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zacharybosch · 2 years

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Tasseomancy - chapter 6

📞stede and ed have a lovely little chat on the phone!!!📞

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

chapter 5: tumblr / ao3

read chapter 6 of Tasseomancy below or on ao3!

It had been a long day for Stede, very long indeed. Nothing had gone right; he’d been woken up at the crack of dawn by two seagulls urgently trying to copulate outside on the window ledge directly by his head, and then it all went downhill from there. Customers today had been rude, his sewing needles had all been dull, and he hadn’t had a spare moment to make any further progress on Ed’s bag. To top it all off, it had been four days since their very enlightening conversation about dildos over lunch, and Ed hadn’t raised the subject again. Stede very desperately wanted to, but every time he tried he just ended up wheezing and then hastily started talking about something else.

But he was back home now, and there were no seagulls shagging on the window ledge, and Ed had texted him a photo of cool shell he found at the beach, and best of all: he had a tin full of delicious tea sitting in his cupboard, courtesy of Ed, and he was going to brew a lovely hot cup and just let all his worries melt away in the leaves.

He hung his bag up on the hook by the door, and set his pile of post down onto his miniscule dining table. There was a letter from his bank, trying very hard to persuade him to get another credit card — that could go straight in the bin; a menu for a new Chinese takeaway that had just opened up round the corner, and he was definitely going to keep that for the next time he had a little treat money; a letter from the building manager to all residents, politely reminding them to please not encourage the seagulls; and finally a parcel, wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a shoebox. Strange, Stede didn’t remember ordering any shoes. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had money enough for shoes.

He tore open the paper, and promptly dropped the box. Was this right? He checked the name and address on the discarded paper, and yes, it was definitely for him. It was— well, there was no use beating around the bush, really, it was a dildo. Purple and a little bit curved, with a smooth tapering head and a wide flat base. There were even— wow, okay, Stede took a deep breath and blinked a few times and yep, there he was, he was back in the room— there were even soft little bumps and ridges on one side, certainly not so big as to be scary, but prominent enough that Stede knew he would feel every single one as it slid into his body.

Oh god, Ed must have sent this. Ed had bought him a dildo and now he had opened the box and was holding it in his hand and thinking very hard about how to say ‘thank you’ without also saying ‘will you show me how it works?’. Because he absolutely could not say that— could he? Was that allowed? Was any of this allowed? They were friends, and friends definitely didn’t teach each other how to use sex toys. But then, friends didn’t send each other sex toys either. So why had Ed sent him this?

Stede’s stomach did some very violent acrobatics as the first spark of a new and thrilling thought started crackling in his brain, but before he could examine it too closely and realise what that thought actually was, his phone started to ring. He dug it out of his pocket, still clutching the dildo, and saw that it was Ed calling him. What absurd timing.

“Edward, did you send this to me?” Stede said by way of greeting.

“Send what, mate?” asked Ed, in an amused tone of voice that told Stede he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“This… implement. Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, it was very kind of you, but give a guy a warning at least!”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll make sure it says ‘DILDO ENCLOSED’ on the packaging next time.” Stede’s brain stalled briefly on the words next time. Ed giggled to himself, and then paused before he asked, a little hesitantly, “Do you like it?”

Stede gave the dildo a little squeeze. It felt nice in his hand, firm at the core but squishy outside, and it had a very pleasing weight to it. Almost like the real deal. “Yes, I do actually. I expected it to be… I don’t know, tawdry somehow. Plastic and nasty. But this just feels natural. Lovely colour, too.”

“It’s silicone, dual density. Gives it that real dick feel.”

“Yes, it certainly…” Stede’s sentence trailed off as he gave the thing another exploratory squeeze, and was immediately hit with the mental image of him squeezing Ed’s dick instead. “…certainly feels real. Wow.”

Ed’s breath was staticky through the phone. “Bit overwhelming, is it?”

“A little,” Stede admitted. “I’ve never tried anything like this before. Not sure where to start.”

There was a long silence, and Stede had just begun to ask if Ed was still there when he interrupted with, “I could tell you what to do, if you want. Talk you through it.”

Stede’s heart was suddenly beating very fast, and his mouth was dry, and his fingers were clumsy as he gripped the phone tightly against his ear. His body clenched in some strange way he wasn’t used to, and he felt the ripple of it settle down between his legs.

So Ed was offering to talk him through it. Maybe this was something that friends did after all? If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Stede had never really had any close friendships and so had no idea what actually constituted normal behaviour in such a relationship. And Ed was a very worldly guy who seemed to know a lot about everything, so if he was casually offering to teach Stede how to use a dildo then it must be normal, right? And that… shivery, full-body clenching thing, that must be normal too. Whatever that was.

The thought that this was all perfectly normal sat a lot more comfortably in his brain than that earlier stomach-flipping, electrifying thought had done, and so he figured it must be the right one. With that settled, Stede took a deep grounding breath and very carefully, very evenly, said, “Thank you, that would be… much appreciated.”

Another long pause from Ed, before he said very quickly, “Okay then, right, okay. Cool. Um. You’ll probably want to lie down in bed or something, and, uh, take your clothes off. Don’t wanna get those messy. You got the lube as well right, that was in the box?”

“Yes, all present and correct. I’ll just need to put the phone down while I get myself arranged…”

“Put me on speaker. I’ll be waiting.”

Stede really needed to get control of himself. Ed was just— being kind. He understood how anxious Stede was about sex and his lack of experience, and was very benevolently helping him practise in a safe and non-judgemental environment. But god, his voice… Deep and rich and husky and delicious. Something about the way he said I’ll be waiting just sent an electric shock straight to Stede’s dick, and it was all he could do to keep from moaning. He wanted to roll around in Ed’s voice and smother it all over his body.

But no. He had to focus. This was strictly business. What did he need to do next? Right, clothes off, onto the bed, lube on the side table. Done.

A few deep breaths to centre himself, and he was ready. “Good to go when you are, Ed,” he said, with far more conviction than he felt. Was he really ready, though? Talking to Ed while naked was… a lot. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Okay. We’ll just— get right into it. So uh, step one, you gotta finger yourself. You’ve had a poke around down there before, right?”

“Well, yes, I’ve tried plenty of times. But I don’t think I’ve ever really managed to stretch very much—”

“It’s not about stretching, man. You’re just trying to make yourself relaxed, open, receptive, horny, you know? You’d be amazed what you can fit up there in the right state of mind.” When Stede didn’t say anything, just carried on breathing down the phone, Ed pressed on. “What makes you relaxed, Stede?”

Stede had never felt less relaxed in his entire life. “Um. Lavender oil in a hot bath. Putting on my face cream. Hearing the ocean in the distance. Listening to you talk…”

“Really?” Ed purred, sounding warm and pleased and somehow, impossibly, even lower and sexier. “Guess I better carry on then. You’ve got me on speaker, right? Plop a bit of lube on your fingers and then just get ‘em down there and have a little rub around. Don’t worry about where you’re going, just do what feels good. If you wanna dip a finger inside, go for it. But don’t do it because you think you need to stretch out, do it because you’re horny and you want something inside you, yeah?” Ed paused, and Stede could hear him rustling and shifting about on the other end of the line. “What’s your free hand doing?” he asked, breathing a little heavier.

Currently, it was being squeezed very tightly into a fist. Stede forced himself to uncurl it, one finger at a time. “Nothing.”

“Right. Put it somewhere that feels good. Maybe not your dick just yet, if you want this to last. If you, uh, need some ideas, I find the inner thigh’s a good one. Give it a bit of a rub and a squeeze. Or like… the chest. Are you into nipple stuff? You can do that. Um, neck’s pretty nice too. Just like, stroking and holding around it, you know? Wanna get some shivery, tingly feelings going. Are you doing it?”

Stede gave a squeaky little “Mm-hm,” in response. He’d moved his free hand to his chest, just feeling the weight of it and dragging his fingertips over his nipples. It was nice, it was really fucking nice, but hearing Ed saying all these words to him in that voice of his was doing a far better job at making him open and receptive than Stede’s fingers could ever do on their own.

“Perfect. Okay. And you’re still… with the other hand, you’re still doing that too, right? How’s it going?”

“It’s going good… thanks,” Stede said, and immediately cringed. ‘Thanks’?? He could hear Ed giggling a little, and valiantly soldiered on. “Whenever I tried this before, I just stuck the fingers straight in and it always just felt a bit weird. Not very sexy. But you were right, I’m touching and stroking and just pressing a little and now I feel like… like—”

“Like you’re empty. Like you want something inside you, to fill you up. Something to clench around.”

“Yes, yes,” Stede said breathlessly, as his fingers slipped inside, “exactly like that.”

“Are you going to do it?” Ed asked, voice rough. “Put one in?”

“I— I already have. Two. While you were talking about, about being empty. And filled up. Oh god, Edward, I had no idea it could feel like this.” He was touching his cock as well now, slow, firm strokes that made his whole body feel like it was throbbing.

“This is only a fraction of it. When you’re with m— when you’re with a partner it’ll be even better. You’ll feel their pleasure as well as your own. It’ll be so good, Stede. Just doing what comes natural to you, no over-the-top fantasy shit. Just real, and good.”

Stede couldn’t have conjured up any kind of fantasy man even if he’d wanted to. It was Ed in his ear and in his thoughts, only Ed. “I— I think I’m gonna come.”

“Fuck, okay, fuck. You wanna just go for it? You don’t have to try the dildo if you don’t want—”

“No I want to, I really want to, what’s the best way to do it?” Stede said, rushing all his words out on one long exhale. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d be able to hold off long enough to do whatever it was Ed told him to, but he was certainly going to try.

“Get a cushion or something, stand it upright on that and then just kneel and push yourself down onto it a little. Your body will find the right pace.”

Stede scrambled about on the bed to get himself positioned on a suitable cushion. He could hear Ed through the phone making soft noises, breathing a little raggedly. Was Ed into this? Was he touching himself just like Stede was? Surely that couldn’t be—

“Talk to me Stede, tell me what you’re doing, please,” Ed said, and it almost sounded like he was begging.

“I’ve got it— oh, fuck, it’s just— Ed, I don’t think it’s going to fit—”

Ed’s breath was very loud. “It’ll fit, mate. I know it will. You can take it. Just keep going.”

Stede started to speak again, but his sentence soon collapsed into a drawn-out moan and the loud, wet sound of his hand working his cock with renewed vigour. “This is incredible, Ed, I can’t— how does it feel so—”

“Do you like it?” Ed asked, sounding just as wrecked as Stede. “Do you… do you like that I bought it for you? I bought it for you and now you’re fucking yourself with it and you’re going to come with it inside you.”

Oh god, Stede did like that very much. Ed paid for it, technically it belonged to him, but now it was inside Stede and his whole body felt like it was melting. “I love it, it feels… you feel so good, Edward—”

“Yes, fuck, yes. It’s me, I’m there, Stede, I’m fucking you nice and deep just like you deserve, you’re taking it so well, you look so fucking good—”

“Ohhhhh fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I, Ed—” Stede collapsed back against the bed as the force of his orgasm sapped all the strength from his body and he came hard and hot all over his hand and stomach, Edward’s name still on his lips. Distantly, he could hear Ed making the tail-end of his own frantic, strangled noise, and then lapse into silence.

For a long minute, neither of them spoke. They just breathed, and listened to the other breathing.

Eventually, Stede pushed himself up on shaky, boneless arms and said, “Wow. That was… really something. Um, I— thank you for talking me through it. For making it good for me. I know you’ve probably got better things to be doing with your time than hand-holding a clueless middle-aged man through basic life experiences—”

“Aw shut up, man. We talked about this. Don't speak about yourself like that.” Ed hesitated for a moment, and then carried on, more softly: “I’ve said it before: I like giving you things. I liked giving you this.”

Stede smiled, warmth pooling in his chest. When Ed said things like that, simple and uncomplicated, feeling better about himself suddenly became the easiest thing in the world. “I like you giving me things too,” he whispered, absurdly feeling a little shy. He went to run a soothing hand through his hair, only realising a little too late that he’d not yet cleaned himself up. “Oh, yuck.”

“Cummy hands?” Ed asked with a laugh. “Go on, go and sort yourself out. We’ll talk soon.”

Stede was just about to say his goodbyes and disconnect the call when he suddenly remembered: “Oh! Ed, did you have something you wanted to ask me? You were the one who called me.”

“Yeah, shit, it was me wasn’t it? I completely forgot. Um, I was just gonna ask when you wanted to go shopping. You know, for clothes for the fundraiser.”

“Oh gosh, of course. Well, I’m free this weekend if you are? We can go to the department store again if you like, but I’d actually love to show you round some of the designer boutiques this side of town, in the Old Quarter. It’s a little less convenient than having a personal shopper bring everything to you, but I think you’ll love the kind of clothes you can find there.”

“Sounds fuckin’ amazing. Old Quarter’s quite near to your place, isn’t it? I’ll swing by, pick you up on the way. Saturday, about eleven?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Stede said happily. “And thank you, Edward. I really mean it. I… like it a lot.” Stede wasn’t really sure if he was talking about the dildo or what they did with it together or just this whole weird thing they had going on with each other, but Ed seemed to understand.

“I do too.”

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fic #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #edward teach #stede bonnet #my fic

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andilovetowrite · 3 years

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Really in Love? 🔥

Leo Valdez x Reader (Athena Cabin Reader)

Summary: Leo didn’t know what went wrong. One minute, he had a smashing goddess girlfriend and an equally awesome best friend. And the next? One of them in the Apollo cabin, and the other one in the Apollo cabi- well, infirmary.

Warnings: mentions of dying, cheating and some blood. Also some elusions to smut and making out. A lot of angst. That's all I’m gonna say.

Word Count: 1.6k

Masterlist and Prompt List ;)

100 Follower Sleepover

My requests are also open in case you have any more ideas and prompts!

Life for Leo Valdez had been going good. He had just gotten back from helping Apollo, or Lester, and things had been going well. Calypso had just come back from her camping trip, and she and Leo were inseparable.

Which made things a tiny bit hard for you. You were Leo’s best friend, and right now, you and him were tasked with making the new Big House for the camp. Normally, Chiron would call Annabeth, but since she was out of town with Percy for god knows what (you knew what, he was going to propose to her), he had put you in charge of this project. And since you wanted to make the new structure a bit more technologically advanced, you decided to call Leo in.

And the progress had been going well. Until Leo’s entire attention was given to Calypso. Nowadays, you couldn’t even get a minute alone with your best friend without his annoyingly beautiful and mean gf next to you. And off the record, you had been starting to like Leo a bit. When you both were in the quest, and the only two single ones on the ship, you kinda felt like there was something growing between the both of you.

Turns out you were wrong, because in a few months, after your best friend allegedly “died”, he came back on a flying dragon and a goddess in his arms. Too bad you couldn’t find a boyfriend to take your mind off Leo.

So, life was awkward, but fine. Well….until you got shot in the stomach by an arrow. Yeah, it wasn’t your best moment. It was the day after you had had your one-on-one with Calypso, and you had managed to avoid her, but whenever you tried to get Leo on his own, she just happened to be there. So you decided to get him by himself when you both were working on the project. But before that, you had archery. And least to say, you were quite sufficient at it. So were the rest of your classmates, or at least the people at the training room.

So you knew you didn’t get shot by a fluke. The question was that, who would shoot you?

And you knew the answer. Austin Lake. The only guy in the feild who had some sort of resentment towards you. Why? Because he was your ex. Your breakup wasn’t the smoothest one. There was a whole lot of screaming and yelling. Oh, and a couple of threats and slaps. But you would’nt think that he would shoot you. Where you could potentially die.

So for the rest of the day, while you were in the infirmary with Will, you racked your brain thinking of a reason. But it wasn’t until you saw Calypso walk in that you finally understood. She had come in around the time that Leo would be in his Bunker, banging out dents and marks in his newest projects, with everything else out of his mind. It would be the perfect time to sneak away. At least it would be for Calypso.

You had suspected that Calypso had been cheating on Leo for a while. But you had never had a chance to prove it. Until now, where you had a perfect sight of Calypso and Austin holding hands as they made out at the back of one of the beds.

The sight made you sick to the stomach. Surprisingly, it wasn’t because of Calypso kissing your ex. But rather your best friend’s girlfriend kissing Austin Lake. Your mind went to the hurt look on Leo’s face when he would find out, and you could feel the pain radiating off him.

But you couldn’t keep it from him, so you decided to tell him as soon as possible. Gritting your teeth, you tried to stand up for yourself, pushing your hands against the bed. The pain in your stomach intensified by about a 100x, but nevertheless, you tried to ignore it.

Suddenly, you heard a gentle yet cruel laugh. “Oh Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” You whipped around to see Calypso standing above you, with Austin at her side, and with one pointed look, he took out an injection, filled with green liquid.

“I’m going to tell Leo-”

“No you aren’t. Because you will not get up to ever tell him”, she said maliciously, as you watched in horror. Austin grabbed your arm, and even though you were stronger than him, the pain medication didn’t allow you to push him back. He brought the needle to your arm, and growled at you, his face turned up in a deep frown. With a slight pinch, he pushed it in harshly, the needle cutting through your flesh. Instantly, you began feeling drowsy, as your vision started swimming.

“Y-ou wo-won’t ge...t away with thi….sss”, you tried to say, but all that came out was strangled mutters.

Calypso laughed, swiping her hand on your fingers as her nails dug into your arm. “Oh sweetie, you can’t possibly think a child of Athena would beat a goddess that’s been around for millenia, right? Otherwise, you would be even more stupid then I thought you were…”

And that was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into a inky black darkness.

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Leo’s POV

Leo walked around the Bunker back and forth, confused on where you were. It was almost 6, and you still hadn’t shown up. Worried, he grabbed his tool belt, tying it around his waist as he left his workspace, going over to the Athena cabin.

“Hey guys”, Leo greeted, trying to spot any sight of you. Malcolm came up to him, his face etched with worry.

“If your looking for Y/N, she was in the infirmary. Apparently, some jackass shot her in the stomach with an arrow. We tried to find who did it, but nothing so far, so we are just waiting for her to wake up.”

As he heard that, he practically started running out the door but he stopped when Malcolm called him back.

“Visiting hours are shut right now. But Austin was the last one to see her, maybe check in his cabin?”

Leo nodded, and although he didn’t like the blond, muscular camper, he still wanted to see how you were doing so he made his way there.

And boy, did he wish he would have gone to see you instead. Because when he walked through the Apollo cabin door, he didn’t expect to see his girlfriend half naked with a shirtless Austin.

“Leo!”, she yelled, covering herself up.

“You-”

She tried to come near Leo, hands reaching for him, but he stepped back, as if her touch was burning hot. “Leo, I didn’t mean to…”, she trailed off, as she began to see the little sparks of fire starting to burst out from his fingers.

She stepped back, and for a second, you could see Leo calm down, wondering if he scared her. But when she reached for Austin’s hand, as she enlaced their fingers together, you could see the fire build up in Leo again.

“How could you-”, he shook his head, not believing it, “I-I was the one who got you off the island” He looked furious, but then his face crumpled as he stared at her. “I lied to my friends. Acted like I was dead for weeks. Just so I could save you, so I could get you off that prison!”

She didn’t say anything, as she just kept looking down at the floor. Half of you hoped that it would just swallow her whole.

“I literally gave my life, and you cheated on me?! You-you knew I had an issue with him-” Realization struck his face as he pieced two and two together. “Th-that’s why you didn’t want me coming with you to the infirmary, did you? Because he would be there. That must be your little get-to-know-you times, huh?”

She tried to shake her head, coming closer to Leo, but he ignited his hands again, this time making them burn bright. “You can’t possibly think that’s why-”

“Oh no, don’t try and make me think of something different. I’m a freaking mechanic Calypso! I wake up if I hear the faintest of sounds, and you wouldn’t think that I would find you sneaking out every night?”

Calypso stared at him, vision swimming with tears, but her face hard. Leo tried to find some bit of her left in there, but gave up, turning around to look for you. “How is-”

“Oh Y/N, I wouldn’t go to see her. Unless you wanna see her bod-”

“What the hell?”, Leo asked, his voice firm, as his mind went into overdrive. “What did you do Calypso?”

“Nothing much..”, she said, but he didn’t hear another word as Will Solace burst into his cabin.

Out of breath, and sweaty, he looked at Leo. “Y/N needs you… she is close to dying”

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That was it, the first part! I’m sorry I didn’t get to the second part, but I think the cliffhanger may add to the storyline, so let’s see if that works out. Thanks so much for requesting this, and I hope you enjoy it :)

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo #HOO #Pjo #leo valdez #calypso #hephestus #cabin #cabinet #heroes of olympus #leo x reader #athena cabin #annabeth chase #Leo McShizzle #Angst #Fluff #headcannon #fanfic

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trekscribbles · 3 years

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All That Goes Unsaid- Chapter 1

Fandom: Leverage Cross-posted: AO3 and FF Summary: Eliot gets poisoned on a job. The rest of the team races to save him. Notes: This story was stolen from inspired by the Almost Paradise episode "A Wedding to Die For", but with just enough details changed to make the plot weaker and the whump whumpier. Also, the poison used in this story does not exist, partly because I couldn't find a real poison that acted the way I wanted it to, and partly because I'm a fantasy writer at heart and it's more fun to make things up than to research. And because the poison does not exist, the treatment described here is also extremely fictional. Please don't try to cure poisoning based on the info in this story.

Chapter 1-Eliot

Eliot felt drunk.

And not in a good way.

His limbs were both heavier and lighter than normal, and it felt like his brain was processing things a second too slowly. Like the world was coming at him through a fun house mirror. Distorted. Warped. Incomplete.

He knew this feeling—the lack of control, the foggy confusion. He had a name for it, somewhere, but the details buzzed just out of his reach.

"My drink..." he croaked, but Nate's voice kept going over the com and Eliot knew he hadn't heard. His chest felt tight and he couldn't get enough air to make another attempt. Fragments of memory hit him like shrapnel—a ballroom, cream-colored walls, blue fabric wrapping around him—his mark, the widow, dancing with him while Sophie laughed in his ear and called him a charmer. But something was wrong, and he couldn't remember what. He had to warn the others. They were in danger.

He took a step and his body moved too quickly. Or maybe it was the room tilting around him, spinning like a moon knocked out of orbit, untethered by gravity. He tightened the skin around his eyes, tried to focus. He had to think. He wasn't in the ballroom anymore... he was in a hallway, alone. Yes—back inside, the mark had handed him a drink, her eyes soft around a smile that seemed so light and genuine. But there was something wrong. Something he knew, something he'd figured out. He had to tell Nate, but she was pressing closer to him, lifting her hand to his cheek. He took a drink to keep her at bay, tasted almonds, went to spit it out—and she moved, and there was a cloud of something in his face, and he was pushing her away and Nate was still talking, and Parker was saying something about bad guys in the hallway. The widow had run out, and he'd followed, and now...

"Guys," he tried again, blinking and stumbling into the wall.

"Eliot," Nate answered. "You've got company. Hold them off."

Company. He didn't have time for company. He had to tell them, warn them about... about something... about almonds in his drink and mist in his face. The thunder of boots echoed toward him, too loud, and Eliot forced himself upright. First things first. His team was counting on him to face the threat and neutralize it and make sure their exit was still an exit by the time they needed it. Failure was not an option. Wasting time was not an option.

So he dug his nails into his palms and told his vision to clear. Told his head to un-fog, his muscles to tighten, his lungs to expand.

And he did his job.

When the door opened and the men burst into the hallway, he took advantage of their surprise like he'd been trained to do. He anticipated their moves and countered them before they were made, and if he stumbled a few times and took a few more hits than he thought he'd be getting, he still managed to end up on his feet with their bodies on the ground. Maybe his breathing was a little more ragged, and maybe the pain from his bruises felt sharper than they should have, but he'd done it. He'd followed his orders.

And if he collapsed afterwards even though he hadn't taken any real damage, if his head felt like it had been wrapped in towels and submerged underwater, at least he knew his team was safe. Whoever had gotten to him hadn't reached them.

But no... he still had to warn them. The almonds in his drink, the taste he'd recognized just before spitting it out—but he had spit it out, so that couldn't be it. Something else. Something that was keeping his thoughts scattered.

The blur in his vision had darkened around the edges, sending black spots and bursts of shadow through his head. He tried to stand up and felt a wave of sickness crash over him, and he was throwing up before he could summon the calming breaths that usually let him control his post-adrenaline nausea. His arms shook, but he managed to roll as he collapsed so he didn't end up in his own vomit. He heard his name chanted like a battle cry in his ear, pounding in time with the heartbeat that seemed ready to rip through his chest.

"Where are you?" Nate was saying, and Eliot tried to answer, but words were even hazier than ideas. They floated out from under Eliot's tongue, escaping before he could form them. Nate kept talking. "We're coming for you. Hardison, the cameras—"

"Got it. He's in the basement."

The basement, yes. He'd chased the men down the stairs—or maybe they'd fallen—and now he was face-down on cold concrete with his arms like anchors at his sides. They hurt, he thought, or maybe they were just numb, wrapped in the pins-and-needles feeling of a limb falling asleep. He thought he might fall asleep too, just to shut out the voices in his head. The cold had seeped through his skin, his lungs, wrapping around the fog in his brain and freezing it solid.

They wouldn't find him in time. He should say something, tell them that it was okay, that they didn't need to save him. That they already had. That he was ready to go.

But he wasn't.

He wanted more time. He wanted to see them again.

So he pushed back against the cold and the numb and the stillness and followed the last thread of clarity he had. He'd tasted something wrong with his drink and spit it out, twisting to avoid the cloud in his face, but he wasn't fast enough. He felt the mist coating his throat and recognized the bitter and earthy flavor just before the fog descended over him.

The memory slipped away and he crashed back to the present, forcing out a single word before the darkness overcame him and he fell back against the concrete.

"Kyanos."

#fanfic #leverage #eliot spencer #whump

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kim-miri · 3 years

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HALF(have a little fun) pt. ix

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part nine / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence, minor angst

» a/n: short chapter D:! edit: i’ve tried and tried but it just doesn’t flow right when i try to make this into an x reader:// HALF will be an oc fic and i’ve decided to cut the backstory here;( thanks for the love and support!

» word count: 2,494

☾ix. pt. ix: youth

3 months later

Loud, bass-bumping music and too many flashing lights fueled the exhilaration and excitement of one of the biggest night clubs in Yorknew City.

Sayomi had defeated her second opponent on the 200th floor with the help of Hisoka’s training earlier today, making this little outing a sad excuse for a celebration.

In reality, Hisoka just wanted to see whether Sayomi could dance or not.

He had insisted they go out and experience the nightlife the city had to offer, and with Sayomi still upbeat from her match, they found themselves sneaking into Octagon- a hip club located in the heart of Yorknew City.

Though technically Hisoka was 21 and therefore could have gone about this in an easier way, he insisted they sneak in ‘just for the fun of it’. The truth was that he’d been kicked out of the club previously after using his ‘magic tricks’ to make people’s arms disappear, but it made his intrusion all the more fun.

As Hisoka watched the floor from his spot at the bar with a drink held loosely in one hand, Sayomi was currently lost in a crowd of passionate clubbers, her violet eyes gleaming with the thrill of the environment.

The black and silver dress she wore highlighted her figure as well as electrifying eyes and hair, the metallic material dazzling under the club lights as she lost herself in the music and people.

She was letting herself go for the night like she often did on her chaotic trips to the city with Hisoka. Free from repressive parents or a fight for her life, Sayomi was at peace with her new life, expressing herself however she wanted to.

Draining the rest of his Cosmopolitan, Hisoka’s eyes shifted to the young assassin, his face remaining expressionless as he watched her draw a crowd with her alluring glow.

He’d been staring so intensely he didn’t even notice a man take the seat next to him. The sound of the man’s voice established his presence, yet Hisoka’s line of sight ceased to drift from the girl with the bright silver hair.

“A stunner isn’t she?”

Hisoka blinked slowly, hardly registering the man’s words. A stunner indeed, but what more? “A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty soul.”

The man laughed, setting his drink down on the bar to face Hisoka. “I take it she isn’t yours then? That’s a relief.”

Hisoka rested his chin in the palm of one of his finely manicured hands, his other tapping on the smooth surface of the bar impatiently. He couldn’t seem to figure out why his bloodlust was seeping through as he followed Sayomi with his eyes.

His? She could never belong to any man, she was her own person.

“Careful with your words there, I’d hate for them to be your last.” His words were venomous, filled with the intent to kill.

Hisoka’s nails had cut through the skin of his own cheek, his other hand clenched into a fist on the bar’s surface.

The man had shifted away from him, quietly taking his leave as he watched crimson seep down Hisoka’s pale fingers.

Over the past 3 months, he’d been able to fight her more than enough times, and now he no longer felt the same intoxicating feeling when he was with her. Sayomi never fought Hisoka to hurt him, only with the intentions of improving her own skills, which in turn left Hisoka aching for more.

However, as the days progressed he was slowly coming to the conclusion that the Zoldyck girl had an undeniable flaw. She doesn’t put up a fight when I’m with her.

He was losing interest in the girl who’d once swayed his unshakable feelings, and it distressed him that he almost felt bad for wanting to leave her behind.

His sharpened fingernails dug farther into the pale skin of his cheek as he watched Sayomi throw her slender arms around a man she’d only just met.

She was laughing and smiling, her silky voice seeming to reach his ears through the music and cheers from where he sat. Loud and clear, the sound of her laughter rang through Hisoka’s head in an almost painful way.

She was becoming a weakness to the man who believed himself to be the strongest, and that didn’t sit right with him at all.

☾ix.

Sayomi wasn’t too sure of what exactly it was that she felt towards Hisoka.

When he took her to dinner with an amazing view or complimented her progress with training, she couldn’t tell whether it was her lack of social contact or actual feelings that led her heart to race when she saw his face.

It didn’t help that on some days she could notice the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, only to leave her heart stinging with his harsh words on other days.

He was taking mixed signals to the next level, playing with her feelings while he was trying to figure out his own.

It was selfish and cruel, falsely gaining the trust of someone who’d been through so much betrayal, all for his own entertainment.

But that was just who Hisoka was, he didn’t care for distractions or hindrances. And as fast as he’d first fallen for the young assassin, he was already in the process of making himself forget her.

He was moving on.

☾ix.

3 months later

It was the day after Sayomi’s 7th match on the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena. She’d been scheduling her fights randomly, with no regard for who her opponents would be.

With 7 wins under her name, she only needed 3 more to challenge a floor master.

However, with her longtime goal fast approaching, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be.

It’d been about half a year since Sayomi had first met Hisoka, and all the excitement and jitters about spending time alone with a guy had died down.

It’d also helped that for some reason Hisoka was rather occupied recently. He rarely took her out to the city, claiming he had other business to attend to, and when they did go out, he’d always turn in first mumbling that he was tired.

Sayomi was no fool, she knew that Hisoka was either losing interest in her as well or felt his job was almost through. To herself, she hoped that it was the former, for it would hurt less than to find out he’d only been around her for business purposes.

Regardless, Sayomi’s current situation was puzzling. She stood waiting for what seemed like forever in front of Hisoka’s room, ready to go out and train.

However, after knocking more than enough times and even calling his cell, there was no sign of her trainer.

That’s odd.

Sayomi trained on her own that day, taking it upon herself to get strength training in at the gym.

It was the first time she’d spent an entire day without Hisoka since they’d started training. Deciding that he was out on his so-called ‘business’, Sayomi shrugged away his absence, going to sleep early for the first time in a while.

Yet, another day passed with no sign of the magician, and Sayomi began to grow concerned for his well-being. What if he was picked off by someone? No, he’s too strong to lose to anyone here… Did he pass out in his room?

Sayomi walked briskly to Hisoka’s room with a worried mind.

Once again there was no response to her knocking, and she decided she’d break into the room.

Using one of her longer needles, she picked the lock in no time, stepping into the unfamiliar room.

It was empty. Only the faint smell of bubble gum and something sweet lingered in the abandoned room, the closet and space empty.

There was a note left on the cleanly made bed, the red ink standing out from the otherwise white sheets surrounding the note.

That lazy ass, of course he’d leave a note in his own room.

Picking up the sheet, she read:

Zoldyck-

It’s about time you sneak into my room, I know you’ve thought about doing it before;)

But jokes aside…

I’m sorry, darling.

It’s not like me to apologize(you can ask Kite)and that alone scared me, because I feel like you’ve changed me. Your smile and intoxicating eyes make me weak in the knees…

And I despise myself for it.

I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to expose my faults to you, for that just makes you all the more dangerous to me.

But perhaps I want you to hold my weaknesses, and perhaps I’d like to see you come tear me apart. Yes, that must be it.

I’ve departed Yorknew City to meet up with your twin brother, as it seems as though he’s been searching for you. And perhaps I should have taken him to you instead, but I’m not, because when the time is right I’d like you all to myself.

So don’t forgive me, Sayomi. Resent me, grow stronger, and when the time comes I’ll bring your brother back to you.

Ah, and there is one thing I’d always wanted to tell you…

I always thought that you were most beautiful when you showed your true colors-

A cold-blooded, cold-hearted Zoldyck assassin with no regard for the pain and suffering of your victims.

Stop holding yourself back, people like us can be forgiven for our sins because of the hell we’ve been put through.

-Hisoka

☾ix.

A single tear rolled down Sayomi’s cheek.

And that was all.

The flurry of sudden information rendered Sayomi breathless as she tried to make sense of his words.

This idiot really just admitted his feelings for me after all this time right when he decides to leave me here. Selfish bastard.

And he knows Illumi… but how? Illumi was looking for me?

I have to become a floor master and get that clown to bring my brother back.

☾ix.

6 months later

Sayomi gazed out her window with a blank stare, 241 floors above the ground.

Just a week ago she’d claimed her spot on the 241st floor as the newest and youngest Floor Master at age 19.

She knew Hisoka would find out about her achievement soon, and all she could do now was wait.

Up until defeating and killing her last opponent, time had flown by easily. She was fueled by the goal of finding her brother and confronting Hisoka, but now that she was here, the loneliness began to sink in.

Kite and his student had taken off to another country in search of wildlife to study, leaving Sayomi all alone in Yorknew City.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her situation. Here she was at the top of the tallest building in Yorknew City, a place that others died trying to get to, yet she was unsatisfied.

Her face and name were plastered on billboards and posters all throughout the city, and citizens stood envious of the young teen’s life. She had enough money that she’d never have to work another day in her life, but in exchange she no longer had a family to accept her nor friends to laugh with.

Don’t feel sorry for yourself, there’s plenty of others that have it worse.

Sayomi sighed as she turned away from the window, grabbing her mask she’d started using as a floor master to attempt to conceal her identity.

I won’t have challengers for another month or so… might as well hit the city.

☾ix.

Sayomi walked through the dark streets of Yorknew City, her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes vacant.

She didn’t have a destination in mind, just mindlessly strolling through the city covered with news of her promotion to Floor Master. There were citizens recognizing her as well, pointing and jumping back as if she were some monster.

Though she couldn’t blame them, as her nen happened to be on the disturbing side. The replays of her fights were mostly censored, deemed too inhumane for the public eye as they played on repeat on the sides of buildings,

She wasn’t too sure how far she’d walked, spotting Heaven’s Arena rather far in the distance behind her. The shops and glamorous hotels began to fade as she approached the run down parts of Yorknew City.

It was an abandoned lot of buildings, the ground littered with oil cans and shattered glass. In a way it was tranquil, free from angry drivers and the revolted gaze of commoners.

Walking through an opening in the wired fences that surrounded the lot, Sayomi wandered through a certain building that’d caught her eye.

She felt a faint aura coming from the abandoned office building, but oddly enough it wasn’t hostile or repelling. It was rather comforting.

Sayomi’s curiosity grew as the aura increased, drawing her towards the room located at the far end of the first floor.

She saw the man before she sensed him, his large coat catching her attention. His back was turned to her crouched down on the dusty floor, the windows adjacent to him shattered, letting the pale moonlight reflect off of his coat.

St. Peter’s cross. Interesting taste in fashion…

Another careless step closer and the man’s head turned abruptly in her direction. Sayomi had ducked behind a wall, but not fast enough.

The man stood from his spot, revealing a vibrant patch of violets by his feet. Upon his loss in concentration, the flowers wilted, withering back into the cluttered floor as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Sayomi could see the man’s face from where she crouched, hidden by a barely intact wall. Her heart skipped a beat upon meeting his eyes, deep gray and captivating as he easily identified her from her hiding spot.

It felt as if time was frozen in place, the young man staring intensely into Sayomi’s eyes as if he could read her mind.

Sayomi was unmoving as well, having been caught examining his figure from behind the wall. He was by far the most appealing man she’d ever seen, his dark, raven hair slicked back to reveal a tattoo decorating the middle of his forehead, contrasting with his gentle eyes and youthful facial features.

Handsome, she thought.

The man took a slight step forward, snapping Sayomi out of his hypnotizing gaze as she sped off jumping through an empty window and out of the building.

Though she was eager to know what he’d been doing with the flowers, his aura had changed when he’d noticed her watching. It had been dangerous and intense, a total opposite of his warm and placid one when dealing with the violets.

Her quick steps transitioned into a run, feeling the need to distance herself from the lingering intensity of the mysterious young man’s aura.

She ran back towards the towering building of Heaven’s Arena, not stopping her pace a bit until she was met with the familiar neon signs and billboards that surrounded the heart of Yorknew City.

Her dreams were taken over by the man’s captivating eyes that night. His familiar aura had seemed to beckon her to him, as if she’d known him for 100 years prior.

But no matter how hard she thought that night, she couldn’t come up with an answer as to what he’d been doing with the violets conjured by his feet.

In her dreams she saw her own eyes within the vibrant flowers, it was an abstract thought, though for a second she wondered if he had meant for her to see them.

She quickly dismissed this, however, scoffing at the absurdity of her own thoughts.

What am I, a child? I must be beyond lonely if I think some random guy has something to do with me.

Though deep down inside her heart, she wished it were true. To be fated to somebody, needed by somebody who she could trust with her darkest secrets and love.

☾ix.

to be continued.

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

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Gundham x tattoo artist Reader

· It was a day like any other when Gundham strolled into your life. You didn’t think much of it, he was simply one of your customers. He didn’t ask for much either just a simple design on his back, between the shoulder blades. There was just one… issue you guessed one would call it. He was a bit apprehensive for you to touch him, despite that being very necessary for the process. Strange since he didn’t seem to not like needle, just human touch. “I’ll be wearing gloves through the whole process, just standard protocol.” That somehow eased him a bit, but… that interaction stuck with you, even after your work was done. He was very pleased with your work… you thought at least. He was smiling as he spoke those… words? He had a very flowery vocabulary that went straight over your head at times, especially when he became excited.

· After that you simply went about your life. You had actually completely forgotten about him till as you were exiting your workplace one wintery day. You sighed, watching your frozen breath drifting away, smiling to yourself, recalling those long gone days where you and your friends fancied yourselves as dragons, smoke wasting from your nostrils preparing to unleash a burst of flames from your mouth to warm yourself and the frosty world around you. Was that where your love of dragons came from you wondered. You dug your hands into the pockets of your coat, your gloves not being enough to keep them from freezing. Letting out a huff you watched your breath, wishing you truly could breathe fire like you had drawn so many times over as a child of your dragonsona… rather embarrassing times to recall. As your cheeks steadily darkened that bright apple red due to the memories instead of the cold as most would assume, you didn’t notice that dark cloaked figure approach you. “So it seem I’ve caught you just in time.” “Huh? Oh, it’s you. Hello. I assume you want another tattoo?” “Greetings, and your intuition is correct, I wish to seek thy aid in concentrating my power in this form, increasing my astral level. Your last talisman has done wonders and only one with as high a skill level as you may even come close to accomplishing that which I seek.” “astral… Uh… I’m on break right now, you can talk with Troy, they just started their shift and I think they’re open right now.” “What!? I scoff at such a statement! Are your ears clogged by this ice that’s consumed the land? I had stated before, did I not, that only one of your skill may take up this task?” “Still? Well, Troy is new but they’re talented, I can assure that you’re in good hands… Uh, that is what you’re upset about, right?” “Are you mocking me!?” “No? I’m just… having a hard time understand you, but I’m trying my best.” No, not that! Sending me off to seek out another in your stead.” “… You… only want me to work on you?” With his arms crossed he closed his eyes, giving you a single curt nod. “Indeed.” “… Buy me lunch.” Before Gundham could respond you started walking away. “Excuse me!?” “You’re using up my break time which is short. Buy me lunch and we can discuss what you’d like during my break so we can get straight to business when my break ends.” “Hmm.” After a moment Gundham trotted up to you, silently agreeing to this.

· “Animals?” “Indeed, do you believe you can complete such a task?” “Well…” Resting your chin on your propped-up hand you mulled it over, slowly munching on our lunch. “Yeah, I’ve done animals before. I specialize with scaled or feathered critters though. I mean I an do fur well, but I certainly have more practice with the other two.” “That I can see, your fondness for such creatures is imprinted into your being.” You smiled, looking to your sleeve tattoo with a snakelike dragon predominantly on it. “Yeah, kinda obvious, I guess. Hell, drawing those guys so much is why I pursued this path in the first place. Being payed to draw what I love most in a rather permanent form sounded nice to me.” You caught how Gundham’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that. “I even have some friends at home. A python and a pair of macaws. Ah, the stories I can conjure up of those three troublemakers.” You lightly chuckled, shaking your head recalling the many messes they managed to get themselves into. “Oh go on, I’d love to hear of such tales.” “Maybe on our next date, we really need to get back to business now.” You were desperate to repress your laughter seeing how Gundham instantly grew flustered, his pale skin igniting in those bright red hues. “I jest, I jest, but we do need to talk business though. A small spot between your shoulder blades is one thing, a full sleeve is another, but the rest of your back would take a long time, many sessions along with time for your skin to heal, I also have other customers which could cause delays so, if you’re willing to be patient, I could get it done.”

· And so Gundham would regularly come for his scheduled appointments. You quickly began to look forward to these days, over time you figured out how to translate his vernacular and you had rather fun chats with him. Eventually you ended up spending time together outside of work, first inviting him out for dinner after your shift which turned into visiting one another places, adoring their animal companions. Quickly you were just together. A mutual understanding that wasn’t explicated stated. Even after his tattoos were finished the pair of you discussed at length to adding more to it, maybe getting you some with similar elements.

· You also rather liked how Gundham could rope his friends into getting tattoos from you. He’d gladly show them off if others asked, but especially for his high school classmates, his only human friend group it seemed. You never thought you’d get to ink a princess, but Gundham easily got that unfathomable dream to come true. He also was rather fond of showing you off to his friends, going on and on about you, your talent, animal companions, how extraordinary you were at drawing out other’s inner power! You were rather calm and chill most everyone but one person you were a bit… on edge around was Fuyuhiko. It was nothing he did, it was just what he represented. You rather despised the stigmatism that only gang members like he got tattoos, people like him gave your art and profession a bad name, even being banned from some places if you had tattoos, no matter who you were. It didn’t help that Fuyuhiko got work for the Kuzuryu clan for you, but… he was a nice guy. You liked him but didn’t care for what his predecessors had done.

· Gundham’s friends were certainly a colorful bunch and welcomed you with open arms.

· Despite Gundham being perfectly fine with you sticking ink into his skin he was still apprehensive to touch. This especially so with strangers who wanted to be rather touchy of his tattooed arm. You’d often have to calm Gundham or tell off the strangers before they touched him. Each time you did so Gundham would heartfully thank you. At first the only touch your Overlord of Ice was alright with was you laying your hands upon your work, “What you’ve given me, it is like eternal contact, your power is imbued there, and with such a concentration of power you are safe from my own.” You didn’t truly know the extent of those words till you started noticing a habit of his. Whenever he was uncomfortable or upset, he’d gently rub his sleeve tattoo. “W-why, I do so?” A blush would flair across his face as his demeanor turned sheepish, tenderly holding his tattooed arm. “You’ve left an eternal mark upon my being. No matter where or when, you are with me, I may a fragment of your embrace even when, I, myself is yet prepared for such connection… I… I thank you so much for your understand on this matter, how you’ve always respected it.”

· Gundham always served as your muse when you needed inspiration when drawing or making new designs. You adored watching him interacting with animals, how he so earnestly smiled in that way only he could that melted our heart each and every time. Everything abut him was just so captivating to you. You also loved how you’d catch Gundham not so covertly looking your shoulder, curious as to what shape you were forming with those misshapen lines.

· The pair of your adored one another. You happily gave Gundham more tattoos while he helped you figure out what you wanted for yourself next. You both were amazing for one another, always serving as inspiration for the other. You both loved one another, wanting to help the other in whatever they pursued. Neither of you could want for another.

#gundham tanaka #gundham x reader #Mod Gundham #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa2 #Super Danganronpa 2 #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa imagine #danganronpa 2 imagine #danganronpa 2 imagines #dr imagine #dr imagines #dr 2 imagine #dr 2 imagines #danganronpa x reader

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years

Text

Stabbed

It might have been Mac’s idea to split up, but past-him was clearly an idiot and shouldn’t have been trusted. Maybe if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be in this mess now with a broken arm, a butterfly knife tucked up against his ribs, and no way of diverting the two-by-four about to take off his head.

Part one of a belated July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

As fights went, this wasn’t exactly one of Mac’s highlights. For one, there was three of them and one of him. For another, they’d managed to get the jump on him when he was distracted trying to follow Riley’s instructions to get information out of the ancient computer tucked away in the corner. Pretty much the only thing he had going for him was that he’d been on open comms when the two-by-four had cracked down over his shoulder and his yell of pain had summoned Jack in a way very little else could.

All he really had to do was hold his own for the couple of minutes it would take his Overwatch to get there. With a broken arm. Against three of them.

Piece of cake.

He ducked low as the guy with a length of steel pipe took a swing at him, then rapidly sidestepped the following two-by-four that swung up to meet him. These guys weren’t well trained fighters by any stretch of the imagination, but they were apparently smart enough to tag team him in a way that was increasingly hard to combat. One arm down and no weapon to speak of, the best Mac had managed to do was dodge their attacks and keep himself from being cornered. All the while, a solid portion of his concentration was taken up keeping an eye on the third man, who had spent the most time hanging back, watching more than fighting.

Judging by the butterfly knife he was casually spinning across his fingers, he was taking great pleasure in waiting for his opening. Mac was determined not to give him one.

“Two minutes Mac,” Jack reported breathlessly, his voice hard and angry. He seemed to have taken the fact that they’d mutually agreed to split up earlier as some sort of personal failing and was fully willing to work that guilt and anger out on whoever had dared to interfere with his EOD. “Just keep yourself alive for two more minutes.”

That’s the plan, Mac thought drily, but he didn’t spare the oxygen to voice it. The less these guys knew about his backup’s imminent arrival, the better. Instead, he took the opportunity to capitalise on a particularly sloppy jab from the man with the pipe, slipping past his guard to kick out his knee and use his uninjured left hand to shove his head sharply into the concrete wall Mac had carefully been leading him towards. He dropped like a stone.

The victory was short lived as the second man let out a yell of frustration seeing his – friend? Comrade? Whatever – out of the fight and went in on Mac with a flurry of attacks that he was just barely able to keep up with. The wood grazed across his forehead, gouging out an inch-long gash, then cracked sharply against his hip to send him staggering directly into the path of the third man.

Mac had just enough time to pull himself sharply upright in a futile attempt to get away before there was an arm wrapping firmly around his throat and the sharp point of the knife was pressing up into his ribs.

“Well, well, well,” the man purred, wanting to draw out his victory. “Ain’t that better?”

Mac’s working hand darted up to snatch at the arm pressing across his throat, but even if he wasn’t being held at knife-point, he didn’t have the strength or the leverage to do much about the hold. With both arms, maybe, or perhaps if the blow to his hip hadn’t turned his left leg troublingly numb – but no. He was well and truly stuck.

The man with the two-by-four was grinning sharply, hefting the plank in his hands. His eyes carefully tracked the blood painting a scarlet flag down the side of Mac’s face.

“Let go of me,” Mac tried, wanting to sound firm but too breathless and pained to pull it off effectively.

The one behind him snorted. “Ha, yeah, right. After what you did to Joey? Not fuckin’ likely. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“No one of importance,” he shot back, still trying to get the arm around his throat to let up enough so he could breathe. “I’m of no interest to you.”

“Yeah? Then what were you doing messing on that computer? You think some good for nothin’ kid is breakin’ in here to look at our shit?”

Their intel had indicated that this building was being used by one faction of a gun-running operation; he and Jack had been tasked with getting in and finding out whatever they could. Now, faced with some of the people apparently running the place, Mac wasn’t entirely convinced. None of them appeared to be carrying guns of their own, for starters.

His momentary hesitation did him no favours with the man in front of him. He snarled darkly, hefting the plank up and took a darting step forwards to bring it down on him-

-He never made it that far.

There was a deafening crack of sound, followed shortly by an overly loud clatter in the silence of the room as the wood tumbled to the ground. The man formerly holding it joined his weapon a second later, a scarlet bullet hole marring the previously smooth skin of his forehead.

There was a heartbeat in which neither Mac nor his captor moved, briefly stunned by the new turn of events, before Mac was bodily hauled around as a human shield between the man and the fuming Phoenix agent standing in the doorway. If Mac hadn’t known Jack, he’d be half tempted to assume he was about to be rescued by some sort of avenging angel; the man’s face was dark with fury but the raised gun was steady as a rock. He didn’t seem to react to Mac’s presence at all, his entire focus fixed on the man holding a knife to the person he had dedicated his own life to protecting.

“Let him go,” he said softly, not needing to raise his voice to make the threat in his tone clear. In full tac gear and with that expression on his face, everything about Jack screamed dangerous.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Let him go,” Jack said again.

The knife pressed up just a little harder. Mac winced. “Put the gun down and I just might.” He didn’t put any apparent effort into making the lie sound believable.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Fuck you!”

“Let him go, or you’re going to go the same way as your friend over there,” Jack warned him quietly. “If you wanna live, you’ve gotta put down that knife.”

“You’re not gonna shoot me. Don’t you know who the fuck I am?” The knife twitched again, this time just sharply enough to draw a bead of blood where it dug into his skin. Jack’s brow gave the slightest dip as he registered the flash of pain across Mac’s face, but his stance didn’t waver.

“I couldn’t care less who you think you are. All you are to me right now is a target. So put the goddamn knife down or you’re gonna get hurt.”

“Listen to him,” Mac cut in, his voice rasping slightly around the pressure on his throat. “You can walk away from this.”

The arm yanked tighter. “Shut the fuck up,” the man retorted instantly, momentarily diverting his attention away from Jack to bark the words directly into Mac’s ear. Jack used the brief distraction to shift forward another few feet.

“You stab me and he’s going to shoot you,” Mac continued regardless, keeping his eyes fixed on the muzzle of Jack’s gun. It was fixed on a spot just over Mac’s right shoulder. “You don’t walk away from this unless you let me go.”

The arm jerked again, cutting off Mac’s airway completely for just a moment. He wisely bit down on whatever he was going to say next, then immediately regretted it when the man finally noticed how close Jack had managed to get. He let out a wordless growl of frustration, pulling on Mac until he was forced to take a staggering step backwards. His left leg was still tingling with pins and needles and was utterly unwilling to take his weight.

“Get back,” The man shrieked, his steady self-confidence faltering under sudden panic. Whatever Jack saw in his expression, it was enough for him to sway back half a step, his eyes darting down to where he could just see the knife under Mac’s useless, dangling arm. “You bastards have no idea who you’re messing with! You think you can kill me? You don’t know a fuckin’ thing!”

Mac was dragged back another step and it was only then he remembered that there was another door somewhere behind him. He silently cursed himself for letting it slip his mind, but in his defence he had quite a lot else to be keeping track of right at that moment. When the man tried to move him any further, he dug in his single solid heel and refused to budge.

“Come the fuck on,” he hissed, jabbing him with the knife again. A small trail of blood was idly making its way down his back, but there was still a chance to salvage the situation.

“Look man,” he tried, “You’re right, we don’t know anything about you. You can get out of here now and walk away from this clean. But if you kill me? You don’t know anything about who we are either and let me tell you, there’s no way you walk away from that. Even if you don’t die here, you won’t get far.”

“He’s right,” Jack put in, trying to draw the man’s attention back to him. Apparently he’d decided that Mac had already risked himself quite enough. “There’s nowhere on this Earth you can hide from my team. You hurt him and I will make it my life’s mission to hunt you down and repay the favour. Let him go now? You get to live the rest of your life without my face in your rear-view mirror.”

A great many things happened then, and Mac would never be entirely sure of the precise course of events. What he did know was that there was a strange shuffle of movement and Jack’s face contorted, opening his mouth as if he was yelling something, though whatever it was Mac had no idea. In the same instant, the man behind him went tense as a bow string. Half a second later he registered the pinprick of the blade withdrawing sharply from his side as the arm around his throat pulled viciously tight and some primitive instinct tucked away in his hindbrain screamed at him to move-

Without actively meaning to, Mac twisted himself as far sideways as he could go when he was still pinned in place and then everything else fell away in one sharp rush as a frozen bolt of pain speared its way through his chest. For an endless moment he hung there, suspended by the sheer agony itself, before the arm around him vanished and he was suddenly falling forwards into Jack’s outstretched arms.

There was shouting and movement and the distant awareness that something was happening, but it all felt too muffled and far away for Mac to properly process. All he could focus on was the way the ice bleeding through his ribcage was steadily warming into a blazing inferno of pain so sharp it took his breath away. It was like fire, licking across the skin of his back and through his lungs until he was sure he must be breathing out embers. If he’d had the strength, he’d have screamed.

Very faintly, he registered there were hands on him, touching his shoulders, his face. It didn’t matter – nothing mattered except the pain. Anything beyond it was nothing but shadow.

The hands tightened, pulling him up and digging into his back-

Everything went dark.

He came to what can only have been a couple of seconds later, though it might as well have been hours for how little he was able to grasp the reality around him. His vision was, thankfully, restored to him at least, enough to see that Jack had dragged him over to one of the walls and propped him up to lean painfully on his broken arm. He pondered that for far longer than he should have had to before he realised: the knife had gone in on his right side. If his lung was hit – and no doubt it must be because breathing still felt firmly impossible – then Jack would be trying to ensure blood wasn’t pooling in the one lung still functional.

Jack himself was hunched awkwardly over him, one arm tucked around him to keep pressure on the wound while his other tapped insistently at Mac’s cheek. On seeing his eyes open, his expression fractured with terrified relief.

“There you are,” he said, sounding utterly wrecked. “Stay with me, man.”

Mac opened his mouth to inform him that he was trying his best, but nothing escaped him beyond a wheezing hiss of air. There was something warm at the corner of his mouth that tasted like copper and for the first time, Mac registered that there was a pretty high chance he was about to die. He was in too much pain to be overly bothered about that outcome, but even half dead he couldn’t help but be pissed that Jack was going to have to watch it happen.

“Save your strength Mac,” Jack ordered firmly, his thumb swiping away the blood on his chin. “Help’s coming, you’ve just gotta keep breathing for me, okay? I know it hurts.”

Obligingly, Mac tried to suck in air and instantly choked on the pain clawing at his chest. He felt himself contort before familiar hands pushed him back down, steadying and sure, keeping him still while the agony washed through him. By the time it passed, Mac felt utterly drained and the taste of copper had grown stronger. He lazily rolled his eyes across the room, taking in the fact there were now three bodies lying there instead of the two he’d known about before he got stabbed. He considered being distressed about that for a moment before the pain swelled again and he quickly decided not to bother – he wasn’t about to feel bad about the asshole who stabbed him.

“Mac,” Jack snapped, drawing his attention back to him. “C’mon man, I need you to breathe.” He pulled at one of Mac’s hands and pressed it flat to his own chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of his own lungs. “With me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

A small, pain-addled part of Mac desperately wanted to snap at him, to ask him what the hell did he think Mac was trying to do, but the rest of him could see the deep-seated fear gripping his partner. From the thick warmth cutting a swathe down his back and the tingling numbness consuming his hands and feet, Mac knew that he was in a bad way. His vision was steadily dimming too – he could still make out Jack’s face, but he had to strain to see the slumped shapes of the men who had been trying to kill him.

He tried another breath, felt it hitch with pain, then tried again anyway. The agony was almost overwhelming, but it did help to ease the tightness pressing down on him ever so slightly. Jack offered him a weak smile at the effort.

“That’s it man, keep doing that. Riley’s getting us a medevac any moment now. You’re gonna be just fine. Just keep that up.”

His eyes were red, but Mac’s vision was too blurry to make out any tears. He could count the number of times he’d seen Jack look so worried on the fingers of one hand and every single one of them had been in moments when he was sure he’d failed in his mission to protect Mac. Feeling his breathing falter once again – this time with barely a twinge of the rapidly fading pain – Mac wished that he had enough air to apologise, loudly and for as long as Jack would let him.

He fought because Jack asked him to. He really did. It didn’t stop the darkness from sweeping over him all the same.

What came next was a series of flashes that Mac only half understood, foggy and indistinct as they were.

There was shouting and hands on him, blinding pain-

Sudden, bright sunlight, startling enough to bring him round with a faint gasp-

Electric lighting and the shuddering of a vehicle, masked faces he didn’t recognise hovering above him, the sharp whine of a siren-

Movement and more hands-

Fluorescent lighting and a heavy weight pressing down sharply on his chest-

Voices, loud and stern, as unfamiliar hands cut his shirt away and someone who might have been a nurse inserting an IV into his arm-

Exhausted and in more agony than he could remember feeling in his life, Mac didn’t even try to process them. It didn’t matter; in every single one of them, Jack was there to protect him.

When he properly woke, Mac found himself lying in what he instantly recognised as a hospital bed. There was the steady pulse of a heart monitor somewhere off to his right and he could feel where the exposed parts of his skin were rubbing against papery sheets. An air con unit was humming gently in the corner and further away, muffled by a closed door, he could hear the general rumble of voices and activity that never quieted in any medical centre. He’d worn more than enough oxygen masks in his life to recognise the gentle pressure on his face.

And, more telling than any of that, was the warmth wrapped around his left wrist.

He still felt thoroughly washed out with exhaustion but for the first time since everything had gone wrong he wasn’t in any pain and regardless, he wasn’t about to keep Jack waiting any longer.

He blinked tired eyes open and immediately looked to the person he knew would be waiting for him. An exhausted Jack stared back.

“You really awake this time?” He murmured quietly. His hand didn’t shift from where his index finger was resting against Mac’s pulse, even with the heart monitor loudly announcing his relative wellness.

Mac’s eyes drifted past him for a moment to take in the sight of a sleeping Riley curled up on a recliner in the corner, Jack’s jacket draped over her like a blanket. He focused back on his partner. “Hey,” he rasped.

Jack reached out with his free hand and a cup with a straw appeared in Mac’s eye line. He sipped at it carefully, then when there was no surge of nausea, took a long pull. Jack just watched him in silence.

As soon as his throat felt like it was willing to let him talk without slamming closed on him, he pulled back. “This time?” He asked quietly. Talking upset the oxygen mask, but he was vaguely aware of a firm weight on his right arm that could only be a cast and he wasn’t about to force Jack to let go of him, so there wasn’t a lot he could do.

Fortunately, Jack resolved the issue for him by carefully tucking it below his chin. The air flow tickled, but at least it wasn’t irritating his nose any more.

“You’ve been in and out for a while,” Jack answered. “Riley was starting to get worried.”

The bags beneath his eyes and the touch binding them together told a different story. “How long?” Mac asked, instead of calling him on it.

“Bit over a day. You were in surgery for a long time.”

Mac frowned at that, trying to assess himself through the thick cloud of painkillers. “Bad?”

Jack’s expression darkened, but his easy tone didn’t shift. “Your lung was punctured. Took them a while to get it back up and running. Lost a lot of blood too. Oh, and your collarbone and humerus are broken.” He paused, then added, “You’re going to be fine though. Long recovery, but nothing permanent.”

That… wasn’t great, but honestly it could have been worse. Still, that didn’t erase the haunted look still tucked away in Jack’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said softly, twisting his left hand slightly so he could brush his fingers against Jack’s wrist before letting them fall limp once more.

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

“It was my idea to split up.”

“We agreed it was the best way of getting what we needed.” Jack’s tone made it abundantly clear he no longer agreed with his past self’s opinion.

Mac hummed amiably. “I scared you.”

His Overwatch sighed heavily, his eyes sliding closed as he dipped his head forward, the weight he’d been shouldering since Mac had hit the ground suddenly very visible. “Yeah, kiddo. Yeah, you did.”

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Not your fault.”

“Still.”

Jack huffed a sound that might almost have been a laugh. “Just promise not to do it again?”

The best Mac could offer him was a quirk of his lips. “I’ll do my best.”

The hand wrapped around his wrist tightened carefully as Jack looked him over, seeking reassurance that Mac really was there, really was still warm and alive and breathing. Mac let him look without protest; he knew exactly how close it had been this time and he wasn’t about to begrudge Jack his coping methods.

“’M going to be okay Jack,” He murmured, feeling sleep tugging on him once more. Whatever painkillers they had him on, they were working absolute wonders.

Apparently aware that Mac had about a minute of consciousness left in him, Jack resettled the oxygen mask on his face and smoothed his hair back. “I know kid. I’m gonna be right here to make sure of it.”

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #hurt/comfort #whump of july 2021 #whump #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic

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splat-dragon · 3 years

Link

Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied

Prompts:

Image: Foggy Forest Leonard Cohen - Everybody Knows

@red-dead-rodeo

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

Ain’t nothin’ fair, he’ll tell you that.

Those that hold power - they like to say they were lucky. That anyone else could be them if only the dice had rolled that little bit more, they’d tried a little harder, if, if, if. Which was total bullshit, of course. Luck didn’t work that way - luck could be bribed, could be bought, could be won.

The dice were weighted. The ones who won, who were rich, who came out alive, they loaded the dice, did something to turn things in their favor. Bribed, prepared, did something - there was no such as luck, he knew that now.

Everybody knows the war is over

Everybody knows the good guys lost

Everybody knows the fight was fixed

Their fight is over, he won’t tell you that.

And they've lost. The dice have landed at his feet, a pair of ones peering back at him, and damned them all. They’ve fought - and they’ll keep fighting - but they’ve won some battles and lost so many others, and they keep losing, and the war was lost, he knows it, he won't tell you that but he can see what's in front of his eyes, they call him blind but he can see as well as any other man.

The fight was fixed. He had an army twenty strong - and an army he is afraid to lose. Family, he calls them, and sometimes they are even more than that. The army - a true army, and all those others he fought, they didn’t care, had countless at their disposal, warm bodies that were replaced before they cooled on the dirt. When one of his falls - and they do, eventually, inevitably - they are buried, and mourned, and their loss felt dearly, and he has no one to replace them with.

Though they have something to fight for - freedom, family, fortune - they only have so much. So much ammo, so much supplies, so many people.

The war is over, but they’ll keep fighting.

They have no other choice.

The poor stay poor, the rich get rich

That’s how it goes

Everybody knows

Things ain’t fair, he’ll tell you that.

They’d been Robin Hoods, once upon a time. When they could afford to be. When it had been safe to be. Before he’d realized the futility of it all. Of stealing from the rich to give to the poor - the money only poured from the poors’ hands, gone quick as it was given, spent on cheap boots that would go bare before the year was out, on so much food that would mold as they had nowhere to store it. And the rich would curse, and cry, and call for their necks, but it would change nothing, they’d have their money back and more in a weeks’ time.

And they were the poor now, the needy, the hungry and thirsty and desperate.

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking

Everybody knows that the captain lied

He’s slipping, he won’t tell you that.

Folk are bailing, running, scattering like rats from a sinking ship, leaving him behind. People he’d once called family, trusted them to be behind him always. But blood is up to his ankles and water is nearing his nose and though he manages to keep above water he never can catch up to them.

He tries to be who he used to be - had he used this word? or that one? But the speeches he can find don’t read like him, he can hardly remember writing them like through a thick fog, and the speeches he give don’t hold their attention anymore and he knows he’s lying, pretty words that wilt before they leave his mouth, that crumble to dust in his family’s ears, and they know it but he has to say something or the rest will trickle through his fingers as so many grains of sand, every morning he wakes up and someone else is gone and he can’t lose them too.

Everybody got this broken feeling

Like their father or their dog just died

Things have changed, he’ll tell you that.

They used to be family, tighter than blood can bind. Just a look and they’d be riding out together, gun to gun, side by side, not a question needed. But now a single word can spark an argument, even a glance and they’ll be at each other’s throats, Charles and Arthur having to break up more fights than he can ever remember them having to do so before. And where before a drink shared between brothers or sisters could mend the bond as well as any needle and thread, resentment festers and grows with every argument, with every word, with every breath they continue to draw.

He read in a book once, a place described as ‘a graveyard full of ghosts who don’t yet know they’re dead.’ and on some days, his lucid days, his honest days, he looks at their faces: the sad ones, the hangdog ones, the black eyes, the sleepless ones, the bloodshot ones and tearstained ones, and thinks that Beaver Hollow could well be that graveyard.

Everybody talking to their pockets

Everybody wants a box of chocolates

And a long-stem rose

Everybody knows

They’re struggling, he won’t tell you that.

Someone burned the ledger, smashed the tithing box, and though Micah and Joe and Cleet had dug through everything, had turned the camp upside down, Dutch had even checked their stash just in case it had gotten added to it somehow, the money that had been inside was gone.

Dutch doesn’t know who, but he’s sure it’s one of the people who left - taking the money Micah and Arthur and everyone else worked so hard to contribute, the supplies as well, to fund their new life, to start out on a high note, to begin with weighted dice and a cushion, to not have to begin again and to leech off other’s hard work.

When Micah shows up with his guns newly engraved only a few days later, Dutch has already forgotten.

Everybody knows that you love me baby

Everybody knows that you really do

Everybody knows that you've been faithful

Oh, give or take a night or two

Everybody knows you've been discreet

But there were so many people you just had to meet

Without your clothes

Everybody knows

There’s a rat in the gang, he’ll tell you that.

He’s not sure who - it could be anyone, he thinks, though some days he has his suspicions of some people more than others; some days he’s positive he knows who it is and others he hasn’t the faintest clue, more often than not he’s positive he knows it’s not Micah and then some days, his honest days, he thinks “Maybe…?” but those days are becoming fewer and far between, and maybe it’s one of the girls but they haven’t left the gang in ages and Javier is always on guard so maybe it’s one of the girls and Javier is in on it, or maybe it’s Javier himself? Or maybe it’s Arthur, some days he’s certain, the man has always been faithful, loyal, sometimes too much so, willing to throw himself down on a spike-pit if it would help the gang, but people change - Dutch would know, after all, Hosea had changed towards the end, he’d lost faith and become a coward (and on his honest days he’s horrified at those thoughts) - and the man is so rarely in camp, “Around” he always says when Dutch asks, gets frustrated when he’s pressed, has taken up with Smith and is fighting the wrong war.

Everybody knows

That's how it goes

Everybody knows

That's how it goes

Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never

Everybody knows that it's me or you

And everybody knows that you live forever

When you've done a line or two

John was dying, he won’t tell you that.

He was sprawled on the tracks, silhouetted with blood, and he was so far gone when he found him that he’d been gasping ‘Pa,’ not ‘Dutch,’ and he hadn’t had the heart to put him down or watch him die so he’d turned The Count and ridden back - it had hurt, to leave him to rot, but his family needed the money more and they could always go back to bury him later.

If they left the money it’d be long gone, while an outlaw’s corpse would be untouched.

Sometimes you have to be a leader, not a father.

Everybody knows the deal is rotten

Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton

For your ribbons and bows

And everybody knows

Jack’s an orphan, he won’t tell you that.

Abigail… well, he hates to leave her behind, but he ain’t gonna risk the safety of the gang for a woman. One, he thinks, might be a rat - because how was it she survived being captured by the Pinkertons in Saint Denis when Hosea had been killed? She’d not been discreet in her distaste, in her distrust, in her want to leave with their boy.

And they’d be retrieving a body, besides. The Pinkertons didn’t show their captives any kindnesses - even women. Knowing Abigail, they’d have done away with her quickly, and it might have even been a mercy.

And he wasn't going to risk his family to retrieve a corpse.

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming

Everybody knows that it's moving fast

Everybody knows that the naked man and woman

Are just a shining artifact of the past

Everybody knows the scene is dead

But there's gonna be a meter on your bed

That will disclose

What everybody knows

His boys are traitors, he’ll tell you that.

Arthur’s talked to the Pinkertons - he says he did so while saving Abigail, but can he really trust his word anymore? And John’s alive, swearing Dutch left him behind but he’d been dying, he hadn’t had a choice, can’t he see that? And they’re pointing their guns at their family, breaking the number one rule of the gang, and he wants to tell them to put their damn guns down, to leave, he doesn’t want to kill his boys but they have a rule about traitors, they have laws for a reason, and as much as he hates it his boys aren’t exceptions to them.

And everybody knows that you're in trouble

Everybody knows what you've been through

From the bloody cross on top of Calvary

To the beach of Malibu

Everybody knows it's coming apart

Take one last look at this Sacred Heart

Before it blows

Everybody knows

His baby boy is dying, he doesn’t want to tell you that.

But there’s no denying it. His fingers crunch beneath his boot, and he’s been around death his whole life, knows that look in his eyes, the fading, the dulling, the greying that’s already starting but won’t become obvious for another hour or more. The yellow tinge that’s already starting under his paper-pale skin, and his breathing, his breathing is worse than ever, that gurgling rasp as his body forces him to breathe against his will.

“Oh, Dutch…”

and his voice is unrecognizable, the rasp of a breath over failing vocal cords, and his baby boy is dying, and he remembers when he was only twelve with ruddy cheeks and scuffed knees, scared and suspicious and too small, sure that there was a catch when they put food in his hands and a blanket around his shoulders. His hair is the same - as dirty as it had been then, and god his face is as skinny as it had been back then, starving and curling around the bowl as though they’d pull it away from him, his eyes sunken in his face as he’d had to resort to stealing sips from horse troughs before being chased away and he can’t look at Arthur without seeing that little boy, and what has he done?

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shsl-otaku · 4 years

Text

Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 8

Y/N: Raven Sin of Despair

Pairing: Ban & Y/N

Anime: Seven Deadly Sins

Genre: Adventure, Romance

Warnings: Gore

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @supremeladyren @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @supremetodoroki @happynoodle @remikay313 @milkysamu

•••

You stood out on the porch, watching as the mountains slowly went by. You had left The Forest of White Dreams yesterday, escaping Gilthunder. Your heart felt heavy remembering what you had seen and felt. You took a shaky breath.

Elizabeth went to check on Meliodas last night and found him passed out on the floor. Meliodas had fainted from blood loss from his shoulder wound. Hawk’s mom was currently on her way to the closest village to get help. Coincidentally, it’s nearby Baste Prison.

'Ban,' you thought. 'I’m coming.'

You turned to look at Diane, who was walking alongside Hawk’s mom.

"Diane," you said. "When we get to the village, I need you to watch over Meliodas, Elizabeth, and Hawk. I’m going to Baste Prison."

"Eh?! Y/N, you’re going to go there by yourself?!" She gasped.

"I’ll go first and wait for you guys there. I’ll come straight back if I see you guys are in trouble. But I am getting Ban back. No matter what," you said, eyes glinting red in determination.

She smiled at you. "You miss him, don’t you?"

You looked away, hiding your face behind your hand. "He loves Elaine, remember?" Despite your feelings for Ban, you've always tried to put his happiness over yours, even if it meant that he'd love someone else.

"But you never know," she said. "A lot can change in 10 years. He might like you back!"

You smiled at the thought. "Maybe... but if he still love Elaine, then I will most definitely put his happiness over mine."

Diane smiled. "You're so sweet, Y/N. I hope Ban can see how good you are for him."

You laughed. "I don’t know about that, but... maybe."

•••

Hawk’s mom dropped off Hawk, Elizabeth, Diane, and Meliodas at the village. You told Elizabeth and Hawk that you planned on going to Baste Prison first to get Ban and that you would come back when you got him or if anything happened.

You sprinted in the direction of Baste Prison. Your hood covered your face in a shadow, your red eyes illuminated underneath.

You grumbled to yourself as you ran. 'Ban you idiot! Out of all the places you could've gone to! Out of all the prisons you could've gone to! It just had to be this one! Dammit, I'm gonna slap him when I find him.'

You could see Baste Prison, its mushroom-like buildings in the distance.

'Whatever. Just keep going. You're almost there,' you thought, a smile coming onto your face. You felt your heart start to lighten. You felt like a weight had lifted off of your shoulders. You thought back to the nightmares and the heartsickness that you felt for the past ten years.

'Ban... I’m so close. I’m almost there. I really do love you, don’t I? Idiot.'

Suddenly, you felt a presence start to appear above you. You stopped running and glared up at the sky.

You heard a woman’s laugh and saw a Holy Knight whose magenta armor reminded you of a bug. "Y/N, Raven Sin of Despair. You must be after your fellow sin, aren’t you?"

You glared at her. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing much. Just caused him immense pain for the past ten years. Fitting for a criminal." You clenched your fists, starting to get pissed off. "Too bad you won’t be able to make it there."

She lifted her arms and unleashed thousands of bugs. Your eyes widened as you smelled their poisons. 'They’re all venomous and will kill everyone if I let them reach the village. Meliodas, the others—!'

"You will be defeated and I will bring back your head to Liones as a gift to the Grand Masters," the Holy Knight continued. "And then the world will know my name: Freesia, member of the Weird Fangs—"

You thrusted your arm out, summoning thin, needle-like stalagmites to appear and pierce through every single bug.

"You talk too much," you deadpanned, watching as the bugs' venom dripped down the stalagmites.

Freesia gasped. "My bugs! You killed all of my precious bugs! Ugh!" You lifted your hands and summoned stalagmites to impale her, but they shattered off her armor, not leaving a single scratch.

"W-What?" You gasped.

Freesia laughed. "Do you like it? My armor is made of one of the strongest substances in the world. It was a gift from our two Grand Masters. Your stalagmites can't kill me."

You tried to summon more stalagmites, but she flew right into them. They all shattered off her armor, the shards raining down on you. She flew down and cut your cheek. She kicked you in the ribs, sending you flying into the valleys.

Your head snapped back and hit the hill behind you. You cried out as you felt a crack. Your e/c eyes shifted to red for a moment, then returned to e/c. You could feel warm blood running down your head. You tried to stand up but you saw bright spots dancing whenever you opened your eyes.

You tried to hold onto something, only for her to drag you down by your hair. You screamed as she dug her armored heel into your spine.

She brought down the hilt of her sword onto your arms and you heard a sickening crack. You screamed again, your eyes blurring with tears. She laughed and dragged her sword down your arms, cutting them.

"My sword has my bugs’ toxins infused in it, so there’s no way you'll be able to make it out alive." The cuts on your arms hissed from the venom, making you scream more. She laughed. "It’s a shame though. I would’ve been able to kill your beloved Ban in front of you. Oh well. His suffering from your death will be pleasant enough. I would be able to laugh in his face and tell him that you were too weak you to save him." She raised her sword over her head and brought it down on your neck.

"W-What?!" She screamed, the shards of her now shattered sword raining down on her.

You slowly turned your head all the way around, your bones cracking loudly. "Ẫ̸͙̝͎͠Ȟ̸̟̼̕Á̵̦͈H̶̙̼̺̑͆À̶̼H̵͕͌Ả̸̙̫̈́͐H̴̝̓Ǎ̵͎̺̫H̸̠̺̊̉̀͜Ḁ̶̢͊͜H̸̰͖͊͝A̷̛̙͍̘̍̔H̵̯͚̥̆̈́Ḁ̴̋͌H̴̛́͘ͅA̴͍͆̈́̈́H̴̨͕͑̿Ä̴̹̫̯́͊!"

Freesia gasped and jumped up onto a ledge, staggering back.

You floated off the ground and smiled at her gruesomely. She stared in horror as you grinned back at her. Your hood was down, revealing blood running down your temple, nose, and mouth, your h/l h/c floating like a halo around you, your blood red eyes. Blood and poison dripped from your cut and twitching limbs. The grass around you withered and died, forming a circle of death around you. You laughed madly, despair and rage rippling off of you.

You held your hand out towards her, paralyzing her. She shrieked and thrashed, trying to get out of this invisible grip. You slowly began to close your hand, the grip around her starting to crush her armor. You laughed. You floated closer until you were just a few inches from her face.

You laughed again. "H̸͍̓Ǎ̷̝H̷̻̊!̴̹́ ̴͈̈́T̷͙̊H̸̼͛A̴̬͛Ṯ̵̏ ̷̧̐W̴͎̄H̴̬̀Ȏ̵̹L̶̒ͅE̴̛͜ ̸̝͐T̴̽͜H̵͙͐I̸͇͛N̴̦̈́G̴̢͐ ̵̯͛W̸̛̥Ȧ̴͜S̴̖̍ ̶̙̅J̵͕́Ũ̵̫Ś̵̝Ṭ̸͌ ̷͚͌A̶͙͛ ̶̙̈́L̴̫̚Ḯ̶̳E̸͍̒!̶͚̚ ̸̢̈́Y̸̭͑ö̸̮́u̵͔͋ ̴͍͗r̶͉̊e̸̛͔a̴͛ͅl̷͉̓l̵͍̓y̵̰͊ ̸̩͌t̴̪͘h̸̠́ö̸͉ų̶̌g̵̞̏h̶̳̎t̶̪̚ ̷̱̋I̸̳̿'̵̤͆d̵̖̀ ̵̖̈l̶̘̕ë̵̬t̵͕͌ ̴̳̊m̴̠̃y̶͔̐š̸̘ẻ̷͎l̶̥̈́f̶̣̂ ̴̱͠b̸̳̾e̷͙̋ ̶̭̉b̴̡̍ȇ̸͎a̷̞͝t̶̢͒e̶̳̚ǹ̶̰ ̵̠́b̵̼̈y̵̡͋ ̶̅͜ș̸͝ć̵͔ų̶̊m̸̖̎ ̷̥̒ĺ̸͔ĭ̵̠k̶̢̾e̸͇͌ ̴̮̃ỹ̷̜ō̴̟u̸̳͘¿" You stared at her. "I̷̤̊ ̵͒͜w̷͚̋ǎ̵̫n̸̳̊t̷̤͊è̵͓d̵̝̓ ̶̭͑y̵̚ͅo̴̤͐u̷̯͛ ̷̛̣ṯ̵͑o̴̙͒ ̷̤̓ḟ̴̳e̷̡͠e̵͍̚l̶͉͗ ̵̩̿l̶͖͊ḯ̵̳k̸̦̈́e̸͉̓ ̷̮̽y̶̗̐ọ̸̏u̵͔͗ ̷̓ͅw̸̮̋o̶̲͋n̷̩͘.̶̳̅ ̴̮̓I̴͇͂ ̴̪͂w̶͚̓å̶̹s̴̡͝ ̶̢̈́l̸̻̓y̶̡̅i̵̖͐n̴̫̆g̸̳̈́ ̵̗͝a̶̹͝l̸͓̑l̷̟̑ ̸̯̽a̴̻͝l̷͇͋ŏ̸̲n̷̺͝g̴͚̏.̵͈̋ ̴͔̄Y̶̜̋o̷͕͊ų̷̽ ̶͇̊ṟ̴͂ě̸̩a̸̛͔l̵̘̄l̷͚͝y̷̢̆ ̵̞̌t̸̞̓h̷̨̿ô̴̞ǔ̷̲g̷͇͒h̸̺̀t̶̘̓ ̴̻́y̸̪̐ȍ̵͕u̵̯͑ ̴͍̓c̵̹̈́o̵͚̒u̸̧͠ḽ̷̇d̸͖̉ ̸̘͘b̶̥͒e̴̫͝a̶͚͂t̸͎̅ ̵͕͝m̵̭̐e̴͍̓?̵̲̓ ̶͚̅F̵̦̀ô̸̮o̵͓͛l̵̛̹.̷̥̕"

Freesia stared at you in horror, tears streaming down her face. 'She's insane,' she thought.

"A̶̧̎n̶̫̓d̸̰͑ ̸͖̕n̵̪̋ò̴̝w̶͉̎ ̸͙̔y̴̯̕o̸̖̎u̶͙̿ ̸͈̊ẅ̵̘í̸̙l̷̺̃l̴͇̔ ̷̤̃f̸̬͗e̶̲͐e̶̫̋l̷͓̏ ̷̯̚t̵̥̿ḩ̴̓e̶̩͑ ̷̜̑ḋ̷̦e̶̳̽s̸̡͝p̵̩̽a̷̤͠i̵̥̊r̷̳̈́ ̶̯̃o̸͎̽f̴̺̉ ̵͕͗d̴͈͊y̴̙͝i̶̩̕ņ̵̄g̴̥͂ ̶̱̒a̸̰̓ṱ̵̍ ̵͎̾t̴̟́ȟ̶̼e̵̟͊ ̴̛͔ä̷̟́t̶̩̕ ̷̧̎t̵̬̂h̴̬͐e̶̬͑ ̵͍̐h̸̙̐ǎ̸͈n̸̠͝d̴̛ͅs̴̞͋ ̴͎̃o̷͕͌f̵̲̌ ̴̗͝t̵̯̂h̴͇͒ȩ̵̐ ̴̭̃p̸͕̊ē̴̡r̷͕͂s̴̱̄ö̶̱n̵͔̏ ̸̨́y̸̼̓ȍ̷̪u̵̢̓ ̴̟͋s̴̡̃o̶͚̓u̵͔͛g̷̣̏h̸̡͒t̸͇̆ ̶̐ͅo̸͑ͅú̷̙t̴̝͒ ̴̘͌t̶͉͆o̸̮̾ ̵̳̋k̵͔̑ì̴͕l̶̛̺l̷̼͊.̸͎͝ ̷͎̔H̷̝̓o̷̡̽ẘ̶̯ ̷̜͛d̸̻̎o̵̝͊e̶̅ͅš̴͖ ̵̭̈i̷̱̽t̴̫̕ ̶̼́f̷̤̄e̸͕̋e̴̼̐l̶̥͊,̶̦̈́ ̷̝͋k̷̻͠n̸̥̾o̴̦̽ẘ̸̫ǐ̶̺ň̸̞g̴͎̀ ̵̮̂ṫ̴̰h̵̜̋ą̷̓t̶͎̎ ̷̺̿M̸͙͊Y̵̻͊ ̴̩͠F̸̗̏A̷̪͆C̷̲̀Ẻ̴͇ ̶̝̚W̷̬̎Ï̶͕L̵̢̏L̶̫͒ ̵̟̓B̷͕͛E̶̙̊ ̵͉̿T̸̯̎H̸͓͆E̷͍͐ ̶̳͝L̵̪͛Ä̴͇́S̸͓̓T̶͔̓ ̵̬̋O̸̼͒N̷̖̊E̷̙͊ ̸̺͛Y̵̛͚O̶̺͌U̴̠͛ ̷̙̏Ẽ̵̢V̵́͜Ẹ̵̀R̵͓͝ ̵̹̄Ś̷̩Ê̶̲E̶͓̽?̵̨̄ ̴̾͜K̶̫̑N̶̛̥Ô̴̰W̶̨͘Į̸̄Ṇ̵͝G̷̙̒ ̴̻̽T̸̮̂H̴̘̅A̷͈͆Ț̷͠ ̷̻̾T̸͉͝H̸̗̚Ë̶̮́R̶̼͗E̶͍̕ ̴̗͠W̶̠͝I̴͇̓L̸͎͒L̶͓̕ ̷̗̀B̸͓̎E̶͈͑ ̵̭̍N̶̦͝O̴͈͘ ̷̣̌Ḛ̵̈́S̸̺̿C̵̐͜A̵͓̓P̴͔̔E̶͇͐ ̶̘̓F̴̭͊Ò̴͎Ṙ̴͓ ̸̬͒Ỷ̵͚O̴̖̿U̴̙͑?̵͉͗ ̴͔͝Ṭ̸͑H̶̜͌Ḁ̴͋T̵͍̈́ ̵̻͒P̴̻̓A̸̬͌I̵͔̚N̵̨̽ ̷̰̐Ą̷̓Ǹ̴̨D̷̡̊ ̴͖̂Ś̸̖Ǘ̷͍F̴̹̋F̵̹͛E̶̓ͅR̶̖̈Ỉ̵̪N̴̡̚Ǵ̶̪ ̴̭̋B̶̻͊È̴̟Y̶̢͒O̶̯͐N̸̯͆Ḏ̶͑ ̸̨̄W̴͍͑H̶̳̊A̷͙͠T̷͈̈́ ̸͖́Y̵̫͝Ö̷̻U̵̲͘R̸̺͆ ̷̪̇I̴̙͆M̷͖̀Ä̷̘́G̴̪̓I̸̘̍Ň̵̲A̷̟͆T̶̫͗İ̸̫Ő̴̲N̸̩͐ ̸͚̌C̵̲̅Ô̴͇Ů̷͖L̶͚̄D̷̺̋ ̶͚̕E̶̛̻V̶̮̎È̶̮R̷̯͋ ̴͚͆C̸̗̃O̴͔̓M̵̄͜E̷̘̿ ̶̲͊U̴͙͂P̴̆ͅ ̴̤̉Ŵ̸̪İ̷̜T̸̮͆H̷̪̍ ̶̞̊W̵̥̎Ȋ̶̳L̵͚̏L̵͎̇ ̴̰̌B̵͖̊E̸̤̐ ̸̻̑Ÿ̸̺O̵͓̿U̶̯̔Ṟ̸̌ ̷̱̐F̷͓͌Ä̶̱́T̴̥͠Ë̷̬́?̷̟͂ ̸̬͘Ÿ̸̢ȏ̸̠ū̴̧ ̴̛̹w̵͈͛ì̸̩l̸̤̐ĺ̷͕ ̷̗̽d̷͠ͅȉ̵͜e̴͖̓ ̵̩̒â̸͇t̷̮̿ ̶̳̿m̷͉̋y̶̹͌ ̴̮̄ḧ̷̢́a̶̺̐n̶̼̈ḓ̴͝s̷̹͠ ̸̥̃a̷͊͜ņ̷̂d̷̝͛ ̶̧̚I̶͎̿ ̶̈ͅẉ̸̅i̴̼̍l̴̡̛ḻ̸̿ ̴̦͂l̷͎̔a̶͚̒u̵͍͒g̶̺̈́h̴͙̕ ̴̲̈́a̵̲̔t̸̤͝ ̴̧́ÿ̷͍́ŏ̷̩ủ̸ͅ.̵̫̒.̶̛͓ ̶͇̿I̸͔̓ ̴͉̈w̸̩͒ĭ̷͍l̶̲͋l̶͍̈ ̴͓̊u̸͎͋t̸͈͝t̶̤̀ē̴̳ř̷̜l̴͉̊y̸͉͠ ̷͙̅ḑ̵́ẹ̶͛s̸̟̐t̸̡̒ŗ̸̕o̶̲̅y̸̡̋ ̴͖̐y̷͉̍o̷̖̐u̵̺̅.̴̠̕ ̶̠̇A̸͖͋ņ̴̓ḓ̶̓ ̵̹̈I̷̋͜'̶̨̕l̶̲̅l̵̞̀ ̴̝̎e̸͕͊n̴͕͐j̸̫̇o̸̠͂y̷̖̓ ̷̹̽ĕ̵̞v̷͓̈é̵̲r̴̮͆ÿ̷́ͅ ̸̧̋s̵͓͆ę̶̀c̴͙̓o̶̥̿n̸̫͒d̴̰̊ ̸͇͒ǫ̵̽f̴͇̈́ ̷̦͆i̷̜̔t̴̳̆.̴̱̀"

You smiled at her, a bright blush on your face as you wrapped your arms around yourself and sighed in ecstasy.

"W-What are you?!" Freesia screamed.

You looked back at her and smiled, your red eyes shining in absolute malice and insanity. “Me? Well, Į̵͊'̸̦͆m̶̙͗ ̵̗̈́t̵̠͊h̸̩͝e̸͕̐ ̴̡̌f̷̥̑ä̵̞́c̶̥͒e̶̞͑ ̸̜̐o̴͍̎f̸̗̽ ď̸̦͍̬̥̰͕̞́̽̊͘ȩ̷̮̇͊̿̄͛̿͋͝s̶̱͓̑̿͑̀p̶̧̛̦̗͙̞̞͓̟̟̪͍͍̙͛̀͂͆̆͛̄̀͂̂̆ͅͅa̶̘͎̭̣̫̤͈̰̋̑͒̕͝î̵͉͎͚͇̜̱̫̥͋͂͗́̈́͘ͅr̷̘̱̠̮̜̥̠̝̭̤̎̍̃͘͜."

•••

"Hey, wanna bet on who wins?"

"Huh?"

"Between the Weird Fangs and the Eight Deadly Sins. They’re fighting in town now, aren’t they?"

"That’s not even worth betting on," the soldier replied. The two soldiers were conversing in front of a large prison cell door. "The Eight Deadly Sins only have their Captain and one more, right? The other is on her way here, but Lady Freesia left a few moments ago to take care of her—"

"Hey," a voice called out from inside the cell. The soldiers’ breaths hitched in their throats as they turned to look at the door.

"That’s pretty interesting." Suddenly, a footprint was imbedded into the door and it fell forward with a loud BANG. The prisoner sauntered out, chains dragging behind him.

"N-No way," one of the soldiers cried out.

The prisoner sighed in relief, stretching his arms that had bleeding holes in them. Metal stakes were still embedded in his limbs. His long, white-blue hair and beard might have made him look like he was old, but his muscular body said otherwise.

"It’s nice to get out for a walk every now and then," he said, scratching his head.

"Fox’s Sin of Greed, Ban, of the Eight," a soldier exclaimed.

"You-?! How did you get out?!" The other asked, reaching for his sword.

"Why now?!" The other soldier asked, grabbing the hilt of his sword.

"You can tell just by looking," Ban replied. He pulled a metal stake out of his shin, blood dripping from it. "I kicked the door down." He threw the stake down at the soldiers’ feet. The soldiers gawked in disbelief.

"It’s because you guys were having an interesting chat," he continued. "They were alive?" He asked, glaring at them with his red eyes. "Our cap’n... And Y/N? Is she the one who was on her way here?" He took out another stake from his arm and threw it at the wall between the two soldiers.

"What’s the commotion?" Someone said, walking over to Ban and the two soldiers.

"Lord Jericho!" The soldiers exclaimed.

"Huh?" Ban said, his red eyes scanning over the person. They had their lavender hair up in a high ponytail and wore purple with their armor. They had a sword on their belt. Ban's eyes narrowed.

"The Deadly Sin, Ban," Jericho started. "I don’t know how you got out of your cell, but you’d better go back in."

"Look here, brat," Ban started. "That’s no way to speak to a hero, is it?"

"You dare address an apprentice Holy Knight as a ‘brat,’ huh?" They said, glaring their hazel eyes at Ban. "For a half-dead criminal, you sure like to run your mouth."

They turned to look at the two soldiers, who were currently shaking in fear. "Send a message to Lord Golgius," Jericho said. "A prisoner broke out of his cell and resisted, so Lord Jericho had no choice but to kill him."

"Yes ma’am," the soldiers replied, running away from the two.

Jericho then grabbed the hilt of her sword, glaring at Ban. She ran towards him and slashed at his chest multiple times before he could even react. She sheathed her sword, her back turned toward Ban as he screamed in pain.

Ban’s screams of pain slowly turned into a smug laugh. He turned to Jericho, rubbing his now bare chin. "Wonder if this is too short," he said. Jericho whirled around and gasped. Long locks of Ban’s hair were now on the ground.

"Well, it feels refreshing. Guess it’ll have to do," he thought out loud. He turned to face Jericho. "You’ve got talent, you know...as a hairdresser."

"You dodged my blade despite having wounds all over your body?!" Jericho gasped.

"‘Wounds’? What wounds?" Ban asked, flexing his arms. The holes in his arms were now completely healed, no sign of them ever being there.

"No way," Jericho gasped. "You just had steel stakes hammered through your limbs."

"Remember this well, brat. This is what you call a wound," he said, pointing to the scar that ran up his neck to his jaw. Jericho gawked in disbelief. "Though the wound he gave me... is what you call a special case." He gave her a canine smirk. He then ran over and pinned her against the wall by her jaw.

"Kill me! Kill me now!" She said, squirming in Ban’s grasp.

"A̸͚̽l̶̳̇ȓ̸̩i̸̺͐ǧ̶̠h̵̨́ṱ̷̀!̶̲͐," a voice exclaimed from the shadows.

"Eh?" Ban said, looking in the direction of the voice. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes widened when he saw who it was. Jericho froze in horror, her blood running cold.

You walked out from the shadows, red eyes glowing demonically and smiling insanely. Your h/l h/c was floated in a halo behind you. Blood dripped from your temple, nose, and mouth. Even more dripped from the cuts on your limbs.

Your clothes were ripped and stained in blood. The sheaths of your daggers had blood dripping from them. Your fingers were covered in it. Despair, rage, and malice was rippling off of you so strongly that you had a black aura around you.

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound of it echoing in the entire floor, causing Jericho's blood to run cold. It was full of pure malice and insanity.

You whipped your head back and looked at Jericho. She froze in horror, your red eyes practically piercing through her soul. You smiled insanely at her. "L̸u̴c̵k̴y̷ ̷y̸o̵u̶!̶Y̶̼̒ó̷̲ụ̵̇ ̵̺̽g̸̹̃e̷͇̓t̶̨͗ ̷̟̉ẗ̸̙ǫ̵̆ ̸͎͝b̸̠̚e̵̬̕ t̴̲̲͗h̴̙̐̄̇̐ê̵̯̯̇̋ ̴̣͓̩̣̼̒̿s̷̟͉̪͛̓̓ȅ̴͎̰̌c̸̦̉̎̏͊͜͠ô̵̩̻̓̈̍ͅn̷͍̥͕͚͘ḋ̶̢̻̳̰̗́̎̚ ̶̤͓̊͐́̆͝l̵̛̛̦̜̕͠i̵̢͕͕̾̈́͐ͅͅf̴̹̗̏͝͝ͅę̶͓̬͛̿̋̿̋ ̶̩͓̌̆͊͋͊Ỉ̴̢̜͖͍ ̴̟̠͓͒̏̆é̸̡͎͠n̴̢̟͉̣̅̌̾͒̓d̷̡̳̘̂̕̕ͅ ̷̡̻̦͖̫͂̆̏͌̒t̷͉̫̝͘o̷̜̻̠̰̓d̵̼̼̍̂a̵͙͇͕̓̿̍y̴̰̽̓̏̐͘!̴̧̹̥͓̃̎̉̎͌"

#sds x reader #seven deadly sins x reader #sds #seven deadly sins #meliodas #elizabeth liones #diane #ban x reader #ban fox sin of greed #seven deadly sins jericho

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fandominvolved · 3 years

Text

Right in front of me | SamBucky

Summary - Sam gets injured, Bucky panics

Warnings - Angst, fluff, Blood, wound and none descriptive fight scene, Swears, Unconscious body, Mentioned of knife, stitching a wound with dental floss, Bullshit medical procedures (seriously.. is it obvious idk what I'm talking about?), bleeding trough bandages

He should have known.

Bucky should have known once he saw the shiny glint of the knife appear in the guy's hand.

Bucky should have warned Sam that he had a knife. But he didn't.

He didn't because he got distracted by one of the partners trying to punch him.

And he doesn't even remember who they were fighting; he just knows that one second Sam is fighting unaware of the knife and the next he's bleeding.

And it's awful.

It's awful because Sam wasn't wearing his Captain America suit. The one made of vibranium specifically for him so that stuff like this wouldn't happen.

And the groans that leave Sam's lips are going to haunt Bucky's nightmares for eternity. He knows it will.

But he can't do anything. Not now.

Not when there are still two guys to deal with. And Sam can put pressure on the wound on his own. He can do that.

And Bucky just barely manages to dodge a punch from someone, he was too focused on Sam he needs to get his mind back to the fight.

So, Bucky forces himself to ignore Sam's groans. Forces himself to ignore the bright red blood that was starting to seep through Sam's finger. And he fights.

He manages to wrestle the knife from someone's hand and stabs them. It's not going to kill them. He doesn't do that anymore. But it will hurt and leave him unable to fight. And that's what he needs.

Bucky scans his surroundings-- pretending that his eyes don't linger just a second too long on Sam-- and the other guy is nowhere in sight.

Coward.

He's a coward, he left his partner there writhing on the floor in pain.

And Bucky ignores the guy screaming in anguish, that would probably haunt him but right now all he can focus is on Sam.

Sam who's leaning against the wall with blood dribbling down his lips. Soft groans escaping his lips.

"Shit, Sam," Bucky whispered, he moved Sam's hands away from the wound and peeled the blood-soaked t-shirt from his stomach.

Sam winced, "Buck," Sam whispered breathlessly.

"Put pressure on it," Bucky's eyes were unmoving. They stayed fixated on Sam's stomach, watching as his abs flexed and unflexed continuously due to the intense pain.

Sam placed his hands over the wound, biting back a hiss, "wha're you doing?"

Bucky took off his jacket, ripping apart the sleeves, "What does it look like? Not like we can call an ambulance while undercover,"

Sam stared at Bucky through his half-lidded eyes, "could," Sam let out a shaky breath.

Bucky ignored Sam. He had to. Had to ignore the pained whispers and the way he tried to pull away from Bucky's hands as he started to apply pressure on the wound.

Because if Bucky acknowledged that the blood on his palms was Sam's, Bucky won't be able to stop himself. He won't be able to stop himself from shaking, trembling. While his mind supplied him with so many outcomes where Sam doesn't survive this.

And he can't do that.

Not when Sam needed him.

Expertly Bucky tied the jacket around Sam's middle, keeping extra pressure on the front, "We're going to stand up, come on,"

Bucky placed one of Sam's arms over his shoulder.

"Bucky-" Sam heaved out, a broken cough wrenching its way out of his throat, "wha' bout 'im," Sam's eyes, filled with tears, glanced behind Bucky. Where he left the guy bleeding out.

"Sam, he stabbed you, and you're bleeding out. Right now I could give less of a shit about him," Bucky slowly lifted Sam, keeping his vibranium arm secure around Sam's waist. Bucky waited a few minutes. "He won't die," was all that Bucky could come up to say as he felt the guilt in his chest get impossibly bigger.

Sam lowered his head, Bucky supposed it was meant to be a nod or well he took it as one.

And they started walking.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Bucky kept eyeing the floor, making sure their feet were synchronized.

"Buck," Sam wheezed out, "I, I can't"

Even with such a short sentence, it took Sam way too much effort to utter out. Wordlessly Bucky nodded and slowly helped Sam sit on the pavement, his back against a lamp pole.

"God, what am I going to do?" Bucky muttered.

Sam closed his eyes, the harsh light causing his headache to worsen, "be'ind you,"

"Don't close your eyes dammit,"

Bucky was panicking. The adrenaline wore off and even the soreness in his muscles couldn't stop him from being terrified.

Terrified that Sam would die, bleeding out in a no-name street at night.

Sam slowly, with strength he felt he didn't have, opened his eyes. Squinting at the blurry figure he knew to be Bucky, "behind you,"

Bucky threw a glance over his shoulder. Barely paying attention to what he saw.

Bucky paused. And did a double-take. Behind him, a couple of feet away, there was a small convenience store.

Bucky stood up from the squat, and turned around, "Sam, It’s going to be quick, I swear. Just don't close your eyes,"

"I won't," Sam whispered.

"Promise me,"

"I promise," Sam let out another wet cough, his back slumping down even further against the pole.

Bucky nodded, "yeah, just wait here,"

He knew it was a stupid thing to say. It wasn't like Sam could leave, he could barely even keep his eyes open. But it helped calm Bucky down.

Even if just a little bit.

Bucky quickly walked over to the other street, throwing glances over his shoulder making sure Sam was okay,

Opening the window door, the bell letting out a little jingle, he sent a tight-lipped smile towards the half-asleep cashier. He quickly walked around the store scanning the shelves for what he needed.

Alcohol. Floss. Needles. Bandages. Pain killers. Disinfectant wipes. Scissors.

Bucky reached out with his hand and grabbed the Alcohol, only to pull his hand back almost immediately.

Blood.

Not just any blood Sam's.

Sam's blood was staring right back at him. Laughing in his face.

In his rush, he had forgotten he still had Sam's blood on his hands. Bucky swallowed down the bile that was threatening to come up and grabbed the alcohol ignoring how it felt slippery under his grip.

As quickly as he could Bucky grabbed every single thing that he needed. And some extras just in case.

He walked-- jogged-- over to the counter and threw a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. It was probably too much. He didn't care. Bucky exited the store and ran over to Sam.

"Hey," Sam mumbled, his face covered in a sheen coat of sweat and blood, "Took you long enough,"

Bucky nodded, carefully he started removing his blood-soaked jacket from Sam's stomach, "sorry," Bucky whispered, avoiding looking up to Sam's eye.

"It’s okay," Sam slurred, his hands twitching against his sides, "it’s okay, okay,"

And Bucky realized Sam was trying to convince himself that he was going to be okay.

"You're going to be okay," Bucky looked up and, finally, met Sam's half-lidded gaze. His eyebrows were scrunched up with wrinkles forming around the corner and his lips, which were coated in a thin coat of cherry red blood, were slightly opened letting out pained gasps.

"This isn't my first time doing it," Bucky whispered, looping the dental floss through the needle, "This is going to hurt a shit ton,"

That was the only warning he gave Sam before he carefully inserted the needle into his skin.

Sam's hand shot up and dripped onto Bucky's shoulder, his calloused fingers digging harshly onto Bucky's skin, "shit,"

Bucky as quickly as he could-- while trying not to hurt Sam-- finish tending to Sam's wound.

And this wasn't ideal.

He was using his right hand to handle the needle. His shaking hand. His vibranium arm would have been so much better, but he can't use it. If he did he would have ended up hurting Sam even more.

And he can't have that.

"Alright, it’s done," Bucky let out a sigh of relief, he let the needle drop onto the ground.

Sam let a pained smile graze his face, " 'anks,"

Bucky nodded as he grabbed the alcohol, "this is going to hurt,"

He poured the alcohol into the cap and spilled it over the wound. Sam's stomach clenched and the pad of his fingers dug even deeper into Bucky's bone.

Some of the blood got washed away by the alcohol revealing the lovely dark brown-colored skin that Bucky always loved to admire.

"Don't-" Sam heaved out as Bucky started opening the bandages.

"I have to,"

Sam shook his head, his teeth were biting onto his bottom lip, "hurts too much,"

"It'll get infected, and we have to walk to the motel," Bucky met Sam's gaze.

Sam stared at Bucky, his eyes normally so beautiful now dark as every single inch of him was consumed in pain. And he whispered out, "Buck," It was a plea.

A wish.

One he couldn't give to him.

But he could give him something else.

Bucky grabbed the bottle he had thrown onto the ground, the pills inside of it clinking together, "It won't stop the pain entirely, but it'll help,"

A compromise.

Bucky watched Sam's unreadable face. Watched as his eyes glazed over from the overwhelming pain, and his hand kept tightening over his shoulder. And Sam looked at Bucky until he gave a barely-there nod.

Bucky fished the water bottle he had bought and passed two pills to Sam.

Sam could care less that the pills had some of his blood on them. He just needed to feel something else than this burning pain deep within his body.

Bringing a shaky hand up to his face he threw the pills into his mouth. Dry swallowing them.

"Sam?" Bucky asked, showing the bottle to Sam, but Sam just shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Just do it,"

Bucky nodded, “Tell me if I hurt you,” Bucky with swift hands wrapped the bandage around Sam’s middle. Ignoring the few curse words that slipped Sam’s mouth. Ripping off a piece of tape, he placed it on the bandages making sure they were tight enough but not too tight that it aggravated Sam’s injury even further.

Bucky lowered Sam’s shirt onto the gauze, muttering a small apology as Sam winced.

“God, stay here. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to walk with that stab wound,” Bucky stood up, the muscles of his back protesting the sudden shift.

“What are you going to do?” Sam slurred, slumping his head back against the pole revealing the long column of his neck covered in a mixture of sweat, tears, and grime.

“Getting us a ride. Just don’t fall asleep, please,”

Bucky walked over to one of the parked cars. He hasn’t done this since he went to Wakanda, but it’s gotta be like riding a bike right?

Once you learn you never forget it.

Eyeing his surroundings-- letting his gaze linger on Sam for just a few seconds once again-- he smashed the car window with his left arm. Broken pieces of glass fell onto the seat and sidewalk. He threw the few pieces that were on the seat onto the floor and slid into it.

His hand reached blindly under the dashboard, there was a time where Bucky could have done this without thinking twice about it. Could have done this while focusing on the task at hand ignoring his surroundings while simultaneously being hyper-aware of them.

Bucky grabbed the two cables and cut off their ends. Getting started on hot wiring the car.

Maybe he should feel guilty that he’s stealing an innocent person’s car-- he wouldn’t be surprised if the car was the cashier’s-- just like he should have felt guilty about leaving the man writhing in pain on the floor.

But he doesn’t.

Not when all of his emotions are focusing on Sam. He knows once Sam is okay he'll feel the guilt, feel the slow torture of it filling up his heart.

But right now the certain guilt he had to learn to live with has been eaten. Overcome by a much bigger and scarier monster. And maybe if Bucky had a word for that feeling he wouldn’t be scared of it so much.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t have a word for it and it’s terrifying because this isn’t the first time he has felt this. It isn’t the first time because he remembers feeling it when Steve left. Feeling like his one constant in life was gone. And he was lost.

But it’s so different.

It isn’t like the fear he felt when he had fallen to his death. And it isn’t like the confusion he felt when he saw Steve after years of being tortured.

And this feeling. This new feeling was blinding Bucky. Was making him see stuff that wasn’t there. Was making him see Sam lying dead on the floor with a pool of his blood.

And that was dangerous.

So dangerous.

Bucky glanced back towards Sam once he got the car running.

It would be easier if he drove the car closer to Sam, so that’s what he did.

Once he was close enough he let the car running and got out. His eyes immediately found Sam’s slumped form.

“Sam?” Bucky was panicking.

Sam’s eyes were fully closed, and even though his chest was rising and falling erratically that didn’t stop the panic from spreading.

"Sam?" Bucky shouted, kneeling next to his unconscious body.

Sam twitched.

But he still didn't open his eyes.

"Shit," Bucky mumbled. This couldn't get any worse.

Bucky curled his arm around Sam's knees and picked him up bridal style. Letting out a soft groan.

Making sure not to hurt Sam more than he already was, he opened the back door-- after a bit of struggling-- and laid Sam on the seat.

Bucky threw a glance at the opened supplies that he'd thrown on the floor. He considered leaving them but decided against it.

Quickly picking up the stuff from the floor he jogged over to the driver seat. Throwing everything in his hands onto the passenger's side, hearing a soft thud as the alcohol bottle rolled onto the floor.

And he drove.

He drove down the dark isolated streets illuminated by the car's headlights.

His gaze kept switching back and forth between the road and the backseat. Bucky was scared. Scared that if he stopped looking at Sam for even one second he would stop breathing.

Bucky had lost everyone close to him. He couldn't lose Sam too.

Not when Sam had somehow made his way into Bucky's guarded heart and broke down every single one of his walls. Took away his armor and left it on the floor to rust. Took every single defense that Bucky had built and left him standing in front of him bare. Defenseless. Revealing every single secret, every single fear, that he had tried so hard to hide.

And it's funny because as much as Bucky liked to say that he hated Sam. That he was only with him since he had nothing better to do. There was nowhere else he'd rather be.

At some point, the shield had been his only family. His only sense of security. But now in some way Sam had become family-- and so had Sarah, Aj, Cass, and every single person that lived in Delacroix that somehow knew Sam-- and he accepted him.

Accepted him despite his past-- and his hideous hair as Sam liked to say-- and Bucky doesn't know what he'll do without him.

Doesn't know if he'll survive.

The sounds of clothes ruffling together and a pained whimper echoed from the Backseat. Bucky licked his chapped lips and threw a glance at the rear window.

"Sam?" Bucky asked as he saw him struggling to sit up.

" 'm fine," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes shut tightly together in pain.

"You don't look fine," Bucky retorted, somehow managing to keep his eyes on the road and not turn around completely and stare at Sam.

Sam hummed, and as the rustling began to grow louder Bucky threw a glance towards the back. And his heart, which had felt lighter once he heard Sam wake up, got tighter.

"Sam, shit, your bandages," Bucky exclaimed, his eyes not once leaving the slowly spreading blood against the white gauze.

Bucky shifted his gaze from Sam towards the dark road, looking for a place to pull over.

Sam peered down at his stomach through half-lidded eyes, " 'ust be why it 'urts," He slurred.

"Don't move," Bucky demanded, his voice stern, even though it felt like his insides were being filled up with water and he was drowning in it.

"Wasn't planning on to," Sam lifted his gaze and dark brown eyes met icy cold blue ones through the rear window, "I'm 'ine,"

Bucky shook his head and pulled the car over to a small clearing, "You probably popped one of the stitches, somehow,"

"Somehow," Sam mocked as a wet cough tore its way out of his throat, "you used floss,"

"It always worked fine with me,"

Sam even though the pain managed to glare at Bucky. Although it didn't have the effect he wanted considering not a second later he shut his eyes tightly as the pounding pain in his abdomen distracted him.

Bucky got out of the car, barely paying attention to his surroundings; the only thing on his mind right now was Sam.

He wrenched the back door open meeting Sam's semi startled eyes.

" 'hat the car do to you?" Sam asked, tilting his head back onto the seat.

#bucky barnes x sam wilson #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #bucky barnes #marvel #oneshot #sam wilson #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam wilson deserves the world #fluff #injuries #sam wilson angst #bucky fanfic #crosspost

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vadaschiquita · 3 years

Text

Chiquita | Ch.15

Chapter 14

“This can all end, Jimmy, if you just… tell me where she is,” Nevada said in a singsong voice, levering Jimmy Mucci’s head by tugging at his hair. When no response came, Nevada gut-checked him forcefully, feeling his knuckles ache behind the blow.

It’d been like this for a fortnight. Nevada being reckless, coming close to burning bridges that had taken years to build in a angered frenzy in an attempt to find out Mariana’s location. Pucho could barely keep up with the requests for meetings, and word around the city had spread quickly as soon as Nevada had crossed the Queensboro bridge into Long Island City where the Asian mafia had met his wrath.

Reckless things like that could cost Nevada a lot in the long run, and unfortunately, Pucho had not been able to save him from this one. He’d moved in on them without properly vetting the situation, and now, he had a target from them in a borough that had nothing to do with him and his product. He had no business in crossing over to Queens, and Pucho had been more than clear when attempting to steer Nevada from that side of the bridge.

Pucho’s words had been for deaf ears, because until Nevada had Mariana in his hands again, the recklessness would continue.

Nevada feared no one, and his temperament and mental well-being were hanging on by a thread. He had all the guys working overtime and had the girls coming in with false allegations with the promise of a big reward.

“No one,” Mucci heaved, attempting to lock his remaining good and open eye on Nevada’s face. “No one here knows where she is,” he swallowed, smirking, and Miguel, who’d been standing by knew that his fate was about to get much worst by whatever he was about to say. “And, even if we did… she looks like a good lay,” he chuckled, the sound quickly converting to a pained cry once Nevada connected his fist with the bloodied flesh that was Jimmy’s face.

Blow after blow; grunt after grunt was all that reverberated back from the walls of the warehouse. No one said anything. No one dared interrupt until they knew it was time.

Nevada stepped back, winded, and slightly dizzy. The distinct copper-like smell from the blood on the backs of his hands was clouding his nose. He’d beaten Jimmy Mucci to a pulp, and now he’d toss him somewhere where the Greeks and the Irish could see him, and the Russians up in the Bronx could hear about it, too.

He’d already weeded out the Irish. They hated the Italians, and if they’d done this just to get Nevada to step into their little pissing competition, their fate would be far worst than the one Jimmy Mucci had just met.

Nevada flexed his fingers, wincing slightly once he felt the bones in his hands rearranging. “Drop him off where everyone can see. Let this be a fucking warning. I want my Chiquita, and I want her now,” he growled, his eyes an unnerving color.

Miguel nodded, signaling the other men to do as Nevada had bidden, and quietly he followed him out.

If anyone knew what Nevada was going through, was Miguel. He’d been his driver and immediate hand for as long as he could remember. And, even though he hadn’t voiced it as of yet, Miguel did feel somewhat responsible for Mariana’s current fate. If he hadn’t been pre-occupied with something else, he would’ve been the one picking Mariana up, instead of sending Dylan to run an errand that placed him nearest to her. If Miguel had known that she was coming home, he’d had volunteered to pick her up instead.

Nevada had slammed the door shut, quickly examining his knuckles and twisting his face in slight disgust. He hadn’t seen his hands bruised like they were since before Mariana and him had begun dating. He never succumbed to the violence unless completely and utterly necessary. He had guys willing to dirty their hands in lieu of a steady paycheck. Nevada got his problems solved and they stayed out of jail by doing what they needed to do in order to get the message across.

Two times, already, Nevada had dirtied his hands for the woman he loved, and he’d do so again without hesitation if it meant her safety and that of their unborn child.

Mariana winced, feeling the baby press at her ribs. It was always during this time of the evening where the baby was the rowdiest, but as soon as she shifted, there he was, inching closer to her body in order to bring his hand to her belly to ease the pain across her ribs. It was like he knew or he was synched with the life growing inside of her. He’d whisper softly to the baby, talk them down and out of her ribs until she could breathe easily again.

She’d resorted to sleeping in a slant so that when the baby would ease itself towards her ribs, she could easily slide into a sitting position. Nevada had surprised her with a change of headboard, one that was comfortable against her back. It gave the room a feminine touch and it let anyone know that her presence in his life was more permanent than not.

Now, all she had for support were two flat pillows. She sighed, feeling the prickling sensation forming across her nose. A telling sign that her resolve was not as strong as she’d thought. She cleared her throat, swinging her feet off the mattress and onto the cold floor of the storage room she’d been kept now for thirteen days. She placed her elbows on her knees, leaning forward as much as her belly allowed her to go, attempting to coax the growing life inside of her down.

“Mi amor,” she whispered quietly. “Mi amor, por favor,” she said, running her fingers through her scalp. “I know you miss your dad, but baby please, let me rest.”

She could feel the pressure increase on her ribs and she heaved her sigh, coming to a careful stand. Her captors had bargained with her, if she didn’t attempt to run or scream or attack them in any type of way, the chain around her ankle would come off. It’d only taken a couple of days before she’d begged them to take it off as the pins and needles sensation of her foot was growing to be painful and annoying at the lack of circulation of her swollen feet and ankles.

She placed her hands to her belly, massaging the hardened area just like Nevada did.

“Papi will find us,” she said softly. “Papi won’t rest until we’re back where we belong.”

She hummed and smiled at the fluttering coming from within. Whatever activity her child was doing inside of her, had brought more than comfort to her.

The first couple of days locked in darkness had been beyond stressful. Everything she consumed was brought back up within minutes of consumption and her once over active child had turned silent. She’d cried and prayed, begged the baby and the heavens above for a sign of movement to no avail. And, now, though she highly disliked the discomfort, she would choose it instead of the agony of not feeling them move within her.

Lost in her back and forth pacing, she didn’t notice the door open, let alone the body that had entered the space. When she turned around, she tensed.

“Ricky,” her voice wavered.

He smirked. “Si llego a saber que el culo te iba a crecer, I would’ve gotten you pregnant sooner,” he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back.

“And, you think I would’ve honestly kept a pregnancy being with you?” she retorted back, softly, but filled with contempt. “There wasn’t a day where you didn’t beat me… belittle me to such a point—”

“Ay, you deserved every single one of your beatings, Mariana. You and that fucking mouth of yours!”

She flinched at the sudden influx of his voice. “If I recall, you loved fucking my mouth, and you never complained when you did,” she responded with a snarl.

Ricky chuckled, taking a step towards the three-legged table. In his hands a bag of supplies that he emptied atop the surface of the table. “Here,” he said, sorting the items scattered on the table. “I got you some underwear and vitamins. I asked the lady at the pharmacy, she said these are the ones you need.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“This,” Mariana gestured with her hands around her. “Why do you have me here? What do you plan on doing, Ricky?”

Ricardo sighed. “Your fucking thug lets you give him this much lip? ‘Cause from what I’ve heard, motherfucker is crazy. You’d think he’d fuck you quiet, or at least into submission,” he turned, searching for the bucket.

“You’ve no right to talk about Nevada that way,” she said between clenched teeth. “He’s ten times the man you could ever think of being.”

Ricky snickered, “Mariana, don’t test me.”

“Or, what? You’re gonna beat me up? Kill me? I’ll fucking take my chances! You’re nothing but a coward, Ricky!”

Mariana knew her words had been too much. She’d known as soon as he’d turned around and reached her in a couple of steps. He grabbed her hair in his hand, yanking her head back with force, and dug his fist into her belly. She felt the flutters of movement coming from her child and the whimper of fear won over the wince of pain.

“No,” she mewled, clawing at his forearm to stop. “Ricky, stop!”

In his eyes she could see his enjoyment when it came to inflicting pain on another being. Many a time she’d looked into his piercing stare wondering where it had all gone wrong, who had hurt him, and if that would be her future forever. This was a power move. He thrived on being on top, and when anyone threatened his made believe throne, he was like a fierce hyena protecting the trash he called his home.

He dug his fist deeper into the center of her belly and Mariana spat at his face, gaining in return his hand around her neck. She gasped, not foreseeing the hand he’d played.

“Do it,” she said between breaths. “Fucking do it,” she smiled, feeling the pressure of his hand against her windpipe. Ricky furrowed his brow, confused at her willingness, and he eased on the pressure behind his grip. “Coward,” she rasped.

“Bitch!” he shouted, tossing her onto the bed. Mariana’s hands came to wrap protectively around her midsection as she watched him pace the length of the small room, yanking at his hair. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get! You—You… why are you this way?” his voice was a plea of sorts and Mariana fought to catch her breath. “Why don’t you love me!”

Mariana looked at the broken boy at the foot of the bed, red at the face with bulging eyes and veins. She felt… sorry for him, but he still didn’t have her sympathy. Ricky wasn’t right in his head, and it would take more than a breakdown for her to forgive him.

“You—You’re wrong in the head, Ricky,” Mariana coughed, feeling her throat scratch with pain. “You need—need to let me go and—”

“No!” he shouted, launching himself forward, and landing a punch to Mariana’s pretty face.

She immediately felt her bowels churn and her brain rattle in her skull. It’d been a long time since he’d touched her like that, and growing used to someone not beating you rather quickly, she saw stars clouding her vision when another blow landed across her jaw. Her body fell back against the mattress, her hair covered her eyes, as she felt the darkness rapidly enveloping her.

“You’ll always be mine,” she heard faintly before she finally slipped into the safe confines of blackness.

Nevada sat on his couch, a frown on his face, an ache in his heart, and a diminishing handle of whiskey in his hands. Eighteen days without her, the greatest pain in his ass, the object of his every day distraction… the mother of his unborn child: the love of his life. Eighteen miserable days and eighteen agonizing nights where everything felt blurred. Blurred because he didn’t know when one thing started and another thing ended.

Had he eaten? Had he kept up with his hygiene? Was his business thriving? He couldn’t know.

For eighteen days he’d known that had it not been for his big ass mouth, she could’ve been here. If he’d just… shut up and listened to what she was saying, if he’d just seen the situation from her point of view instead of always trying to have the last word, this entire mess could’ve been avoided.

He sniffled loudly, distracting his brain from his eyes, bringing the handle to his mouth for a prolonged sip. He didn’t even wince at the sharp sting the whiskey had on his throat, he didn’t deserve the luxury of feelings knowing that his Chiquita was out there, fighting for her life, fighting to stay alive for their kid, just to have the opportunity to be able to return home almost unscathed.

“Tío,” he heard Sofía’s soft voice approaching the couch.

He’d dismissed his men for the continued search of her. Whatever it took, he’d have her back.

He scrambled around, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of his niece. He checked his wristwatch, noticing the time, “Sofi—Sofi, it’s late, mama. Go back to bed.”

Sofía climbed the couch, crawling towards her uncle, and once she reached his side, she knelt next to him. “Are you sad because of Mari?”

Nevada hung his head, hiding the shame of his tears from his niece. He sniffled once more, exchanging the handle from his right hand to his left, bringing his face to his inner elbow to wipe away his face, and wrapping his arm around Sofía’s small frame. How was he to explain what was happening to his soon-to-be seven year old niece.

His chin trembled as he faced the confused stare of the young girl in front of him. “Princesa,” she blinked, tilting her head in curiosity, and he cleared his throat. “I am sad because of Mari, but,” he added quickly, “I’m so happy that you’re here with me.”

“Well, Mami said I had to take care of you!” she said in a fit of laughter, dodging Nevada’s fingers against her side.

“She did?” Sofía nodded, brushing her hair out of her face. “What else did she say?”

Sofía’s smile faded and she lowered her head, “You said those are bad words…”

Nevada hummed. “Bueno, si las dices bajito, they’re not as bad,” he winked at the girl, attempting to coax out of her whatever words his sister had used in her presence.

“Mami said that this could’ve all been avoided had she not been a puta.”

Nevada chuckled softly, “Well, I can’t argue with your Mami on that one.”

Sofía looked… perplexed, not really understanding what her uncle had meant by his statement. Nevada shook his head and she took the opportunity to settle against his side, curling her legs close to his ribs.

Nevada brought the handle to his lips once again, looking out to the city, and letting his self feel the love that radiated out of the little body that was Sofía Isabella Ramirez.

As the handle depleted so did his eyelids and when he next woke, Sofía lain fully across his lap, bundled underneath his jaw as her gams wrapped around his back. He groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s edge, fighting the spinning room.

He brought his wrist towards his face, squinting to better focus the hands of the watch face. They’d been there all evening and now he could see the sun attempting to creep through the bundle of clouds in the horizon. Nevada dropped a kiss to his niece’s messy head of hair, toeing off his shoes to lay the length of his couch when his thigh vibrated. He groaned, maneuvering around Sofía’s body. He slid out his phone, once more squinting at the blurry, jumpy letters across his screen.

The message would’ve been ignored had he recognized the number, or at least been part of an area code that belonged to any of the five boroughs that comprised the New York City area, but it didn’t. Nevada prided himself a great businessman and as any businessman, it was his job to know and study the market he was in. Any true and native Newyorker could tell you 212-, 718-, and 917- were the true New York City area codes, but the one displayed on his screen was 551-. Whoever this was, either had the wrong number, or was looking to start some trouble.

He had reason to ignore the message—he had more than one reason to ignore the message, the primary being: there was no business to attend to at this time of day knowing he’d set fire to too many bridges over the course of the last eighteen days. He’d been watching those slowly burn from afar and as he sat and watch the fires grow, he’d given thought to the ones he did want to salvage, but not right now and certainly not at this time.

As he contemplated whether or not to open the message from the unknown number, another one came in. He furrowed his brow, resting his cheek against Sofía’s head. He couldn’t read what the messages said; he had to unlock his phone before being able to do that, but two messages almost back to back from the same unknown number. Who else could it be?

He hesitated, pressing his thumb against the screen to unlock his phone.

Text Message: [551-908-5344] 06:21 a.m.

I have something you want…

Text Message: [551-908-5344] 06:23 a.m.

Wanna see?

His stomach clenched and his reaction almost made him drop Sofía onto the couch like a lifeless object he had no care for. Instead, he stood, gathering every raging force to carry Sofía to his bed. The girl would find more comfort knowing that at some point, her uncle had moved her to his room as opposed to hers, and even if a lie, she’d still think she’d had the opportunity of sleeping in his bed. As he exited his room, shutting the door behind him, he pressed the phone number, bringing his phone up to his ear.

It rung several times and when his patience was beginning to thin, he heard the cynical voice on the other side of the receiver, “Huh, I thought you weren’t intrigued enough…”

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?”

The person on the other side snickered, “I already have what I want, Nevada. I was just letting you know that she is mine.”

Nevada clenched his jaw, feeling his lips go numb with anger. “Yours?” he snickered. “Tú lo que eres es un palomo.”

“Un palomo que tiene lo que quiere,” he retorted. “You should hear how she begs me—”

“Rick—Ricky, please,” Nevada heard Mariana’s faint, exhausted voice. “Plea—Please,” she sounded winded, tired, and her voice sounded like it needed a touch of water.

Ricky hummed as he chuckled. “What the fuck are you doing to her?” Nevada growled.

Ricky huffed, “Nothing, nothing, just… tuning her up. Since, since, you know, you’ve let all my good work go to waste!”

“Mira, pedazo de cabrón, you put your hands—” the sudden, yet audible smack that rang loud in his ear almost made him lose his balance.

Mariana grunted, groaning softly. Ricky sniffled, “I’m the one that has the upper hand here, Nevada. All right?”

Nevada clenched his jaw, attempting to reel his anger in order to try and get more information out of him. Ricky had already slipped up and allowed for pride to get the best of him when he messaged Nevada without blocking his number. Now, even though cocky, Nevada wouldn’t allow his self to believe that Ricky hadn’t taken some precautions when getting a cellphone, burners did sell out of every bodega he knew.

Now, he just needed to exercise his infamous gift of gab and keep him on the line long enough for him to figure out where exactly was he keeping his precious Chiquita.

“Look at you being a fast learner,” he mocked.

“What is it that you want?” Nevada said through clenched teeth. “Money? Name your fucking price, but you can’t have her.”

He heard Mariana hiss, as if Ricky had yanked her by her hair, “Here!”

“Vada—Vada.”

“Chiquita,” he responded quickly. “Mami, are you ok? Are—Are you eating?”

“Vada—Vada,” she swallowed, and it was almost as if he could her smile. “Yes, and keeping myself hydrated, too.”

“Mari—”

“Hush!” she swallowed once again. “I’m counting on you to—”

“You’re counting on him to what, Mari? To come rescue you? No! We are leaving here together!” Ricky yelled and Nevada could hear a faint echo as he yelled. “I didn’t call to make this a fucking family reunion.”

“Why exactly did you call, huh?” Nevada’s patience had been running on low and listening to Ricky slap around the mother of his child had completely ran that probe out. “If you didn’t call to ask for money, what did you call for? Because, to flaunt her off, that’s not very… manly of you, Ricky.”

Nevada could hear the ragged breathing coming through the ear piece and he hoped he hadn’t pushed Ricky too far to the point he’d do something stupid like put his hands on Mariana once again.

“I mean, ¿tú no eres el más machito?”

“I called—I called, because I wanted you to know that I won—”

“Did you really win, Ricky? You’re the one that’s going to end up raising my kid, not the other way around,” he smirked. “Yo te debería dar las gracias—”

“No! No! I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”

Nevada huffed his laughter, “Is it not?”

Ricky pondered his next move. When he’d heard that Nevada was not to be messed with he understood who exactly he was going up against, and truth be told, he’d never would’ve accomplished this had he not found Dylan at that bar talking to the pretty bartender that had happened to mentioned his name.

He hadn’t been stupid enough to show his face near Manhattan any longer, Dylan had told him as much. The search for Mariana was very much ongoing and active, and now having been off the handle, he’d done something that would now put a complete and active target on his back. Now, Nevada knew that this hadn’t been done by any of the other powerful families in the city, but by him. And, if he hadn’t have met Dylan, getting to Mariana would’ve been impossible.

He needed an out, an easy escape to be able to leave the city with Mariana. If they needed to run for the rest of their lives, then run they shall, because Mariana would never leave his side again.

“I want money and I want your men out of my way,” he demanded, sniffling.

“You want money and for my men to back off,” Nevada repeated. “So, you want my money, my Chiquita, and for my men to… cover for you?” Nevada laughed heartily. “You better hope my Chiquita has dealt with you before I find you, because your faith will not be the same with me.”

“Nevada,” Ricky begun, feeling the cold air of fear sticking to his neck, “your own men don’t do as you say, what makes you think I will?”

“What—” Nevada glanced at his phone.

What had Ricky meant that his own men didn’t do as he said? Had this been an inside job?

“Motherfucker,” he sighed, all signs of sleep and rest out the window by this point.

Nevada had thought out many a scenario, had made up countless possibilities in his head as to whom would dare do this, but none of them had involved someone from under his command. It made perfect sense! Who else could have access to her whereabouts, his whereabouts, and all in all the perfect excuse to monitor both him and her than someone on his payroll?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt his anger increase within him. This could’ve been resolved sooner, had he gotten his head out of his ass for a second and actually put to use the mass between his ears to capacity.

No one really knew she wasn’t spending the night at Nevada’s, only the guys from the inner circle knew. Only a select few from the select few knew where Nina lived, and if in fact Dylan had gone to pick her up to not find her there, then there was only so many people he knew could be behind this.

He nodded as he paced, piecing together his every move like an avid chess player planning and predicting his opponents move beforehand.

This would not end well for whoever had dared cross Nevada Ramirez. This in fact would end up with more blood on his hands and another death in his conscience, but for her, he’d burn Hell just to get her back.

tags: @imjustreallynosy @bananas-pajamas @scarletsoldierrr @katierpblogg @angelicdestieldemon

#me #chapter 15 #chiquita #Nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #trouble in the heights #nevada is upset #overprotective #feelings #feels

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alias-b · 4 years

Text

sins of my youth. 006

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Aftermath of the dance! We learned about the rest of Billy’s night. Both babies struggling before school starts up again. TW: Pica and self loathing. Mentions of guys pursuing underage girls. Taglist open!!!

Chapter 6: Hard Candy

“Anyone up?”

“No, everyone is hungover.” Evie looked around. Everything frosted this morning like a peaceful snow globe. Eternal winter. Gorgeous and destructive. She didn’t kiss Fredrick goodbye. “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk again when school starts up. Don’t call, it’s too risky."

"But-"

"I’m just...risking everything to be with you, do you know that?”

He snatched her wrist when he said that. Pressed down on the pulse there. It sped.

“Yes...I’ll be careful. Do you still love me this morning?” Unsure of what answer would scare her more.

He smiled, grip loosening.

"Yes."

That sufficed. Evie slid out in her dress from yesterday. Watched some dead leaves whirl through the forest before she got onto the sidewalk. Cherry Lane awaited. Bowers turned his car on to slip away unnoticed so she could walk to her house. Mona's car was gone which meant errands.

And whoever her mother brought home to celebrate the New Year with hadn’t stayed.

Evie had the displeasure of running into a few at breakfast. These men who never lasted. Who froze like a deer in headlights to offer sheepish smiles as if she was stupid about why they were there. Who thought they'd be back. Ha ha. Thankfully, Mona mostly slept with guys not from Hawkins.

Billy’s Camaro was nowhere in sight either. Evie went into her house. Greeted Bourbon and crossed to the bedroom. The mess there replayed all of last night again. Dresses strewn all over her bed. Makeup spread on the vanity.

Evidence of a girl excited to have a great night. With a striking boy. Where she felt beautiful. She pictured herself holding dresses against her body at the mirror. Spinning. Happy.

Wishes.

Evie sucked in some air. Tied her hair back. Hung each dress up again. Pulled her own garment off and tossed it in the trash.

“Maroon is stupid.” She mused in her bra and underwear. “You should have worn blue.” Sighing to sit at the vanity, fingers rubbed her eyes pink. She organized makeup. Tried and failed to avoid the reflection in the mirror.

Her mother wouldn’t want to hear of this. So, Evie tried to look on the bright side. Pressed her palms flat. Looked at the mirror.

“I danced with a boy. A pretty boy and he made me feel…”

Isn’t it funny? Pretty funny. The words caught. Piled up and went back down her throat. Perched like they could become a scream but never returned with a vengeance.

She looked at her skin. Excess flesh. It didn't always bother her. Evie knew what she looked like and how the world preferred to see her.

A fist banged into her collar. Growling, she beat at herself. Unable to stop. Weak little bashes against herself.

“Why?" She clenched. "Why do you look like this!”

Fists rubbed her eyes again raw so no tears could flow. Nothingness. Just her soul spinning out of control all sweet and silent. She always did the world and her mother that courtesy. No use crying over spilled milk, just appreciate what you have. Depression and anger, those were ungrateful little phases and pushing them aside was ingrained into her synapses.

Mona made it look so easy.

Evie knocked into the side table, sending her needle felting project to the floor.

“Fuck.” Snatching items up, a sharp edge plucked her finger.

Blood beaded against the skin. A single prick like Sleeping Beauty. Evie calmed at the grim sight. Brought the finger to her lips. Sucked.

Slowly picked up everything else and saw a shiny button there. The same color as her dress from last night. Two fingers held it up so light could stream into the holes. Tiny heavens opening.

Her mouth watered. She no longer heard the laughter. Fredrick’s heavy breathing in her ear. Her mother chided her to smile through pain. Take bitter life pills with a spoonful of sugar. More noise fluttered away. Thunder while she hid in a dark closet. A hand on her leg.

Evie ran the big, acrylic button across her lip. Clicked it on her teeth and liked the sounds. Wind chimes in the fall glimmering.

Hard candy.

It slipped along her tongue. Shifted around saliva. Evie tipped her head back. Eased it down her throat as if it were another bitter pill.

Why do this? Just to see if she could. To see what would happen. To silence all the chaos she choked down.

Dead silence when it was done. Evie sat there tracing her lips with curious fingers. Pictured the pretty button decorating her insides. She could make art inside herself. Snapping her heart back together.

The exact sensations drained.

Tired and sore, Evie crawled under her bed covers. Decided to sleep and dream as deep as she could.

** ** **

Billy’s night before wasn’t much better.

“What the fuck?” He had blazed back into that shitty bar. Found Brock laughing around his friends and grasped his shirt. “You-”

“Billy, I think you want to let me go, my dad has too much influence. He’s friends with your mayor, you know.” Brock had his hands up to wave his boys off. Billy growled low at him, inches away.

“You think I give a shit that you’re rich?”

“I”m just saying I can make shit difficult on your family. I’m sure your daddy won’t like that, I hear you guys make a lot of noise on Cherry Lane. Could make Fenny’s life harder too, if you care.”

Billy’s grip loosened and Brock smiled. Tommy saw Billy's eyes change and hadn't even chuckled when the boy returned.

“Aw, Hargrove’s gotta little crush. That’s cute.” More laughter.

That did it.

A fist smashed into his cheek.

Brock was sent flying back out of his chair at the same time Billy raced out. Didn't care to watch and enjoy the sight of that boy nearly doing a back flip.

Money tore from his pocket and shoved into Bubble’s hand.

“Take this.” Billy didn’t count how much he’d given her. Picking up the pace before Brock and his goons could pursue him.

“Billy!” Tommy had called after him, but the boy was out into the cold and headed toward his car.

Evie was long gone. He still scanned the city in his Camaro trying to spot those brown curls and that maroon dress. Felt like an hour passed. She looked empty when she’d left.

Billy almost wished she’d cried or hit him. Something. Anything.

“Shit.” He pulled up to a little blonde waiting in the chill. Holding an oversized jacket close and craning to see down the street. “Hey, weren’t you Brock’s date?” Her face was pinched in discomfort. Shifting steps before she gave a nod. Seemed smaller there alone as drunks rushed about in celebration. “What are you doing?”

“Mm...waiting for the taxi.” She had a paper towel pinched between her fingers, trying to get a wet stain out of her dress collar. Billy’s gut twisted because he knew what it was.

“Get in, I’ll drive you home.” Billy sat back and waited. Reluctantly, she crossed over to join him. Face splotchy like she might have teared up earlier. Pulling pins out of her hairstyle. Billy figured Brock must have ruined it getting his blowy.

“Thank you.”

He revved to go in response after getting the address. Stony and intent on the road for once.

“It’s this one.” Was all she said once they’d gotten close to her building. Run down and dilapidated. Reminded Billy of the shitty apartment complex he’d lived in with his dad after mom walked out.

“How old are you?” Billy turned to see her and she cringed.

“I’m...fourteen.”

Fourteen. Barely a year older than Max.

And he’d only been fourteen when...

Nausea swept up his throat. Billy hitched to breathe and dug into his pocket for whatever was left of the cash Brock gave him. Felt like a true piece of shit.

“That guy, don’t go near him again. He asks you to come out or do things for him. Like sexual things... Don’t do it. Just stay away from him. Got it?” Billy reached out and dropped the wad of crumpled cash into her palms. “And don’t get into anymore cars with older boys. They’re gonna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“No, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Billy gestured. “Go inside, it's cold.”

She listened, getting out to disappear into the building. Billy rubbed his eyes because they watered. Music turned up to drown the world out before he skidded off. Made it back into Hawkins and parked at Lover’s Lake.

Decided sleeping in his Camaro was the better idea than going home. Not wanting to face Evie’s bedroom window or her old, scrutinizing cat. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Reclined in the back seat, Billy touched his lips and fell into an uneasy rest.

Woke with his head pounding and birds calling out. A truly grey day. He huffed to get out, pissed near a tree, and made it home to park in the driveway next to Neil’s car. Hadn’t left for work yet.

A groan as Billy climbed the steps to go in, felt like he might vomit at the scent of a warm breakfast. Susan playing housewife. Setting plates at the table between Neil and Max.

“Billy, are you hungry?” She caught him. Billy eyed his father reading the paper.

“No.”

“Come, sit down. Eat the nice breakfast Susan made.” Neil’s snap had Billy turning to plop down. He looked like hammered shit. Susan settled a plate of fluffy eggs and bacon down in front of him. Max was staring so Billy shot her a look to stop. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, Susan.” Billy rasped, picking up a fork.

“What’d you do last night?” Neil asked without looking up from his paper.

“Just some party.” A shrug followed. Susan had sat down with her own plate when the doorbell rang.

“Answer that.” Neil pointed her off so she left her plate to get cold and went into the next room. Billy wondered if Susan's ever eaten a warm meal after getting with his dad.

“Susan!” Mona’s chirpy voice piped up.

Billy dropped a bit of eggs in his lap. Had Evie told her?

“I’m so sorry to bug you early. Can I trouble you for a cup of flour? My poor Evie’s taken ill, I wanted to make her something nice for breakfast. Forgot to pick some up, I didn’t know we ran out. For pancakes. I’ll owe ya.”

Billy’s eyes were darting all over the table.

“No problem, come in.” Susan came back in with a measuring cup. “Sorry to hear about Evie.”

“Just an upset stomach, a couple of my fluffiest pancakes should do the trick.” Mona had followed. “Morning all. Happy New Year. I hope Hawkins made good on the festivities.”

Billy couldn’t look at her. Just shifted scrambled eggs around aimlessly.

Neil peered at Mona’s tight clad legs in her little shift dress. Already looking her best this morning after running quick daylight errands.

“Now, Max, I’d love to see you at my salon with your mama.” Mona clasped her hands and Max snickered because she hinted at that every time she saw the younger girl.

“We’ll be sure to visit before school starts up again. Won’t we, Max?” Susan filled the cup.

“Be sure to bring, Billy, I love doing boy’s hair too.”

“You might convince him to cut this all off.” Neil remarked plainly when Billy’s tired eyes lifted. Mona just smiled.

“The boys love to look like rock stars these days, sir. It's the in thing.” She took the flour. “I’ll leave you to your meal. Say, how about I make you your first dinner of the new year? I know it’s been such a change.”

Susan opened her mouth and shut it, peered at Neil for his answer.

“That’s a wonderful offer,” he replied, “only if we can bring the dessert.”

There he was. The charming family man.

Mona gave a cute giggle.

“I’ll take you up on that. Is six alright?”

“We’ll be there, Mona, thank you. I hope Evie feels better by then.” Susan wiped her hands on a towel and showed her friend out.

“Oh, she’ll be fine. My girl's strong.”

Billy grew bright pink. Fuck.

Susan came back to sit down. Got a few bite in before Neil stood and kissed her cheek. Dug a few bills out of his wallet.

“Make what you like, have it ready.”

“Thank you, honey.” She jumped when Neil unceremoniously smacked the back of Billy’s head.

“What!” He cringed away in his chair, dropping the fork with a clatter.

“You see the kind of attention you get when you look like a fucking fa-”

“She was just being nice.” Billy shot back.

Neil sneered and was already making his way out. Max wordlessly reached to pick up the fork and settled it next to his plate. She eyed him again once the door slammed and Neil made his way to work. Susan stared at her cold eggs.

“We should go.” Max sighed. Something happened between him and Evie. Something ugly. “To the salon.”

“You hate that shit.” Billy lost his appetite and sat back. Pushing up out of his chair.

“We’ll need a ride anyways. Neil always has the car and it’s better than the bus.”

“Do I look like I’m your damn taxi?” Billy snapped. Noted Susan flinching, but she didn’t get between them. Max sat straighter. Too calm and observant.

“No, you look sad.”

“Fuck off.” Billy shoved up and left his plate there.

“Maxine.” Susan stood. “Billy-”

A door slammed. Max debated it and went after him.

“Don’t, he’s upset.” Susan snatched her daughter’s wrist.

“Yeah and he’s not Neil.” Max slipped off, leaving Susan to frown at her plate and pull her sleeves down a little lower.

Summoning more courage, Max knocked.

“Go away.” Came the muffled reply she ignored. Pushing in. “Just fucking go away.”

Billy was under the covers. Having tossed his jeans and shoes aside. He didn’t raise his voice, it only got raspier.

“Didn’t you take Evie to that party? What happened?” Max shut the door. Crossed toward the bed.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“She came home before you. This orange car passed when I was sitting in the open garage fixing my wheel. I saw Evie come out at the end of the street and go home. She looked upset.”

“An orange car?”

“Yeah, like a rusty orange. Old car too, a Plymouth like my dad used to drive. I saw a man in the front seat. He looked like a dad too. Evie was in the car with him.”

Billy’s head lifted to see her. Max didn't often see this look on her brother's face. Horror.

“A dad?”

“I don’t know, it was weird. He didn’t drop her off at her house. He passed it and she walked back.” Max shrugged, dared to sit on the bed when Billy pushed up.

“Did you see his face?”

“I think I’ve seen him before, I don’t know where. I was too far away. He kinda looked like Neil. Lighter hair.”

“Mustache. Blond.” Billy’s eyes searched. He got up. “Gotta shower.”

“Billy, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Max." A dismissive hand waved. "Just stay out of it.”

“You messed up, didn’t you?” She paused when he whirled around. Thought he’d get upset. But, he only exhaled and turned to go. Stopping again when his thought was too much.

“Max, you know not to get into cars with older guys. Right? Even if they’re pretty? Even if they call you pretty too.” Billy found her eyes and looked defeated. Something else rare for him to show.

“Duh.” Max shrugged. A beat. “You haven’t told Neil about Lucas.”

“You haven’t knocked my dick in the dirt with a fucking nail bat. Don't care that you see boys as long as they don't... Just don't let Neil know you hang out with them.” He opened the door. “Out.”

Max beamed a little.

“Apologize to Evie.” She passed with an obvious huff.

As if it was that easy.

** ** **

“Mom, I really don’t feel good.” Evie mopped around in a robe after taking a long shower. Mona was touching her forehead. A barely there graze before she went to sort some items in the cupboard.

“You feel fine. It’s just dinner. Socializing is good for the soul.”

“Mom, I really don’t-”

“Evie, just smile for a few hours. Please, I want them to feel welcome. You can do that.” Mona waved her hand about.

Evie shut her mouth. Flashed teeth beyond twitching lips. Moved to go off into her room where Bourbon sat sleeping. His eyes cracked before he gave a purr and resumed slumber.

"Least one of us had a good New Years." Evie organized some empty decorative boxes and dishes on one of her bookshelves. Hummed in thought at another shelf full of collectibles. Felt the cool metal of an antique key no bigger than her pinkie.

It tasted vaguely bloody. Clanked around in her mouth. Harsher than the button. Such a forbidden thing. That much was almost thrilling. Evie tried once to push it down. Choked. Coughed it up onto her desk with a small clatter.

Just grin and bear it. You can suck it up, Mona said in her head. Encouragement. Always necessary. Evie picked up the key, spit trails came from it. Forced it to the back of her tongue. Swallowed once. Twice.

It seeped awkwardly down. Dropped into her stomach with the few buttons she’d eaten too.

Evie wondered if they’d dance with her as she navigated the world. Falling back into bed. Debating the musical clicking sounds underscored by growing flowers inside her.

She thought of Fredrick winding around her frame. Kissing her jaw. Teaching her things. There was a soft boy before him, but he’d moved out of state. Mr. Bowers plucked her off the floor after her father left. Talked about how it was forbidden too, but it never stopped him from kissing her.

This is so wrong. Kiss. But, you're irresistible. Kiss. The world just doesn't understand. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

It was funny how you could be so desired by a person who also constantly tells you it's wrong.

But, that won't stop them. Excess skin. Age. What would bother people more if they knew?

She’d sit on his bed and he’d join her. Put his hand up her leg and…

“Evie!” Mona called. “Can you help me here? I won’t let you stay in that room all day for New Years.”

Evie sprang up to gulp air. Held it. Felt in total control of her existence.

“Coming.”

** ** **

Evie hung back when the knocks rang. Stuck her head in the freezer and swallowed an ice cube whole. Wondered if this new habit would ruin her appetite. Wondered why she wasn’t horrified and ashamed of herself. It was just so quiet when it happened. Soothing. None of the ugly white noise in her daily life clustered.

Nobody needed to know. It was wrong, that wouldn't stop her.

“Honey! Come in and say hello.”

Another ice cube slid down her throat. Felt like good practice.

Wiping cold, wet fingers on her denim skirt, Evie appeared around the corner to see the Hargroves standing in her living room. Billy tried to catch her eyes.

“Hi,” a shy wave followed, “Happy New Year.”

“Evie, you look so pretty today.” Susan crossed to greet her with a dish. “I made cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Looks good, thank you, I’ll put it in the kitchen.” Evie pulled it from her hands. Candied and red on top of fluffy filling.

“Mona, I insist on helping.” Susan had gone on.

“You’re my guest, Susan.” Mona looked up from Neil’s hand. Pressed in a nice polo and blue slacks. He offered a little bouquet of snapdragons tied together with tissue paper and twine. Also had a bottle of white wine. “It’s almost ready, please sit at the table. Evie just set it.”

Evie snuck out of the kitchen again and saw Billy there staring pointed at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Averted her eyes to the little redhead next to him.

“Hey, Max, enjoying break?”

“While it lasts,” she glanced up at her brother as Evie shuffled away. Mona handed her the flowers to put in a vase. “That bad?” Max addressed Billy quietly.

“Yeah.”

Evie looked at him like he was nothing to her. No anger, no sadness. Just a big, gaping nothing.

Somehow that was worse.

“The flowers are lovely, Mr. Hargrove. Thank you.” Evie came out to settle the vase on a side table in the dining room as he pulled out a chair for Susan.

“We’re neighbors. Neil and Susan are fine, Evie.” He was all sweetness. The doting husband. Billy crept around the corner with Max.

“I should help my mom.” Evie made herself disappear.

“It smells good.” Max crossed to sit down as well across from Billy.

“I made something special from home. Jambalaya. Tried to go easy on the spice for your stomachs.” Mona brought a dish in after Evie sent some fresh rolls at the table. Her cheeks flush because her mother sat down too quick. The only free spot was the opposite head of the table between Max and Billy.

She suppressed a groan and crossed to take it. Offered sodas to Billy and Max wordlessly.

“Would you like to join me in the prayer?” Mona offered her hands out to Neil and Max.

“Of course.” Neil only smiled. Evie shifted in her seat. Felt Billy’s eyes burn. Took Max’s hand and stared at Billy’s open palm. Was this a game to him?

She took it. Squeezed it maybe a little too tight. Stared ruefully at her empty plate. Max noticed Billy’s knuckles pale and smirked at his tense expression.

“Bless us, Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ. Bless the Hargroves, we are truly grateful to have them join us tonight. Please guide our children through a successful year, we pray. Amen.” Mona smiled. “Please dig in. I always make so much.”

“Allow me.” Neil plucked up the wine and poured three glasses for the adults.

“First Christmas and New years in our town. I have to ask if it was a memorable one?” Mona started conversation. The rolls and dishes were passed around.

“First white Christmas we’ve ever seen, it was beautiful.” Susan radiated.

As the adults chattered about boring Christmas gifts, Max turned to Evie.

“Mom got me some of that felting stuff, you can teach me how to do it now.” She flashed a smile. “Can you show me after dinner?”

“Sure.” Evie was tearing her roll into two pieces. Eyed the butter next to Billy and decided to eat it without. “Eager to stab something a million times into a cute shape?”

“Duh.” Max kicked Billy’s ankle. Tried to get him to speak, but he shoved a huge bite of rice into his mouth. “Maybe I can show, El.”

“El?” Evie sipped her soda.

“This new girl I’m hanging out with. Chief Hopper’s kid, he wants her to have more girl friends.” Max chuckled, twirling her fork around. “We didn’t...get along at first, but it’s better now. We found things in common.”

Another kick at Billy’s shin. He glared. Nudged her foot back.

“Easier when you’re younger.” Evie remarked.

“We’re gonna find Evie a talent agent this summer,” Mona had spoken across the way, “she won all these competitions these last few summers. Sung for the governor himself at an event when she was only thirteen.”

“Mom…” Evie blushed. She loved this food and today, it looked ghastly somehow.

“Being a singer is difficult work.” Neil spoke. “How are you going to make money in the meantime?”

“She’s good,” Billy found his voice, “real good. She can make money singing.” A cold stare penetrated. “Miss Mona, weren’t you a pageant queen?”

That turned the adult conversation for the rest of the dinner. Mona and Susan prattled with Neil stuck between them. Miserable and having to hide it. Billy turned to Evie. Smirked.

“Can you pass the butter?” She blinked at him. Reached for another roll.

Billy cocked his head and handed it over. Evie didn’t want to fall into those pretty eyes again. Listened to her mother and Susan chatter eagerly with Neil chewing and nodding every so often.

Evie saw him fill his glass of wine three times.

“Let me help you clear this for dessert.” Susan was stacking plates so Evie got up to help. Neil drank his last glass down as he sat back. Clearly extremely relaxed.

“Neither of you are going to offer extra hands?” He’d barked under the sound of dishes in the sink and the TV in the next room.

“It’s fine, we have it.” Evie came to set the pie down at the center of the table. Neil snatched her wrist to observe her expression. Eyebrows lifting.

“You’re a very kind, young girl, Evie. You should sing us something.” Alcohol on his breath welled hot. He was drunk and hiding it better than most. Barely ate any dinner because the spices weren’t for him.

Max’s fists clenched on the table and Billy moved like he might stand up.

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Evie replied, another bout of strawberries crept up her cheeks.

“Can’t be a singer if you’re shy.” He chuckled.

“She was sick this morning, she probably shouldn’t.” Billy came out of his chair carefully. Eyes direct on his dad clutching Evie’s wrist.

The fingers loosened so she crossed behind Billy. Paused there so Neil could see who her shield was. Got back into a chair.

Billy slowly sat back down.

Neil would deal with him later.

“Susan, this looks delightful. I hope you’re willing to share the recipe. I haven’t mastered the cheesecake yet.” Mona ushered her friend back in. Neither felt the tension as Neil and Billy stared at each other. Not stopping when the cake was cut and passed around.

“I’ll write it down for you.” Susan offered Billy a piece, caught Neil’s eyes. “Neil says that’s what made him fall for me. Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Neil pressed this tight smile and laughed with the two ladies. None of the kids followed.

“Better if you just go through his chest.” Max had mumbled. Stabbing a bright red cherry with her fork. Evie suppressed the urge to snicker. Swallowed the sweet treat and excused herself when the meal ended. Max trailed after.

“Want to show me? No plans tonight.”

“Sure.” Evie twitched a smile.

Mona was pulling Susan out onto the back deck while Evie grabbed a basket she kept her craft items in. A body blocked her in the hallway.

“Evie, can I see you outside?” Neil wasn’t particularly tall, but he certainly had a presence.

Her eyes went steady on Billy at the end of the hallway behind him.

“Yes, sir.” She glanced again and Billy disappeared. “Max, want to use my desk? You've seen my room, I can show you this. Don't mind Bourbon snoring, he's been extra tired today.”

“Yeah, sure.” Max took it after an uneasy beat so Evie followed Neil out front.

“It was a lovely dinner, I don’t go much for exotic food.”

“From New Orleans, Louisiana.” Evie replied flatly. “I guess.” Neil was all pleasantries. Shifting on his feet and breath smelling of wine.

“You just seem nervous around Billy. My boy has a history.” He gestured. “Not a very nice history with girls like you.”

“Girls like me?” Evie’s nervous hands rubbed together in front of her. Shoulder’s lifting.

“Girls who are just a little…” Bigger. Darker. Stranger. Exotic. “Different.”

“Billy and I...Well, we don’t really talk.”

It was clear Neil wanted some admission out of her. Just for the sake of it.

“I just mean, if my boy has been unkind to you. I’d like to know about it. Billy gets into trouble and it’s my job to keep him out of it.” Neil stepped in. “You’re a very nice girl, boys take advantage. That's all I'm saying.”

“We…” Evie’s lip wobbled. “We don’t talk, sorry. Billy hasn’t…”

“If my boy steps out of line, Evie, I’d like to know about it.” Neil smiled again. “Tell your mother I said thank you for dinner. No doubt, she’ll keep Susan busy another hour.”

“Sure.” Evie watched him step down the porch. Stumbled and recovered quick. “Goodnight.”

The moment Neil went into his house, no doubt for another bottle, Billy slid out of the front door.

“You didn’t say anything. To your mom or anyone.” He observed plainer. Unreadable. "Why?"

“Your dad’s gone, Billy, we don’t have to pretend anymore.” Evie replied without a tone. Stepping around him. Sparing him a beating maybe. No emotion to give him.

He wasn’t worth it.

That replayed over and over again. No tears, no anger. Just ice. Cool and sleek.

Evie went back into her house.

Billy decided another night in his car away from Cherry Lane was better.

** ** ** **

“You can glue the eyes in now.” Evie applied some from a tube and pushed two tiny eyes into Max’s project.

“Looks like a monster.” Max snickered at the hideous yellow blob. “It was supposed to be a baby chick.”

“Ah, takes practice. Just keep stabbing. Give it to your mom, she’ll display and love it forever because you made it.” They sat at her desk under a little lamp. Max looked at Evie twisting wool around to make a shape, plucked up the project she’d made. “Kinda strange, you stab something a million times until it’s pretty. Keeps my hands busy though.”

“Trying to stay distracted?” Max piped in. Bourbon lifted his head behind them and wandered over for pets.

“When you get older, all you want is distractions.” Evie shrugged her shoulders and sat back. Let her cat sweep their legs.

“What happened with you and Billy?”

“Huh? Nothing.” Evie managed to smile.

“I know he took you to a party and...he came home without you looking trashed like he crawled out of a dumpster.” Max paused. “Someone else took you home.”

“I just got a ride from another friend. I don’t rage like Billy does.” Lie.

“You’re mad at him.”

“I’m not mad. I don’t…” I don’t want to feel anything. Sadness and fury. They weren’t to be processed or discussed. They made you ungrateful.

“Did you have a bad time? Did he get mad? He gets mad and does stupid stuff.” Mad Max was too sharp for this entire bland town. Evie sucked in her cheeks.

“No, I had a great time actually. That was the problem.” A wave crashed into her. Covered in metallic confetti. Magical. Crushing.

“What happened?” Max pressed.

“It’s not for me to say, I don’t want to-” Evie sprang up and the door opened.

“Sorry girls, Susan was headed out.” Mona dipped in without knocking. “Having fun?”

“Yeah.” Max stood up. “Thanks, Evie, I’ll keep practicing. As long as it takes.” Felt like she was hinting at something else.

“Night, Max.” Evie watched her mother show the younger girl out. Quickly swept her craft supplies back into a basket and plucked up her old cat. Listened to him purr. Decided another long night of sleep and late morning was better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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