someone else is after Hitman.” You launch yourself at the brick pillar and land hard on the sidewalk outside the estate. 

“Shit. But we knew this could happen, he’s not exactly popular.”

“Fine, but tonight was supposed to be a casing night. My footprints are on the grass!”

You hear AD mutter something like “amateur” as he types. “Did you get caught on camera?”

“Probably? I also shot a guy, if that’s relevant.”

“It’s really not. Okay, I’m gonna hack into their system– which would be easier with the WiFi password, by the way– and keep you off the footage. Your excuse for your next shift is up to you. Take a couple hours and sleep it off, y/n. It’s not like you to be this reckless.”

“Fuck you.”

~~~ Six hours later

“Agent Jeon, Agent Kang, take the east wing of the estate. Dismissed.”

“C’mon, this way.” Jungkook leads you down a long corridor as you begin your next shift.

“Right.”

“Hey, you okay?” Jungkook looks at you with concern. “You seem tired.”

“Six hours of sleep will do that to a person, dude.” Six? Try three, if you got any at all. You’re exhausted, yeah, but you’ve never let that stop you from doing your job.

“Heh, yeah. This work schedule is intense, but the pay is good.” 

“And not much seems to happen, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs, then seems to wince. “Not since I’ve worked here. We get trespassers sometimes, but they just leave when we tell them to.”

“You okay?”

Jungkook looks at the floor. “Yeah, turns out I fell asleep on top of my dog’s toy. The only time I get to sleep, and I wake up hurting like a bitch. How’s that for unfair?”

“Aw, poor baby.”

Jungkook pushes you playfully. “Hey!”

The contact sets your nerves on edge. Danger. You grab his outstretched arm and twist it behind his back, pressing hard enough to almost dislocate his shoulder, your vision is cloudy, tinged red–

“Ow! Kang– fuck! Soo-Jin!”

You blink once, twice. What… what are you doing? You release your hold on Jungkook; did you really just break character like that? No, wait, you can make this work. “I’m sorry– ah, shit.” You step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Jungkook groans, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that?”

“Just an instinct. One of the leftovers from the person I used to be.” You avert your gaze, your body language ashamed. Jungkook seems to take the bait. But… how much can it count as bait, if it’s so true it hurts?

“Hey, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have startled you.” He flashes you a grin, and you feel your heart do something funny in your chest. “I can’t imagine the stuff you’ve been through.”

Why is he acting sympathetic? You don’t do sympathy. But yeah, getting closer to the other guards can’t hurt on a mission like this. You’re in this for the long haul, if last night’s acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

“We’ve all got our own shit to deal with,” you reply.

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to…” Jungkook shrugs, wincing again. “Goddamn Gureum, leaving his toy on my bed.”

You laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I don’t think therapy will add to my intimidation resume.”

The hours pass quicker once you allow yourself to talk to Jungkook more. You know he has to be cold-blooded, and a skilled fighter, if he landed the job. But every time he laughs, every time he stares out into space and seems to forget even to breathe, you wonder where he hides his bloodlust. 

“Damn, I never knew an assassin could have a sense of humor,” Jungkook says eventually. “None of the other agents here ever want to do anything except patrol.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you say dryly, rolling your eyes. “That is our job.”

Jungkook sweeps his arm grandly, displaying the estate. It’s empty, save several guards. “Ah yes, look at the multitude of threats we face.”

You think of the acrobat from last night. “Right.”

“Anyways, wanna fight?”

For a second you think you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me? Haven’t we been over this?”

Jungkook shifts his weight, cracking his knuckles. “I heard you bit your way to a win during your interview.”

“So what?”

“I want to see your fighting style– c’mon, how does a professional assassin take someone out with teeth and claws? You’re not a cat, there’s gotta be something else to you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there wasn’t a lot of close combat in my work. A good assassin never fights fair. And, if you haven’t noticed…” you step up close to him, your eyes only level with his collarbone. You’re so close you can hear his breathing become ragged, shallow, as you continue: “I’m small. Shooting from a distance, backstabbing, incapacitating my targets– that’s what people like me do.”

In truth, you’ve had your fair share of combat. But letting Jungkook see that side of you? Not a good idea.

“Then why quit?”

“What?”

“I get it– you’re an assassin, not a fighter. But why go into security?”

“I almost got caught,” you recite automatically. “My skills aren’t super transferrable– I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Speak for yourself, I think you’d make a great birthday clown,” Jungkook laughs, and you smile along with him. Too bad he doesn’t know the real you– or maybe it’s a good thing. No one could love a monster.

You knew what you were getting into when you started down your path. You accepted that you’d be a changed woman– what you didn’t know was that your eyes wouldn’t be the same as they were before. Each time you see yourself anew, you confront the humanity that’s drained from your face. Your eyes have begun to resemble your targets’– dull, unfeeling, dead. 

You’re a monster. A killer. You snuff out lives for money. There’s no going back to the girl you were, and no point in regret. And so each morning, you take a deep breath and lie. To yourself, AD, and everyone. It’s okay. I’m okay.

Fuck, maybe you should see a therapist. 

After your shift, you spend the next six hours staking out Hitman’s estate. The acrobat doesn’t return, and you grind your teeth together with anxiety. “AD, did you see him on the footage that you hacked?”

“Just the mask. His body language is right-hand and left-leg dominant. This guy’s training is super unconventional; I haven’t seen that climbing style anywhere.”

“Ugh, so weird.”

“Says you.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

AD sniggers. “Look, you did shoot this guy today. Have you considered that you’ve either, like, injured him badly or scared him off?”

“No. He’s still around, and he’s going to try again.”

“How do you know?”

Because he’s like me. “I just do.”

You can almost hear AD’s shrug. “Aight, trust your instincts. Your next shift is soon, though. Better get ready.”

You groan. “This work schedule is brutal.”

“And you’re spending your time off stalking a ghost. Are you planning on getting any sleep?”

You hesitate a second too long. “Yes.”

AD sighs. “Take care of yourself, idiot. You can’t guard the house 24/7. You’re spending half the day working, remember?”

“That’s what I’ve got you for. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

“Get me the Wi-Fi password and I’ll think about it.”

You roll your eyes before heading back to your safehouse, changing, and returning for your shift. Here we go.

And there you went. The next week passes much in the same fashion– patrolling the wings of the vast estate for six or twelve hours, sleeping the bare minimum you need to survive, and returning to your target’s house to make sure the mystery acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

You spend most of your patrol time with Jungkook; it makes sense, you’re the two newest recruits. For a security goon, he’s pretty funny. You’ve dealt with security guards in the past for your jobs, but most of your interactions involved them trying to kill you– or vice versa. For all that you’re undercover as Kang Soo-Jin, you’re actually enjoying spending time with Agent Jeon Jungkook.

“Why are you working for Mr. Bang?” You ask him on Monday morning. You haven’t spoken with Jungkook in a couple days, as you were paired with Agent Park for your last several shifts.

Jungkook cocks his head as you stroll together along the west side of the estate, a route you’ve already committed to memory. “What do you mean?”

It’s been bothering you for a while. “Mr. Bang tends to hire killers, mercenaries, people like… well, me. Why did you take this job?”

Jungkook chews on his lip thoughtfully as he stares out of the window. “I mean… the pay is good.”

You shove him playfully. “C’mon, man, there’s gotta be something else.”

“Alright, alright!” Jungkook raises his arms in surrender, laughing. “You know I wanted to be an assassin. I was too chicken, and never knew how to get started. When I heard about Mr. Bang, and his reputation, I applied because I wanted to meet people like you. I told Agent Jung I had lots of experience and loose morals, and bada-bing-bada-boom, I get hired.” He does what you assume would have been jazz hands, if not for the gun held tightly in his grip.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re such an idiot,” you snort. “When most people try to meet their idols, they go to concerts, not to a den of killers.”

“What can I say? It’s one of my many charms,” Jungkook replies, winking. Your heart does another thing in your chest. It reminds you of the feeling of jumping into a cold lake– as though your whole body has come alive.

You hope that once you carry out your mission, you won’t have to hurt Agent Jeon along the way. 

“Hey, so…” Jungkook asks after several minutes of patrolling in silence. “What are you doing after your shift?”

“Huh?” For a second, you think you’ve misheard him. “You mean in the twelve hours until I have to be back?” You pulled a double shift– it’s nearing noon, and you’ve been working since midnight.

“Dummy, we don’t have work this weekend,” Jungkook says. “Mr. Bang is going on a business trip. Weren’t you paying attention during the briefing?”

Not even a little were you paying attention– you were too focused on escape routes. You might be able to drug his food? “Sweet.” And you mean it: With Hitman gone, you can catch up on sleep and plotting without having to worry about your competition.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out– y’know, outside of work? I really want to get to know you better.”

“Uh…” Huh? This isn’t part of your plan. You don’t hang out with targets during a mission. So you should say no, right? But… what harm can come from spending time with your coworker? After all, you are undercover. And if Hitman is leaving for the weekend…

You realize you’ve been silent too long when Jungkook begins to backtrack: “I mean- Soo-Jin, sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply– you know what, never mind-”

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Wait, what?”

You allow your lips to curl upward into a smile. “Sure, why not?” There’s no way it can endanger your mission.

“Awesome!” Jungkook returns your grin enthusiastically, and for the rest of the shift he walks with a spring in his step. It would be endearing, if your heart weren’t frozen and locked in your chest. “Maybe we can do lunch or something. Is tomorrow okay? Do you want me to pick you up at your place?”

“No, that’s okay,” You say hurriedly. Definitely not, no one can know the location of the safehouse. “Lunch tomorrow sounds good, we can meet there.”

“Ah- okay, yeah.”

As your shift comes to an end and the guards reconvene, Agent Jung calls you to attention. “Aight, everyone. As you know, Mr. Bang will be going to the city tomorrow morning for a business meeting– the organization is providing its own security forces, so your services are unnecessary until Monday at 6am sharp. Understood?” “Yes sir!”

Tomorrow morning? Wait, that means you might have a chance to strike in the few hours before he leaves. You know the best time to strike any target is during a period of transition. While everyone is hurried, packing and organizing, Hitman will have his guard down. 

Once you’re changed, you head out the door. Jungkook catches your eye and waves, and you feel your face heat up as you offer a cheeky salute in response. It’s not you’re fault, that toothy grin is so contagious.

Once you’re safely holed up at your base–

“AD, you there?”

“Sure am. What’s up?”

You walk calmly around the safehouse, marking things off your mental checklist. “I’m gonna go for it tonight.”

“Damn, that was fast. What’s going on?”

“We know the location of cameras and the guards’ schedules. Just cause I haven’t met the guy in person doesn’t make this too fast.” Ammo, rifle, scope, suppressor, stand– check. “He’s going on a business trip in the morning, and once he steps out of the house, that’s gonna be my best bet. Besides, now that I’m sure there’s someone else after Hitman, I gotta get to him first.”

“Sounds great. Where do I come in?”

“Can you get me satellite images of my cover options within, say, a kilometer of his door? I tried checking, but his house doesn’t show up on Google Maps. I need a roof where I won’t be interrupted.” You had hoped to pull the infiltrate-eliminate play, but if you have a chance to snipe the Hitman, you’re gonna take it.

“Classic. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll get his schedule too, lemme send that to you.” You hear AD typing quickly on the line. “There’s a car scheduled to pick up Hitman and Agent Jung at 5:30 in the morning.”

You glance at the clock. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, which means you’ve got sixteen hours to plan your highest-paid killshot of the year. 

Your security uniform shines like a beacon, draped over your chair. It’s a shame you won’t be able to make your lunch appointment with Jungkook tomorrow. You’ve got to be out of the city before Hitman’s body is even cold. Maybe in another life, you could have spent more than a week with the man whose company you find yourself enjoying increasingly each day. 

“AD, let’s take a bit of a break after this one, okay?”

AD chuckles. “With a 45k job, you can take as long a break as you want. Good luck, y/n.”

You spend the afternoon organizing the hit, with AD’s help.

“Jeez, his security on this trip is a fucking brick wall,” AD groans in frustration. “Y/n, if you don’t make the shot when he’s leaving, you’re not gonna have another chance.”

“Mm.” You’re distracted, measuring the angles from a printout of your rooftop perch. AD secured you entrance to a quiet office building three blocks from Hitman’s estate. You’ll have to set up at the southernmost corner of the roof to have the biggest advantage. You’ll go there around midnight– you don’t want to give Hitman a chance to leave early.

Hours pass, and the clock ticks closer to midnight. “I’m headed out,” you say, hoisting your equipment over your shoulder.

“Cool. I’ve got one of my men on the door to the building– give him the password, and keep your head down. Take the stairs, the elevator is monitored. There’s a fire escape on the roof if you need to get down fast. Good luck, y/n.” 

“Thanks.”

You arrive to the building with little trouble, your high-powered rifle concealed in pieces within a worn-out backpack. 

You knock three times on the back door to the building, and immediately a man opens the door. “What do you want?” he growls. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry, I’m lost,” you reply calmly. “I’m looking for the post office.”

The man gives you a quick once-over, eyeing your backpack appreciatively. “You can send letters from here,” he says, stepping back to let you in. You nod, pulling your hood lower over your eyes as you make for the stairwell.

Ten stories later, your legs are burning and your shoulders ache from the weight of your weaponry. But at least you’re on the roof, with a perfect view of Hitman’s brilliant estate. 

“AD, come in.”

Your earpiece crackles to life. “Wassup?”

“I’m in position,” you reply as you unload your backpack and begin to fit your rifle together. “It’s gonna be quiet for a couple hours. Take a nap, man, you’ve earned it.”

At your words, you hear AD yawn. “Good idea. Talk to you later.”

The line goes dead as you finish setting up the rifle stand, careful to aim it so your bullet will strike Hitman as he leaves the house. 

Deep breaths. It’s just another kill, just another target, and more money than you used to make in a year. 

You settle in by your rifle for the five-hour wait. The cold bites deep into your bones– but at least it keeps you from dozing off. 

Around three in the morning, you’re half present, half floating off into a world of your own creation, when a blur of motion darts across your line of sight. What? What? Something’s going on, what–

You press your eye to the gun’s scope, magnifying your vision. A figure creeping down the block, dressed in all black, their movements strong and familiar– the acrobat is back.

“AD?”

Silence on the line. He must still be asleep. You’ve got a couple hours before Hitman leaves, enough time to get this guy and return to the roof. 

Grabbing your handgun and a dagger, you race for the fire escape, skipping steps, practically flying down the stairs. He’s got a headstart on you, but he’s injured. If your earlier bullet hit true– and it always does– too much exertion will reopen his wound. You’re a hyena, stalking your prey, wearing him down until there’s little work left for you to do. 

Your target slows to a walk, still a block ahead of you as you reach the sidewalk, closing in on Hitman’s estate. Finally reaching the ground, and with your heart hammering in your chest, you duck behind a parked car and peek out. Has he seen you? You don’t have a mask, just your hoodie. He’s wearing a crude ski mask– covered except for his eyes and mouth. How unprofessional.

He continues walking, his body language relaxed. How can he be relaxed right now? You move from behind the car to the middle of the sidewalk, hiding in plain sight. You jam your hands in your pockets, letting your hair fall in front of your face as adopt a drunken stumble. If you can’t run, hide. You sense your target turn around and spare you a glance. All he’ll see, though, is intoxicated, unthreatening idiot. Your opponent ignores you and keeps walking, his left hand going up to clutch at his side. Bingo. 

You continue trailing him, hanging back just far enough to not arouse his suspicion. Once he gets to Hitman’s estate, and to that electrified fence that he can somehow scale, you’re going to lose him. 

You need another advantage. 

You secret the knife from the sheath on your hip, subtly increasing your pace until you’re about twenty feet away from your target– about the farthest you’ll trust yourself to throw a knife accurately. He’s close, so close…

You whip your arm around and send the knife sailing. It flies through the air, headed right for his midsection, when suddenly… what?

Your target’s arm reaches out almost in slow motion and grabs your dagger by the handle, stopping its flight mere inches from his flesh.

“I haven’t forgotten your other present,” he growls as you close in on him, his voice inhuman. “Leave now. You’re not going to win this fight.”

This bitch…

In your mind, you hear every girlie, every sweetheart, every condescending chuckle. You see the disrespect in a thousand eyes, the endless doors closed in your face. And you snap.

Your body seems to melt into the shadows— you’re made of fire, of darkness. Energy courses through your veins, and you suppress the urge to laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve gone all-out. If you can’t hide, fight.

The acrobat cocks his head. “You’re not running?”

In lieu of a response, you make a show of withdrawing your handgun. On seeing the weapon, the acrobat flashes his own gun, leveling the barrel at you.

What he doesn’t know, you think, running your other hand over the military-grade smoke grenade in your pocket, might hurt him.

The acrobat’s arm twitches, the kind of twitch that’s been burned into your memory. You see the path of the bullet before he pulls the trigger; you drop to the floor, his bullet missing your head by inches. In the same movement, you pull the pin on the grenade and launch it at him. With a loud hiss, thick plumes of smoke begin to pour from the capsule. You hear the acrobat curse. His mask proves to be his downfall: he’s blinded and coughing, although his covered nose means he can still breathe. You don’t have a mask with you, but you do have excellent hearing— and so you drop your gun and charge towards him, your eyes shut tight. 

Time seems to slow down. The smoke burns your lungs even though you’re holding your breath, but all you can focus on is your opponent’s heavy footsteps, unsteady and pained. His earlier wound must still be bothering him, which is probably why he’s still on the ground. With his skill set, you’d have scaled the fence and been gone by now. 

Wait. The fence. No matter his skills, the guy isn’t immune to electricity. And you’re right in front of Hitman’s estate.

Your lungs protest— you’ve been holding your breath too long. You need to end this quickly, while you still have the advantage of your smoke cover. Your ears pick up a tiny shift in weight in front of you— he’s a smart assassin, he managed to stop coughing. But it’s not enough to save him, not when you’re in your element. You circle around silently until he’s in between you and the fence.

“Come on, man,” your opponent speaks suddenly, his voice distorted. A voice mod? “We can spar later, I got shit to do.”

Fucking asshole. You barrel forward, lowering your shoulder and catching him right in the gut. You hear a metallic skitter; your attack forced him to drop his gun. He’s unarmed. 

“Oof!” The acrobat grunts in pain, stumbling backwards even as his gloved hands snake forward to wrap around your throat. Shit. He starts squeezing, and you gasp for air, your tortured lungs protesting further abuse. He’s almost right up against the fence– you just need him to take one...more...step. You can hear his labored breathing right in front of you. He must still be blinded, which means you can take him by surprise. Perfect. 

You plant your hands on his shoulders and, instead of pushing him away like he surely expects, you pull him close and press your lips to his, kissing him with all the desperation of a girl with her life on the line. The move is a double-edged sword: if you can’t distract your target sufficiently, you’re close enough to be KO’d. But if you do your job well… it’s practically a given win. Your opponent’s grip on your throat loosens and you feel him relax into the kiss– and return it with fervor, biting lightly on your lower lip. Well, he’s certainly distracted. You use the opportunity to shove him backwards, and with his guard down, he takes that last crucial step to steady himself.

ZZZAP!

You wince at the crackle of electricity. It’s not enough to kill, but that’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker. He collapses without another sound, just as the smoke begins to dissipate.

“Did you hear that?” You hear a shout from inside the estate.

“Someone set off the fence!”

“Well, go check!”

Oh, Christ. You can’t leave your opponent there; his injuries will prove that someone else was with him, they’ll check the footage before AD can edit it. You bend down– grabbing your discarded gun while you’re at it– and pick your opponent up in a fireman’s carry, lugging the dead weight several buildings down and into a back alley. By the time you get there and set him down, you can hear him groan. He’ll be coming to soon. You touch your earpiece to contact AD.

“AD? You awake?” You rasp, your throat still hurting.

AD sounds groggy. “Good morning to you too. Yeah, I’m here.”

“I caught our acrobat.”

“No shit! Is he dead?”

You peer at the groaning, half-conscious figure. “Almost.”

“You’ve got the go-ahead to neutralize him. I’d recommend doing it fast, though.”

“Yeah, I will.” You check the clock: 3:44. This guy’s taken up way too much of your time. Glancing down at your fallen opponent, you see his hand begin to twitch. Let’s see what kind of amateur assassin almost took my kill. You sit on your heels in front of him and reach out, pulling off the ski mask with ease.

“Oh…shit.”

“Y/n?”

“Uh…” sitting in front of you, a trail of scarlet blood dripping down his chin, is Jeon Jungkook. “AD, I’ll call you back.”

“Wait, what’s going-” Click.

You rub your eyes miserably, wishing that the smoke was still blinding you. Jeon Jungkook. Agent Jeon. The dork from work. An assassin?

Then that means… you tug up his shirt, exposing sculpted abs that you wish you didn’t notice along with thick bandages wrapped around his midsection. You can see dark blood seeping through on Jungkook’s left side– where you’d shot him last week, where he said he’d fallen asleep on a dog toy. And like an idiot, like a sentimental amateur, you believed him. You believed that he actually liked you, actually cared. But he’s a liar, a monster like you. The realization that it was all an act hurts more than your bruised throat ever could.

“Ngh…” your heart seems to drop into your stomach. The voice mod must’ve been in his mask, because now you can recognize Jungkook’s groan as the one you’d heard so often during dull shifts. “Hey… hands off the goods.” He swipes weakly at your arm and you pull away, letting his shirt fall back down over the wound that you caused.

Half of you wants to laugh, and the other half wants to… what, cry? Why did it have to be him? 

You pull back your hood and tuck your hair behind your ear. “You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?”

At last, Jungkook’s eyes snap open and he stares straight at you, his face betraying a mix of horror and fury. “Soo-Jin?”

He’s going to die anyways. You might as well tell him the truth. “Actually, my name is y/n.”

“No.” Jungkook gapes, seemingly at a loss for words. “No. Dammit. Fuck! Fucking anyone but you!” He tries to get up, but he doesn’t get very far before he falls back and slumps over, his expression heartbreaking. For once, you can do nothing but watch him. “I knew it was one of the guards,” Jungkook continues, clutching at his wound. “Namjoon has good aim. Jimin, he’s fast. I didn’t want to hurt you, Soo-Jin–” his voice breaks. “Or, I guess, y/n.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you either,” you admit, the gun in your hip holster feeling heavier by the minute. “But I had to do my job.”

“Wait a second…” Jungkook hesitates. “Y/n? As in y/n l/n, the master assassin? Sixty-two confirmed kills? You’re that y/n?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

Jungkook nods as much as his weakened state will allow. “Everyone in the business has. Your aim is unmatched. They say the only time y/n misses a killshot is when she’s trying to miss– oh.” Jungkook smiles sadly. “I’m just postponing the inevitable, huh?

You nod, smoothly withdrawing your gun and pointing it at his head. Sure, midsection is more of a surefire hit, but a headshot will end it quickly– and for the first time in a long, long time, you realize that you care about his suffering. 

Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes revealing a softness you can’t understand.

“Y-you’re not scared?” You ask. Why isn’t he trying to escape? If you can’t win, run. It’s the assassin’s motto. But… he’s not running?

Jungkook shrugs, groaning in pain. “I lost. You won. We had the same target, so killing me is your right. Besides, if it had to be anyone…” Jungkook winks. “Might as well be you. Even if you are a dirty liar.”

You draw yourself up, affronted. “Excuse me?”

He laughs and then coughs. “Miss I don’t kiss my victims went and pulled that? Sure, Jan.”

You suppress a giggle. “You’re postponing again. I have to get back to Hitman.”

“Right, sorr-” BANG!

You pull the trigger, the gun so familiar in your hand that it’s like an extension of yourself. And your aim, as always, is perfect.

Jungkook is shaking. He looks up at the black mark where the bullet struck the wall, not half an inch above his head. “Y-y-you missed.”

“I’m y/n l/n,” you reply, holstering your gun. “I never miss.”

“Wait, so you saved–”

“Someone’s gotta fix this bandage, shit,” you interrupt, kneeling down and examining his wound, which has continued slowly bleeding through its dressings. “Goddamn amateurs, I swear, ruining the trade–”

Suddenly, Jungkook reaches out and cups your cheek.

“W-what are you doing?” You squeak, embarrassed. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, so close it feels like you’re the one who’s disarmed.

“Making sure you won't regret sparing me,” Jungkook mutters in response before capturing your lips with his own. You didn’t notice the first time, but he tastes like cherries. 

You know you should pull away, a good assassin never lets down her guard, but– “Fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, linking your hands behind his neck. Heat courses through your body as you kiss him back. Maybe, for once... you can just relax. You feel a bit of something hard pass from his mouth to yours. A hard candy? Who cares, you’re kissing him and kissing him and you really like kissing him, fuck.

Eventually Jungkook pulls away, a bright smile on his face. “Look at me, the amateur that tamed the expert.”

“You didn’t tame shit,” you reply, getting up. For a second your vision swims before you. Damned iron deficiency. Checking the time, you start. “I gotta get going.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jungkook responds, standing up. What? His injuries should have kept him down.

“I’ve still got a target to off, hon.” You salute him, your head aching. You wish you could spend more time with him, but it’s not your path. You’ve got a job to do.

“I said,” Jungkook replies, walking forward. “You’re not going anywhere.” His gait isn’t casual anymore, it’s threatening, and all your instincts are screaming danger.

“Or what? Do the math. I’m armed, you’re not. You can’t do anything.”

Jungkook smiles coldly. His eyes– they’re dark, emotionless. The kind of eyes you see in the mirror everyday. The eyes of a killer. “Oh, but I can. And I did.”

“W-what?” Your heart feels weak, and your breathing becomes labored. Your chest is unnaturally tight. “What did you do to me?”

“All the best spies kept cyanide pills in their mouths,” Jungkook replies with a shrug as you fall to your knees, too dizzy to stand. The world is spinning, tilted, and your chest feels like it’s burning. Jungkook leans down, his tone malicious. “And I’m one of the best. After all, I killed y/n l/n, didn’t I?”

Cyanide. Poison. How can you fight against poison?

Jungkook is still talking. “If you can’t win, run, right? Guess what, girlie? Guess why I didn’t run?”

You can’t breathe, it feels like you’re drowning, you lost.

“I didn’t run because I could win. And I’ll win again, once Hitman is out of the picture. You’re not the only one with money on the line. Though I have to say, it’s really a shame.” He flicks your forehead, but you can barely feel anything anymore. “You were cute. Oh well, any last words?”

This is it. The end of y/n l/n, master assassin. Your eyes flutter closed– he won. “Fuck you.”

#jungkook #bts #jeongguk #bts fic #jungkook fic #jeongguk fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts au #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook au #assassin!jungkook #spy!jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jeongguk #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfiction #bangtan #bangtan boys #jeongguk angst

[shirtlesssammy]

9x23: Do You Believe in Miracles?

Then:

*ahem* Lots of angel and Mark of Cain stuff happened... I guess 

Now:

We pick up right where we left off in 9x22. Dean almost kills Gadreel, but Sam and Cas lock him up in the dungeon instead. Sam locks the First Blade away and discovers Gadreel is gone. 

 Dean’s busy vomiting up blood. Healthy. 

Metatron is busy writing his Magnum Opus. It’s a story about “love and heartbreak...and love.” An angel helper is there to show Metatron his new angel radio station --it only allows his voice to play for all angels in heaven and earth. Metatron is delighted. 

He gives them a rousing speech of how happy he is that they’ve all joined together under his rule. He tells them that he’s going away, but when he returns, it’ll be glorious. 

Sam and Cas take a drive and find a very injured Gadreel on the side of the road. Cas, his powers weakened, heals Gadreel from Dean’s wound. They need his help. 

Crowley, meanwhile, is enjoying a nice demon massage. But Dean calls him away.

Dean demands that Crowley tell him what’s been going on with him. Ever since killing Abaddon, he needs to kill, all the time. Crowley tells him the mark is making him kill, and if he doesn’t he will die. As a human, he can’t really survive this curse. Dean tells Crowley that he wants to get to Metatron, but he needs the blade first. He needs Crowley’s help. 

Cas, Sam, and Gadreel come back to an empty bunker. Sam tries reaching his brother with no luck. Gadreel thinks that Dean and the blade are their best chance at stopping Metatron. Sam, ever the co-dependent, thinks it’s A HORRIBLE IDEA. They talk about how Metatron is tapping into the angel tablet to gain powers akin to God. They need to break that connection.

The one problem is that the tablet is in heaven in Metatron’s office. Gadreel can get them to the gate. Sam thinks this is also a stupid idea. Cas thinks they have to try. 

Insert one unobservant woman getting hit by a car. Lucky for the world, Metatron is there to save her. 

Dean and Crowley hit up a local watering hole for the wi-fi.

Crowley is really going through some existential crazies, and Dean’s not ready to embrace their summer of love yet. Dean does see through his angst in regards to Hell though, but is too focused on finding Metatron to dissect Crowley’s issues right now. A couple of Crowley’s demons arrive with a video of what Metatron’s been up to. 

Marv’s been saving people’s lives! 

Dean gets up to leave, and here’s where things get REALLY DARK. Dean doesn’t eat his cheeseburger. 

Cas and Gadreel arrive at Heaven’s portal: a playground. Cas has a plan on getting them inside. 

And just thinking about Cas getting the Wookie idea from watching movies with Dean and Sam, and learning from these humans that he’s come to accept as family, just, well, even though so much has been said about it, it all still messes me up a bit. Gadreel doesn’t understand that reference, and Cas has a sad. 

Dean arrives at the recently resurrected woman’s home, only to find Sam. Dean refuses to engage his brother. Sam informs Dean that Cas and Gadreel are risking everything to help Dean win this fight. Dean hears “Cas” and records scratches. Sam powers through with their season’s worth of anger and resentment. They have a plan, and Dean’s just going to have to take it. Sam eventually concedes that Dean’s their best shot at Metatron. Crowley decides to bounce. 

Gadreel and a handcuffed Cas enter Heaven. They’re taken right to Metatron’s office. 

Oh wait, nope. It’s actually Heaven’s prison. (And UGH, Gadreel’s “no,no, not here!” stung a bit.) 

Marv heads to a homeless camp to perform miracles. He moves among the people, healing them. Another angel calls him out as a fraud and not human, and then calls him Metatron. The other people rally around Metatron, attacking the accusing angel. HOW DARE! Marv is good and pure! Metatron kicks his angel blade into the fray and someone grabs it up and stabs the other angel.  DUDES. There’s no need to go from zero to stabbin’! Light flashes as Metatron grins.

Dean struggles under the thrall of the blade, but tries to wrap himself up in the mantle of gruff normalcy when Sam fills him in on the latest Metatron intel. Dean attempts a half hearted apology for the past few months and Sam attempts a half hearted acceptance. My heart is so warmed? Oh wait, I’m feeling despair at their continued utter lack of emotional honesty. GAH. (This is the show I choose to love!) Dean coldcocks Sam, knocking out that poor boy and his delicate, delicate head. “Not your fight,” Dean tells him and then just...WALKS AWAY.

Up in Heaven, Cas tries to make Hannah see the truth about Metatron. Hannah is TIRED of all the angel deaths. Honestly, PREACH my friend! While Castiel pleads, Gadreel comes up with a very bad idea indeed. 

Down on Earth, Dean enters the homeless encampment. He’s immediately greeted by two residents who tell Dean that “Marv” is expecting him. Dean’s directed into a warehouse to find Metatron. 

Gadreel is EXTREMELY wound up in Heaven’s jail. “The only thing that matters is the mission,” he says. On this show, that kind of talk is a very bad sign. While Cas tries to calmly reassure him, Gadreel carves a sigil into his chest. Realizing what he’s doing too late, Castiel cowers as Gadreel blasts himself apart. Heaven’s jail crumbles. 

Cas emerges from his broken cell and confronts Hannah.

In the old factory, Metatron calmly waits for Dean. He accuses Dean of harboring too much cynicism to be happy, but Dean puts forth his own share of belittling banter. Metatron’s a fake! 

Metatron doesn’t care. He rails about God’s insecurity, spinning a story about humanity who will do nothing but bow and scrape for God’s favor even in the face of terrible adversity. He vows that he can save humans. He’s got a mission. 

Dean doesn’t care. He’s out to get Metatron for killing Kevin, taking Cas’s grace, and whatever other ills befall humanity. He whips out the blade and does not...look...terribly stable. 

Metatron sorts through Dean’s confrontation, concluding that Dean’s stalling to buy Cas and Gadreel time to enact their plan up in Heaven. Jokes on Dean, though! They’ve been imprisoned! The blade shakes in Dean’s hand. They fight. 

Upstairs, Cas has made it to Metatron’s study. Hannah’s back on his side! Yeah!

Dean fights Metatron, but he’s no match for “the word of God.” Sam races through the encampment to help his brother. Meanwhile, Dean gets the stuffing kicked out of him. 

Dean is looking really, really super not great. But he still summons the strength to reach out a hand to psychokinetically propel the blade to his hand. He sits up. It’s his hero moment!

And…

Metatron stabs him RIGHT through the CHEST. Just...RIGHT THERE THROUGH THE HEART.

Damn. 

Everything slows down as Sam watches his brother get stabbed. Dean looks around, seeks his brother out one last time, and then falls to the ground JUST as, in Heaven, Cas dashes the angel tablet to pieces on the floor. UNFORTUNATE TIMING! 

This is Our Hearts:

Sam hauls out a blade to stab the hell out of Metatron, but the angel flaps out.

Cas looks up from the desk to see Metatron. Metatron comments on the shattered tablet, destroyed to “save Dean Winchester.” He advances. “You draped yourself in the flag of Heaven but ultimately it was all about saving one human, right?”

Metatron drops the truth bomb: Dean is dead.

Sam is frantic as a not-dead-yet Dean slurs a request for Sam to leave him and get the hell out of there. Sam refuses. Surely there’s a spell or SOMETHING to save Dean? Too bad, Sammy. Dean’s already on board with embracing the sweet release of death if it means he can escape the ill effects of the Mark. 

Cas folds his grief carefully into a box and then accuses Metatron of fooling the other angels with his savior routine. Metatron scoffs. “They are frightened little sheep,” Metatron says with dripping contempt, but he will lead them back to leading (and lording over) humanity. 

Sam helps Dean walk out of the building and Dean asks him about his sudden change of heart. Sam’s not ready to let him go just yet! “Ain’t that a bitch.” It is indeed a bitch, Dean Winchester. 

Metatron prepares to stab Cas, accusing him of lacking the imagination to spin a good story for himself. Cas throws it back at him: Metatron learned to spin a good story...and he narrated the hell out of his nefarious plot WHILE angel radio was on full broadcast mode. Angels storm the study and seize Metatron. 

Back on Earth, things are going very badly. “I’m proud of us,” Dean chokes out to his brother right before he dies. Oh dear.

Upstairs, Cas and Hannah lock Metatron up behind bars. She tells him that not killing Metatron is what a leader would do. Cas denies her label. He just wants to be an angel. Hannah reminds him that he’ll die without replenishing his failing grace.

We cut to Sam laying Dean’s body in his room at the bunker and then drinking himself Winchester stupid in the dark library. He drunk-summons Crowley using the setup Dean left behind in the dungeon. TOO LATE, Sam! Crowley’s already in the bunker. 

Crowley settles next to Dean’s body and tells him that Sam’s currently trying to summon him. Crowley swears that he didn’t know what would happen when Dean took on the Mark of Cain. But...he didn’t reveal the whole truth. There’s another story about Cain that factors in. Cain killed himself rather than become the killer the Mark was steering him towards becoming. The death didn’t stick. The Mark kept him tethered to the world. Crowley places the blade in Dean’s hand. “Maybe miracles do come true,” Crowley says. Dean is feeling LIFE right now, and not the cold embrace of death. “A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”

I’m Just a Broken-Quoted Angel:

What can I say? I wear my stress

Who else would he summon? I mean, he and Crowley have been bromancing over the Blade ever since Dean got the mark

Wookie!

You’re nothing but Bernie Madoff with wings

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x23 #do you believe in miracles #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel cas #crowley's bones #metatron #hannah #gadreel #supernatural season 9

[ironspiidey]

Superhero’s get Bullies Too Part 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 10: Harley Stark & Throat Punching a Bully

Read on AO3

Thats right guys finally a new update!!!!!!

friendly reminder a hoe for likes and comments. They also fuel me :)

“So you and May eh?” Peter says with a smirk as he slides into the backseat of the car.

Happy glances in the rearview mirror. “Me and your Aunt are just friends Peter.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Liar. I know my aunt well enough to know you two are more than just friends Happy.”

Happy tossed Peter his phone before turning out of the apartment parking lot and in the direction of the tower.

“Oh thanks!” Peter unlocks his phone and scrolls through his texts, seeing a bunch from his very concerned boyfriend, which made him smile. “Stop ignoring me.”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“You’re not, not ignoring me either.” Peter looked up from his phone to give the driver a pointed look in the mirror.

Happy shook his head. “Your aunt and I are friends Peter, we may have hung out once or twice.”

“Three times.” Peter says without looking up from his phone, quickly sending a message in his group chat with MJ, Gwen & Ned about how Happy’s picked him up and brought him his phone.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve hung out with her 3 different times. First time was when she went looking for me at the Tower but I was at a decathlon thing, you took her for coffee but only told Mr. Stark you were taking her home.”

“How?”

“How do I know? Well we did some major catching up during pee and snack breaks today when we were watching Greys.”

Happy nods in understanding “Ah okay, She does become easier to talk to when that TV show is involved.”

“Did you two ‘Netflix and Chill’ in my living room?”

The older man remains quite.

“Oh gross.”

Happy chuckles as he puts the partition up, clearly having enough of the redheads 21 questions.

Peter shakes his head and looks down at his phone. He starts deleting old conversations to clean up his inbox and his thumb hovers over Harley’s messages. He opens the conversation and sighs.

H: Hey Pete, not sure when youll see this but yeah. I know your upset with Stark for looking in your phone but he cares about you a lot more then he lets on which I know is hard to believe

 H: my point is trust is huge with him and he’s low key freaking out that he lost you even though im saying he hasn’t bc your too stubborn to give up on his crazy ass. Just maybe cut him some slack when you get here. He means well.

 H: and Im kinda getting used to having you around so yeah.

Peter bites his lip debating on digging out the messages from Flash that he archived a few months ago or deleting them. Knowing that it will send Tony even more over the edge then the superhero already is but at the same time remembering how upset he sounded when he found the one conversation. Peter sighs as he responds to Harley’s messages.

 P: Don’t worry Harley, it’s going to take more than one fight to get rid of me. I know he cares and tell him to stop being a dumbass and that he hasn’t lost me.

Peter sighs again, realizing if things are truly going to work he needs to be as truthful as possible with the older man

 P: and tell him I have something to show him when I get there.

 H: So happys picked you up? How long till your home also will do parker

Peter knocks on the partition.

“Yes Peter?” Happy responds once he brings the glass screen down half way

“How far are we away from the Tower?” Peter asks without looking up, shooting his boyfriend a quick text about how he isn’t mad, that he still loves him and everything will be alright.

“About 20 minutes, traffic seems slow today.”

“Thanks Happy.”

Peter goes back to his conversation with Harley and tells him just that, switching to Tony’s chat as his phone vibrates.

 T: my nephew ratted me out didn’t he?

 P: Or I could be telepathic

 T: without even being near me?

 P: I always said we were meant to be :P

 P: But seriously Tones, you know I love you. I’m not going to run away that easily.

 T: I love you Underoos

 P: Happy says I should be home in 20 minutes, should I order takeout?

The younger man’s phone buzzes, showing Tony’s caller ID

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Actually no.” Tony starts “I have something planned here and no I’m not telling you what it is.”

‘Don’t worry Parker, you’re going to love it!!!’ Peter hears Harley holler in the background

“Another dinner? You really are sucking up.” Peter says with a grin

“What? Cant a man provide a nice dinner for the ones he love.”

“You’re definitely up to something Tony.”

“Always. Harley here go put this on the table. Okay Petey I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay Tones, love you.”

“Ditto.”

Peter smiles to himself after disconnecting the call. Happy smirked as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Peter noticed and raised an eyebrow “What?”

“Not a thing.”

"So your Uncle let you come to school Keener?"

Harley gave him a look as he entered the building "What the fuck do you want?"

After the weekend the blonde just had. Finding out just how much of a piece of shit Flash was, Harley’s patience was nonexistent with the other teen.

"I want in."

"In on what?"

"Parker."

Harley's eyes widen "What the fuck do you mean? It’s too fucking early to deal with your dumbass"

"Don't play stupid with me. I know you’re fucking him, and maybe even your uncle is too. I want a fucking piece with or without your help."

"Is that a fucking threat?"

"It's a promise."

"You leave Parker the fuck alone or I'll fucking end you." the blonde teen growled.

"Ah ah ah, what would your uncle say if you got into another fight?"

Harley stepped up into Flash's personal space "He'd fucking congratulate me for putting an end to your disgusting, useless life."

Flash pushed him back. "Gonna kill me are you?"

"C'mon Harley, Flash isn’t worth it. Think about Peter." Harley’s friend, Tommy finally spoke up. Harley didn’t exactly tell Tommy everything but Tommy knew Flash was on some serious thin ice based on some texts between Flash and Parker. Harley had a bad temper on a good day but after whatever happened this past weekend, well Tommy was pretty sure his friend was just a ticking bomb ready to explode.

"Yeah Harley," Flash mocked. “Who would save him if you're stuck in jail being somebodies little bitch."

Harley turned to his friend and laughed manically "Ha, this guy."

"Oh no." Tommy sighed as Harley turned back to the bully and punched him in the throat. So much for a quiet Monday.

Flash fell back grasping at his throat before lunging at the blonde. "You’re going to regret that."

Harley quickly dodged him, sticking his foot out so the brute fell. He flipped him over and grabbed a hold of his collar. "You are going to regret ever fucking with Parker.” Harley spat and he hauled his arm back and started punching him repeatedly

Tommy sighed and leaned against the wall, keeping an eye out for teachers or Flash's boys. They were by the side entrance of the school that nobody uses except the kids smoking but you couldn’t be too careful. Plus the last thing they needed was Parker coming around and seeing this.

After a few punches were thrown Harley let off. He wiped the blood on his knuckles off on Flash’s shirt then got up.

"Know your fucking place Thompson. Ready to go?"

Tommy turned and nodded "Yeah let’s bounce before Parker shows up."

"This isn't fucking over!" Flash sputtered as moved to get up.

Harley turned and spit in front of the other teen. "If you know what's good for you, it'll be over."

"How long do you think we've got till he blabs to someone?"

Harley shrugs "Hopefully till lunch."

As they make their way to the front of the school Tommy’s phone starts buzzing. "What the fuck?"

Harley looked at him puzzled. “What?"

The other boy tilted his screen so that he could see "See for yourself."

"Why is Parker calling you?”

"The better question is how he got my number. Harley!"

The blonde put his hands up “Wasn't me dude. Well answer it!"

Tommy gave him a funny look before answering. "Yo."

 "Hey Tommy? It’s Peter. Peter Parker. "

"Hi Parker."

 "Hi! Is Harley with you?"

"Yep, wanna talk to him?" Harley held his hand out

 "Um no actually I wanted to talk to you. You don't have me on speaker do you?"

Tommy shook his head at his friend, shrugging when Harley gave him a confused look. "Nope."

 "Okay great. Well I just wanted to say it’s my fault he didn’t get to hang out with you this weekend."

"Your fault?" Tommy pushed Harley away when he tried to listen in.

 "Yeah uh well you see." Peter coughed, clearly nervous "Harley got angry at Flash because of me and To- Mr. Stark was not impressed and basically put him on house arrest."

"House arrest?” Tommy glanced at his friend, mouthing 'He's apologizing'

 "Yeah. His uncle didn't trust him."

"I don’t blame him there, Harley's a heathen." he snickered, wincing when Harley punched him in the arm.

 Peter giggled "I'm not sure what he told you so I just wanted to clear things up in case he said something stupid like he had a date or something."

"That would be stupid?"

 "Well duh, he's your best friend and he shouldn't lie to you. Especially not for me. Could you do me a favor?"

"Depends on what it is?"

 "Nothing bad! I just want you to keep an eye on Harley and maybe uh make sure he stays away from Flash. I'm worried he's going to do something stupid and then To- Mr. Stark would lose it and it'll be a giant mess. So if you could do that for me that be great."

Tommy shook his head. "Yeah Parker I can do that but you owe me one alright?"

 "I expect nothing less. See ya Tommy"

"What was that about?” Harley questioned him as the call ended.

“Parker is too smart for his own good. He just called me to ask me to keep an eye on you and keep you away from Flash."

"To keep an eye on me?"

"Yup."

"He's something else. Bet my uncle had something to do with it." Harley pulled out his phone as they entered the building, texting his uncle

 H: did you tell Peter to call Tommy?

"Yeah that’s the other thing!"

Harley looked up from his phone “Other thing?”

“Yeah he kept starting to call your uncle by his first name than correcting himself.”

“Oh.” Harley tried to remain normal but was freaking out inside. If Tommy was to ask any questions about his uncle and Parker, well Harley wasn’t sure how he’d be able to lie to his best friend without him becoming suspicious.

“Yeah like I know he’s his intern and you two are kinda friends and hang out at your place together so I’m sure he doesn’t call him Mr. Stark. There’s no reason to cover it up.”

Harley shrugged “Yeah well maybe he’s trying to hide that we hang out?”

“Why would he call me to say he’s the reason you couldn’t hang this weekend then?”

“He did what? I thought you said he called to make sure you kept an eye on me?”

“Well he did. But first he wanted to make sure I knew that you didn’t chill this weekend because of something to do with Flash bugging him and you and Stark got into it.”

“Why would he bring that up?”

Tommy shrugged. “Somethin about worrying you’d make up some shit story about a date to cover it up. I’m your best friend and you shouldn’t lie to me especially for Parker.”

Harley gave him an unimpressed look.

“What? His words not mine.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious! Then he asked about keeping an eye on you. So see what I mean when it makes no sense?”

Harley was about to respond when his phone buzzed

 Stark: No. Did you do something that would require him to talk to Tommy?

 H: Not even. So you’re telling me you had nothing to do with him getting a hold of Tommys number to call him?

 Stark: You are becoming paranoid nephew  .

 H: That don’t answer my question uncle.

 Stark: *doesn’t. Stark: Get to class I’ll see you after school.

Harley rolled his eyes as he put his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry what?”

“Were you even listening to me?”

Harley sighed. “Yes buttercup. Peter thinks you shouldn’t lie to me, wants you to keep an eye on me and hiding our friendship makes no sense considering he called you about that shit.”

“Someone is moody as fuck today.”

“Sorry man it’s just my uncle.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow “That or Flash hit a nerve.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well I mean dude you have a temper but the last time I seen you beat the shit outta somebody like that over a conversation was when my girlfriend was given a hard time. So unless someone you know is dating Parker, you’re catching feelings.”

Harley scrunched his nose up in disgust. “Fuck no. He’s just my Uncle’s intern man.”

“Since when has your uncle needed you to protect his interns?” Tommy challenged

“Since he started having a nerd the size of a beanpole for an intern.”

Tommy gave him a look as they entered first class.

“Seriously. You’ve seen how skinny he is. If Flash wanted to do some damage it wouldn’t be that hard!”

Tommy nods. Seeing Ned and Liz walk into class, he nudges Harley with his foot. Hoping he’ll get the hint to shut it.

Harley gave him a confused look before seeing Peter’s friends walk in.

“Hey Harley!” Ned stops in front of his desk.

“What’s up Leeds?”

“Was Peter with you this morning?”

“No. Didn’t he have some nerd thing with you at 8?”

Ned nods “Yeah but he didn’t show.”

Harley felt his heart drop into his throat. Peter never missed early periods. The whole point of them was so that a day or two a week he could spend the afternoon at SI. “Did you hear from him?”

Tommy glanced at Harley while trying to act indifferent. Last thing they needed was Ned snooping around if Harley did have a thing for the other teen.

Ned shook his head. “He texted me around half 7 saying he’d be there but he didn’t show.”

Harley looked confused. “Well I’m sure everything’s fine. Maybe something came up with SI.”

“I don’t think so. He’s only supposed to be an active intern outside of school hours.”

Harley shrugs “You’re just a worry wart Leeds.”

Liz nodded “See me and MJ told you everything was probably fine. Go sit down mother hen.” She pushed him in the direction of where they usually sat.

“Do us all a favor though and text your uncle. I really don’t feel like listening to Ned worry all damn day.” She whispered as she passed both boys.

After they were out of ear shot Tommy leaned forward. “Well we heard from him like 20 minutes ago so everything should be fine right?”

“Clearly Flash didn’t have anything to do with whatever’s going on.”

“You should get ahold of Stark. Leeds will probably try calling his aunt if we don’t find out what’s up.”

Harley shuddered at the thought. His uncle was scary but Peter’s aunt? She was a damn nightmare when it came to her nephew. “Shit your right. I got no interest in dealing with the wrath that is May Parker.”

Harley quickly takes his phone out and sends his uncle another text.

 H: Hey is Peter with you?

He frowns when immediately his phone rings showing Tony’s contact. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath. “He’s fucking calling me.”

Tommy looked at him in alarm “Who Peter?”

“No. Stark!” He whispered harshly as he got up quickly heading outside.

“Hello?” Harley answered once he was outside of the room.

“Why are you asking about Peter?”

“Because-”

 Tony cut him off “Why aren’t you in your English class?”

“Well I was in fucking English before Peter’s friends started asking me where the fuck he was!”

“Language nephew. Why are they asking you where he is?”

“Apparently I’ve become his fucking keeper or something. All I know is he didn’t show for that thing for early period and Ned is being a mother hen.”

“Clearly I need to wash your mouth out with soap. Peter didn’t show to Decathlon practice? Hmm.”

Harley could hear some rustling in the background which concerned him mildly. If he uncle didn’t know he was there how the hell was anyone else going to? “Uncle?”

“One second.”

The rustling continued for a beat before Tony spoke.

“Friday, Can you pinpoint Peter’s location?” Tony spoke before the line went silent for roughly 30 seconds.

“Thanks babygirl. Okay so everything is perfectly fine. I think he plans to reach out to his friends. He’ll be there soon.”

“Well what even happened?” Harley questioned. Then the second warning bell rang.

“Get to class.”

“But-” Harley was interrupted by a dial tone. He sighed as he pocketed his phone. Peter was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

#starker #starker fic #my fic #my work #superheros get bullied too #New Chapter #A03 #flash is a dick #tony stark x peter parker #peter is 18+ #end game what end game #ironspiidey writes

[mrsniallhoran505]

Peacocking. A Warren Worthington Fic

A/N:So this was a little story I had come up with while talking with my brother about the comics and movies. It took on a life of its own and ended up three times as long as I planned. I hope you enjoy!!

The last thing Warren remembered was escaping the jet, seconds before it hit the ground. He was able to launch himself from the jet through the front windows. He used his wings to protect himself from the explosion but he was knocked out.

When he came to he was laying among the remains of the jet and the rubble of the battle. He was hurt. He could feel some of his bones were broken. With a large amount of effort he was able to pull himself up and escape the authorities. When he was locked away in a warehouse he finally noticed the lack of his wings.

Using what must have been an old employee bathroom he looked his body over. He had bruises, cuts, and scrapes all over his body. But that wasn’t what held his attention. It was his wings, or lack thereof. What was once giant metal wings sprouting from his back were now broken off. Leaving just a foot of metal bone left, not even the blade like feathers remained.

He spent days trying to cut the rest of his wings off. He saw no use in having the metal sticking from his back. He had done everything to cut them off, sawing them, bolt cutters, even simple knives. All were too painful and not strong enough to do anything more than shave the metal.

He gave up and decided to drink till he couldn’t remember that he even had a name much less broken wings. Each day he woke up in a new place, no memory of how he got there or how long he’d been there. But there was always a bottle of whiskey or vodka in his hand.  

It was nearly a month later when the other mutant had found him. He was hiding in an old film factory, drinking his second bottle of brandy. She had ran in, out of breath and disheveled. She hid near a window, watching as a few men ran past.

From his perch on the rafters he could only see the color of her hair. It was a dark, electric, purple. Her clothes were dark and dirty. He waited till the shouting of the men had passed before yelling out.

“Verpiss dich!” The girl turned quickly. Losing her footing, she fell flat on her ass. Warren couldn’t stop the loud barking laugh that slipped past his lips. He stumbled down the ladder that he used to get to the rafters, then walked over to her. She stared up at him, looking like a doe caught in the headlights.

He wasn’t sure what to do now that he stood in front of her, so he took a long swig of his brandy. Wiping off what dribbled down his chin before holding his hand out to her. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet, gripping his arm as he stumbled backwards.

“Why are hiding from those men?” Warren didn’t really care, but he figured he’d get her to leave faster if he asked. “They are hunting me…” She paused before taking a step away from Warren. “I’m a mutant.” She admitted looking like a scared mouse. Warren knew what it was like to be hunted, it’s how he ended up in the cage fights in Berlin.

“You can stay till nightfall, they should forget about you by then.” Warren turned away from her and started for the ladder. “I could help you.” She muttered making Warren stop and turn to her. “Trust me sweetheart, you can’t do shit for me.” She seemed to take that as a challenge. “My gift is to heal, I could help you.”

Warren laughed before taking another swig of his brandy. “Give it your best shot.” He said sarcastically. She huffed before closing the space between them. She made him turn around before placing her hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. It was shocking to Warren how much pain he was feeling. Pain that he’d lived with since his wings came in was taken away.

The female mutant concentrated on healing the obviously self inflicted cuts. Slowly they healed and the redness around the metal coming from his back faded. She could see the male visibly relax. Once she was done she could see what looked like bone under the scraped away metal, and small white feathers growing from it. She figured he knew it was there so she didn’t mention it.

“There you go.” Warren didn’t want to admit that she had actually helped him, or that he was disappointed that she couldn’t bring his wings back. “Yeah, whatever. Verpiss dich.” He walked away and climbed the ladder to the rafters. He sat with his back against a beam and started to drink till he passed out.

When he woke up it was to the smell of food. He looked around to see a take out box next to him with a note written on one of the napkins. He grabbed it and read the note.

‘Thanks for letting me hide with you. I hope you get your wings back. Breakfast on me.’

Warren rolled his eyes before opening the take out box. Inside was a full breakfast meal, including eggs and bacon. Warren would be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry. Without a second thought he ate his breakfast, a bit too fast judging by the way his stomach now hurt.

Once the food was gone he climbed down from the rafters and left the factory. He started walking towards an air strip mutants used to escape. He had hoped he could cut a deal for a flight to somewhere else. When he got there he saw the mutant girl talking to one of the pilots.

He was gonna ignore her but he figured a quick thank you for the breakfast wouldn’t hurt. He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She turned quickly, looking ready to run. “Sorry, I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.” Warren was about to turn away when she smiled at him. “No problem. Where are you flying to?” Warren shrugged and looked around. “No clue, hoping to bargain with one of the pilots.” She nodded before turning to the pilot in front of her, she pulled out a wad of cash and handed him a few bills. “Two seats, one for me and one for my friend.” She gestured over her shoulder to Warren.

He wanted to protest but he knew it was probably his only chance to get out. Soon they were both on the plane and heading towards Lisbon, Portugal. Warren stared out the window, watching the clouds pass under them. He could feel the phantom itch of wanting to spread his wings and take flight.

“Look, I know I’ve probably over stepped enough but…” She trailed off till Warren looked at her. “The place I’m going to, they have people there, mutants, that can probably help you get your wings back.” Warren scoffed before turning his attention back out the window.

When they landed she wished him luck and walked off. Warren stayed at the air strip for a bit longer before walking in the same direction. It didn’t take long till he heard her voice. High pitched from fear. “Please just leave me alone.” Warren knew nothing good came after those words.

He rushed forward to see the girl backed against a wall by a man. He was nearly a head taller than the girl, and didn’t seem to understand what the word ‘no’ meant. “Hey! Dickhead!” Warren yelled getting his attention. The man turned to him and told him to mind his own business. “She is my business.” Warren stated before punching the guy square in the jaw. “Now I suggest you fuck off mate!” The guy clumsily got to his feet. “You're not worth it bitch!” He spat before leaving.

“You say your gift is to heal but I think it's to find trouble.” Warren looked at the girl. She starred in the direction the man had ran off in. “I'm starting to think the same.” She finally looked at Warren. “Thank you for that. Second time you've saved me.” Warren waved it off before looking at the building they were next to.

“Looks abandoned enough to crash in tonight.” He nodded before making his way to the busted open door. He could hear her following him. Once they were well hidden inside he turned to her.

“Look, I'll make you a deal. You pay for food and travel, and I'll keep you from getting killed till you get to wherever you're going. Then we never see each other again. Deal?” She hesitated for a moment before nodding with a smile. “Deal.” He nodded once before turning away and finding somewhere to lay.

For the first night in weeks, he didn't drink himself to sleep. He fell asleep to the mutant, whose name he finally learned. Y/N didn't seem to ever shut up but Warren would be lying if he said he wanted her to. For once he wasn't surrounded by deafening silence.

It took them nearly a week but they eventually made it to the gates of the Charles Xavier school for gifted youngsters. Warren had grown used to having Y/N around. Grown used to her healing touch and soft spoken words. He hated to admit it but he was sad to never see her again.

They had just said the farewells and we're about to walk away from each other when she grabbed his hand gently. “Please Warren, just come with me? If they can't get your wings back then I'll get you a plane ticket to anywhere you wanna go.”

Warren surprised himself when he nodded and followed her to the front doors of the school. Somewhere along the way to the main office Warren had reached out and laced his fingers with Y/N's. Squeezing her hand a bit tight as they entered the office.

All hope Warren had was immediately destroyed when he recognized the professor as the man he helped Apocalypse kidnap. He figured he'd be kicked out, at best, thrown in jail, at worse.

He was surprised when the professor asked him to stay and join the school, as a student. He told Warren he'd have his own room, three meals a day, and a promise to do everything possible to get his wings back. With Y/N smiling encouragingly at him he agreed.

After being enrolled and set up in his room, he followed a man named Hank down to the basement of the school. Where a medical wing was. He spent hours there having different tests ran. He was starting to lose hope of ever flying again when Hank cheered.

“Yes! That's it!” He quickly rushed to a phone and called someone, asking that Y/N be sent down. “Care to share what the fuck is happening?” Warren was growing impatient.

“Yes, sorry. Your wings are already growing back, but the metal encasing them are stunting their growth. If I can remove the metal, your wings will grow back within a few months.” It was the best thing Warren had heard in years. “How do you remove the metal?” Warren thought the bone was completely metal now, he had no idea it was just a coating. “With the help of Y/N.”

When Y/N got to the lab Warren was in, she was pulled aside by Hank. The man explained to her how he planned to get Warren's wings back, making sure to point out that it would be extremely painful for him. Hank wanted her to try and use her power to take some of his pain away as Hank worked. She agreed and walked over to Warren with a warm smile on her face.

“You ready?” She asked to which he nodded. He was told to lay down on his stomach. Hank let Y/N start to heal him, to calm and relax him, before he started breaking the bones sticking out of the mutant’s back.

Warren screamed in pain with each break. Y/N moved her hands from his shoulders to cupping his face. She made soothing sounds as she focused all her power in taking his pain. Warren gripped her wrists, using the contact to ground himself. He looked at her, locking eyes. He saw nothing but kindness and tenderness, something he hasn't seen in a long time.

“Last break.” Hank stated before breaking the last bit of bone and resetting it. Just as he thought, the metal cracked and fell away to reveal what was left of Warren's natural, broken, wings. “Y/N heal him.” Hank stepped away to let Y/N take his place.

Being as gentle as she could, she touched the mangled bone and began healing it from the base to the tip. Her hands were tender and soft, her touch light as a feather. Warren soon had no more pain, not even a dull ache of a healed break.

He sat up and hugged Y/N. “Thank you.” He breathed into her soft hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling softly. “Anytime.” She held Warren for a bit longer till finally he pulled away and allowed her to move away.

*~*

It took four months total for his wings to fully grow back. They were extremely sensitive and would sometimes ache with growing pains, but Y/N was always there to take it away. No one but Y/N was allowed to touch his wings. He didn't trust anyone else. He knew she would be gentle, and only ever touch his wings tenderly. He trusted her to help him wash them and take his pain.

When they were fully back he couldn't help but walk around a bit lighter. He was happy, although he'd never out right admit it. He always made sure to pretend to still be pissed of at the world. It was easier that way.

Y/N made him become friends with her friends, which just happened to be the same kids he fought when he was a horsemen. It took some time but they opened up to Warren and started to treat him as a friend. Inviting him places and to group activities.

When his wings were back they all congratulated him and marveled at the white fluffiness of them. Jubilee was the most fascinated by them. She thought they were beautiful. Y/N loved to gently stroke them when she just sat in silence with Warren.

All was going good till his wings started acting on their on. They would spread out at random times or would fluff up. For the most part he could hide it from everyone but when he accidentally smacked a student he went to professor Xavier and asked why.

After poking around in Warren's brain for a bit he came to the conclusion that his wings were acting upon Warren's thoughts and feelings. When his wings smacked the student it was because he had irritated Warren.

“How do I make it stop!” Warren couldn't have his wings doing things on their own. “Time, my boy, with time you will learn to control them again. I can put you in separate training sessions, kind of like physical therapy.” Warren agreed just wanting control of his wings again.

After leaving the professor's office he was walking to his room when he heard someone call his name, or well his nickname. “Feathers!” He spun on his heel and looked for Y/N. She had left on a training mission and was gone nearly a week. He had missed her. Without her around he mainly spent his time in his room. Not even the other ‘friends’ he had could get him out to do anything.

A confused look replaced his smile when he noticed her laughing. Thinking something funny happened behind him he turned his head to look. The only thing he saw was his wings spread out and Magneto rubbing his nose. “Mr.Worthington, please fold your wings.” He glanced to his other side to see professor Xavier peeking through his feathers.

Warren quickly got his wings to fold. Just as he turned to apologize to the professor Y/N called his name again. This time he was aware of his wings opening up and smacking Magneto in the face and knocking a passing Quicksilver on his ass.

Peter complained before speeding off, Magneto started sneezing. “Fuck! I’m sorry, my wings…” Xavier cut him off. “Spasms, your wings keep having spasms.” He covered for the young mutant, a knowing look on his face. “Please, Mr.Worthington, till the spasms pass, spend some time outside.” Warren nodded and quickly rushed out the door.

Y/N ran after him. “Warren!” She caught up to him under one of the big trees. She reached out for him, her hand meeting one of his wings as it spread towards her hand. “Hey, you ok?” Warren turned to her and nodded his head, forcing a smile onto his lips. “Yeah, I’m ok. Just having some growing pains which are causing some random ass spasms.” He shrugged, a soft sigh passing his lips when Y/N started taking some of his pain.

“How about we watch some movies in your room? Away from potential spasms victims.” He smiled a genuine smile before following her to his room. They spent the rest of the day in his room watching dumb movies and snacking on food they robbed from the kitchen. The only thing his wings did without his control was curl around Y/N when she had fallen asleep. He didn’t mind it this once. She looked warm curled up in his feathers.

Over the next few weeks Warren kept having trouble with his wings. They had smacked every student he could name and then some. He had knocked professor Xavier off his chair twice. And every time her had hit Magneto in the face, the mutant had started to sneeze uncontrollably. He couldn’t seem to get his wings to listen to him.

“Alright, I’m tired of getting smacked upside the head by feathers.” Scott exclaimed. “Don’t call me that asshole, you know I can’t control it!” This time when his wing smacked Scott it was his own doing. Jean suggested they take a walk before Scott pissed off Warren enough for the winged mutant to break his third vase that week.

Once outside and far away from any other students, Jean turned to Warren. “Who haven’t you hit Warren?” He could tell she was genuinely curious so he answered truthfully. “Y/N and Kurt.” Upon hearing his name Kurt ‘bamfed’ over to the group. The sudden appearance made Warren’s wings spread up, smacking Kurt in the face and knocking him on his ass.

“Fuck! I’m sorry Kurt.” Warren held his hand out and pulled the blue mutant to his feet. “It’s ok.” He nodded and patted Warren on the shoulder. “S’not your fault.” Professor Xavier rolled over on his wheelchair. “I believe now, Y/N is the only person you haven’t hit with your wings.” A smirk spread across Charles’s lips.

When Y/N’s name was said Warren’s wings spread out wide. Showing their full length for the first time since growing back. If Charles had to take a quest, Warren now had a 20 foot wingspan, 4 feet long than before. Not only were they longer, but they were wider. His feathers had grown longer.

WIth his wings outspread and the sunsetting behind him, he truly looked like an angel. “Wow!” Jubilee gazed at Warren. “What?” Warren looked around nearly smacking everyone with his wings. “Your wings, they’re bigger, longer.” Jean explained. Warren hadn’t taken much notice to his wings since getting them back, he was just happy to have them back.

“Holy shit Feathers, you look like an angel!” Y/N had called as she walked up. Warren’s wings spread out once again, fluffing up at the compliment. “Do I?” Warren smirked, trying to hide the slight blush dusting his cheeks. “Yes, yes you do.” Y/N smiled at him, reaching her hand out to his wings when she was close enough. Almost immediately his wing reached for her. As she stroked it softly Warren nearly moaned at how nice it felt.

“I think I get it now.” Jean suddenly spoke, breaking Warren and Y/N out of their trance. “Get what?” Warren looked at her. “What your wings are doing?” She smirked. As quick as she could she sent the previous events to Y/N, showing the reaction Warren’s wings had to her name being said. “Oh, I see.” Y/N smiled.

She walked behind Warren and held her hand out again, once again the wing met her hand half way. “Anyone care to explain to me what is going on?” Slowly everyone around them got it. All except Warren and Peter, although Peter pretended that he did. “Think real hard, bird boy.” Ororo said before they all walked away.

“Your wings are reacting to me Warren.” Y/N finally said when Warren looked like he was beyond confused. “Watch.” She stepped away from him and held her hand out. Without Warren controlling them, his wings reached out for her. She called his name and his wings spread out, fluffing up. “See?” Warren nodded with a frown. “Why are they doing this, they’ve never done this before.” Y/N shrugged, figuring it would be better for him to figure out the reason on his own.

“Let’s just go back to the mansion, I’m sure now that you know they will stop.” Warren nodded and followed her back to the house, glaring at his wing as he curled around her shoulders. Y/N chuckled and gently stroked his wing. Once in the house, Y/N went to her room to shower and Warren went to his to try and get control of his wings.

They next morning Warren still hadn’t figured out why his wings reacted to Y/N so he decided it would be best to avoid her. He hated to do it but it seemed like the only time he had control over his wings is when she’s out of sight and mind. Avoiding Y/N also meant avoiding their friends. Just the mention of her name set his wings off, so he need to keep away from them knowing that they will use her name just to get his wings to spread.  

It had worked for a few days but then his wings started acting up again. Except now they did what they could to make him take flight. Twice he had nearly flown in class. He was excused from his afternoon classes just so he could get some control of his wings.

“Ok, what the fuck is wrong with both of you!” He glanced at his wings which were puffing up their feathers. “Seriously, calm the fuck down! I’m starting to think I was better off without you!” He got up and went to the bathroom. He hoped a shower would calm him and his wings down.

When he got out he tried to lay on his bed and take a nap but his wings kept fluffing up and spreading. “Enough already!” He sat up. “Do want her? Is that it? Do you want to be around her? Fine! But I swear if you misbehave we are coming back and going to bed!” He felt like an idiot yelling at his wings like they were children. Throwing on a pair of sweats he left his room and walked to Y/N’s. His wings shaking with happiness.

Y/N was sitting on her bed doing her homework. She had been thinking about asking Warren for help with her math. He’d never admit it but he was really good with math. But the winged boy had been avoiding her. She understood of course but it didn’t hurt any less.

She was thinking of going to confront him when there was a loud banging at her door. There was only one person who knocked like that. Getting up she opened her door. “What do you... ” She was cut off by a wing wrapping around her. “What did I say?” Warren glared till his wing folded against his back again.

“They won’t let me sleep! I think they miss you or some shit!” Warren walked into Y/N’s room, when she opened the door wider for him. Once he was inside she closed the door and turned to face him. She reached out to stroke his wings. “I guess they like me more than you.” She tried to joke but he scoffed. “They’re my wings! Stop that!” He yelled at his wing as it fluffed it’s feathers for Y/N.

“Just tell why they react to you!” He looked so tired and completely done with his wings. “Oh for fuck’s sake Warren! You can’t be that dim.” She cut his reply off by pressing her lips to his, smiling when his wings wrapped around her body at the same time his arms did.

“Ok I think… Never mind!” Peter had opened her door to tell Y/N that he figured out what was wrong with Warren’s wings. He had expected the girl to be studying not to be kissing Warren. As he closed the door and walked away he whispered, “I got it wrong.”  Warren and Y/N chuckled at Peter and his poor timing.

“Get it now?” Y/N looked up at Warren. “I think you need to tell me again.” He smirked before reconnecting their lips. His arms and wings tightening around Y/N, bringing her closer. “But no, seriously. What are my wings doing?” Warren still didn’t quite get it. Sure he know realized he liked Y/N but why would his wings act up for that.

“Peacocking Warren, they were showing off for you, except they kept doing it at bad times in the wrong places.” Warren couldn’t help the dark blush that coated his cheeks. “They never done that before.” He couldn’t remember a single time they had acted this way around women. “Well, from what Jean showed me, you usually showed off to get attention. This time you didn’t even realize you wanted my attention, so your wings did it for you.”

It made sense. Warren had realized he had some kind of feelings for Y/N when she had been cleaning his wings after a cat attacked them. She was so gentle and careful, cleaning each feather. Making sure she wasn’t rough or pulling on them. She transferred to his class the next day so she could walk with him and keep the cat from attacking him again. But he figured she just saw him as a friend so he ignored his feelings, he didn’t understand them anyway. He’d never felt that way before. It was after that his wings started acting up.

“Well, what do you think? Have my wings won you over?” He wanted to smack himself. That was so dumb. “What can I say? Your wings had me when they smacked Magneto in the face the first time.” She smiled at him before kissing him softly on the lips. This time Warren had full control of his wings when they spread out. Not his fault they were long enough to turn off her light.  

Tag List:

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#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington the third #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #mrsniallhoran505 works

[untitledpseudonym]

The Director’s Cut

“ANNNNND CUT” 

A loud click and a gruff voice smelling of smuggled cigars and bourbon fills the set of director Randy McCullahan’s horror film studio. 

He steps out of his director’s chair, setting aside his glass of Eagle Rare, and starts walking

 to his star. She is currently laying on the ground of the kitchen dining room set, and covered in latex intestines and scarlet red theatrical blood.  

“What is it now, Mick?” the beautiful raven actor says, raising her hands up in confusion. Randy ignores her briefly to acknowledge his 7 ft star looming over the annoyed, fakely mutilated actress. 

“Chet, just wanna say, you’re doing a great job. Really embodying the killer vibe. Make sure you go back to makeup artists to get your mask refitted, it really seems to be slipping off.” Chet looks at the director, emotionlessly, his Ice blue eyes making it’s way past the thin film that covers the eye holes of his goat mask, piercing the director, and walks away towards the makeup crew.

“Heh, truly a method actor.” he says

“Uh, hello!” says the annoyed, actress. Randy sighs, displeasingly. 

“Ah, yes of course. You.” He says pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Whaddya mean me?!” she says standing up. Letting the fake guts and blood spill and drip of her. “That’s just it, Eve! It’s you! You’re not truly terrified. Your performance all day has been absolutely dreadful! You have shown no emotion in your death scene in 60 takes! We’ve burnt through 2 and a half hours of valuable film time just because you choose not to act! Like what am I even paying you for?!” Randy says yelling at her. Eve puts her hands on her hips. “I have given you my all for the entirety of this production! I talked to the other producers and crewmates and they all agree I've done the scene right the first 15 takes AT LEAST!” She spits back. Randy looks back at the crewmates and back at her. “Is that right?” he asks softly. Eve crosses her arms. “That’s right.” 

Randy nods and walks over to his director’s chair, softly repeating to himself: “uh-huh, that’s right, huh? Uh-huh, that’s right, huh? Uh-huh, that’s right, huh?” over and over until he gets to his chair and grabs the half drunk glass of Eagle Rare, and launches it, gently grazing the ear of the once righteous, now fearful actress. “This is my fucking set!” Randy bellows. “My fucking production! We will film until you all say your lines in sleep fucking paralysis! I don’t give a fuck how right you think it is, bitch! As long as i’m paying for your shit, you will deliver! Let me reiterate for all of you, since according to your ring leader Eve, you all support her claims.” Randy reaches under his directors chair and pulls out a M1911 pistol and fires off two bullets into the studio warehouses ceiling. Everyone shouts and ducks,some flee the set, clearly afraid of the director’s rant. “AS LONG AS IM PAYING FOR YOUR SHIT, YOU WILL FUCKING DELIVER!.” Randy shots above the petrified chaos he has commenced. He glances over at the terrified faces of his cast and crew and notices chet in the distance standing looking at him, fearlessly. Randy points his gun over at Chet. “See! True fucking actor right there, EVE! Take note.” Randy glances down at his watch and back at the terrified film cast. “Well, Chet earned you all the right to take five. See you all on set soon.” Randy waltzes off the set, but not before giving eve a death stare. 

“I fucking hate that creep.” Eve said to her friend Caroline, who was laying across from her on the italian leather couch.  “Eh, you get used to it. I mean, hell, I’ve been placed damn near every one of his casts and it’s basically the same song and dance. No matter how hard you try, he will make you repeat takes, Over and over again. You do the same things and he gets the same result. Personally, I think he does it until he gets tired.” She says looking at her. “Don’t let it get to you.” 

“That’s the thing Caroline, it does get to me. Everything was the complete opposite since my first day shooting. He was vibrant, likable even, but now he somehow managed to turn not only himself, but the entire cast and crew against me. You’re legit the ONLY one who will talk to me.” Caroline blinks twice and yawns. “Well, I’m not talking to you. I’m your fucking dog, you fool.” Caroline says.

“Oh.” Eve says. 

“As the designated therapy dog for everyone in Randy's movies, I’m used to having to listen to my master’s bullshit, over and over again. In the end though, it’s the same result. Always.”

“...What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” Eve said, focusing on removing her makeup in the mirror. 

“Oh, haha. Very hilarious. Maybe I should give Kevin Hart a call and tell him he has some new competition.” 

“Oh, Puh-Lease, shouldn’t you be sniffing your asshole or something?” 

“Well maybe you should--” 

A loud knock banged on the trailer door. A deep gruff voice spoke. “Eve Kraken? Are you decent?” the person on the other door said. Another voice spoke a bit more quietly. “Why don’t we just kick that bitches door down. She’s probably busy talking up her next toy for the evening anyways.” Eve gritted her teeth and slammed down the makeup wipes she had in her hand and marched to the door swinging it open with force. It was one of the producers. “Miss Kraken, we need you on set like right now.” Randy stepped in front of the producer. “You stupid fucking bitch.” he said angrily. “You took off your goddamn makeup, didn’t you?” 

“Well you said take five, so I was gonna re apply the makeup for the next scene we are gonna do.” she said, honestly.

“The next scene? The next scene. Davis, you hear her? The next scene. Bitch, We are still on the scene that you can’t fucking get right in the first fucking place.” Randy said sternly through closed teeth and clenched fists. “Just put on your fucking makeup and get your tight ass back on set before I give you two black eyeshadows that will take fucking weeks to get off. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His Rum and Cigar breathe spread out on her face like a wave of pure disgust and hatred. She felt numb. All of his words had invoked a certain fear and rage inside her. This wasn’t just today, you see. This was everyday for Eve. She HATED randy. She FEARED Randy. The check she would receive every week for this treatment, seemed not even worth it. She gulped. “Yes, Randy. I'll be on set in five, please just, five.” Randy gruffed and walked away. The producer shuts the door, before briefly saying “Way to go, retard. Now we’ll all pay.” Once she can hear their footsteps fade away from the trailer, Eve screams. A trail of tears drip down her face as she punches her makeup desk over and over under her hands are bruised and bloodied. A small knife rumbles and tumbles off the desk. And onto the floor, making a slight, but noticeable clunking noise onto her hard wood floors. Eve looks down at it and kneels down at the small blade. 

“Take it.” Eve looks up at Caroline who was now sitting across from her. 

“What?” Eve said.

“Take the fucking knife and kill the fucker.” Caroline said to Eve. 

“Your mouth, it’s moving..” Eve said startled. 

“I know. Get the knife. Now.”

The knife that once sat between the now talking canine and distressed girl was now neatly tucked in Eve’s hand. It’s settled. 

**********************************************************************

“Come in.”

Randy said after three knocks on his office door.  He put down his cigar and pencil, drawing his attention away from his notepad to the disheveled Eve. Her knuckles were bloody and bruised. Her eyes were puffy and red from the tears she shedded. She had a knife in her hand. 

“The fuck are you doing in here. I told you to get your tight ass on set.” 

“Why?” Eve said calmly walking towards his desk. 

“Bitch, why? We have a fucking movie to shoot and you can’t get a fucking simple scene right. That’s why. Now get out of my office.” 

“Why do you act so cold hearted towards me?”

“What? Listen either get out of my office or I will make you get out.”

“Oh I'd like to see you try.” Eve whips around and shuts and locks the door and slams her bruised hands on his desk. 

“Now, tell me now. Before I do something, I am going to regret it.” 

“Bitch I don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” Randy sits up staring her dead in the face. “Now, go back on fucking set or so help me g--” Eve’s hand whips up and send her knife straight under the directors chin, slicing his throat. The adrenaline sends her into a fit of rage and she leaps onto his lap over the desk and continues to stab him repeatedly in the shoulders and head, crying and screaming. “IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU”. Eventually she ceases. Now covered in her tormentor's blood, she cries in his lap. She sniffles and starts to walk towards the door. She knows she’s going to jail. She knows that her life is over. But jail is no comparison to the hell she had to endure from him.  She notices on Randy’s Desk a yellow notepad with her name etched at the top. The color and font of the blue ink pressed on the pad was old and it cried out to the girl, begging her to read it. Eve wiped her hands on Randy’s pants and picked up the notepad and started reading it’s contents:

EVE

The Art of filmmaking doesn’t oftentimes require the effort put forth upon the actors cast and crew. It’s also the director to get their actors to put in their best efforts. Eve was my ultimate test to this new philosophy I created. I didn’t pick her for her acting talent alone, no. I picked her because she grew up well. Two loving parents, upper-middle class lifestyle in Los Angeles, plenty of friends etc. Knowing this and her talent in horror movies, I understand that there may be a grey area when it comes to achieving true fear and paranoia and capturing it on film. So, much rather than encouraging her to undergo method acting, I am going to be doing  a little bit of acting myself. I must belittle, hurt, bully, and cut her down to my best of efforts. She will HATE me. This however will develop a true sense of fear. She will no longer be acting because chet is chasing her character. She will be acting because she will be in fear of me causing more harm to her. This publication will be proof to other directors to follow my footsteps to really push their actors to their limits. I will continually be posting updates on this project of mine during my time filming my horror film. 

Eve covered her mouth in shock. He wasn’t the villain in this story. He just wanted a genuine reaction out of her. To capture a real piece of human terror on film. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know what to do. She teared up as she began to tremble in fear. Her eyes darted back and forth between Randy’s corpse and the Notepad. She just killed a man. The blood was on her hands. There are knocks on the door. Fuck, What should she do. She can’t run. The office is blocked off. They’re calling for Randy. Shit, Shit, SHIT. She’s trapped. This is her first of many cells. Her room to sit in her regret before the mental regret of her actions. The door is barged in and Chet walks in still in his killer costume. He glances over at the body and over at her.

Motionlessly looks at her.

It’s all over for her.

“AAAANNNNNNNNNNND CUT”

“Eve that was fantastic work, your reaction was fucking perfect.” Said the director. 

Eve helped up Randy, who had trouble getting up after she sat on his lap.

“Do we have to do that again, since it was perfect?” Randy said whinyily 

“Unfortunately yes. Over and Over again.”

#Short #Horror #gore #october #inktober #Film #Director #Wattpad #Fear #Psychological horror #short horror stories

[theoddcatlady]

Lost at Sea

9/17

Lucy, you’re gonna be so mad when we’re back, but maybe knowing I’m keeping this daily just for you will make it all better.

Alex was right, I’m actually a natural sailor. Luke’s already ate shit on the deck twice, his face is all banged up because he doesn’t have his sea legs. Better than poor Jake already though. He’s been barfing below deck this whole time. Fucking gross.

But oh man, once the heat dies down at home, we’ll be back, and we’re gonna be so rich. It’ll all be worth it babe. All worth it.

9/18

Same old shit today. Mostly planning on how to spend the money. It’s gonna be sick. I think I wanna buy a house with you. I can’t get you off my mind. Alex is being an ass and telling me that you’re just another girl, but I know you’re more than that. Any girl I hook up with after you will probably be after me for the money, but I know you love me for me. And now I’ll be able to take care of us.

I really like the ocean though, maybe we can get a boat! I’ve been out here for almost a week and I still love it! The air smells nice, I can dive in and swim whenever the fuck I want, and we’ve brought enough supplies to last us months. I would stay out here the rest of my life.

Except I don’t have you. That’d be the one thing I’d change.

9/19

Jake’s still puking. Alex’s worried he’s gonna get dehydrated. But he’s looking a little better today. And Luke’s finally stopped falling over every ten minutes. Still a damn klutz, always will be, but he’s cool. He’s starting to like it out here too.

I’m making a seagull my pet. I just throw this one dude with a funny black mark on his wing my crusts and he’s chill. I had to kick him once or twice when he tried to steal my meal but he’s learning. I’m naming him Pat.

9/20

You will not believe this, babe. I saw a whale!

I was out early this morning checking on everything and deciding if we should try fishing again when I saw its tail flip out of the water. I started screaming so loud everyone thought I’d seen the damn Kraken or something. By the time they got up there though it was gone. I’m so mad that I don’t have my cellphone, Alex made us trash them all.

This thing’s tail fin had to be the same size as my boat. Alex’s told me I’m exaggerating and there ain’t a whale that size but I’m serious! You’d believe me. I hope I can spot some dolphins for you, tell you about it. I know how much you love dolphins.

9/21

Ugh, now I’m seasick.

It’s probably just food poisoning, we’re all agreeing Luke’s not allowed to cook anymore. I’ll be ship cook again once I stop blowing chunks into the wastebasket. Alex’s kept on the radio with a buddy of his. I know you’re probably super confused right now and hurt about what happened, but I promise, it’s not what you think. It must’ve happened after we got out of there. We’re not killers, babe. I promise.

9/22

Nightmares AND sea sickness. Fucking fantastic.

Staying below deck today. Alex’s starting to get a big head. He’s always had one, but it’s only worse cuz he’s the only one out here with sailing experience, so we kinda have to take his word on everything. You know how he is.

Jake’s taken over cooking duties. I can only eat small portions but he’s pretty good. Not as good as me though. I’ll be making pancakes for you when I’m back, with strawberry sauce. Your favorite.

9/23

Hah! Jake saw the whale too!

I stumbled on deck when I heard him start hollering, and I saw its back for just a second before he dived. I’m gonna be smug for the whole day.

Jake’s really spooked though. Keeps saying it’s ‘too big’ for a whale.

A whale. Whales are fucking big. That’s their thing. God he’s an idiot.

Sky’s super dark already and it’s only five. I hope it’s not gonna storm.

9/27

It stormed four whole damn days. I’ve had no time to hit up my journal, I’m glad we’re still alive. I thought the boat was gonna capsize. We stayed afloat though. No one got hurt, well, not too badly. Luke knocked out a tooth during some part of it. He looks super miserable.

It’s all good now though. Really gray out. Really gloomy. I think I saw a dolphin, but I couldn’t be sure. I’m getting real tired of eating canned shit though. It’ll be worth it though. All worth it.

9/28

Shit fuck. Holy shit fuck.

I’m so glad you’re not here babe. You’d be so upset. I saw half of a dolphin. Several, actually. That was all that was left.

I smelled something like pennies or rust and I looked overboard to see it floating up. At first I thought it was a dolphin coming to say hello. But when it surfaced, I screamed and threw up. It must’ve met a shark or something. Its upper half was scratched up and its bottom was just. Gone. There was no tail.

And then a lot more bobbed up. Fins, heads, all bloody and torn up. I sobbed like a bitch, Lucy. Those poor dolphins. Alex told me to man up but I just couldn’t deal. I’m not like him.

RIP Dolphins. There was at least six. I’d pour one out for you, but I can’t waste beer without Luke bitching at me. I think he’s drank more beer than water at this point.

9/29

Woke up last night to Jake screaming again. He saw the whale again. But this time he’s swearing up and down it’s not a damn whale. He was just going up to take a leak when he saw its shape below the boat. Apparently it’s long and has trailing fins. He’s scared shitless. Almost stole the lifeboat to start paddling home and to turn himself in.

Alex punched him so hard that I think he went crosseyed for a bit. I mean, I can’t blame him. If Jake turns himself in we’re all fucked. The cops will come for us and we’ll all get thrown in jail for something that Alex did.

Still probably shouldn’t have hit Jake so hard though. Like. Damn. That had to hurt.

9/30

I miss you so much Lucy. I thought I heard you singing when I was trying to get to sleep. It was so nice to hear it. Then I woke up and realized I was imagining things. God, I’d almost take prison if that means I could at least have you visit me sometimes.

But I gotta wait it out. When I get back with my cut of the cash, and the jewels, and the gold, you’ll never have to work at that stupid diner ever again. We’ll be able to raise our baby with nothing to worry about.

I found the pregnancy test. That’s why I agreed to help Alex in the first place. I might give you this journal and hide in the other room. It’ll be worth it. I can’t wait to be a daddy to a mini Lucy or a mini Blake. Maybe we won’t take them sailing for a few years though.

Maybe. Even if the weather’s still shit.

10/1

The radio’s broken. Someone took a hammer or something to it. It’s smashed to pieces.

Alex was screaming, I was screaming, we ALL were screaming. Then Alex turned his rage on Jake, asking if this was his idea of a joke. Jake’s swearing it wasn’t him. Luke is too. Sure as hell know it wasn’t me. But that’s it.

We gotta head back. We need that damn radio. It’ll take maybe another week, as long as we don’t get lost. I’m praying we don’t get lost.

10/2

Again with the singing in my dreams. I’m really homesick.

Alex’s not sleeping. I think he’s worried about making it back. But we know we’re on the right course. We gotta be. We just gotta be.

Jake’s been kicked to the deck, he’s no longer allowed below since the radio was broken. Alex is sure it was him. I brought Jake up his shit when he tried to point fingers at Alex, but I know it couldn’t have been him. He’s the one always manning the damn thing.

10/3

That isn’t a whale. It isn’t a whale. I don’t know what the fuck it is. But it’s not a whale.

We all saw it this time. Jake’s miserable after sleeping above deck, I don’t think he slept at all. Eating lunch, tastes like garbage. I hate it. We all hate it. I want something with flavor, if I brought it up Luke would bitch at me though.

Then its head surfaced.

I heard the water and I looked to see its smooth head breach the surface. It’s smooth, like a dolphin, but green, dark green. Its three pairs of eyes looked at me, right at me. They’re bright yellow. I couldn’t move. If it wanted to eat me at that moment, I’d be lunch.

Then it went below the water and disappeared.

After it really hit us what we saw, we panicked.

Luke pissed himself, I could see the stain on his shorts. Jake began to babble nonsense and Alex bolted to the wheel. We were tearing out of there so fast I don’t think any Satan water snake could keep up.

Jake’s still sleeping on the deck. Alex refuses to let him down. I keep telling him that we gotta let him up, god knows if we’ll see that damn THING again, but he won’t. Luke’s being a fucking pussy and siding with Alex. I’d sleep up there with Jake… but I guess I’m a bit of a pussy myself.

10/4

Jake’s gone.

We didn’t hear anything. The lifeboat’s gone. So are a lot of the supplies. Luke’s rationing out everything to stretch it out longer, but we’re mostly worried about water. That’s what’s gonna be a bitch to make last.

I’m so pissed. I’m fucking scared. Alex is super quiet. Luke’s jumpy as hell. I’m just. I want to see your face again Lucy. More than anything.

10/5

We killed the Ortega couple.

I thought we were just gonna scare them a bit. That’s why the guns, and the hammers, that’s why. When Alex broke Mr. Ortega’s hand, I told him to knock it off and get the shit downstairs.

When Jake and I were down at the truck with the final load Luke and Alex shot them. So many times. I lost count of how many gunshots I heard by the time I got upstairs. Mr. Ortega’s head was fucking paste. Poor Mrs. Ortega was still alive somehow, that old bitch. I know we didn’t like them, they hated us, the poor kids, we made the neighborhood look bad. But god. I didn’t want to kill them.

The look in her eyes was desperate. Scared. Maybe of death, maybe of the pain, but she was scared. So fucking scared.

I think this is how she felt, how I feel right now.

The singing isn’t in my head. It’s in the water.

Luke’s gone up there, just to get a look he said. He’s not coming back. I think I caught a glimpse out the window, of something with hands pressing against the glass. Hands with claws two inches long.

10/10

Alex killed himself. He took the sharp edge of one of the can lids and slit his throat before jumping overboard.

I’m the only one left. But I’m not alone.

The serpent’s circling around the ship. It’s still staring at me. It’s not going to break the boat. It doesn’t have to. It knows what I’m going to do.

Forgive me, Lucy. Forgive me.

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