#I FORGOT THE SCAR ON HIS FACE IN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE. CHRIST. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

backtothefanfiction · 8 months

Text

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Five: You Don't Own Me

Summary: Things continue to grow tense for Angel and Peter as secrets come to light on both sides.

Warnings: 18+ Only, eventual smut, lots of drama, mentions of genre typical violence, angst

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: With all my recent traveling I almost forgot it was Wednesday... Anyway I am super excited to share yet another chapter of this story. Things continue to heat up for our couple, we introduce and get to know more characters and dynamics from Peter's team as well as work in and reference other things from canon Spiderman lore. Just as an extra, when I think of and write about Felicia I can't help but picture Anya Taylor Joy, let me know if you see it. Enjoy!

FIVE

“What? How do you know?” Asked Eddie as they all piled back into May’s apartment.

“Yeah, I thought this guy was supposed to be a ghost.” Harry chimed in.

Peter held his hand close to Angel’s back. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her the whole way home. He ushered her further forward into the flat, coaxing her towards the sofa, prompting her to take a seat so they could talk about this properly.

Peter sat himself on the coffee table directly in front of her, his hands reaching out to rest against her thighs, drawing her out of her thoughts in her head and back into the room with him.

“Angel, you gotta tell me baby, what’s going on? What’s happening?” Peter encouraged her soothingly, but his irritation was burning under his skin and Harry’s incessant babbling and theorising in the background wasn’t helping him. “HARRY, SHUT UP!” he snapped, turning his head towards his friend then back to his wife. He watched as she swallowed deeply, she had gone so pale, it was honestly scaring him. “Princess-”

“I met him.”

“What? When?”

“With my Dad. They had this sit down. My Dad wanted to sort things out; he was trying to minimise the casualties.” He watched uncomfortably as she winced, the memories flooding her.

But Peter felt confused. “He spoke like he hadn’t seen you in years. Like he was this old work colleague of your Dad’s. Almost like you would run around his back garden at company barbecues.”

“I told you Pete, he’s a fucking mastermind. He plans out every single detail for maximum impact.” She suddenly shrugged off her blazer and brought her uninjured arm up closer to his face, twisting her arm to show off a small burn scar on the back of her arm. Peter tenderly reached out his hand, his thumb brushing against the shiny healed skin. “I got that after they took me hostage.” she informed him. “He used me as a bargaining chip.” she continued to explain as Peter suddenly stood, his internal rage bubbling under the surface, ready to burst, making him restless. He began to pace the floor, nibbling at his thumb and lower lip as she continued.

“That looks like the barrel of a gun.” Eddie said, inching forward to get a better look.

“One of his men fired a warning shot then placed the still smoking metal to the back of my arm.”

“When was this?” Peter asked between gritted teeth.

“Around 8 weeks ago.”

“Jesus Christ.” Peter snarled, his hands thrusting into his hair. “What were you thinking?” he snapped at her. “Why didn’t you come home!” He pressed her, his pupils blown in anger.

“I couldn’t-”

“Why didn’t he send you home!”

“Pete.” Harry tried to hold his hands out to Peter, encouraging him to give her some space and calm down.

“He was playing with her fucking life!” Peter continued to shout in his face. “All this time he was trying to keep her safe from me, KEPT MY OWN WIFE FROM ME, because he said it was safer and-!” Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence he was in such a rage.

Eddie quickly stood between the couple too, slowly stepping forward with Harry to try and back Peter away, to get him to calm down enough to see sense.

Angel was struggling to look at him, his words slicing at her like a knife. As Harry and Eddie continued their attempt to quell Peter’s anger, she began to look around the room. She was surprised with all of his shouting that May hadn’t come out from wherever she was to see what all the commotion was about.

“Where’s May?” she asked to the room.

“We’ve got someone driving her out to the cabin to keep her safe while all this is going on.” Eddie turned to fill her in.

“Which is exactly the kind of thing HE should have done in the first place.” Peter spat, his anger starting to boil again.

“Jesus Peter!” she shouted at him as she finally found her nerve again and came to a stand to confront him. “Pull yourself together. Fuck! This is exactly why he didn’t want me near you.”

Peter froze, her words going off like a bomb, an awkward silence falling over the room. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said as he stepped towards her. He suddenly had that controlled, scary calm demeanour to him.

“I think you know exactly what that means.” she said quietly, but determinedly to him.

“Okay. Okay, I think everyone just needs to chill out.” Eddie said as he stepped forward with his arms outstretched in an attempt to separate them before either one of them did or said anything else to cause even more damage to their marriage.

Angel sighed as she turned back towards the sofa, her hands pressing lightly against the sides of her face as she sat. Peter too turned away, pacing towards the bookcase she had been observing the night before.

There was a light knock on the door and Harry walked down the hall to answer it.

“Hey man, what’s going on?” the youthful deep voice she recognised from the morning, greeted Harry as he opened it. Harry gave a non verbal answer making the voice respond, “ooh tough crowd.”

The two gentlemen made their way back down to the living room.

“Boss… Eddie… Maam.” a tall black youth said as he entered the room. Looking at him, Angel didn’t think he could be more than 19 or 20 years of age. A young recruit for Peter and definitely not in line with their old rules.

“Angel, this is Miles, Miles this is Angel, my wife.” Peter hissed the final word as he made introductions.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Miles said, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to her.

“And you, Miles.” she said quietly, still exacerbated by the recent spat.

“Umm, we’re going out, Miles is here to look after you while we’re gone.” Peter informed her.

“Really, Pete?” she said suddenly standing again, the tension in the room beginning to rise once more. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You got me a BabySitter!” She stressed the syllables of the word. “How old are you?” she quickly snapped to Miles.

“21.” he quietly interjected as she continued to rant.

“He’s a fucking child Peter. You are having me babysat by a literal child.”

“I’m not a child.” Miles tried to defend himself.

“Look I can’t have you come out with me, it’s not safe.” Peter began throwing back her way. “And especially not after this morning or what you’ve just fucking told me.”

“Oh My God!” She started to protest.

“And he’s not a child Angel. He is perfectly capable of watching out for you while I run out for a few hours.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.” Peter said as he began to snatch up his things, eager to leave the apartment as quickly as possible before either one of them said anything that would really hurt the other. “Look, I’ll be back in a couple hours, you can scream at me then, but until then you’re gonna stay here and not cause Him any trouble.” he said pointing towards Miles, before he took one look back at her as she sat herself down on the sofa, a scowl on her face. “Fuck.” he grumbled more to himself. “Come on, let’s go.” He finished as he corralled Harry and Eddie out the door which he slammed shut.

Miles uncomfortably edged himself over to the empty armchair before taking a seat across from his new charge. “I promise I’m not that bad.” he said, hoping to diffuse the tension. She just rolled her eyes at him.

Miles sat patiently scrolling on his phone as Angel paced back and forth across the main living room floor, her hands constantly raking through her hair trying to destress.

“Would you just chill out or something, you’re making me nervous.” Miles threw out to the room which only resulted in her flashing him yet another glower. “Fine. Jeez.” he grumbled as his attention turned back to his phone.

She continued to pace back and forth for another few minutes before she suddenly stormed off to the kitchen. Miles listened as cupboards were opened and different items were slammed onto the kitchen counter. He reluctantly got up from his seat to investigate.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he came to a stand in the doorway, watching her as she began to spoon cups of flour into a glass bowl.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Ummm, cooking?”

“I’m making cupcakes.” She corrected. “You told me to chill out so that’s what I’m doing. When I’m stressed, I bake.” she said as she began grinding butter and sugar in a separate mixer she’d dragged out of one of the cupboards.

When Peter arrived back at the apartment 2 and a half hours later, Eddie, Harry and a mystery blonde in tow, she had made and frosted, one batch of vanilla cupcakes, one batch of chocolate cupcakes, one batch of traditional chocolate chip cookies and another of white chocolate and cherry. She was just taking the last tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, placing them carefully onto a cooling rack when Eddie barrelled into the kitchen.

“Uhh I knew I smelt something good.” he exclaimed as his fingers reached for one of the cookies and took a bite. He’d reached for one of the fresh out of the oven cookies however and instantly regretted it as he burnt his tongue on a still molten chocolate chip. “Ahh shit.” he breathed loudly as he sucked air into his mouth to try and cool it down.

“Serves you right.” Angel chastised.

“Damn.” the platinum blonde, who Angel noticed wore a pair of small black cat ears on her head, said as she made her way into the kitchen. “I didn’t realise we were opening up a bakery.” she jests.

“She stress bakes.” Miles proudly spoke up, filling her in.

“I see.” The blonde said as her fingers reached for a vanilla cupcake. Angel watched enviously as the woman skulked away, pausing in the doorway when Peter stepped into it. “She stress bakes.” the woman lowly repeated with what Angel felt was a sense of superiority.

“Not now Felicia.” he said as he let her pass. “Umm, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his attention now falling on Angel.

“Umm, yeah, of course.” she quietly said as she put down the now empty baking tray and slipped her hands out of the oven mitts she had been wearing. “Don’t touch that, it’s hot.” she quickly said to Eddie in jest as she passed him.

“Ha, ha.” he deadpanned and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

As they passed through the living room, Peter leading her towards his old bedroom, her eyes couldn’t help but fall on the other woman, Felicia, who now sat in the old faded armchair in the living room, carefully picking at the cupcake she had taken. Noticing their presence Felicia couldn’t help but shoot a knowing look between them, a small smirk growing in the corner of her mouth.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” Angel calmly asked him as he closed the door behind them.

“What?” His brow furrowed as he looked at her.

“The platinum blonde beauty in the living room currently picking at one of my cupcakes-”

“Felicia.” he interjected.

“You slept with her didn’t you?”

“What? Really you wanna go into this now?” he asked her, his irritation rising despite her calm demeanour.

“It’s a simple yes or no Peter.” she stated as she moved across the room to sit on the end of the bed as he continued to stand by the door, flummoxed about how they’d even got into this conversation.

“Look, I don’t blame you.” she continued. “Pete I was gone for 3 years, you really think I expected you to be cellibate.” He looked to his feet as he shook his head in disbelief. “Yes or no?”

“YES.” he hastily threw out.

“Does it mean anything?” she calmly asked.

“No, of course not.” he said a lot more calmly. “Now can we not talk about it.”

“Sure, sure.”

There was a pause as he attempted to compose himself once more. “Look, I pulled you in here because I wanted to apologise.” he said but his eye’s couldn’t fully meet hers. She pursed her lips, holding her tongue whilst she waited for him to continue. “I’m sorry okay.” he said again, this time with more conviction as his gaze slowly met hers. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like I did and… I shouldn’t have treated you like we were on lockdown and that you needed a babysitter okay. I’m just not used to…” his voice trailed off for a moment as he observed her. “This.” he finally said as his hands motioned towards her. “I mean, last night and then everything this morning and then…” he really didn’t know how to articulate. How to even summarise her changes, the distance between them. How he felt about it all. “It’s just- different okay.”

“Okay.” she agreed timidly and understandingly.

There was silence between them as they both tried to process what had been said and find the right words to say. Peter chose to focus on familiarity in the end,

“I see you still bake then.” he quietly said, his body taking a small step towards her.

“Yeah.” she acknowledged quietly.

“What’ you planning on doing with all that?” he asked.

“I’m sure given the chance Eddie would probably eat most of it.” Peter chuckled in agreement. He always had enjoyed her sense of humour. “I was actually thinking I might take it down to the shelter.”

“F.E.A.S.T?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I think they’d like that.”

“You gonna let me take them down myself?” she asked as he quietly took a seat next to her.

“Take Miles with you.”

She nodded in agreement. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” she asked quietly, not daring to look at him now he was so close, despite the way his body was turned towards her.

“I’m gonna pop back to the house, see it for myself.” he announced softly.

“Okay.” she replied, finally allowing herself to look up at him.

“Umm, I’ve got a couple of other errands to run after that but, umm,” he said nervously, “I’m gonna get Felicia to book us a table for dinner tonight so we can umm, talk. You know, try and figure this out.”

“Okay.” she agreed.

“Okay.” he repeated.

They sat on the bed in silence for a moment, the two of them just staring at one another. Peter couldn’t help it, when she moved her head and a few strands of hair fell forward across her face, his fingers automatically reached to push them back, tucking them behind her ear. His hand lingered at the edge of her jaw. For a moment that tension seemed to come back. Every time it felt heavier and heavier, both of them waiting to see who would break first, who would make the first move. But then the reminder of their fight took over, the unaccounted time that hung between them beginning to drive them apart.

“Umm, you should get going.” she said quietly. “And I should go and box all those baked goods up and take them down to the shelter.”

He didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want this moment to end. Didn’t want to take his hand away from her, the comfort of her skin against his fingertips.

When he continued not to move, she finally brought her fingers up to his, slowly lowering his hand away from her face, carefully placing it back down between them. She licked her lips regrettably, then got up and left.

------------------------------------

New chapters go live on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list make sure you put it in writing for me. Also if you are enjoying the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think!

@scmdsblog @angiexsv @thef1nalgirl @did-someone-change-my-name @sincericida @tarzinnia @liz-allyn @blacksoul09 @humxncrxvings @sunnycolors @suicide-sweetheart636 @ahryi @ms-wild-card-56

(Initial tags came from interest from the teaser and prologue. If you liked the prologue or teaser post but haven't been tagged, it's because for some reason I could't, maybe check your settings and be sure to hit the follow button so you don't miss out.)

24 notes · View notes

power-chords · 3 years

Text

Post-trip round-up, integration, thoughts (cut for length & some Heavy Shit)

WOW I needed that and I am so glad I realized I needed that. It has been well over ten years since I last took LSD, and my reluctance to indulge in psychedelics again was rooted in a long and complicated history that I don't really need to hash out here, but doing a mild dose of mushrooms last weekend gave me the confidence and conviction that I was ready.

Would it have been wiser to take a less bonkers dose for the first time in a decade plus? Probably! Do I regret a single moment of it? Not a whit! It's tough to overstate just how powerful, therapeutic, and restorative a good acid trip is, even an occasionally intense, uncomfortable one. I do not recommend eating multiple tabs of extremely good blotter on your first rodeo, but Adam's even more of a veteran psychonaut than I am, so I was 1000% well cared for, totally safe, and in a comfortable, familiar environment. In that setting, and in a positive frame of mind, acid is not going to throw anything at you that you are not equipped to handle. I would love to make this an annual or biannual thing.

The cool, funny, wacky delightful stuff:

Put it under my tongue at 10 AM-ish. Went to go listen to some music and doodle until it kicked in. I forgot that the come-up is like, do not make any fucking plans involving hand-eye coordination LMAO. I was trying to doodle Bowery Ballroom in an old sketchbook, and that devolved quickly. The markers were old so some of the caps were really stuck on there, and I wound up devolving into fits of laughter from the absurdity of pulling the caps off with my teeth.

Ink stains on my hands started writhing and trailing and were very cool. That was the first thing I noticed. I got very sad that I stopped drawing and making art, which was something I did all my life and almost went to school for but stopped doing as an adult. And then I realized I could start drawing again any time if I wanted to, and I didn't have to be GOOD at it or a proper artist for it to be worthwhile and fun. Felt immediately happy again.

Adam decided to watch Lethal Weapon???? I was like, Don't Like That. Even though he had headphones on and I couldn't hear anything. I am ambivalent about screens at best when I'm tripping, and at worst I don't even want to be in the same room with them. Guns and violence seemed comically, brutally stupid. Turned my back to the TV and continued drawing and writing until I could no longer hold a pen. Eventually Adam got on my wavelength and was like yeah, this is too much! (He took like, twice the dose that I did. I have no idea how he was even able to talk to me, but he managed!)

Felt the need to message Liana while peaking, picked up my phone, and saw that she had already sent me this:

I thought that was HILARIOUS (tbh it actually was, and it was not just the acid talking)

For the first few hours of teeth-grinding, reality-shearing intensity, Adam and I mostly lounged in bed with the shades pulled all the way up and the window open, cuddling and petting Ernie. Fantastic bonding experience for the whole fam.

Looking at every surface in the apartment became like looking at a stained glass ceiling, or an infinite mandala, or the muddied rainbows in oil-slicked puddles. It looked like Ernie's fur was breathing and someone had colored all over the white parts of him with a highlighter. Adam agreed with this assessment. Formica on the kitchen counters was bananas. So were the trees outside, rippling like celluloid and brighter green than I had ever seen them.

The two of us spent a good 15 minutes doubled over with laughter because Adam suggested a contraption for funneling Fancy Feast directly into Ernie's mouth, kind of like shotgunning a beer

Adam: "I can't believe I used to to this and get on the subway and try to do things with people." Me: "What? How did you even figure out how to get from Point A to Point B?" Adam: "I mean, we didn't, really. We usually got lost. It was fine, though." Truly, it's about the friends you make along the way!

The second half of the trip, when things are starting to mellow out a bit, is when you become a real rock star. I went outside for a walk around the neighborhood, and to sit in the park with my headphones on while watching kids play on the playground, and it was ECSTATIC. I was just overjoyed. My face still hurts from smiling.

Forgot that I needed money to realize my goal of obtaining a popsicle, so I had to detour back into the apartment and explain all of this to my husband before resuming the popsicle quest. He thought it was very funny, but sympathized.

Fresh air, popsicles and San Pellegrino on acid. On another level! 100/10.

Bathrooms still universally suck, LOL. -10/10. Not a fan of that bathroom while tripping face! Every time I had to pee it was like WELL here we go again into the Pink Squirming Hell Chamber (I am making this sound like more of a big deal than it actually was)

15 HOURS. 15 HOURS Jesus Christ lmao I did not stop seeing weird shit on screens and surfaces until like 1 AM. And even then, if I stared long enough, funky colors and patterns would re-emerge. It's a commitment. I feel happy and refreshed, but also totally exhausted. Definitely have to budget a full weekend of No Plans for any future trips.

The Heavy Shit:

There is some Cronenberg-level body horror right before the visuals get super rainbow-stained and stereotypically psychedelic, which sounds bad, but I promise it isn't. It's watching the veins pulse under your skin and change into very saturated colors, pores and hair and scars become very defined and wiggly, and as someone who has so much bodily anxiety related to my alopecia/IBS, it was weirdly... freeing? You get to experience all this stuff in an entirely new frame of mind, shedding judgment and old thought ruts. I remember thinking, "I do not need to feel shame about my body," and letting go of so much baggage.

At some point mid-afternoon I decided to retrieve my phone from the drawer again, and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from my dad. I decided to play it back, and he was just phoning to tell me that he was listening to a live version of "Sally Simpson" and Keith was doing this thing where he wasn't even touching the cymbals, and had I listened to that specific performance before and noticed the same thing, and wasn't he truly the greatest drummer that ever lived? "Anyway, no need to call me back, just wanted to let you know. I love my bubbie!" (His term of endearment for me.) And I went to go sit in bed and weep for a straight 15 minutes, the most cleansing, purging cry you could possibly imagine, while Adam hugged me and rubbed my back. I was overwhelmed, overcome by this feeling of cosmic Love and Connection with my family and my husband and all of my friends.

I had been sitting on and burying so much fear and distress from the past 18 months, the chronic, low-grade trauma that was worrying if COVID was going to kill my father, my best friend and closest confidante and the one person on earth who I feel truly Gets Me on a spiritual level, and all of that came out. Fully processed and released every ounce of grief. What replaced it was the absolute, unshakable faith that no matter what happens — including my greatest fear, which is inevitable, no matter how far off it may be — he will always be with me, and a part of me, in the music we both love, and I will never, ever lose that.

17 notes · View notes

muskywolfthings · 3 years

Text

Kinkmas Day 3: Caught in the Act

This was supposed to be a fucking research session. “F-fuck, right there, right there..” People were being kidnapped for gods sake! “Shut. Up. Shut. Up.” Derek growled, extenuating each word with a rough slam of his hips against Stiles’. The entire pack was counting on Stiles and Derek to put their fucking heads together, to come up with a plan! To save the day like they always did. To put aside whatever petty shit they were going through as a couple the past week, and get shit done. And still, here they were... “Jesus fucking Christ you’re so fucking tight, fucking virgin.” “Oh e-eat shit, you piece of- FUCK! Right there! Right fucking there, you piece of shit, fucking-mm mm hmph!” Stiles moaned, glaring back at Derek in the mirror across from them, as the older man clenched his palm tight around Stiles’ mouth. Effectively shutting him up. Derek slowed his pace. Smirking at Stiles, before glancing down at the teens hole to watch his fat cock slide in, and out. Stiles ass making the most delicious, visceral sounds as Derek slid all the way out. The boys hole winking and farting excess air, and precum back out from his deep fucking. Wet dribbling down his crack, which Derek expertly collected back up with the tip of his meat, before pressing back into Stiles wet fucking heat. Derek’s balls squelching against Stiles’ taint, as he began to thrust again. The Alpha couldn’t even remember what it is that had sparked another bickering session, only that it ended with books being thrown on his end, a punch from Stiles’ and then the boy bent over, being deep-dicked within an inch of his life. Any fight between them that lasted longer than a week always ended the same way, but it never ceased to surprise Derek just how suddenly it would happen. Stiles, the shit that he was, arched his back, and threw his plump ass back on each of Derek’s thrusts, smug in the knowledge that, if Derek could actually bruise, his hips would be covered in them from Stiles’ excellent dick stroke game. Broken free from his gut rearranging mindset for just a moment as Derek paused to appreciate the expertise being applied to his cock, Stiles reached back between his legs, where the Alpha’s low, meaty sack was dangling, and gripped it tight. Too tight. Nearly crushing the mans balls, sending Derek into a fit of howls. Not entirely unpleasurable, but he would’ve preferred some warning before Stiles just decided to crush his fucking nuts. Call him old fashioned. “Get your fucking hands of my balls!” Derek shouted, claws pricking into Stiles’ hips, grip too rough, and yep, Stiles would absolutely be bruised to high hell in the morning. “Oh am I allowed to speak now, huh? Now that I’ve got your fucking nuts in my fist?” Stiles mocked, leaning back up against Derek’s chest- cock twitching wildy when he realized that Derek’s balls really were big enough, that he could sit up comfortably and still keep a firm grip of them down below his own balls. “Thought you liked it when I roughed them up. Smacked them. Bit them. Crushed them. Big strong Alpha afraid of feeling like a little bitch cuz he likes having his big manly sac pounded?” Stiles’ tone went from faux mockery, to hissed and heated, as he clenched his hole on Derek’s cock, and rubbed the mans balls against his taint roughly. Biting at Derek’s chin as the wolf lost a bit of steam, whining even as his cock began to swell with his nearing orgasm. “Please, fuck- l-let them go, i’m gonna-” “Not until I tell you you can, i’m not done with this cock yet dude,” Stiles interjected, their dynamics shifting so rapidly it had him grinning. Derek began to beg, to plead-conveniently not once muttering their safe word- as Stiles rolled his balls in his palm, tugging at them as he rode the mans cock deep into his own ass. Too busy shushing the pleading, and Derek to focused on the /pleasure/pain of it all, that neither of them noticed until it was too late. ‘Are you guys alright!? We heard- oh Jesus Christ!” Scott yelled, having thrown the loft door open and rushing in-turning immediately on his heels and throwing his hands over his eyes. Derek’s howls of pain had been heard all the way across town, and he’d feared the worst. Run all the ay to the loft with a few of the others, and for what? For a fucking front row seat to his best friends fuck fest? Again!? “Why didn’t you fucking knock!” Stiles shouted, body flushing with embarrassment as Derek doubled over, shielding Stiles, and most of their nakedness from view. Though soon as Stiles grip on his balls was gone, it was over for their Alpha. “I’m...f-fucki, i’m cumming, Scott, leave! Fuck, fuck Stiles.” Biting into Stiles’ shoulder, Derek rode out his orgasm with short, quick thrusts against Stiles’ ass- Stiles’ face beat red, as his mouth fell open, and the flood of Derek’s hot cum deep in his ass pulling a sound from his throat he never in his life needed his fucking best friend to hear. “Liam turn around right now, cover your eyes!” Scott shouted, as his Beta slid to a halt in the doorway, recoiling in terror at the sight before him, already scarred before Scott could get his hands over the younger teens eyes. “You brought Liam? Why does nobody fucking call before they do this shit!” Stiles half shouted, half moaned, barely able to catch his breath as he was crushed beneath Derek’s wait, and despite it all, his own neglected cocks need for release. “We thought you guys were in danger!” Isaac called from out in the hallway, Erica shouting her agreement from somewhere further down, and Stiles was going to kill every single last one of them. “Now would be an excellent time to get the fuck out and shut the door,” Derek warned, face still in Stiles’ neck, but he was already so over this entire interaction. “Invest in some fucking sound proofing, you nymphos! And I thought you guys were fighting? What the fuck even?” Scott whined, dragging Liam out by the boys head, handing him off to Isaac before he witnessed any more sin, before promptly slamming the door. Leaving Stiles in Derek in near silence, save for the sound of their joined panting. “ “I’m...going to make you fucking cum, and then we’re going to skin him alive,” Derek grunted, working through his sensitive cock shocks, to continue thrusting into Stiles, who just groaned brokenly and nodded. Fisting a hand around his own cock, and urging Derek to bite him. “You fucking got off on that, didn’t you?” Derek asked after, as they shared sweet, cum filled kisses, and nuzzled each others temples. “Shut up before I punch you in the balls. Oh wait I forgot you were into that,” Stiles snarked, giggling like a fucking school girl when Derek growled, and flipped him over and off of the sofa. Asshole.

#sterekkinkmas #sterekkinkmas2020

42 notes · View notes

evening-starlight · 3 years

Text

Chances {Chapter Eighteen}

This chapter contains Smut!! 18+

T/W: honorifics (Good girl), eating out, slow burn

Master List

Hot and Steamy

Word Count: 1960

Tom told me I could write our first time if I got 100% on my Instagram poll, and you guys came THROUGH. So here's your steamy hot Tom FUCKING Hiddleston smut, enjoy babies.

The cookie dough flavor dances across my tongue as Tom pulls me up from my seat, one hand on the back of my neck and the other on my ass. The world could be on fire right now, and I wouldn't care or notice. If a meteor came crashing down into the house, I wouldn't be upset because I died with Tom's hand on my ass.

Tom bends down, lips still connected, and lifts me up by the back of my thighs. I squeal with surprise as he sets me down on the counter like I weighed absolutely nothing. He chuckles before reconnecting our lips. His hands slip under my shirt, resting on my waist to pull me closer to the edge.

I tangle my hands in his short, dark brown curls, pulling softly. The groan that leaves his mouth sends electricity to my heat. I pull harder, just to see what other noises I could pull from the beautiful man.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Love," He warns as he mouths over my neck. I giggle in response, not being able to form words. A breathy moan escapes me as he finds my sweet spot with his teeth. Tom anchors himself there, sucking a dark mark as I accidentally buck my hips towards him. "Want to move this to the bedroom, Love?" Tom asks. He looks down on me, eyes dark with wide pupils and breath short.

"What? Don't want to take me on your counter?" I ask with a smirk. Tom groans, picking me up off the counter and carrying me to the bedroom.

"Later. I want our first time to be in bed." He states as he tosses me onto the bed. "You look absolutely divine, Love." Tom compliments as he crawls on top of me. "Truly breathtaking." He continues to kiss down my neck, leaving a few small marks along the way. "And all mine."

With Tom's beautiful words and soft lips on me, I can't form coherent thoughts except for the repeated fact that this is Tom fucking Hiddleston, and I was his. I belonged to him, and he belonged to me.

His hands travel up my shirt again, grazing the cup of my bra. "Can I take this off, Darling?" Tom asks, pulling away slightly. I nod, reaching down to help him, only to stop.

"Only if you take yours off as well." Tom chuckles and sits on his knees to take his off. The Sahara could become an ocean with the amount of drool pooling in my mouth. Tom's sculpted abs glisten with a thin layer of sweat and ripple as he laughs at my starstruck face.

With a tiny bit of confidence and all my strength, I'm able to flip Tom onto his back. He smiles up at me before I dip down to kiss his neck. I can feel his heartbeat when I kiss over his pulse point, nipping it slightly. A moan leaves his mouth, followed by a curse. I continue my assault of open-mouthed kisses down his chest and stomach, ending when I get to the hem of his pants.

"Get back here," He mumbles as he cups my head and pulls me up to meet his lips. "And get this off," Tom demands as he pulls my shirt up. I finish taking it off just in time for him to flip me back over. He looks down at me with love and adoration, causing me to cover up my stomach area. Tom tsks and removes my arms, replacing them with his lips. "Beautiful, every part of you, Stella. Painfully beautiful." He compliments between every kiss. "I love every single part of you."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart to no avail. What was I expecting? Tom Hiddleston as kissing me all over, complimenting me every step of the way. No sane person would stay calm during this.

Tom moves the strap of my bra, kissing along my shoulder gently. It's a nice change of pace to the usual forceful and power exchange I was forced into with Jared. Instead, Tom's caring and soft. His fingertips barely brushing me as if one wrong move and I'd break like glass. The amount of love and joy I feel bubbles over with a pornographic moan when Tom settles a knee between my legs.

"Look at you, so stirred up because of me, and I've barely touched you." He mocks, sending another moan past my lips. "Such a good girl, Love." All inhibitions fly out the window at the phrase. I can't help another weak moan in response. Tom chuckles and settles his mouth on top of mine for another deep kiss. "Fucking lovely, Darling." He mumbles against my lips. "I love you so much."

"If you loved me, you'd fuck me." I counter, all filters gone along with barriers. I wanted Tom in every single way, and I wanted it now. I wanted to feel him fill me to the brim and fuck me like there's no tomorrow.

"Say less," He cheers, moving to take off my shorts, leaving me in a bra and underwear. Which happened to be a matching set. "I'm enjoying this," He says as he runs a finger over the silk of my panties. I agree with a nod, all words lost as he settles a knee between my legs again. Tom slips a hand under my back, unclipping my bra with one hand. The bra is discarded somewhere else in the room, knocking something off a surface in the process.

We both pause to see what fell, finding nothing broken on the floor. "Whatever," Tom mumbles, focusing back on me. "I love you so much, you know?" He says as he stares down at me lovingly. I never knew someone could love me this much and unconditionally. "Ravishing, Darling."

One hand massages one tit while his mouth finds the other. The other hand holds my hips in place. The pants and moans leaving me could be in a porno, the way they sound. I can't help but rut my hips over his jean-clad leg as his teeth graze over my sensitive nipple.

If I wasn't so worried about climaxing, I would have then and there. Tom's hands are masters at finding my weak points and exploiting them. The noises coming out of me are unnatural; I've never been this vocal.

I bite down on a finger to stop them, only for Tom to pull it out with a harsh glare. "I want the world to know how I make you feel, Love. I want to hear it, understood." I nod viciously at the change in dominance. Then, with a satisfied smile, Tom goes from one breast to the other.

He slowly kisses down my stomach, pausing at my belly button. "What's this?" He asks, running a finger over the linear scar from where my belly ring was ripped out two summers ago.

"Heather's clumsy and ripped out my piercing a few summers ago. I had to get stitches, so I didn't lose the skin." I chuckle. Tom leaves a soft, long kiss there and continues his descent down. He kisses down one thigh and up the other. I watch in what can only be described as a state of bliss.

Tom's thumbs run over the scars on my legs, not asking questions as he pays special attention to them. "I'm so sorry, Love." He mumbles, looking up my body to meet my eyes. I shrug.

"It's been four years, nothing you can do about the past." He nods shortly and goes back to kissing along my panty line. I let out a frustrated groan. "Jesus Christ, Tom. Do something, please," I beg, earning another chuckle from him.

"I was waiting for you," Tom leans up to kiss me quickly. "Are you certain this is what you want?" He asks, searching my eyes for any hesitation. I nod quickly.

"Please, Tom. I don't even care if I finish at this point; I just want to feel you," I shamelessly beg. He moans at my filthy words, reaching past me to get to the nightstand. Tom rummages around until he sighs in frustration.

"I don't have any condoms." I can't help but laugh. Of course, he doesn't. That's just my luck. "Although that doesn't stop me from a few things," Tom winks, lowering himself down so he's level with my heat. "If that's alright with you, of course, Love."

"Please," I managed weakly. Tom pulls my panties off with little effort and tosses them elsewhere in the room. We're going to have hell trying to find all of our clothes. Tom almost immediately gets to work after looking at me for any sign of hesitation. When he got none, he buried his head between my thighs.

Sure, Loki is considered a silver tongue, but Tom? Tom was the true magician with the sounds he pulls out of me using only his tongue. I wrap my hands in his hair, hoping to ground myself but getting even more loss in the god that is Tom Hiddleston. The way his tongue finds my clit as if he's gone down on me since the day we met and knows exactly how to make me moan.

I can feel the high building inside of me. Something tense and warm in the pit of my stomach. Excitement fills me as I feel it getting closer; perhaps I can cum with Tom the first time. Tom holds down my hips as I start to buck into his face, chasing my high I crave so desperately.

And then it's gone. As fast as it came, it went, leaving me with angry tears prickling my eyes and a frustrated moan escaping my lips. "It's not going to happen," I say as I sit up and away from Tom. He moves up to sit in front of me.

"Was it something I did?" He asks.

"No, I just can't cum." I shrug. Tom tilts his head to the side.

"But were you having fun?" I nod. "So what's it matter if you don't cum? It's normal not to cum the first couple of times with someone. Did I do anything to stop it from happening?"

I shake my head. "No. You were doing amazing. I forgot how good sex can be. It just... left. It said 'sike, peace out bitch' and left when I was close." Tom nods and lays a hand on my knee.

"Sometimes that happens; I know it does for me too. But if we were having fun, why stop just because you can't climax?" I stare at Tom in shock. The point of sex was to finish and to climax. "The point of sex, in my opinion, is to enjoy the other person and bring the relationship into a deeper level of intimacy."

"I never thought about it that way." Tom kisses my forehead with a smile.

"That's what I'm here for, Love. Now, I don't know about you, but I thoroughly enjoyed going down and hearing those wonderful noises you made for me and would love to go again. Climax or not."

There's your hot steamy Tom smut. He's out of the room so I'm going to hurry with writing this before Tom tells me I can't. But he's a GOD at going down and loves to give instead of receive. Now, I love giving as well but listen... I will never pass up on Tom FUCKING Hiddleston going down and eating me out.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #chances #love #romance #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #og #oc #original content #original character

2 notes · View notes

constantfluxx · 4 years

Note

FAREWELL WANDERLUST BY THE AMAZING DEVIL FOR THE TUNE CRUISE * SCREAMS *

HI I AM THE ONE WHO REQUESTED FAREWELL WANDERLUST AND FORGOT TO SPECIFY WHICH SHIP. OF COURSE. GERASKIER OR JASKIER POV WHATEVER REALLY, OK? THANKS. ILU.

🎶The Evening Earworm Tune Cruise: The SS 200🎶

Port of Call: Geraskier! 🐺👨‍🎤Itinerary: Farewell Wanderlust by The Amazing DevilCaptain: @kiomaya 🧜‍♀️

Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been oh oh so kindYou brought me through this darkness but you left me here behindAnd so long to the person you begged me to be

He took in a deep, steadying breath. His fingers trembled around the neck of his lute. Eyes closed, he mentally coached himself, willing his nerves to settle at least long enough for his voice to sing true. It’s just another performance. How many times have you done this before? It’s no big deal.

Except he knew he was lying to himself.

This was hardly “just another performance.” Far from it. It took him forever to finally write a song sharing Geralt’s “defeat” of the dragon with the world. Even longer to perform it. And, when he finally did, it was… not his best work. One could hardly expect him to sing such a tale with such passion and intrigue when its epilogue was laced with a pain he couldn’t bring himself to bare. It was technically perfect, as his work of late usually was, but the emotion was missing. He was missing.

This song… This performance… This is where it had run off to. Where it’d been hiding ever since his return from that mountainside. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to finally recognize it as the problem - or perhaps he’d known all along, but refused to acknowledge it because it would reopen too many wounds, resurface too much hurt. Finally, the lacerations across his heart had begun to scar just enough for him to look, to examine, to embrace.

All that had happened… It was an indisputable part of him now, no matter how much pain it caused him, and would continue to cause him. He couldn’t move forward while leaving a part of him in the past - it was all or nothing, and he understood that now.

He doubted the unsuspecting townsfolk filling their bellies at the local tavern particularly cared to hear about his heartbreak. Songs of joy and adventure and triumph tended to draw far more coin than songs of misery and suffering and defeat. But this wasn’t for coin, not primarily anyhow. For this one song, this one performance, it wasn’t about the job.

It was bout reclaiming himself. About owning his life. About declaring his agony so irrefutably that he would have no choice but to recognize it as his own and finally, finally, start to address it head-on.

And wasn’t that a kind of personal victory, in its own, awful way?

He opened his eyes. He gazed out upon his feasting audience, upon their grumbling banter and stomping feet and clanking flagons. And he saw hair of white, and swords of silver, and eyes of yellow.

Delicate, flitting fingertips plucked away the beginning notes, deceptively light and whimsical. His voice followed in sweet accompaniment, painting the first syllable in a long, arcing embrace before twirling into its prancing opening measure.

“You look like I need a drink he winked as he slipped from my grasp to the barAnd you are?”

As he rounded out the opening lyrics, the catchy, playful tune drew those listening ears into a light nodding alongside his rhythm. Just as he’d once been distracted by Geralt’s splendor, so too were they taken by his light sing-song, and even as something more sinister began to sneak between his words they sooner suspected the start of some grand tale than the foreboding of tragedy.

Sooner just evidence of the Witcher’s social neglect than a pattern of distancing dissent.

“Every time that you fumble, I’m the laugh from the backWhen you think about him, my wings start to flapWhen you make a mistake, my feet lift from the floorAnd when you lie there awake every night love, I soar”

The notes were turning darker. The words weren’t turning towards a new tomorrow. Rather than circle back, they basked in their darkness, reveled in the furrowed brows and wary glances. His pace built, the ebb and flow of his song’s tide swirling into a tumultuous churning from shore to shore. Too late to swim to safety, the listening hearts searched for the sun - surely it was just around the corner, just after the next typhoon?

Surely, he’d come to his senses and warm up to the company?

“I’m the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shownAll those letters unsent and that garden ungrownI’m the captain of courage you’ve eternally lackedI’m the Jesus of wishing to Christ he’ll come back”

The wave crashed down upon them. Hope of survival glimmered in its wake, breaking free of the surface for a vital breath of precious air. A single ray of sunlight touched their faces… but it proved only to be the eye of a surmounting storm, one which raged more furiously than anything before it. It dragged them back down into his suffering, and like troublesome dogs their faces were forced to behold his wretched distress. But rather than recoil away from the filth, they stared, held in place by the voice that wrapped around their necks like nooses. They witnessed the unfolding of his wounded heart, the casting aside of the love that had poisoned it, and the thrashing of his despair in this pit he’d been left in.

How could someone so beautiful be capable of something so cruel?

“Come devil come, she sang, call out my nameLet’s take this outside cos we’re one and the sameOur god has abandoned us, left us, insteadTake up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead”

The notes of his lute had slowed once more, heavy and trudging. Where once had been whimsy now there rang spite: a lesson learned, and with it the reckless abandon of love’s unburdened prisoner. Only here, at the very depths of his sorrow, could all his emotion at last gather into a crude ladder he could use to pull himself out. Because Love had cast him down, he stood up. Because Love had said he couldn’t, he did. Because Love demanded he stay, broken and defeated, he threw Love away, put himself back together, and reached for something new.

He didn’t know what kind of life could possibly come after Geralt, but he knew, at least, that he’d rather search and know than never even look.

“Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been oh oh so kindYou brought me through this darkness but you left me here behindAnd so long to the person you begged me to beHe’s down. He’s dead.Now take a long look at what you’ve done to me?”

It was hardly a happy resolution. It was ugly and gritty and tormented, but then what else could have ever come from this war? Nonetheless, as he led his audience into this final arch of their journey, his song blossomed into a kind of vindictive triumph, one that dared the world to try, just try and drag him back into the darkness. It would not, it must not, they collectively swore.

Perhaps, one day, Geralt would come back. It’d be splendid if he did - truly. For then, he could see the rotting carcass of the man Jaskier had to shed in order to forge himself anew. Then, maybe, he’d realize the sins he’d committed, recognize the way he’d sheared Jaskier’s heart to shreds and cast them off the mountainside.

But whether or not he ever did would no longer be a thing Jaskier concerned himself with.

“He’s down, He’s deadHe’s gone, He’s lostHe’s flown, He’s fledNow take a good long look at what you've all done to me”

As Jaskier declared his final words to the crowd, his fingers flew along the strings of his lute, releasing its last, swelling vibrato through the small tavern. The sound grew and grew, until at last it burst into an abrupt silence that swept in and suffocated what few lingering embers might still yet burn for the captivating Witcher.

For a suspenseful moment, not a soul dared disturb it, and even when the daily rumblings of the tavern began to creep back into place no one offered applause - such a thing just didn’t seem right after such an emotional experience as the one which had just unfolded all around them. Not even Jaskier himself offered any levity to the situation, trading his usual bow and playful quip for a simple nod of his head, more for himself than his audience. A small, silent affirmation of his deed, a thanks he afforded himself for finally releasing his pain to the winds of change.

He turned from them and retreated back to his sparse belongings, joining the rest in the tavern in a strange normalcy that pretended like nothing had ever happened. Not but a single soul challenged it, stepping towards him so quietly he hadn’t noticed them until a tiny, trembling finger touched the sleeve of his doublet. Startled, he turned to regard his visitor, a now-distant corner of his mind wondering if he’d find a calloused hand gloved in black.

Of course not. The touch had been too small, too flighty, too careful.

She stared up at him with a round, teary-eyed face, mouth hanging slightly ajar as she still searched for something to say. Studying him, seeing her own shaken state reflected in him, her brow furrowed, and in her eyes he saw an approaching understanding. At last, she murmured, taken with frightful awe, “That... was miserable... ?”

His eyes flickered down, catching the glint of a small trio of coins sequestered in her upturned palm. He knew well what her drifting, questioning inflection reached for, but he only smiled and shook his head, folding her fingers closed around her coin.

“Sometimes, my dear,” he whispered, voice still shuddering from lingering passion, “life is miserable.”

He paused. Chuckled. Hoisted his lute upon his shoulder by the strap of its case.

“And that’s okay.”

#The Witcher #Geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #The Amazing Devil #fanfiction #writing prompts #fluxx fics #The Tune Cruise #The SS 200 #kiomaya #lmaoooooo #love you too boo ;*

75 notes · View notes

breakingsomething · 4 years

Text

silver

basic summary: anti meets an old friend.

trigger warnings: abuse, vauge mentions of self harm

ok, this might make no sense without context, so here. this is a long ass fic, so be warned, but it's basically the context for this fic. have fun! :P

dapper was used to anti's secrets.

he knew, of course, that anti didn't tell him everything. he didn't talk about the scar on his neck beyond simply saying "it was jack's fault." he often left during the day and didn't say where he was going. he never spoke of his connection with jinx and doctor, the two of the creator's boys that anti seemed to hate the most. and he never spoke of the creator himself if he could help it, unless it was a sudden, unpredictable burst of rage, an angry fit that dapper would occasionally have to rewind and prevent by distracting anti in any way he could. dapper had to rewind a lot of anti's mistakes, actually. that was his secret. most of the time he just had to hope anti would stay in a good mood and nothing would set him off.

dapper remembered a day when kitten had been with them, right after he'd arrived, when he'd found something in anti's office he shouldn't have. then there was the night anti had brought home alcohol and gotten so drunk he'd started saying thing that scared dapper, screaming himself into a full on breakdown and tearing up his arms. and then was the night that kitten had become marvin again, and anti had gone too far with his punishment. all were mistakes that dapper had rewinded. not that he forgot any of them. not that he was ever allowed to forget.

he still remembered kitten's silence after his discovery, the horrible things anti had said in his drunken haze, kitten's flat, glassy eyes, pale and limp in anti's eyes. funny, how all the things he remembered were the things he wished he could scrub from his memory the most.

so anti kept his secrets, and dapper kept his. anti would usually know when he had rewinded because of the glow of his eyes, but there were days when he wouldn't ask, days when the silver magic lingered between them, heavy and quiet. sometimes better not to know. so they kept their secrets. maybe it was better for both of them.

after the loss of kitten, things had gotten a lot more difficult for them both. first of all, dapper had a bullet wound in his side from jinx, that perfect gunman, and they'd both had to count their losses and run. the home they'd built for themselves, gone. they'd went back a few days later, when anti deemed it safe to do so, but the council had already reclaimed the house and most of their things were gone. their clothes, their weapons, all their various entertainment, supplies and food. all dapper's sketchbooks and puppet toys. anti's radios and laptops. gone, gone, gone.

all they'd been able to recover was one single toy - a suited puppet that dapper had christened "rara" - and a packet of batteries. dapper wondered what had happened to their things. he wondered if they were being well taken care of. gods, he really hoped so. he'd hate to see his well loved puppets being treated cruelly.

now they lived in a small flat on the top floor, the cheapest place they could rent. dapper didn't know where anti was getting the money and he didn't want to know, quite honestly, although he had a feeling it had something to do with the black bag anti took with him every time he went out that was always a lot lighter when he returned. anyway, they couldn't seem to make quite the same home for themselves here, especially with the tension between dapper and anti over everything that had happened. dapper wondered if anything would ever be the same again.

after a while, anti had started taking him out with him.

"it's not safe here alone," he'd said when he first told him. anti looked so tired; sickly pale, bags under his eyes, hands that never quite stopped shaking. "you'll be better off with me. don't want the hero to find us here, fucking bastard. how he found us before is beyond me… fuck, probably tracked us through you." he shot dapper a harsh glare, running fingers through his own tangled curly hair. "seeing as you don't know how to be bloody subtle in public. i should just get shit done myself."

dapper was used to anti taking his anger out on him. he didn't bother giving him a reply.

it turned out that dapper's suspicions had been correct and anti was, in fact, selling drugs and various other bootlegged stuff. weird drinks, unlabeled boxes, weapons. dapper had been shocked to see a whole handgun in an innocent looking pencilcase, deep beneath the tictac boxes and plastic bags. "you'd be surprised how easy it is for me to get this shit," anti said nonchalantly, grinning at dapper's expression. "other people do the hard work for me, getting illegal bull into the country, then i hack it and sell it myself. it's like a fun little dance, almost. goes the same way every time, always the same moves and steps. it gets boring after a while."

"how do you find this stuff?" dapper asked, too curious to keep his hands still.

anti quirked an eyebrow, smirking, and brought something from his pocket. his new shiny butterfly knife that he'd gotten gods know where. "anything is possible through the internet," he grinned wickedly, twirling the blade in his fingers like in the videos he and dapper watched late at night when bad dreams kept them both awake. "all you have to do is know the right people to threaten."

he successfully completed his trick and sat back on his seat, trying not to look too pleased with himself.

so dapper and anti became bootleggers. honestly, that was something he was fine with. without his art supplies or toys he had nothing to do in the flat, so he was glad anti was letting him help out. not that he did much. mostly he just hung around, not getting in the way and being quiet as usual. the deals were always very silent affairs, and dapper was usually able to escape unnoticed. "why'd you bring your little brother along?" asked one man in a low voice as he received his goods. anti had just smiled at him dangerously, dapper mimicking the face he made.

"he's my watcher," anti said simply. "so i wouldn't try to cross me."

no one ever did. dapper wondered if anti secretly wished one of them would just so they could have something fun to do. he knew he did.

it was a couple months of this before something unusual did happen.

the day had started off normal. anti was up early - he had barely slept, dapper knew, he'd heard him wake screaming from a nightmare in the wee hours that morning - and had eaten a breakfast of whatever cheap dry cereal anti had been able to afford. well, dapper had; anti had tried to hide the fact that he wasn't eating by busying himself cleaning out his bag and washing the dishes, of which there were very few. dapper normally wouldn't say anything, but this had been going on so long that he felt the need to speak up. "why aren't you eating?"

anti had looked round at dapper's signalling whistle, his expression flickering as he read his brother's hands. "i - not hungry," he mumbled, purposefully turning away again. "i'm never really hungry recently."

dapper knew that was a lie. and despite all the terrible things anti had done, it hurt to see his brother like this. "lies," he signed, whistling again to catch anti's attention and banging the table for emphasis. "we have enough food, anti. are you…" a realization struck him. "are you not eating so there's enough for me?"

anti's shoulders shot to his ears, but he covered his emotional slip by scowling and making a growling noise in the back of his throat. "no, i'm fucking not," he spat, his shaking voice giving him away. "i don't have to do shit for you, ok? i'll eat when i want to, f-fuck…" he swayed on his feet slightly, grabbing the table for support. dapper popped his lips in distress and leapt up to help him, but anti shoved him away. "don't t-touch me! christ on a bleeding bike, dap, fucking calm it. finish eating, we've got shit to do."

they had been very silent on their way to the assigned drop off point, which was in a different part of the city that dapper never really went, way off the high street near the darker areas of town. dapper had his knife held in his sleeve, rolling it round and round to comfort himself. even anti seemed on edge, dark eyes darting back and forth as he breathed heavily, running his fingers down his own skin. "fucking hate this," he hissed, scowling. it didn't escape dapper's notice how anti's lip was quivering slightly. "hate this, hate this. i asked him to fucking meet me somewhere else, i don't goddamn like this."

dapper wondered why anti particularly disliked this part of town. in any case, they got to the bus stop where they were meant to meet and collapsed to the plastic seats, dapper bringing out his rara puppet to hold as anti began fidgeting uncontrollably, leg bouncing. dapper frowned - it wasn't like anti to be so panicked. "anti?" he signed, kicking the ground and leaning forward to look at his face. "anti, you ok?"

anti didn't answer, just stared down at his boots, face twitching. dapper sat up, sighing, and looked at the surrounding area outside the bus stop. everything seemed normal, just average shops and people and a zebra crossing in the middle of the road. the only unusual thing was the building in the middle of a bunch of others, a building that was blackened and surrounded by construction. dapper watched people skip by it as they walked. very weird. dapper swung his legs, popping his lips absentmindedly.

after nearly fifteen minutes of waiting, anti gave a short cry and clutched at his head, leaping to his feet. "fuck this. fuck this. this isn't bloody worth - i'm gonna find this fucking guy and tear his guts out so i can shove them down his throat and hang him from the bloody rafters by them. we're leaving. fuck this."

dapper hadn't seen anti so agitated in a while, and he whistled softly, running his thumb along the back of anti's hand. that usually calm him, dapper knew anti liked contact from people he trusted, but this time anti pulled away like he'd been burned. he was shaking slightly. "don't touch," he said angrily. "i'm gonna… i'm gonna call my contact, that bastard, give me a second here. walk over to the river if you want, i don't care."

dapper decided to take him up on that offer. he'd seen anti when he was his furious at someone, and it was worse now because it was very likely that anti was in a bad enough mood to actually track this man down and torture him later. he slid off his seat and bounced over down the street behind the bus stop to the river, not going too far so that anti could still see him if he turned around. he knew that, despite anti's uncaring act, he genuinely did love dapper and wanted him safe.

there were a few boats lingering in the water, plus a few ducks and even a swan. anti didn't care for most animals, but dapper loved them. "swan," he signed, curling his hand and making a sweeping motion with his whole arm. "and duck." the sign for duck was an open and closed repetitive hand movement in front of his mouth. that was a sign he enjoyed. he leaned over the fence, making the duck sign again and grinning to himself. the ducks and swan paid no mind, but dapper didn't care. he just watched them, enjoying the breeze in his hair, enjoying being alone.

"anti?"

ok, so he maybe wasn't alone.

dapper whirled round to face whoever it was, the knife in his sleeve sliding down into his palm. the person standing there was a man with a chin length mess of curly hair, wide eyes and a long black jacket over dark clothes. he was breathing shallowly, eyes darting all over dapper like he was analyzing him. dapper couldn't properly growl or hiss like anti could, but he bared his teeth, clicking his tongue in warning.

the man held up both hands, expression flickering from shock to confusion. "anti?" he said again, more uncertain this time. "i - is that you?"

dapper shook his head sharply.

the other man exhaled, slowly lowering his hands. "i'm sorry. i - i must have… mistaken you…" even as he said it, he was still scrutinizing dapper, biting his lip. "do you - would you happen to know a man named anti? or - i don't think that's his real name, but something beginning with a? he looks just like you except without a mustache and uh - he had green hair?"

this man knew too much. far too much. anti never used his real name around other people. he always went by other names, usually starting with a too - anthony, august, axel - but never by anti, how did this man know his name? how did he know his green hair? now was one of the rare occasions in which dapper wished he had a voice just so he could yell all the questions he needed answered. he was starting to think he should kill this man and be done with it.

anti often told dapper that he should pretend to be deaf if someone tried to speak to him in public. he wasn't sure if that applied now, but he made an exaggerated face of confusion and began signing. "who are you?" he asked. "why do you know my anti?"

just as dapper had thought, the man blinked, uncertain of himself. "oh, i - i don't know sign language, i'm sorry," he said. then he screwed up his face, realizing that dapper wouldn't be able to hear him anyway. dapper took this opportunity to quickly walk past the man, blood pumping in his ears, making his way back to anti. before he went back, however, he walked round down the waterfront over the bridge and back again, trying to throw the man off his trail just in case.

anti was still at the bus stop. he had his legs pulled up to his chest, face buried in his knees. dapper clapped to show he was coming, and anti jumped. he unfolded himself and softened his glare, sighing softly. "hey, dap," he mumbled before going silent. the fact that he hadn't noticed dapper had gone was enough to show how stressed he was. "fucker didn't answer. probably bailed, the bastard. i'll find him, i will - let's just go."

dapper hesitated, considering whether to tell anti about what had happened or not. eventually he decided that would be best to let him know, in case the man was dangerous. "someone was looking for you."

anti raised an eyebrow, slinging his back back over his shoulder. "who? my contact? did he have a mullet, awful beard, wearing a dark coat? i'll kill the bitch, i swear i will."

dapper shook his head. "curly black hair, white, weird ear piercing. wearing a black coat. he called you by name."

anti had gone very still. "by name?" he said faintly. "like - anthony, or anything like that?"

dapper winced. "no. anti. he asked me if i was anti, or if i knew you. he said i looked like you but without the green hair."

anti didn't respond. his eyes were wide and had turned solid black like they tended to do when he was anxious or angry. dapper couldn't tell which one it was now. his face had gone ashen, all the colour drained from it. his bottom lip quivered with every ragged breath he took.

"we're leaving," he said loudly. he grabbed dapper's hand and yanked him to his feet again, ignoring his sharp whistle of protest. "come on, hurry the fuck up, we're -"

"anti!"

they froze in their tracks, and something dropped in dapper's chest.

the man had followed him, somehow. dapper had been certain he'd been alone, but evidently the persistent bastard had managed to trail him all the way back here. he was standing right in front of them, panting - he'd clearly ran - and staring at anti with parted lips, unmoving.

anti stared back.

"anti," breathed the man, shaking his head just slightly, chest rising and falling. "oh my god, fuck, it's really you, where have you been, where the hell did you go?"

anti was shaking. he swallowed hard, taking a sudden step back. mouth open like he wanted to speak. "i - don't know who you are," he said in a hoarse voice. it was clearly a lie. dapper could almost hear his brother's heart racing. "stay aw̛͞aỳ from me."

the other man lifted his hands, stepping towards them again. in the silence, his footsteps sounded thunderous. "please listen to me a sec," he said. "i've been - i've been looking for you for goddamn years, anti, fuck, i - i missed you."

dapper was now thoroughly baffled, looking back and forth from anti to the stranger. someone anti had once known who missed him? who knew anti by his real name but wasn't afraid of him? that was something dapper couldn't imagine. it seemed that anti couldn't either, as he suddenly gripped dapper's hand, breathing so hard he looked like he was going to be sick. "you're talking shit," anti spat, trembling. "i - i want you to fuck off, i swear to the gods, i'll kill you."

the man shuffled back, hands still up to show no harm. "please, i - you just vanished and i was so scared," he said, eyes wide and wet. "i looked everywhere but i couldn't find you, then the shop burned down - was that you?" his voice broke on the last word. "anti, fuck, i - fuck!"

"don't," anti choked out, letting go of dapper to claw at his throat, yanking the ends of his scarf. "don't, don't, please leave me alone, i don't - leave me alone. i'm - dapper, come on."

dapper almost couldn't move. "who?" he demanded, turning on anti to sign. "who is this?"

anti's expression contorted with anger. "none of your - doesn't matter, i'm going, i can't be -"

he stepped back again, and this time the other man leapt forward to grab anti's arm with a cry of "wait, please!" dapper fell back as anti shook the man off, crying out and shoving the man right to the ground so hard that dapper heard his back crack.

"ah - ah, shit -" he swore, hissing in pain, but before he could even sit up anti had turned on heel and raced down the street. dapper watched as he glitched away before he could turn the corner.

leaving dapper alone with the stranger on the ground.

he didn't know what to do. had this man hurt anti, was dapper supposed to help him? in any case, the man pushed himself up on shaky arms, head snapping back and forth until his eyes landed on dapper and he deflated, sighing. "he did it again," he mumbled, sitting up fully and brushing his hair out with his fingers. "that disappearing act. why does he always do that?"

dapper didn't know how to respond to that. he suddenly had so much to ask this man, but he knew anti was probably having a breakdown somewhere and he should find him before he did something bad. quickly, he rummaged in his small messenger bag, pulling out his sketchbook and a blunt pencil. who are you? he scribbled, showing the paper to the man. he squinted to read it, still rubbing the back of his head.

"uh - can you hear me?" he asked, and dapper nodded. the man exhaled. "ok. my name's rhudy, and i'm - i… was a friend of anti's. or whatever his name is. i just called him that, ha. i never found out his real name."

dapper frowned. his name is anti. that's the name he's always had.

rhudy's eyes widened. "wait, actual? or... did he take the name i gave him?" he gave a small laugh that almost sounded like a sob. "oh, fucking christ, oh my god."

this was only raising more questions in dapper's mind. he kept writing, painfully aware of the fact that anti was probably going to murder him for this. who are you to him? he's never told me about you.

rhudy sniffed, blinking. "i - don't know, actually. i mean, we were friends, then we -" he flushed, exhaling. "i guess we messed up. i didn't realize he was magic too, and by the time i realized he was already vanishing away. i never saw him again." he bit his lip, clenching his fists. "he burned down the fucking shop i worked in. i just - i wanted to know why."

dapper's gaze wandered across the road to the blackened building on the other side. that's your shop? he scribbled. i'm sorry about what he did.

rhudy was silent for a moment. "are you his brother?" he asked. dapper nodded again, rhudy following afterwards. "thought so, right. he… he never told me he had any siblings." his voice broke and he let out a shuddering sigh, tilting his head back and hitting the wall of the bus stop. "ok. i get the feeling you're - you're gonna disappear too. strange how i can detect more from you than him… will you tell him something from me?"

dapper wanted to ask about what "detect" meant, but didn't bother. what is it?

rhudy lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes, screwing up his face. "tell him i'm sorry?" he croaked. "i must have messed up. some days i wondered if he was ever even real or if i fell in love with a fucking ghost. i just - i've been looking for him in my spare time, of which there isn't much, i just wanted to find him so badly. is he - is he ok? tell me that at least, please."

dapper was still reeling from the "fell in love" part - trying to imagine anti with someone romantically was wild enough - but he tried to summon an answer to his question. looking into the man's desperate eyes, he decided there was only one thing to say. he's doing good, dapper lied. we're both good. and i'll tell him you said that, yeah.

rhudy covered his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. "good," he managed, voice high pitched and muffled. "ok, good. good for him, glad he's ok." he gave a small laugh. "i - don't think there will be another way to contact you again, if i'm seeing correctly. but, uh - yeah. fuck, fuck, i'm…"

dapper's heart was racing, confusion bubbling in his head. all he could think of to do was write i'm sorry on the paper, rip it out and hand it to the man. he took it with shaking hands, reading it over and over.

dapper stood and left the man behind. it was all he could do.

he knew anti wouldn't have went home. it wasn't even "home" anyway, so to speak. just an illegally rented flat with peeling walls and cold, bare floors. no, anti would have gone somewhere more familiar. somewhere that wasn't far - it only took dapper ten minutes to walk to the empty field, another two to climb all the way up. the whole time, dapper's mind was racing thinking about that man at the bus stop. had anti been with him? what had happened between them? with anti, it wouldn't have needed to be much. gods, this was too much to think about all at once.

he found anti on the front steps of the abandoned waterworks.

he was curled forwards the way he usually was when he was upset, face planted in his knees and arms wrapped around his head. dapper clicked his tongue softly as he walked towards him. anti shook his head and ignored him. "anti," dapper signed, despite knowing his brother couldn't see him. he crouched in front of his shivering form, noticing how anti's shoulders were shaking, the small, wheezy gasps he kept making. "anti, look up. look up."

anti shook his head, drawing further into himself. dapper whistled in warning before gently putting a hand in his hair, trying to soothe him. anti made a noise, a small noise that sounded almost like a sob.

"fuck," anti whimpered, and lifted his head just a bit, scrubbing at his face. "i - stop it, ow, shit, christ - this isn't fair, i wasn't supposed to -"

and oh, dapper could see anti's face now and he wished he couldn't because his brother was crying, he was really crying and dapper had never seen anti cry before and he was at a sudden loss for what to do. anti hissed in pain, pulling his sleeve over his hand to clean his face. the tears were… burning into his skin. leaving thin, dark trails down his face and them dripping onto the ground below. dapper suddenly realized where the raised white scars on anti's face must have came from.

"anti," dapper signed again, stunned. "i'm -"

"rewind it," anti blurted. he wasn't breathing right, was staring straight ahead with unfocused black eyes. "rewind it. i don't want any - i don't want to see - don't want to see him."

dapper swallowed a lump in his throat, biting down on his lip. "anti. i can't do that."

anti suddenly turned on him. "fucking rewind it!" he roared, and he'd stopped crying, his face dark and bleeding slightly where the tears had fallen. "that's what you're for! bloody rewind, i don't care, just get rid of it, fuck's sake, fuck's sake!"

dapper's mouth fell open, hands hanging in the air uselessly. anti suddenly grabbed them, squeezing his wrists together. "undo this!" he sobbed, his eyes flashing from light to dark to light to dark. "fucking undo it, dapper, that's all you're bloody here for, isn't it? to fix my fucking mistakes where i mess up! so undo it, and prevent it from happening! and if - if i protest not going out today -" he coughed, dropping dapper's hands and clutching his throat again, eyes too wide and shiny. "just tell me to stay away from that shop."

dapper knew if he rewinded, anti wouldn't remember any of this. he might as well just ask what he wanted to ask.

"you loved him?" dapper signed, keeping his eyes trained on anti's. "he loved you?"

for a moment, the question hung in the air, almost painfully, and dapper waited for anti to slap him. to grab the string on his neck and pull it to remind him of his place. to kick him to the ground and pin him there before demanding he turned back time before anti suffocated him in the dirt. but none of that happened.

in fact, anti almost softened.

"yes," he mumbled, eyes unfocused, tracing his fingers gently over his neck through his bandages. "please… dapper, please. please."

anti was begging and anti never begged for anything.

"i'll rewind," dapper said. the magic was already boiling in his blood, numbing the tips of his fingers and making his eyes well up. "anti. i never knew you could love anyone."

and anti just looked up, dark eyes wet, dark eyes so different from dapper's own, from all their brothers. "neither did i," he mumbled. he barked a laugh. "oh - dapper, dapper. don't remind me this happened, please. i don't want to know."

and just before dapper let the magic take over, he wondered if anti wore his eyes dark because the others were all so light.

silver. a colour anti told dapper about often. "dames, your eyes are silver," he would say. "your hands are all silver. why the silver today, dap? is it a silver day?"

dapper loved the word silver. he'd learned how to mouth the word, forming the shape with his mouth like he could say it aloud. silver was the colour of his eyes, even if dapper was blind to colour. silver the colour of his eyes and hands and tips of his hair when he was using magic. sometimes dapper couldn't get rid of the colour. silver days, were what anti always called them. on those days, when dapper was too distressed to come down from his magic haze and wanted nothing more than to use every ounce of energy he had to push himself back to his creation and further, anti would lay dapper on his shoulder or his lap and play with his hair, sometimes even softly singing if dapper was shaking hard enough. dapper liked silver days because of this. he always got the feeling anti did too. they both needed an excuse for the quiet warmth and contact between the two of them.

today was not a silver day. there would be no comfort for it.

river, sea, ocean. shining pale, silver water rising to his knees. already dapper was tired. time magic took so much out of him, and his legs were shaking, struggling to keep himself up. there was nothing in this black void to hold onto. nothing but water to paddle, pushing time back with nothing more than aching hands that had removed hours from the universe, days, weeks, each drop a second that dapper controlled. power. this was his place. his time. his time.

and they were back in the flat within seconds -

dapper readjusted himself quickly. didn't move to help him this time. instead, he clapped his hands in front of anti's face, making him look up. "you can't go out," he told him matter of factly. "you want to stay away from the shop."

anti paled even further. dapper turned away and left the room.

dapper was used to anti's secrets.

he knew, of course, that anti didn't tell him everything. there were things about him that maybe he would never know; the pretty dark haired man who'd called anti a friend, the names anti used that even dapper hadn't heard, the years with the light eyed creator that he had long suspected anti had loved once. but anti could keep his secrets. dapper didn't need them. dapper was hurting enough without the knowledge of who anti could have been, who even dapper himself could have been.

anti kept his secrets, and dapper kept his.

his brother never asked why dapper had rewinded that day. maybe he suspected. maybe he was too afraid to hear the truth. all dapper knew was that he would have nightmares containing the dark haired man for a long time to come.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #rhudy o'donnell #arc three: righting wrongs

19 notes · View notes

vikingsarememes · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Y/N x Ragnarssons

summary: you and your mother are visiting her best friend Aslaug in her country house as a Christmas tradition! you get reunited with your childhood friends; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar, too many good memories and they’re definitely more dramatic than you remember

warnings: light bullying

word count: 2712

A/N: this is a little messy but hopefully it will lighten up your holidays! requests are pretty open so feel free to do that, but nothing smutty though, I personally believe I’ll suck at writing smut, oh and Merry Christmas!

Your mother and Aslaug Lothbrok had been friends ever since you could remember, you were raised with ِAslaug’s boys as one of them, you were treated as a family, your father died when you were an infant while Aslaug’s husband disappeared shortly after her youngest son was born, Christmas was a lonely time for both women, that’s why they made it a tradition to celebrate it together even though time sent each in a different path.

Every year, you’d speed a weekend at the Lothbrok’s country house, all the boys would fly and drop whatever they were doing and go there, and this year was no different.

You and mother arrived, knocked on the door, Aslaug was the one to open it, she immediately greeted you both with a hug “Elvi! My dearest friend, you are finally here! Y/N! Look at you! You grew into becoming such a lovely woman! Come in, your rooms are ready if you want to rest and the boys are already here” she announced after both of you entered the house, Aslaug was ridiculously rich, and the country house showed that well.

Aslaug and your mother instantly ignored your existence and headed to the kitchen to catch up with each other, while you put your bags aside then headed to the living room, where you could hear loud screams, laughter, and noises, once you set a foot in the room, it went soundless, the four boys looked at you as if they saw a ghost, “uh… Hi?” you said uncertain of their reaction.

“Y/N?” Ubbe asked confused, perhaps a year could change someone more than they think “of course it’s Y/N! Who else could make us go quiet like that” Hvitserk rolled his eyes and got up, he walked to you and hugged you “it’s been so long! We almost forgot you existed” he chuckled and his brothers followed, hugging you one after another, welcoming you among them “excuse us for not recognizing you, last year you had glasses on and braces!” Ubbe clarified and you rolled your eyes “thank you for reminding me Ubbe” you scoffed.

You sat down on one of the empty couches “so… Y/N tell us! How’s New York treating you?” Ivar asked curiously “very well, I’m a photographer for TIMES magazine now, and things are great, I love the city, it’s not as beautiful as it is here, not as calm but it has its own beauty, you guys should visit me there someday! I’ll take you to my favorite spots and introduce you to amazing people!” you beamed “any boys we should beat?” Sigurd grinned “No, unless you count my colleague Karan, he’s an asshole, but other than that, I’m as single as I could ever be” you explained, Ivar laughed, while his brothers looked at each other as if they just heard that they were nominated for an award.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

Aslaug called you in as her and your mother prepared a table, it was time for dinner, the five of you took your usual seats, the ones that were decided ever since you were children, Aslaug and your mother excelled themselves this year; turkey, pumpkin pie, ham, a feast made for ten at least, you wondered how you’d finish all the food but then Hvitserk started eating.

Small talks filled the air, mostly your mother asking about the boys’ life now, Ubbe’s been married to a woman named Margrethe, she ran away and returned after many months but he divorced her, Hvitserk had been the same player he is, Sigurd was discreet, no one knew what’s new with him, and Ivar moved out of his mother’s house and he’s seeing a physician to treat his ongoing condition, he can walk now, with the use of crutches, of course, last time you saw him he used a wheelchair.

“And this woman, she knocked on my door in the middle of the night and stripped! She said she wanted to get back at her ex! I closed the door and went back to eating the chicken legs on the bed!” Hvitserk exclaimed the others laughed, Aslaug and your mother seemed more interested in whispering between the two of them.

“It’s so unlike you to refuse a woman brother!” Ivar noted as he picked a piece of turkey meat in his fork and ate it “I love women, yes, but no one can interrupt my binge eating after midnight on a weekend! It’s the holy laws of my household, besides, there will be next times, don’t worry about me, I’m quite charming” he smirked and sipped some wine.

“Excuse Ivar, he’s nineteen and hadn’t gotten laid yet, he doesn’t possibly understand pussies can be replaced” Sigurd mocked, everyone but Ivar laughed and with that, you knew it wasn’t a dinner anymore, it was a warzone “I doubt you know more than I do Sigurd” Ivar responded, he was angry you could tell, even if he hid it well behind a calm tone and a fake smile.

“I know my dick works, can you say the same?” Sigurd replied, seeming offended by Ivar “Jesus Christ Sigurd! Enough! we’re trying to eat!” Ubbe finally said and their little conversation died like that, an awkward silence fell upon the table, besides the whispers of your mothers of course.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

The five of you decided to sit and watch a movie, like the good old days when you used to be children, it was night and you were bored, after all, Hvitserk brought a popcorn bowl for everyone, Sigurd took responsibility for the drinks, while Ivar set up the movies mode on the television while you and Ubbe brought the blankets and pillows for everyone.

“We are not watching Ready or Not Ivar! It’s Christmas! We will watch a Christmas movie!” Ubbe bickered, “just because its Christmas doesn’t mean we have to watch some romantic bullshit with tacky writing!” Ivar protested “I thought we were watching a comedy” Hvitserk pouted, “we agreed we’ll watch a musical!” Sigurd said annoyed.

With that everyone started arguing and screaming at each other, as much as you love these boys, you hated it when that happens, you took a deep breath then whistled, grabbing everyone’s attention “we’ll watch the lion king, and that’s final, it has horror aka Scar, Comedy aka Timon and Bomba, Romance Simba and Nala, and of course amazing music!” you listed and didn’t wait for anyone to complain, one thing you remember clearly about the boys, they’d leave their differences aside for a good Disney Classical gem.

No one said anything during the film, all of you were so concentrated, and even though you saw the movie thousands of times, you all cried at the sad parts, laughed at the funny parts, and awed at the lovely parts, Hvitserk finished his popcorn before the end of the first half, he then started stealing from everyone else’s, you ended up sharing yours with him since you couldn’t really finish it by your own, it only made him last for another thirty minutes.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

After the movie was over, and the crying had stopped, you all decided to revive an old Christmas ritual of yours, which is playing spin the bottle, thanks to Hvitserk you already had an empty bottle to spin, the five of you sat in a circle, and Ubbe span it first.

The bottle’s neck stopped on Sigurd and the bottom on Ubbe, Ubbe was to ask, and if the person didn’t want to answer they must drink a shot of vodka that was already prepared by you, Ubbe snickered a little “Sigurd, my little brother! What should I ask you?” he said thinking, even though part of you suspected he already had something in mind “Sigurd when will you bring us a man to the house?” Ubbe asked with a wicked smirk, rumors have it, Sigurd was gay but no one can confirm it “why? You’re not man yourself you need a manlier man?” Sigurd replied playing dumb “he’s asking whether you are gay or not” Ivar jumped, Sigurd rolled his eyes and took a shot.

Next, it was you and Hvitserk, your turn to ask him “how is it even possible that you don’t get fat? You eat so much!” you said “is this a question or a personal assault?” he frowned “a question man! I need your diet tips” you answered “well, I move a lot usually, not now but back in my place it’s not rare to see me running around the house screaming at three in the morning, I just move a lot, also sex helps lose weight” he shrugged.

Later it was Sigurd and Ivar “how come you’re a spoiled brat at the age of nineteen?” Sigurd asked him, mainly to piss him off “because mother was disappointed enough by the time I was born and she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t end up an annoying turd like you” he replied with a grin on his face that declares he won this round of sarcasm.

“Ubbe, tell us, who’s the mysterious woman you’ve been texting whenever you had a chance?” Hvitserk asked when it was his turn to ask a question “oh, it’s no mysterious woman, it’s Torvi, we are sending dog memes to each other” he responded “Bjorn’s Torvi?” you asked shocked, almost as shocked as everyone, the four of you exchanged a look, Ubbe looked at you all confused, letting a what but no one answered.

And for the final spin, it was Ivar’s turn to ask you a question “Y/N, tell us, now that you are a lovely grown woman, which one of us would you rather date if you have a chance?” he asked with a prying look on his face “well Ivar, you are mean, Hvitserk’s head on the cloud all the time, Sigurd is basically a bully, Ubbe is too old for me, so that leaves me with no one unless you guys have a secret ideal brother?” you grinned, the four boys were left speechless.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You all agreed to ditch the rooms and have a sleepover in front of the TV, you agreed on watching Lilo and Stitch’s two movies until you fall asleep, Sigurd and Ivar went upstairs to their rooms to grab few things, Ivar hated the stairs, you know that cause he kept cursing with every few steps he took, you also heard the sound of something falling but no one really paid any attention.

Later, the blue-eyed rascal returned, holding a blanket and another pillow, with a big grin on his face “why are you smiling?” you asked as you were the first to notice something was up, “what? Can’t I be happy for a change?” he replied, he can of course, but you were familiar with this mischievous smile too well “no, not really, what’s up?”

“I just saw Sigurd roll down the stairs” he chuckled, his brothers looked at him as if it was the most normal thing ever, Ubbe quickly got up and went to check on Sigurd while Hvitserk just sighed and focused on the screen instead.

“You bastard! What’s wrong with you? I told you to hold me!” a shouting, angry, injured Sigurd stormed in “I can’t, I’m nothing but a useless cripple remember?” Ivar said giving him the most innocent look ever while Sigurd glared at him non stop.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You were the first to wake up, you went to the kitchen and prepared coffee for yourself and everyone else, Ivar followed next, the two of you sat and ate your breakfast together, it was quite nice, Ivar was a nice guy when his brothers weren’t around.

“So… tell me about the physical therapy, is it actually working?” you asked, he nodded “yes, it’s extreme though, I thought I’ve experienced all kind of pain but apparently I’m wrong, nothing is more painful than taking your first step, I could hear my bones cracking, that’s why the physician had to give me those braces and stings attaching my bones together” he explained, Ivar was okay to tell you about this kind of things, he trusted you enough to know he’s in pain.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” you said comforting “it’s alright, I can walk now and It’s not as painful as it used to be, I’m almost numb in the legs anyways unless I try to use them” he shrugged, Sigurd woke up next, he came to the kitchen and poured himself coffee in his mug, he took few sips “numb in the leg you say?” he snickered and spilled the rest of his coffee on Ivar’s leg, Ivar didn’t say much but you knew this hurt from his facial expressions even though he was hiding it well.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you shouted and ran to Ivar, helping him get up “what? He feels nothing! He said it himself!” Sigurd bickered “you can be such an asshole sometimes” you muttered and then you took Ivar to the downstairs bathroom, helping him clean up.

The skin was red from the heat, you reached for the first aid box in the mirrored cabin and treated his burn “I’m okay Y/N, you can stop worrying” he mumbled, you rolled your eyes “you’re welcome” you said sarcastically.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You spent the whole day playing video games, or watching the Lothbroks play video games, or fight over video games, all but Ubbe who was deep in his phone, after a while, Hvitserk decided he’d lay his head on your lap and play sims on his phone instead, so it was only Ivar and Sigurd and you knew this would escalate sooner than it should.

“Would you play with my hair? I’ll share my stash with you” Hvitserk suggested, you nodded and started playing with his blond braids, he enjoyed it, then you decided it would be for the best to ignore Ivar and Sigurd this time, and get involved with the elder brothers.

“Why didn’t Bjorn and Torvi come?” you finally asked Ubbe, he shrugged, “Torvi says Assa is sick, that’s why they can’t make it on the road, Bjorn thinks it’s best to skip and go to Lagartha’s this year instead, it’s closer” you were really looking forward to meeting Bjorn, you weren’t very close but he was eye candy, you had a crush on him growing up.

Nothing serious but you simply liked looking at him, Ubbe knew, he’d always teased you about it, but this time he didn’t, he knew you’d tease him about Torvi if he does.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

“For christ’s sake, Hvitserk slow down on eating! This is no manners!” Aslaug shouted in the middle of the lunch after her son ate his second plate “I’m hungry” he protested, “maybe if you ate slower, you wouldn’t be this hungry!” she argued “oh come on Aslaug! Let the poor boy eat, he’s a developing boy!” your mother giggled “he’s twenty-five, he passed the level of being a developing boy instead he’s a food monster!” the two women laughed.

Hvitserk brushed them off and moved to the dessert instead, your mother’s famous krumkake, one that no one could resist or hate.

Ivar and Sigurd exchanged hateful glances every now and then, but they didn’t say a word to each other.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You and your mother decided to leave in the evening, your brother, Havard was visiting tomorrow with his wife and two children, so you had to be home to prepare a meal and gifts, your mother and Aslaug spent what seemed like forever saying goodbyes, the uber driver hated you both for the delay.

The brothers said their farewells, already missing you, you invited them to your photography exhibition next month, you thought it would be a good idea for them to see your city, especially since they thought New York was nothing more than trash, they all promised to come.

You both got into the car and the man drove you to the airport “It was good seeing them no?” your mother asked, you were looking through the window, you wanted to stay there longer but your stupid brother had to ruin this for you “it was” you mumbled.

tags: @youbloodymadgenius

131 notes · View notes

danetobelieve · 4 years

Text

In Sweetness There Is Strength || Ricky, Rio and Winston

When: 30/06/2020 Who: @ricky-corderbro, @3starsquinn & @danetobelieve Where: Room Mate Squad HQ Summary: After Rio’s fight with the trolls. Warnings: medical blood tw - they clean Rio up quite a lot and there is indepth discussion of Rio’s scars / bruises / injuries, also there is abuse mentions too.

The events of the night swam through Orion’s head in a thick, convoluted fog. After Kaden dropped him off, Rio stood outside for a while. White noise filled his head. He was trying to process what had happened, but his brain seemed to refuse the request. Probably some kind of coping mechanism. It had still been too fresh on his mind. The attack, the pain, the murder. Everything clung to Rio’s throat, threatening to spill out at any moment. But instead, Rio felt lifeless. Like he had cried every lost ounce of liquid that he could to Kaden. Kaden. Who had gotten hurt trying to protect Rio from doing something stupid. Who had no choice but to listen to Rio scream about the pain. Who had listened when he had refused to go to the hospital. And he had done all of it knowing that the two didn’t actually get along or agree on anything. But would Rio have changed anything? Would he have attacked the trolls first, knowing what was coming? Or would he have simply put the two in danger again to try to avoid the violence. It felt like a lose-lose. That no matter what Rio tried to do, he was doomed to fail. Wow, poetic. Really hit that nail on the head. Isn’t that all Rio had been doing his life anyways? Failing?

But he couldn’t stand out here forever. Winston or Ricky would find him eventually. Or worse, some random passerby on the street would see Rio covered in blood and he would end up arrested. He couldn’t avoid them forever. It seemed like now was the best time to get the freak out over with. He stepped slowly towards the door, each step another stabbing pain in Rio’s side. He hadn’t exactly figured out what to do about the broken ribs yet. But he knew that the hospital wasn’t an option. Everything else would heal fine. The ribs were a bit more concerning. Tonight, he just wanted to crawl in bed. He moved to reach towards the door knob but stopped himself. Blood on carpet? Not a great idea. Ricky was having someone over on Friday. The place needed to stay clean. So he knocked with his elbow, careful to avoid getting blood anywhere. Rio was too embarrassed to look at whoever answered the door. His eyes were trained on the ground and locked onto a single space of the porch. “I’m sorry.” Rio breathed in, a small groan escaping his lips from the pain of breathing, “Can you uh- can someone go into my room? And grab me something to change into? And maybe a wet towel.”

Things were going good. It was blissful. Things with Rio were going slow, but even something as little as holding hands was enough to send a cacophony of electric butterflies whirlwinding in the pit of Winston’s stomach. Rio was out and Winston and Ricky were fucking around on Borderlands Three. Literally fucking around. Winston was literally lying on the sofa so that their head hung off of the cushions and everything was flipped. “Ricky, I fucking told you that if you invert everything on your controller and flip yourself over it’s basically the same as just playing normal way up. Just more s-” they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Dashing to the door, they slid to a stop on just their socks (this was a strict no shoes in the home household) and pulled the door open spotting Rio. “Hey R-” they didn’t finish their sentence. “Is that blood?!” Winston’s hands flew to their face, pushing it up so that Rio had no choice to make eye contact with them. A veritable Jackson Pollock of injuries had been forced upon Rio and a fury that Winston rarely felt filled them. “Sorry, don’t be sorry, come in….” they spoke quietly, mainly because if they didn’t whisper they would scream, “Ricky, I’m going to get Rio a change of clothes for Rio, can you get the first aid kit and help clean him up and then we can take him to the hospital…” Winston headed straight up the stairs, not waiting for a response, their fury causing them to shake slightly with each step.

“That’s just Borderlands with extra steps.” Ricky was draped half in/half on/half off an armchair as he and Winston ran around a swamp planet, shooting absolutely everything in sight, “Can we just fucking finish this and hop to the next planet? Everything here is green which means I can’t fucking see shit. Promethea was better. Urban landscapes don’t fuck with my color blindness like swamps do; and while I”m loving the gay romance subplot here, I’m ready to be able to land headshots successfully again” There was a knock on the door, which in and of itself wasn’t weird they were pretty popular and enough people just swung by to say hi, but the knock sounded strange like it hadn’t been made with a hand. Winston managed to extricate themselves from their strange position before Ricky could and went to swing the door open. Craning his neck to try to see who was in their entryway Ricky managed to fall fully out of the chair and onto the floor when he saw it was a bloody Rio, “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU KNOCKING AND NOT JUST COMING IN JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.” He hopped to his feet, tossing his controller onto the chair and bolted for the very robust first aid kit he kept in one of the kitchen cabinets, digging out some alcohol wipes as he came back, “Sit on the stairs” he pointed to one of the lower steps as he tore the wipes open, “What happened and who do Winston and I have to kill. I’ll do it. I’ll rip a motherfucker’s throat out. That’s why I’ve got fangs.” He used said fangs to tear at a length of gauze, holding it out to Rio, “Is it okay if I touch you? To wipe your face?”

Winston and Ricky reacted pretty much exactly how Orion expected them to. They were concerned. Shocked. He hadn’t expected them to be so… angry. Far angrier than Rio could manage to be right now. But the two wanted the trolls to pay for what they had done. Rio wished he could explain how they had already paid. Rio and Kaden limped away from that encounter alive. Could they say the same thing about some of the trolls? Winston pushed Rio’s face up, but Rio could hardly focus on their face. His sight felt glossed over, a mix of exhaustion, pain and shock. But he was being led inside, “But the floors…” Rio heard himself mumble as he was dragged inside. Rio gasped and held his side as he stepped. He hoped they didn’t notice the injury. They would want to look at his side. And they couldn’t see him like that. “I don’t want to get blood anywhere” He tried defending himself to the two. The carpets were important right? What about those antique floors Ricky always bragged about? Still, he mindlessly followed Winston into the home, only focusing when he heard the mention of the word hospital. “No!” Rio yelled, the volume surprising him. Up until now, he had barely been able to speak more than a whisper to Kaden or them. “Please. No hospital. My dad will be there. I can’t-” He didn’t finish his sentence. Ricky and Winston may not know everything yet, but it wasn’t hard to connect some of the dots. They knew he couldn’t risk seeing his dad. Especially not like this. Winston rocketed up the steps and Ricky settled Rio down on the steps, asking him questions that he didn’t think he could answer. “You can touch my face.” Rio sighed, wishing that they had been out when he had gotten home. The desire only worked to make him feel worse about himself. As Ricky asked more questions, he dotted cloth across Rio’s skin to clean the blood. He jumped as the cloth touched his cheek, the bruising and cuts stinging his face. “You- I do-” He tried to figure out his wording multiple times, stumbling through sentences and cutting himself off each time. Because he didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it. “It’s dead.” Rio finally settled on. Not all of them. Rio remembered their threat. But the two that had done this to Rio were both dead.

Winston came down the stairs with fresh clothes for Rio and a pile of towels, not to mention more first aid supplies just in case they had run out. “Fuck, I forgot-sorry,” Winston moved slowly to Rio’s side, “Rio’s right the hospital is a no go…. I would offer to help clean you up but I don’t think my hands are gonna be steady enough, I can try some healing magic once we’ve got you all cleaned up if you want…” Winston should’ve been there. Watching Rio like that made them angry. Seeing them in pain made Winston furious. They would’ve gone out and killed whatever had done this to them if it hadn’t been already dead. Swallowing. Winston pulled out a chair for Rio and motioned for them to sit in it. “Ricky is going to need to work on you for a bit if going to the hospital isn’t an option then the very least we can afford to do is get you all cleaned up.” Winston paused for a moment, glancing nervously at their shoes and then at the kitchen wall. “What do you want to do first? You can get cleaned up and get changed and get right and talk to us, or you can tell us as you go. But eitherway, I think-” Winston didn’t want to press him, “Rio,” they slipped their hands into Rio’s and gripped them firmly, “can you tell us what happened so we can try and help?”

“THE FLOORS?!” Ricky scoffed a little and shook his head, “If I have to pick between you and the floors it’s going to be you every single time, Rio. I don’t give a single flying fuck about blood on the floors. I care about you being okay.” he knelt down next to Rio, carefully wiping his hands clean with one swab before ever so gently holding Rio’s chin and carefully cleaning off the wounds on his face, “I know this stings like a motherfucker. Did I ever tell you about the time I had to stitch up a mermaid bite on my side? You think you’re bleeding on the floors now you should have seen that. I’m pretty sure there’s still a stain on the landing.” He attempted to keep the conversation light, distracting Rio and Winston as best he could as he cast a moderately-trained gaze over his friend, “If we can’t go to the hospital I need you to tell me exactly where it hurts and how it hurts. I can do a decent amount; I’m used to having to care for myself, but if there’s something outside my field of knowledge I’ll have to make some calls and try to get somebody discreetly out here to take a look at you.” Shoving the bloody wipe into a bag near his feet Ricky opened another one, looking over Rio and sighing heavily, “I’m sorry we weren’t there to help. With whatever this was.”

When Orion thought that Winston was moving to touch his side, Rio jerked, flailing his arm out to try to stop Winston before they had a chance to press it. “Don’t!” Rio hissed. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed that he had just done that. To Winston of all people. “Sorry- sorry. Just- please don’t touch it. I’m fine. I heal quickly.” He just hoped that they healed correctly. But there wasn’t another option. Could Winston’s healing magic even work with Rio fully clothed? He didn’t have it in him tonight to have that conversation. Rio grabbed at one of the towels and began mindlessly wiping at this arms. It didn’t fix the red stains across his body, but it at least took off the excess blood. And it served as something for Rio to focus on other than the looks Winston and Ricky were giving him. They were asking so many questions. But that wasn’t the scariest part. They were… caring? He wasn’t told to brush it off or get back up. They were protecting him. Just as they always did. “I got attacked. I- You don’t have to be sorry. Neither of you do. You can’t always be there to protect me. It was so pathetic that he even needed protection. He was supposed to be the strong one. Blessed with some divine gift for protecting others. It was all just meaningless words to him. “I- It’s dead.” Rio breathed deeply, ignoring the pain and trying desperately to stop himself from crying again. Hadn’t he done that enough tonight? “I- I killed it. I tried to stop it. To get away or beg them to leave us alone. But I couldn’t think of anything else to do. And I didn’t want to die and I- I killed it. It was a troll. And it’s dead now because of me.” His breath was catching in his throat, threatening to cut off his breathing all together. Ricky was trying to distract him with other stories, which Rio was happy to latch onto in an attempt to get his mind off of things. Ricky’s story and Winston’s hand wrapping around Rio’s were the only two things keeping him grounded right now. “I- I don’t know. I think I’m okay. Just… sore. He threw me into a tree.”

This was a lot to deal with. Winston wasn’t sure what was more overwhelming. The level of endearing that Rio was managing to achieve by being concerned about the fixings and furniture of the house over their own well being, over something that meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things compared to Rio’s life. Maybe it was how upset Rio was that he had physically recoiled from Winston trying to touch him. “Hey, hey,” Winston could see the fact that Orion was upset and they could completely understand why, they remembered when they had killed the vampire that had gone after Ricky. They remembered when they had killed themself. They still remembered the look in August’s eyes as the energy was sucked whole from his body and used to bring Bea back from being a ghost. “I don’t know what happened, you tried everything you could by the sounds of it and you had nothing more that you could do.” Winston slowly stepped forward and held Rio close to them, pulling Rio’s head into the crook of their shoulder and running a calming hand through his hair. Leaning closer, Winston whispered quietly to Orion as they held them. “Listen, I- I saw Athena’s scars and I know that you probably got it worse then her if what you’ve said is true, but we can’t look after you if you’re gonna keep your hoodie and everything on. I know this is hard, but I can get Ricky to not bring anything up. We don’t have to talk about it right now. We just need to look after you okay.”

Orion almost broke down when Winston hugged him. The hug was gentle and cautious. And Rio didn’t care how much it hurt because all he wanted was for Winston to keep hugging him the rest of the night like this. To run their fingers through his hair and promise Rio that he wasn’t a monster. Rio felt like a monster. Worse, he felt like a hunter. He needed to stay strong. If he cried now, he wouldn’t stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Rio wasn’t expecting Winston to know about the scars. But a moment later and it clicked into place. God, what an awful time to remember that Winston was probably super familiar with his sister’s scars. “It’s not- They’re not like hers.” Rio warned Winston. Athena’s scars were battle scars, won from killing creature’s and training. Rio’s were different. Unevenly healed wounds, burn marks. His scars were a punishment. But what choice did Rio have? It was Winston and Ricky after all. They knew him. Rio trusted them with his life, so why not trust them with this? “O-okay” Rio finally whispered back, making an attempt to grab at the hoodie so he could start to slowly peel it off. But the pain was way too severe to do it himself. “I- I can’t get it off myself.” Rio groaned. This was so embarrassing. This wasn’t something he should be asking from either of them, but especially Winston. They were nowhere near getting undressed near each other stage. “Can you help me please?” Rio finally asked, holding his arms into the air and trying to laugh, though it sounded more pained than humored, “This is so awkward, I’m sorry.”

Honestly, Winston wasn’t sure what they had been expecting. They had been ready to back right off and to find another way for them to fix this without having to get Rio to take off the hoodie. But Rio agreed and gently peeled away from Winston. Winston had to admit that they were reluctant to let him go, but they did so anyway. “It doesn’t matter, they’re just scars, they’re not you.” Winston had their own scar. It wasn’t going to be comparable to Rio’s but they thought maybe they could at least try and sympathise. Winston gave Rio a weak smile before nodding. “Yeah, don’t worry Rio I got you,” stepping forward, Winston carefully held Rio’s t-shirt down whilst slipping their hand under the hoodie and pulling it up. Once they were sure that the hoodie wasn’t going to pull away at the t-shirt, Winston grasped it with both hands and slowly and carefully helped Rio peel it off of their body. It was wet. With blood and sweat and god knows what. Winston dropped it into the empty kitchen sink. Thank fuck that Ricky kept this place spotless. Glancing over at Rio, they squeezed his hand and nodded at them, doing their best not to look at the exposed skin on Rio’s. It was clear why Rio had been afraid, had been embarrassed even. Winston could tell that there had been a lot of pain and a tidal wave of sympathy and anger over took them. Tears threatened to rush to their eyes and Winston insisted on remaining calm. “We’re good okay, I’m gonna get you a soda or something, you should get your blood sugar up and Ricky is going to start looking you over.”

Ricky remembered the first time he’d met Rio, when they’d been caught on the beach in a sudden storm and taken refuge in the workshop. How he’d had to go wait outside in the rain for Rio to finish changing because the man was so secretive about his bare skin. So, in an attempt to alleviate the pressure of being looked at and give Winston and Rio a little bit of privacy in this moment, Ricky busied himself tying his hair back and making sure his glasses were absolutely spotless. When out of the corner of his eye he could see that the sweatshirt had been removed he nodded to Winston, “Grab me one too please.” It was immediately concerning to him that Rio couldn’t manage the range of motion to remove his own sweatshirt and Ricky pushed his glasses up on his nose, leaning forward to look over Rio, “It should go without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway, inside these walls any secret we learn is safe. Nothing is going to reach anyone else. Where on your chest is it hurting? Since it clearly is.” He was very very careful not to touch Rio, who was clearly in a fragile state at the moment, “Though I think we both know that the answer is probably ‘broken ribs’ especially if you got thrown into a tree.”

Orion never knew how people were going to react when they saw the scars. For the most part, he had kept them secret. Only a few in town had ever seen them. Rio had only ever actually told one person where they truly came from. But Winston and Ricky knew enough about Rio by now. He knew they were smart enough to connect the dots. Winston went to grab drinks, something Rio realized that he desperately needed. He hadn’t even realized how dry his mouth had been until they mentioned it. Ricky paid no attention to the scars aside from ensuring that the secret was safe with him. Of course it was, because Ricky was an incredible friend. And Rio shouldn’t have been so scared about telling either of them about it for this long. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you both I- I just can’t tell anybody about it right now. Except for Blanche. She’s the only one that knows.” Rio’s heart was going haywire, never having anybody quite those close to him when he wasn’t wearing a hoodie. He felt exposed, like he was on full display to his roommates. “I’m pretty sure it’s broken ribs.” Rio nodded his head in agreement, lifting his right arm to attempt at pointing to his side, “This side has the most pain, but I hit it face forward so it could have gotten both sides, I don’t know.” He still couldn’t believe that this was actually happening right now. When Winston returned with drinks, Rio took a long drink from it, almost coughing the thing back up from pain. But he forced it down and felt the instant relief in his throat. “If- if you need to get a better look at it you can…” Rio paused, too embarrassed to speak the words. He had to force himself into a pained deep breath before rambling out, “takeofftheshirtifyouneed.” He groaned, wishing he hadn’t just offered but trying to lighten the mood as best as he could. “I trust your intentions.” He hoped that his attempt at a smile came through to the both of them. But he didn’t want to do so without warning them ahead of time, “But it’s uh- it’s worse. Under the shirt. Just so you know. The arms aren’t as bad.” He just didn’t want Winston to get too freaked out. Some of the wounds were recent. Some of the bruises were from the tree and would eventually go away. But most wouldn’t. “Someone will have to help me again if that’s the case…”

“Listen, you don’t need to apologise for not telling us anything, you don’t ever need to tell us anything.” Winston slipped Ricky’s drink down beside him and crouched besides Rio, a hand gently placed on his knee doing everything that they possibly could to be reassuring for him right now. “Whatever happened, we don’t need to talk about it right now, if you need Blanche here I can get her now, right now we don’t need to be thinking about what could or should be one way or another, what we’re thinking and focussing on is getting you patched up so everything heals right.” Winston tried not to think about the scale of the injuries. They’d started reading up on healing magic but they could do about as much as an aspirin right now, healing major wounds or setting bones wasn’t really something they were going to risk yet. “Don’t worry about your shirt, I got it.” Winston quickly and carefully slipped Rio’s less damaged arm through the hole, before tugging the shirt over Rio’s head and finally pulling the rest of the shirt off of him. Grabbing a towel, Winston carefully folded it over before placing it around Rio’s shoulders. That way Ricky could still see and at least Rio would have some privacy. Winston tried not to look at the bruises and cuts too carefully. There were clearly a patchwork of fresh wounds, but then again there was also older scars. Burns for some reason. Winston’s very soul was a blaze in that moment. No wonder Athena was the way she was. No wonder Rio never wanted to take his hoodie off even in the middle of a roasting hot club. Anger bubbled inside of Winston. White hot. Fuelled by the pain of someone who truly didn’t deserve this. Someone who had literally been thrown through a tree and needed love and tender affection and not to be burned by the people who were meant to protect and care for him.

In the heat of the moment there was a lot that ran through Ricky’s mind, but if he had any skills it was the ability to compartmentalize so he could deal with emotions later, “I second that. You owe us no explanation for anything. You owe nobody that. The only thing we need from you right now is to let us help you however we can.” Ricky’s own chest was a fairly well covered network of scars from aquatic monsters, a tree vampire, and just being fucking stupid, but it had absolutely nothing on the novel’s worth of scar tissue that ran across Rio. He could feel the very animalistic part of him, that only ever lurked just behind the bright smile and easy laugh, raging at the story the scars told, coupled with what he knew of Rio’s family. But his anger was his own burden, not something he would ever ask Rio to help carry. “Yeah that troll fucked you up pretty good my dude.” he didn’t even have to raise his fingers to feel for broken bones, he could tell from the bruising and the swelling that some ribs had been broken. “It sounds like you’re breathing okay. It probably hurts like a motherfucker but I don’t think you punctured anything.” rocking back on his heels Ricky took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose, “I can’t fix that. I could have set an arm or a leg, and I can do stitches, but ribs…. I just have field medic training. If you look me in the eye and tell me Ricky my hunter healing will take care of this just fine, I’ll believe you, and carry you up to your room to rest and heal up. But, if that’s not the case, I know someone I could call to come over and discreetly patch you up.” sliding his glasses back onto his face he gave Rio a smile, “It’s up to you, my dude. We’ll follow your lead here.”

“It’s fine I don’t need someone else here freaking out too. You both are enough.” Orion wanted them to not worry as much. Maybe if he could convince them that he was okay, they would be too? They had both already worked magic for him. Rio had come home feeling like everything in the world was ending. Now, Rio was in pain and his heart still hurt for those trolls. But he felt loved. Accepted. Safe. There wasn’t anything more that he could ask for. “I’ll tell her tomorrow. Let her get a good night’s sleep before she freaks out.” Winston, as per usual, was Rio’s savior. They wrapped the towel around Rio’s neck to give some sort of security. Nobody had seen Rio shirtless in… years. Probably since childhood. Rio had always found excuses to get away. To hide and avoid any prying eyes. Somehow, in what was probably one of the most revealing moments of Rio’s life, he still felt incredibly safe. These two were something else. “I’ve had broken ribs before.” Rio admitted. He didn’t give any further details. He didn’t need to . “They healed.” He wasn’t sure that they had ever healed correctly, but they had stopped hurting eventually. “This will all heal. I promise.” Rio couldn’t risk Ricky’s contact being anyone that knew his parents or sister. It was a small town and the Quinn’s weren’t invisible. They would heal. They had to heal. “I- I don’t know how to thank the both of you for this.”

“You don’t need to say thank you to anyone for cleaning you up after you were put through a tree,” Winston took a step forwards in front of Rio and took both of his hands. “Here, let me try something, I hope it’ll help a little.” Grasping Rio’s hands gently in their own, Winston gave them a gentle squeeze before muttering a string of Latin that they had memorised a few weeks ago. A cascade of power began to gently trickle out of Winston’s fingers, little tendrils of light braiding themselves up and through the air before they tracked back into Rio’s hands. The light slipping through the skin. Winston could feel a brief moment of exhaustion and their eyes felt heavy. Their breath became laboured and a moment later they pulled away from the power. “I can’t really do healing magic, but that should at least help with some of the pain for a bit. It’s the only spell I can really do and… I hope it helps.” They really needed to keep a doctor on retainer, between the three of them. “Well, Ricky it seems like you still get to take the next trip to the hospital,” Winston moved over to their fridge and tapped the colour wheel that Ricky had drawn up months ago, as a joke of course, next to their house chore chart. “Yeah, says Ricky’s up next.”

Ricky watched quietly as Winston wove their magic, seeing them grow more tired as the energy left them and flowed into Rio, quiet latin filling the room “Careful there Merlin.” RIcky gave a wry smile, “I don’t want to have to carry you both upstairs if you knock yourself out doing too much magic.” He squeezed Rio’s knee gently, leaning back against the wall at the foot of the stairs, “Rio. There’s nothing to thank us for. I dunno how to make it more clear, but I love you with every single ounce of my rotten heart. Fervently. Deeply. Truly love you. Both of you. You guys are my family. This is your home. Not just your house. You deserve to feel safe and comfortable here and I’ll do absolutely everything in my power to make this a refuge for you. But Winston’s right. You gotta obey the hospital wheel. It’s my turn next. This is why we have the rota.” Ricky pushed himself back to his feet, wiping his now-slightly-bloody hands on his jeans, “I’ll make some dinner. Y’all get upstairs and comfortable. I’ll bring a few trays up. We can watch something stupid while we eat. You’re home now, Rio. Any troll who wants a piece is gonna have to get through me and Winston. I will go full goddamn seal beast mode to stop that from happening.”

#p: ricky #p: orion #wickedswriting #para #chatzy para #chatzy #in sweetness there is strength #abuse mention tw

15 notes · View notes

cake-writes · 5 years

Text

Options

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Red Room References, Fluff, Polyamory, 18+

Word Count: 1.6k

Requested by Anon: Could I get a Bucky/Steve or Bucky + Steve work based on “Love Me or Leave Me” or “Three Empty Words”? Dealer's choices.

Here we go! I used Love Me or Leave Me as inspiration. Enjoy!

There was a certain time of the year that always put you on edge.

November.

You’d spent it strapped to a cold hospital bed at the tender age of twenty, courtesy of the Red Room.

Steve knew the date by heart. You’d told him once in a moment of weakness. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about, and aside from that one time, you never, ever spoke of it again. Not with him, and not with Bucky.

Bucky didn’t know the exact date, but then again, you never shared it with him. It wasn’t that you kept it from him on purpose; you loved them both equally, him and Steve, but you never told either of them what had happened. You could never bring yourself to.

All they knew was that it involved the Red Room, but they could hazard a guess at what it was. Natasha had told them enough, and the scars on your abdomen made sense of the rest. They never pried.

There were signs that the two of them started to look for around this time of year. Sometimes Bucky would find you at home, crying into the sheets of your shared bed and Steve would motion for him to leave you be, as torturous as it was for them both to leave you feeling so miserable. Instead, the two of them would share a bottle of whiskey in the living room while your sobs echoed through the small apartment the three of you shared. It was always the same. No conversation, just the bitter taste of liquor and misery.

Other times, you were too quick to anger, too impulsive, too destructive. Aside from the risky, dangerous decisions you made out in the field around this time of year that drove your boys up a fucking wall – and oh, how you argued afterwards – it spilled over into your home lives, too.

Once, you screamed at them and threw every single plate in the kitchen at the wall. You played it up like you were actually aiming for them, but you weren’t, and they knew it, too. Your aim was impeccable. It was painfully obvious that you were lashing out because of what you couldn’t do, what was missing, what had been stolen from you. You only managed to take about two steps through the broken glass in bare feet before Bucky swept you up into his arms and pressed kisses to your face, your forehead, the sweet spot behind your ear, telling you not to be so stupid, he loves you, they love you, Christ, they love you more than anything—

While Steve tended to the cuts on your feet. He cleaned them and bandaged them with all the love and care in the world, and when he was done, he kissed his way up your legs, to your thighs, and when Bucky lay you down so gently on the bed, Steve worshipped you with his mouth and Bucky kissed the breath out of you until you forgot why you’d been so upset to begin with.

It was a temporary fix, but it held you together. For a while.

Every year, you seemed to break just a little bit more.

You’d been so blissfully happy with them once. You always loved the way Steve was so brutally honest about his feelings for you. He told you how much he loved you and cherished every single part of you, even the horrors of your past, the things you’d been forced to do. You loved how he stroked your hair and admitted that he could imagine having a life with you – with both of you.

Bucky wasn’t nearly as open with his feelings, but he didn’t need to be. He let his guard down around you, shared things about himself and his past that he’d never spoken aloud – let you kiss him and touch him despite how downright scared as he was to be treated so kindly. You and Steve had broken down his walls, but they’d never been able to break down yours.

They were both so happy with you once, too. Your relationship had always been a chaotic mess, but it worked. You cooked. Steve cleaned. Bucky did laundry. It was sweet and domestic, and for a while, it worked. The three of you just worked.

The longer you were together, though, it became more and more apparent that you’d never be able to give them what they really wanted: a family. Maybe not now, but that was where things were heading. The writing was on the wall. You could read it plain as day.

On some particularly passionate nights, Steve would whisper into your ear that he needed to fill you up, and true to his word, he’d leave you absolutely filled to the brim with his cum. Bucky didn’t say it aloud, but his actions said enough: he made sure that whenever he came, it was inside you, and every time, he held himself there just a little longer.

You knew what they wanted, but you couldn’t give it to them.

You still loved them. Of course you did. You loved them entirely too much.

When November came around again, they returned from a mission to find that you’d left without a trace. You left them to find what they so desperately wanted, but couldn’t have with you. There were plenty of other willing women and, considering who they were – Avengers – you knew that they’d have quite a selection to choose from. They’d be fine.

Except they weren’t. Not at all.

You didn’t get far. Tennessee. Your plan was to lay low in the mountains while you figured out a game plan. It wasn’t like you to be so impulsive and your mind was screaming at you to go back, to stop this, you were being stupid, you were giving up the only shred of happiness in your miserable existence – but you pushed on anyway because you were too ruined to be fixed.

You couldn’t give Steve and Bucky what they wanted – what you’d also started to want so badly with them. For a long time, it never used to bother you, at least until you found the two of them. Then you realized what was missing.

How could you expect them to stay with you? Why would they even want to? To be with you was a fate they’d never willingly choose, and you’d only hold them back.

It took just two nights before they managed to locate you in a little log cabin in the woods. You’d gone out to fetch some firewood, and when you returned, your boys were there.

They were there and your resolve shattered the moment you saw them. Broken apologies spilled from your lips just as easily as the tears rolled down your cheeks, “I’m—I’m sorry—”

Steve caught you in his arms just as your knees gave out.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t be sorry,” Steve spoke to you so gently that you felt like your heart might burst. His arms were a welcome weight around your waist, and he slouched down to hold you tight against him, your chin coming to rest in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “You never have to be sorry.”

Bucky’s metal hand was a welcome chill against your cheek, and he gently turned your face to look at him, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheekbone. Those lovely pale blue eyes were full of anger, hurt, and betrayal – but primarily relief.

They found you.

“Don’t do that again,” Bucky told you, but his voice wavered just slightly on the words. It wasn’t an order, or even a request. It was a plea.

Don’t leave me again.

“I won’t,” you croaked, hot tears streaming down your face. “I love you. Both of you. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes softened, then, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead just before Steve lifted you into his arms. They’d never been here before, but it was easy enough to find the bedroom – not that either of them intended to do anything but spend time with you. Time was precious, fleeting, and no one knew that better than the two of them.

Steve threaded his fingers through your hair as you lay your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Bucky spooned you from behind, one of his hands tracing delicate patterns up and down your side and across your stomach.

That was always how it started. Sweet. Gentle. Loving.

It always finished in the exact opposite way: hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen; your body trapped between theirs, slick with sweat and saliva and pure, unbridled ecstasy. Your boys never failed to make a mess of you, and this night was no different.

Except it was different.

You could feel the desperation in Bucky’s kisses, the longing in Steve’s caresses – for you, and only you. Not for what you couldn’t provide.

The next morning, the three of you sat on the sofa together, sipping on hot cups of coffee. It was casual and comfortable, just like always, like you hadn’t spent the last few days running away – but they knew why. They’d known for awhile, really, but neither of them knew how to bring it up. It was too sensitive a topic and the last thing they wanted to do was upset you.

The fact that you left them because of it was what sparked the conversation. Bucky slung his warm arm around your shoulders as Steve held a file out to you.

“There are options,” Steve said softly as you accepted the file. Bucky immediately felt you tense at the unspoken subject – but then, as you flicked through the pages, you noticeably began to relax.

Adoption.

Surrogacy.

There were options.

The three of you had never discussed it, but the writing was on the wall. Steve and Bucky could read it just as well as you. They knew what you wanted, because it was what they wanted, too.

A family.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #request #completed request #options

455 notes · View notes

darling--michael · 4 years

Text

Made for Him - Chapter 2

Updated 2/13/2020

Plot: She was created for the Anti-Christ. Will she be everything he wants or be his worst nightmare?

Author’s Note: HEY GUYS. LONG TIME NO SEE. So I am officially back. With being back, I’m going to go through some of my old fanfics and rewrite some of them. I have wanted to rewrite Made for Him for a while. I’m just not satisfied with how it went. So stay posted and let me know if you want to be tagged.

The world was indeed a strange place.

As the days went by, she began to forget what before was like. Each morning the sun’s light would blind her and pull her from her colorful dreams. Her tongue tasted new foods and her ears heard new sounds each and every moment.

Miss Robichaux’s Academy was filled with dozens of magical girls. They danced around the school to their different classes and lessons throughout the day, barely giving Violet the time of day.

Violet was learning by the day. She learned that clothes were a must when going outside, especially when people were around. The stove could burn when the blue fire was lit. And that everyone thought she had the mind of a five-year-old.

Zoe, a pretty girl with long light brown hair, had given her a light box that sang and had games. When Violet had mastered them in an hour, she had gotten more difficulty and higher-level learning skills. Kyle, a butler in the home with scars on his body, watched over her while he kept the kitchen and dining areas clean. He was different from the albino boys who roamed the halls. He tended to drift closer to Zoe, their fingers grazing one another with each contact.

Violet felt a bond with Kyle. She heard the girl’s whisper about his origins and the people he had killed since he came back. Zoe had said he had a hard time working his brain when he came back too. It made her feel better but only for a little while.

Violet knew she was smart. She was learning new things every day. She just couldn’t show people. Everything matched up in her head but her voice didn’t want to break out. She struggled forming words, only moans and groans coming out. Even writing things down was difficult.

Once, when the iPad told her she failed her writing lesson, she threw it against the wall. Kyle looked up from where he was cooking and frowned. Violet had her fingers pulling her hair, trying to find a way to get the anger out.

Kyle placed the iPad before it. “It’s okay to be angry.” He went back to his work, not looking back to see if she went back to her tasks. But I did.

Miss Cordelia was currently packing her bags while Madison was arguing with her. Violet sat by the window, watching as the girls made flower petals dance in the wind.

“You can’t really be going back there?” Madison stamped her foot as she threw herself onto the bed. Violet had heard stories of how terrible Madison was, a prima donna to all. But since her resurrection, Madison had toned it down, if only a little. So far, the fires that had been started had been on purpose. Well most of them.

“It’s a good way to test Micheal. See where his powers reach.” Cordelia pushed Madison’s feet off the bed. “If he is to be the next Supreme then we should be giving him chance.”

Madison raised an eyebrow as she rolled over on the bed. “You and I both know he is far from being the Supreme.”

Cordelia turned around, closing the door with a flicker of her wrist. Violet wondered if they forgot she was there or just weren’t worried about her sharing their secrets.

“Which is why,” Cordelia’s eyes lingered on Violet. “You will be doing some research while I’m away.”

Cordelia came to stand beside Violet. She rested her hands-on Violet’s head. Violet felt a spark come from these hands. She knew Cordelia was trying to help but the tingle of magic faded before it could dig deep into her brain.

Cordelia clapped her hands making both girls jump. “The plane should be ready.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Violet learned very quickly that she did not like plane rides. The bumps and pressure change made her sick to her stomach. She nearly fell to her knees when her feet were back on solid ground.

California heat was far different from Louisiana heat. It felt dry and rough, making the air in Violet’s lungs burn. But as they pulled up to the Hawthorne school, she knew she wanted to stay outside. As they made their way toward the small elevator, she kissed the last piece of sunlight goodbye.

The school was very dimly lit. Hues of red and black surrounded the walls and rooms. Boys roamed the halls, eyeing the group of witches that entered.

Cordelia brought Myrtle, Zoe, and a small group of girls with her. The girls all wore black robes that held a protection charm. The girls kept in their laughs when Zoe shot them a look. Violet lingered toward the back, wishing she would retreat back into the sunlight. She was never a fan of the dark.

A short bald man greeted Cordelia, a group of boys waiting behind him. The boys watched the girls with a hunger in her eyes she wasn’t use to. The girls looked back with a similar hunger.

Turning her face away, she looked all around her. A square fireplace rested with a burning flame. Behind it was a library stacked with books. Violet found herself wandering into the room, her hands trailing the line of books. She wasn’t that great at reading yet, just breaking past short chapter books. But she loved the feeling of the old worn books, especially the leather-bound ones.

The hair on the back on her neck tingled. Swinging around, she realized she was all alone. The girls and Cordelia were nowhere to be seen.

Violet couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. “Hello?” She called out to the empty air. A voice in her head whispered that she should run.

Worry filled her chest as she peeked out into the hallway. She chose a random one and made her way down it.

The whole school was like a maze. When she turned down one hallway, she only found herself in a similar looking one. So, when a hand grabbed her shoulder, her whole body jumped.

A boy with dark hair and eyes smiled down at her. Three other boys stood behind him, all wearing the same uniform. The dark-haired boy put his arm around Violet’s shoulder. “You look lost. Why don’t we help?”

Violet nodded her head, grateful to have some help. But instead of heading toward the library, they directed her deeper into the school. Should could feel herself being pulled deeper into the earth. The voice in her head seemed frantic now.

The boys tried to talk to her but kept to themselves once they realized she was silent. The dark-haired boy let his hand roam her back, getting lower with each step. Violet tried to step out of the hold but felt him hold on tighter.

As she turned a corner, she felt something splash on her chest. One of the boy’s had spilled a vile smelling drink on her, making her whole outfit sticky and wet.

“What a klutz.” The dark-haired boy grimaced. “Let’s help you get changed.”

She let the boy’s lead her down a darkened hallway and entered the room at the end of the hall. As the door closed behind her, Violet knew she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

The room was barely lit, a single bed occupying one wall. One of the boys took her cloak, throwing it on the floor. Violet looked around at the boys for an explanation.

The dark-haired boy smiled. “Why don’t we get you in something more comfortable?” He directed her to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, Violet looked around the bathroom. There was nothing but a shower, sink, and toilet staring back at her. She took off her top, trying to rinse out the mess in the sink.

The door to the bathroom flew open. She was pulled from it, her body falling to the floor.

The boys had taken their shirts off and were high fiving one another. When they saw her covering herself they surrounded her.

Violet let her fight or flight take over her. Shoving one of the boys aside, she ran to the door. Throwing it open, her face ran into someone’s chest.

When she looked up, she saw an angel.

A blonde-haired boy looked down at her, his face giving a small smirk. He tilted he head, looking down at her curiously. She tilted back, mimicking his manner. This seemed to make him smile more.

Suddenly remembering the boys behind her, she shoved the blonde in front of her. Violet clutched the boy’s back, trying her best to hide her shaking.

“Langdon.” The dark-haired boy laughed. “Join us. We were going to have some fun.” He licked his lips as he stared down at Violet.

Langdon turned to the her, a perfect eyebrow raised. “Is that right?”

Violet shook her head violently, wishing she could scream curses at the boys.

Langdon turned back to them, raising his hand. The boys eyes turned cloudy as they stood up straight. “I think the nice girl would like her clothing back.”

The boys scrambled the clothes together, using their own magic to turn it dry. Throwing them on quickly, she threw her cloak around her shoulders. The blonde whispered in the boys ears as he closed the doors behind them. Violet rung her hands together, her eyes lingering on the door.

Langdon smiled down at her, a sinister look sparkling in his crystal blue eyes. “Don’t worry they’ll be entertaining themselves for some time.” Nodding his head down the hall, he began to walk down. “I think they are waiting for us in the dining room.”

TAGS:

@hplotrfan

#michael headcanon #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #AHS #made for him #ahs apocalypse #writing #fanfic

28 notes · View notes

ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

Birthday Part 1

A bit of backstory to this fic:

So tomorrow (July 15th) happens to be the amazing Aly’s birthday! Seeing as she is one of the most incredible people ever, I decided that I was going to write her a birthday fic.

Of course I had intended for it to be pure fluff, but my evil brain doesn’t work like that. After an hour, I seemed to have 2808 words of angst, with very little fluff. And (despite Aly being the Princess of Angst) I was not sure if she wanted such depression on her birthday.

So, I split the story up! Here is the first bit of angst, and I’ll post the fluffy bit tomorrow. The fluffy bit is purely dedicated to Aly, and I’ll write an incredibly long and gushy post about her tomorrow. However, here’s the first angst and depressing bit - hope it’s okay!

@withrewings

Sirius was going to explode.

It was March 4th, a mere 6 days before Remus’ birthday and Sirius still hadn’t managed to produce anything suitable for his present. He had started drawing in January, convinced that three months was enough for him to create something good enough to give to Remus, but the days had rolled by and suddenly Sirius was left with a sketchbook of half-finished drawings and a looming sense of dread.

He winced, bending back over the page, ignoring the shiny charcoal film covering the side of his hand. His fingers ached from grabbing onto the stub, his back sore from being hunched over the paper for hours, but Sirius didn’t really care. He bit his lip idly, tracing the curls of Remus’ hair, the tilt of his chin, the hollows carved into his back and arms -

“Goddamn it!” With a snarl, Sirius stood, interrupting Marlene’s rant about the Slytherin Girls. He hurled the sketchbook to the ground; the back cover bent with a slight crunch as it hit the floor, the pages flipping open to reveal the sketch he had just been working on. “God-fucking-damn it!”

The others barely looked his way - Sirius’ outbursts were common enough now that everyone had gotten used to the swearing and yelling. It was late at night - they were the only ones in the common room. James bent down, scooping up the book with one hand, eyes still fixed on Marlene. “Go on Marls. What did you say to her?”

“More like what did you do to her,” Dorcas muttered. “No way that girl made it out in one piece.”

Marlene flashed a quicksilver grin. “I hexed her nose off. Completely. Transfigured it into the tiniest mushroom attached to her ugly face. God, they were so mad.”

James let out a laugh, throwing his head back; in the background Sirius noticed one of the twins (Either Fabian or Gideon - the light from the fireplace was dim, and he couldn’t quite pick out the details on their faces) hand a galleon to Benjy, who was sitting on the mantle. “Priceless.”

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. “How long do you have detention for?”

Marlene shrugged. “Detention will last 3 months. But the tales will last forever. I’ll be a goddamn Hogwarts legend.”

“You’re already one,” Lily assured her. She tapped James on the shoulder. “Prongs. Want to give Sirius his book back?”

With a smirk, James held the book out to Sirius, the covers still open to reveal the half-finished drawing. “Oh right. I forgot.”

Sirius snatched the sketchbook back, flipping him off. “Oh, shut up.”

They were all meant to be discussing Remus’ party (Remus having gone to bed ages ago) but the hours had ticked away and they had planned absolutely nothing. Sirius wasn’t surprised - nothing ever seemed to work when everyone got together, except for a whole heap of snogging between Marlene and Dorcas, and James and Lily.

He scowled down at the sketch in his lap, the half-finished outline of Remus, silhouetted against a huge moon, the curve of his spine mirroring the constellations twinkling above him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. “I’m so screwed.”

Lily looked surprised. “Why? That one is beautiful, Sirius. He’d love that.”

Sirius shook his head, violently flipping to another page. “No! This one is...is…”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. She was sprawled in a huge chair, legs dangling over the side; Marlene gave her bare legs a long look before winking at Sirius. “I think this one is pretty.”

“God.” Sirius groaned, slamming the book shut. “It’s romantic. It looks like we’re dating or something.”

Benjy snorted, swinging his feet from where he was perched on the mantle. “Aren’t you already?”

Sirius flipped him off; he could feel blood rising to his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure Remus is straight, Benj.”

“Only one way to find out,” Kingsley muttered; the room erupted in laughter.

“I say,” mused Marlene, “That you should draw him in an intimate position.”

“Maybe with a collar,” Fabian called, “And chains, black leather and fishnets - “

Dorcas laughed. “A gag!”

“You should draw me in that!” Benjy yelled over the laughter. “I’d love to be drawn in collars and chains and black leather fishnet stockings.”

“Oh shut up,” Sirius said. He scowled, staring down at his hands; there was a scar shaking across his index finger where his mother had broken it once. “You guys are absolutely useless.”

“Says the guy without a present,” Lily muttered. Sirius stuck his tongue out at her.

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Look,” he began, “Remus is...Remus. He’d love anything you drew him. Stop over complicating it.”

Sirius spread his arms out wide. “Over complicating is what I do, darling.”

Benjy snorted. “I’d prefer that you do Remus.”

He was definitely blushing now, Sirius could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, spreading over the back of his neck like a flood. He scowled again, running a hand through his hair; it was already wild and tangled, paint and God knew what else caught in the dark locks. “You know what?” he said, then paused. “I was going to say ‘Screw you all’ but I reconsidered because I knew you would turn it into something about screwing Remus. So go eat a bowtruckle.”

He could hear Benny’s voice carry, even as he turned the corner and started up the stairs. “Why don’t you eat Remus?”

Sirius scowled. “Fuck off Benjy!”

Sirius glares down at the paper.

He knew he wasn’t going to give this one to Remus anyways. It wasn’t even the drawing that screwed it up - the paper was crinkled from where he had grasped it, the lines smudged and faded, too intense and too bold. It turned everything into hard lines, points instead of curves, edges instead of sweeps. He knew he was wasting time, drawing something that he would never, could never show Remus but it lessened the tightness in his chest, made it easier to breathe.

He had 2 sketchbooks. The first one had a red cover, and he used it for all his doodles. Pages of simple things: wand tips and goblets, candles and flowers, spellbooks and cauldrons and hundreds of unicorns. He brought that one everywhere, kept it in his school bag, was always doodling in it until the book was finished.

The second book was black, the cover heavy and Sirius always kept this one under his bed, because who wouldn’t know? This book contained everything - a boy on his knees, broken fingers, a single burning piano key. Scars, hundreds of them, rendered in perfect detail, all torn flesh and blood and bones, the lashes seared into his brain. He drew fingers with scar marks and backs with claw marks and even the broken, bleeding figure of an angel with its wings sawed off.

And Remus. This book was filled with Remus as well, all the shattered, beautiful parts of him, all the scars and cuts and marks. He drew Remus crying, and Remus screaming and sometimes he drew Remus kissing him.

He stared down at the drawing now, splayed on the page in front of him. He had hesitated when he drew him and Remus, but once he started he couldn’t stop. The charcoal spilled out of him, bleeding onto the paper, and everything was the same. Two boys kissing, the desperation clear in the clenching of their fingers or the arch of their spine, mused curls and closed eyes and scars like brushstrokes on their skin and Sirius couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

He wondered, sometimes, what Remus would say if he saw him, if he peeked into that black sketchbook, saw every dark crack in Sirius’ heart laid bare. Everyone had their secrets, he supposed. His were just more open than most.

There was a rustling sound from behind him; Sirius quickly flipped the page. It was late at night, the room filled with the sounds of people breathing, dreams spiraling into the air. The nightmare had woken Sirius up, the fractured visions of his parents and Death Eaters, and he had spent the rest of the night drawing, filling up even more pages in the sketchbook. He glanced down and started; the lines he had made were so dark that the colour had bled through the page, leaving smudges and streaks and the delicate tracery of lines carved into the page in front of him. He hastily closed the sketchbook, pulling the red one onto his lap, opening it to a random part in the book. Damn. This one was of Remus too, a idle study of him sleeping, his curls framing his face with gold.

He was about to turn the page again when the curtains on his bed flew open. It was as if his drawing had come to life; Remus stood there, golden curls forming a messy halo around his face, his eyes half lidded from exhaustion. He yawned, running his hands through his hair. “You okay?”

Sirius shrugged. “Sure.”

Remus frowned. “You’re always so closed off. It’s like you’re hiding something. Keeping something locked away.”

Yeah, my love for you, Sirius thought, but he didn’t say anything. He shifted, pulling the covers up around him, focusing on his breathing. Remus shot hi a concerned look.“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.” Sirius’ hands tightened around the blankets. “I’ve been up for awhile.”

Remus regarded him thoughtfully, then pulled the curtains wider. He slid into bed next to Sirius, gently rearranging the blankets until his warm legs tangled with Sirius’ cold ones. “It’s like lying in bed next to an ice sculpture.”

Sirius forced a laugh. Remus was too close right now; he was certain that he could feel his heart pounding. “It’s like lying in bed next to a furnace.”

Remus laughed, the sound warm and rich. God, Sirius could drown in that sound. He shifted over, giving Remus some more room, twisting until his head was tucked under Remus’ shoulder. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the air smelling of wool and pine and clean cotton -

“Shit,” Remus said. “Is that me?”

With a jolt, Sirius opened his eyes; the book on his lap had fallen, the pages splayed open to reveal the sketch of Remus sleeping. He swallowed, hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. “No. It’s the fucking Duke of Alytown.”

Remus punched his shoulder. “Shut up.” With a shaking hand he reached over, picking the book up carefully, tilting it so the light fell on the pages and illuminated the drawing. “Did you...did you draw this?”

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His heart was hammering triple-time in his chest, like a huge drum - he was certain Remus could hear it. “Nope. I just fall asleep with drawings of you on my lap all the time. I actually commissioned Snape to draw this, you see - he would creep into our room at night and - “

“Jesus.” Remus’ mouth hung open, his eyes wide as he turned the drawing back and forth. This close Sirius could see his eyelashes, golden against his skin, so fine that it looked as if they were spun from spider silk. “God. This is beautiful, Sirius.”

“You’re beautiful,” Sirius said, then quickly snapped his mouth shut. Smooth, Sirius. Real smooth you fucktard.

Remus laughed, more in shock then anything. “Me? I’m not...I’m not…”

“Beautiful?”

Remus looked down at his hand. “Yeah.” He pauses, clearly struggling with something; his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk before he continued. “Just look at me. I’m...I’m ruined. I’m scarred all over.”

Sirius bit his lip, hard. In his mind he saw his back, the lashes standing out like lines of silver, raised and thick and livid. He swallowed, hard. “Sometimes the cracks are the most interesting part of a sculpture.”

The barest edge of a smile ghosted over Remus’ face. “But it’s still ruined all the same.”

If only you could see, Sirius thought, If only you could see how beautiful you are, how perfect you’ve become. If only I could draw you the way I see you.

He coughed; with a steady hand he tore the sketch out of his book, handing it to Remus. “Keep it,” he said, then shook his head at the shocked expression on Remus’ face. “It’s yours now. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but I’ll just whip up another drawing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, and a beautiful, dazzling smile raced across Remus’s face, making it look like the sun had coated him in strands of liquid gold. Beautiful, Sirius thought, and his heart gave a painful twist in his chest.

“Thanks Sirius. But I don’t…I don’t need this, you know. All I want is...is you, I guess. Your heart. I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.”

Sirius looked down. “Anything for you, Re.”

He couldn’t stop himself from drawing Remus.

The black sketchbook was open on his lap again, a fresh page blank and empty. His hands were dark, coated in the shiny-grey of graphite, his clothes covered in the stuff. He had been drawing for ages without taking a break, his eyes dropping from exhaustion and yet he allowed the sketch to bleed out of him, splattering across the page.

He was almost done the black sketchbook, had only a few pages left. Usually a book would last him 6 months, but he had filled half the book in less then 3 weeks. It was like he was an addict, thirsting for something he could never have, lightning and thunder and rain echoing through his veins. He couldn’t stop himself now, even as he continued filling the pages, Remus staring up at him from every angle.

Sirius took a shaking breath. It felt like he was underwater, drowning in his feelings for Remus, threatening to blow him apart with every gasping inhale of air. He set the pencil to the paper, letting his mind take over, the curve of Remus’ eyes gradually starting to fill the page.

He remembered the first time he had seen Remus, 5 years ago, standing in the compartment of a train as the sun went down over the hills. He was with James, wild and rebellious because for the first time ever he was free, when the door had opened and Remus had stepped into the compartment.

There was something different about him, even back then, some ethereal way that Remus moved. He remembered how the light had hit Remus’ face in just the right way, casting his features into shadow, making him look like some beautiful bronze statue and all Sirius could do was stare.

There was always some part of him that had loved Remus, but it really hit him in 4th year. He had been playing Quidditch, backlog against the setting sun, and he had looked down and seen Remus in the stands and his heart swelled up and he couldn’t breathe. He knew it then, while hurtling through the sky on his broom, knew he would have given up anything to make Remus happy.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a sharp crack; he had pressed down so hard on the pencil that it had shattered, pieces skidding all over his sheet. Sirius scowled, glaring down at the page - there was a boy on a broom and a boy on the ground, the light hitting them until it looked like a spotlight, wind whipping their hair around them. He swore, staring down at his hands - it was so obvious. All it would take was for someone to look at his book to know what he felt towards Remus. He couldn’t burden Remus with that, the unrequited feelings of a shattered boy. Remus had already been through far too much - Sirius couldn’t heap another load onto his shoulders.

But what if he did? The thought rose up unbidden. What if he did like you?

His mind flickered back, sorting through the memories of the year - the Train, Remus’ hands tight around his neck. The Christmas Feast, sitting together under the cold half moon. January, grasping onto Remus’ fingers, the desperation in his eyes as he began to change. Valentine’s Day, a single chocolate, a whispered conversation. Sirius, I…

“I what?” Sirius had said.

Remus shook his head. “Never mind.”

So many moments, so many hidden touches, and Sirius’ heart was pounding because what if? What if there was a chance?

He was gripping the sketchbook tightly, so hard that the cover was digging into his palms, scoring lines across his palm. Remus had told him what he wanted that night, didn’t he? I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.

“My heart,” Sirius said, out loud to the wind. Slowly, his hands tightened around the sketchbook.

He knew exactly what to give to Remus tomorrow.

245 notes · View notes

chiefnooniensingh · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Hesitate (For You) Chapter 7

Chapter 7: But you can’t love me (anymore)

In this chapter: We meet Rosa's sister. In the present, Alex and Michael find each other a little bit more, but the mystery weighs heavily on Alex’s mind. Then something happens that changes the game drastically.

A/n: This chapter starts out nice but y'all know it can't last. Sorry! And OMG we're halfway!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

The title of last chapter was Here With Me by Daniel Blake. hmd23 guessed by Dido, which I will count as correct, because no one could ever have known I used a different performing artist. Congratulations! (want to know where I got my titles and which music I listened to while writing this? click here)

Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

June, 1929

Rosa’s sister woke up on the day of her 18th birthday, with only one thought in her mind: I’m going to find Rosa’s killer.

Her father had always forbidden her from looking for him, and over the years, she had stopped asking. They had moved on, literally, and started over across the country, away from painful memories. But she herself never forgot.

And now she was a grown-up. And her father couldn’t stop her.

The plans had been laid out for months. She’d been planning it with her best friend, who was not yet 18, but whose mother was more than willing to take the two girls all over the place to look for Rosa’s killer.

That’s one thing the killer never counted on; people who loved Rosa so much they would do anything, go anywhere, to avenge her, even nine years later.

But willing they were, and she had had nine years to build up hatred and pain and vengefulness in her heart. She was certain that if she ever found her sister’s killer, she would not hesitate to kill him. It should probably scare her how easy that thought came to her now. She was raised as a good catholic girl. Thou shalt not kill. But someone else had broken that commandment, someone had killer her sister and had gotten away with it. She couldn’t wait till he met his end and his day of judgement. She needed to know this man was no longer out in the world, killing other young girls.

She told herself she was doing it to protect other girls. It was a good reason.

It just wasn’t true.

Her father sat at the table, looking at her with sadness in his eyes. “Are you sure about this, mija? You can still decide…”

“No. I can’t,” she said as she opened the present her father had gotten her. As the wrapping paper fell away, a compass, a swiss army blade and a length of rope fell in her lap.

“So that you can always find your way home, so you can get yourself out of tight spots,” her father explained, pointing at the compass and the swiss knife. “And,” he said, his eyes darkening and his fingers touching the rope briefly, “this is for him. When you find him. Tell him Rosa said hello.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll be back, papi. And I won’t be alone. We’ll be safe, I promise.”

Her father looked at her, his eyes misty. “You grew up too fast, mija. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this world.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, until the carriage arrived and took her away.

Liz Ortecho looked back at the house she and her father had called him for nine years. Arturo Ortecho was on the porch, waving at them as they drove off. She didn’t know when she would be back, if she would ever be back.

But one thing she did know.

She would not return until Rosa’s killer was gone from this world.

I’m sorry, Rosa.

Present day, 22nd of October, 1935

Alex woke up to soft pressure to his shoulder. He felt warmer, safer and better rested than he had in a long while. His body still ached from the trauma it had gone through yesterday, but his mind was back to normal. Everything was back into focus, sharp.

And Michael was still there, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmured softly.

Alex hummed contentedly. “You stayed.”

“Well, you know. It was late and cold, and your bed is way more comfortable than mine.”

Alex rolled on his other side, looking at Michael’s criminally beautiful face. His dark eyes were sparkling as he ran a hand through Alex’s hair. Alex ran his hand up Michael’s chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers. “That’s why you stayed?” he whispered, leaning close, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart.

Michael chuckled softly. “Well, there may have been another reason.”

“Mmm,” Alex said, closing the distance between them. The kiss was soft, warm and gentle. Alex’s stomach fluttered as if this was their first kiss all over again. Michael ran a hand from Alex’s back down to his leg, hooking it underneath his knee and pulling Alex’s leg over his hips. Their bodies were pressed flush together now, and Alex was in heaven. His hands ran up Michael’s neck into his hair and his fingers anchored themselves into those curls. “Michael,” he whimpered softly, as Michael pressed his hips forward and Alex became very aware of him.

“I know,” Michael responded, a whine in his voice. “But, God, I missed you. I missed this.” His lips nipped at Alex’s between every word, and Alex’s heart positively ached to stay here with Michael forever. To pretend this whole situation wasn’t fucked up beyond belief, to pretend they were still underneath that tree and nothing of the pain and anger had yet tainted their souls.

“Me too, Michael. So much.” Alex rolled Michael onto his back and settled himself on top of him, taking his hands and pinning them above his head and leaning into another kiss. Michael groaned, their fingers entwining as the kiss deepened. “God, I hate this case,” Alex muttered.

“Me, too,” Michael said, but they didn’t break apart. They were drawn together constantly, an invisible force pulling them towards each other, a force that had grown in strength rather than weakened over the past ten years, and it was becoming exhausting to resist it. It was the force that had pulled them together underneath that tree so many years ago. It was the force that pulled them back together on this train. It felt almost…cosmic. Fated.

It hurt his head to think about the cosmos wanting them together, so instead Alex focussed on Michael’s lips and body, exploring every inch. Michael had acquired a few new scars over the years and Alex brushed his lips against every single one. He hated that he hadn’t been there for him, hadn’t helped him work through all the pain.

He regretted more than ever running off to the military after…well, after.

“God, Alex, if you don’t do something right now,” Michael growled, as Alex let his fingers tease at Michael’s underwear.

“What do you want, Michael?” Alex whispered in his ear. He felt Michael shudder beneath him.

“You know what I want,” Michael said through gritted teeth, bucking his hips. Alex pulled his hands away from Michael entirely, eliciting a very sexy, desperate groan from him.

“Then say it, Michael. Use your words for me.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Michael kept his jaw clenched for a few moments, then let out a piteous whine and closed his eyes. “Please, Alex. Touch me, please.”

With a smile, Alex bent his face close to Michael’s, barely brushing their lips together. “Good boy,” he whispered, and Michael moaned. Grinning ferally, Alex slipped his hand inside Michael’s boxers and wrapped his hand around him. Michael let out a drawn-out whine that was absolutely sinful and Alex knew his restraint was wearing very thin.

It was almost like muscle memory. Every flick of the wrist, every tap of his fingers…Alex remembered exactly what the surest way was to get Michael to the edge. Michael’s speech, normally so intelligent and eloquent, was blurred beyond recognition. Alex vaguely heard his own name, but otherwise it was just noises.

Alex pressed his forehead to Michael’s, their heavy breaths mingling between them as Michael’s hand searched for purchase and in the end just held onto Alex as tight as he could. “Let go, Michael,” Alex whispered, and immediately Michael complied. His entire body seized up and Alex was just in time pressing his lips to Michael’s to swallow the scream that ripped from his throat.

“Alex…” Michael gasped out. “Jesus Christ, you’re still amazing at that.” He kissed Alex hungrily, and Alex was suddenly very aware of his own raging hard-on.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been celibate the last decade,” Alex said, pressing his hips against Michael to try and find some relief.

Michael’s grin turned positively sinful as his eyes travelled down Alex’s body. “Well, neither have I.” And without so much as a warning, he flipped Alex on his back and began to press kisses to his chest, slowly working his way down to where Alex’s happy trail disappeared into his briefs.

“Michael, you don’t have to…” Alex began, but then Michael’s mouth was already on him and his words became a long drawn out moan. Michael’s mouth did things to him and good God, the man had gotten very talented indeed. Alex twined his fingers in Michael’s curls and held on tight, the only purchase he could find in this tiny cabin.

Embarrassingly quickly, Alex was at the precipice. “Michael, I…” he choked out, but Michael just went to work eagerly, and Alex exploded so suddenly and so violently he swore he blacked out for a minute. Michael stroked his hair as Alex came back down to earth. “Jesus,” Alex muttered.

Michael laughed, pressing a kiss to his head. “Thanks.”

“You’ve learned some new moves.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, well, 17-year-old me was not exactly knowledgeable in the sex department.”

Alex pressed a lazy kiss to Michael’s lips. “I don’t know. I remember it being very enjoyable.”

“We were both ignorant little shits.”

Alex snorted. “Probably.” He rested his head on Michael’s chest and they lay together in perfect silence, listening to each other breathe and wondering if they ever had to get up at all.

But it was becoming light, and footsteps were heard on the hallway.

They had to come back to earth, to a reality where a murder had been committed and Michael was still one of the suspects.

----

Alex was trying to focus.

It was hard, when outside, crews of work men were yelling at each other as they worked to move the snow out of the way of the train.

He was sitting on a dining car table, his back against the window, his knees drawn up to his chest and his notebook open on them. He had been going over the details for hours now, and at this point, every page was branded in his brain.

Yet he was missing something.

Something was right in front of him, something quite obvious, and he was missing it. He was sure of it.

Groaning with frustration, he slammed the book on the table next to him.

They were stuck in a snowy land of nothing, on a train with only so many places to be alone, and a murder had been committed in a locked room. This should not be so hard as it so clearly was.

Whoever had done it was exceedingly clever.

He stared at his knees as he walked through the case in his thoughts. Rosa Ortecho’s murderer. Murdered in his own bed. Stabbed 16 times. None of the stab wounds make sense. The door was locked. His wife was in there with him but claims to have been under the influence of barbital. The window was closed when they went to bed. The train stopped in Vinkovci around 3. Body temperature suggests that’s when the murder happened as well…

His mind snagged on something, an important detail that he was overlooking, that was preventing him from moving through the rest of the facts of the case. The window was open…

Before he could finish his thought, a scream echoed through the train, so filled with pain and fear Alex was on his feet at once. The thought, possibly the most important thought he would’ve had, vanished beneath his military training.

As fast as his leg would allow – it was still stiff from yesterday’s adventures and this morning…other adventures – he made his way to the cabins, where people were already congregating around Beth Otto’s cabin. She was sobbing violently, her voice pained as she yelled for help. Alex pushed Mimi and Max Evans to the side and clapped eyes on the sobbing girl.

There was a knife sticking from her back.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice behind him exclaimed and he was nearly bowled over by Kyle Vale as the man rushed to get at the injured woman. “Miss Otto!”

“What the hell happened?” Alex asked, moving forwards into the cabin.

“I don’t know!” Beth wailed. “I didn’t see! I was cleaning my cabin and then suddenly I felt this stabbing pain! It was all I could do not to crash headfirst to the floor! When I turned around, they were gone! Please, get it out, get it out!” she screamed at Kyle, who immediately grabbed his surgical gloves and went to work.

While he worked, Alex examined the knife sticking out of her left shoulder. It looked familiar. He crouched down next to Kyle. “Put on some gloves, will you?” Kyle said impatiently. Alex did as asked. He watched closely as Kyle extracted the knife. Beth sobbed louder as it slid out, and as soon as it was completely clear, her shoulder began to bleed heavily. Kyle dropped the knife in Alex’s hands and set to work on keeping Beth alive. Alex sat back, examining the knife at a closer distance.

He knew this knife.

He hadn’t seen it in ten years.

“This is mine,” he muttered, and a deadly quiet fell over the train, as every head turned to him.

“Excuse me?” Beth asked

“This is my knife.”

“Mr Manes!” Mimi DeLuca exclaimed. “Are you saying you stabbed that poor girl?!”

Alex realizes his mistake, too late, it seems. Telling a train full of paranoid people that he was holding the knife that had stabbed a passenger, possibly even killed Mr Bracken, and that that knife was his, was maybe not the best move.

But this knife hadn’t been in his possession for over ten years. “I thought I lost it. It was the first thing I bought just for me.” Everyone was staring at him. “When I was packing for the army, I wanted to take it with me, but…it was missing, couldn’t find it anywhere. I thought my father may have found it and taken it, but now…I’m not so sure.” He raised his head to the group at the door, his eyes immediately finding Michael’s. “Michael?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that I…?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore! Every piece of evidence points to another person! And I had this knife on me last when I – when we – well! How else would it have gotten here?”

“How the hell should I know, Alex?” Michael spat, looking absolutely pissed.

“Did you take my knife, Guerin?”

Michael just threw him a very filthy look and stalked off to the other end of the train.

The silence stretched. Alex was still holding the dripping knife. He didn’t know what to do.

“Can I see that knife, Mr Manes?” Kyle asked, pulling him out of his reverie. Alex handed it over mutely, watching as Kyle studied it as well. “That’s what I thought. This is it, Alex,” he said, handing it back over carefully, “this is the weapon that killed Noah Bracken.”

Alex felt like the knife was burning in his grip.

A faint muttering went through the crowd. In the back, Alex saw his father narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. He could feel the mood shifting, the looks he received full of accusation instead of admiration. He never thought he’d miss those.

He was looking at the knife in shock, still not fully able to grasp the full meaning of its presence. There was only one way it could’ve gotten on this train, and Alex hated every single moment he stood there, holding the knife like an idiot.

“Alex,” Kyle said softly, wrapping his own hands around Alex’s trembling fist. “Alex, let go of the knife now.”

He sounded scared. Alex looked up and glimpsed his own reflection in the side mirror; he was looking absolutely murderous. With that realization came the emotions; fear, anger, sadness and above all, a fiery rage.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that fate had brought the two of them together only for Alex to have to arrest Michael. It wasn’t fair, it’s wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair –

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex barely spared a look at Kyle. He dropped the knife, which clattered on the floor, and positively fled the cabin, leaving Kyle and Miss Otto to deal with the aftermath.

“Michael!” he bellowed, running in the direction that Michael had taken off in. Just as he reached the door to the dining carriage, the train lurched into motion, spilling him through the doorway and sending him sprawling to the floor. Cheers went up in both carriages; the snow was dealt with, and they were moving again. Michael scrambled to his feet, barely registering the pain in his knee as he looked around. Michael was standing by the window, his hands on the windowsill, his back rigid. Alex knew Michael’s body language better than anyone else’s. Someone might mistake him for angry, but Alex saw what was underneath. Michael felt cornered, trapped, and that made him possibly even more dangerous. “Michael.”

Michael’s shoulders tensed even more. “What do you want, Alex?”

“Please tell me it wasn’t you. Give me any other reasonable explanation, I beg you.” Alex didn’t like the desperation that dripped from every word, but he couldn’t take them back. Michael shook his head, his fingers digging into the wood. Alex swallowed, his heart growing cold. “It was you, wasn’t it?” His heart was racing, his blood thundering in his ears, he barely heard Michael’s soft, clipped reply.

“I took your knife, the day you told me you were leaving. I was in pain. And I wanted something to remember you. The knife was right there on the table at the Foster’s ranch. So I took it. I’ve been carrying it with me ever since.” Every word was a stab in the heart for Alex. Michael took the knife. Michael killed Noah Bracken.

“Michael – ” Alex said, his voice constricted.

Michael cut across him, whirling around and glowering at Alex so menacingly that he took a step back. “But I lost that knife the first night. I was coming back from cleaning up dinner, opened my trunk to look at it…and it was gone.”

The tightness in Alex’s chest eased slightly, allowing him to draw a shaky breath. He didn’t dare be relieved. “Michael, I’m – ”

“I get that this case is complex. And I’m sorry for the impossible position I’ve put you in by holding on to this thing between us…but you were so ready to think I did it. Why?”

“The evidence – ”

“Bullshit!” Michael yelled and Alex winced, his heart breaking. “Any and all evidence in this case is circumstantial at best! We both know it! It’s why you haven’t managed to pin anything on anyone! So why?! Why me?!”

Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t justify himself, maybe he shouldn’t have to, but this was Michael. Michael was asking and Alex couldn’t deny him anything.

“So why don’t I make this easier for you, Alex! We’re done!” Alex felt as though something was tearing out his heart with a grapefruit spoon. His eyes filled with tears. “This…whatever this thing is…is over! We’re finished!”

“No, Michael, please…” He reached out to touch Michael, to plead with him, to please don’t do this.

But Michael threw him off, nearly spitting with anger. “No! Go away, Alex! I don’t love you! Go!”

Alex stared into Michael’s face as tears streamed down his own and even though it hurt tremendously to even stand here, he had to hold on. Michael’s eyes were filled with tears themselves. “You’re a miserable liar,” Alex managed to croak out, and then he spun around and ran out, before he broke down completely.

#malex #malex fanfic #malex ff #rnm ff #roswell new mexico #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #a disaster bi and a chaotic gay #what could go wrong #otp:I Don't Look Away #my fanfics #my rnm ff #my malex ff #motoe au

12 notes · View notes

themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years

Text

The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

“And in the end, we were all just humans… drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

-20 Months Before-

After one glass of Jack Daniels, neat, Dean Winchester felt the familiar warmth. He felt the fog rolling off the water first thing in the morning. It was a comfort, an old friend.

After two glasses of Jack Daniels, neat, he felt tingling in his arms down to his fingers. It was the way his body felt during a concert when he stood too close to the speaker. He could feel the base booming through his veins.

After three glasses of Jack Daniels, neat, he almost forgot about the jagged scar down his knee and Tiny Tim’s walking stick that leaned against the bar. Almost.

“I should cut you off.” The pretty brunette bartender said after serving him the fourth glass of Jack Daniels, neat.

“But you never do.” He slurred just enough, and shot her the best smile he could do when he was feeling so down. It wasn’t impressive, but he was handsome and weathered, and that was exactly her type.

“I’m Lisa.” She said, leaning in.

“I know.” He pointed at her name tag above her left breast. “I can read.”

“It would be appropriate to tell me your name.”

“You don’t want to know me, Lis.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Why not? Because you’ve had a bad time of it? We get a lot of Vets in here. I know the drill.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You get a lot of Veterans, but yet you still don’t know to leave us the fuck alone? You’d should move along, sweetheart, you don’t know shit about war.”

“I had two older brothers die while in service. I know a little about it.” She said, flatly as she wiped down the bar top.

“Shit.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. He was an asshole. He was a crippled asshole.

“You all think that you own your pain, I’m just telling you that there are people who get it. There are people who could help you.”

“What? People like you?”

Lisa laughed and shook her head. “Me? Fuck no. You’re attractive, but you’re an ass.” She said, handing him his tab. “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready.”

After his accident everyone walked on eggshells with him. They did worse than that most of the time. Most of the time they avoided him all together. It was nice to be called out, because she was right. He was an ass, and he was wallowing. He pulled out some cash from his wallet and laid it down, deciding right then and there that he would be good enough for her one day. He had to be, because the alternative meant that he would be his father, and he would be damned if he ended up anything like John Winchester.

-19 Months Before-

“Lisa, the guy is here again.” One of the wait staff from the bar said.

She rolled her eyes and ate the last bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He was like clockwork, every day. “Dean.” She said when she reached the bar.

“Shit, am I late?”

“Late for what?”

“Your break. You usually take it at this time and well…” He held up a paper bag. “I brought you dinner.”

She eyed him. “What’d you bring?”

“Bacon cheeseburger. It’s my favorite.” He shrugged, handing her the paper bag. “You can have it, anyway.” He stood up from the stool.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked, eyeing him, the bag in her hand.

His green eyes met her brown ones. “I was just here to drop that off.”

“You’re not going to stay?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not ready, Lis. I’m only going to ask you out when I’m good enough for you.” He leaned on his cane to take the pressure off of his bad knee. “So for now… take the burger as a peace offering.”

He walked to the door and opened it. “Dean?” She called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned toward her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He nodded and pushed into the night.

-18 Months Before-

Dean brought Lisa dinner every night that she worked. He brought her doughnuts and coffee when she worked the day shift at the bar, and quickly learned her food preferences. The more he went to see her, the less he felt the self-loathing that plagued him.

He brought in her turkey bacon club with extra guacamole and spicy french-fries from the local place on the corner. He pushed into the bar. “Hey, Lance, where’s Lis?”

“She told me to have you meet her out back.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. He expected at some point that she would be sick of him, and he sighed, gripping the bag. He pushed too hard. He walked through the back door to find Lisa sitting alone at a single table with two plates, and a glass of water in front of her and the other empty seat. “Lis?”

“Hey, Dean.” She stood up with a smile. “Are you ready yet?”

“What?”

“You said you had to wait until you were ready to ask me out and well… I decided that I’m ready. I got you a bacon cheeseburger, and I was wondering if you’d want to have dinner with me… for real this time.”

Dean smiled a bit and nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

-16 Months Before-

“Dean, babe, wake up.” Lisa said quietly. He sat up, sweat covering his chest, back, and face. Lisa’s hand was over his heart. “Your pulse is racing.”

“Sorry.” He exhaled, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart. He clamped his eyes shut. You’re okay. You’re okay.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No... I…”

“It’s okay.” She assured him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She placed a kiss on his jaw. “I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”

But he would never be ready. He still saw the look on Charlie’s face. How wide her eyes got. How she was laughing right before.

“You’re seriously telling me you have no one at home? Even I left some ass behind.”

“You’re vulgar.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“And you’re a prude, Winchester.”

Dean shrugged with a laugh. “I’m not, actually. I just don’t have anyone at home.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Maybe it isn’t a girl… oh my god, Dean are you gay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Christ, no. I am not gay.”

“It’s okay if you are, you know. I am.”

“I’m aware.” He grinned.

“I’m just surprised, I guess. You look like a fucking supermodel. Your face is perfectly symmetrical. It’s kind of creepy. You really don’t have any girls coming after you?”

“Hey, my face is not creepy.”

She laughed. “Deflection. Nice, but yeah it is kind of creepy.” She poked his cheek. “You don’t even look real.”

Dean always expected that being buried alive would be the thing that would haunt him forever, but life was funny like that. Life was real fucking hilarious, and he was the butt of the joke. It wasn’t the child size coffin, or dirt in his lungs that haunted him. It was something else altogether.

The smell of burning flesh. The sight of Charlie’s arm off her fucking body. His knee completely twisted so his foot was facing the wrong direction. The sight of her empty expression looking up at him from his lap.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad, you’ll be okay.” He pressed his hands to the space where her arm used to be. They always teased her about being pale, but fuck she was so pale. “I’ve got you.” He kept whispering. They were alone. There wasn’t a medic. There was no one. Just Dean Winchester holding Charlie Bradbury as she died in his arms, bloody and alone.

“I’m here, Dean. I’ll always be here.” Lisa promised, hugging him tightly. Dean wished that people wouldn’t make promises, because there was no way they could be kept. Charlie died, Lisa left, and he was broken. He probably always would be.

-18 Days After-

“Lisa.”

“Oh my god.” She murmured, her eyes immediately spilling over. “I thought… This whole time I’ve been so terrified. I thought you were dead.”

“Not dead.” He said blankly. It was like he was shot back into time, back into her bed, into her arms.

“I’m so glad.” She exhaled quickly, running around the coffee cart. She wrapped her arms around his neck before he could stop her. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

He instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back. As bad as things ended between them, he was glad that she was okay, too. “Where’s uh…”

“Greg is gone.” She said quickly.

“Gone?”

“He left after Ben was born.”

“Ben.” Dean said slowly, trying out the name on his lips. He felt sick to his stomach.

“That’s my son. He’s beautiful.”

Everything crashed and burned. My son. Dean let go of the hug. “I’m glad you’re okay, Lis.” He said before turning on his heels and walking right back to Sam, leaving her standing alone next to the coffee cart.

“Where’s the coffee?” Sam asked. He was sitting with his back against a tree with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“The what?”

“You good?” Sam asked, eyeing him.

“Lisa is here.”

“Wait, like your Lisa?”

Dean nodded quickly. “Yeah, she was running the fucking coffee.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed. “What are the fucking chances?”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“She hugged me.”

“And?”

“And her boyfriend dumped her after she had the baby. Ben.” Dean said quietly. “Fuck, I never thought I’d see her again.”

“But you don’t want to be with her, right? You’re with Emerson.”

“Right.” Dean said with a nod. “I want to be with Em. Shit, this just surprised me.”

“I’ll say. Relax, dude, just tell her you’re not available, and don’t drink her cool aid. It’ll be okay.”

“Right.” Dean said again, his heart rate finally slowing back down. “Just brought back some shitty memories.”

“Maybe you should sit down?”

“Yeah.” He lowered himself to a seated position. “Have you seen Em?”

“She’s still with Phel getting settled. I hope they’re getting some rest.” Sam said, elbowing his brother. “We should get some rest, too. This is the safest we’ve been in day’s. We should take advantage of it while it lasts.” Then Sam closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

Dean was exhausted, but sleep was reserved for the guys that weren’t juggling an ex-fiancée and a childhood love in the same fucking camp.

****

“My hair looks fine.” Emerson swatted her sister’s hand away. “Quit Trying to braid it.”

“Please! You haven’t washed it in days.”

“Neither have you!”

“Yeah, but you can’t tell because of the braids! Just let me do the front. Dean will love it.”

“You don’t know what he’d love.” Emerson complained.

“You’re right.” Pheli put her hands on her sisters knees. “What does he love?”

“It’s all so new, Phel. Am I crazy to try to start this during all of this? During the fucking end of the world?”

“If not now, then when?

“The next life?” Em offered weakly.

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“Everything. I could lose everything.”

“You’ll only lose everything if you let him see your nasty hair.” Ophelia teased. “Now let me braid the front!”

“You are terrible at pep talks.”

“Or am I really good at them?”

“Whatever just braid it before I change my mind.”

****

Benny sat by the fire as it licked up toward the moon. His acoustic guitar sat on his knee. “Say you’re leavin on a seven thirty train and you’re headin out to Hollywood. Girl, you been givin me that line so many times it kinda gets like feelin bad looks good.”

Dean laughed and Benny nodded at him.

“That kinda lovin turns a man to a slave. That kinda lovin sends a man right to his grave.” Garth joined in, singing off key, just like old times.

“I go crazy, crazy, baby I go crazy. You turn it on, then you’re gone. Yeah you drive me crazy, crazy, crazy for you baby. What can I do, honey? I feel like the color blue.” Benny and Garth sang together. They sounded like a pair of coyotes howling at the moon, but it reminded Dean of when things were good.

“Is this what is was like?” Sam asked him, leaning against the tree.

“Was what like?”

“Your deployment.”

“Kind of.” Dean said with a smile. “Sometimes.”

Castiel joined in, strumming on his knee completely off beat. He waved Dean over, and Dean finally rolled his eyes and walked right up to the group. “You’re packin’ up your stuff and talkin like it’s tough, and tryin to tell me that it’s time to go. But I know you ain’t wearin nothin underneath that coat.” Dean sang with his gravely voice, his boot on the stump next to Benny.

“Crazy, crazy, baby I go crazy...”

Dean’s eyes locked with Emerson across the camp as she exited Castiel’s tent. Pheli had braided her hair out of her face, but the rest spilled down her back. Her flannel was tied around her waist, and his breath hitched in his throat when she reached up to stretch and the space between her shorts and her tank top met the firelight.

“I need your love, honey, yeah. I need your love.” The men harmonized, without Dean. His mouth was completely dry. She did that to him, caused his head to spin, like nothing else in the world mattered at all.

Garth handed Dean a beer. “They’re far and few between.” He winked. “But we’re celebrating, right?”

“Right.” Dean exhaled, his eyes still on Emerson as she walked toward the fire.

“Dean!” Lisa said, as she jogged over to him. She had an infant in her arms.

He swallowed hard at the sight. Holy shit. “Lis.” He breathed, her name barely a whisper.

“I wanted you to meet Ben.” Her eyes flickered up to Sam’s. “Oh, hi Sam.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Lisa.”

“It’s nice to see you, Sam.”

“Likewise.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Look at him.” Dean said, distracted by the child’s chubby cheeks. He had Lisa’s dark hair and her lips. His tiny thumb was in his mouth as he sucked away. He didn’t notice Lisa snake an arm around his waist to bring Ben closer. “Wow.”

“He’s incredible.” She agreed.

Little Ben gave a sleepy sigh and a few baby babbles, causing Dean’s heart to squeeze. He never let himself admit how much he wanted that. Not until he almost had it. He loved Lisa, and he loved her pregnant. When he left he knew it would be better. He wasn’t made to be a father, but that didn’t mean he didn’t secretly wish for it in the deepest parts of his soul. “Hi, Ben. I’m...”

“Dean.”

His eyes flickered up. “Em, hey.”

The Maklen twins stared at him. When they were young he used to think they were creepy. There was always something creepy about twin girls, especially when they stared at him. He stopped thinking that, the older he got, but in that moment Ophelia had a murder look in her eyes and Emerson’s jaw looked tight. “Uh, Em this is Lisa...”

“Lisa.” Emerson repeated.

“Yeah, uh Lis this is Em my...”

“Friend.” Emerson said, smoothly. “Our sibling’s are dating.” She added quickly. “This is Ophelia.” She tapped her sisters arm.

“Nice to meet you.” Pheli said with equal parts aggression and sugar. She was good at that.

“I was just helping her over to Sam since she hurt her ankle. I’ll see you guys later.” Emerson said before turning away.

Dean stared at her and didn’t stop her as she walked away and sat on a log right next to another guy who was sharping a blade. He pressed his lips together and just watched.

“Dean you fucking idiot.” Phel hissed. “Go after her.”

He watched her lean in to him, asking questions about the knife, he assumed. Friend. Our siblings are dating.

“I think I need to lay down.” He said, offering Lisa a weak smile. “See ya later, Lis. He’s a cute kid, really.”

“Thanks.” She said, looking confused as he made his way back to the tree that he and Sam were using for camp.

He looked at the full beer in his hand that Garth gave him. He stared down the neck of the bottle before pressing it to his lips, and welcoming the warmth. It wasn’t Jack, but he’d be happy if it helped him sleep. Anything to quiet the noise in his head, and blank out the image of some other guy’s baby in Lisa’s arm, that guy’s hand on Emerson’s thigh, and the life draining from Charlie’s eyes.

—————

Chapter Fourteen

Get caught up!

Tag List:

@purpleskiesandcherrypies

@hanaissupergirl

21 notes · View notes

rootbeergoddess · 6 years

Text

Yellow Brick Road

Finally, I have finished @durin-the-deathless21 ‘s fanfic! This is my first trans self-insert story so please let me know how I did and what you think about it. Warning: contains some sexy stuff. I’m still doing writing commissions so if you are interested, shoot me a message!

“This movie is weird.”

“Hush.” You said while leaning against Yondu. “You also say that about every movie we watch.”

“Yeah, but this one is the weirdest.”

“Be quiet, Yondu.”

“But it is!” Yondu sighed. “And I don’t get why the Lee Bee Tees on your home planet like it so much.”

“Yondu, it’s LGBT,” You corrected him, “and people like it because Oz is a wonderful place filled with accepting people. Unlike Earth.”

Yondu was silent but he wrapped an arm around you and continued to watch the film. Dating a Terran had been interesting for him. You were a lot like Peter; you loved music, made references to Terran culture, and was always talking about Terra. You also introduced him to these things called movies. They were very popular back on your home planet, apparently. You had shown him some of your favorites like Toy Story, Moana, and Shrek. He liked those well enough. This Oz movie was okay, but it was a bit weird. Sad for Yondu, it was one of your favorites.

“I still don’t get it!” Yondu sighed. “Why doesn’t this Dorothy girl just kill the witch?”

“She doesn’t have any powers.”

“But them shoes are magical, so why doesn’t she just explode that dumb bimbo’s head?”

“Yondu, don’t call the witch a bimbo and Dorothy doesn’t know the shoes are magical, yet.”

“Why?” Yondu was getting frustrated.

“Because it’s about the journey! Now hush up, I’m trying to watch.”

Yondu grumbled, but then went silent. He rubbed your arm as the movie continued. He wasn’t really paying attention since he was more interested in you. God, he really scored big. Cute, funny, and a great fighter; he wasn’t sure why you stayed with him. He was a mess. But he wasn’t going to complain.

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. When you didn’t react, he gave you another kiss. You tried to push his face away after two more kisses. Beneath your fingers, you felt him grin. Of course, he was being annoying on purpose. Sighing, you pushed him away again as he came in for a fifth kiss. This didn’t stop him. He took your hand in his and started kissing your fingertips.

“Knock it off,” You demanded. “I’m trying to watch.”

“You’ve seen this flick a dozen times,” He said, placing a kiss at your wrist. “C’mon, give Daddy some sugar.”

“Stop,” You tried to get your hand back, but failed. “And stop calling yourself Daddy; you know I hate that.”

“How come?” Yondu kissed up your arm.

“Yondu, stop it!”

This was one of the issues of dating him; he was a lot stronger than you were. Now normally, you could fight him, but you were relaxed and tired. You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to just chill out.

Despite trying to push him off, Yondu was able to pin you to the couch. You told yourself you weren’t going to let him have his way. He always did this. If he got bored, he would start trying to be all suave and romantic. No, it wasn’t going to work this time. It didn’t matter if you could feel his cock pressed against your leg. Nope, that didn’t matter. You were not going to let him get away with being stupidly sexy tonight.

“Get off.”

“Nah,” Yondu went to kiss you, but you dodged his lips. “Oh, ye playing hard ta get? I like that.”

“Off,” You tried to push him off once more. “C’mon, we’re missing one of the best scenes.”

“Nah,” He repeated, kissing your neck. “C’mon now, give us a kiss.”

“If I kiss you, will you let me finish my movie?” You asked with a weary sigh.

“Possibly.”

Sighing again, you let Yondu kiss you. Originally, you had thought a man with such jagged teeth couldn’t possibly be a good kisser. Boy, you had been wrong and thank god for that. Yondu kissed with a fiery passion every single time. Every kiss left you breathless and hungry. This kiss was no different. You closed your eyes as Yondu’s tongue slid into your mouth. So much for being firm.

With your eyes closed, you deepened the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his back, caressing his broad shoulders. Your body tingled as his hand reached up your shirt. His hands were roughed and scared, but you savored each touch he gave you. When he pulled back from the kiss, you were already breathless and your face felt hot. But you smiled at him.

“I have a feeling we’re not going to finish this movie tonight.”

“Nope.”

Yondu stood up, then grabbed your hand and pulled you up. Waggling his eyebrows, he scooped you up into his arms. You wrapped your arms around him, not wanting to fall. Sometimes, you forgot how strong he was. People would underestimate Yondu which was always a mistake. He wasn’t young but he could hold his own in a fight.

He reached the room you two shared. The door opened and then shut behind you as Yondu kissed you. Once more, you felt fire in his kiss. He took you to the bed, all the while still lip-locked. Your heart was going crazy inside your chest. The longer you kissed, the more your body began to ache. It was demanding to be touched, to be satisfied. Every single time you two would begin foreplay, you would quickly become desperate.

Yondu pulled back from the kiss and started the process of removing his clothing. Sitting up, you removed your shirt. For a while, it had been hard for you to be naked around another person. You had some scars due to past surgeries. They weren’t massive, but they were there. Yondu didn’t care. Like many Ravagers, he was covered with scars. He wore them with pride. The first time you had been with him, you had spent hours just running your hands over the scarred tissue.

Undoing your pants, you kept your eyes on Yondu as he continued to undress. You couldn’t help but stare when you saw skin. Yondu didn’t have what people considered a perfect body, but he wasn’t out of shape. He had a bit of pudge, but his arms and legs were all muscle. People underestimated Yondu and that was always a mistake. While he preferred to use his arrow, Yondu could knock out an opponent if given the chance.

“Watcha lookin’ at, sugar?” Yondu had noticed you staring.

“You, of course.”

“I am a fine specimen ain’t I?” Yondu flexed a muscle.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a dork,” You chuckled. “Hurry up and get naked.”

“Yer being demandin’.”

“Well, you’re the one who wouldn’t let me finish my movie and got me all horny. So hurry it up.”

Yondu removed the last layer of his clothing before joining you on the bed. His eyes were glued to you as he crawled towards you. He pulled your pants down when he reached you and your face turned red as he saw your erection. Yondu grinned as he ran a hand down your length through your briefs. You bit your lip and shivered slightly. Gripping his shoulder, you pulled him down and met for a kiss. Pressed against you, his cock rubbed against your briefs.

This was another thing about Yondu you were always in awe of; his cock. He was the perfect size, but it was the way his dick looked that you found interesting. It had some slits on the side and the tip was pointed. You had originally been worried when you two had sex for the first time, but your fears had vanished afterwards.

Yondu nibbled at your lips before his tongue traced your lips. His hands roamed your body, running through your hair, and going down to your lower back. The passion began to build, heat spreading through your body. While you enjoyed Yondu being dominant, you decided you didn’t want him to have all of the fun. You reached down with a small purr and firmly squeezed his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Yondu panted.

“Like that?” You asked.

“You know I do, darlin’,” Yondu breathed. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You started slowly stroking him. Yondu moaned and you felt him become harder in your hand. His cock, unlike human cocks, would glow when he was aroused. It also felt warm, like it was pulsating with heat. Giggling lightly, you kissed his lips while your hand went faster. Against your lips, you felt Yondu moan. His eyes were closed and he was biting his lip to restrain himself.

“Oh, god,” Yondu bucked his hips. “You ain’t playing fair.”

“Pirates don’t do fair.”

Yondu grabbed your hand on his cock. Then, he grabbed your other hand and pinned them both above your head. Heat rushed to your crotch. God, you loved this side of him. When he was in charge, he just oozed sex appeal.

“Who's in charge here?”

“I am.”

“Keep this up, I’m gonna have ta punish ya.”

“Oh, really? How would you punish me?”

Yondu growled as he roughly pulled your underwear down and released your pinned hands from his grasp. Once you felt his hand on your cock, you arched your hips up to press into his hand more. Your cock rubbed against his hand and Yondu’s smile grew. He kissed you as he started moving his hand up and down your shaft. You smothered your moans against his lips. Desperate to be closer to him, you tightly held onto him.

His hand stopped stroking your cock and, for a second, you considered demanding him to continue. But your protest was silenced when you felt his dry finger probing your hole. You clenched your toes as you grabbed hold of the sheets. Ever so slightly, you arched your back. Every single part of your body was on fire. Pleasure was running through your veins as Yondu teased you. Your cock was engorged at this point and demanded attention.

“Baby, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me,” You finally said. “Oh, Yondu, please! I need you so badly right now!”

“That so?” He chuckled. “You want me ta fuck that nice lil’ hole of yours?”

God, his dirty talk was always such a turn on. How did one man know how to talk so filthy? Either way, you loved it.

“Yes! Please, Yondu? Please?”

“Since yer being so polite, I guess ol’ Yondu can fuck ya.”

Yondu got situated between your legs, grinning like the Cheshire cat. After using lube and his fingers to thoroughly prepare you, he gripped his cock and lined it up with your anus before gently pushing in. It was tight for just a minute, but then he filled you up and stretched you perfectly. Panting, you gripped his shoulders as he slowly started thrusting. Again, you were in awe of his body. You could see the muscles on his form, taught and well formed. You could have just stared at him all night, but there was no time for starring.

You groaned as his hips snapped forward. God, he felt great. He started out painfully slow, enjoying the look of desperation on your face. Whimpering, you pushed forward only to have him grab your hips. Once more you whimpered, but Yondu just chuckled.

“Ya gotta be patient, darlin’.”

You didn’t want to be patient. You wanted him now! You wanted all of him and you didn’t want to wait. But Yondu was in charge. He was going to make sure you earned it. Yondu captured your lips with his, his tongue immediately searching for yours. Again, you tried pushing forward only to have him use his body to pin yours down firmly, so you couldn’t try to move against him again. His dark red eyes bore into you and you felt like he could see into your soul.

“What did I say? I said ya gotsa be patient.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you are.”

Yondu grinned, showing his pointed teeth. He propped his weight off of you before he thrust forward and moved one of his hands to your cock. He began to slowly rub your length, sending jolts of pleasure running through your body. Oh, god, this felt amazing! The pleasure was overwhelming, filling you to the brim and making you feel like you were going to burst. Gasping, you were unable to say anything. It was all too much, making your brain empty of all logical thought. All that was left was ‘fuck’ and ‘more between your moans and small whimpers.

Yondu watched you writhe around beneath him. You could read his face. He got off seeing you helpless. There was something he liked about seeing you like this. It really boosted his ego to see you bend to his will. But it was fine by you. You’d be his toy any day of the week. All you wanted to do was please him. It was like a drug. The happier he was with you, the more content you were; all you wanted was his approval, to make him smile, to make him aroused.

“How does it feel, sugar?” He asked.

“Good. So good. More?”

It was becoming harder for you to speak full sentences. You could feel that familiar feeling in your balls. Yondu felt you twitch in his hand, making his grin grow wider. His teeth shined as he smiled down at you and squeezed your cock. You felt like you were drenched in sweat, your body was rocked with heat. Yondu’s hand squeezed again, making you moan loudly. There was a tremble in your balls. No, why was it coming so early? Couldn’t you make this last longer?

Yondu’s teeth on your neck brought you back to the moment at hand. He licked upwards and then kissed your lips harshly. You grabbed at his back and your nails scratched over raised scars as you felt your cock twitch. There was a tremble in your balls as he continued fucking you. No, you weren’t going to be able to last. Panting, you held onto him for dear life as your orgasm came. Yondu fucked you through it until he followed suit. He pressed his head against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“Damn, that was good,” He said with a happy and content sigh.

It had been good. It was always good with Yondu. Yondu was crass and rude, but he made you feel amazing every single time.

“So good,” You felt a bit wobbly. “Amazing.”

“Did I tire ya out, dollface?”

“A bit,” You said. “You also got me dirty.”

“Yeah, but I betcha you loved it,” He said with a grin as he moved to lay beside you. “Besides, we can take a shower.”

“I suppose-” You paused. “Yondu?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Do you love me?”

Yondu blinked before turning to face you

“That was random,” Yondu replied. “Yes, I do love ya. Love ya a lot in fact. Why ya asking?”

“I just--I don’t know. I sometimes feel a bit scared this is all going to go away.”

“Aw, not this again,” Yondu wrapped an arm around you. “Baby, I promise I ain’t going anywhere. You don’t ever have to go back to Terra.”

The two of you had had this talk before. Terra was a place you never wanted to go back to. Despite your family living there, you didn’t want anything to do with them. There was always a fear that you would have to go back. It was a terrifying thought. Your family had always been very rigid and conservative. When they had found out that you prefered dressing like a boy, all hell had broke loose. It was a nightmare just having to wake up and deal with them. There were times where you regretted telling them anything. You had been begging for an escape for years.

That was when Yondu came.

Like an angel coming down from the heavens, he had brought his Ravager ship to Earth. Many people had been scared of the Ravagers, but you? You found them fascinating. How many people got to say their town had been visited by space pirates? Not many! Plus, Yondu was technically a hero. He had saved the galaxy alongside the guardians. He had almost died, too. How could you not be interested in that?

So, you had snuck out of the house one night and found his crew in a local bar. At first, you had just stared at him. How could you approach someone so confident? Then, he had noticed you. You were terrified for a second. Would he think you were weird? To your surprise, he asked you to join him and his men. At first, you didn’t know if you should. As exciting as space pirates were, they were still pirates. But Yondu looked inviting. As strange as he was, as alien as he was, there was something about him that you were drawn to. Before you knew it, you had spent all night with him; talking about his various adventures in space.

Then, he asked if you could ever go with him.

You hardly had to think about it. As soon as you got home, you snuck upstairs and began to pack. Once you had your suitcase ready, you joined Yondu.

“Does it scare you that much? Possibly going back home?”

“Yeah,” You sat up, sighing slightly. “I hated my family, I hated my home. It was so unforgiving.”

“But you love the vastness of space, eh?” Yondu sat up, and leaned against you.

“Yes,” You said with a small smile. “It’s because I can be whoever I want and no one can tell me otherwise.”

“That’s how life should be, baby,” Yondu grabbed your face to make you look at him. “Y/N, you’re your own person and you always will be. It doesn’t matter what other fuckers say.”

Smiling, you kissed Yondu. Never did you think you would be this happy. Travelling through space with a man who adored you. A man who treated you like you were the most important in the entire galaxy. A man who would do anything for you. How did you end up with someone as wonderful as Yondu? You would never know. You did know that he was all yours and that you were all his. It felt nice to belong to someone.

“When did you get so romantic?”

“When you get to be my age, darling, you realize life is boring unless you have someone to spend it with. Took me awhile to learn that lesson,” Yondu kissed you back. “Travelling the galaxy with a bunch of smelly Ravagers gets kinda stale.”

“Yondu, that's your crew. Be nice to them.”

“I don’t hafta be nice if I don’t wanna. ‘Sides, it’s true. None of them fuckers know how to use a shower properly.”

“Lucky for you, I know my way around a shower,” You said as you stood up. “C’mon, baby.”

Yondu grinned as he followed you towards the bathroom.

#Rootbeer Writes #Guardians of the Galaxy #Yondu #Yondu Udonta #Self Insert #Trans Reader #Yondu x Reader

61 notes · View notes

valkyrie-echo · 6 years

Text

Project Echo, Part 1: Chapter 5 (Safe)

Part 1 Summary: A long-buried Hydra disaster, a monster in the shadows, a missing child. Eight months after the events of “The Winter Soldier”, Bucky turns himself in to the Avengers on one condition: They must help him find a girl snatched off the streets by Hydra seven years ago. In their quest, the Avengers accidentally unleash a horrifying creature of darkness and shadow, intent on making their quarry its prey.

[Edited 05/03/19]

Chapter 5: Safe

‘This is going to end badly’, Steve groaned as Sam's question was finally answered- Natasha's mysterious way onto the SHIELD plane mid-air was via one of Tony’s suits.

He wasn’t have been happy about his parent's killer coming to the Tower, but he'd given Natasha a way to bring him in faster than any jet… Or he knew a jet would have been easier to get Bucky inside than forcing him into one of the claustrophobic, form-fitting metal contraptions.

Three white suits and one red were open at the back, awaiting passengers. Steve could guess what Bucky was thinking as he edged back towards the door to the facility: the suit helmet closing around his face would be too similar to being in the reprogramming chair.

‘Stark's a monster.’

Natasha walked around Bucky and stepped straight into the red suit. It folded around her and, once the suit backing was secure, she turned, "It's this or ride with SHIELD."

At that Bucky froze. To him SHIELD and Hydra were synonymous.

"I swear you'll be alright," Steve said.

After a moment, Bucky stepped forward into one of the white suits. It wasn't as smooth as Natasha's entrance- he was shaking, nervous, and he had to fight with his metal arm to get it inside. The moment the suit closed behind him Steve and Sam removed their extra gear and set them inside a large case off to the side of the suits. SHIELD would be sending their duffel bags to Avengers Tower directly.

Steve stepped into the white suit and shivered as it folded around him. He had to focus on keeping his face neutral- Stark had cameras inside every suit and a "Blackmail" folder filled with pictures of the Avengers. He wasn't giving the man any more ammunition.

Foam cushions lining the inside of the suit expanded to match Steve's body shape and secure him. The screens in his helmet activated to show a digital map of Kazakhstan and an outline of their flight path.

JARVIS’ voice filled his ears, "Welcome Mister Rogers to Remote Suit 17. Please relax your muscles fully while the suits take you on an automated path to Avengers Tower. Flight time is one hour, seventeen minutes arriving at 6:54 in the afternoon New York time. May I interest you in an in-flight beverage?"

A straw popped up under his chin.

"No, thanks," the straw vanished and the suit slowly moved Steve's arms into position for takeoff.

"It may interest you to know that you are in Master Stark's new line of medical assistance suits," Steve half-listened to JARVIS as he felt the shudder of takeoff. On the monitor the suits began to move faster than he’d thought possible, "He sent these suits for you so that I may run medical and mechanical diagnostics in-flight. I am equipped to run basic blood tests, monitor vital signs, brain waves, complete full-body x-rays, as well as stitch basic wounds. I am also equipped with a small selection of medication."

Steve's interest was piqued, maybe Tony wasn't such a dick after all, "How's Bucky doing then? What kind of shape is he in?"

"Mister Barnes has an elevated heartrate and is currently displaying physiological signs indicating mild hallucinations. Preliminary results from my blood analysis indicated dehydration and chronic malnutrition. I am administering fluids to begin correcting this issue as well as a low dose of sedatives to put him at ease."

"He's not going to be alright with you giving him shots," Steve warned, "he'll try to break out of the suit." He was willing to bet a fall would kill Bucky.

"There are currently twelve needles in you taking medical readings and administering medication," JARVIS sounded smug.

Steve was amazed. He hated to admit it, but Stark was a genius, "I think I get now why Tony didn't send a jet…"

"What, you thought I sent the suits to be a dick?" A channel opened and Tony came through the helmet speakers. "Maybe you thought I'd be tempted to crash Barnes' suit into a mountain? OD him on the drugs? Turn off the air filters and suffocate him?" He chuckled, "Rogers, your heartrate just shot through the roof. Relax, will you?"

"Stark- if you don't want us back at the Tower I'll understand," Steve was nervous, "We can go somewhere else-"

"You hate me that much? I'm touched."

"Natasha told you what he did… I'm just saying-"

"-we have dinner plans, you're all included in that," Tony cut him off. "I don't know how I feel about all of this, but I won't make a move against Barnes while he's in your custody. If that changes I'll give you a 10 minute head start."

"That's-"oddly mature, "really nice of you."

"Don't get all sappy on me Captain Tight-pants. I'm not heartless, I saw the chair. Besides, if I don't make peace with you then Natasha said she'd find someone else to play with Barnes' arm during the operations."

"What?" JARVIS' hadn’t mentioned anything about surgery.

"Uh, duh? That arm's wrecked, in case you didn't notice. JARVIS is giving me a scan of it right now and the entire thing needs to be removed. Your boy toy wasn't built for that. I mean, I hate to say it but the craftsmanship is impressive- it's a vibranium alloy exoskeleton with Adamantium inner lining- I didn't know there were enough of either of those to make a toothpick, let alone an arm. They have it patched into his nervous system too- seriously hardcore science- but the inner mechanics need to be totally gutted. It's too old and too damaged. Those sparks? That’s the neural interface shorting out... Damn, that’s gotta hurt like a bitch..."

Steve shook his head, "So just take off the arm- isn't there a release switch somewhere?" granted, he was a bit behind the times when it came to technology but he was fairly certain it was still more common for prosthesis to be removable.

"It's a single unit," Tony countered, "grafted to his skin directly." There was a ping as a new scan popped up, "Jesus Christ…"

"What?"

Tony was silent long enough that JARVIS chose to answer, "Evidence in the scar tissue around the shoulder plate as well as x-ray data indicates there was a struggle during the installation of the mechanical arm."

"He was awake, Rogers, when they grafted that thing onto him," Tony looked away from the scans as he got an earful of incredibly colorful 1940s swear words.

When Steve was finished he was an entirely new kind of angry, "Did JARVIS tell Bucky about the operation yet?"

"Operations, three or four. No- he didn't tell him."

"Good, can you open a channel to his suit and keep quiet?"

Stark forced a laugh, "One of those will happen, the other is a fool's hope."

"Whatever."

JARVIS chimed in, "Mister Rogers, I have opened a communication line."

"Bucky? Can we discuss something before we get to the Tower?"

"What?" Bucky was emotionless. JARVIS had said he was having hallucinations, but nothing betrayed that.

"Your arm, it's pretty badly damaged…"

Steve couldn't think of what to say. Bucky thought he was finished so he replied, "I'm aware."

"We have someone who can fix it, but to do that the entire thing will need to be removed, then replaced."

There was a soft, sharp gasp as Bucky realized what that would mean. He remembered how they'd installed it in the first place, it was something he could never forget, no matter how often they'd wiped his mind.

"Hi, mechanic here," Stark’s attempt at silence didn’t even last five minutes, "he forgot to mention the part where we sedate you throughout the entire process and I install it so you have extremely limited discomfort that should go away. It hurts when you move, right? That's because they put it on half-assed. When I'm done it'll feel just like your other arm."

"I have to find her," Bucky insisted, "I can still fight. I'll follow orders, I won't make another mistake. Don't make me go back to the chair." He sounded so frightened that even Tony felt sorry for him. "I'm sorry I went with them, I'm sorry I failed your test. Please, Director Pierce, I won't disobey again-"

"Bucky- we aren't Hydra. Pierce is dead, you escaped and you're free."

Tony watched his monitors as Steve talked Bucky down. His heartrate eventually slowed to a more normal pace and his tired, fractured mind moved on, "Kid, this girl, it'll be a week of intel gathering, right?"

"Probably," Steve answered instead, to give Bucky time to cool down, "he gave us ten days Tony, that's the agreement we came to."

"Ten days… Well, even if we found this 'her' in the next five minutes we'd still need a plan of attack to get to her and find out if she's guarded or whatever. It'll be a bitch, but based on Steve’s healing abilities I’d say it's do-able within four days. The arm itself will take longer, but I think within a week I can have you outfitted with a new shoulder plate and a basic fight-ready arm, deal? A week to get you into fighting shape, then we'll get her. The entire time the rest of the team will still be on the case."

After a moment, Bucky sighed, "Do I have your word?"

"Kill me if I'm lying, Champ,” Stark evidently didn’t understand Bucky would take that as an invitation

"Understood."

"OK, he's scary," Tony closed Bucky's channel.

"He has a right to be, you know."

"Well, I'm still glad Pepper's not going to be here while he's coming in. Did Romanov fill you in on the dinner plans?"

"Yeah, and I'm going to owe her a lot of money. It's probably safer to keep him occupied right now before he decides we're Hydra again. These episodes… I don't know how we'll keep him in the building through the night."

"His head is scrambled, it'll take some time. Hydra controlled him for so long he doesn't know how to steer his own ship. He'll be all over the place… By the way, who's this 'her' I just promised to find?"

"I can handle it-"

"So can we. Spill."

Steve appreciated his insistence. He was physically and mentally exhausted by the hunt for Bucky and fresh help was a massive relief, "Let's do all that after dinner. I still don't totally follow and he won't tell me much until he sees he can trust me."

This was the longest they'd ever had a civil conversation. It felt strange, "How much do you think he remembers? JARVIS just got me his brain scan- the scarring up there is no joke. He's been shocked way too often… Frankly it's amazing he's not an even bigger wreck. Or a vegetable."

"It's hard to say. He couldn't remember what happened to the girl, but he knew which bases to get the files from. We've got paperwork suggesting he killed her five years ago- and we know he's been in the chair at least a few times since then. Obviously something's bleeding through but not everything."

"Wait- his 'her' is dead? Great, he's going to kill me."

"He remembers me, but I don't know to what extent. He was at the Smithsonian exhibit a few months ago. Both long and short-term memory are on the fritz, but he's so obsessed with this case it's hard to get a solid read."

"I'll pass the issue on to Thor," Tony offered, "see if his highness can shake up some Asgardian voodoo to help clear out the cobwebs."

"Alright Stark," Steve sighed, "you're being pleasant and helpful."

"So?"

"What do you want?"

Tony laughed, "This isn't me begging, it's gratitude. You're bringing me a new toy to play with. When I'm done his new arm is going to be so fucking-"

"-just fix it. No new gadgets. Functional is all we want. When Bucky's better you can ask him about upgrades, but that's it. He barely agreed to come in as it is- don't overwhelm him."

"Fine, Captain Ass-hat."

"That's better."

---

The flight to Avengers Tower passed without further incident. They landed precisely at 6:54, as promised. Steve felt better than he had in a long time as the suits released their passengers- until he saw Bucky and was reminded this was no time to let his guard down.

He had work to do.

Another mission.

Bucky kept to the side as the Avengers retrieved their gear from the trunks. He scanned the massive stone balcony and eyeballed the outdoor kitchen as if the grill was hiding an enemy. The sunset was reflected in the eight story tall glass wall before him and Steve suppressed a shudder- the light playing across his friend's face made it look as if the fires of Hell were illuminating him.

To Bucky's fried mind that could very well be the case.

He looked a little better thanks to JARVIS- there was some color in his face and the tremor in his hand was barely noticeable, but he was weary and unsure. The Winter Soldier was stone cold and lethal, the Bucky whom Steve had known was sassy and kind- but this man?

This man was lost somewhere in limbo between the two. He was hoping for an attack because then at least the world would make sense for a moment.

"The top floor is Natasha and her- and Clint Barton," Steve knew they were a couple, but somehow referring to them as boyfriend and girlfriend seemed weird, "next floor down is Tony, then Bruce Banner, Prince Thor, my place, and Sam is third from the bottom, on the guest floor. If you stay, then one day you could be there too."

"I want to find Echo," he said automatically.

"We will," Sam had no idea what Echo was, he was only playing along because Steve looked exhausted, "I promise. But after we find Echo you and... it-?” he looked to Steve

“Her.”

"-her, the two of you can stay here. Or not- if she's got somewhere else to go-?" Sam turned to Steve once more, but he just shrugged.

"For now you'll stay on my floor Buck," Steve said, "I've got a guest room, it's nice. Safe."

Bucky didn't reply, he just started walking towards the wall of curved glass.

Sam patted Steve's shoulder and retrieved his wing unit and duffle from the trunk, "He'll come around, just give him some time to figure out he's not in danger anymore. I'll work with him while he's here. Cases like his- well there are no cases like his- but I've still helped a few POWs in my time."

"Thanks Sam, I really do appreciate everything you've been doing. It's way more than I should have asked of you, and I'm sorry for being such an ass."

"If we walked into that Tower right now and found out that Riley was alive and on the run, you'd find a way to help Bucky and me at the same time. It's what friends do, man," he clapped Steve on the back.

Natasha caught up with Bucky and opened the balcony door, "This is a good place.”

"I tried to kill you."

"Yes, you did," she said, "and I tried to kill you right back. How many people do you think Hydra made you kill?"

Bucky's face was a mask, but his eyes were sad, "I don't know."

"I killed forty-three for the KGB. Most I don't even remember the names of and that's just the designated targets. Not security guards, assistants, drivers, or civilians who just got in my way. The only difference between you and me is that I was aware of what I was doing. I got to swap my black hat for a white one. If I can turn into one of the good guys with the bloodbath in my wake, so can you."

"How?"

"Accept that nothing you ever do will make up for what you've already done. Then ignore that and try anyways,” she winked and headed into the Tower.

Steve caught the door just before it closed, "You alright Bucky?" He didn't reply, but he walked inside and waited for Steve to lead him on.

The lobby of Avengers Tower was huge. The wall of windows ran the entire length of the building and provided a bright, welcome entrance complete with couches, a recessed bar, and a handful of televisions. Doors off the back wall had silver plaques noting 'Labs', 'Medical', 'Gear', 'Training', and 'Meeting Hall'.

What Bucky's mind registered was very different from what Steve and Sam saw.

Windows: Quadruple-paned, 80mm high velocity round minimum. Clear shot from south end staircase to northern entrance. Floors: Steel, 2cm padding, 1 cm carpeting. Walls: Likely steel reinforced. Hairline seams indicate recessed security features. No visible cameras, most likely tied to lighting. Facility is too protected for direct assault.

Recommendation: Lure outdoors and terminate with extreme prejudice.

He shut the line of thought down as soon as he realized what he was doing. He didn't need a plan of attack, he needed to know escape routes if they turned on him. Every level above was sealed off, but the balcony jutted out from the rest of the building at least twenty feet. From the helicopter pad where they'd landed he could probably hook his human arm, swing, and throw himself at an angle that would allow him to grab on to the building below as he fell.

The probability he would die with his metal arm fully operational was 78%, without use of it the escape route was suicide. Odds of fighting his way through to the main tower and getting out via the front door had a 12% probability of succeeding.

He'd seen in worse odds. Or, at least, he thought he had…

Going with his instincts gave Bucky odd flashes of something akin to memory. If he tried to grasp at it he knew he'd forget it and be lost again. He was living on the waking edge of a nightmare. It felt like being chronically motion sick. The Hydra memories- even his simple assessment of the Tower, made him nauseous.

"I'm on the fourth floor," Steve prompted. He pointed to the stairs on the far end of the living room as Natasha and Sam headed up, "Just keep going up until-"

"I'm not turning my back on you," Bucky growled. The man had been pushed back once again and the Winter Soldier was holding the controls.

Steve hesitated at the hard look in his eye. He felt a phantom twinge from the scar in his lower back (not ass as Sam insisted) where Bucky shot him eight months prior, "Alright, that's fine. Come with me," he led Bucky over to the step up into the short hallway that hid the wide spiral staircase.

He was slow in his movements as he climbed. Steve winced at the soft hiss of JARVIS spraying air freshener in their wake.

"Natasha-"he opened a line on comms after passing an air vent that blew Bucky's stench his way.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour and a half. Tony sent Dum-E up to help Bucky clean out the arm and shower. Pepper had an intern run out and grab some new clothes for him. He's got a few changes to pick from for now, he'll get more tomorrow. Tell him to put everything he's wearing in the bag marked 'incinerate'. Everything. Shoes too."

"Thank you," Steve wondered, as always, if Natasha was a mind reader.

"I'm not a mind reader, you're just predictable."

"I'm predictable?"

"Extremely," Bucky snapped back to attention and thought the question had been for him.

"In a good way," Natasha clicked off the comms and Steve stopped on a large landing. He directed Bucky to a simple white door with a miniature of his shield in the center.

"All of our doors are marked with our symbols, so if you ever forget which floor is mine, just look for my shield, alright?"

Bucky nodded and Steve opened the door for him. When Stark Tower was partially destroyed by Loki, Tony re-built it as Avengers Tower with the team in mind. Steve was impressed by his generosity, but even greater was his appreciation when Stark designed their floors with each Avenger's personality in mind.

Steve's apartment was by and large open with his kitchen, dining room, and living room exposed to the front door. Along the back wall were his bedroom, guest room, study, and a glass-walled gym. As far as wallpaper, furniture, and carpeting were concerned Tony had the crews bring in what he referred to as Nursing Home Chic- to Steve it was the perfect reminder of his own time- simple, not too flashy, and homey.

What Bucky saw was that from any point in the room you had a clear eye line to every door. It wasn't safe, it wasn't secure, and if the gym was any indication then the outer "walls" were nearly as window-heavy as the balcony side of the building (mercifully there were some actual walls there).

He tried not to look at the handful of pictures on the walls as he made his assessment. They made his vision flicker and his stomach roil even more. He couldn't remember who that group of soldiers was, it wasn't allowed. It would only hurt more…

"My room is there," Steve pointed to a far door, "You are in the guest room," he pointed to another further down, "there is a bathroom in there, and clean clothes. A robot is inside to help clean up your arm. At eight-thirty," he indicated a clock on the wall, "we'll go upstairs for dinner and discuss finding Echo, alright?" Bucky only nodded, "Get cleaned up and just put what you have on right now in the red 'incinerate' bag. Anything you don't want to keep, that is."

"Understood," automatically Bucky went into the dining area and retrieved a chair. He carried it to the guest room and closed the door firmly. Steve heard the lock and bolt, then a soft thud as Bucky braced the door with the chair.

He sighed and went to his own room to get a shower before dinner. Bucky was all over the place. Steve expected something more like when he'd found him in Red Skull's base the first time- instant recognition and relief. He still had to convince his own best friend he wasn't there to torture and control him.

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Natasha came through comms softly.

"Psychic."

"Worry-wart."

---

A robot with the name "DUM-E" inscribed on it was waiting in the bathroom with a wire brush and full array of cleaning solutions.

It moved quickly once Bucky sat on a short wooden stool and removed his layers of jackets and shirts. Dutifully he put everything into the red bag. He had nothing he was worried about keeping- no sentimental tokens were allowed to a piece of Hydra weaponry.

The guest room was nice- really nice. Nicer than even the ones in the expensive hotels where he'd executed foreign diplomats. The bed alone was at least four times the size of the bedroll Hydra gave him and there were thick blankets on it. A large television took up a chunk of the wall by the door, there was a reading chair and desk along another wall.

Try as he might, Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book.

Between the dresser and closet he had enough clothes to last him four months on the road (meaning two sets of clothes). They'd even given him pajamas for the first time in his life.

He didn't remember the last time he was permitted new clothes and the street clothes he'd been trading homeless people for were the first things he had ever worn that weren't black leather and Kevlar-plated. These were new, clean, well-made, and durable. The blankets on the bed were a rare commodity for him to come by- he was definitely grabbing one of those when he made his escape.

Bucky was grateful for the robot's assistance as it cleaned his arm. The failing condition was largely due to the fact that he was never allowed to clean it himself and had no idea how. The most he’d done since fleeing Hydra was run a bit of water over it.

He gawked at the bathroom as DUM-E worked quickly and efficiently, moving his metal arm as little as possible. The sink, mirror, and toilet were nothing new- though the fact that the toilet wasn't made out of metal was reassuring.

Once, at Hydra Facility Moscow in the dead of winter, the base heating units had blown. Deep in the underbelly it got cold enough that he could see his breath and a few of the soldiers guarding him lost pieces to frostbite. He showered normally, but then made the mistake of sitting down on the toilet and ended up literally freezing his ass to it. The guard who found him sitting there, trying to pry his skin away from the metal, pointed and laughed- until Bucky lunged at him and broke his neck. Explaining away the chunks of skin on the toilet seat was almost as painful as the wound itself.

After half an hour Dum-E chirped and dropped the brush into a bucket of rust-red water. It wheeled itself out of his way.

Bucky stripped his lower half and wasted no time climbing into the shower- something he’d found himself anticipating as the robot cleaned. The first splash of hot water was nothing short of euphoric.

After a life based around cold, hard brutality he couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed a hot shower. Most of the time Hydra sent him to the prisoner cells where he stood with them against the wall, naked, and a cold hose was turned on. It stung and bit at his flesh, but if he made any motion or sound he'd be punished.

This couldn't be more different.

It was as hot as he could want, the water falling on him felt soft somehow. Finally scrubbing the grime and sweat from his skin made him feel like a different creature entirely- maybe even human.

Bucky washed everywhere he could reach with a hard scrubbing brush and then, just because he could, he went over the same areas again with a soft washcloth. Dum-E reactivated when he was ready for it to scrub his human arm and back for him. After that Bucky washed his hair three times for the hell of it, relishing in the tingling sensation as grease, gore, blood, and dirt left his matted scalp.

The bottles in the shower were all neatly labeled, but that didn't mean Bucky knew what they were for. The last time he'd been given more than one kind of soap to wash his body and hair was probably before even his time as a soldier outlined on the walls of the Smithsonian- and he had a sneaking suspicion (Steve could confirm) that even before everything Hydra did to him he wouldn't have known what the fuck 'Conditioner' was for. 'Shampoo', 'Body Wash', and 'Face Wash' were easy.

He held the bottle up to Dum-E and stared the robot down, willing it to answer him. JARVIS answered via the shower speakers instead, "That is to be used on pre-washed hair and rinsed out completely. Might I suggest, given your current state, that you use the entire bottle?"

Bucky decided that he liked conditioner. It made his hair slippery and worked out the tangles enough that he could push it back from his face without getting his hand caught. It also took forever to rinse out, so he got to enjoy the hot water a while longer. There wasn't much time left on the bathroom clock before eight-thirty, but he wanted to stand under the water for a few more minutes at least.

With a happy sigh, he closed his eyes.

---

She was strapped to the table with a large tube taped over her mouth. Her arms were bound above her head. She was completely and wholly unable to defend herself.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and cut paths through the dried blood. She was shaking, sobbing, and even screaming as he lifted the pitcher of near-boiling water to the funnel at the opening of the tube.

He hesitated at the sight of the steam swirling in the air. His heart ached for what he was about to do to her. If only she'd just done what he’d asked… His handler grew impatient and grabbed Bucky's elbow, jerking it up so that the liquid sloshed into the funnel. Her screams turned to horrific gargles and her body thrashed so violently the cuffs sliced into her wrists and ankles.

He heard a pop as she dislocated her own arm. His handler only chuckled.

---

Bucky jumped out of the shower and crashed into Dum-E, sending him flying across the bathroom floor and into the guest room.

He had to find her, had to save her!

Bucky yanked the jacket, jeans, and shirts out of the closet and threw them on the bed before he remembered his promise.

These people were the only chance he had at finding her. He'd been trying for eight months, he let them catch him in Astana just for this purpose.

He had to keep the deal. He did more by staying than by running.

Hesitantly, he turned back towards the frantic robot trying to follow him with a towel. With it secure around his waist, Bucky retrieved from the heap on the bed a t-shirt, jeans, and underclothes.

As he picked them up the memory faded away and he was left confused- what chased him from his warm shower? Why was his heart racing so fast? He went back into the bathroom alone and closed the door to preserve some of the warmth and humidity, completely oblivious to the cause of his shaking hand.

---

"Stark, would you grow up? He's already on edge, you're going to set him off!" Natasha was only one of many criticizing Tony's decision to arrive for dinner in full Iron Man armor.

"Not to fear, Tony Stark! I shall protect you should the need arise," Thor teased.

"You let him bring the hammer along," Tony pointed at Mjolnir sitting on a coat hanger. "What's the big deal? You didn't see his scans practically flashing 'CRAZY'! I don't plan on being slaughtered when that sets him off!" he pointed to a small wooden box sitting atop the hammer.

"Nonsense! As I have said, it-"

"Can we stop arguing?" Banner already had a headache and if the other two kept it up, a migraine was inevitable.

"As you wish, Doctor Banner," Thor backed down immediately. He'd actually been raised with manners (admittedly it was only in the last few years he was using that training).

"Look, I'll sit across from James, that way if he does freak out at least he can't kill me," Banner offered.

"And I shall sit upon his left! That is where the mechanical arm is situated, is it not?"

"Correct," Natasha filled them all in on what she knew about Bucky's capture, torture, and manipulation by Hydra. Thor was the most sympathetic- Jotuns had done very similar things to captured Asgardians during their previous wars. He'd hoped once that Loki had been a victim of similar manipulations. Unfortunately, as Tony put it, his brother was 'Just a gigantic male reproductive appendage' (at least, that was the gist of it).

Clint was carrying the first hot plates of food to the table when Steve knocked on the door, "Someone get that!"

Banner and Natasha went to help him as Thor answered the summons. He clapped Steve and Sam on the shoulder as they entered, but merely stood aside for Bucky. The man was glaring as if he were a breath away from slaughtering them all.

"Stark, take it off or I'll break your arm," Natasha called pleasantly as she laid two bowls filled with garlic bread on opposite ends of the table.

"Fine, evil wench," Tony mumbled as he stepped out of the suit. A grape came out of nowhere and smacked him in the back of the head, "OW, CLINT!" the man had fucking bat ears.

"Don't be such a baby," Hawkeye popped a second grape into his mouth.

Banner set a massive bowl of mashed potatoes down and came over to the group to help break the tension (since he was physically the least imposing), "It's good to see you again Steve, Sam," he shook their hands and held his out to Bucky, "You must be James Barnes. I've heard a lot about you."

"You're lying," Bucky said.

Sensing trouble, Banner stepped back.

"I am Prince Thor of Asgard and I know next to nothing about you!" Thor violated every rule of how to approach a mentally unstable super-soldier (according to Tony there was just one rule: Don't) and quickly lifted him into a traditional Asgardian warrior's greeting.

Or, as they said on Midgard, he scooped him up and gave him a bear-hug.

Bucky's disgruntled fury when Thor released him was almost comical, in a run-for-your-life kind of way. Steve saw wrath burning in his eyes and held up a hand to keep Clint and Tony from approaching. The corner of Bucky's nose twitched into a snarl, then slowly eased.

"I'm Clint Barton," Clint decided it was safer to wave, then went back to bringing out food with Natasha.

Tony stayed by the wall.

It was easy to tell himself he was alright with all of this once he understood what Hydra put Bucky through, but to have his parents' murderer in front of him was proving to be another beast entirely. Something about seeing his face- the malice written all over it- he could only manage a nod when Bucky looked over.

Tony felt guilty for not using the suit to turn the Winter Soldier into a real ghost... and he felt bad for considering it.

"That's Tony Stark," Steve filled Bucky in, "he built this place. He's the one you talked to in the suit."

Something clicked in Bucky's frayed memory, "Stark… Howard Stark?"

"My father," Tony found his voice.

"I killed Howard… He- he was my friend… I killed my friend…" there was an incredible amount of pain in Bucky's voice.

The James Barnes Hydra killed had always looked up to Howard- admired his engineering before going to the military and after he decided to become the Howling Commando’s tech guru.

"Natasha said the Winter Soldier killed my family," Tony cleared his throat and looked away, "that's not you, right?"

"I hope not," Bucky's voice was barely audible.

"Yeah, me too."

"Boys? Dinner's ready," Natasha came over to Bucky, "You're at the south end of the table." She patted Tony's arm as she passed him, "You're at the north."

"Thanks," Tony took a seat as far from Bucky as he could.

Clint liked to cook, it gave him an outlet for his stress. Fortunately for the Avengers he'd been very stressed while Natasha was out hunting a psychotic assassin who'd already shot her twice. The dinner he prepared had everything: mashed potatoes, broccoli, garlic bread, coleslaw, baked beans, fruit salad, actual salad, and at least two pigs worth of baby back ribs smothered in barbecue sauce.

After months of fast food and pizza it was the most beautiful thing Sam and Steve could imagine. Thor, who'd never actually seen or smelled the dishes before was calculating his plan of attack and praying for even a fraction of Volstagg's enormous appetite.

"Well? Eat up!" Clint said.

The Avengers all began to fill their plates, but one by one they noticed that Bucky wasn’t moving. He sat between Steve and Thor with his hands in his lap, looking dead ahead and trying to only take slow, shallow breaths to avoid so much as smelling the feast before them.

His stomach rumbled and he shifted uncomfortably, but made no move to take any food.

"Bucky? What's wrong?" Steve didn't understand why he was so frozen. Was it another episode? His scans showed he was starving, he looked like he was starving.

"You were not permitted to dine in this manner?" Thor’s question was mostly rhetorical.

"I am only allowed what is brought to me in my holding area," Bucky repeated automatically as if speaking to one of his handlers. "Accepting food or drink in any other setting will be punished with two weeks of zero-rations. I am content with what I am given. I-" he seemed to come back to himself and sunk a little lower in his chair.

"You were starved if someone gave you food?"

Bucky's nod was almost imperceptible, "Even milk… Director Pierce liked to test me by offering me milk."

"What did you do on missions? The past eight months?" Sam jumped at the chance to get answers from him.

"No food on missions, only water. Since Hydra… I hunted or stole, only what I absolutely needed. Nothing more, I swear," he took a few hard breaths and his stomach groaned again.

"It's alright," Thor stopped him, "we are your allies James Barnes. Your foes spent much effort and time turning you in to something you are not. We are your friends. Eat as much of as many foods as you desire. Prove to yourself that you are no longer among enemies." He dropped a large scoop of mashed potatoes onto Bucky’s plate.

"If it helps," Steve added a slab of ribs, "that's an order."

Bucky was starving, despite his misgivings.

Months on the run, fighting, the mental strain of handing himself over to these people- it all took its toll. After the first small bite of hot food he couldn't stop himself- he ate as quickly and as freely as possible. Hydra fed him mostly protein to retain his muscle mass, but otherwise they kept him lean, hungry, and ready to strike.

Now he had the freedom to eat his fill without punishment (unless they were lying and he'd be locked in a cell with no food again). The thought made him hesitate mid-bite. He stared at his fork in horror.

"No trials," Thor nudged him, "you have the word of the Crown Prince of Asgard."

When Bucky tried the baked beans he had a brief, fleeting memory of something before Hydra.

He remembered cold nights in the mountains of Europe huddling around a fire and eating beans out of a tin cup, laughing and smiling with Steve, Peggy Carter, and his Howling Commandos. She and Steve would slip away to chat sometimes and he'd do his best to keep the men from sneaking along to spy or tease.

Here, in this strange place, he had a brief glimpse of that again- family and friends. They weren't the Avengers- they were the Howling Commandos, just in a new time. Did Steve even realize what he'd built? Did he look at Thor and see Dum-Dum Duggan? Did Banner remind him of Montgomery Falsworth? Was Clint Pinky Pinkerton in a new body? He'd even found a Stark for his new family.

Banner coughed softly and grabbed his water for a sip.

When Steve glanced at him he tilted the glass ever so slightly in Bucky's direction. Steve looked over in time to see Bucky's small smile as he cast an eye down the table.

His grin, then Bucky's, was obvious to everyone.

---

It was over dessert (rhubarb, apple, and chocolate pies) that Bucky's arm finally shorted out for good.

Throughout dinner, whenever he forgot to hold it still, the others could hear a grinding noise. Over the course of the meal it seemed to grow louder, and Bucky had trouble hiding his pain. As he moved to put his napkin on the table, there was a sudden chugging sound, he doubled over in pain, and an explosion of sparks set Thor’s shirt on fire.

Without even making a conscious decision to move, Tony was up and whistling for the suit to come over. Thor jumped back and moved his chair out of the way so that Stark could carefully extend the now-limp arm away from Bucky's body.

"JARVIS, give me a framework, highlight everything damaged as well as the power supply."

Bucky looked away as more sparks shot from the metal. He ground his teeth together against the sharp twinge in his shoulder socket and the pins-and-needles feeling from the arm itself.

The framework that appeared over the arm showed nothing but damage. It was more extensive than Tony thought- and he'd already decided the arm was trash, "Hey champ?" he waved and Bucky looked back over, wincing as the shoulder moved, "I can't fix this tonight and you promised we could do what we needed to repair the arm, do you remember that?"

It was only a few hours ago but in his condition…

"I-"Bucky frowned, then nodded, "I think so," he rubbed his head, "it's getting quieter in here…"

Tony glanced to Thor.

"Alright, well, I'll call the doctor and get him in here first thing tomorrow, but for now are you alright with me draining the power source in the interest of fire prevention?"

They lost Bucky again for a moment, but at least it was brief. His eyes twitched, his breathing became more rapid, then just as quickly it faded, "I have to find her."

"See all this red?" he indicated the scan, "you just lost the ability to move this arm at all. We've got time to fix it before we find the girl."

"You're no good to her if you're trying to learn to fight with just the one working arm," Clint said. "Let's get you taken care of now so you can get to her later."

Again, Bucky hesitated.

"Tony, go ahead," Natasha stood and came over to their end of the table, "while he's working, why don't you tell us about Echo? We'll all help find her."

Tony snapped his fingers and jumper cables came out of the suit. He began bending and twisting Bucky's arm to find seams in the plating for the wires to fit through. Between the vibranium outer skeleton and Adamantium interior it was no easy task.

Bucky watched him for a while, weary of another shower of sparks and spasm of pain, "I never knew her name, or where we captured her… They reprogrammed me so often I-I just don't remember…"

"What do you know?" Clint prompted.

Bucky's eyes were unfocused and far away, "Hydra keeps you hungry, thin. They don't waste food on prisoners… Even so, she actually gained some weight in the torture cells."

"She was malnourished?" Tony asked the question to distract Bucky as the jumper cables found their in and began to move on their own to attach to the power supply.

"When he ordered her starved she responded slowly- she was used to being hungry. She was skin and bones when we found her."

"From a third world country- that kind of skin and bones?" Natasha asked.

"Homeless," Bucky countered. "I took her from a city." A cold buzz ran up his metal arm. The remote suit pointed a hand away from the table and activated thrust to burn the battery’s energy, "When I took her it was winter. It was so, so cold, but even I was more protected than she was. There was so much snow it was hard to see her..."

"Most likely the far north. Add in the snow, maybe near a large body of water?" Clint looked to Natasha, "A country would help, but it's a start."

"Race?" Steve asked. It might get them a little closer.

“White.”

Banner leaned across the table, “Why did Hydra want her?”

"I was supposed to make her an asset- something about her was special. There was some ability they wanted, but their normal recruitment techniques… The chair might have had a negative effect. We were expressly forbidden from using electricity when we broke her…"

"We know they had a stockpile set aside for blood transfusions." Sam looked down, "Hydra kept you as an assassin, so what exactly was your role in 'Project Echo'?"

"Torturer," Bucky shivered, not only because of the power draining from his arm, "Beatings, starvation, drowning, freezing, burning, skinning, chemicals- it worked, eventually… But we broke her too much to be of any use."

"Who's 'we'?" Steve said.

Bucky frowned, tried to force the memories to sharpen, but he couldn't quite grasp it, "I don't remember. He was... worse than Pierce.”

“What did you mean when you said you broke her too much?” Banner asked.

“It came out of nowhere. Something happened, she- something about her body. A sickness?" With a soft clink, the cables fell out of his arm. It was finally dead. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he slumped back into his chair.

"James, can I ask you one more question about this girl?" Clint said, "How old?"

Bucky looked down and murmured something.

"We can't find her if we don't know what age we're looking for. How old? My age?"

"Younger."

"Twenty?"

"…Younger."

"Eighteen," Clint was very protective of kids. He'd even clashed with Fury over SHIELD Academy recruiting 16 year old scientists.

"Younger," Bucky couldn't meet his eyes. A single tear slid down his cheek, "It’s hard to say because of how malnourished she was. Either way... a child."

Clint swore loudly and Bucky flinched. Steve hurried to diffuse the situation, "We'll find her," he promised both men, "quickly. I promise."

Except Steve knew she was already dead.

"I did- I did terrible things. You have to find her. I have to make at least one thing right."

"We'll do what we can, but-"

"NO!" Bucky was working himself up again, "No! You don't understand! I stopped him from killing her, I stopped fighting their programming, all to protect her. The things they did to make me forget- to punish my failure… They hid her away, but kept her alive. I have to get her out!"

Sam and Steve were the most surprised of the group. They’d always assumed she was dead.

"We'll find her," Clint's voice was hard. A child had no place in Hydra, no matter how old she may be or what she might have done since Bucky last saw her.

"Without a means of identification I cannot seek aid from Heimdall, but if you do recall her name I will ask my friend for his guidance. There are none in the Realms who escape his gaze."

Sam's mouth fell open, "Are you telling me we've been looking for Bucky for eight months and-"

Thor nodded, "If you had but asked I would have been pleased to pass your query on. It would have taken seconds."

"I blame you," he pointed at Steve.

Bucky ignored them, "I've tried so hard for so long to remember who she was. The chair took everything away."

Thor clapped Bucky on the back, "I have something which may help with that," he raised two fingers and Mjolnir lifted slowly. It came to him as if cautious of the small box resting upon it.

The Avengers waited patiently- only Steve and Sam didn't know what was in the wooden box. Tony inched away and JARVIS kept the suit close to its master. When Mjolnir arrived he set it gently beside his chair and handed the box to Bucky, "Ever since you stepped foot within this room you have improved," he looked to Steve for verification, "your visions are shorter and your mind is clearing, is it not?"

Bucky nodded, "I'm here longer…"

"Yes," Steve translated, "he isn't having as many episodes as he was earlier. He's-"

"-more focused," Sam offered. He was still in rough shape, but there was a slight improvement.

Thor nodded to Bucky who opened the box. Inside as some sort of pendant on a golden chain. It was an intricate symbol- one he'd never seen before. Three triangles knotted together, overlapping and intertwined. In the center of the pendant sat a large white stone.

"Your condition is unique among Midgardians, yet my people are familiar with the concept. Your enemy call themselves Hydra. Ours are called Jotuns. The last we warred they were not unused to capturing our own people and twisting their minds. The Healers of Asgard used these to help bring them back. It may take weeks- perhaps even months- but for good or ill you will remember all you are."

"A villain."

"-and a hero." Thor pointed to the stone, "this will make you remember, if that is what you wish. You may recall worse incidents than that of your Lady Echo-"

"Good," Bucky lifted the medallion from the box, "I’ll make sure Hydra remembers too."

---

"Hey Steve, can I talk to you for a sec?" Tony caught him on the landing of his floor. Bucky was following him, wholly engrossed in studying the amulet.

"Sure, Bucky- you good?" he pushed the door open and stepped aside.

"I'm fine."

"No eating after midnight!" Tony called after the man as he made a beeline for his guest room and began securing the bolts (and chair), "Not that any of us will be hungry for a month."

"I'm still worried Thor will burst," it was easy to joke with Tony now that Steve was full, sleepy, and had something vaguely resembling hope for Bucky's recovery. He closed the apartment door and looked out the window spanning the length of the landing. He really had missed New York's skyline, "What's up?"

Tony held out his tablet with some readings, "The power source in Bucky's arm should have been fried the second JARVIS started the burners, so when it didn't he took extra scans. It's not really an issue, I just thought you'd like to know."

Steve looked at the readings, "Tesseract technology."

"Yep. No worries though, it's depleted now and I'll build the new unit with a mini arc reactor fueling it. The thing will outlive Thor."

"Some friends with SHIELD are helping on the 'Echo' files, make sure they don’t get wind of this. Hill is probably feeding them intel."

"I already updated JARVIS, he'll keep it out of her reach. She's good, but I don't know how far we can trust Coulson's new team." Steve whipped around and Tony’s eyes widened, "Wait- that was RIGHT?!"

"You knew?!"

"I was taking a shot in the dark! My next guess was the neighbor-nurse Agent Natasha mentioned! Seriously, Coulson?!"

"Don't tell the others," Steve had to insist on that, "not a word!"

Tony nodded, "Yeah, fine, sure. But Coulson?!"

"He says he did actually die in the Battle of New York. Fury's got some way to bring people back- or did."

"Fury, now that's someone I don't think anyone believes is really dead."

Steve raised an eyebrow, "You know he isn't dead. Natasha told you he helped take down Alexander Pierce."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

"You forgot he's alive?" Sometimes (okay, most of the time) Tony baffled him.

"Moving on," Tony swapped the topic out for one that didn't make him look like an idiot. "I have one more thing to talk to you about, and then you can go to bed. Would it be alright if-"

"No."

"-I put a GPS tracker-"

"No."

"-in Bucky's arm-"

"No."

"-and give him-"

"No."

"- a comm unit?"

"N- Actually, yes to the comm unit. No to anything but being able to move his arm."

"In that case, can I-"

"No."

"-put a rocket in-"

"NO!"

"-his arm so it can-"

"NO."

"-fight by itself?"

"TONY, NO!"

"Think about it!" Tony complained, "He's fighting an enemy, needs help, no one's there, so BOOM! His robo-arm pops off, zooms behind the goon, and now the poor bastard has to fight a two front battle."

"Goodnight, Tony," Steve rolled his eyes and went into his apartment.

"OK, I'll just make a prototype so you can get an idea what I'm thinking of!"

"JARVIS, Avengers alpha override on all rockets please."

"Yes, sir. Master Stark, any projects including the use of rockets-"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard him." Before the door closed he called out, "Hey spoil-sport! Check your bank account! You're welcome!"

He'd buy Steve's loyalty yet. Or, rather, the public would for Tony via the new Avengers merchandise lines. Every Avenger got a cut of the sales and the Captain America dolls were selling faster than any others (for now, but Tony wasn't admitting defeat yet).

While Rogers was chasing Bucky he'd amassed a cute little fortune to the tune of a few million dollars.

"The nouveau riche are so uncultured," Tony sighed dramatically when Steve waved and closed the door on him, "He can't even appreciate a nice rocket."

---

He was proud of himself for managing to get away from dinner with it in his pocket.

When he returned to his room Bucky pulled out the butter knife and set it on the closet floor. He locked the door and bolted it, wedged the kitchen chair under it, and covered the gap in the bottom with towels.

Ten minutes was all the time it took to secure the room. It wouldn't stop someone from getting in, but the amount of noise they'd have to make to do it would wake up anyone- and the Winter Soldier was a light sleeper.

The bed was luxuriously huge, but also the first place anyone would aim. Also, thanks to good, old fashioned evolution, most people slept with their feet pointed towards the door so that they could see if someone came in.

For that reason he grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it on the floor of the closet at the end closer to the foot of the bed. If anyone opened fire, he could survive having his feet shot off. His head was a bit more important.

Bucky knew the Avengers wouldn't hurt him, but the Winter Soldier was taking up space in his mind too. Still, the compromise of the conflicting identities was one that allowed Bucky to at least don pajamas and drag the blankets off the bed to make a warm nest on the closet floor.

He curled up in the soft, scented sheets and slid the closet door closed so that only a crack was left for him to keep watch. He clutched the butter knife as exhaustion began to overtake him. Since his last, fitful night of sleep he'd walked thirty miles across Astana and it's countryside, fought through an endless sea of Hydra guards to finally reach ground zero of his nightmares, and handed himself over to the enemy.

Though, this enemy was made up of friends who cleaned, fed, clothed, and healed him.

Alright fine. Maybe they aren't enemies.

Bucky settled in for the night and clutched the prince's amulet tightly, willing it to help him remember what happened after 'Project: Echo' was terminated.

He didn’t see the darkness at his back shift as something peeled away from his form.

The only thing left behind to mark its passing was a drop of glowing silver between the plates of his metal arm.

Chapter 6: Nightmares

#my writing #avengers #marvel

3 notes · View notes