#his brain telling him he just wanted to get into a fight......where VISIBLY beard did NOT. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin. He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #winter solider smut #definitely not canon #i refuse to believe steve went back in time for some 1940s kitty kat and left his best friend behind #tony and nat are alive bc they are the only truly valuable characters #sebastian stan #also youre the daughter of agent hill #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #winter soldier #wEiNeR sOlDiEr

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filczi · 3 years

Text

IT STARTED WITH A KISS HOW DID WE END UP LIKE THIS.

AN: Before we start. I just want to quickly mention that this is my first story since 2019. It’s not perfect in any way - grammatically and stylistically - English is not my first language. I truly attempted my best to make it look good for a “reader's” eye so many times I honestly can’t look at this story anymore. I’m a perfectionist who spends hours crying fat tears over this while trying to edit it.

PLEASE LIKE & ENJOY < 3 send me a lil message what you think about my first child of many.

WARNING: I never completely watched “Defending Jacob” | age-gap between characters, slight 18+ content.you read at your own risk. Both Jacob and the reader are adults in this story. 6,5k words.

Happy early valentines day since I'm v sick at home < 3

He has a wife.

Surprisingly, this is the first thought of realization that your brain decided to process from all the things happening around you. The second your feet cross over the threshold of the most intimate looking living room that you ever had the chance to be inside. It feels like a fresh whiff of air or a train coming your way with all force - knocking out of you any sense of brain maturity you previously held.

The moment your eyes settle on him. He’s there. The head of the house. Just like you heard Jacob calling him playfully while you spend late evenings together, drinking instead of studying for upcoming exams. Always managing to comfort one another by telling outrageous family stories which happened over the weekend you’d spend apart with your own families.

Standing all the way back in the kitchen area, cornered by some individuals in important attire, engrossed in a vivid conversation that required a lot of hand gesticulations and insulting words. Unfazed statue of an attractive man whose beauty cannot be surpassed by anything you’d seen in this world. Propped against the edge of the kitchen counter behind him, nursing a bottle of what seems to be a beer in one of his hands, while he calmly observes the scene in front of him with a stoic expression.

You blink a couple of times, just making sure of the conviction you made that this man looks like he rather belongs in a movie scene or on the cover of the magazine not in depressing Newton, Massachusetts.

“Honey, come here for a moment. Jacob bought a guest.”

A lovely, nice wife.

You subconsciously add when the mature woman moved into your point of view, effectively making you lose your train of thought, you can still hear your best friend’s moans after his mom's affectionate attention.

“I’m Laurie, sweetheart.” she quickly introduces herself before her hands develop you in a tight welcoming hug, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laurie is a beautiful neat-looking woman, whose eyes spark with uncontrollable joy that Jacob already told you so much about, including the ways he could always make her forgive him for everything he managed to break as a child - or not. She’s giving you the idea of a perfect mother example, that kind of woman you’d like to become one day when you think about your own family, the one who always held her head high, no matter the obstacle she’s about to face on her way. The one giving warmth and light towards the family fire. That gives the warmest hugs of them all and cheeks so bright and sparkling as if she smiles like this all day.

“Mum’s a huger,” Jacob shrugged his shoulders at the look you gave him when his mother disappeared the second after promising to fetch something delicious for you after the long journey you both went through.

“And that's your--” you quickly pointed your head into the exterior of the house, trying to discretely indicate the place Jacob’s father was occupying. Not refusing yourself to cast another glance at the visionary man whose identity was still somewhat unknown, or you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it.

Please, don’t be his father...

“Head of the house,” Jacob jokes again, gently swaying on his feet visibly getting annoyed at something. He furrows his brows for a second before addressing you again “you know, lawyers never sleep, there’s always a cause worth fighting for.”

You nod your head in silent understanding, knowing how much Jacob went through when he was younger and how much his entire family paid for that.

“I’m going to be such a dick now, but I really have to pee,” Jacob complained under his breath before throwing a longing glance towards the stairs leading to the first floor of the house. You guessed that’s where the bathroom is. "mom will be back in a second and she’s going to show you the guest bedroom, just sit and ignore the legal gibberish coming from the kitchen.”

“But--” you instantly panicked. “please, don’t leave me here alone.”

“Relax, you’ll be fine here. He’s not going to eat you, he doesn’t even know someone else besides his friends is home that’s how into work he usually is.”

Sending you a reassuring look, your best friend quite literally rushed through the hall and up the stairs as if he was on fire.

It’s weird to finally be in the house you heard so much about from Jacob's stories. Where you can see everything by your own eyes, the place your best friend grew up in and had his first memories from - home.

“Girlfriend?” It seems like you can't breathe, as you hear a deep masculine voice at the side of your ear completely throwing you out of your thoughts,

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re my son’s girlfriend? It's your time to smile now, gently tipping your head back you let bubbles of amusement fill you,

“No, we’re friends. I thought Jacob told you, Mr. Barber that-��

“Andy.” the tall male corrected you instantly,

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s okay to call me Andy. I don’t care,” the broad man shrugged his shoulders at you.

You feel like your head is in the cloud and your ears are stuffed with cotton wool.

He has a wife,

“Alright.” You try to clear your throat before speaking again. “I thought Jacob told you-- his parents that he’s bringing a friend for a weekend.”

“Ah nice there, trying to avoid calling me by my name, I’ll give it to you.”

You didn’t even know you could flush crimson so easily, before you met Mr. Barber, or rather Andy no other men made you feel like this.

He was even more magnificent from up close as if it’s even achievable. Every detail of his face looked like it was fractured by God himself, who certainly put a lot of work into making such a masterpiece a living human being. Casting a shy glance at his pretty face, coated with a few days overgrowth beard that looked almost too scandalous to carry, to the way his broad shoulders moved with every breath he took, stretching the dress shirt he was currently wearing like painting on the canvas. Wide and big forearms looking like a superhuman in every definition of the word possible, to the way his hands spread, including the color of his creamy skin peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his white crispy shirt, and fingers...

God, his fingers.

Thick digits wrapped each by each around the same bottle of the beer you have seen him holding during the second you stepped your foot into his house. Ceremonially holding the neck of the bottle as if it's the prices thing in his possession right now.

“You know how boys are” the man in front of you shook his head before you realized.

“I’m so sorry I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Y/N”

The chuckle that seeped out of Andy’s chest could have you on your knees if he wasn’t your best friend’s father in any type. He shook his head at you, eyes squinting in hidden adoration as he took a step back before placing the already forgotten and empty bottle on some random shelf with pictures and materials on it.

“Alright little girl, have it your way then, I’m Andy Barber, so nice to meet the only female friend my son has,” there’s this certain nip in the tone of his voice that makes you believe you just discovered something new about your best friend’s father no-one else your age possibly had before.

You bit onto your tongue the second his hand developed around yours completely taking you off the guard, warmth scattered across your entire body, almost letting you let a mewl out of your own the second his skin tasted yours. Fingers wrapped across yours like it's a beautiful lover's symphony, and maybe you just imagined the way the surface of his fingers brushed delicately across the bone of your knuckles for a few times before he squeezed your hand again - successfully knocking the air out of your lungs this time.

He has a wife.

Your subconscious warns you urgently, striving to immediately destroy the idea of any incidents happening shortly before they even have the chance to push any roots into your brain, as you feel your head shutting out on you, you feel completely dumb the moment you finally got the chance to stand face to face with your best friend father.

He called me a little girl not even two seconds ago.

“I can show you the guest bedroom if you’d like to.”

You send a glance towards the expanse of the kitchen again, where a lot of mature men fought nevertheless with one another. It was hard to understand what everything was about as in the middle of common English terms law language appeared that you knew nothing about.

“Aren’t you working?” you asked sheepishly, nodding towards the group of a man with a lot of papers in their hands, “Jacob said you do that a lot--”

“So you talk about me with my son huh?” there’s that cheeky smile of his again.

“I-no.” you shake your head before squirming at the intensity of his gaze on you. “he was just talking about how hardworking you are Mr--Andy.”

Andy hums under his breath, giving you the idea that he’s definitely thinking about what you said before smiling under his breath for one insane second before coming back to being all serious again. He breaths out quietly, brushing the side of his beard with one of his hands before setting on a scowl on his beautiful features.

“I’m going to show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

“But Mr. Barber, you don’t have to I don’t want to cause any trouble, you’re working.”

“Y/N, stop being a brat and come with me I'm not taking no for an answer, Laurie is already picking groceries from the store to make you nice filling dinner before bed so c’mon.”

“I thought your wife was just---”

Andy snickered under his breath before giving you a hand ahead giving you a silent sign to walk up the stairs ahead of him.

He wanted you to lead?

“That’s how Laurie is, you can’t expect anything from this woman.”

Turns out the guest bedroom you were supposed to spend a few of the next weeks in was nowhere near ready for anyone’s arrival. It looked a little bit neglected but nothing you couldn’t cope with. You insisted Mr. Barber that you can change the sheets of the bed yourself, and try to tidy up a little here and there but the man of the house insisted on helping you with everything you could have encountered on your way.

Firstly, you never expected him to change the bed sheet for you since you were completely capable of doing it yourself, but you couldn’t complain since you got the chance to see the way his muscles work underneath the dress shirt he was probably wearing all day already that looked a little bit maintained. but you couldn’t complain about the view for sure.

“Why are you looking at me like this?” he asked you since the only noise of the room was the ruffled sheets in his hands,

“Well.” you swayed shamelessly at the tops of your heels, not understanding why but being alone with him made you drop your shyness, “It’s nice to see a man knowing his way with things.”

The silence in this room was almost unendurable.

Did I fuck up?

“I know my way with things, yes.” he nodded his head in confirmation to your words.

“I live alone with my dad and I just can’t bear to look how much he despises to do it.”

He narrows his eyes at you in silent question,

“Changing the sheets I mean,” you laugh wholeheartedly at him before continuing “since I can remember it was my mom’s duty.”

“So now, you’re expected to do it for the rest of your life?” he rose his sharp eyebrow at you.

“I mean yeah I guess, it's not that hard,”

“But if you had a boyfriend or husband you’d do it for just as your mom did it for your father?”

“I wouldn’t mind my future husband to do it from time to time,” you mumbled under your breath, not being sure why imagining a man kindly similar to the man in front of you.

Andy hummed in understanding before throwing you the already prepared pillows.

"When a man is capable of doing household chores, he is also fully capable of taking care of you in any situation you want him to," Andy stated before pushing the corners of the bed sheet into the rightful position on the mattress.

“Take it as advice from a married man,” he grants you with a quick wink before finally moving away from your temporary bed.

Secondly. You wouldn't expect the sheets to smell a little musky and rather too expensive to be a laundry detergent from the grocery store down the street.

The subtle yet overpowering scent that wasn't belonging to your best friend rooted into your brain but still, that didn't stop you from nuzzling into the comfortable fabric right after Mr. Andy left your bedroom a while later, before muttering:

“Dinner will be probably ready in two hours or so, take your time settling in. My bedroom is down the hall across the bathroom, Jacob’s room first door from the staircase, you got it sweetheart?” and when you let out an almost visible nod he left you with a little praise.

He called you a good girl.

It’s the delicious smell of food that manages to wake you up from your slumber. Abruptly pushing yourself up, making sure to correct the glasses that are falling from the bone of your nose to a straight position before glancing back at the screen and sighing in defeat at the lack of words you wrote for the past two days.

You thought about pushing some of your assignments and finishing them earlier before you and Jacob focus on the main paper that takes the most of the year credit. Your stomach grumbled, demanding to be properly fed, making you wince at the emptiness you felt before actually deciding on closing the barely started document - maybe, a good portion of food and an even better night of full sleep made everything better. You still had time to turn it up, you just had to make the best of it first,

Gently closing the lid of her laptop and throwing the device onto the plush covers of your temporary bed, that seemed to cry out for you whenever you looked back at it. Seeing all the velvet sheets and fuzzy pillows scattered across the mattress that smelled almost heavenly...

Stumbling through the threshold of the living room, as the delicious aroma of freshly prepared food completely overthrown your senses and stomach grumbled in need again as you see the prepared and decorated kitchen table,

You'd rarely used to eat properly since the day you moved out of your house. It’s a nice sight to see when there are no left-over packages of pizza or overused glasses of alcohol from when your dad used to have a little too much on Friday nights.

There are four pieces of dinnerware set on the table and you’re not even sure how Jacob's parents were in possession of such things since family dinner wasn’t a normal thing for them.

Scrunching your eyes at the scene in front of you as if the overly decorated table burned your eyes you stepped past it and towards the kitchen,

“Hope you don’t mind--” You hear the voice from the other side of the kitchen, looking into the direction from the voice of your roommate comes in you the half-part of your friend sticking out of the cabinet, still looking for something to prepare. “It’s spaghetti night.”

“Hmm, fancy.” you joke under your breath as Jacob's head extends from the hidden place to look at you. “where’s your mom I thought she was the head of kitchen space?” you responded before scooping some drained pasta from the bowl right beside the sink before the Chef noticed.

Eyes wondering over the prepared food as the dark-haired boy moved to season his special version of tomato sauce,

“Stop picking,” he grumbled before taking a ragged breath in, “they've had a fight again, and now dad left somewhere I don’t know if he’s going to attend dinner.”

“Oh I'm sorry, I thought your parents... you know... I love your mom. They look like a happy family.”

Jacob immediately snickered under his breath before pushing the wooden spoon mindlessly onto the counter. “Mom and dad are currently in separation, this whole family gathering was made for you so you’d think we’re a normal family.”

Your stomach churned uncomfortably, and this time you weren't sure if it’s because you’re still hungry.

“Jacob I’m so sorry--” you whispered quietly, thoughts neglecting you for your individual family issues or what was left from it, “If you want we can go back--fuck, I can drive back--”

Jacob's eyes narrowed curiously at something behind you before he shook his head and spoke again, “can you put it on the table?”

The intense clutter of feet makes your eyes twitch and you’re definitely trying to be on your best behavior and stay as quiet as it’s only possible as the loud ramble goes off in the corridor and right after the front door snap shut behind him and the voices go through every single corner of the spacious house, you know it’s already over for you. Because there he is - tall, with his figure a little bit more taken care of since the last time you’d seen him, looking a little bit more like a husband, with his hair styled in a way that suits him a little more than you’d expect as his head lacks those fuzzy curls you remembered so well from few houses before.

He definitely took a shower,

Pushing your bottom lip out quietly studying him from your place at the table,

With Jacob's mom immediately switching into the “host” mode, still trying to keep up the appearance of the perfect family, ushering Mr. Andy inside the living room, urging him to finally sit down at the table and devour delicious dinner.

He’s nice and polite, you note from the first minute of the genuine conversation with his wife? hold with him, as he seems to be listening to every word that leaves his lips and joking around with your best friend trying to ease on the nervous atmosphere because he knows it too - how tense the situation around the table changed.

Does he know that Jacob told you everything?

“Mr. Barber” you acknowledged him when he finally took the place at the table, with a big smile on his face he took the place to sit right beside you – what are the fucking odds. You thought to yourself. dressed up nice, in a stripe button-up shirt, with a few top buttons free, as you notice the black jeans that seem to fit his figure incredibly well - too well for your liking.

That little smirk at the corners of his mouth makes your eyes twitch with annoyance in such an easy way to make you annoyed already. His green eyes are observing you and he's fully taking his time to run his eyes all over the top of your figure, noticing a fitting white top, that suddenly felt too tight on you.

Throughout dinner, he never backed down his look towards you, and the worst part of it, you could feel the burden and heat of his eyes against the profile of your face during the entire feast, completely losing the rest of your appetite not even halfway through the dinner, and now aimlessly played up with your fork and the pasta rolled up onto the cutlery before pushing it back against the plate.

Perching your head up with the help of your hand you listened to the excited conversation that was held against the table, only to let it out the second after through the other ear.

Mr. Andy pushed his legs to the side of his chair, his front coming towards your side as his long forearms dropped over the side of your chair. You're not sure if he did it on purpose but from time to time you could feel the pads of his fingers brushing through the baby hairs on your neck, the locks you had formed every time you skipped a hair day and just decided to keep them up to stop bothering you as you took your nap. And every time the knuckle of his hand touched something of yours the sudden shiver rushed through your body making you squirm in your seat and ultimately lost the last attempts of gaining back the courage to finish dinner,

Then, there’s a sudden and completely unexpected question making you completely freeze in your spot. “So, how're the studies going Y/N?”

You're immediately thrown out of your thoughts at the sound of Mrs. Barber's voice, then the sudden silence appeared and you knew everyone was listening and looking at you right now. Cringing to yourself in your mind, you perched yourself more comfortably on your chair, keeping in mind to keep your back straight and not lean against the back of it.

“Pretty good” your voice came out more croaky as you'd want to, gently couching down the bile formed in your throat, you pushed your plate out of the way, to reach for the half-empty glass of red wine.

Before taking a small sip, “lot's of assignments” you shrugged your shoulders yearning for the red nectar. You'd hope it's gonna help you find the sleep you need and new power for the morning to start finished the pointless papers for your professor.

“Y/N has been working day and night on her term papers, she wants to be on top of her class grade.”

From the side of your eye, you could see a movement on your right side before Mr.Barber leaned a little bit forward in his seat as if trying to do it “unintentionally”

“So, you’re an ambitious girl huh?” The heat of his breath and the tone of his voice makes your posture stiffen like a new repaired spring, he murmured it in such a way as if he was talking to his lover right before going down to devour the last bits of her, his hand perched itself on the edge of your seat, gently gripping onto the white decorating pillows Mrs. Barber spends a fortune on because in her option they perfectly matched with the curtains in the living room, the heat of his hand that’s coming onto the side of your legs makes you instantly push it away in a jerking motion, away from the sudden and completely unexpected heat.

“You could say that” you whispered back to him, not even taking your mouth out of your wine glass, lips gently brushing over the bitter liquid when he openly laughed, his chest brushing against your sleeveless arm making you lean away from him but before that Andy innocently threw his arms across yours and shoved you against the heat of his chest trying to make it look as if both of you are just joking around like good old friends you’re definitely shouldn’t be.

He tuts under his breath, “I love to push your buttons, you're so easy to work up, It's almost funny.” before his fingers ghosted over the side of your collarbones as if he was taking in what's in front of him, taking his time to memorize every aspect of her with his eyes.

Biting your tongue to the point where it could bleed when Mrs. Barber looks at you with such a smile you’re not even sure what you’re supposed to do.

“What's wrong? You're not hungry?”

Oh, I am. But the dish I want was not offered in the menu.

“No, everything is fine I just have to use the bathroom really quick, if you excuse me.” You quickly stood up from your place,

“Remember that you’re cleaning after dinner,” Jacob called out after you before he proposed another glass of wine for his mother awaiting glass.

“Jacob! Y/N is our guest, don’t treat--”

“It’s completely fine Mrs.Barber, it’s a tradition of ours” you waved her hand in the air before letting him know that you still remember their deal before you muster one last glance towards the dark-haired man, who’s still looking at you with a slight grin on his gorgeous face.

Your fingers are tightly gripping onto the edges of white porcelain sink as the cold droplets of waters cover her skin in different directions you’re gazing at her reflection in the mirror, with a scowl because of how stupid you could he be to let him get under your skin already on the first night.

You hear the dinner is still lasting as its best as the sudden and happy cheers reflects through the exterior of the walls and you can’t help but feel your heart tings a little because you know how much you could give to spend time with your own father. You considered yourself a bad friend, Jacob was the opposite, the bubbly exterior of her friend sometimes coming off on her but she preferred a silent house, silent night in, with a bag of chips and glass of wine at her lap and maybe if the landlord of their apartment building would let them, she would have a cat by her side too.

The sudden knock at the wooden material of the door has your head spinning, you’re not sure if you want to talk with Jacob. You knew you promised to be on your best behavior but knowing that Andy is constantly playing with you just for his humor is making your blood boil – you’re letting him do this all because of how off guard he caught you.

“It's taken” you called out grumpily, pushing the material of the towel against your face to rains it from the water but the knocking didn't stop there.

“What the fuck?” you grumbled again, irritation coming out of you in waves, “do you seriously can't hold it for two more minutes?” you tugged at the door handle with such a force and swing the doors open only to see someone you least expected.

“Do you mind?” you asked sarcastically, noticing the hold he still had on the white exterior, his palm was big, she took notice about his fingers, wide and they probably hold a lot of power in them.

Not that you cared.

“Laurie told Jacob to check up on you since you're taking so long--” he aimlessly told her, standing in the exterior of the room completely blocking the lights from the corridor

“How nice of you,” you mustered with a sweet fake smile to form on your lips, noticing how much he hated when you did that, his jaw immediately ticked, with a vein coming out at the side of his throat and his teeth tensed together.

“Stop being such a brat.”

You shockingly rose your eyebrows at him. “Excuse me? Repeat that?” You dared.

Andy chuckled under his breath, fingers pushing against the door to open them even wider before he moved his feet a little forward coming into the room with you, his eyes narrowing and face coming dangerously close.

The dark dimension of his green eyes made your stomach churn with something you couldn’t even name. This guy was making you so confused.

“You heard me.” he grumbled, voice low and gratingly with something else, “you're acting like a fucking brat.” he spats out the last words as her back got shoved against the bathroom wall, right beside the towel cabinet.

Your mouth opened in shock.

“How dare you run your mouth on me,” you growled out, fingers coming to tip onto his chest, aimlessly pointing at the bare skin. “your wife and son are downstairs and you already have the audacity to---”

Andy shook his head, fingers shifting onto her forearms to turn her back flat against the wall before taking a step ahead, his chest completely flush against yours as your breathing quickened due to his proximity. “Shut up--” he ordered and to her surprise you instantly did.

He immediately picked her behavior up, “Hmm-” his nose skimmed the side of her jaw and she could swear her toes curled when his cologne overwhelmed her senses. “just as I've said. Good girl.”

You could swear to God, your heartbeat was about to rip out of your chest, and it was almost embarrassing. You were sure Andy could hear it beating due to how close she was.

Your mouth opened in a sudden urge to let out a puff of air when his tongue skimmed out of his lips to taste the sweetness of your skin. The gentleness and skill he operated with had your brain turning into mush,

“M' sorry.” he whispered into the hollow of your neck, taking a deep breath of you “couldn't help myself with you.” and then his tongue runs against the stripe of your throat towards your jaw, and you could swear that your legs are giving out under the weight of them.

“Oh my god--” you’re almost squealing to yourself when the rough palms of his hands push against her shoulder blades you’re able to feel every part of him on yourself, or maybe every part of you on him, it's like you got turned into one. The hotness that’s building inside and in every place his hands keep touching.

“Mr.Barber--- what are you--” and then you’re gasping, as his teeth grasp onto the edge of your lips pulling the flesh back only to completely get lost into the feeling of the plump sweetness of your taste. You let him in, eagerly waiting for his tongue to battle with yours in soft dominance, as his hands wander over her whole. They knead every flesh on his way, he's taking everything you have in offer for him. igniting inside of her the fire she never knew she possessed.

“It’s Andy, doll.”

Breathless – both of you – as he lets you take a time to breathe, fingers skimming along the side of your calloused cheekbones,pads of his fingers tracing the reddened skin of your lips and he can't help but smile when he observes your chest moving in need for air and eyes wild and ready for everything.

“Please.” neither of you were expecting the word to come out your mouth, it shocks you but it's there, let out into the silence of the bathroom. You don't want to take it but and you damn hope he won't turn away from you.

“What my doll wants, hmm?” Andy muttered under his nose, you had to take a second to rethink what he said was even real and it wasn't a figment of your imagination, “you want daddy to touch you? You’re going to be my good girl?” he cooed calmly, before letting his hands drop from your body, leaving you cold and needy.

What?

He's sending you one last look, his mouth quirks in humor when he notices how displeased and angry you can be in a second. Before he turns away from you and heads right towards the door.

You act before you think, and there’s something inside of you that is screaming at you by doing such a thing but your hands grip his massive arm in panic, tugging him back to face you again. His eyebrows rising in silent question before you take courage to mutter

“Please.” you’re whining like a lost puppy, gently carding his hand in yours and tugging him back to your previous position. As your eyes continue to shine with need.

Andy’s furrows his brows for a moment, head-turning, and if you didn't know him before that way, you’d say he looks like a damn cute, confused puppy. “You want daddy’s fingers?”

Biting the corner of your lips your not even sure if you’re able to say it out loud, You love how rough he looks now, giving you a different side of his physique you never gets a chance to see before. You’re wriggling under his stare, not feeling comfortable at all. The silver wedding band on his fingers is tempting you, you can’t help but imagine how would it feel inside of you, how the whole idea of getting a married man to touch you entice you.

A few hours ago you absolutely treated him like your best friend's father and now you’re willing to push even further? Were you ready to look at him from a different angle? Are you ready to risk years of friendship over a married man?

You swallowed quietly as Andy still looked at you expecting the answer, his knuckles gently grazing over the naked skin on her arm, turning it downwards to til he touched outside of her wrists making her brain turn into a mush.

“You know what---fuck you,” you grumbled annoyed, finally coming back into your senses but that's not what Andy was expecting. You hurried away from him, making sure to keep a distance in between both of you before looking him straight in the eyes, a silent challenge for him to take. “don't you ever touch me again,” you scowled before pushing a finger into his direction, trying to threaten him enough

He pushed the air out of his lungs painfully slow, too slow for her liking because you had a feeling something was building inside that he was about to let out on her. “You were doing so good--” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and turning his back to you and marching towards the door, and when you thought he's about to leave you observed the way his palm pushed against them making sure they're closed before his fingers cleverly turned the lock closed with a sudden click

Your stomach immediately churned in excitement you didn't even know you should feel the moment he leaned his broad shoulders against them. Crossing his large arms across his chest he spends a good second just observing you from when he stood.

“Acting like the brat you are,” he clicked his tongue at you, and arrogant behavior coming out immediately, he acted like a boy whenever he didn't get what he wanted, and you got the first example of it. “since the first minute you-” he shook his head as if his memories of their unsuccessful first meeting flowed his memory

“Maybe you should make up your fucking mind--” you then threw your hands up annoyingly, “calling me a good girl only to change it to brat the second later. Is that some kind of kink of yours?”

Andy chuckled under his breath, his eyes squinting in hidden adoration for you before his entire posture changed immediately.

“Better watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed at her, “because I'm sure you won't like the consequences.”

You narrow your eyes at him subconsciously screaming at yourself to bit onto your tongue before speaking but it’s too late, your change of posture challenges him, you see it in the way he curses under his breath before all you see is him charging upon you.

Fingers digging into your jeans, as you gasp in shock the second you feel your jeans loosening on your body, the stoic expression of the man in front of you is enough for you to fumble with your tongue, knowing in the back of your mind the apology words you know but it’s too late. Thick digit, you feel it coming down the front of your pants, marching through the material of your panties without not even a fumble, you feel his skin on your skin playing with your fold and you swear your knees are giving up on you the second he finds his right place in between your legs - you look down on him, mouth opened in shock by the sudden situation, his entire fist pulled down inside your pants making it as his job to destroy you.

“Oh my Go--” you squeal as a warm finger push into the right place between your folds, sliding in without harm as you close your eyes in embarrassment at how wet you are for him.

Andy’s breath palms upon your face, he’s thrusting his body onto yours gently muttering sweet sugar-coated praises toward you but all you can hear is the blood that finally reaches your ears.

“Please don’t make me come for the first time in your wife’s bathroom” you whine through the pleasure that’s completely taking over your senses. You’d still plead to him, hands grabbing onto the one that’s been working on your pussy with such a precision you feel like crumbling out into a creme in his home bathroom. While he supports his entire body weight on the tiles behind your curled up from bliss body.

Andy just chuckles into your hair, granting you with a quick kiss to your sweaty forehead before circling his finger harder onto your clit, just as a loud moan escapes your lips. Andy tugs his fingers out of your pussy, your entire body is tingling, stomach churned into much when he holds your entire weight before you can tumble to the ground.

And then within a blink of her eyes, he sends her one last look as if saying “it's not over” and turns around again catching a glance over the worked up muscles on his back moving with every step of his silhouette when he yanks the door open and marches down the corridor as if nothing had happened.

It takes you some time to understand what's happening, as the place falls into complete tranquility but the sparkles in the air, are telling you that nothing you’d seen and heard tonight was imagined – even when you really want to believe it.

Hearing the pad of his heavy feet stops against the wooden floor before his voice tells and assure your best friend and his wife that everything is alright with you.

But was it? Now when you think about it, that you have to spend the rest of the weekend break with the guy who’s your best friend's father who just fingered you for a few minutes with you in his own bathroom.

And it was only beginning.

The wrong never felt so right.

an2: send me a lil’ message what u think of this < 3

Jacob, after finding out his best friend is fucking his father:

#chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #andy barber smut #andy barber one shot #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers one shot #filczi #it started with a kiss series #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill smut

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hyunjilicious · 4 years

Text

3:11am [captain syverson]

Summary: you’re just an army medic so in order to have your voice heard you need to go straight to the captain with your ideas, right? And what better way to do it, if not at 3:11am in his room? (SMUT) 4.3k

Warnings: daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, Sy is a little bit of ass, dirty talk, manhandling, a tad bit of humiliation/degradation.. :) I didn’t go too far.

Feedback makes my day! Maybe tell me what you thought? Please? :)

Danger loomed at every corner. And you couldn't have been oblivious to it. Every one was either panicked or enraged, both emotions driven by the ongoing terror forced upon your group as you have been caught in the crossfire. The conflict you found yourselves stuck in was generations old, and the fact that you had hidden eyes, watching your moves from every shadow, was as unsettling as it could be.

You crossed the camp on high alert, even if those were supposed to be safe grounds. Laughter was audible from the tents nearby, yet the fear never left your bones. Palms cold but still damp with nervous sweat, you counted the steps you had to take until you reached your destination. Ever since you left your designated bunk, you've been picturing the stairs that led down to Captain Syverson room, and now they were mere meters in front of you, but you still felt like you couldn't breathe.

Even when you reached the door, you still couldn't swallow the lump in your throat. And the fact that it was unlocked, made you all the more nervous.

You didn't want to knock. The lights were all off, and you were afraid the sound would draw unnecessary attention. So, going against your gut, you slowly pushed the door open, cautiously stepping inside.

Dead silence.

Only a pair of red glowing numbers were visible in the thick darkness, showing you just how late and unacceptable it was for you to be there. 3:11 am. Not only should you have been asleep for hours, but you were also pretty sure that if you were to be awake, the bunk was the place where you should be counting the sheep until you dozed off.

From memory, you turned to the left, picturing inside your mind where the door that led to the hallway was supposed to be. You probably managed to get about two steps in before, from the suffocating darkness to your left, a loud clattering noise was heard, before a pair of strong arms restrained you.

Only a gasp managed to escape your lips before your mouth was forced shut by a hand, aggressively making it impossible for you to make any sound. Realising kicking and squirming in this person's hold would be of absolutely no use, you raised your left leg in the air, gathering momentum for a strategic hit. But the blow was never delivered.

"Shh!!!"

Despite threatening and capable of making anybody's blood run cold, that southern accent was impossible to mistake.

"Don't fucking move" he said again.

With your brain soaked in adrenaline, obeying his command sounded near impossible. You fidgeted against his rock hard chest, and all it did for you was get him to tighten his hold.

"I don't know if your eyes got accustomed to the dark yet" captain Syverson said through gritted teeth, "But at about 2 o'clock, MacGregor is sleeping. If you wake him up, we're both dead"

You swallowed the information with difficulty, but it relaxed you to some extent. However, despite calming down and not showing any signs of wanting to put up a fight anymore, Sy didn't let you go.

Instead, with high precision, he dragged you through the darkness, and across the room, right where you were initially planning to go. Clutching the hand that was still roughly pressing down against your lips, you stumbled obediently in every direction he dragged you to. When you reached a plain black door, he opened it with maximal caution, and pushed you inside, before turning around to close it in the same silent manner.

You stumbled a few steps forward before regaining your balance as your knees have probably never been weaker. Struggling to catch your breath, you saw Sy turn and face you, the coldest of death stares plastered on his blue eyes.

"The fuck you doin' here, hm?" he growled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I-" you said, squinting in the neon light of the tiny room, "I have an idea for the crew, it's-"

"Don't fucking care what idea you got, darlin'" he shook his head, taking another step in your direction, "Do you even know what time it is?"

"Late" you sighed, stating the obvious.

"Damn right it's late" he nodded, "What I wanna know now is why you were stupid enough to sneak all the way over here, when you know-"

"No one saw me, Sy" you exclaimed.

A grin tilted the corner of his lips upwards, "I fucking saw you"

"Yeah but-" you stopped to frown as confusion hit you, "How did you see me?"

"Listen here, little girl" he taunted, each word more threatening as he started to close the distance that was keeping you apart, "You're a doctor, not a soldier, fixing our shit is none of your business. Two, you don't report to me-" he said, nodding his head to the side, "And three, I'm sure no idea was too urgent that you couldn't wait until the morning"

Calling you out like that was completely unnecessary. You had been lying to yourself, claiming the reason for your late night visit was purely selfless, however when you heard the words come out of his mouth, you realised just how strongly you had been bulshitting yourself.

"Fine-" you huffed with annoyance, getting ready to walk past him, "You want me to leave? I'll leave"

"Nuh-uh" he shook his head, grabbing you by the forearm. He didn't move any other muscle of his body and continued talking without turning to look at you, "You're a smart woman, tell me why you're really here"

"Because I wanna help!" you rolled your eyes - a lie you almost believed yourself.

"Try again, doll" he commanded, tightening his grip. The fact that you felt a bruise already forming riled you up, but it wasn't enough to get you to cooperate in the way he wanted you to.

Once you realised what he was waiting to hear, you shook your head in disbelief, "You got no class!"

After spitting the anger filled words in his direction, you tried to free your arm, and walk away, but he wasn't having it.

"Well-" Sy took a deep breath, harshly spinning you around and slamming you face first against his desk, "If you had any, you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

Knees weak under his heavy presence, you gathered all your strength into your arms, planting your palms against the metal surface of the desk in order to push yourself up.

All it took him to cancel your intentions was an effortless shove against your upper back. He got you back down in under a second with a loud thud, but this time he bent down too, towering above you.

"Now that you saw your antics don't work with me-" he growled directly into your ear, his thick beard tickling the skin of your neck. Sy lodged his hand into your hair, curling his fingers around your roots and forcing your head back, "Mind telling me why you're really here? We can do this until the morning, I ain't tired"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you huffed through gritted teeth.

"What? Seeing you squirming under me with absolutely no say in what's about to happen to that sweet little pussy of yours? Yes, very much so"

"Fuck you"

"Isn't that why you came here?" Sy taunted.

He grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Try again"

This time, he didn't pull your hair anymore, and the sting you expected to reach your scalp never came. However, he bucked his hips into yours, pressing your body even harder against the desk. With every time and every way his body brushed against yours, the pain between your legs grew stronger and stronger. But still, you didn't want to word your need, instead just settled for milking every last drop of this unexpected turn of events. About 15 minutes before, when you had just left your room, you weren't sure you would even get to talk to him, let alone end up in this situation. Under him. His cock shamelessly pressing up against your ass, as every word that came out of his mouth only managed to make you crave him more.

"Are gonna tell me, hm?" he moaned into your ear, the weight of his body on top of yours becoming difficult to bear. "Or am I gonna have to force the words out of you?"

The way he talked, honey sweet yet goosebumps worthy, his tone managed to crack your self control. Against your better judgement, you breathed out slowly, the pleasure in the back of your throat materialising into the softest of whimpers.

"Oh" Sy grinned, his right hand groping its way down your body, "Can't hide it anymore, can you?"

If until now you did a fairly bad job at hiding your true emotions, when he grabbed a handful of your ass, his fingers threatening to leave purple bruises, you dropped the facade all together.

"Fuck" you moaned, forehead pressed against the desk as you arched your body back, harder against his palm.

"That's my girl" he laughed.

Much to your dismay, after his deep amused tone reached your ears, he pulled away. Upset at the sudden loss of contact, you choked back a whine, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

Even with the lights turned on, he was facing away from the source, so that soft shadows contoured his features perfectly. His eyes hooded with greed looked down at you, and as soon as he saw the hungry expression on your face, his lips curled into a devious smile. "No, sweetheart. Face the wall", he said, nodding his head.

Reluctantly, you did so. Delectable anticipation washed over you when his calloused hands grabbed your waist. It was only for a minute, though. He roughly pulled you back until your hips passed the edge of the desk. You didn't get a chance to put two and two together before Sy forced your pants open, and pulled them down your legs, along with your underwear in under a moment.

Flushed with embarrassment at the full, sudden exposure, you clamped your thighs together.

Without a word, he lodged his boot between your feet, forcing your legs open. "This could've been avoided" he stated, "But I don't think you wanted that. I think you wanted the slut fucked out of you"

"Come on…" you pleaded, lodging your teeth deep into your bottom lip.

Your entire body fired up when his bare fingers connected to your opening. He moved agonisingly slow, teasing his way along your lips, intentionally applying the perfect amount of pressure to have you crying for more.

"You know you're gonna have to do so much fucking better than that, don't you?" Sy chuckled, dipping his fingers into your wetness. "I know you can beg."

"Fucking hell-" you cried, squirming under his influence, "Please"

"No, baby. Tell me, use your words. I wanna hear you tell me how to fuck you. And don't bother holding back 'cause you know I won't"

"Come on, Sy-" you whined, trying your best to grind down against his fingers, "You know I want- I want you-"

A rough slap that echoed around the room attacked your ass, delightful pain propagating in waves across your whole body. You let out a tortured yelp, but it wasn't enough to impress.

"You already made a mess on my fingers. You're dripping wet, love. Why try to hide just how big of a slut you are?"

"I'm a slut-" you panted, breathing heavily through every word, "I'm a slut, please, I need you"

Another blow. This time, his palm landed on already inflamed skin, doubling the pain that fueled your pleasure.

"Need me to what, baby girl?"

"I need you to fuck me" you whimpered, tears running down your cheeks. Digging your nails into the underside of the edge of his desk, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to concentrate around the ecstasy he had running through your veins. "I need your cock, Sy, please. I fucking need you really bad right now, please. I'll do anything you want"

"All you need to do, pet, is learn your place" Syverson said, greedily caressing your ass. "Did you come here just to get that cunt used?"

"Yes" you nodded, not even remembering that in the beginning, you really did have something important to talk to him about. "Yes, I only wanted your cock. Please fuck me, I promise I'll be good forever"

"My good slut forever?" he questioned, the perverted enthusiasm audible in his tone.

As he spoke, Sy slid his middle finger inside your pussy. "Is that all you want, whore? To be my property?"

"Yeah…"

"You want me to own you?" he taunted, sliding another finger into your pussy, just for the sake of pushing your buttons, "Want me to use your whore body for my pleasure whenever I feel like it?"

A rush of electricity coursed through you.

"That's all I want, Sy" you whispered.

"Are you sure, baby girl?" he taunted, bending down.

His immense frame hovered above your shivering body, his haunting presence enough to get you drunk on the ecstasy of what was to come.

You swallowed thickly, pained tears stinging your eyes. Cupping his cheek over your shoulder, your words came out as a ghostly whisper, "Please-" you breathed out, "I need you now, Sy. I wanted you since I met you back home, you know that. Please, I can't wait any longer"

His daunting chuckle sent shivers all over your body. He pushed himself off of you, but his breath still tickled the back of your neck. It was enough for you to know that you were to remain in place and wait for his next move.

"Of course you can wait, angel" he said, moments before the metallic clank of his belt being unbuckled fueled your senses, "You're lucky I don't want you to"

You released a weak chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief at the way he managed to carry the situation. Your shoulders were dangerously tense as you waited. For anything. For him to say or do something, but he forced you to sit and boil in anticipation. But the build-up was worth the frustration, as when you felt his touch against your pussy, adrenaline started to pump through your veins.

"You know how long I thought about fucking you like this?" Sy asked.

It was then that you realised it wasn't his finger probing your folds, but the tip of his cock. Slick and solid against your pussy, he expertly teased all your right spots.

"You flaunt this fucking tight ass all day long, panting in the heat, sweat dripping down your tits-" Sy exclaimed, his need and hunger for you audible through every word, "and now you're telling me-"

He paused to bend down above you, hands planted on the desk on either side of your shoulders as he spoke lewdly in your ear, "And now you're telling me I got you naked and whimperin', beggin' me to empty my balls inside your pussy?"

Refusing to use your words, you settled for a better answer - the only answer your dazed mind was able to give. Arching your back as you moaned his name, you pushed your ass back, his massive cock inching inside your pussy.

Syverson grunted, low and guttural, pleasure erupting from the depths of his throat. Goosebumps arose across your body.

"Fuck me, Sy-" you cried, your voice breathy and seductive, "Rough me up, come on"

And he did. You managed to push all his buttons and get him to lose the self control he tries so hard to put on display. He did an excellent job, judging by how hard his cock was when he slammed his hips into yours. Your walls spread beyond what you ever thought would be pleasurable, yet he had you crying out his name as your eyes rolled back.

His immense hands held your hips with damaging force, planting bruises all of your skin. Not that you had any choice, but you let yourself go limp, and allowed him to manhandle your frame to his will. With ever powerful thrusts of his body against yours, the desk underneath you rocked, slamming into the wall, making a sound loud and obnoxious enough to awake just about anyone who was sleeping there.

But you didn't care. And neither did Sy.

The only thing you had on your mind was the killed ecstasy he fucked into you, his cock slamming balls deep into your aching pussy. You rolled your head, whined and dug your nails into your palms, in what was probably the most pathetic attempt to keep yourself grounded.

Syverson wasn't far behind. His breathing aggravated, turned into guttural groans that made the hairs on your body stand up.

"Fucking hell" he cursed, his fingers sinking deeper into your flesh as he picked up his pace, "FUCK"

You moaned, a wave of pleasure coursing through you, "Harder please"

Those words went against all your senses, against the pain you felt between your legs, the strain on your back or the lack of air in your lungs. But you wanted more. Needed more.

With one long, hard thrust, Sy pushed his cock all the way inside your pussy, his balls pressing against your clit, "Wouldn't wanna break you, little girl"

The teasing side of you awoke. You pushed yourself up and threw your hair back so that you could turn and look at him over your shoulder, "You couldn't if you tried"

His whole frame darkened. Not just the look in his eyes. He now seemed taller, more dangerous and menacing as your words tickled his lust. Syverson shook his head, and in one swift motion, lodged his hand in your hair pulling you all the way up with your back against his chest.

"I don't want you talking to me like that," he groaned.

If you hadn't felt his cock twitch, fear would have definitely enveloped you.

"You're in no place to undermine me, ok?" he growled, voice deep, ringing against your ear, "You're so small and powerless. It's fucking clear I call the shots. Be a good little girl and don't piss me off" he threatened, his free hand wrapping itself around your neck.

"Or what?" you whispered.

"You're a soldier, right?" Sy laughed, "Wouldn't it be a shame if for a few days you wouldn't be able to walk straight. Or sit down?"

You swallowed thickly, his words turning you own even more as your pussy clenched around his cock just thinking about it, "Sounds more like an offer than a punishment"

Sy took his sweet time answering. Before he opened his mouth to speak, his hand traveled down your body, all the way over to your clit, where he began to apply pressure in the form of experienced, delicate circles.

You whimpered in return and only then did he answer. "Turns out you're a bigger slut than I thought, but don't think it will take me long to have you crying and begging"

You nodded yes. He never asked any kind of question, so you had no idea why you responded that way, you just did, and Sy took it as his cue to resume his work.

This time, he held you against his body. With each thrust, the tip of his cock applied more and more pressure to your sweet and overly sensitive spots, braiding pain into the pleasure he created for you.

But it was what you wanted. How you wanted it. Because it was a matter of time until he had you moaning and crying, expressing the pure ecstasy that was surging through your body. You were approaching your high at such a dangerous speed that the strain in your back was no longer of importance, and the force with which Sy pulled at the roots of your hair, wasn't even passing the threshold of discomfort anymore.

All your thoughts had been flooded by his breathing, low and guttural, against your temple. The simple fact that his pleasure was audible in his tone, aggravated your arousal. You've never in your life been so eager to please someone. But now, you were beaming proudly, your stomach in knots.

You came soon after that. The orgasm came down crushing on you, blurring your thoughts completely. Your muscles spammed uncontrollably, and the cries that escaped your lips were sure to wake up everyone in the compound. But neither you, nor Sy cared.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you panted, seconds before your eyes rolled back in pleasure, your body remaining weak and consumed in his hold.

"Come on, darling" Sy chuckled, readjusting his hold around your body, pressing you even harder against his chest, "Daddy's gotta finish too. Otherwise we did this for nothing"

"Yes" you moaned.

The way he forced his cock in and out of your sensitive and overly-used cunt brought tears to your eyes. You knew he was close when he slowed down his pace, now his thrusts becoming deeper and less regulated. Each slam of his hips into yours rocked your whole frame, until your toes barely reached the ground. Sy held you up into his massive arms, guiding and handling your body to fit his needs perfectly.

And it fucking worked because in a matter of seconds, he lost control, aggressively riding his high until there was no amount of cum to be released. When he pulled out, panting and exhausted, he moved to the side, planting his hands on the edge of the desk to catch his breath.

Determined to not piss him off anymore, you gathered yourself much faster than him, ready to dress yourself back up and bolt.

"What are you doing?" Sy asked, looking at you over his shoulder with confusion in his eyes.

"I'm- uh, I was gonna-" you mumbled, pointing to the door but he stopped you.

"Hop on" he said.

He pointed to the desk, and although unsure, you did as he told you. You barely managed to stay awake while he was in the small bathroom attached to his room, but when he returned and placed a damp washcloth between your legs, your mind buzzed awake.

"I hurt you" he said, massaging your thighs as he softly cleaned you up, "I got-"

"No, it's fine" you stopped him, "I'm just exhausted and probably very sore, god, but I'm good"

Sy just nodded, something obviously still bothering him. But he didn’t say anything, and instead, proceeded to clean you up, ending with a gentle kiss against your sensitive opening.

You hissed unconsciously, but then ended up smiling widely, amused with your own reactions. Sy helped you off the desk and guided you to his bed, his hand on your ass as you leaned into his side for support.

“It hurts, right?”

“I’m just sore, it’s fine” you tried to dismiss his concerns, but he wasn’t having it.

Sy grabbed your face into his hands and forced you to look into his eyes, “It’s gotta, darling, you understand that”

You shook your head, smiling, but he wasn’t waiting for your approval.

“Come on” he said, guiding you to lay down, “We have about 2 hours of sleep left, and god knows, you’re gonna need them”

“Fuck yes” you sighed, plopping down next to him.

Although every fiber of your body begged for closeness, you stopped yourself, afraid to not cross any lines. But, much to your surprise, Syverson didn’t waste a second before pulling you into his arms and tucking your head in the crook of his neck. It gave you a sense of security you never felt before in your life - the way his heart beat against your skin. He fell asleep with his arms fastened around your frame, tightening his hold every time you tried to move.

It was just a matter of seconds until you both drifted off. Considering your whereabouts and the circumstances you’ve lived though, it was safe to say this was probably the best night’s sleep you had gotten in months. That was why, when you were pulled awake by him getting ready around the room, you were so disappointed.

“Is it 6 already?” you mumbled, rolling over only to land face first into his pillow.

“Go back to sleep, darling,” Sy said, fastening his belt, “Got some paperwork to do. I’ll cover for you and then I’ll come back with coffee in about 2 hours or so, how’s that sound, hm?”

“Mmm” you moaned, “Perfect”

The last thing you heard was Sy chuckling at himself, and then, you fell back asleep. You had no idea how much time passed until a loud, redundant noise woke you up. It took you about a few seconds to realise what it actually was that you were hearing.

“Y/n?” a grave male voice echoed from behind the door, “You in there?”

After that, he knocked a few times more, before starting to repeatedly slam his fist into the door.

“It’s open, what the fuck-” you groaned, not even standing up from the bed.

Instantly, the door flew open, Sgm. MacGregor bursting into the room, features ablaze with pure anger.

Your face fell.

“Sergeant, I-” you tried to speak, hurrying to find a way to explain what exactly it was that you were doing naked, in a room other than yours, when in fact you should have already been on post for god knows how many hours.

“Don’t even wanna hear it” he groaned, waving towards you, “This is about Captain Syverson”

“What-?” you muttered, “What happ-”

“Shot” he said bluntly, “3 times. You need to move. Now”

#captain syverson #captain syverson imagine #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #captain syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fics #henry cavill writing #herny cavill x you #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

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whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing.

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so.

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well.

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location.

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes.

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing.

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea.

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

#nightwing #my fic #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood

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its-my-little-dumpster-fire · 3 years

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Let it Burn ( t w e n t y n i n e )

Billy Russo x Reader, 6.7k

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one, just that it's been a long time coming and I'm equal parts excited and terrified of being this close to the end. So if even one person asks for a nice interlude, I'll friggin do it, because there aren't many sweet moments left. Not that there are any in this chapter? idk. You decide.

Warnings: Death. Talks of death. Violence. Poorly written fight sequences (I'm sorry @the-blind-assassin-12).

Summary: Billy's past comes knocking and you're thrown head first into a future you weren't expecting.

“I’ll get the car,” Matt volunteered the second your little group exited the bar. He was quick to turn away, leaving you with Noah and Libby on the sidewalk. The air thrummed around you with bass tones from leaking out onto the street. Combined with the alcohol in your system, you felt warm despite the chill in the air. Noah had his arm looped around Libby, holding her close and holding her up as her head lulled sleepily into his shoulder. Her hand stuck out, blindly grasping at the air behind her until you caught it in yours and she turned her face to smile. It was good to be with friends. Shocking, how normal it felt to be with people who knew you in college. Libby was there in your dorm room, laughing mercilessly at the sharp tingling in your legs after sprinting through the snow in shorts. A boy at the gym tried asking you out and your eighteen year old brain only came up with the dumbest responses to his flirting, prompting you high tail it out of there before pulling your sweats back on. Matt was there the Thanksgiving after you turned 21, carrying you on his back after too many spiked ciders, when you needed a break. Noah… well thankfully you hadn’t done anything remorseful in front of him that week, a sign you were getting older, but his presence in the group was a welcome one. Even if some days you looked at him and half expected your brother to be in his seat again, rubbing the back of Libby’s neck and calling Matt an asshole for wearing a Tom Brady jersey in public. It struck you that someday soon, these friends would have to move on from you too, keeping you and your brother as memories and nothing more.

Unwilling to let another string of macabre thoughts could kill the lingering comforts of the evening, you glanced up and down the street mindlessly taking in the city you once called home. It certainly wasn’t New York, but it had its own pulse. You couldn’t help wondering if it was the last night you’d ever get there and wanted to soak up every second. In your reverie, you floated away from Noah and Libby, kicking the pavement gently, eyes closed and heart content. Dying girls are allowed to romanticize whatever they want, you reasoned without paying attention where you were standing. It was your own fault that you were nearly knocked over by the broad shoulder of a passerby.

Noah hollered out in your defense, telling the man to watch where he was going, but one look up into familiar black irises told you the “stranger” was watching his step… and yours apparently.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, a smile growing under rounded cheeks and puckered pink lines torn by glass.

You tried and failed to school your features into something slightly less glowy, but your soulmate’s hands were on you, steadying you, just feet from your friends. If you closed your eyes again, it might feel like a normal night out. A double date. Billy propped up against the wall, his arm stretched out over the plastic seating of a diner booth. You next him, stealing french fries off his plate and apologetically kissing his cheek after he slapped your hand away. Noah and Libby would be on the other side of the table, being their own kind of adorable, sharing a milkshake or something like it was the fifties. Oh god, you shivered, imagining Billy Russo in a leather jacket, driving you home after parking over in some poorly lit part of town, where his hand felt completely at home under your sweater.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, squeezing your arms and angling his face away from your friends, so only you could see or hear him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, disappointed your soulmate wasn’t a greaser, but still amazed he made such a brazen attempt to see you before you went home with your friends. “I’m swell.”

Billy chuckled at that, catching the sound in his throat so all that escaped was a huff. He nodded and licked his lips, looking down at the pavement between your shoes. Your eyes were still on his face, darker under the hood he’d pulled up, but you felt the toe of his boot nudge yours affectionately. “Swell, huh.” You nodded. “Alright,” he nodded in the direction of your friends, already releasing you and pushing you back toward them. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Thanks,” you called out, backpedalling until Libby caught your arm again and Noah stared down the stranger like any tough guy should. It wasn’t his fault that he had no idea who he was glaring at. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t linger.

“Russo!” you heard someone yell and immediately your blood ran cold. Libby and Matt were still trying to herd you away from where you’d been so rudely bumped, but you were immovable.

You heard Billy’s hissed ‘shit’ as the man with the thick black beard stalked over from the bar’s entrance. Shit, you repeated in your head, had this guy seen Billy in there and followed him out?

“You got the wrong guy.”

“Nah,” this man shook his head, “I don’t.” A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he approached Billy. “I’d know that fucked up mug anywhere.” He looked your soulmate up and down, all too satisfied with what he found. “Thought I was seeing a goddamn ghost,” he announced, before lowering his voice considerably. “Last I heard, they dragged your ass out of the river…” he scoffed. “Guess not, huh?”

In the presence of a rising conflict, Noah and Libby turned away, tugging you along with them. Your body followed them toward the lit yellow circle under a streetlamp to wait for Matt and the car, but your senses belonged to Billy. Always.

You had to believe that he was armed and clearly more than able to defend himself. Even strolling along the Adriatic, where time moved slower and the locals cared more about their afternoon cappuccino than the scarred face watching the water over your head, Billy had been prepared for the worst. There wasn’t a cell in your body that feared for him in these moments, but the second his name was spoken out loud… there was a new fear. Your life over the last 6 months was not safe anymore, Billy was not safe anymore. Everything you knew up until this point relied on anonymity and that was gone. Your soulmate could survive a street fight, but could he live beyond one where his ability to remain invisible was compromised?

The argument over your shoulder escalated and when you turned back to observe them again, what you found was more startling than a simple scuffle.

Billy was evenly matched and that alone was enough to scare you. He’s Billy Russo. Any conflict that comes his way should be easily snuffed out. He’s been fighting his entire life. First with broken broom handles and the grace of a boy who hadn’t grown into his limbs, but abandonment and terror look a lot like rage against hungry cheeks. No matter how “pretty” he’d been, there was a fight in Billy begging to come out. Surely the fight enticed a young Billy into service. The power, the training, the knowledge that he’d never be a victim again once his fists knew where to strike. With a scope, he could fight without getting his hands dirty. With a Ka-bar… he didn’t seem to mind that either. And you knew first hand that the fight followed Billy home, where his enemies were chosen for him and in exchange, he maintained his power. That Billy shouldn’t have equals, but somehow on this street, an equal had found him.

“They’re all dead,” the man spit then shouted, feet shuffling as he and your soulmate circled each other. “Geno, Todd, Bobby, Moke.” He lunged forward and Billy’s hands came down on his wrist, blocking the blade out in front of him. At first, you hadn’t noticed the black carbon steel in the dark, but when Billy took hold of his wrist in one hand, it was clearly visible under streetlights and gasps skittered through the small crowd gathering outside the bar.

“That’s on them,” Billy ground out, keeping his attacker’s arm straight up over their hands as he went for the knee with his other hand. Off balance, the man was forced onto his back and Libby’s audible gasp pulled your attention at the same time her hands were pulling back on your shoulders. Completely unaware of your own posture, as you stumbled backwards a step, you realized that you’d been moving closer to the fight since it broke.

“You pissed off the Punisher, Russo.” At the mention of Frank Castle, you turned back again, watching Billy’s hand come down on the man’s neck and jaw. You cringed at the way his voice gurgled and strained, but he kept taunting. “Jake’s dead.”

“He’s a fucking tweaker who didn’t know when to quit,” Billy insisted, struggling to dodge a knee to the liver while still pinning his assailant. The knife finally fell from the man’s hand, but neither he nor your soulmate lunged for it as you expected. Two men as deadly as this needn’t concern themselves with a sharp edge when their bodies were well honed weapons. You assumed this man must have been military too, with the pace at which they were anticipating the other’s movements, blocking and striking with disturbingly natural ease. He never would, but a part of you, a very small part, wished Billy would just run.

“Castle wanted you, Billy! Wanted to crush what you started!” Another series of punches that sounded painful. Everytime Billy drew blood, you noticed more of his own, a cut over the eye, redness that would bloom into dark purple before tomorrow. “You were a coward, Russo. Leaving everything you built,” the man was winded and you hoped that meant he’d slow down, but neither of them had that kind of quit in them. Not when face to face with an enemy. “We kept going, we could have run that city! But your buddy Frank Castle wouldn’t sleep until every of the boys was dead. Spunk, Manny, Vincent.” The man spit blood from his red stained teeth as he seethed through the names of fallen comrades. “That psycho went after Jimbo, that dumb kid didn’t stand a chance. I never thought I’d get my chance with Billy Russo…” he laughed, a little manic as that confident veneer he’d worn just a minute ago was broken. “But here we are, Billy. You and me.” He was using Billy’s name frequently and loudly. His eyes were as black as Billy’s and you watched them dart around to the handful of cellphone cameras pointed directly at the scene. The smirk on his face was unsettling and suddenly you knew what was happening. This man didn’t care if he died as long as he took Billy down with him. Billy, observant, but ever the predator was more concerned with eliminating the physical threat than his name going viral. The man wasn’t down for long before sweeping Billy’s leg and rolling away. Knife forgotten and fists flying into every inch of tender flesh, just like they were trained. Behind you, Noah described the scene in alarming detail while on the phone with local dispatch, making sure an officer en route knew exactly where they were needed and everything you were certain of two minutes ago was in jeopardy.

“Borrowed time, remember?” the man seethed, hunched over a heavy breathing Billy Russo who’d just taken a shot to the ear. “It was always gonna end this way.”

Falling from the top bunk and breaking your arm. Graduation. Your parents’ funeral. Your brother and Libby’s wedding. Meeting Billy. Standing outside a building that erupted in flames from the inside. The oncologist sat before you with a sour expression. Waiting for Billy in every new country, wringing your hands as if he might not come. So many life changing moments and yet, they were all a blur. This moment, however, was painfully clear.

You felt the tension in your toes as heeled feet moved toward the fray. The burn in your legs as you squatted after a day standing to accept goodbyes followed by a night of dancing poorly. The knife’s weight in your palm as you adjusted your grip to something that felt more solid. You’d bought cans of soup that were heavier than the blade wrapped in your fingers and that surprised you. No wonder these looked like an extension of Billy’s hand when he wielded them. Despite the relative lightness, you looked awkward holding on to it. Not like Billy. Through the blood rush behind your ears, the heavy throb of your own pulse drowning everything out, Libby’s voice screamed your name. Billy looked shocked, a marvel in itself as it seemed so little could surprise him, to hear your name and his eyes landed on yours, wide, but narrowing as the blade sank into his opponent’s side.

The man wheeled back quickly, his elbow landing hard in your chest and knocking the wind from you. Someone Billy’s height would have doubled over groaning after a shot to the gut, but when you hit the ground, no sounds came out as you tried to call out to Billy. He acted without your cries and while you stared at the ground spinning between your knees, the sound of the fight grew louder, more urgent. As unseen hands guided you back to your feet, your legs shook at the sight of blood splattered on your hands and bare shins. In your struggle, the knife remained in your grasp and the sight of it, shimmering red in moon and street light, made you feel dizzy.

It was Billy to say your name next, loud and strained. When you looked back toward him, he was on his back, thumbs digging into the man’s cheekbones as his head thrashed. The scars on Billy’s face seemed to give way to the veins bulging in his forehead until they were all you could see, evidence of his struggle to take in breath with hands pressing down on his windpipe. The last time you were in this scenario, Billy hadn’t struggled at all. Your attacker was a bum compared to the marine and when your soulmate sliced his fingers clean from his hand, you didn’t even stop to wonder if you’d done the right thing assisting Billy. As if a practiced dance, you approached again with shaky steps, to drop the knife in Billy’s outstretched hand. You watched as a red faced Billy Russo lifted the knife and plunged it directly into the side of the man’s neck. Blood flowed from the artery when Billy removed the blade and struck him again and again. He shoved the man from his body and rose with a face, reddened by blood splatter instead.

The world slowed to a stop as you fell forward and Billy caught you, widening his feet to adjust your body against his so that you both stayed up right. His whispering disappeared into your hair and you heard nothing that was said, until a new voice cut through the night.

“What the hell?!” Matt called your name, wide eyed and confused by the blood covering both you and the man that held you. He’d only been gone a few minutes and everything had gone to shit in his absence. At the sound of sirens just around the block, your eyes flew from your friends back to Billy’s, dark and conspiring as the next few seconds proved most pivotal.

Clutching the front of Billy’s jacket, you jostled him until his eyes fell upon yours. “Don’t you leave me here, Russo,” your head shook desperately, as did your voice. “Don’t.”

Without saying a word, Billy’s jaw tightened and he was off, all but carrying you toward Matt and the car that couldn’t have come at a better or worse moment. Your friend, too noble for his own good, stupidly resisted the man on a mission and Libby shrieked when Billy’s fist landed against Matt’s cheek. He shoved your friend toward the sidewalk where his sister cried and got into the driver’s seat like it was his plan all along. Libby tried to pull you back with them, insisting it was self defense and you didn’t have to run, but one look and she knew.

The second your door shut behind you, Billy pulled away, blessedly unnoticed by the blue lights approaching from the opposite direction. You were shocked when your getaway driver stopped the car after only a few blocks, slipping into an open spot in front of a fire hydrant and stepping out of the car without explanation. He opened your door and pulled you out when you didn’t immediately follow, dropping Matt’s keys in your seat before slamming the door behind you. A half turn over your shoulder and the blue from the responders’ lights bathed the buildings on the corner. You were far too close to be safe, but Billy pressed on, walking so close behind you that his chest moved you forward more than his hands. Around one more corner and it all made sense. There was already a plan in place, a car stowed safely within walking distance of the bar meant to carry Billy away before he was jumped and his identity exposed.

You settled uncomfortably in the front seat of a sedan that -under any other circumstance- would make you laugh to see Billy behind the wheel of it. “We can’t travel like this,” you gestured down to your short dress and blood stained skin. The man next to you made a disgruntled noise, but flipped on the turn signal all the same when you pointed out Libby’s street upcoming.

Billy stood watch at the large front windows, peeking through the curtains suspiciously and giving you commands from the other room. There wasn’t time for you to change clothes, which you hated, but you were allowed 5 minutes to grab whatever you’d need so you shoved what belongings you didn’t have to dig for into a bag, flying from every corner of your guest room. Job’s excitement at seeing you and Billy, together and walking through the front door like you’d been invited rather than pillaging through the flower bed for a false bottomed rock, lasted only the length of the entry before even the dog decided that your frantic packing was too much for him. With your bag slung over one shoulder, you scribbled the quickest apology onto a pad of paper in Libby’s junk drawer, hoping she wouldn’t find it until you were long gone. You trusted she and Matt and Noah to do the right thing, to tell the truth about what they saw. You weren’t sure what to expect of the bachelorette party that watched like a herd of scared sheep, phone out and backs hunched as they gasped and gawked at the death befalling tiny screens. There was time to spare one final glance toward the refrigerator, normal clippings and wedding announcements and grocery lists. Your friends would slide back into their normal lives soon enough. They’d feel the need to mourn again, despite attending your funeral just hours ago, but they’d be forced back into work, obligations, other friendships.

You had no such luxury. There was no normal from here on out. Whatever you thought you’d been running from in Europe was soon to be clawing at your door. It was impossible not to recognize that your journey with Billy so far had been easy compared to what was coming next. He was going to be hunted, while your dying slowed him down, dragged more like. The humble bag of belongings over your shoulder suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and the strap dug into your skin. In your haste to be close to Billy, your desperation to stay with him, you hadn’t stopped to consider what a cruel fate you were damning him to. Libby lit the spark, a guilty smoldering in your chest, thinking about Billy losing you the way your best friend had lost your brother. She was broken and changed, but you couldn’t fathom what Billy would do once you were gone. Torn between wanting to spend every waking second with him until your last and letting him run without you there to complicate his survival, you didn’t notice him moving through the house to find you and hurry you along.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, urging you with his eyebrows and an extended hand, but his other hand was not empty and it amused you more than it should.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seeing the answer for yourself without addressing it. Billy shook his head and furrowed his brows like he didn’t know what he meant. You nodded at his hip, but he ignored the gesture completely, passing Job’s black leather leash from his left to his right hand, and walked out.

“Time’s up,” he announced again without further explanation and the dog behind him was more than pleased to be included. Job had no idea where he was headed or the dangerous circumstances that had brought his two favorite people back to him and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be like Job. You fought back your amusement and nodded solemnly, following Billy and his beast out of your friends’ home, apology tucked into a drawer and bag drawn up over your shoulder. Just before exiting, you stopped at the front door to kick off your heels and slide your bare feet into a pair of Libby’s walking shoes. She wouldn’t miss them and you were in greater need at the moment. This way, you hoped, she’d know you were safe upon entering, even before finding the note with half assed explanations. With the door closed behind you and the hide a key back in its place, Billy loaded Job into the back seat while you settled into the front. It could have been the start of a road trip, if you let it. Man, woman, dog, all piled into a car and headed for the next adventure.

Billy leaned over and you didn’t even try to hide the tears tracking down your face, overcome by the idea that your only normal moments would have to be imagined from now on. Usually one to prefer silence in these complex situations, you were surprised when Billy started to speak. Jose was the man’s name. He’d been involved with Billy’s tiny army, plundering New York City and taking back what they felt was owed to them after sacrificing so much in service. Jose, Billy explained, was the only member of their gang that questioned his decision to leave the game when he did. He didn’t explicitly say it, but her name hung in the air anyways.

“A lot of people died because of me…” Billy continued and you turned to face him in your seat. His eyes were forward, occasionally drifting toward dark mirrors, but never toward you. “Frank… if what Jose said is true… Frankie’s on a fucking spree.”

“Is that any different than before?” you asked honestly. You didn’t know Frank that well, or at all, minus a handful of meetings that always left you feeling nauseous before, during, and after. He was the Punisher, famed for clearing the streets of those that crossed him or his moral compass. Watching the Boondock Saints with your brother was one thing, knowing someone with twice the training and fire power was loose in New York with your soulmate’s name at the top of his list was something else entirely. Billy wasn’t the good guy in this story, you loved him, but your brain hadn’t disintegrated that much yet. Given another opportunity, Frank Castle would end Billy’s life without pause. That wasn’t a fact easily forgotten, or forgotten at all, but knowing that even one person blamed Billy for Frank’s less than judicious behavior was terrifying.

The steering wheel squeaked under the tight flexing of his fingers. You knew him well enough to know that Billy didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, not really. He was smart enough to draw conclusions about how they ended up on Frank Castle’s hit list, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them either. The only thing that worried you was if Billy was looking for a reason to fight Frank one more time, this would be as good a reason as any. You reached over to touch his arm and as awkward as it was to hold onto his elbow when Billy made no moves to reciprocate or accept the touch, you left your hand where it was. Only when Job’s snout shot up from between your seats and bumped the back of his arm did Billy react, dropping his right arm to trap Job’s face between his arm and his ribs. He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time since getting into the car. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but you disregarded the voice in your head that told you not to push him. “You’re not going after him are you?”

Billy’s eyes drifted purposefully back to the road ahead and you expected your question to linger without ever being answered. An unspoken confirmation of your worst fears. “I’ve got other shit to do,” he answered suddenly, releasing Job’s head from its hold and sliding his arm through your hand until your fingers fell in the spaces between his. Billy tightened his hold, fingertips digging into the back of your hand, then let go completely, switching hands to steer with his right. His elbow rested by the window and he cupped his own chin, covering his mouth with his forefinger as if deep in thought.

You. You were the other shit to do. You had to be.

On the one hand, overlooking his choice of phrasing, you were encouraged. He’d planned to keep you around and knew he couldn’t be with you while successfully hunting Frank Castle. That was… nice. In a way. There was a time when Billy’s feud -if you could call it that- with the Punisher took precedence over you and the trust he placed in you. Somewhere over the last year, Billy learned of your importance to him. Of course he didn’t share this as he was discovering it, but the night he held you and forced you to look at the passports he’d secured for you both before blowing Anvil to the ground, he’d laid it out clearly. You meant something to him and without his memories, he had to be sure. Once he was sure, he was all in. Or so he said.

Which made everything else harder. How could Billy Russo be all in when he had no idea what was coming next? A few months in Europe away from the US government and the Punisher, your brain was changing, but that was nothing compared to what he’d have to deal with soon. You and your doctors had discussed end of life expectations, but how much was Billy ready to shoulder. Would he regret his choices when you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore? When you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself? When your throat rattled with every labored breath? When you weren’t sure where you were or who he was? How much of your dying could Billy stand before he took Job for a walk and never came back?

You’d meant to talk to him about it back at the bar- god, could that really have been an hour ago? Hearing Libby’s heartbreak as she talked about losing your brother was too much already. How much worse would it be when the goodbye was drawn out and by the end, he was so sick of caring for you that your departure was more of a relief than a loss?

“Billy, pull over,” you demanded suddenly.

He ignored your warning, but the churning in your stomach wasn’t waiting on your soulmate.

“Billy!”

“We gotta- SHIT!” You felt the car slide over to the shoulder when you lurched forward, hand over your mouth too late as the contents of your stomach emptied through your fingers and onto the thick rubber mat between your stolen shoes. When the car finally stopped, you were quick to exit, heaving twice more before falling backwards. Your butt hit the damp grass and your body slumped into the slope of the ditch until you were flat on your back. Slow breaths pushed whatever was left back down and when you were feeling brave enough to open your eyes again, you focused on a familiar cluster of stars to keep the rest of the galaxy from spinning away. The archer was facing back the way you’d come stumbling, taunting you, daring you to rise and face Billy Russo after throwing up in his getaway car. He could wait a few more breaths. When the sticky sweet scent of alcohol soaked soil wafted up into your nose, you frowned, wiped your wet hand in the grass, and stood, not really ready to face him, but unwilling to lie out in the cold smelling your own sick any longer.

Billy was watching you, one arm bent over the hood while he stood between the door and the driver’s seat. He didn’t strike you as the hold your hair back guy, but seeing him out of the car at all was a surprise. Your embarrassed shuffle back toward the vehicle was met with silence, only the thud of the door closing behind you and the click of your seatbelt broke it. Billy pulled himself back in once you were situated and in a matter of seconds, you were rolling again. The puddle by your feet was even worse than the wet ground you’d left in the ditch and Billy didn’t hesitate to roll every window down. The wind whipping through the front seat did little to cover his scoffing.

“Smells like death.”

“Get used to it,” you murmured back and waited for Billy to reply with something smart. The rebuttal never came, but he sat straight up after it, left fist clenched against his thigh while his right hand kept the car steady. He heard and you knew you’d need to talk to him again, seriously, but the adrenaline was well and truly worn off and the sickness wasn’t exactly invigorating. What a mess. You briefly imagined what Kathleen would say about it all before remembering that your phone was safely tucked into your purse, dropped at Libby’s feet in the middle of the night’s chaos and with it… shit.

“The address,” you said quietly. Billy’s eyes flitted up to the rearview, without responding. “The address you gave me, we can’t go there. Libby has it.”

“I put it in your bra,” Billy stated, already sounding frustrated.

“I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it and…” you gestured vaguely. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were holding it. Maybe when Billy bumped into you on the street? Once the fight broke out, your attention was not on your belongings.

Billy took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head as he dug his own burner out of his back pocket. He nodded to the backseat, “gimme that blue pouch back there.” You turned onto your left hip and opened the duffle he always had with him. Along the front side of the bag, you felt a leathery pouch.

“With the zipper?” Billy hummed and you pulled it out for him. Job whined quietly from the backseat, clearly not pleased that you were rummaging around in his space without even petting him. While Billy had the pouch between his legs, looking for something, you stayed turned toward Job, reaching out to run one of his ears between your fingers. He relaxed again, laying across the bench seat, so you rested the side of your head against your seat to watch him sleep and within seconds, you too were out cold.

Before you knew it, your eyes were flying open at the gentle vibration of the trunk slamming shut behind you. Looking around, it was impossible to tell how long you’d been out. The sky was just as black as it was before, but nothing outside the windows looked familiar and you were definitely in the car alone.

Billy was loading his bags and yours into a gray pick up that was so comically large you weren’t sure his long legs could pull him into the cab, let alone yours. You could make out at least two more men from their silhouettes, black against the glare of the truck’s headlights, exchanging words and something else with Billy before he turned back toward you. Unsure what was happening or who the men were, you waited in your seat for Billy to retrieve you, which soon enough he did. You hadn’t even noticed his jacket draped over your front until he slid it off your chest, placing it back around your shoulders once you were out of the car and standing with him. He didn’t touch you much, didn’t even wait for you before starting his march back toward the truck. You followed awkwardly, dodging the uncomfortable stares from the men he’d just been talking to and helped yourself into the passenger seat with about as much difficulty as you were expecting, especially in a short dress that still had tiny, but pungent vomit splatters on it and needed to be burned. It was probably a faux pas to wear the dress you wore to your own funeral anywhere else and you weren’t worried about missing it. Billy spoke with the men once more, pointing to the car that had gotten you here. The men weren’t interested in the car, stealing glances through the windshield at you. One had the audacity to wink before rolling his neck to smirk at Billy. You watched your soulmate’s face lift in one of his signature snarls before taking a total 180 into a similar sadistic sort of smile. He tilted his head toward the windshield, not even really looking at you before turning back and saying something that made the men roar in laughter. Through the thick glass and over the loud engine, you could hear their response and you were thankful you couldn’t hear what he’d said to be so entertaining. Instead of watching them through the windshield, you turned a bit to look in the backseat. Job was stretched comfortably across the bench, his big block head supported by Billy’s duffel bag, which left his snout right in between your seat and the driver’s. You scratched his head, amazed that the dog seemed to be adapting to this on the run business much easier than you were. He trusted you and he trusted Billy. The details weren’t anything for Job to be concerned with, so he nodded off again without trouble. You could stand to learn a thing or two from the mutt.

By the time Billy was back in the driver’s seat next to you, you had surpassed uncomfortable and settled well into ‘about to throw up’ territory again. The way the mean leered at you was chilling, but the way Billy let them, almost encouraging them, was ultimately what made your insides crawl. His head hit the seat behind him with a thud and he waited until the men, driving the first car away, were completely out of sight, not even the faint red spot of tail lights on the black highway ahead of you.

You had questions. Loads. Who were those men? Where were they going? Whose truck were you in? Where were YOU going? What did Billy say to make them laugh? Were you in danger? Was this always the plan or was Billy really so resourceful to pull off this swap all while you slept next to him?

And yet, none of them came out.

“Billy…” his head lulled to the side, looking at you dutifully without moving any other part of his body. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s huff was clearly annoyed and he straightened immediately, reaching for the gear shift and ignoring you.

“Billy-“

“They were guys from Anvil,” okay one answer. “They’re going ahead to set up a place for us in Buffalo. It’ll take a couple of days, but they got connections to get us across the border. Anything else you need to know?” His stare was hard. Impatient.

You swallowed and nodded. His nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Can we trust them?”

Of all things. That made Billy Russo smile. He licked his lips before answering. “Not at all,” he said, finally shifting into drive. “That’s why we aren’t going to Buffalo.”

The relief you felt at his words was enough to put you right back to sleep, but suddenly you felt wide awake. You even sat up a little straighter, turning a bit in your seat to look at Billy easier. The truck was pointed West, the ugliness of the night left back in Philly. Your poor friends would be left to pick up the pieces of the evening and you suddenly remembered why you’d run off on a grand adventure in the first place. Dying just left so much trouble for the ones left… which reminded you....

“Billy, we still need to talk.”

“I didn’t tell them who you were,” he assured you, derailing your thoughts entirely.

“Who did they think I was?” You asked.

Billy shrugged. “A hooker.”

“And that was believable??” Billy’s annoying smirk said it all, but he took a moment to look you up and down, lifting his eyebrows once his eyes made it back up to yours. “Ugh,” you whined. “Don’t answer that.” You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs as far as it would go. You were still in his jacket, a little black dress that stunk of sweat and booze and vomit, boots that didn’t belong to you. You hadn’t had a good look at your hair or makeup since before Billy fucked you in an office and there was no way your makeup had survived an evening of drinking, dancing, Billy’s rough kisses, manslaughter, and throwing up on the side of the road. The little pull down mirror above your head wasn’t even tempting at this point and Billy’s smug chuckle next to you was bad enough. You shrunk down, wedging yourself firmly between the back of your seat and the door, and Billy glanced over barely containing his amusement.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he teased in that thick accent of his and you glared at him from your little corner, pulling his jacket tighter with your crossed arms. He reached out across the console between you and unfortunately you had nowhere to go. His fingers wrapped around your shoulder and he barely had to tug before you were shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. Billy dipped his hand into the back of his jacket, rubbing your neck as you leaned further in. At his gentle kneading and pulling, you finally relented and let your head fall into his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable angle with the wide center piece between you, but totally worth it when you felt Billy’s lips brush your forehead. “You smell like a 4, but I know you taste like a 8.”

“I’m a 10,” you argued and he laughed above you. His arm was all the way behind your neck now, holding you against him as he maneuvered the giant vehicle with his left hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I dunno about that. How bout we find you a shower and some toothpaste, then I can have another taste, just to be sure.”

You shook your head in complete disbelief. How dizzyingly quick could he switch from hardened criminal on the run to this flirt. Too fast. Hard day behind you and hard conversations ahead, but both forgotten for the time being. The ride was quiet and you were bound to fall back asleep before too long, Job’s snoring behind your head as comforting as Billy’s long fingers rubbing your scalp. Just before consciousness evaded again, you felt Billy turn his face into your hair, mumbling something too low to be understood.You hummed a bit to question it, but were out before hearing him repeat it.

YEAH WE KNOW BILLY. ITS ONLY MOSTLY YOUR FAULT.

Idk how y'all still put up with me and this story. Its too long. You can say it.

General Tags: @something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola @mariaenchanted @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola

Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @stories-you-wont-hear @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23 @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @blackbirddaredevil23

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #jigsaw!billy #jigsaw!billy x reader #billy russo fanfiction #ben barnes character #ben barnes character fic #Job is a good boy #that's actually all that matters here

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 14

Anti's "puppets" take a final stand against him.

Tws for violence, fighting, grief, death, blood, and extreme distress.

Part 14 - Gone

unpredictably-ghostly asked: O-kay, whatever up with Anti can't be good, what's happening? Dapper, do you know what he's doing, have you seen it before? You're all so close to the happy ending you deserve, and we're so proud of you for making it this far, please keep fighting!

Dapper stares up at the corrupted version of himself from the ground, coughing hard, his body exhausted from what little fighting they’ve done so far. He’s hot and his head pounds. He can’t tell if this is real or not. He’s afraid.

“Look at you,” signs the being above him, cold white eyes, pupil-less and uncolored, staring back at him. Strings rope the monster from head to toe, pure white strings wrapped so tight they leave marks behind and drain all blood from his porcelain form. He is so young he may as well be a child, wearing a suit which is choking the air from him. “You really thought you could ever get away from us? From yourself. Psychotic and weak and mute to all the world but Anti, the only one who really knows exactly who you are. Pretending to be Christ’s little lost lamb. You’re just Anti’s murderer. Anti’s smiling, stupid, helpless little murderer.”

Blood fills up the monster’s mouth and comes drizzling down his chin, staining his neat beard. Blood follows from the eyes and ears. Blood coats the hands and drains from beneath the strings. He is coated in it. Those bloodied hands reach down and grab Dapper by the throat, hauling him up to look into those dead white eyes.

“And you always will be.”

He shudders and cries, clinging to the wrist of the amalgamation.

Anonymous asked: None of them belong to you. Let them go or die right here and now. At least lose with dignity, you bastard. Jack never intended for you to win this fight, and you're absolutely right on one thing. None of you can escape the destiny of your story.

“I won’t fall down like this!” Red shouts, even as he feels his heartrate pick up and his skin begin to tingle and hurt, everything too cold and too close and too overwhelming. “They’re right and I finally realized it! You were always meant to lose. You were always the villain in this story!”

“But it took us so long to realize,” answers a voice beside him, somehow both too loud and too quiet, and always entirely unaware of it. He drags his gaze up to the being beside him, sitting in the grass and rocking himself, eyes closed and hands over his ears. A black hood covers his face, but everyone can see the tears running down. He’s thin and his nails are filthy and broken from scraping against chains and locked doors. “So, so long. And we weren’t just passive - we were part of it. We hit them… we yelled and insulted them, dragged them by their hair and their throats. They hated us. They still do. And they’re scared, too, everyone but Blue. If Anti goes away, all of them will get sick of us. We’re so pathetic. No one can take care of us and we can’t take care of ourselves. You were a coward when they needed you, blind and cruel to them!”

Red feels something in his chest begin to shake. He’s sobbing again despite himself, shaking his head.

“Look at you, crying again,” sneers the Anti-Red, gritting its teeth. “You weren’t enough for Anti and you’re not enough for them. You didn’t save them. We drove Max away and he said he loved us exactly as we were! Even now, look at you - writhing in the grass. We have to go back to Anti. Go crawling back and beg he forgives us. If we’re not his attack dog, we’re nothing.”

Anonymous asked: No more, Anti. They won't take this from you anymore. You're right, not a shred of pity left for you. You've abused and used them for years, this isn't betrayal, this is comeuppance. Well deserved, at that.

“I won’t take any more from you,” breathes Blue, trying to hold himself together, digging his fingers into the earth even as the foot crushes against his windpipe. He feels his power moving in his fingers, soothing at the steady earth, where trees and flowers grow, warm and loving. “I am Blue, the witch, the one who takes care of them. I’m not scared of you, Anti. They’re right - this is comeuppance.”

“How noble,” whispers the cold version of himself. Its hair is grown out long and silky, surrounding the eyes like emeralds that glitter at him from a ghostly face. Its ears and throat and fingers are hung with jewelry and it is dressed in a clean blouse and jeans, a fine black boot pressed to Blue’s throat. Its whole body seems to glow, somehow. It is so beautiful it makes his heart throb and his throat tighten painfully. “Now, after you have lost everything and have no way of saving them, you are ready to scream against him. Stop fighting. You lost, Marvin.”

“I’m not - I’m not - ”

“You’re disgusting,” sneers the alternate, drawing its foot away as though repulsed even to touch him. “What an ugly, scarred-up, hollow little bitch you look like. Masculine and emasculated at the same time. You think you’re powerful just because you got your magic back? It was never enough to save us from him, Marvin. We will never be enough. All we can do is care for them when they’re in pain, nursing them through these last few years of their life before Anti gets sick of all of us. Don’t you see? It’s already too late. And now that you’ve chosen to fight back instead of taking care of them like you were told to do - ”

Blue is hoisted up by the throat, choking. He lets out a scream of pain, not for the hand on his neck, but for this - the sight of his family writhing and crying out in the grass, begging someone to make this stop.

“This is all your fault,” whispers his shadow.

Anonymous asked: You think you're going out with a bang when you're going out with an overdrawn tantrum. Enough. You cut corners, so now you get to cut your losses. It's your fault that the loss is literally everything you've built so shoddily.

For a moment, Anti is there, is himself, is visible to you.

He is in the middle of them, something black dripping from his eyes. His face is scrunched up in pain, his form flickering so weakly its hard to distinguish him from the background of the forest. He gazes around himself, panting. One moment he is not-Blue, not-Red, not-Dapper, not-Trick. He leans over himself and spits black gunk into the grass.

“Anti,” comes that same weak voice as he heard before, small and soft.

“Jack,” answers his voice from meters away, glitching and shattered.

“You’re killing yourself. You have to stop. Anti, Anti.”

Trick is in the grass nearby, lying on his side. Nearby, a shadow hovers over him, crying in silence over a dead cat in its arms. The smell of booze sweats from its skin and it shivers in the cold, bandages wrapped around its head and wrists.

“I want this to stop,” whispers the corruption, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Let’s just go back to how we were. We just want to feel loved again. Don’t care what I have to do or who I have to be. We can’t do anything. We’re not the protagonist. We can’t even stop him.”

“Anti,” cries Trick, head pounding. He tries to drag himself to his hands and knees, but the dark image of himself kicks him back to the ground. He hears a faint squeak and shields the little body in his pocket as best he can, struggling to focus, struggling to do anything, just like always. “Please.”

Anti’s eyes flutter shut. He dissipates again, power over-exerted in the corrupted forms he’s manifesting, no longer able to control his own tangibility.

Anonymous asked: There is no shame in how long it took you to realize Jackie. Abusers are good at disguising things, especially if they have the power to give you amnesia and change your brain. You have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, especially not being neurodivergent or being afraid Heroes can be afraid too sometimes. Your brothers loved you as the old Jackie, and they love you now! You are their hero, and everything you've ever done has been to keep them safe. Don't lie down in fear Jackieboy!

Ro closes his eyes, trying to listen to you over the turmoil in his own brain.

“He made me forget,” he agrees. “He - he made me feel fond of him. I tried so hard to love him.”

“And still weren’t enough,” answers the broken version of himself.

“Well, maybe he was the problem!” cries Ro, letting Blue’s fiery warmth soothe against his palms. “Blue loves me even when I breakdown. Max thought I was someone worth spending months searching for. And my brothers forgave me for the things I did because I - I tried to get better. Not like him! I’m not!”

“You still failed them!” shouts his other self, gripping his shoulders. “You’re nobody’s hero! Just a burden to everyone around you! You were supposed to protect them, but you just watched! You let this happen!”

“I have a chance to save them now,” gasps Ro. “Don’t I have to try?”

aether-mae asked: Hey Marv, something I’ve learned recently is that hating yourself or feeling uncomfortable in your body is something that is confined to the moment, and can ease or change with time. Right now you feel this way but slowly with time and patience you can find the things that bring you one step away from those feelings. Think less about your ideal ‘fixed’ self and look more towards how you can make urself comfy in the moment, one step at a time

“There’s no comfort to be had from this,” snarls the Anti-Blue, eyes full of the same derision he’s seen in the mirror for days. “It’s your own fucking skin. No escape. No relief. Or Anti’s skin, more like it. You will never, never be rid of the feeling of him making your flesh his own. Just a fucking puppet.”

“I hate you!” screams Blue, striking his hand against the earth, but the cry, no matter how fierce, only seems to make that dark version of himself more tangible, its form straightening up and becoming less translucent while Blue sinks towards the ground, holding his head.

“You may as well give up.”

“I didn’t always hate myself like this,” sobs Blue. “I want to go back to that. Like they said. I want some comfort.”

“You will never get it.”

Anonymous asked: Don't fall back into his lies JJ! You are already free! Fight it, fight him as hard as he's forced you to fight others! Show him what 'carver' means, Jameson!

“How are we going to fight?” asks the other version, anguished. “Even if we could get away, what then? What will we do? We can’t touch others without being triggered. We’re scared of both open spaces and being locked away. We can talk to hardly anyone and none of our brothers even remember who we are! All we’ve been for years is Anti’s pet in the attic! We’re evil and we deserve to be locked away.”

“I’ve done bad things,” Dapper manages, his hands fumbling and tired. “But I… I don’t want to give up. I do want to fight.”

“As if. You don’t have the strength.”

Anonymous asked: You are not disgusting, Blue, you are not an object either. Don't let this bastard objectify and make you sick any longer. You are more than just caring for them, you are fire as well as flowers! You can be whoever you want as soon as you get away from him. You will be worthy of love and happiness no matter who you are, no matter if it's Blue or Marvin or anyone you wish! You are beauty and danger together as one! Show this bastard who's boss, wonderful magician.

“I’m not disgusting,” whispers Blue, trying to pound it into his head. “I’m not, I’m - I’m not. That’s a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” snarls the other self.

“No, it is,” gasps Blue, determined now. “I know it because that’s the same sort of bullshit Anti would always tell my brothers. That they’re broken, somehow, because they’re different and because they’ve been through shit that hurt them. Well, I - I don’t believe it about them. I won’t believe it about me. I won’t.”

He pulls at his hair, eyes gritted shut. He can’t make himself stop hating the way he looks and feels right now, but he can’t give up either. They need him!

Anonymous asked: You are enough Jackie! Being autistic doesn't make you less than, don't let that ableist bastard warp your thoughts! You're more than enough to protect your brothers, everything you've ever done for them has been an effort to protect and take care of them! You've beat him to ashes before and you're strong enough to do it again, you brave, tremendous hero!

Ro hears Blue’s words faintly from a few meters away. Isn’t this what Blue has told him before? That he’s not less because he’s different or because he breaks down sometimes? If Blue won’t believe it about himself, well - Ro has to try not to believe it about himself either.

“Cause we fight side-by-side!” he cries, striking the earth, and flame bursts against the grass. “I was manipulated for a long time, but I remember what Dap said. I needed time, but I never stopped trying to protect them. And I won’t fucking stop now!”

“No, just surrender!” screams the Anti-Red.

“Why? Huh? Why, cause you don’t think I’m worth it? Cause you don’t think I can handle it?”

“Because we’re afraid!” cries the shadow, grabbing his shoulders. “We’re afraid, I’m afraid!”

Red feels his heart pounding so hard he’s scared he might die. It’s true. He is. Jackie would never be this afraid…

“We’re not Jackie,” sobs the shadow. “We’re just… just… the brokenness that remains.”

Anonymous asked: You are strong enough, Jameson. You are powerful, and wonderful. You can heal if you give yourself time being free! You need to show yourself kindness and fight the words of this asshat. Anyone can heal and work through their triggers with time and therapy, but you can never start healing if you don't get away from him. Remember, you are a strong, capable, powerful man who deserves freedom and happiness.

“I deserve a chance to heal,” his hands whisper.

His eyes are closed. He’s bent over himself as though kneeling.

“I deserve a chance to be free. To be happy. The chance that Anti took from me…”

In his pocket, pictures of times when he was happy, if only for a moment. In his pocket, a torn prayer card. In his pocket, tickets to go back home.

“I’ve come so far,” he signs against his chest, bowed and exhausted. “I’m so tired.”

“If we were healthy, maybe then we could fight,” signs the Carver, grabbing his hair to force him to look at his hands. “But Anti’s ruined us permanently. We’re just ash now, Dapper.”

“Ash to ash,” signs Dapper weakly. “Dust to dust.”

“Don’t parrot Christianity at me like God gives a fuck.”

“I think everybody’s just ash sometimes,” says Dapper, almost dazed. “I… I think we’re all sinners. I’ve done bad things, but I deserve a chance to give back some goodness to the world. I want to be nice. I want to make other people happy. I want a chance to grow old. I have to fight for it.”

But, oh, he’s so tired. Carver’s hands rest on his back. Dapper sinks against the earth, unable to get up.

“You always know what you have to do,” signs Carver, derision in white eyes. “But you never have the strength.”

“No,” protests Dapper softly. “No.”

Anonymous asked: You can find comfort Blue! But comfort starts with learning to love yourself. You need to fight this self hatred, Anti wants you to hate yourself. The biggest spit in his face you can do would be to say "fuck it, I love myself!". You are powerful and magical, The Magnificent. Find freedom first, then we can work up to comfort. Right now, your family needs you to fight this! It wasn't your fault, not in the slightest, but right now you have a chance to fix it, get your family back!

“I can find comfort, I can find comfort.”

Azul is chanting it to himself, trying to get up off the ground.

“I can, I can. I can help them still. I can avenge them and protect them and love them, even through everything that follows. It hurts, I - I’m trying to keep fighting, but I - ”

He glimpses his own body. His filthy hands and his scars. His shirt too big on him and his hairy legs.

He’s on his knees, overwhelmed. Eyes full of tears, he looks over and sees Ro looking back, their misery reflected in each other’s faces.

Anonymous asked: Boys, this is a difficult battle, but remember you're not fighting it alone. All your brothers are here with you, see? You know each other, way better than some glitch bitch does. Draw from that!

Trick is holding Dok’s little body in his hands.

He’s shaking in the grass, consumed by his own thoughts and intrusive desires, desires that never seem to go away no matter how hard he fights. His corrupted self sits beside him, crying and crying, no longer able to keep up the fight.

Dok moves against his palm.

Soft and warm. Soothing. His tiny nails scrape against his fingers.

Trick sucks in a deep, desperate breath, heaving for air. His own fingers stop scratching so hard at his wrists, no longer trying to get the blood out.

And the fat, fuzzy little body of that rat, sick and tortured and exhausted - that rat, his brother, staggers its teetering way out of his pocket and comes crawling all the way up to sit between his neck and his shoulder, and comfort him.

“My brother,” croaks Trick.

Fuck, a rat. He’s a goddamn rat and he’s still comforting him through his pain.

That’s how much he loves him.

Trick cups his warm body against his neck, tears dripping down his face. Dok’s nose pokes lovingly at his cheek. He is already ready to fall asleep again, his big dark eyes sliding shut.

“It’s better to die than live,” cries Trick’s darkness.

Trick looks up at it. He sees his own face, his own faults, his own regrets, his own pain.

“Hey,” he whispers, dragging himself up. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” cries the other version of himself. “The cameras are wrong! We’re alone. Who would want to fight for us? Nobody will ever love us.”

Trick stares down at his hands. There is a burn scar in his palm. He set a fire to keep his brother warm. Dok crawls into Trick’s hood, curling up against his neck, and Trick can feel him there, beside him, just like through every dark night that never seemed like it would end.

He looks up at the other version of himself, sobbing and scarred.

“We’re already loved,” he says. “And we always have been.”

He sits up. He reaches out.

And in that moment, Chase hugs Trick to his chest.

Anonymous asked: Blue, Ro, Dapper, you don't have to suffer alone! You're both worthy of love, respect and comfort, right now, regardless of what those shadows say. If you can't love yourselves right now, that's okay, you can get there later if you must, but right now, you can love each other. Would you ever want anything the shadows say to you being said to your brothers? Why would these poisoned words would only be true for you?

“Dap deserves everything,” Ro agrees in a croak.

“I don’t want to see Blue in pain anymore,” signs Dapper weakly.

“I need to get to Ro. I want him to feel okay.” Blue staggers to his feet, shoving at the shadow when it grabs him, baring its teeth as it pins him back on his knees. As he fights, he sees the others.

Dapper is tussling with Carver. Ro and his shadow watch each other warily, both self-soothing with the same motions. And Trick?

Trick -

Chase.

Chase is on his feet. The corrupted being is no longer beside him.

He looks back at Blue and reaches out for him.

aether-mae asked: I wanted to let u know, bud (any bud who needs to hear) that once anti is gone and you’re away from him things won’t instantly fix. They won’t fix a little and they certainly won’t fix a lot. Taking away the pressure doesn’t heal the wounds, only time and patience can do that. You need to be patient with ur selves, however long that will take and how ever it may happen, let it happen and don’t force healing

Blue reaches shakily out to touch the shoulder of this other version of him.

No. Not another version.

This is a part of him.

Chase takes his hand, trying to smile at him despite everything that’s happening. His perfect little brother. In so much pain of his own, and he chose to come over and help him. That’s how much he loves him.

Isn’t that worth something?

The shadowy being is disappearing from beneath Chase’s hands, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It won’t really be gone,” says Chase. “These parts of ourselves still exist inside of us. Maybe they always will. But Blue, we will deal with them together. That’s the only way we can. We can’t fight them alone, but we are not alone.”

Blue touches his cheek.

Cups his little brother’s face, eyes full of tears.

“And we… we never will be again?” whispers Blue.

“Never,” swears Chase, just as soft. “You will always have my love.”

They move together the way that trees which grow side by side wrap together.

“I love you,” whispers Chase. “So much.”

“I love you too, Amata,” answers Marvin the Magnificent, drawing back to kiss his cheek. “Go help Ro, okay? I’ll get Dapper. It’s going to be okay. Not today, maybe, and not even tomorrow. But someday.”

Anonymous asked: Wrong, wrong wrong, and wrong again. You are Jameson motherfucking Jackson! You are the philosophizer, the violin player, the man braving our hallucinations in a safe laundry room, you are the most powerful magician in the world, a strong and capable adult man, and most importantly you are A FUCKING FREE MAN! Fight it, you know who you are, even through his breaking of your identity and his claws at your mind. JAMESON JACKSON, RISE UP AGAINST YOUR TORMENTOR!

Dapper can’t see past the blood. Can’t smell anything but copper. It’s in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat. His face is wet - with tears, with the lifeblood, he doesn’t know. With both?

He can’t breathe.

He feels sick.

His heart is this fading, flickering thing in his chest, pounding so hard and so weak at the same time. He pukes into the grass, but Carver is still signing at him, still dragging him by the throat and head, still pouring venom into his head and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

It never stops. It never stops. It never stops.

“Give up,” signs Carver. “Just lie down and die already. It’s what you’ve wanted for years now, isn’t it?”

“No,” signs Dapper shakily, trying to keep from crumpling into the grass. “No. I want to go home with my family and be happy and safe. I want to fight.”

“But you’re not strong enough.”

“You bet your ass he’s strong enough!” screams a voice of rage, like a clap of thunder from the sky, and vines burst from the earth and begin winding around Carver’s tortured body. “That’s my little brother and he’s my fucking hero!”

Dapper sobs aloud, reaching blindly for help. Warm arms encase him in a hug, in a shield, in a promise, and he feels their bodies rock in time, soothing, soothing.

“This is my little survivor!” cries Blue, kissing his face once, twice, all but ignoring the struggling Carver. “This is my fighter, my time traveler, my friend! Clever, powerful, kind, sly as a fox. My perfect darling. I’m here. I love you.”

“Don’t, no, please,” protests Dapper, and Marvin pulls back in surprise. “No, I don’t want you to touch me or kiss me. I’m so filthy. No one should ever touch me again.”

Prepared to draw back at a request for space, the explanation only makes Blue’s eyes harden with determination. He lunges forward again and wraps his brother in his arms so tight it makes Dapper cough, kissing his filthy, bloodied face and the side of his head over and over again.

“My darling, my love,” whispers Blue. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing dirty about you. Oh, Dap, don’t you know you deserve the whole world? You, little brother, have spent your life surviving Anti. In all his hatred, in all his cruelty, in all his lies and manipulation. You survived. You even fought, goddamn! This is the man who slapped him! This is the man who pulled so hard against those strings! And here you are now, my brother, still striving to get up from the ground. Sick and exhausted and still trying.”

He cups Dapper’s face and presses their foreheads together, letting his little brother ugly-cry in front of him and slump against his shoulder, truly worn, down to the heart of him.

“I will help you through everything that comes after this,” Marvin vows, rocking him against his chest. “Don’t be afraid of what we’ll have to deal with. We will deal with it together.”

“Please,” prays Dapper, nodding his head against him. “Yes, please, that has been my wish for so long, though there were times I did not even recognize the desire inside myself. Marvin, Marvin. Don’t let go.”

“Here I am, my heart. Here I am.”

Carver is slumped back against the grass, staring up at the sky with despair in his white eyes. Blue looks over at him and feels the urge to snuff this deranged version of his little brother out - but it is Jameson who stops him.

With the last of his strength, JJ gets to his knees and crawls over to where the vines bind that broken, hurting child tied up in string and coated in bloodshed. Tears well in JJ’s eyes and fall down on Carver, clearing, for a moment, the trails of blood away.

“We’re not going to be a prisoner anymore,” he says, reaching out for Blue’s hand. He presses the witch’s fingers to the vines and the string.

Blue understands his request without words. Glancing once more at JJ, he turns to the strings and let the vines grow careful thorns, tearing through the white lines which cut into his flesh.

The strings fall away.

Carver’s eyes clear. For a moment, they are blue instead of white, and he is looking up at the sun.

He disappears from view, fading into wisps of smoke.

Anonymous asked: Jackie was afraid sometimes too! Stop putting the past you on some pedestal, Ro, Jackie. Listen to me, you are the same person as the past you, you just have a little more hardship you've seen. And that only makes your stronger! Heros are allowed to be afraid, Jackie! Your fear doesn't make you weak, it pushes you to fight harder!!

“I can fight harder,” pants Ro, squaring up with this dark version of himself, this useless, pathetic version of himself. He hates it!

“I can fight harder,” he repeats, louder. “I can fight harder. I can fight harder! I can fight harder!”

He throws himself at his shadow with a howl, grabbing its shoulders and shoving it to the ground. He knows how to fight! The other him fights right back, yes, snarling and scratching at him, but Ro is past caring. Blood seeps out of his cheek from a long scratch along his face and when it drives its knee into his stomach, he stops breathing for a good thirty seconds, but never once does he stop fighting.

“I’m going to be a hero again! I can fight harder! I can fight til it fucking kills me if it keeps them safe! I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Red!” someone is screaming, grabbing at his arms. “Ro, stop, this isn’t helping!”

“I’ll destroy it! I’ll kill it like a bug! I can fight harder, longer, dirtier, I don’t care!”

He drives his thumbs into the double’s eyes just like Anti’s taught him to, feeling the juice squelch beneath his fingers.

“Stop! Ro, stop!”

Chase’s hands wrap around his own, tearing him away from the other being, which is too beat to rise again, groaning and sobbing with pain. Chase tears Ro back even as he screams and thrashes, trying to get up to attack it again.

“Lemme go! I’m going to keep you safe! I gotta make it up to you! I can fight! Don’t get rid of me! I’m useful, I’ll fight for you, I’ll protect you, let me show you!”

“Ro… Ro… stop, bud, just - shit, man… I’m here, okay?”

Ro is sobbing, striking the ground.

“Look at me,” he cries. “I can’t be what anyone needs me to be. I’m not warm or comforting like the rest of you. I’m not a medic or a magician or a problem-fixer. I’m just a dick.”

“Reddy, you just get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“It’s not that!” Ro howls, shaking his head against Chase’s chest. “I get these horrible thoughts. When I’m angry, I want to hurt people. I have hurt people. Not just my enemies, but the people I love too. I’ve done horrible things… to you, to Dapper, to anyone Anti sicked me on. You five deserve to be free and happy. I’m just a mean person with a horrible fucking temper. And yet I still spent so long cowering from Anti when I should have been angry for you. I forgot my own fiance… I’m a monster. Just like Anti.”

“That’s not true,” whispers Chase. “No, hey, don’t go protesting right away. It’s not true. Red… we’ve all done bad things. For different reasons - anything from mind control to having a bad day. It doesn’t make you a monster. Shit, Red, look at all of us. Look at all this baggage we’re all carrying. This darkness… it’s a part of all of us, Red.”

“What if mine’s worse than yours?” sniffles Ro, wiping at his face. “What if I’m genuinely a bad person?”

Chase is draping his weight over his shoulders, holding him tight.

“Ro. Bad people don’t change when they hurt someone else. Good people do. When they do bad things, they do everything they can to make it right. They try not to let it happen again. They apologize.”

“Then I’m sorry,” begins Ro. “For - ”

“Bro,” laughs Chase, hugging him tighter. “We already did that, remember? The only person who hasn’t forgiven you… is you, Red.”

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Ro, you don't need to be Jackie! You're enough, and worthy and deserving of love as Ro, as who you are right here and now. You don't need to be Jackie to be a hero, or help your brothers. You've already done so much good, Ro, and you're not a failure or a burden. It's okay to be afraid, this is really, really scary. They say courage isn't the absence of fear, but acting regardless. You can still fight afraid, but please remember you don't need to fight alone.

“Can I tell you something?” whispers Chase, cuddled up close to him. “Something I never even told Dok?”

Henrik pokes his little head out of Chase’s hoodie.

“Yeah, bud, what?” asks Ro. “Anything.”

Chase knocks their heads together, swaying gently against his back. “You were always kind of my hero.”

Ro starts. “What? You hated me! We fought all the time and I was awful to you.”

“You kept me and Dok fed,” says Chase. “Gave us blankets and medical supplies even when it meant you didn’t have enough for yourself. Took fucking beatings for us, Ro. Even when you thought I didn’t like you, you still laid yourself down for me and my twin all the fucking time.”

Ro is quiet beneath his hands, staring at his double, now panting against the ground. “I didn’t know you knew that I would… maybe give you more than I gave myself. Sometimes.”

“You starved for days sometimes for us,” says Chase, feeling his voice tremble a little. “We never told you no because you were in charge of us and you always told us to do what we were told so Anti wouldn’t be mad. But we knew, Ro. And when Blue came to stay with us and you started to get some joy back… I just felt sorry I hadn’t been the one to make you smile like that to begin with.”

Jackie chuckles wetly, swiping at his eyes. “You two were my only happiness when I couldn’t see Dapper. I didn’t think you’d ever like me, so I stayed away. But when I got a chance to see you happy or hear you laughing, I would hold on to it for days. It was what I lived for… the only thing I lived for. Protecting you. Making sure you ate. Making sure you stayed together. My twins in their nest in the corner, guarding me through the night.”

He threads his hand through Chase’s hair. A soft nose touches his hand and he laughs, reaching back to steal Henrik out of Chase’s hood. Body beginning to relax, Jackie closes his eyes and nuzzles his head against Henrik’s, stroking his round grey and white body with one hand.

“My healer and my guardian,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one more secret,” says Chase, sitting down beside him. “Dok and I talked it over, and we’ve come to an official consensus - we love you too.”

Ro closes his eyes, hugging both of them against his heart.

“And we want to make you happy too.”

They stare at that fading shadow on the ground for a long time. It won’t drain away completely.

“I’m still afraid,” whispers Ro. “That’s why it won’t go.”

“I’m afraid too,” says Chase. “Scared out of my mind. So is Dapper and Blue, and maybe even Dok, but he’s just a sleepy little guy right now. But Ro, I think they’re right. I think Jackie was scared too. And he was still my hero.”

“You didn’t know Jackie,” laughs Ro.

But Chase doesn’t laugh. His face is serious.

“No,” he says. “But I see him in you. And that, Jackie - that has always been true. My big brother. Being scared together - that’s what families do.”

Ro rises slightly, getting to his knees and looking down at the other Red. He thought he saw weakness in him, weakness and anger and a threat. Now, all he sees is fear. His own fear.

He doesn’t want to hate himself for it anymore.

Jackie watches the other being fade away.

nikkilbook asked: Oh, Jackie. How many times are we gonna do this? In Norway, when we first met Red, the first thing I realized? Was that Red did what he did to draw the fire. You kept your brothers quiet and in line, so that if anything bad happened, you were the odd one out. You drew Anti’s fire. Maybe you don’t have any of what makes your brothers special. What you do have is love. Even if it comes through out of focus, you love, Jackieboy. You love with a love that always tells the truth. Lies do not become you. You do not become lies.

And all this talk of “you’ll fight til it kills you”? Frick that noise. You’d crash like a falling star if one of your brothers gave their lives—what makes you think they’d mourn you any less if you were gone? What makes you worth less? What makes you any less important or cherished or loved? I’ll say what I’ve said to you in a different life—you’re a trauma victim, not a bread loaf.

Stand up, Jackieboy. Be afraid, be overwhelmed, be uncertain of what to do with your own thoughts—but stand up, just one more time.

“You draw the fire for everyone,” says Chase, cupping Ro’s warm, gloved hand, where a small blue flame flickers. “Sometimes literally.”

Jackie laughs softly. He turns at the sound of crunching grass and sees Blue and Dapper walking towards him - or, more accurately, Blue walking towards him with his little brother in his arms. Immediately concerned, Jackie reaches out for him, and a moment later, Blue settles JJ into his arms.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brushing Dapper’s hair from his face. “He’s still sick?”

“He hasn’t had any good rest,” says Blue softly. “And yes, I think still a little sick. He’s not feeling up to walking. Maybe as he calms down he’ll feel a little better, but right now I think he’s just overwhelmed physically and emotionally. He’s not a healthy guy, really.”

Jackie holds JJ’s head against his heart. “We have to get him somewhere he can rest.”

“We have to all get somewhere to rest,” says Blue. “They’re right about you… always worried about everyone else. You try to tell me that’s a mean person.”

Jackie smiles gently, turning away with a slight tint of pink in his face.

“We’re not fighting til death today if we can help it,” says Blue, kneeling down beside him and pulling him into a hug. Close to his ear, he murmurs, “don’t you know it would kill me to watch you die for me?”

Jackie just hugs him back, closing his eyes. Chase is pressed against them a moment later, squishing all three of them in close around JJ.

Dok peeks out of Chase’s hood, poking at Blue’s face.

“And how’s my poor Deutsch?” asks Blue, immediately starting to baby over him again, patting and stroking him. “Shit, Chase, how long will he be like this?”

“I don’t know, it was his magic necklace.”

“Well, at least it makes it easier to move him around. He and Dap are going to need a lot of recovery time… all of us, really.”

“Don’t go just yet,” mumbles Ro, pulling Blue and Chase back into the hug and making them laugh.

“Is this… done, then?” asks Chase. “Did we scare Anti off? Because - ”

A gunshot. Chase hears one of his brothers scream. Jackie’s on his feet, Dapper in his arms. Everyone’s moving. Everything’s loud. Chase’s head spins. Someone drags him standing upright and they’re sprinting towards the trees for cover, shouting and calling for each other.

Red and Blue shove their younger brothers behind the fallen body of a great tree, tucking them into the side.

“Stay here!” shouts Jackie, touching Chase’s face and placing the slingshot and fighting staff down beside him. “Protect them. I love you.”

“I love you,” agrees Blue, leaning in to kiss Chase’s cheek before summoning his power and turning away. “We’ll handle this.”

“Guys,” cries Chase, his heart shaking. “No, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They’re already racing off towards the figure in the yard.

“Oh, holy shit,” breathes Chase, his hands taking up the tremble as it spreads. “I tried to warn him… Anti…”

Anti can no longer be mistaken for a human being.

His body seems to drip coding and black gunk, making the air around him distorted and wavering as the air above hot pavement in the summer. Most of his body is consumed in glitching. What can be seen is no longer opaque, perhaps not even tangible. His eyes glare straight ahead, blank and unseeing, his mouth flat and unfeeling. His whole body glitches and for a moment, he can be seen screaming. In his hand, Dok’s gun.

“I’m here, guys, I’m here,” breathes Chase to JJ and Henrik, shakily loading a stone into the slingshot. “Please… please don’t let them get hurt.”

Anti feels his thoughts from meters away, eyes sliding shut.

“I should have killed you all the day I found you,” he whispers, in a voice layered and faltering, and he drops the gun aside, and draws out a knife instead.

He is the movement of the fire, the leap and bound of it, the blaze. He has strength again and courage, too, in the face of all his own fear. Blue is beside him. This is all that matters.

They fight.

There is no way to ward off something that moves as fast as Anti does in most circumstances, but now Jackie burns with heat and fire and Anti stumbles as he transports, sometimes forced to fall to his side for a moment of rest. Blue always presses these advantages. Anti screams as brambles wind around his neck, cutting deep as they can go, and struggles to get back to his feet, tearing at the thorns.

“Choke on them,” shouts Blue, leaping at him and pinning him down. Anti draws his legs back and kicks Blue hard in the chest, throwing him off and glitching away again. He makes a swipe at Jackie from behind and suffers a burn even when Jackie dodges away, his older brother following up with a swing of a fiery fist at his head. Anti stumbles away, recovering with a flip of his knife that sends it spinning towards Jackie. It’s Jackie’s turn to fall to the ground, throwing himself away hard enough to fall.

“Where’s all that power now?” hollers Blue, jumping right over Jackie to leap at Anti again, plants tearing from the ground, catching fire and throwing dirt into the air. “Where’s the snide comments and the mockery? The death threats and the flashy tricks? Where’s the dog, Anti? Where’s the wolf bite, huh?”

Anti turns his head and coughs, pixels and gunk flooding down his lips. He glitches back, panting, as Jackie gets to his feet.

“You were jokes when you were created!” shrieks Anti. “At least Jack gave a fuck about me being frightening and strong! You two are pathetic. A onesie and a Game Grumps cape - he never even tried.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we, unlike you, have the presence of mind to realize Jack is in the past,” answers Jackie, his flame turn brighter as the heat increases. “This is now, and you can’t stop us.”

For a second, Anti’s head snaps towards the trees to his right, his flashing eyes going wide and his mouth parting.

“Dark? Is that you?” He takes a shaky step forward, head whirling. “You came to get me?”

There’s no one in the trees but the others. If Dark is there, hidden from all sight but that of another monster, they do not act.

“Just surrender, Anti,” says Jackie.

“No,” snaps Blue. “Let him keep fighting til he destroys himself all over again.”

He races forward, palms full of aconite.

And Jackie -

Jackie falls back.

He remembers what Jack told him.

He turns and picks up a camcorder dropped in all the commotion. He makes sure you can see.

Anonymous asked: get 'em guys!! your audience is here with you, we are here with you.

“Are we really going to hurt him?” Jackie pants, finding himself back-to-back with Blue as they circle, warding off blows from Anti. “It’s like he’s losing it. He’s weak.”

“Yeah, we’re going to fucking hurt him,” spits Blue. “Remember everything he’s done to us, Ro.”

“I don’t want revenge, I just want my family to be safe from him. We - where’d he go?”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare around them, waiting for Anti to leap out of the flame-licked trees. Then Ro hears Trickshot screaming from a few meters away.

“Oh, that’s fucking it,” he roars, tearing through the foliage towards them. He tackles Anti the moment he sees him trying to bring his blade down on his little brothers, slamming the glitch into the ground. Anti tries to transport away, but Jackie’s hands are digging into simulated flesh and Anti doesn’t seem to have the strength to tear off.

“Stop it!” he screams, finally throwing Jackie aside and leaving a dark gash across his stomach. Jackie grunts in pain, gripping at the hot wound as his blood comes forth. He gets back up to his feet and starts after Anti again, grabbing him with hands full of fire. Anti shrieks from the pain, his form melting like plastic where he’s touched.

“You’re hurting me, Red, you’re hurting me!” Anti wails, tearing at his hands. “Stop, stop!”

He transforms weakly, making himself look like Dapper, complete with soft curls falling into his face and sad blue eyes. Jackie falters and Anti swipes again, tearing a second line into his chest. The stone of a slingshot whips through the air and strikes Anti’s head so hard Jackie sees the blood burst into the air for a moment as Anti crashes to the ground, gasping and clutching at his skull.

He tries to get up. His eyes roll. He crawls away on his back, panting roughly and trying to see as his vision blurs and his head throbs with pain. He blinks blearily at the log of the fallen tree and sees Trick staring back at him, face ashen, the slingshot in his hands.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, he won't stop. Even now, at his weakest, he's taking advantage of your emotions and the love you have for each other. Killing for vengeance is one thing, (and we could talk morality all day and still not come to a proper conclusion on mercy vs consequence but I digress) but killing out of self defense might be a necessity if all of this is to truly stop for good.

Anti pulls out a knife and throws, but his aim is shot and his hand is unsteady. The blade goes flying past Jackie and clatters to the ground.

“You’re really done for, huh?” asks Jackie softly, staring at him.

Anti drags himself to his knees, reaching for another knife. He’s shape-shifting wildly - losing control, Jackie can see - and he looks like a different version of Jack or of them with every moment that passes. The rapid shifting only seems to make him feel more ill. He struggles to get up, but then dandelions and creepvine are exploding from the earth, wrapping him up so tight Jackie hears him begin to wheeze, splitting the wound on his throat and crawling inside. Jackie closes his eyes, nauseated. It’s not a sensory issue this time - Anti just sounds like one of his brothers, choking and crying in pain.

“Fuck, fuck,” whispers Jackie. Blue comes to stand beside him, staring down at Anti.

Anti lets out a fragile scream, and then another, fighting clumsily against the plants that pin him down, trying so hard to glitch that Jackie is scared he will burst into pixels and fall apart completely. His energy is drained and his face has gone shock-white, but still he writhes, looking up at the pair of them with something like terror in his eyes. For a moment, he is a snake, a dog, a bird, a person again. He keens in pain, blood slicking his face from the wound Trick put in his skull.

“This is horrible,” cries Trick, getting to his feet and coming to stand beside his brothers, putting hands on both their shoulders. “Please, make it stop.”

Something flickers behind Anti. Blue grabs Trick, ready to shield him from one last battle as something appears on the ground in front of them, but nothing attacks.

“Jack, Jack,” cries a weak, warbling, glitch-broken voice. A shadowy version of Anti sits behind the imprisoned one of the ground, his hands reaching out. “Sean, help me, I’m sorry, don’t go.”

His throat is wrapped up in bandages. He’s clutching a pumpkin in his lap, a knife sticking out the side, and as they watch, his form begins to sprout feathers, clawing their way out of his skin. The other Anti cries out in pain, pulling on his soft green hair.

On the ground, Anti has gone frighteningly still, his eyes dropping as the blood lists out of him. His fingers twitch around his last blade.

“He’s passing out,” mumbles Trick.

“He didn’t mean to manifest that,” says Blue. “He just doesn’t have control over his magic anymore. Look at him. It’s all his fear and insecurity brought to the surface at last. Not that he was ever very good at hiding it.”

“Jack?” The other Anti is staring up at Trick. He coughs and there’s blood on his throat and fear in his eyes. “Why won’t you help me? Please, please. I’m scared. Don’t let me get stuck again! I don’t want to be an animal! I can’t move!”

Feathers tear his face apart and he howls, scraping at his skin. Trick’s chest heaves and he moves forward, but Blue grabs him and holds him away.

“I’m sorry, Tricky,” he says quietly, keeping him back. “You know we gotta do this. Ro?”

Jackie stares down at hands full of fire. He looks back at both Anti’s. His chest shakes.

Clapping draws their attention and all three of them turn to see JJ shaking his head and signing at them.

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” he begs. “Let him go with Dark. He promised Red this would be the last time he tried to make us his servants.”

“He will never stop following us!” shouts Blue. “He will never stop trying to hurt us! You know that!”

“I can’t watch this,” weeps Dapper. “My brother.”

They have been together since the day he was born.

Anonymous asked: We hear you JJ, but Marvin's right. If you let Anti go, he'll be back with a vengeance as soon as he heals - if not to enslave you all again, then to kill you all one by one. There's no way he'd let this go. This is painful and traumatic, and you have the right to feel like you do, but Anti is not your brother. Your brothers are beside you, protecting you, loving you. That writhing creature before you is not your brother. It is a monster who has only ever tried to break you down.

Dapper covers his eyes, pressing his head against his knees. He’s too sick to deal with this right now, unmedicated and running a fever.

“They’re right,” says Blue softly, reaching out to take Jackie’s hand. “Ro. Come on, okay? He’s in pain anyway. He’s ruined himself. He won’t recover from this, not really. End him.”

Jackie steps close to Anti.

His monster is lying on the ground, still. One green eye slides open and stares up at him. His mouth moves like he might speak, but nothing comes out.

“Anti?” asks Jackie.

Anti’s throat bobs. He closes his eyes. Jackie’s palms fill with fire.

And extinguish again.

“I can’t do it,” he says, backing away. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m big brother. But I can’t do it.”

He turns away and goes to Dapper’s side. They wrap around each other and breathe.

“Blue?” asks Trick anxiously.

Blue is staring down at Anti, chest heaving, face stony.

“Why do none of you want to do it?” he asks. “Don’t you know I’m right?”

Chase blinks down at Anti, a little sick to his stomach.

“I think you are right,” he answers hollowly.

“Great, then go for it,” says Blue, turning to him. “Look, Dok’s right there with you. If he were human, he’d be telling you the exact same thing I am.”

It puts a little fire in Trick’s blood. He coughs like he can expel the sickness from his stomach and reaches down to take the knife from Anti’s hand.

And suddenly, he wants to do it. He wants to. Oh, fuck. So bad it hurts.

He remembers everything since the first time he was reset, remembers torture and barbed words, remembers getting slapped for kissing a girl, being trapped for his suicide attempt, being forced to pull triggers on people he didn’t want to kill. He remembers, most of all, every fucking time he saw Dok cut, bruised, beaten, crying, hurt - all because of Anti.

“All because of you,” hisses Chase, tears pouring down his face. He flips that knife in his hand and grips it tight. “You, goddamn it.”

“Jack,” asks the shadow Anti, its arms wrapped around itself. “Jack, please.”

He thinks it’s him. His creator.

Chase sobs and drops the knife, turning bitterly away, hands clenched into fists. Blue stares at his brothers, face cold. But he doesn’t move.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Dapper, you've known Anti as long as you've been alive. Do you really think he'll keep his word? You know how long and intense his obsession with Jack has been, do you truly believe he'll be able to let you all go and live without him after all this time? Also, would any of you ever be able to feel safe, knowing he could find you and try to capture or hurt you again?

Trick circles back to Blue, touching his shoulder. “Let’s just call Dark to come get him, Blue. We can’t do it. I know he’s hurt us, but he… he was one of us for a long time. Or we thought he was. We all tried to love him. Some of us… some of us still do.”

“That’s not true,” says Blue flatly. “We didn’t all try to love him.”

Chase squeezes his shoulder, face softening with sympathy. “Blue, it’s okay to admit. We did it because we’re loving people. That’s not wrong. You weren’t wrong. But look… you can’t do it, right?”

Blue doesn’t move.

“None of us can,” sighs Chase, scraping his fingers through his hair. “We… we’ll have to figure it out from here, buddy. And the cameras, I - I’m sorry to you guys too. I know you’re probably seeing clearer than we are right now, but none of us can do it. I definitely can’t.”

Blue is still.

Chase sighs again and lets him go, turning back to the others.

“Maybe you can’t,” says Marvin, and he grabs that knife off the ground, and he stabs Anti, once, twice, thrice, even as his brothers let out screams of alarm, who cares, it’s all in the background, they don’t try to stop him despite their weak little cries, so all that matters is this, is the faint way that Anti’s last sobbing scream shudders from his throat, in the hot spluttering flood of something not-quite blood, is the writhing beneath his fingers, and he stabs, and he stabs, until he has gotten past the chest, yes, dug it open and gotten past the ribs, until his hands are full of blood and he finds, between his fingers, a simulated mass of muscle meant to be something almost like a heart.

Can you tear your eyes away? Some of you are watching. I know that for a fact because, in that moment, Anti’s life passes out of him, and his glazed green eyes stare up at the merciless sun, and he is dead without a final word to mark his passing.

Marvin can hear himself laughing aloud.

“I fucking told you,” he spits, crushing blood and muscle between his hands. “I promised you from the beginning, you goddamn parasite - I will kill you for what you’ve done to my family.”

No answer. No answer from anyone. Overhead, the fluttering of birds.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Is this Anti's end? We are ready and watching. You deserve to be free, and we will be here to support you, whatever happens.

Free. Yes. Free. Marvin’s laughing, clutching his shoulders. No more. No more. Free.

“You are never going to get under my skin again!” he screams, drawing back that blade again. “You are never going to torture my friends and then leave them with me to care for while they cry for mercy! You are never going to hit us, you are never going to possess us, you are never going to hurt my family again! You - ”

Warm arms wrap around him, pinning him as much as hugging him, and someone wrestles the blade from his hand before he can stab anything else. He lets out a scream without even knowing why, so loud it sends deer dancing away for miles, and lets his body slump back against the one beside him.

“My twin, my twin,” Ro is whispering, rocking them in time, pressed close together. “It’s over, okay? We’re okay. Look at us, Blue. We’re all okay. Or - or alive, okay? We’re all alive. I’m here. Blue. I’m here.”

Blue closes his eyes, light-headed.

“I don’t regret it!” he cries out, because it’s important to say.

“I’m here,” Jackie repeats softly, again and again, until Blue is breathing clearly again. “Just rest. I’m here.”

Anonymous asked: It's over?

Trick and Dapper stand together a few feet from their siblings, staring. Trick feels numb. He reaches for his hood and finds Dok fast asleep despite all the commotion, exhausted from all that’s happened. Trick doesn’t know if he’s okay. He rubs his thumb over his twin’s back and some of his soft grey fur falls away, leaving a patch behind.

“I think I need to get him back to the house before he transforms,” mumbles Chase.

It’s true, but it doesn’t really address the fact that Dapper is standing beside him on shaking legs, sobbing so hard he makes no sound at all.

Jackie turns back to them, looking eerily calm, though his eyes have a sort of desperate shock which manifests in a slight tremble in his hands.

“Get them both back to the house,” he says flatly, face pale. “Blue, come on, you go with.”

He pulls his twin to his feet, holding his hands. “I need you to look after them,” he says,squeezing his hands gently. “Focus on that right now, okay?”

“What - what do I do?” coughs Blue, wiping at his teary face.

“You know how to take care of them. It’ll be okay. Get everyone cleaned up and fed and bandaged. Try to find Dap’s medicine and help Trick take care of Schneep. Then you go through the house and you get absolutely everything that you think we can pawn or sell. There’s enough in this house to keep us going for a while. Pack bags with clothes and all their things and all the food that can travel. Put out some food and water in case Noodle comes back. Lock all the doors and stay out of the forest. It’s going to be okay, alright? Can you do all that?”

“Yes, Roser.” Marv tries to catch his breath again. Tries to be strong for the others. “What will you do?”

Jackie’s eyes flicker to the body on the ground.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” asks Marvin weakly. “You’ll have to…”

“I’ll start a pyre,” says Jackie softly. “Just go, okay? You shouldn’t all be here for this.”

Blue sniffles and nods, glancing back at the others. He knows he has to get them back to the house. Has to look after them. Anti may have been the one who told him it was his place to care for everyone else, but right now, it’s what he wants to do for them. His family.

“Be careful,” whispers Blue, leaving him with a squeeze of the hands. “Come back as soon as it’s done.”

Jackie nods and watches as his siblings walk away. He sees Dapper turn his gaze back, his eyes red with crying.

Jackie doesn’t move for a long time.

The ground is dark with ash. He never let the fire blaze out of control, but he’s burned the earth and the trees for meters around his feet, leaving everything warm and silent. Soon it will be cold and silent.

The body will be too. In fact, leaning down, Jackie finds that Anti’s skin is already chill as frog skin to the touch. Jackie wonders if he was ever warm to the touch at all. He seems to remember his hands being cold every time he struck him.

“I meant it.”

His voice is the only sound in the clearing.

“I would have loved you with all that I am.”

Anti’s still face does not answer. In death, he looks very small. He’s beautiful in a way that hurts Jackie down to the heart of him, beautiful like all his siblings are beautiful.

Jackie scoops that body up, and there, in the woods, he lets Anti’s body burn.

“Over,” he reads your question softly, staring as the pyre burns. “Over, I guess… I guess this is what over is.”

The fire crackles. The wind breathes.

Over.

Anonymous asked: Dapper, honey, I know this is hard, but you have to let them do this. Anti will never leave you alone. He has to die or you can never be free. Find acceptance in this fact: you will never be free from him until he has died. All the happiness you deserve will never come to you. You must let him go, let go of the attachment, and see, as you always have, his true nature. You know his anger better than anyone. He will never leave you free and happy. You're just a prisoner to him.

“Is this freedom?” cry his white hands.

“Shh, baby, shh.”

He’s sitting in the bathtub in the master bedroom, still crying his heart out. Blue is cleaning him with a washcloth, stroking clean, warm water across his face and lathing the blood from his hands.

“You killed him,” sobs Dapper. “He was already beaten, Blue. He promised Red that would be the last time.”

“He doesn’t keep his promises, angel,” sighs Blue. “Come on, Dap, I’m so tired… just let me get everyone cleaned up, okay? I thought you were fighting with us. You poor thing, you’re so hot. Do you know where Anti put your medicine? We can’t find it anywhere.”

“I was with you - I am with you. But that was - I didn’t want - and now I - I - ”

“Dap, Dap,” whispers Blue, cupping his chin. “You’ve got to just try and rest for now.”

Dapper hugs himself, red eyes staring straight ahead as he lets Blue clean him. He covers his eyes as he cleans his hair. He takes his time despite his exhaustion, getting every inch of filth and blood out of his baby brother’s skin and soothing at the heat in his head. Dapper closes his eyes.

“Okay, come on,” murmurs Blue when fifteen minutes have gone by. “Let’s get you out.”

Wordlessly, Dapper lets himself be pulled from the bath. Blue towels him down with the fluffiest towel he can find hanging up and wraps him in a fuzzy green bathrobe stolen off the hook on the door. Dapper shivers and hugs himself, sniffling.

Blue takes his hand and kisses the side of his head. “I’m going to try and find some food,” he says. “And then we’ll get you all tucked up in bed so you can rest.”

“Do I have to stay up here?”

“No, honeybee. You’ll come stay with us. We’ll all be together now. Okay?”

Dapper stares at the floor.

“Okay,” he signs finally.

“I’ll be back in a few,” says Blue gently.

He leaves him alone.

Dapper sinks to the floor of the bathroom, water dripping off of him, and he doesn’t speak for a long time.

Free.

Is this free?

He had thought it would feel better.

He drags himself back to the bedroom and he crashes onto the bed, sobbing into the pillows. Anti does not come and lie beside him.

Anonymous asked: Trick, how are you? Is Henrik human again? This can't be easy, so I hope you can support each other through whatever happens next.

“Hey,” Chase whispers, picking up the closest camera and pressing it into his brother’s hands. “Look, the cameras are here. You love the cameras. Do you want to talk to them?”

Only soft, shallow breathing answers. The hands he places you in do not wrap around the body of the camera.

“Dok, look at me, look at me,” pleads Chase. You see his side moving as he leans forward, murmuring reassurances. “You’re okay now, Deutsch. I’m going to look after you. Don’t be scared.”

“Trick?”

He turns around and his movement knocks you to the ground. You clatter to the ground and there is Henrik.

“He’s not doing well?” asks Blue, his voice starting to shake.

He isn’t doing well, no. He’s human, at least, but about as white as the rat was, with blue circles under his eyes and a terribly blank look in his face. He’s just staring, straight ahead. Trick strokes his hair, but Dok doesn’t respond.

“He - he gets like this sometimes,” croaks Chase. “He’ll snap out of it.”

“Is this because we turned him into a rat?”

“No, he was all silent and frozen beforehand too. Dok, Dok, come on, you’re scaring Blue.”

Blue doesn’t even deny it. He hurries forward to stand over him where he’s lying in bed, pulling his blankets away.

“Oh, no,” he whispers. “He’s… this was torture, Trick, this was… this… intentional and - these will all scar and he must be in so much pain, oh, we - we need to go to the hospital! We’ll walk again, can you carry him? Come on, we - ”

“No,” cries Chase, bending over his brother’s body. “No, I’m his nurse. I’ll handle it, okay?”

“Let me help you. He needs to get cleaned up.”

“You need to go look after Dapper and please, Blue, make something to eat. We need food and water more than anything. I promise, I can look after him. I’ve… treated worse.”

Blue touches his shoulder, his fingers shaking.

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” whispers Blue. “Okay. He… he’ll survive?”

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff.”

Anonymous asked: Chase! How's you and Henrik doing? Has he turned back from the mouse form now?

“Yeah, yeah, we’re… good. We’re okay. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He gets like this sometimes. Don’t you, buddy? Yeah. The cameras have seen you like this before. They know. You’re okay. Just take your time. I’ll look after you.”

Henrik is wounded and weak.

“I’ll look after you. I will. I’ll be okay tonight so you can get through this. We’re going to be okay.”

As Chase adjusts that unmoving body and begins to help put him back together, you can see the cost of their freedom littered across his skin. Chase does not cry, though his mouth shakes. He stitches his brother together. Soothes bruise cream over black and blue injuries. Brings him painkillers and antibiotics and helps him swallow them with cool water. Cleans him from head to toe with a washcloth and redresses him in a clean grey t-shirt and soft pj pants.

And even an hour and a half later, when there’s nothing left to be done, Chase is still right there, lying beside him, hugging him against his body and speaking to him.

Chase always bore a resemblance to Jack, but so did all of the others. If you want to know why Anti always saw more of their creator in him, it was this one ability of Chase’s: the ability to speak comfort for hours on end. The words don’t have to mean anything. He’s there.

“And I won’t go,” he whispers, watching Henrik drift off to sleep beside him. “I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Anonymous asked: It's not over. Anti may be over, but you're all still here. Together, breathing, living. What comes next may not be easy and processing everything is going to take an ungodly amount of time. The future will be scary but it's already brightening up and eventually, I believe you'll all be shining again. I hope you know that too.

Blue stares out the kitchen window as he waits for apple crisp to bake in the oven, his eyes watery and exhausted. In the other room, he can hear Trick soothing his brother, and he lets everyone’s words of comfort wash over him and hold him steady. Hope and comfort and love and bright futures. He did what he had to do. His eyes well up and the tears run over. He curses softly and brushes them away, mouth trembling. When he can see again, Jackie is walking across the lawn towards the house, leaving dark trees behind.

Marvin gives a dry sob. He tears open the back door and he runs out to meet his twin. Jackie scoops him up and lifts him off the ground. In the grass, beneath the sun, Jackie holds him and does not let go.

“I love you,” cries Marvin.

“I love you too,” answers Jackie, so fiercely his voice could turn tides in the other direction. “And we will survive this - together.”

Marvin’s arms wrap tight around him. They are pressed in close to each other, breathing in sync, in harmony, together.

They do not let each other go for a long time.

Anonymous asked: Marvin, you did what you set out to do. I'm proud of you. You're not out of the woods just yet and God, none of us could have predicted what's become of you and your brothers since that first day but... we're on the other side. A little worse for wear all around, but strong nonetheless. I really don't know what I can say, it's hard to pinpoint where you are in your head sometimes but I hope you know that walking by your side was worth it. And whatever comes next, we'll remain here as long as you need us.

“I don’t know where I am in my head,” laughs Blue frailly. “I… I don’t know what to do with myself. But thank you. Yeah, I… I just… I just want us to move on. I don’t know what to do.”

“How about for now,” murmurs Jackie. “We just go get some food and have a nap.”

Blue laughs again, soft and broken. He hugs his brother one more time.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

And that’s what they do.

They bring a camera along and they get the apple crisp out of the oven, adding stale chips and canned green beans for their lunch. They fill up cups of water and go back to their room, where they find Trick and Dok dozing on the bed.

Blue goes to bring Dapper downstairs too, to get him fed and look after him.

“I just want to be alone right now,” Dapper tells him.

Marvin blinks, touching his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks carefully. “Do you feel - ”

“Don’t worry,” Dapper signs back, face grey with fatigue. “I’m okay. I just really want to be alone right now.”

Marvin sets a plate and some water beside his bed, feeling a flutter of unease. “You’re sure?”

“Leave me with a camera,” recommends Dapper. “Then they can tell you if I’m in trouble. But yes, Blue, I’m sure. Please, I… I just want to… just to be alone.”

“We’re right downstairs if you need us.”

“I know.”

He leans down to kiss him again, but Dapper pushes him away and hides under the blankets of the bed. Blue draws back, worried. He gets his bear out of his backpack and sets it down on the pillow beside him, and then he goes back downstairs.

He finds Trick and Red cuddled up close, sharing green beans and talking quietly, warm under the blankets of the bed. Blue lets out a low, fluttering sigh. Food and togetherness and a feeling of safety at long last… it’s what this was all for.

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he just breathes.

The other side, at long last.

“Thank you,” he whispers to you.

Then he goes and joins his brother, and warm arms wrap around him, and he thinks, just maybe, that things will be okay.

Anonymous asked: (Oh god, oh no. Please... please tell me noodle is going to be okay. I'm going to be wrecked if anything happens to this baby)

That’s when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s almost comical how fast Chase, Jackie, and Marvin all shoot up in bed. Henrik’s first expression in several hours is vaguely judgemental.

“Who is it?” Jackie asks you, voice soft and dangerous.

Outside the front door, a familiar man in a grey hood, shifting nervously in his unlaced running shoes. He is carrying a box.

Jackie slides towards the door, picking up his fighting staff. When he sees Shep, his posture relaxes, but not entirely. Slowly, he opens the door, holding his weapon beside him.

“Uh,” says Shep, trying to smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” answers Jackie cautiously, lifting an eyebrow.

“Um, I kind of expected Anti to answer. Wasn’t sure if I should come at all. Hope you guys are getting things figured out. But, uh, I just wanted to apologize for what happened. The viewers asked me for a favor, so, uh… here.”

He hands the box to Jackie. Jackie pushes aside the top and -

“Noodle!”

It’s Chase, sprinting towards them from all the way on the other end of the hall.

“My cat! My cat!”

He goes crashing into Jackie and steals the box from him in one swoop, pulling his kitten out and hugging him tight against his chest, tears running down his cheeks. Noodle beeps and meows, taking a moment to adjust before tilting his head up and beginning to lick Chase’s beard like nothing has changed in the whole world.

“Thank you!” cries Chase, covering his cat in kisses, so overwhelmed he thinks he might just keel right over. “Thank you so much! My cat, my cat. Oh, Noodle, I missed you so much…”

He sees Marvin smiling nearby. Jackie speaks with Shep, thanking him and telling him about their plans. Noodle meows and snuggles up close to him, warming him, comforting him. Chase cries into his fur.

Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

Anonymous asked: Death never feels like the correct way to end things. When there's hope and love and trust and promise of change in the world, death just seems too final a consequence. But Anti was a denier of all those good things, and sought to replace them with spite and animosity and hopelessness. I know none of these words will help you all feel better but... I understand the sense of loss all the same, justified or not. Mourn how you need to mourn, feel how you need to feel. And hold tight to each other.

Dapper sits upstairs, alone.

Fuck, the room is quiet. The room is so quiet. Not that it was ever very loud up here, but damn.

“It wasn’t the correct way to end things,” he tells you. “He could have… he could have… I could have…”

But the truth is, he knows you’re right, and he knows Blue’s right, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

He buries his face in his hands, shuddering.

You watch him get to his feet and head into the bathroom. The thick smell of the lotions and bath salts fill his nose until nothing else is distinguishable. He sits down against the side of the tub and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t have the strength. He doesn’t have any strength at all.

But he needs to do one more thing.

A silver light flickers in his eyes.

The Northern lights waft through the sky like the body of a slow-moving dragon, vivid and ethereal. Their cold, swirling colors drift over the side of the mountain and illuminate the ocean in blue and green and pink. He knows because he can see for miles from the window above his bed. The trees, stretching out around him, the birds flickering through the sky, the faraway ocean, moving forever without him - yes, he remembers.

A young man in a big yellow jumper stares out at the Norway sky. His eyes burn with the colors of aurora borealis.

“What are you looking at like that?” asks a soft, familiar voice.

Dapper turns and finds Anti lying beside him, grinning up at him. He smiles back and Anti reaches out to grab him, holding his waist and yanking him back down onto the bed. Dapper laughs, falling onto the mattress beside him, and when Anti pulls him to his chest, all Dapper does is wrap his arms around him and hold him in return.

“Tomorrow’s going to be good,” says Anti, rubbing his back in slow circles, looking up at those lights through their window. “I’m a fucking genius. Finally. Finally I did it.”

“What, Anti?”

“What? Don’t play dumb with me. Finding Marvin.”

He has soft hair, dyed dark, and clear green eyes. Warm at his side and glowing in the light, Anti is relaxed and beautiful, soft to the touch and at ease with the world.

“I’m heading out to go get him soon as my intel finishes downloading,” says Anti. “Sneak up on him at night and have him back by morning. I’m so sick of Red moping around. He’ll finally have someone to cheer him up again. Fuck, and the pair of them will be so badass. We’ll be able to get whatever we want. I’ll have him look after all of you, actually, or that’s what I was thinking. Would you like that? Someone checking in on you sometimes? Someone other than me, I guess.”

Dapper stares up at him. Memorizing the lines of his face. The way he looked when he wasn’t scared or angry or lost in his misery. These moments - these moments where Anti seemed to love him - this was what he always held on to. It was the only way he survived.

“Dapper?”

“Yes,” he signs distantly. “Yes, I would like that.”

Anti nods decisively, settling down again, looking up at the stars. There’s a smile on his face. He rubs warm circles against Dapper’s spine. Downstairs, through the floorboards, he can hear Trick and Dok and Red talking - about nothing, about everything.

“Yeah,” says Anti, letting out a low breath. “Tomorrow, I’ll have Marvin. And then everything will finally feel right. And nothing will ever be able to hurt us again. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Dapper is there. Against his side. Breathing in time with him. His brother.

“There’s his face,” smiles Anti as his security feed footage finishes downloading on the computer beside him, his eyes changing to blue as he sorts through it. “I’m so fucking good at this. Yes! Okay, I’m heading out. Be ready to reverse if something goes wrong. It won’t, though. It’ll go perfectly. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Dapper reaches out for him, but Anti is already out of bed, changing his form and packing his things. He’ll take Red and he’ll be gone.

He’ll be gone.

“Okay,” says Anti, hoisting up his backpack and turning back to him, running his hands through Dapper’s curls. “I’ll be back soon, little brother.”

“I love you,” he signs.

In just a moment, he’ll be gone.

“Do you have to go?”

“I have to go. Little dork. Bye.”

Anti leaves Dapper behind, heading down the stairs. But right before he goes, there’s a moment where he pauses and looks back.

“I love you too,” he signs. “I’ll be home soon.”

It is only a memory. Nothing more.

He’s gone.

End Chapter Four - the Witch’s Promise

#chapter four

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

I am posting up to chapter 18 of Small Time Witch. I don’t know if I’m done with it. I’ll say it’s. WIP for now. Hope you enjoy.

Small Time Witch (9)

Your tac suit was tight and stiff. Your fellow female agents told you it would smash your tits so much you would feel like you were suffocating. They were not wrong. You put up your hair and grabbed your jacket. Your bag was already by the front door. You had to keep moving because every time you stopped you thought of what you and Loki had just done. You felt like the suit was outright strangling you.

You knew what you were doing when you climbed onto his lap. You didn’t stop him when he made you come in his hand. You definitely were the instigator here. Not that he wasn’t a very willing participant.

Even still, every time you looked at him he looked away. He didn’t hide that he was angry with you. He had never said he loved someone outside of his family. Ever. You treated his words like they were meaningless. But, heaven help him, you felt so good.

You knew he was thinking about it too. It came in fragments. Your lips. How you tasted. The crackle of the current that ran all through his body when you came. He looked up at you and caught you staring. You quickly looked away. Your cheeks were blazing and your clean panties were staring to feel sticky. “Sorry” he muttered.

“It’s ok. You ready?”

“Yeah.” While you walked to the front door he shifted into his leather. A visible shudder went through your body. You pulled at the collar of your top. You half expected cartoon steam to billow out. This was going well.

The car ride over to the compound was silent except for you constantly skipping songs on your playlist.

“By Odin’s beard, mortal. Will you just pick one?”

“So I’m back to mortal now?” Good. Pick a fight.

He stared out the window, “What should I call you?”

“Nothing.” You opened your mouth to speak several times but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, “Why are you mad at me?” You already knew why. You were just a sadist and wanted him to say it.

“I’m not angry.”

“Wow. You really are the god of lies.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“We had better get it out of the way before we get to the compound.”

He took a deep breath and in a harsh tone said, “I am angry because not twenty minutes ago you were moaning my name and in just a moment I have to see you with him.”

“I thought you would be fine. You usually plow through anything you wish without a care.”

“I’ve never loved any of them.” That statement hung in the air for the rest of your ride. You settled on Miley and turned it up.

You arrived about a half hour earlier than expected since you were flooring it the whole way. Thor met you outside and could feel the tension emanating from the car. Loki got out and took his bag from the trunk refusing to look back at you. “How was the ride over?” Thor asked smiling.

“I am truly lucky to be alive. The mortal has a death wish:”

“Got you here didn’t I?” Thor looked at Loki walking away and back to you sulking by your car, “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah fine.” You slammed your car door and walked passed him without another word. He caught up to Loki who was still seething.

“Did you two have a fight?” Thor asked bracing himself. Loki pulled him aside so no one would hear.

“I professed my love then we had relations.” Thor was confused.

“And you’re fighting because...”

“Because she said she can’t trust me with her heart. So she chooses the soldier because he is a more dependable man.”

“So your reputation precedes you. Honestly, brother. What did you expect? You’ve broken my heart many times.”

“I’ve never said I love you to anyone.”

“She’ll come around.” Thor patted his back. Loki smiled remembering that was the same advice his mother gave him in his dream.

You met the other agents who were getting ready to board the C-5. Wanda saw you and ran to catch you. “Hey, y/n, you’re with us.”

“I’m going to ride ahead with SHIELD. I can’t be around everyone right now.”

“Why? Steve is ok. Didn’t you talk last night?” You took a deep breath and recounted your morning. She had no kind words to offer. No advice to give. She hugged you and said she understood recognizing the internal battle you had to fight.

Everyone was on the Quinjet ready to go. “Are we waiting on anyone?” Rhodey asked.

“No. We’re all here.” Wanda responded.

Steve looked around and didn’t see your face. “Loki, where’s Y/N? Didn’t you ride together?” Loki looked around and slightly panicked. He caught Wanda’s eyes.

Wanda kept her gaze on Loki, “She went ahead with SHIELD, Cap. She said she’d text you before they took off.” Steve looked at his phone and smiled at your text.

Y: Hey, Cap. I’m a nervous wreck so I thought it would be best to electrocute an intern instead of getting you again. I’ll see you at base camp.

SR: Nothing to be nervous about but I appreciate you thinking of me. Please don’t electrocute any interns. ;) I can’t wait to see you. Let’s pick up where we left off last night. Safe travels.

He took his seat next to Bucky and they took off.

Loki kept to himself for most of the trip. Eight hours was a very long time to be alone with himself. Wanda finally came over. “She told me what happened. I’m sorry she feels the way she does.” Wanda whispered.

“I shouldn’t have ever said anything. I would have gotten over it. I shouldn’t have burdened her.”

“Love isn’t a burden. She loves you but she’s scared. She just has a fucked up way of telling you how she feels. You two really are meant for each other.”

“She thinks I’ll leave her. That she’s not enough to keep me on Midgard.”

“Have you given her reason to think you have no intention of staying?”

Thor plopped down in the seat opposite them and put a finger up to silence Loki, “I was eavesdropping on purpose. Well let’s see: You have no permanent home on Midgard. You’ve never lived with a woman other than Mother. You’ve never been in an actual relationship. Your continued drunken trysts with Lady Sif don’t count. You don’t know how to be in a relationship. You are selfish and have betrayed me more times than I can count.”

Loki buried his face in his hands, “So what am I to do? Stand back and watch her carry on with the soldier? Bide my time and hope one day she’ll want me? How did you know about Sif?”

Thor laughed, “It’s the worst kept secret on Asgard. You have to fight for her. It’s the only way.”

“Fight him?”

“No...” Wanda grew impatient with their bickering, “Fight for her heart. Earn it. Show her that you’ll never leave her. She’s lost everyone she’s ever loved, Loki. It’s no wonder she’s afraid of losing you too. So afraid that she’s pushing you away before you even get the chance to break her.”

Everyone chatted on. Loki stayed away from the crowd trying to somehow connect with you.

You found a seat off to the side so you could sleep. The plane was noisy but the constant droning was soothing. You watched the clouds float by outside of the window and tried to clear your mind. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of the two men. You made a mental list of all of their qualities. Surely in the realm of your life Loki would be the best choice. He knew your struggle. On the other hand Steve was patient and kind. Your heart wanted them both. Loki was the best choice but Steve was the safest. Safety was what you most desired in life.

As you drifted off you caught a faint whisper of a voice. It floated like the clouds around your brain and warmed you to your very core. You closed your eyes and said you loved him too.

#steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #marvel witches #mcu x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel #steve rogers x reader #captain america smut

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aviv-kasyanenko · 3 years

Text

NEW YEAR’S EVE 2020 [1 of 3?]:

You’re going to think I enjoyed writing this, but please know that I didn’t.

Date: December 31st, 2020. About 11:30pm. Warnings: Idk, mob stuff. I don’t want to spoil it but if this is too much for you then why are you even here reading Russian shit rn lbr.

Well, he had to hand it to them: they could sure carry on a party in the face of just about anything.

Though Vorya had been plunged into darkness—not unlike the rest of the city, if stories recounted by drunken tongues were to be believed—the Russians had point-blank refused to allow their New Year’s Eve celebrations to be interrupted. The alcohol continued to flow as freely as one would expect from them, and even those who weren’t affiliated with the Vorshevsky family in some way had decided to stick around and ride out whatever was going on. It seemed unlikely there would be a better time to be found anywhere else.

Naturally, his immediate reaction to the blackout had been to blame the weather.

When hushed whispers started to circulate a rumour there’d been an explosion on the other side of the river, however, his mind wandered into uncomfortable territory only another glass of vodka could put to ease. The anxieties he’d been trying to avoid since he’d landed in the shit hole he now called home were only compounded by the text from their boss; evidence in itself that the man wasn’t worried about whatever this was.

Bombs were hardly the style of the French, and the Rutherfords had no reason to make such an ugly scar on the face of a city they were still battling desperately to keep under their control.

So if there had been an explosion the three main culprits weren’t responsible for, it really only left two options:

Either Arkady gave even fewer fucks about London than he’d initially thought, and would jump on just about any tragedy that he thought could be of benefit, or a not so unfamiliar enemy was rearing its ugly fucking head on a country it’d already spent years tormenting, and the old man already knew it was coming.

Aviv’s relationship with the HCA was well understood to be a complicated one. Whilst he couldn’t begrudge the Russian mob doing business with them—money was fucking money, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered—that didn’t mean he hadn’t made his aversion to their goals abundantly clear. Those who affiliated with the Vorshevskys varied in their opinions; some of the Russians sympathised with the group’s goals, where others thought they were fucking insane. For those who’d originated from the former USSR countries the terrorist organization once again sought to control, however, it was a little more personal.

The Ukrainians, in particular, had been dealt a shitty hand by those cunts. Maybe the Kurylenkos had been in Launceston so long it didn’t matter to them.

Aviv didn’t much feel like looking past it, though.

Though he’d been sat at the bar in relative silence, enjoying a moment’s calm from what he was sure would be a party that carried on until the sun was all the light they needed to get home, it was interrupted just as he was about to request another refill.

“Aviv, can you help me with something?”

The Israeli had turned to the Kurylenko loyalist with a glare that said: No.

Even in the dimly lit room, it didn’t take long for him to realise that the expression he wore carried more anxiety than any of the inner turmoil he’d been fighting. All it took was a second for his gut to sink. The expectation had loomed heavy over all of their heads after the shit show that had been last year’s celebration, but now, as he looked back at a man visibly sweating, he was sure that their night was finally set to unravel. Something was very wrong.

Deciding the spare the others any concern until he was absolutely sure it was necessary, the fighter got to his feet and followed the green-as-grass security kid out to the back room.

The scene he was met with was not what he’d been expecting.

A second Kurylenko loyalist was stood in front of them, shining a torch downward to illuminate a pristinely wrapped Christmas gift; gold ribbon holding it together like it was the most innocent thing in the fucking world.

Were they joking?

“Bit fucking late for Chanukah, boys,” he mocked.

The man with the torch said nothing.

It was then Aviv noticed that his hands were red.

“We didn’t open it, but—”

Words seemed to fail Artyom, the man who had come to find him at the bar, at that point, and instead he gestured toward the box as if to say ‘take a look.’ It was rare that Aviv ever found himself feeling apprehensive, but as he realised the same red on the hands of the man opposite had since pooled around the bottom of the gift, it was impossible to ignore.

It looked like blood.

Hesitant to touch, he reached out just enough to tilt the label into view.

It read simply: ‘Joyeux Noël.’

“Who delivered this?” Aviv snapped, looking to each of them in turn. “Where’d you find it?”

“Some guy in a suit left it on the doorstep.”

“French?”

“I don’t know, he sounded American. I—”

With each word, Aviv could feel the blood in his veins begin to boil.

“What did he look like?”

“Uh, I don’t know. It was dark, he—” Artyom stuttered.

“Average height. Beard,” the other began in an attempt to save his friend from getting his head slammed into the fucking wall, “expensive looking suit.”

Didn’t narrow it down in the fucking slightest, but who else but a French piece of shit would’ve left such an obvious ‘fuck you’ right at the height of their party?

After a moment’s hesitation he usually wouldn’t have allowed himself, he finally untied the ribbon and removed the lid of the box. The smell hit so fucking fast he was surprised that the container had managed to hold it until now. Unmistakeable every time, pungent and assaulting, the kind that could make anyone sick to their stomach: it smelled like death.

As he looked down into the depths of the box, the view of whatever it was holding was obscured by plastic wrap; bloodied, and obviously not fit for fucking purpose given the swamp it was now sat in. Aviv never had a weak stomach for these things. His time working with the Vorshevskys had desensitised him to the most violent depths of a man’s imagination and the havoc it wrought. It wasn’t the idea of what he was going to find that bothered him, but more so who. The French had taken a lot of hits lately and he’d been glad for every single minute of their suffering. But it seemed unlikely that however they chose to finally get back at their biggest enemies would be anything short of personal.

It’d started with Svetlana, and would end with this.

Peeling back the barrier, the first thing he noted was the hair; beautiful blonde, eerily reminiscent of his dead girlfriend, albeit matted with so much blood it was hard to discern.

A fucking head.

Now that was absolutely a French fucking MO.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Artyom muttered.

“Watch your mouth,” Aviv countered quietly, though unwilling to look up from the hair in his hand.

He almost didn’t want to touch her. But they needed to know.

“Who is it?”

As he eventually pushed back the hair to reveal the face of the victim, he realised that even the worst case scenarios his brain had been cycling through hadn’t been close. All at once, the striking pain of loss returned with unimaginable force and it felt like his chest was being fucking crushed. All the air in his lungs left him. Even if he’d wanted to answer their pig-ignorant question, he wasn’t sure he could’ve found the words to curse them to fucking hell.

Did they not know the place in which they stood?

Aviv wouldn’t pretend to not understand why their enemies had done this, but for what possible reason could they have chosen her beyond pettiness?

“Go and get Maksim,” he finally said. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign to him. “Andrei, too.”

If anyone was going to break it to the family, it should’ve been them.

Maksim could soften the blow for the Kurylenkos, and Andrei was almost certainly better suited than him to tell Mikhail that another one of his sister’s was dead.

“Aviv…who?”

The man didn’t even have it in him to be angry at the persistence.

Aviv had already lived through the pain of losing family once.

Not nearly as much as they had, though…

As he finally tore his eyes away from the decapitated head of Katarina Vorshevsky, he had only three words left to give:

“That’s my sister.”

#self para #event: NYE2020 #sorry kara #MobNYEdrop

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sea-side-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/72916086

Chapter 51

When Nick came back to his senses, he found himself lying in his bed. It must’ve been early in the morning because it was still dark outside. He had a guess what woke him up. Probably not the hangover, because it had never been a reason to wake up, but the terrible thirst that tormented him definitely was. He swore to himself for the umpteenth time to never mix alcohol and party favors again, while struggling up. Then he stopped because he felt that something had been lying on him and now slid down. It was Morrie’s arm. Morrie himself was still asleep, turned into Nick’s direction and lying more on Nick’s side than his own. Nick made an effort not to wake him up when he crouched out of the bed and fell on all fours on the fluffy carpet.

He had to wait a bit until the roundabout in his head stopped spinning, before he continued to crouch. He rued that the suite had no railing for moments like these when he made his way hand over hand along the wall, up to the bar. He needed his panacea. It was difficult to mix with shivering hands, he almost knocked over the glass multiple times, and one time he missed it. Finally, after drinking the finished mixture, he sank back onto the carpet - that was safer than sitting on the stool, and waited for the pain to melt away. He believed he had dozed off when he became conscious again and the pain had turned numb.

Pulling himself up at the counter, he sat down, supporting his head with his arms and carefully beginning to think. There was something he had wanted to do. But what had that been? Had it really been important or could he just go back to bed? Nobody was awake other than himself, he had no reason to wake them up, and the chance of spending some more time with Morrie was tempting. When he was about to give up and go, it crossed his mind again.

Arthur.

He had wanted to spare some delicious food for him. Now looking into the fridge, he found that there was nothing left but some tins of jellied eels which came from a different delivery and also, Arthur had food in tins en masse in his hideout. Disappointed in himself, he closed the fridge and started massaging his temples. Wasn’t there more in this suite? If only he had a clear head! Why did this take so long today? Nick became angry, and the pain in his temples promptly pulsated heavier.

What was that mood today?

Then finally the scales fell from his eyes, and he fiddled about in his jacket. Joy. He needed it immediately. One pill later he felt much better. He still felt the pain, but it wasn’t that bad anymore.

Also, Nick’s brain came back to life. It spit out an idea. Kneeling down, he opened a drawer. The second one he tried was the right one. With his hands he wiped away the syringes that somehow found their way inside, then he pulled out a chocolate box. It was an ornate tin box of an expensive brand. The scent already made Nick’s mouth water. But he pulled himself together and placed the box on the counter. He would’ve liked to take a shower and comb his hair, but he didn’t want to walk by Morrie again, so he decided to wash himself in his tunnel suite.

He left through his secret exit and soon found the hatch he needed. Climbing in, he though that in a way, Arthur was everywhere. He could visit him everywhere, as long as there was a hatch. And they weren’t quite rare. Nick had never noticed how easy these entrances were to find. Nobody seemed to know about them. Uncle Jack himself had once said that there were no tunnels in Wellington Wells. If only he knew!

When he reached his tunnel suite and saw that the bed was empty, he placed the chocolate down on it and went into the bathroom to wipe away the traces of last night. But when he came back, the bed was still empty. He supposed that Arthur was out on a tour to who knew where and wouldn’t come back too soon, so he took a lipstick that somehow made it into this room’s inventory and wrote a letter for him that he laid down next to the chocolate. Slightly disappointed that he hadn’t met him, but content with his work, he went home.

He could’ve gone back to the hotel, but he thought he could use some time alone in his house. He could check on the Nonsuches that still carved out their miserable existence in his wardrobe. Perhaps he found a way to get them out of there, claim it was a gift by a fan. That sounded like a believable excuse to him.

Out of the tunnel again, he noticed that his Constable was asleep. He sneaked up on him and let out a yell, waving his arms, so that the Constable woke with a start and screamed in horror.

„Murder! Plague! Downers!“

Nick laughed.

„It’s me, Hunt! Don’t tell me you’re sleeping at your shift.“

„I…well…I dozed off a tiny bit…it was just such a harmless of a night…“

„Can’t have enough of these, right?“

„Uh…pardon? Uh…sure…You didn’t happen to be outside tonight, I hope?“

His look was almost begging.

„No, I’ve been in my hotel bed, like a good boy“, Nick answered.

„That’s good to hear“, Hunt sounded honestly relieved. „I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.“

„Oh, Hunt, you charmer…“ Nick was touched. „You know, you can call me whenever you need something.“

„Thank you, Mr. Lightbearer. I’ll be alright.“

Hunt placed himself upright. He was at least two heads above Nick, who wondered, if there was anyone who would mess with him voluntarily.

„Alright“, Nick said laughing. „And Hunt…stay safe.“

Inside his home he already felt alone. He considered freeing Hunt from his duty and inviting him for coffee as suddenly somebody hopped out of the living room.

„Nicky!“, a female voice shouted and shortly after, somebody was hugging him tightly.

Nick fell backwards and collided with the wall, while having his face full of hair.

„Kitty…“, he sighed. „How did you get in?“ He guessed it.

„I sneaked past the Bobby when he was sleeping. You should get a better guard…or not.“

Nick giggled unsurely. „Would’ve ruined this moment, right?“

She stretched out her hand to run a finger over his beard.

„I missed you so…“

She pulled his head down for a intimate kiss and didn’t let go for a long time. Nick wondered how he could get her out of his house in a polite way when something occurred to her.

„I brought your guitar! It’s finished!“

She hastened back into the living room.

„Already? Really?“ Nick followed her. „That was lighting fast.“

She happily presented him his baby. All scratches were treated and barely visible.

„Wow, that’s stunning.“ He stroked the new varnish.

„Could be worse“, she downplayed.

„How much is that?“

The question made her laugh.

„You don’t have to pay me, dummy.“

„Why not? I always payed you. And don’t you…like…really need it now?“

„Oh, you’re such a sweetheart, Nicky“, she waved him off. Then she came closer again, stroked his arm and said quietly: „It’s all ours now.“

„Ours?“ Nick was puzzled. He had goosebumps all over his arm, but not the good kind. „I don’t know what you mean.“

She giggled again and he felt more and more uncomfortable. Did she take too much Joy?

„You poor thing. You’ve been awake all night, am I right? You work so hard, never taking breaks, only so that we can taste the fruits of your genius.“

Nick stared at her. He didn’t know what to say about that. Kitty gave him a pitiful look.

„You are all mixed up. Come, sit down, your Kitty is taking care of you now.“

Nick followed her, really feeling all mixed up. What was she talking about? He needed to find out. When they sat, she leaned against him and kissed his cheek.

„You need coffee, don’t you? Oh, I know how you like it.“

She wanted to stand up, but Nick stopped her.

„Wait…“

„Don’t worry, my darling. I’m back on no time.“ She patted his arm.

„Wait…can’t you…can’t you give me a clue? I’m completely in the dark here“, Nick asked faintly.

„Huh…it’s nothing a woman should tell a man…but I’m sure you remember it soon.“

With this mysterious statement, she left him alone.

Nick had no idea what to do with it. He only had a very bad feeling. Especially, he didn’t want Kitty to be still there when Morrie came back. It would only cause another unnecessary fight. And he was innocent this time. Kitty had happened after Morrie, and in addition she hadn’t been his only affair back then. He couldn’t apologize for every single one of them now.

What took her so long? Did it take that long to make coffee?

Perhaps, Nick hoped, she remembered right now that she had been dreaming.

But when she came back, she still had that beaming smile on her face. Nick’s smile was weak. Kitty put the mug on the table and took her seat right next to him.

„Do you remember?“, she sighed. Her look was excited.

Nick scratched his cheek. „Uhm…my mind is really foggy today…“

She took the mug again that Nick hadn’t touched.

„Then drink! I know how much it helps you! I made it extra strong.“

Nick allowed himself to be persuaded, even though he would’ve preferred a clue. A sip later he was calmer. The coffee was indeed comforting.

„Is that good?“, Kitty purred.

Nick nodded. „It’s perfect.“ He wiped away a hair strand and started to look like he was concentrating. „I..think…I see images…“

Kitty was hooked. „Do you remember?“

Nick silenced, furrowing his brows. Then he took her hands. „If only I had one slight hint! Please, Kitty, only a word! Please, don’t leave me hanging!“

He earned her pity.

„Okay…well…“ She mused. „Oh, I know…“

She pointed downward. „On your knees, Nicky.“

Nick needed a second to figure what she said.

„Come on, down with you“, she said giggling.

Nick slid from the couch and for the second time today his knees touched a carpet. With the caffeine pulsing in his veins he though this was kinda promising. He hadn’t known that Kitty fancied this but he was willing to learn.

„And?“, she asked.

Nick began to devote himself to what was in front of him. Kissing her thighs, he worked himself forward this way. He heard Kitty moan in surprise. Then her hands cupped his face and brought him to a halt.

„Nicky, what are you doing? Now isn’t playtime! Focus!“ she said cheerfully and gave his cheek a few slaps.

Nick backed away again, a bit disappointed.

Suddenly, something came up in his confused brain, causing him to give Kitty a terrified look.

She had her arms crossed and eyed him.

„Kitty…you…you might’ve misunderstood me…I mean…about us. That we…we…“

Nick stuttered, still unsure if he even guessed right.

„What do you mean?“ She sounded worried now.

„I really like you, but…“

She jumped up. „You don’t want to marry me?!“ He voice was shrill.

„You know…I like it as it is…We’re both free…Without any restraints. Why not…preserve this?“

Nick got up. She hurried around the room, upset.

„I lied for you…I told the police I was alone when Richard died…Why did you kill my husband if you don’t want to marry me?!“

She shouted the last words at him and Nick felt how they crashed into him with all their weight. He stumbled backwards, until his back found a wall he could cling to.

„I didn’t kill him! I swear, I was with you all night!“

Kitty walked towards him. „But who else could’ve done it?“

She grabbed him by the collar.

„You’ve done it for us! You just can’t remember!“, she urged him, as if she could shake the truth out of him.

„No!“ Everything inside him protested. Even though he had no idea what he did that night, despite all foggy nightmares he had had, he was sure he would never kill anyone and it was awful that Kitty thought he could to something like this.

„No, trust me Kitty, I would never to that!“

„You’re afraid to commit yourself!“, she tried. „Understandable, considering all the bad women you met. Soulless bitches that married you for your money. But we - we are made for each other!“

„No! I can’t marry you!“

She let go of him, as if she had burned herself.

„I’m sorry“, he added, sensing that it didn’t make it better.

Kitty turned away from him. Her shoulders were shaking. Nick put an arm around her to comfort her, but she winded out of his grip.

„If that’s so, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything I know!“

„But Kitty, I didn’t kill him!“

„You can tell that to the Bobbies. Farewell, Nick Lightbearer!“

Nick grabbed her arm, so that she couldn’t storm out.

„You don’t want this!“

„Why do you suddenly care about what I want?“

„We…we couldn’t see each other again…ever.“

He tried to pet her cheek, but she slapped his hand away.

„Perhaps that’s for the better. Perhaps Petunia is right and you’re nothing but a haughty, self-regarding snot.“

„You know me much better than her!“

„Really? Do I?“, she spat. „I think I should start listen to what others say about you. Be sure that I’ll add my bits too. I’ve always protected you Nick, but this…this is too much!“

He eyes began to water and she turned away.

Nick stopped her again. His heart was racing.

„Don’t do anything you’ll regret.“

„What’s to regret? You said you can’t marry me, and that’s all that matters for me.“

„Well…I…uh…“, Nick gulped. „You know…I can’t, because I don’t have a ring.“

She stared at him with wide eyes.

„You…you…“

She grabbed him.

„How dare you scaring me like that! You cruel, cruel man!“ She pummeled his chest with her fists and shouted at him until she was exhausted and leaned against him.

„Well…I’m really confused today“, Nick muttered. His heart was still pounding heavily.

„Don’t do that again“, Kitty whined.

„I promise“, Nick said softly, stroking her back.

„Don’t let me wait for too long, you hear me? You should be ashamed that you have no ring for me. It’s been such a long time.“

„It’s…supposed to be special, right?“, he tried to calm her down.

Kitty held her arms akimbo. „I have to go back to the shop, but I’m waiting for you.“

It sounded like a threat in Nick’s ears.

„No worries…I see you to the door, okay?“

Kitty granted him her arm and they walked through the corridor. Nick’s heart sank to his boots when in this very moment his band came through the front door.

„Oh, are you The Make Believes?“ She was thrilled. „Hello, boys!“

„Hello“, Chris greeted. „Looks like Nick caught the early bird.“

They laughed, Nick more nervous than happy.

He acted as if everything was alright and introduced Kitty and the band to each other. Morrie was polite enough to play along.

„Bates?“, Matt asked. „Are you somehow related to the owner of the music shop?“

„Oh yes. I own the shop now“, she said. „I’ve repaired Nick’s guitar.“

Nick was thankful she brought it up.

„You’ll see me more often now“, she unfortunately added and blew Nick a kiss.

„Bye, bye!“, she cheerfully shouted, walking out of the door. Nick awkwardly waved her goodbye.

„Kitty Bates, huh?“, Brad said when she was gone. „Aren’t you dating her for a while now? I though I read about you and her in the newspaper.“

„Your on-off relationship“, Chris stated.

„Isn’t it suspicious that she’s coming back now that you’re popular again?“, Matt asked.

„Hey, hey, stop it“, Nick held up his hands. „That’s not your business.“

„We want to save you from your own mistakes, Nicky-boy“, Chris explained. „How often did you marry again?“

Nick tried to answer but he didn’t know the number.

„That’s way too often“, his friend concluded. „You should be more careful.“

„Okay, okay, I’m not doing anything“, Nick defended himself.

„You got up early today and you never get up early.“

„I couldn’t sleep.“

„Sure“, Brad said. „We just want you to consider this before you kick us out.“

„I’m not kicking you out!“

„Whatever…I bet every time you ran away from us you were meeting a certain birdie“, Chris guessed.

„Is she part of your therapy?“ Brad and Chris laughed.

„I bet she’s great at playing the nurse.“

„You think she gave him all the bruises?“

Nick gave up explaining. Then he saw Matt’s look and wondered. Matt made a gesture towards the kitchen, and so he followed his friend there.

„Are you dating her? Is it serious?“, he asked quietly and heavy with meaning.

„What do you mean? Maybe? Maybe not? I won’t plunge into disaster, don’t worry.“

„If so, you should tell Morrie.“

Nick froze.

„He got his hopes up, you know? He was all churned up when you came back to him and he believes you love him again, just like the old days.“

„You…you know?“, Nick stuttered.

„Yeah, he told me. I don’t know what you’re pulling here, but you should be honest with him and tell him if you have other plans. And for fuck’s sake don’t use him! You should be glad we have him back. There’s no one else who suits us better than him.“

Nick struggled to follow. „Since when did you know that?“

Matt shrugged. „He told me many years ago. After the band parted, we met now and then…I guess to comfort each other.“ He shook his head. „I had no idea what he went through. You can’t do that to him again.“

„I’m not dating Kitty“, Nick said weakly.

Matt didn’t look like he believed him. „Don’t invite her again. Or tell Morrie the truth.“

Nick looked around. „Where is he anyway? Didn’t he come in with you?“

„I suppose he’s waiting for you.“

„I should go…“

Matt nodded and Nick went upstairs. He knocked at Morrie’s door silently. When his lover opened, Nick noticed that he acted calmer that he really was. He walked back to the desk and collapsed into a chair. Nick saw that he must’ve composed something. A pile of sheets was spread all over the table, some of them were covered with his neat writing.

Morrie didn’t say anything as well, he pointed at his bed. Nick was puzzled at first, then he realized that Morrie only offered him a seat and had no other chair. When they sat facing each other, Nick finally opened his mouth.

„It’s no way what it looks like“, Nick affirmed. „I’m not dating her. She’s only a good friend. Okay, we had an affair once but it started long after the band parted. You can’t blame this on me!“

Morrie looked out of the window. „And why didn’t you tell me that you meet her?“

„Because…because…it’s nothing, really, she only brought my guitar back.“

„You could’ve written me a message, like you did last time.“

Nick crossed his arms. „I…forgot. I had a hangover, okay? And I didn’t want to wake you up for this.“

„Why didn’t you tell me before? Two days ago for example, when we spent the entire day together.“

Nick stood up.

„You’re right! I know I’m the most disorganized person in the world. You would’ve done it so much better.“

Morrie shook his head. „Something’s off. I don’t like it. I don’t like her. You shouldn’t trust her.“

„Morrie!“, Nick blurted out, even though his sensible lover was right again. Kitty was crackers and Morrie must’ve sensed it. Nick hoped she would just take Joy and forget.

„Matt is right. She wants something from you.“

Nick shrugged. „Nothing happened so far.“

Morrie eyed him. „You smell like her.“

Nick wondered how he could smell that every time.

„She hugged me“, he admitted.

„And kissed you?“

Nick sighed. „She doesn’t love me. You love me. At least, I hope so.“

He looked at Morrie, his voice was soft as silk. His lover’s expression softened too. Nick dared a leap: „Hey, I have an idea! I know we used up our two holidays, but what about we steal us another day? If we’re leaving now, Virgil will never get us.“

He gently squeezed Morrie’s hands, who’s fingers started to play with his.

„And…where would you go with me?“

Nick mused. „Parade District perhaps? The House of the Future? I’ve never been there. After that, we’ll have dinner. What do you think?“

„Sounds seductive“, Morrie said quietly. „And after that, I’ll decide if I love you or not.“

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #nicklightbearer #nick lightbearer #whf nick #whfnick #nickxmorrie #nickxarthur #morrie memento #morriememento #whfmorrie #arthur hastings we happy few #whfarthur #whfarthurhastings

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loveistherootofhappiness · 3 years

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A little late, but still good (As you can see, turning in assignments on time just isn’t my thing 🤦🏾‍♀️)

Ship: Madney Rating: T Word Count: 1923

Summary: This was purely a coincidence. Just because a handsome stranger just so happened to be sitting next to her, wearing her so-called lucky colors, it didn’t mean anything.

Day 6: “Do you believe in love at first sight?” + meet cute

Can also be read here

Maddie heaved heavily, struggling to catch her breath. Her lungs protested the full on sprint she’d just done to make sure she didn’t miss the bus. The bus driver, uncaring of her plight, looked between her and the meter, silently willing her to pay her fare so he could move on to the next spot. She took a couple of calming deep breaths, grabbed the change, from her bag, and turned to find her a seat.

She found one of the last seats available on the already crowded bus. Such was the bane of L.A. public transit. Sitting her bag next to her, she put in her earbuds to listened to one of her favorite podcasts as she waited to arrive for her hospital shift.

She’d gotten lost in the story she’d been listening to when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Slightly started, she quickly removed one of her earbuds and looked up, locking eyes with the handsome stranger in front of her. She felt, what could only be described, as an electric current flow through her as she held his gaze. She could have sworn she spotted a flash of something in his eyes before he broke their contact.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if the seat next to you was taken?”

Maddie found herself instantly charmed by the kindness in his voice and the lopsided grin he’d sported. She took in the rest of him. The light of the morning sun highlighted his bronzed skin and dark brown eyes. His salt and pepper beard gave him a distinguished look. He was beautiful.

But the most noticeable thing about him was his bomber jacket. It looked as if an abstract painting had been taken and plastered on to the material, with all the differing colors splattered all over it. It definitely reminded her of something straight out of the 90s.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes then,” his voice broke through her train of thought. Confused for a second, she quickly realized she’d gotten so lost in her thoughts that she failed to answer his question. She must look insane.

“Oh, no,” she moved her bag out of the way. “It’s all yours,” feeling the blush forming on her cheeks, she chuckled nervously as he sat down, “sorry about that, I think I got distracted by your jacket.” Not a total lie.

He snorted, admiring the sleeves. “Wish I could take credit for it. It’s my brother’s. Couldn’t find mine, so I stole his.”

“Your brother has unique taste, it’s nice.” She returned his grin with a shy smile, finding herself instantly charmed. As she looked, she was able to take in the colors a little more, it definitely had al the basic colors accounted for, but the colors she saw the most of were green, purple, and orange.

Your lucky colors for today are orange, purple, and green. Her roommate, Josh’s, voice floated into my mind as she remembered what he’d said that morning. Josh been reading the L.A. Times and insisted on reading their horoscopes, which included a part about lucky colors.

Maddie shelved that thought process immediately. Nope. She wasn’t going down that road. This was purely a coincidence. Just because a handsome stranger just so happened to be sitting next to her, wearing her so-called lucky colors, it didn’t mean anything.

When she heard the familiar ding, she saw that her stop had been reached. Gathering her things, he gave her a wave before she exited the bus and walked the short distance to the hospital entrance. She pushed thoughts of horoscopes, colors, and handsome strangers away to prepare for whatever insanity this city provided the ER today.

Easier said than done.

Maddie flopped down in her chair, completely exhausted as her shift was nearing it’s end. It seemed that pushing those thoughts out of her mind just wasn’t what her brain wanted to do. It wasn’t to the point of distraction, but she’d caught herself thinking about a certain handsome stranger multiple times. His eyes, his voice, his smile. It had been a long time since he felt that connection with someone. It was crazy, she’d barely spoken two sentences to the guy, but there was something there she couldn’t describe.

And she didn’t even get his name. Some luck, huh.

Maddie sighed, as she used her badge to unlock the computer. Checking the incoming patients chart, she saw that a patient had been placed in one of her assigned rooms. She signed up for him and read through his chart. Possible broken wrist. Sounded simple enough.

Grabbing the appropriate tablet, she headed to his room. She did the obligatory knock before entering. “Okay, Mr. Han, I” she was stopped short by the sight of him. Sitting on the bed, holding a bag of melted ice to his wrist, with a bruised cheek, was the guy from the bus this morning.

“Well, hi.” He said as he smiled at her.

“Hi.” She stepped further into the room and closed the door, doing a quick survey of him to catalogue all his visible injuries. “It looks like you’ve had an eventful day, Mr. Han.”

“Please, call me Chimney,” she mustn’t’ve kept her face as straight as she thought, as he followed up with, “long story.”

Part of her wanted to wanted probe further so she could hear it, but knew this wasn’t the time or place. “Maddie.” She introduced. “Okay, Chimney, mind telling me how your face and wrist ended like this in,” she made a show of looking at her watch, “12 hours?”

“It looks worse than it feels,” he flinched as he tried to flex his injured wrist. She started checking his vitals as he explained, “I was trying to break up a bar fight. Drunk guy wanting to take his anger out on other people. He got my cheek as I got between him and another guy. He popped my wrist as I was tossing him out.”

She grabbed his wrist from him, gently examining it. Black, blue, swollen, and out of place in several places. “I admire the heroism.”

“Wouldn’t really call it heroism, it’s kinda my job,” he looked from his wrist to her eyes, “I’m a bouncer... slash D.J. slash manager.”

“That sounds... busy,” she laughed as she gently let go of his wrist.

“It can be, but it’s a living.”

In that moment, the doctor walked in the room. She left the room, giving them some privacy to talk. Sitting down at the computer she was still in a state of disbelief. She didn’t know if it would be wise to call this luck, given the state he was in and she still had no idea where she stood in her belief in it, but she didn’t think she could call this a coincidence anymore.

Maddie gathered the things she would need to wrap his wrist and bandage his cheek. As soon as the doctor came out, the x-rays came back and confirmed what she already knew: his wrist was dislocated. She waited for the doctor to put in the orders and do the obligatory explanations with Chimney before heading back to the room.

“Chimney, let’s get that wrist wrapped and get you out of here.”

She slid the stool in front him, gave him an initial dose of pain medicine, and went to work on getting him patched up. There was a comfortable silence between them as she bandaged his bruised cheek.

“You know of all the ways I thought about seeing you again, gotta say, this wasn’t on the list,” he told her as she moved on to his wrist.

She actions faltered a bit, but she quickly recovered and fell back into her rhythm. Looking up into those kind, brown eyes, she saw the sincerity there. “You thought about seeing me again?”

He smiled shyly, “well, I’d hoped,” she was well aware that her cheeks were a fresh shade of crimson, “now I’m trying to figure out the ethics of asking your nurse for her phone number.”

Maddie knew she had the biggest grin on her face. Ignoring her heartbeat, she slid on the brace and wrapped the sling around his neck and wrist. Reaching for the discharge paperwork she’d brought with her, she held out the clipboard and a pen. “Sign here please.” She kept the smile on her face as he looked between her and the pen, grabbing and signing his name as best he could.

“Listen, if I overstepped-”

“You didn’t,” writing on the paperwork before she handed him his part of it, “and it looks like I’m officially not your nurse anymore.”

He caught on quickly as she pointed to her name and personal number at the bottom. Taking out his cellphone right then, he sent her a text message. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Just making sure you know it’s me.” She chuckled and saved his number.

They pocketed their phones, he grabbed his things, which included the jacket, and they both walked out of the room. “Well, Mr. Han, it has been a pleasure, you know besides the reason that you’re actually here.”

“Gotta say, the pleasure has been all mine.”

“Stay out of trouble,” she told him as he turned and walked towards the exit.

“No promises,” he threw over his shoulder before walking out the door.

Making her way back to the nurse’s station, she put his paperwork on the rack to be filed, made sure all her charts were completed, and logged out for the day. When she walked into the nurse’s lounge she found two of her coworkers having a conversation as she walked in.

“Ask Maddie and see what she thinks.” Jasmine said.

“Ask Maddie what?” She asked as she got her things from her locker.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

The question gave her pause and she turned to face the two women. “Um, I don’t know.” A certain charming man came to mind as she thought about it, throwing her completely off guard. She was certainly charmed by him, definitely infatuated and instantly attracted, but love. That was a stretch, right? Though, she had to admit, she’d never felt that strong a connection with someone before. “Maybe. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility.”

“See, Maddie agrees with me.”

“I just don’t think it can happen,” Malika chimed in, “there definitely attraction at first sight, infatuation at first sight, most definitely lust at first sight, but love? Absolutely not, how the heck can you love someone you don’t know?” She did have a point.

“You’re just a cynic.”

“Just another way of saying realist, Jas.”

Leaving the two women to their conversation, as all the implications were starting to give her a headache, she said her goodbyes and left. As she walked across the parking garage, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. She pulled out her phone and read the text on the screen.

Chimney Han I just realized, you probably know my entire medical history and I know nothing about you. How about we change that over dinner?

Maddie found herself staring at the message. All the implications and possibilities of whatever this thing was between them aside, she knew she liked him, at the very least. She felt excited at the thought of exploring the connection and see where it led.

She typed a quick, “I’d love to,” in response. ---

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

#madneyweek2021 #madney #chimney x maddie #maddie buckley #howie chimney han #911 fanfic #fanfic writing hell

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Weird “Halloween”

Whipped something up for you guys this morning. Though, I would appreciate any prompts or ideas you guys have. I am going through a bit of an idea slump and need some inspiration :) Just like this story, bing suggested to me by an outside party.

Krill awoke, well not really awoke because Vrul don’t sleep, but more like drifted out of a daydream, completely unsuspecting. Then again, when it came to humans, he was almost always completely unsuspecting.

Krill generally took his hiatus in the in the medical bay, since he spent so much time there. There was, however, one drawback to this…. He woke to the sight of Conn, the starborn, floating suspended in a corner of the room. His large black eyes were wide and unseeing, his large, round mouth was parted revealing the sharp interior vortex of teeth. He saw nothing, ad he responded to nothing. It had been months since the event at the prison, and still, the starborn remained comatose. Internal cranial scans had not shown anything definitive. Starborn were difficult to read when compared to humans, but still it was frustrating they could find nothing.

Over all else, Commander Vir blamed himself, Conn had saved his life before falling into a coma, and the man seemed to think it was partially him to blame, Krill couldn’t have disagreed more, but there was no arguing with the man.

It was rather early, and the medical bay was empty, the lights above had been dimmed to mirror solar cycles and allow for the proper function of the human circadian rhythm. The biggest protest Krill had against this practice was it made everything dark and kind of creepy, especially when you had a brain dead starborn floating in the corner. The shuttered internally and turned away from the corner quickly making his way from the room and into the dark hall.

Admittedly it wasn’t much better out here. While the medical bay had a comatose starborn, the outside hallways were covered in an exposed layer of pipe, and without the reflective white surface of the hospital interior, the hallways were much darker.

Due to safety concerns, the hallways were lit by a single light every twenty feet, but that was seriously no help. He swallowed his concern beating it back with logic and made his way down the hall. The Commander would be awake soon, and krill had a few concerns he wanted to bring before the man.

He was passing a T intersection on his way to the bridge when an echoing clatter reached him from down the hall. He turned peering into the darkness, his night vision was relatively poor, so he saw nothing, but switching over to his thermal vision, he could see the faint figure of a human standing in the hallway. It was a rather hunched person, but other than its heat signature, he couldn't see anything else.

He switched back to his regular vision, “Hello?” he called into the darkness.

Another soft clattering, and a figure appeared from the balck stepping into the penumbra of light right at the edge of darkness and visible light. Krill blinked in confusion.

It was a woman, or at least he thought it was. She had her face concealed by ragged drapes of long black hair, her head tilted down towards the floor. Her shoulders were hunched, and her hands were held down to the side. She wore only a long white t-shirt, or perhaps a night dress. Krill might have mistaken it as a hospital gown.

Seemed odd, usually the crew were at least somewhat dressed and presentable? Perhaps they were sleepwalking, humans did that sometimes, “Hello.” Krill called again.”

He took a step forward, and before he knew what was happening, she was crawling across the floor limbs contorted feet scrabbling.

Krill leat off a high pitched squeal turned and ran even as her scuttling followed after him a horrible brushing slapping noise as her hands came in contact with the metal.

She was so close he could hear her breath.

He shrieked again, and somewhere along the hall a door opened.

A large blue head appeared form the doorway blearily blinking, “Krill what.” Sunny froze when she turned to look eyes growing wide, then grabbing krill up in one arm, she crouched into a fighting stance head lowered.

The ‘thing’ pulled up short, and then sat back on its heels. Dark hair parted about a grotesque face grey and cold with dark black about the eyes and a horrid blackness about the lips, “That is really hard on the shoulders, by the way.”

Sunny and Krill stared at the creature in surprise as the woman got to her feet dusting off her hands and knees throwing her dark hair over her shoulder. She giggled, “You should have seen your face.”

“Damn Cortney, that was just mean.” Krill and sunny turned again to find the Commander standing at the end of the hall followed by a possy of other humans, and all of them were….. Well they were dressed very strangely. The Commander himself was wearing a maroon button up shirt tucked into tan pants and a brown leather gunbelt and boots. Over that he wore a brown leather jacket that reached almost to the floor. Most surprisingly is he had replaced his eyepatch with a prosthetic eye.

Sunny cocked her head, in confusion, “What is this all about?”

“Hold on, Krill though, that’s low hanging fruit.”

The woman shrugged, “He was the only one I knew who I could scare and not get stomped, besides.” She grinned, “He squeals like a child.”

“Captain, we’re wasting time.” One of the bridge crew had stepped up to the Commander’s side. He was wearing a strange blue long sleeve shirt, black pants…. And well his ears seemed rather pointir than they should have been.

“And You are absolutely right.” he motioned the group behind him forward, “Come on wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

Sunny and Krill stood by in confusion as the humans walked past in the wake of the captain. Behind him, a bearded man in tan robes and a brown cloak followed by another in a strange blck suit of armor with some serious breathing issues, and then a bunch of white armored men after that. In stark contrast to that a few people came by in very dated clothing the women with large skirts, and the men with fancy tipped canes. Sunny found one of the costumes quite unsettling, a human painted with a whte face but bright red lips, and nose with a shock of orange hair and a very strange lacy costume. When he smiled at her, it made her shiver.

After that, A human in a long black and red cape, dark hair slicked back. He smiled at them, and his teeth were far longer than they should have been. Sunny could tell by the way krill cringed, that he wasn’t particularly pleased with this.

They continued to parade past in a column, strange armor, stranger clothing. Sunny recognized some of them from the multitudinous amount of movies Vir had made her watch.

A woman in full plate armor clanked her way past walking side by side with a man wearing ablack suit, dark hair reaching to his shoulders. He had a very closely cropped dark beard, and under one arm he held a stuffed beagle…. Whatever that was about.

After they had gone past, sunny and Krill tagged onto the end of the line following the group of humans into the rec room where they ranged themselves comfortably. Commander Vir motioned them closer, “Come on you two, don't’ think I didn’t forget about you.” Sunny was a bit confused when he handed her a very strange looking weapon shaped sort of like a teardrop, but with two prongs. When she pressed a button near the handle, the entire thing lit up with analogue blue electricity.

Kril got some sort of black covering with a red hourglass shape on the back.

“What is this?” Krill demanded

The commander grinned and opened his arms wide, “This my friend is october 31st, Halloween.”

“A hallow whatsis?”

“No Hloween. Probably about the greatest holiday ever.”

“Like christmas?” Krill wondered.

“Exactly like christmas. A pagan holiday evolved overtime for commercialization to squeeze every drop of income out of the general populace, and absolutely the best.” Krill and Sunny looked back and forth between each other in confusion

“What does that have to do with the costumes?”

“Well originally i think it had to do something with wearing masks so a demon couldn’t see your real face or something, but now you just dress up as whatever is cool, and then the kids go around asking people for candy. For adults it's an excuse to get drunk, eat their kids candy, and watch a scary movie marathon.”

Sunny crossed her arms, “And which one of those will we be doing now?”

The Commander grinned at her, “Well, now that we are dressed up, we will be doing a scary movie marathon, eating candy, and then later we are going to party and get drunk…. Within reason.”

Oh great, this was going to be a disaster. Humans always thought alcohol was a good idea….. It never was.

The commander took a seat on one of the couches and then patted the cushions next to him, “See, I Reserved seats for the three of us…. oh , just one warning though, I am a total pansy when it comes to scary movies. I will scream, no question about it.”

“Than….. Why are we doing it?” Sunny wondered

“Because it's halloween, the entire point is to be scared at at least some point during the day.”

He was very much ot kidding. He did scream, a lot, and he had a habit of grabbing sunny rather violently when anything jumped out at them. Sunny personally didn’t see the big deal, there wasn’t any monster for real, and even if there was, she had a couple of ideas on how to get rid of them, and most of them involved a sharp stick of some sort, or a grenade. It also didn’t help that the humans were always stupid, she knew humans and she was very aware of how well their flight or fight system worked. No human she knew would walk into a dark room after something creepy happened to them.

But these humans, they loved it, if they weren’t freaking out they were laughing at the others freaking out, and even those who were freaking out ended up laughing a few seconds later. She was sure that Krill had some paper in mind about human social bonding, or perhaps a theory about the calibration of the flight or fight system encouraged by the viewing of scary movies, but she wasn’t convinced.

Watching Adam almost pee himself was rather entertaining, and out of the two of them, she liked it when he was forced to rely on her. In this case, he mostly just borrowed her as a shield, but still, it was funny.

Krill was not particularly happy with the amount of trash food consumed. He hadn’t exactly known about health science when he started, kind of assuming that humans could just eat anything they wanted, but now he knew better, and knowing better meant being annoyed at the human’s poor life choices.

As for the strange costumes, it turned out that the humans had dressed themselves up as popular characters from movies, books, or history. If not a specific person, than they chose for an aesthetic. The woman in white was from a centuries old horror movie called, the ring. As for Commander Vir, he described his costume as “Coming from the best underrated sci-fi television show to ever grace planet earth.

She would have placed him in a western rather than science fiction, but it seemed as if humans didn’t like following the rules of their own genres.

As for Krill, he did have a couple of theories to write about. Yes, sunny was right about the first two, and in conjunction with each other. Laughter was, mostly, a social emotion, sure humans laughed to themselves, but they did it at a much higher frequency around other humans. Furthermore, from what he could tell, many humans didn’t like to watch these sort of movies alone which condcluded to him that fear was designed to be a social experience. In fact, humanity seemed to have designed a way to foster greater social bonds in people by having them experience fear together, not only that, but the human sympathetic nervous system was allowed to work in a safe environment readying itself for if something DID happen, and practicing for the eventuality.

He came to the conclusion that it was probably a good practice for the humans. It was a safe way for them to experience stress with other humans and prepare mentally for dangerous situations. For once, Krill actually approved of the behavior, it was safe, nothing dangerous about watching a movie.

As for the costumes, he had a theory about that too. Humans, and partially the Drev, were the only creatures known to design fictional events through fiction, as demonstrated by the movies. The Drev had generally used it the purpose of religion creating gand epics of fantastic warriors in order to teach their children attributes proper for a warrior. Humans would make up anything for the entertainment of it, they had an uncanny ability to imagine themselves in fantastic situations, and many spent time looking for these stories actively. Krill wondered if it was a way to practice empathy, putting yourself in the shoes of another, or if it was some sort of learning. Perhaps they gleaned information from unusual situations preparing themselves in case something were to happen.

The Commander’s opinion? Well he pointed out that it was fun to be someone else for a while, someone who was braver than you, smarter than you, better looking than you, or maybe had a more interesting life then you. It gave you an excuse to act in ways you wouldn't normally do, and allowed others to accept your actions as, not you, bu of another person.

Humanity desired nothing more than adventure, and perhaps…. That’s why they went to space before bothering to find out what was in the depths of their own ocean.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #humans are weird

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hpdabbles · 4 years

Text

Master of Death (In Training) Part 2

Sirius didn’t know what he was expecting when the suggestion was first made. The very air had held its breath as the Order voted, each nervously looking around, to see who had raised their hands in favor of summoning Death.

He hadn’t wanted to do it. After growing up with a dark family, and at the mercy of his mother’s ill-temper hexes, Sirius knew that trying this method would only cost them more than be able to help them. But Albus- it was so weird to now be old enough to call the headmaster by his first name. A part of him still felt like a Hogwarts student overstepping despite the fact he graduated three years ago- had insisted it was the best course of action.

With every new day, the Death Eaters rose in power and it was rapidly approaching a point where they could not be stopped. Already regular civilians were hiding away, slowly bowing to the control and the fear, and it wouldn’t be a far stretch to think no one would try to stop them.

People knew not to even use the name of the Death Eater’s leader, because any who did, died not long after. That wasn’t a fear that could easily be overcome. The people were losing hope, and once it was all gone, the war would be over.

The Death Eaters will win.

What’s worse, was that Albus had claimed a prophecy had been made, which strongly indicated to his unborn grandson or the unborn child of his friends being the only thing to stop Voldemort.

If they didn’t do the summons James, Lily, Frank, and Alice would have to go into hiding for who knows how many years. There wasn’t even a guarantee they will survive. This plan could save them from such a fate, could allow their kids to grow up in a world of peace.

Sirius knew this. He understood it. But he still didn’t want to summon Death, it was desperate and it may not even work.

But whatever the Order did, they did it together. The majority had ruled, and the summons took place a week later.

The moment the being arrived it was quite clear it wasn’t human. Dressed in a metallic green cloak that hid half it’s facing, and body through human-shaped- and rather nicely too. Sirius could admit the being was fit. If it was a regular bloke he would climb him like a tree- seemed almost otherworldly, that its mere presence had Padfoot’s instincts screaming at him to run.

Alice’s soft gasp of “What have we done” echoed every thought in Sirius's head even as he leveled his wand in order to protect Lily. It was alarming that the first thing Death did upon arriving was single out the two pregnant ladies and even if they couldn’t see its eyes, Sirius knew it was looking right at the round stomachs.

His stomach was rolling so terribly he almost missed Albus offering his soul to Greater Power, who stood there with its arms filled with objects and could almost be called awkward if it wasn’t scaring the living daylights out of everything in the room.

The outfit was sort of badass he could admit.

But the voice. Oh, the voice.

It echoed as if though it spoke from some deep cave, and it overlapped with other voices. To his ears, he could pick up different baritones, as if though he wandered into a male bathroom and everyone choose to speak at once. It was the one real sign that whatever stood before him wasn’t a human.

That’s why he, like an idiot, got the things attention when it pulled such a baffling action of checking its employee manual.

Thankfully it didn’t take offense and after a few flipped pages it names the price.

Now here he was handing over his black socks to the being that was smiling wildly at them all. It’s perfectly white teeth gleaming in the darkened room, as it thanks everyone politely for their socks, making more than one person uneasy.

Albus had truely seen pained to part with his pair, more so then his own soul, and that made no sense at all to Sirius until Death frown when it touched them. “Oh, these were the last thing your sister gave you, her last “I love you” that she made with her own two hands. I’m sorry for taking them.”

And it really did sound apologetic, but it made Albus tense like a wooden board and back away rapidly from the Great Power.

The being even folded all the socks with great care, leaving the objects it held hanging in the air as it casually did some quick laundry. Once the Order had handed over their clothing, it flipped through the silver binder again, visibly mouthing the words it read before it reached out a black-gloved hand to pat the socks, sending them away to who knows where.

Around him, a few of his friends gasp, and it wasn't until Sirius’ socks vanished did he realize it was because they, like he, sense a deal with Death be sealed. As if his very soul had been stamped. He felt dirty, Sirius really wanted to take a bath.

“Alright.” Death said, placing his hands on its hips and spreading its stand. For a moment it seemed young, and though Sirius could not tell what age it actually was, he got the feeling it was somewhere between late teens, early twenties. Wasn’t it just bizarre to think he is almost the same-physical at least- age as Death?

“So it says here, that you all hear me differently? To not be confusing my pronouns are he/him and you can call me Harry.”

Sirius's brain melted. “James?”

“Yeah?”

“Did Death just tell me its preferred pronouns and call itself Harry?”

“Yeah.” James at least sound just as confused as he was so Sirius didn’t feel too bad about not understanding what in the world was going on with this summon.

Harry-actual- Death frowns at them “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it” Lily is quick to assure, though she is most likely reconsidering the name she had picked out for his unborn godson. “It’s a lovely name.”

Harry-Actual-Death smiled at her, it could have been a friendly one if it didn’t feel like his life candle was about to be blown out. Sirius shifted to put himself beside James and have Lily safely behind him. On his right, Remus quickly fell into formation blocking the redhead woman more, while Peter shifted to Lily’s side with a whimper. “Thank you. I’m named after my grandpa on my mother’s side.”

No one knew what to say to that.

It was Fabian, in a fit of madness or brilliance who knows, that managed to get words out of his mouth. “I’m sure he’s very proud his grandson took over the family business?”

Harry-Actual-Death looked stumped, looking like someone just tried to pull down his trousers or something then he beamed. “No one’s ever said something like that to me. Thank you.”

Then he turns his head back to his binder flipping through it and reading a bit more. With a snap of its finger’s Fabian stumbled backward with a loud pain gasp turning deathly pale. Everyone froze while his brother bristled “What did you do to him!?”

Harry-Actual-Death turned its unseen eyes onto Gideon, who stood his ground despite the slight shake of his knees and smiled “I took away the Dragon Pox in his lungs. Until our contract is terminated I can heal you all within some limitations. He would have died in a year and I don’t want to make Mrs. Weasley sad.”

“My chest doesn’t hurt anymore.” Fabian breathes rubbing at his upper torso. He looks down at it with wonder in his eyes. “It’s...it’s been hurting for so long...I just...”

“Yeah about that.” Harry-Actual-Death jumps in. The rest of the Order swing their heads between the two groups unsure of who to look at, though none of them lower their wands. “I don’t understand why you didn’t get that checked out. If it hurt to take breathes you really should have gone to a healer.”

Gideon looks beyond pained “You were sick and you didn’t tell me?”

“We...we’re at war. I didn’t want to worry you more then you needed to when I realize I wasn’t going to live through it.” Fabian admits. Sirius is quite sure he is not the only one that wants to beat the idiot’s head in. How could he not have said anything!? His condition could have made everything that much more dangerous, what if he was in the middle of a fight and had an attack? He could have gotten himself and his brother killed!

The twins suddenly freeze, as they do that weird thing they do when both of them think the same thoughts and then jerk their heads to Harry-Actual-Death. “Wait, what does Molly have to do with this? She’s not part of the Order, she didn’t sign a contract with you!”

Sirius could understand their worried, a new fear of what that hinted at, meant that his baby brother could have just been unwillingly added to the contract. He hadn’t talked to Regulus in a few years but that didn’t mean he wanted his brother in Death’s hand!

Harry-Actual-Death shifts around on his feet awkwardly, almost as if embarrassed. “She’s really nice, she gives warm hugs and she gave me cookies once.”

At the while Order’s wide eye bafflement Death says defensively. “I was a kid back then and she didn’t know how much it meant to me. Plus she can be kind of scary when angry. I just don’t like seeing her upset.”

Sirius really, really, wanted to sleep now. Apparently, literal Death was scared of Molly Weasley. Tiny, plump, and motherly Molly Weasley. Also apparently being a grim reaper was a family business and Death could age while running around the mortal world in its childhood visiting people which made no sense whatsoever and- oh.

“You just inherited your position then?” Sirus asks forgetting himself. “That’s why you’re a trainee. You really are new on the job.”

Harry-Actual-Death nods “Yes”

“Then how are we supposed to win a war!” He doesn’t mean to sound so frustrated but Merlin’s beard they summoned Death, they were willing to give up their souls and they may have crossed more than one line, to end up with not prepared baby Death!

Harry-Actual-Death smiles at him, in a way that makes ice settle inside of his whole body and Sirius’s frustration disappears for full out mind-numbing terror. It’s a little crocked but it weary and confident with just the touch of non-human that gives it that extra fear-inducing touch. “Oh not to worry Sirius, I’ve killed enough. I can get the job done. The Death Eaters won’t win. You can’t cheat Death.”

The room falls into a tense silence everyone now more aware of what they have really done. A few minutes ago, Harry-Actual-Death, almost felt....well almost felt like a person, but now, they were once again reminded that this was a Great Power, the end.

Death.

“Y-you know my name” He manages to gasp out.

He gets a weary smile. “Yes. I know every living thing’s name because I know when they stop living.”

Well, what the flying fuck do you say to that? “That’s kind of hot”

Harry-Actual-Death's face turns red. It’s hard to say if it’s from anger or flustered. “Excuse me!?”

Sirius swings wild eyes to Remus begging for rescue all while cursing his loose tongue. He didn’t mean to say that, it was a reflex, born of years of sassing people and flirting with attractive blokes. His friend is quick to step forward. “Should we focus on how to stop the Death Eaters now?”

“Um, yeah, ugh sure” Harry-Actual-Death stutters in that strange multiple voices “Death Eaters. Got to go and....Death them. Yup.”

He moves it cloaked head to the whole room asking at large. “You all just wanted that right? Stopping the war, beat Voldemort, and making sure Neville and Harry grow up safe?”

Alice and Lily jerk in shock at mention of their kids but everyone nods or mumble agreement. Harry-Actual-Death accepts this with shuffling feet, grabbing the floating items and hastily bids them a farewell.

He bleeds into shadows that race across the room and disappears. But Sirius did not miss how he could feel Harry-Actual-Death’s gaze on him, his face a healthy red, and shy nervous little shifts on his feet right before he departed and he thinks with one startling moment of what that could mean.

As always James, his best mate who knows what he is always thinking figures it out and blurts. “Padfoot I think Death has a crush on you. How do you feel about that?”

“I....I’m a little flattered actually.” How metal is it to say Death has a crush on you? “Also scared Prongs. Very, very, scared.”

#hpdabbles #Master of Death (In training)#Part 2 #Harry Potter #Sirius POV #cursing and swearing #In which Sirius realizes they signed up for something out of their power #And now lives in fear of Death's Affection #Crack #What Death looks like to the Order of Phoniex #hinted Sirius/Harry???#It's more everyone assuming then a actual pairing

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akechicrimes · 4 years

Note

Prompt N. 16?

16. “I’m sorry, but… I don’t remember you.”

AU under cut where sojiro recognizes akechi as wakaba’s cognitive psience guinea pig and vaguely remembers akechi’s mother from back when he worked with shido

By the first time that detective kid comes in without Niijima, Sojiro hasn’t quite yet made up his mind. But the cafe’s got a few other customers who might overhear something they shouldn’t, anyway, so it’s not like he could say something if he wanted to; and instead of doing anything, Sojiro sits and waits and reads his newspaper and sits and waits some more, but the kid finishes his coffee and takes his leave before the other customers do. So Sojiro sighs and folds up his newspaper and wonders if he’s missed his chance.

He goes home. Makes Futaba dinner. Has a mild argument through her closed door when she refuses to even respond, which nearly gives him a heart attack wondering if she’s gone and done something stupid while he wasn’t looking. Well, she hadn’t: She pulls the bowl of curry through the crack in the door quick as a flash and shuts it hard, and by then Sojiro’s thoroughly lost his appetite for his own dinner. Maybe he missed his chance to help Futaba. Maybe Futaba died with Wakaba, and all that’s left is to wait for the death certificate.

The second time the detective kid comes in without Niijima, Sojiro has made up his mind.

“Don’t I know you from someplace?” says Sojiro when he passes the kid his coffee.

“Unfortunately, a few people nowadays know me from someplace,” says the kid pleasantly.

“You just got one of those faces, huh?”

The kid’s does not have one of those faces. Goro Akechi has a face the spitting image of his mother; it’s unmistakable, and also frigidly plastic, like he inherited not only his mother’s genes and his mother’s last name, but his mother’s rigor mortis, too. “It tends to be more the TV publicity, I’m afraid,” says Akechi.

“I don’t watch TV,” says Sojiro, over the sound of TV blaring in the corner of the cafe, and rubs his beard in a show of contemplation. “I swear I remember you from somewhere else.”

Akechi’s eyes flicker to the cafe door, which is what tells Sojiro that what comes out of his mouth next will be a lie. He’s got a hard edge in his voice now: “Is that so? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”

Oh, he’s one of those who thinks that a good threat qualifies as safety. A trait shared by dangerous megalomaniacs, common thugs, and cornered animals. Cute. “Must’ve been a mistake,” says Sojiro. “Could’ve sworn I saw someone just like you with a good friend of mine–Isshiki, was her last name. Was years ago. Maybe you remember her?”

Akechi’s gone absolutely still. A trait also shared by dangerous megalomanics and cornered animals. But it rules out “common thug” as an option, at least.

“If you don’t, that’s probably for the best. She ran with a dangerous crowd near the end of her career. Wouldn’t have been any good for a nice kid to get involved with something like that.”

Akechi stands up sharply. “Thank you for the coffee, but I have to be going now.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t expect someone like you to lose your nerve so fast.”

“I see no legal, logical, or interesting reason why I should sit here and suffer your thinly veiled interrogation–”

“Sit back down,” says Sojiro.

“–or take orders from a shopkeeper,” Akechi says. His words are a polite hiss through his teeth.

“Sit back down,” says Sojiro again.

Akechi’s smile is careening towards bared teeth. “Are you going to make me? You, the man under investigation of child neglect?”

“Or I’ll let Niijima-san know you’re tampering with her case and ruining half the permissible testimony she could use in court, yeah.”

As it turns out, between the two of them, Sojiro is the common thug who goes around threatening children.

Akechi’s quite visibly doing mental calculations on whether or not that’s even legal or if Sojiro’s bluffing (it’s both), so Sojiro keeps going before his big teenaged brain can sort itself out. “Maybe you don’t remember me,” Sojiro says. “Maybe you really don’t, or you just refuse. But however it happens…”

Sojiro takes his glasses off and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Niijima’s got the same look Isshiki did. She’s running with a dangerous crowd, too.” And they’ll run her into the dirt and she’ll go willingly and headlong for love of her work, Sojiro doesn’t say. “Take it from me, kid. Whether or not you’re Wakaba’s favorite guinea pig from back in the day, you don’t want to hang around with the dangerous crowd.”

“I should run and cower from my enemies, is that it?”

“That’s usually what you do with enemies, yeah.”

“The coward’s way out?” says Akechi so sweetly it sounds just like a compliment. “I should stick my head in the sand and turn away from the ugly truths of this world?”

“It’s the survivor’s way out. You can’t fight every battle,” says Sojiro. “You can’t save the whole world. Sometimes you can only save one person.”

“One,” Akechi scoffs.

“One is better than none,” says Sojiro. “Pick every battle that comes your way, and you’ll be dead before you’re twenty.”

Akechi has the look of someone who’s completely tuned out everything Sojiro just said. Doesn’t believe him, or maybe just doesn’t care about dying young. Geez, kids nowadays–first that punk Akira, and now this one. “Oh, fine,” says Sojiro, and passes him a business card–one of the few he has left, ‘cause he hates getting the damn things reprinted. “That’s the Leblanc landline. You ever need an out–you ever find yourself over your head, and need a place to disappear…”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m just an old man still cleaning up Isshiki’s mess,” says Sojiro.

Akechi, eventually, takes the card with disdain. Kinda makes Sojiro wanna sock him, and really makes him wonder where he got that from because his mother didn’t have a nasty bone in her body, but it’s better than that plastic sparkle-thing he had going on. “And this little establishment of old wood and barely-legal government pension is going to operate as witness protection services on whose power?”

“Just mine,” says Sojiro coolly. “Just me and my cafe and my coffee beans, kid. But it works well enough, doesn’t it?” Sojiro goes on before Akechi can say something else that makes Sojiro want to call him a little snot. “Can’t save the world, but I’ve got this little place in the corner of it.”

“What difference does that make when the rest of the world burns?” Akechi sneers.

“Makes a difference to the person who has the guts to call that landline and stop fucking around with that Niijima woman,” says Sojiro.

For one long moment, Akechi stares at him in mute, furious shock, like he’s going to shout Sojiro out of his own shop. For one long moment, Sojiro misses Wakaba so much he thinks he’ll die right there. Akechi does not yell. Sojiro does not die.

“Thank you for the coffee,” says Akechi curtly, and spins around on his heel and strides out the cafe door.

“Come again,” says Sojiro.

***

That night, Sojiro knocks on Futaba’s door. “Hey. Hungry?”

There’s a pause, then: “Hi, hungry. I’m Futaba,” says Futaba’s tiny voice.

Sojiro chuckles. “Alright, you got me. You coming out for dinner?”

It’s been so long since Futaba’s cracked a joke, and in the long silence that follows, Sojiro convinces himself that today’s the day she’s going to come out, even if only for twenty minutes to pick at a bowl of rice. Today’s the day things might finally get better. Even if it doesn’t, he’ll at least get to see her face for the first time in forever.

“You can just leave it by the door,” says Futaba’s voice.

Sojiro bites his tongue.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll be up for a bit reading the paper, if you change your mind.”

“Okay.”

So Sojiro goes to the living room and sits and waits and reads his newspaper and sits and waits some more. Futaba does not come out. But it’s worth betting that she might, Sojiro figures. He turns the page. He waits some more.

***

(i love procrastinating. send a prompt)

#mine #sojiro adopts akechi and singlehandedly saves the plot of persona 5 #miss me with that power of friendship shit. the hot new content is power of good dads #Anonymous #me rapidly throwing new dads at akechi: REHABILITATION

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years

Text

OMENS: CHAPTER FIVE one | two | three | four trigger warnings apply HORIZON MENNONITE COLONY JULY 23 - 12:06 PM

Abel Stoesz was cabled with stringy muscle, a sparse yellow beard struggling to assert itself under phlegmy, peacock-blue eyes. He had the brutish, loose-jawed look of someone who was willfully stupid, and Mulder, still on edge from the dead fox in the boat, was already itching to break his nose.

Salome, his wife, was a waif of a woman; tiny, shorter even than Scully, and so agonizingly underweight that you could see the architecture of her skull beneath her face. Perched beside Abel on the stiff loveseat, she rested her bird-bone hands on the gentle, rounded swell of her belly, and a raisin-coloured bruise, smattered with green, framed one eye. Most of her was buttoned up in one of the ubiquitous puff-sleeved frocks of the religiously sequestered, but Mulder would bet that the bruise had a few cousins underneath the powder-blue polyester. They were a few days fresh, he estimated, probably about as old as the news of Anna’s death.

Mulder longed for the opportunity to set Abel up with a few matching welts of his own, but settled for hating him privately in the interest of avoiding an assault charge and one of Skinner’s arduous ass-chewings. He consoled himself by grinding his molars together.

Outside, white bungalows and red barns squatted in clusters on the flat expanse of land. A black storm battled the sun for dominance, and the glass panes of the windows, loose in their tracks, rattled against the wind. The other members of the colony, bonneted and behatted, milled politely about their business.

He and Marion had been invited to stay for lunch by the community elders the moment they arrived. They’d been ferried along to the dining hall, but then Abel had emerged from the throng and snapped them away from the friendly masses, yelling for Salome, who scurried after them and into the dark of their tiny home.

The air stank of hyssop detergent. No one offered coffee or tea. Marion refused to sit down, and Salome eyed the gun on her hip uneasily.

Abel spoke first, and spoke plainly. “I didn’t murder my sister.”

“It’s interesting you say that, Mr. Stoesz,” Mulder countered, struggling to hide the contempt in his voice. “Why do you assume that Anna was murdered?”

“Why else would you people be here?” Abel glared at Marion, who was standing sentinel near the empty wall, arms crossed. Mulder half expected steam to billow from her nostrils.

“Your sister’s husband mentioned that you’re not too fond of him,” Mulder said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Hugh Daly is a scourge on this earth, and every day I pray for his retribution,” Abel sneered, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be more Christlike to pray for mercy on his soul, instead of divine punishment?” Marion asked, her face ruddy with indignation. She stared Abel down with fiery determination, and Abel stared right back, the loose skin around his eyes twitching, not deigning to respond. The wind knocked against the windows like it wanted to pick a fight.

“What has he done to warrant retribution?” Mulder asked, and Abel turned back to him.

“Anna always had a… disobedient streak. That’s why she left. But that man… he seduced her, corrupted her. Ruined her. Before he came sniffing around, before he made her his whore, Anna could have still come home. She could have returned to her people, to her rightful place.”

“Her rightful place?” Mulder prodded.

“It was my duty to bring her back. To correct her. She was my sister. My responsibility.”

Mulder leaned back in his seat, hands firmly flattened on his knees so they wouldn’t accidentally crash into Abel’s ugly mug. He let his eyes pass over Salome’s battered, bitter face, and wondered what, exactly, constituted this man’s idea of responsibility.

“You know, Mr. Stoesz,” he began, slowly, easing into a new strategy. “I… do admire your conviction. It takes a strong hand to correct a wayward woman, and so few men these days have the stomach for it.”

Abel was visibly heartened, his mouth twisting into an agreeable, self-righteous frown. This is too easy, Mulder thought to himself. Men like Abel thrived on validation. If he could effectively convince him that he was on his side, he was sure Abel would, intentionally or otherwise, let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe, in this case, the crow.

Mulder could feel Marion staring at the back of his head, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. He hoped she could trust that he knew what he was doing.

“I have a sister too,” he half-lied. “I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. To bring her home if she was… lost.” His mind conjured a few versions of Samantha at various ages, abducted, cloned, ripped to a bloody pulp in the wheat. His chest contracted in a familiar pain, and he directed the images to the raw hollow in the back of his brain where he kept most of his thoughts about her, promising to return to them later for self-flagellation.

Abel nodded fervidly, evidently gathering his thoughts.

“Anna was the devil’s slut⁠—” Salome hissed in a high, thin squall, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. “Witch—”, then Abel violently gripped her arm, and she gasped and shut her mouth, glowering at her belly and skating a claw around it discontentedly.

“She was still my kin,” Abel growled.

Mulder, sensing an opening, leapt in for the kill. “Mr. Stoesz, have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain? Or suspected that you have the ability to make things… happen? To affect the world around you without necessarily taking direct action?”

Abel looked at Mulder stupidly, his neanderthal mind stonemilling the words, trying to decide if he was accusing him of something or not. But before he could answer, Salome spoke again.

“Hugh Daly is facing retribution for his sins. Whatever misfortunes befall him, whether they are acts of God, man, or Satan himself, he is deserving of.” She trembled with conviction, her bony jaw shaking.

“And Anna, Mrs. Stoesz? What about her?” Marion said tersely, from over at the wall.

“Perhaps she has also received her judgement,” said Salome, and Abel looked at her quickly, working, Mulder noticed, to keep his expression neutral.

Mulder’s cell chirped in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and removed himself to the porch, carelessly letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He jabbed the worn rubber of the call button and put the phone to his ear, squinting at the gathering storm. “Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me…” Scully sounded breathless, resigned. He didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, you okay? What did the autopsy turn up?” He picked at a shard of peeling paint on the railing, wary of the sadness in her voice.

“Anna Daly was pregnant.”

“... Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I found… remnants. Of the fetus.”

Mulder flinched. “From what I can gather based on the apparent level of skeletal development, I’d estimate she was eighteen to twenty weeks along.”

He sucked air through his teeth. “Jesus. You think Daly knew?”

“I’m going to call him up to the station here and find out.”

“You okay?” His stomach clenched with the brief flickering memory of her ova in a vial. Not now, he thought. She doesn’t need to know right now. Maybe not ever.

She hesitated momentarily before answering him. “I’m fine, Mulder.”

“You sure?” Scully’s voice took on an exasperated edge. “Yes.”

“Because if you’re not, it’s…” “What do you want me to say? That it was fun?” She said, sharply. “Scully, that’s not⁠—”

“⁠—Listen, I have to get back. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“...Okay,” he said, doing little to disguise the irritation in his tone.

Held hostage by some unspoken, unacknowledged superstition, neither of them said goodbye. Mulder hung up the phone, took a stabilizing breath, refocused himself, and walked back inside. He settled back into a stiff-cushioned chair across from the Stoeszs. “I just got a call from my partner,” he said. “Mr. Stoesz, are you aware that Anna was pregnant at the time of her death?”

Abel looked like Mulder had punched him in the gut, which was almost as good as actually doing it.

“Are you serious?” Marion whispered behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, her eyes were saucer-wide.

And then Abel leapt up in a sudden rage, prompting Salome to flee the loveseat like a frightened, emaciated rabbit.

“Get out of my house,” he seethed, taking a few lunging steps towards Marion. She stumbled backwards, palming her gun over the holster.

“Mrs. Stoesz, if you’d like, you’re free to come with us.” Mulder swiftly maneuvered himself so that he was between her and Abel, and reached out an upturned hand, but she gave him such a sharp, hateful look that his balls practically shrivelled, even as his heart went out to her.

“You heard my husband,” she hissed. “Get out.”

Just another person he couldn’t save. Add it to the scoreboard, boys.

He stomped out of the house behind Marion’s flustered stride, the cool wind catching the edge of his trench coat and sending it flapping behind him. A few plaid-clad teenage boys waved excitedly at them from the flat of a wooden cart as they hoofed it back to the truck.

Marion released a creative string of curses and condemnations concerning Abel’s personal attributes, including the diminutive size of his dick. “You drive,” she finished, tossing Mulder the keys in disgust. “I’m gonna end up killing us if I do. Fuck, that man riles me.”

“You’ve got experience with him? Mulder asked, as he hoisted himself into the cracked leather driver’s seat of Marion’s cherry Chevy Scottsdale. A felted green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree swung from the rearview mirror. He started the engine, and Harvest swelled to life from the tape deck.

“Kind of.” Marion said, slumping into the passenger seat. “Met him a few times. Mostly at Rhiannon’s, back when me and Anna lived there. He used to show up a lot. Rhiannon usually wouldn’t let him past the front door, so him ‘n Anna’d be arguing in the driveway… God, was she really pregnant?”

“Yeah. Sc - uh, Dana found, um. She found evidence to that fact.”

“Fuck. Goddamnit.” Marion was pale.

Mulder pulled into the road and eased the needle on the speedometer upwards. The truck gasped and sputtered like it was having an asthma attack. The sky above had turned dark and threatening, but the sun pushed a few tenacious arms through the thunderclouds to illuminate the lonely stretch of highway. It was eerie as hell.

“So… while we’re at it, can you tell me how you came to live at Rhiannon’s?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“C’mon. Just help me out a little here.”

Marion picked at a hangnail, sullen and slouching. “Um... I, um, left the res when I was 16. I wasn’t planning on staying in Horizon or anything, but Theo picked me up and kinda took care of me and set me up at Rhiannon’s. She took Anna in, too, when she ran away from the colony.”

“Did Anna ever say anything about why she ran away?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, she was probably tired of getting pummeled to shit by her brother,” she said bitterly, as if he was an idiot. She gripped the console and swallowed. “Fox, slow down a little.”

“Oh⁠—” he eased off the gas pedal. “The… colony elders didn’t do anything about it? What about their parents?”

“Her parents have been dead for years. Highway accident. And the elders...it was none of their business, not their concern. You saw how Salome looked. They’re fucking heartless up there.”

Mulder nodded, thinking. “So… do you think that Abel would be capable of all the things that have been happening? Setting the silos on fire? Drowning the horse? …Anna?”

“No,” Marion said flatly. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it stream out of her nose.

“I’d love to know your thoughts on this, Marion.”

“And I’d love to know what the fuck you were going on about in there. Affecting things without trying to. What does that even mean?”

He eased into it as naturally as he could, cautious of her mood. “Well… in my particular line of work, I’ve seen people who… experience such a strong emotion that it can affect the physical world around them. Daly claims he’s been seeing omens, right? And I saw something strange myself this morning. A dead fox in a boat out at the lake.” She turned to him at that, quickly, with a sharp look in her eye. “That seems pretty on the nose, don’t you think?” he continued. “Perhaps Abel’s anger towards Daly is manifesting in these visions, or somehow these events are a result of⁠—”

“⁠—Stop the car. Oh, God, stop the car. Stop the car.” Mulder glanced at her, and upon seeing the look on her face, immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, lurching over the rumble strip. Even before they’d rolled to a stop, Marion was heaving herself out of the passenger seat and vomiting noisily into the ditch, clutching her stomach.

Mulder had to look away to keep from losing the rest of his breakfast. Jesus, first this morning, and now Marion... this was entirely too much upchuck for one day. He hadn’t even been going that fast.

He hunted around the back seat for the bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He replayed a few fresh, brutal memories of Scully’s poorly-hidden chemo nausea, her deathly pallor, her heart-wrenching heaves behind closed motel bathroom doors. He burned anew with guilt.

Mulder swung himself out of the truck when the retching stopped, toting the bottle. Marion was kneeling on the side of the road, arms wrapped around herself, weeping. He crouched down and placed a palm on her back, trying not to balk at the caustic smell of her.

“Marion, have some water, okay?” He held the bottle out to her, and she looked up at him, teeth bared, her earth-dark eyes bottomless with desperation. “We’ll find out what happened to Anna. I promise. We’ll keep you safe. From Abel, from Hugh⁠—”

“Oh, you stupid, stupid⁠—” she sobbed. “Abel has nothing to do with it. You can’t stop it, Fox. You can’t. You need to leave this place. You need to get out.”

An investigatory thrill chilled the back of his neck, and a distant flash of lightning silently illuminated a fumey cluster of clouds. “What can’t I stop, Marion? Why do we need to leave?”

Marion groaned in tandem with a low roll of thunder, her tears splattering onto the asphalt, a prelude of the coming storm.

“You can’t stop what’s happening.” Her throat was thick with fear. “No one can.”

#omens #txf fic #i fucking MEAN IT about the trigger warnings on this chapter folks I felt sick writing it #also it's a holiday monday so I'm just posting this now instead of later because well. I'm the boss of me!

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