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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked ��and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building. Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room. Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone, presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack. Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow. Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #creativitwins #this chapter is just #roman having an extended panic and making piss poor decisions #but also having great friends #alas #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

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Kinktober #9: Elevator Pitch: Hawks

In which you and Hawks spend some quality time together, and you’ve spilled coffee on your shirt.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), vaginal sex, up-against-the-wall-sex, partially-dressed, semi-public, uncaffienated sex, stranded/stalled elevator, hawks is a smarmy piece of shit

Notes: Okay, enough feelings! Only porn. What better way to jump back on the thirsty bandwagon than with everyone’s favourite smug bastard? Today’s prompt was ‘In Public,’ and while this isn’t the most public of public places to have sex, it’s definitely one that I’ve been thinking about... a little too often.

Kinktober Masterlist

“What was that?”

The elevator gives a sickening clash and lurches to a stop. You look up so fast you can feel the strain in your throat, glancing suddenly back to the control panel to see if it can possibly offer you any more information.

The lights die over your head, plunging the elevator into darkness. You give a little scream.

“That’s not good.”

The voice next to you is familiar but grating. Of all the people to be stuck in an elevator with, it has to be Hawks.

He runs the agency two floors above your office. But your companies share many of the same amenities- these elevators, to name one- and you’re unfortunately all too familiar with the self-serving hero.

As if things aren’t bad enough already.

Your manic Monday is already off to an excellent start, proven by the coffee stain on the front of your blouse. Apparently, the morning train was just a little too crowded to be careless with your latte-the half that didn’t get sloshed all over your front ended up on the floor- so here you are, trapped in the dark with the dull edges of a caffeine headache already beginning.

“Hang on-“ It’s Hawks again, and before he finishes his thought the emergency lights flicker to life. He seems entirely too relaxed given the situation. It’s pissing you off. He’s leaning against the opposite corner of the elevator with his wings tucked neatly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

He looks you up and down.

“Damn, you musta put on a few pounds if you’re heavy enough to short out the elevator.”

“Don’t even start,” you hiss. Your headache is getting worse. Spending nine floors with Takami Keigo was supposed to be bad enough already. You don’t have time for this.

“If anyone was going to be too heavy for the elevator, it’s you,” you snap back. You brush past him to the control panel and he starts a little as you push yourself between it and him. His wings give an alarmed little flutter and he steps aside, opening the space between you again.

You’re jamming your thumb against the ‘call’ button, but nothing seems to be happening. You’re not altogether sure how this is supposed to work- you’ve never been stuck in an elevator before. But Hawks looks as though it’s happened to him on a weekly basis. You suppose he sees worse on the daily, given his line of work.

“I don’t think anyone’s comin’ for us, kid.”

You glare over your shoulder at him, hearing the smirk in his voice. He raises a gloved palm to his mouth and yawns. Then he stretches, and his wings follow suit. He can’t extend them fully in here, but you’ve still forgotten how big they really are.

“Might as well get cozy,” he sighs. He slides down the wall, stretching a leg out and hooking his elbow over the other knee, bent.

“No thanks, I’ll stand.” You toy idly with the front of your skirt, brushing an invisible coat of dust from it. It’s when you notice him watching you that you stop and furrow your brow. He’s staring right at your chest. Not even trying to hide it.

You’re just about to say something when his eyes flick up to yours and his smirk, if possible, gets even lazier.

“Rough morning?”

You fold your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the coffee stain that you had conveniently forgotten about seconds before. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re permanently ticked off at him, though.

You decide that he’s not worth answering and avert your gaze. Sullen silence settles over the two of you for a moment. Finally, he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let me ask you something,” he prompts.

“No thank you,” you answer.

“No, no, that’s exactly it. You don’t like me. I’m not an idiot, kid. But the thing is, I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to deserve it.”

You swallow. Hard. Your cheeks are going hot. The truth is, you’re not entirely sure why you don’t like him.

You’d like to say it’s because he’s self-serving and arrogant. Because he saves people for the clout and not because he cares about their safety. He’s only ever been snarky and sarcastic to you, and you’re sure he treats his staff like garbage. He soaks up the celebrity status like a goddamned sponge.

You’d also like to say that you’ve followed his career so closely for the same reasons. You scour the Internet for stories about him and save newspaper clippings from your coworkers’ subscriptions, looking for evidence that your claims are true. You need to hear somebody else talk about his arrogance because it pisses you off to no end how obsessed with him you’ve become.

“I don’t… I like you,” you scoff. If you could press your back even further into the elevator wall, you could.

He laughs. Throws his head back and laughs and you want to disappear.

“You treat all your friends like that, kid? No wonder you look so sour all the time.”

That does it. You’ve had enough of Hawks, enough of this elevator and this damned headache. You’ve had enough of today.

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why I don’t like you?” Your eyes narrow. Your arms tighten across your chest. Hawks gets to his feet. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he seems to tower over you in the narrow space.

His tawny eyes narrow as he tilts his head, serious but inquisitive.

“Enlighten me.”

“You are the most egotistical, self-centered person I’ve ever known,” you hiss. “You treat women like they’re disposable, you-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stops you, holding up his palms. “Like they’re disposable? What in the hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week,” you retort. Later you will sink into your desk and expire as you remember saying these things to him, but he asked for it. And you’re starting to get claustrophobic.

“So what?” He shoots back.

“So what? So what? So what makes you think you can go around breaking hearts like that? You’re gonna make some enemies, y’know.”

“Sweetheart, those girls don’t want anything to do with me, either. No false pretenses there. I think you just don’t like seeing me with other women.”

Your stomach lurches, rejecting the idea. But you know that it’s true.

“Don’t be ridicu-“

“No, it’s my turn to speak now,” Hawks growls. He steps closer, caging you against the elevator wall. Your cheeks and ears are burning. One step closer and the coffee on your blouse will start to boil all over again.

“If you’re jealous,” he hints, bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’d be happy to treat you like those other girls, kid. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Hawks-“ you choke. He’s so close now that there’s no way you can pretend you don’t want this. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the soft, spicy Monday morning scent of him filling your senses.

He grins, and his lips brush the crook of your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the next second his mouth crashes down on yours and you’re kissing him back. You from ten minutes ago would be disgusted at the sight of this, but you can’t even deny wanting this. Not when he’s giving it to you. Not when you didn’t even need to ask for it.

You’re not shy about combing your fingers into his disheveled hair, tugging him closer to you. Already he’s tugging the hem of your blouse out of the top of your skirt. He rips off his gloves and pops open a few of the buttons without even breaking his mouth from yours. It’s only as he digs his fingers into the fabric and pulls the folds open around your chest that he pulls back to have a look.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I wanted you from the second I met you, y’know that?”

You consider pinching yourself. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you hook a palm around the back of his neck and pull him harshly down to you again.

“Shut up,” you hiss, dragging his mouth back to yours. Your hands wander, pulling the strap of his belt out of its loop and giving it a harsh tug. It pulls tight and he grunts, then you let go and let the buckle fall open. You reach in further, going for his fly. He lets you. As you dig your hand into the opening of his pants you realize that he’s already hard- already rock hard.

Maybe he really meant what he said.

You shove his pants down around his knees and he grabs you by the backs of yours, hiking your thighs over his hips. His hands crawl up your thighs and under your skirt. He finds the strap of your thong and you nuzzle into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet as he swipes a thumb up your clothed slit.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. “Soaked for me already, sweetness. God, lemme have you.”

He shifts his hips forward and presses the head of his cock against your entrance, easing forward until he’s sure he’s lined up correctly. Then he rams into you without warning and you nearly wind yourself on his shoulder as all the air from your body rushes out at once.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” he growls, starting into a brutal rhythm. “You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say something? I coulda been fucking you this whole time.”

You’re in the clouds at this point. The words he’s growling into your ear are blurring together, clouded by the immense pleasure that he’s sending through your gut with every thrust. He fits you perfectly, it seems, and you’re already drawing embarrassingly close to the edge.

“Hawks,” you practically sob, your head lolling against the wall as he fucks you into it. “Can’t hold on- gonna… g-gonna..”

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetness? That’s it. That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart, aw, hell, I’m there, baby.”

His voice is growing shaky now, his thrusts erratic, and as the elastic band draws tight in the pit of your stomach you realize he’s not far off, either.

He gives you one, two, three good thrusts and you’re falling, coming so hard around him that your vision whites out for an honest minute. Currents of tension rush from your head to your toes as you clutch at his back and whine and pant through your climax.

He follows close behind you, driving his hips into your sensitive pussy before drawing abruptly out of you and coming in long spurts against the inside of your thigh.

For a dozen heartbeats, the two of you are still, catching your breath. Settling into what you’ve just done.

The emergency light flickers as the regular lighting returns. The elevator gives a telltale beep and a shudder and starts heading downward. Your brain short-circuits.

“Get off,” you hiss, shoving him off you. You tug your skirt harshly down around your thighs, hiding the mess as he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants and zip up. You’re two floors from the lobby when he turns back to you and starts.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.” Your fingers race to the buttons on your blouse and you fumble to get them fastened again. He reaches over to help but you bat his hands away as the elevator draws to a stop. You’re just finishing the last button when the doors slide open, revealing the surprised faces of a coverall-sporting technician and your boss.

“There you are,” she gasps, relief flooding her features. “The power went out and they told me people were still stuck in the elevator, I- good morning, Keigo,” she greets, giving a little nod of acknowledgement to Hawks, who’s taking his time strolling out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’,” he greets idly. Then he calls your name, and you look past your boss’s shoulder. He’s smirking, his eyes lit with the memory of what you’ve just shared.

“See you around,” he calls. Then he’s gone, and your boss is asking you some sort of question, but it flies straight in one ear and out the other. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. Every time you close your eyes you remember him, groaning in your ear and forcing himself into you.

You are so fucked.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks/reader #hawks/you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #kinktober #jbbKinktober2020 #my hero acadamia #bnha fanfic #hawks #takami keigo

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magpie-to-the-morning · 3 years

Text

Pull the Blinds - Part Three

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4k

Tags: Established Relationship, Journalist reader, no Y/N, Established relationship, Dom!Javi, female reader, unprotected p in v sex (don’t do that), fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, name calling, aftercare

Summary: A failed raid sends Javi spinning, desperate to take the edge off. Luckily for both of you, you’re also in need of something to take your mind off work. This is the third in a series, but they can be read individually.

Huge thank you to @keeper0fthestars for the encouragement, brainstorming/co-thirsting, and beta’ing when I couldn’t look at this anymore. Love you babe! 😘

Part One - Part Two - My Masterlist

Read on Ao3

“God damn it,” you slam your folder shut and tear your glasses off to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’ve hit a dead end on this assignment and even taking the day to work from home, all your papers spread out on the kitchen table before you, hasn’t helped. Tension is radiating down your neck and shoulders, lines of stress and pain only worsening the harder you try to force yourself to think through the problem. Pressing a thumb between your brows eases that tension somewhat, and you’re just standing up to take a well-earned break when you hear someone pounding at your door.

You freeze. You’re not expecting anyone. Normally you wouldn’t be so concerned (it’s the middle of the afternoon, after all, and you live in a decent neighborhood), but between your career as an investigative journalist and the drug war tearing Colombia apart at the seams, it never hurts to be cautious. Reaching behind the sofa, you pull out a baseball bat before inching towards the door. The door rattles on its hinges, the knocking louder and more insistent than before. This is no casual visit.

“Who is it?” Your voice is level, even as your knuckles tighten around the aluminum and you take a deep breath in, out. Your mind is already spinning through potential scenarios- has someone clocked your undercover work, tracked you to your home? Adrenaline surges through you, your body screaming at you to be ready for anything, and you only relax a fraction when you hear a familiar, muffled, “It’s me.”

“Javi?” A glance through the peephole confirms that it is Javi, palms braced against your door jam, his dark brown hair slick with sweat and his green, DEA-issued tactical vest wrapped around his chest. His gun is holstered, hanging from the leather belt slung low around his narrow waist. No immediate danger, then.

Setting the bat down you open the door, eyes wide with concern. “Everything okay?” You look behind him, expecting to see the street lined with official vehicles and men bristling with guns, but there’s just his Bronco, parked rushed and crooked against the curb.

Javi’s already brushing past you so you shut the door and follow him. None of this is like him, not the disheveled state of his hair or the sweat-drenched pink shirt clinging to him, and certainly not him barging in, looking like he’s just come from a raid. You get in front of him, taking in his wild eyes, the way he can’t seem to keep still. It’s unnerving, and not doing a damn thing to reassure you that he’s remotely okay or to calm your own racing heart, but you adopt your calmest tone and say “Javier. Talk to me.”

Finally seeming to actually see you, Javi stops pacing for a moment to answer you. “We had them, we fucking had them!”

You’ve never seen Javi like this. It’s not that he never brings the work home with him- how could he not? You’ve seen him exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and endless hours spent chasing leads that go nowhere. You know what it’s like when the seeming futility and endless bureaucracy wear him down, seen him stressed and frustrated and devastated by loss. But you’ve never seen him like this- electrified, explosive. It’s all you can do to meet his raw, frayed energy with your own carefully constructed calm. “Slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Javi gives you the gist. Nothing confidential, nothing that would put either of your professional ethics in jealousy, but enough to see the shape of the thing. A raid, weeks in the planning, turned up nothing but an empty warehouse. Someone must have tipped the targets off, warning them before the DEA could spring their trap.

You wince. You know the effort that had gone into it, the countless hours of sifting through transcripts, painstakingly confirming scraps of rumors whispered through hushed calls. Weeks of work, wasted, all gone to ashes in mere moments. No arrests to show for it and worse, a potential leak. Javi’s desperation makes sense to you now. If one of your investigations had imploded this catastrophically you’d be out for blood, too.

But of course, there’s nothing he can do about it. Not yet. Not until the dust has settled and the analysts can come up with new leads. Until then, Javi just has to sit with the knowledge that his last several weeks of work have been utterly wasted, that the cartel has slipped from their grasp yet again, and are likely laughing their heads off about it from a safe distance, all while plotting their next devastating move. It’s eating him alive.

His story finished, Javi heaves a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face, still coated in a sheen of sweat. Belatedly, he takes in your scattered papers, the chair shoved away from the table where you were working when he burst in. “Shit, you were in the middle of something, sorry. I shouldn’t have burst in on you like this, I just-” he shrugs vaguely, still looking bewildered and only half present.

“Hush.” You lay a hand on his chest, can feel it rising with every heaving breath beneath the solid tac vest, and tip his face up so his eyes meet yours. “What do you need?”

You’re assuming it’ll be something like ice water or, more likely, a shot of whiskey. Maybe a shower to cool off. He’s got some clothes in a drawer in your bedroom, maybe he’ll feel better if he changes…?

While you’re brainstorming potential solutions, Javi is staring at you with all the intensity of a panther sizing up its next meal. Before the thought can properly register, he surges toward you, so suddenly your back hits the counter, its edge digging into your lower back as his arms surround you. His broad hands clutch at the fabric of your dress, making the skirt ride dangerously high up your thighs. His lips crash against yours, slanting and molding to you as he grabs the back of your head. When you gasp he deepens the kiss, his hand clenching in your hair as he tips your head back, plundering your mouth so aggressively you feel teeth. It’s only after those teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip that he pulls back, his breathing ragged.

“I’m sorry, I’m not- I should go.” He hunches his shoulders like he’s ashamed to be seen like this and makes for the door.

Oh. So that’s what he needs. You can picture it now- him bending you over the counter and taking you, hard, right then and there, using you to work the sharp edge off his temper. Just the idea of it, Javi pouring that frustration into fucking you, is thrilling. Besides, turning your brain off for a bit, giving yourself over to all that fury is exactly what you need right now, and he thinks he needs to shield you from that impulse? Hell, no.

You stop him with one touch of your hand. “Don’t go.” Javi’s head jerks up and he stands rigid as you press yourself against him, your hips touching, your hands moving over the taut lines of his arms. “You clearly need to take the edge off.” He hisses as your lips close on his trapezius, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “And I could use a distraction,” you croon.

“I’m too worked up- I don’t want to hurt you, cariño,” he bites out, even as he looks at you like he could eat you alive and spit out your bones, still hungry for more.

Javi knows you like it rough. Hell, he’s fucked you through gritted teeth and snarls enough times to know you love it that way. This is different. This is burning rage and rough hands, the difference between training rounds and live fire.

You want all of it.

Your lips curl in a knowing smile and you straddle his thigh, denim-clad muscle taut against the scrap of cotton separating your bodies beneath your skirt. You grind down on him and meet his burning gaze. “Not even a little?”

He growls at your challenge, a caged jungle cat, all sleek, bunched muscle and barely checked savagery. He eyes you up and down, assessing, his knuckles tightening against the counter. He runs a thumb over his lower lip and that’s when you know he’s genuinely considering it. You clench and shudder in anticipation, eyes locked on him as he demands “give me your safeword.”

“Javi, you know what it is.” The two of you had chosen it months ago, a reminder of the vacation you’re always meaning to take but never quite get around to.

He leans closer, eyes dark and grin darker. “Remind me,” he rumbles, clutching the edge of the counter he’s got your back up against.

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He’s so close. You can see the sweat sliding down the planes of his neck, feel the edge of his tac vest digging into you, practically taste the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt rolls off of him in waves, the livewire burn of his need sparking an answering flare in your blood. You have to lick your lips before answering in a whisper “It’s Aruba.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice the inescapable rumble of an impending landslide. His nose drags against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “And you’ll use it if you need to.” He’s no longer asking. He’s telling.

“Yes, Javi.”

His teeth close on your earlobe sharply. “Yes, what?”

Another shiver runs through you. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucking right.” Without further warning, Javi grabs you by your upper arm and shoves you towards the bedroom.

Your heart rate spikes, blood thrumming in time with Javi’s heavy tread marching you down the hallway. His grip is fierce, his expression fiercer, and you suddenly wonder what it’s like to go toe to toe with this man, Agent Peña, in the field. For all his honor and dedication to justice, there’s a streak of ruthlessness running through the heart of him, a need to see the mission through to the end, no matter the cost. Javier is a good man, better than he’ll admit to himself, but that darkness is there. Not a flaw, not really. A smoky occlusion in the ruby heart of him, one more facet in the complex matrix of his inner self.

This knowledge isn’t new to you, but Javi letting you see it firsthand is. It doesn’t scare you. Nothing about him ever could. You trust him, know him, too well for that. No, you’re honored that Javi is willing to show you the jagged edges of himself, to trust you to handle these broken pieces without either of you winding up bloodied.

As you step through the doorway to your bedroom, Javi pushes you towards the bed. “Strip.” His eyes rake over you hungrily, devouring every new bit of skin you reveal as you obey, dropping one garment after another on the floor of your bedroom. He watches, arms folded, still fully clothed, still wearing that tac vest that shorts your brain out. In no time you’re completely naked before him, your body on full display in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, but he makes no move to undress. He sits in the middle of your bed, leaning his back against the headboard like he owns the place and crooks his finger at you. You crawl to him on hands and knees, letting him pull you into his lap.

“Tell me what you want, querida.” His voice is low and sweet, amber honey dripping into your ear while he noses at your cheek, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through you. Fuck if that voice doesn’t go straight your cunt.

You squirm in his lap, shifting to straddle his waist, your naked sex molded to the bulge swelling beneath his tight jeans. “I want you to fuck me, Javi. Let me help you get rid of all that tension.” You reach up, start kneading his shoulders, but he tsks and pushes your hands aside.

“Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You jut out your lip in a mock pout. He’s the one who pounded on your door, amped up and aching, so it hardly seems fair that he’s turned the tables on you this easily, and yet...

You’d expected him to take you quickly, to burn through you wildfire fast, but now that he’s got you where he wants you he’s intent on breaking you down slowly.

Your fingers curl over the edge of his vest, clinging to him while he kisses you breathless. He’s in complete control, every gasp and jut of your hips unfolding at his urging. He tastes every part of you, his teeth closing over pulse points, tongue flicking over every dip and hollow of your body. You lose all sense of time when he reaches your breasts, drowning in sensation, only pulled back to the present when he pinches a nipple or bites down on the full moon swell of your breast.

He leaves marks as he goes, livid reminders of his claiming every inch of you. You submit to all of it, your fingers scrabbling for purchase over the expanse of that heavy vest as Javi bears down on you. Heat is building in you with every bite and suck and caress, but your body is screaming out for more, more, more. It’s then that it finally hits you- the bastard is doing this deliberately. He wants you as keyed up as he is. That realization pitches you headlong into the blaze he’s been stoking all along and you moan, desperate for more.

He indulges you, still painfully slowly, more fuel for the fire raging in both of you. Reaching down between you, he drags his fingers over your thighs, already slick with the desire dripping from you. “Christ, you’re so wet from just this. You like letting me do this, don’t you? Getting so worked up being my good little slut.”

You gasp and nod, whimpering now that he’s so close to where you need him but still not quite there. He rewards you by finally pressing those thick, clever trigger fingers against your weeping cunt. He moves in slow, torturous circles, and you reach for him, try to kiss him, to beg wordlessly for more. He pulls away, chuckling at your eagerness. “No. Let me do this for you.”

He knows damn well what he’s doing, pushing you to see when you’ll get impatient. You try to wait him out but forget yourself when he slips one finger into the molten clutch of your sex. It’s so good but you need more. “Please,” you murmur, moving to kiss him once more, your hand dropping between you, needing to feel him. Besides, a wicked, wanton part of you wonders what he’ll do if you disobey him like this.

Your answer comes swiftly. Javi flips you onto your back with a snarl, one hand behind your head to cushion the sudden move. Grabbing your wrists in one hand, he hauls them above your head, pinning you in place. “What did I tell you? Hold still!” He slaps your pussy once, twice, three times in rapid fire succession, each hit harder than the last, leaving you stinging and aching for more. You moan and writhe in his hold, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some kind of release.

Javi watches you mercilessly. “Yeah, you like that? Filthy thing. Want me to do it again?” Your toes curl and he takes that as your answer, delivering one more slap to your cunt. He leaves his hand there, tracing slow, deliberate circles around your clit. The sudden tenderness, the tantalizing possibility of finally gaining some relief has you practically sobbing.

“You gonna be a good girl and keep those hands to yourself?”

“Y-yes, Javi.”

He pulls his hand away at once and you whimper, realizing your mistake as his expression darkens. “I know I didn’t just hear you forget your manners.”

“Sir,” you correct yourself quickly. “I meant, yes sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” You know from experience that he loves this, temporarily reducing you to a pleading, pliant mess. He knows the trust this requires, and the way it frees you to give yourself over to pleasure completely. It’s a responsibility he never takes lightly. He always knows just how far to push, what boundaries to test or limits to prod, knowing that’s half the fun. As for the other half...

He works you open, one thumb on your clit, his fingers probing deeper and deeper inside you. Your breath hitches when he’s knuckle-deep, massaging that spot that makes you clench and shudder. He gets you off like this more times than you can count, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you from your curled toes to your tingling scalp. He strokes you and finger fucks you for what feels like an eternity, all the whole whispering sweet filth into your ear. Dark promises of how he intends to take you, to use you, all without filling you the way he knows you crave.

“Please, please fuck me. I need you so bad baby, I don’t think I have another one in me like this.” He’s made you cum so many times you’ve lost count, worked your clit until you’re completely over stimulated and begging for mercy.

He has none. Instead of giving in, he delivers another harsh smack to your abused cunt. “Tell me who owns this pretty pussy.”

“You do, Javi, please...”

“Then give me one more.” He spits and you feel it land, slipping over your swollen folds. It’s lewd and obscene and forgotten the instant Javi lowers his head and licks the sting of the latest slap away. His broad tongue works you mercilessly, ripping another shuddering cry of his name from your lips as he brings you to the edge and shoves you over it once again.

“Get on your knees.” He makes you wait, arms trembling, pussy drenched and waiting while he gets up to undress. He misses nothing, clocking the instant when you clench, your throat bobbing, as he unbuckles his leather belt. Javi quirks an eyebrow and, folding it in half, he swats it once, hard enough to be loud but not enough to truly hurt, against your ass. An experiment more than anything else. You let slip a filthy moan, confirming his suspicion that you truly are this comfortable with rougher treatment.

“Maybe next time, querida,” Javi chuckles. He tosses the belt aside, along with those tight jeans and every other bit of clothing, rejoining you on the bed. He takes his place behind you, hands clutching your hips as he teases your entrance with the fat head of his cock. You can feel how hard he is, the length of him like steel as he pushes himself lazily against your folds. It’s more agonizing buildup, and even when he finally, finally starts to fuck you, he does it with just the tip of his cock, thrusting shallowly, enough to make you clench without being filled. It’s torture. You try to push your hips back to take him deeper, but his firm grip holds you motionless.

“Something the matter, baby?”

You grit your teeth. If he doesn’t fuck you properly right the fuck now you might actually combust. “I need more Javi, please,” you beg.

“Yeah, think you can take it?”

Your only response is a desperate whine, met with a harsh chuckle. “You asked for it.”

He shoves himself inside you in one savage thrust. Even with all of his teasing, the orgasms he’s already pulled from you, and the slick practically dripping from your swollen pussy, it’s a shock. You gasp, his thick cock plunging into you with a filthy squelch, and the sudden overwhelming fullness forces another climax from you without warning. You clamp around him and cry out, barely even registering the flood of wetness practically squirting from you, soaking the rough curls at the base of Javi’s cock.

“Fuck that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good - fucking - girl.” He thrusts into you in time with his words, working you through the sudden orgasm. As if your release was some sort of signal, this is the moment when Javi finally lets the leash of his control slip, fucking you like a man possessed. His hands grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, he pulls you onto him as his hips slap against you, setting a brutal, punishing pace.

You’re dimly aware that the harder the fucks you, the more your body slips against the sheets and away from him. Frustrated, Javi shifts his grip, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest and his arms bands of steel around your breasts. His breath is ragged in your ear and even when his teeth close on your shoulder, it does little to muffle his harsh grunts.

Time slips away again and all you know is the bone-rattling ferocity of Javi fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure you hardly know when one orgasm rolls into the next, all you know is that Javi has you in a death grip and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Finally, through a haze of sweat and bliss, you feel him stiffen behind you, his hips stuttering and a strangled groan escaping him as he drops his head to your shoulder, his cock spitting deep inside you. You bury your hand in his hair, mutter soothing nonsense as he spills himself into you. When he finally stills, the two of you collapse into a heap on the bed, his body a comforting weight on yours.

You lay there, in a sweaty, blissed out tangle for several minutes, both trying to catch your breath. Javi recovers first, rolling off of you and gathering you into his arms. He pushes the hair from your eyes, his own going concerned when you’re still too boneless to respond to him calling your name.

Giving you some time to recover, he gets the arnica gel from your nightstand and is already smoothing it over the livid marks on your hips when you come back to yourself enough to speak.

“Mm, feels good,” you slur, rolling onto your side to give him better access. You’d introduced him to this particular remedy when he’d shown up with bruises after a particularly difficult arrest, and it had quickly become a favorite aftercare ritual whenever things turned rough in bed. Javi’s thick fingers glide soothingly over every ache and sting, though you catch his wrist when he moves to smooth the gel over the bite marks he left on your breasts.

“Oh, baby, was I too rough here?” His eyes are soft with concern and the beginnings of apology, so you’re quick to shake your head no. You roll closer and brush away the sweat-slick curls threatening to hide his face.

“It’s not that, Javi. I just… kind of like seeing the marks. The gel makes them heal faster, so leave a few for me, would you?”

He kisses you. “Ok, wild thing,” he says affectionately. “Give me your wrists though, unless you want everyone at your office seeing what I did to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you tease, but offer him your wrists nonetheless. He’s so gentle, cradling the back of your hand in his own massive palm, his fingers rubbing the gel into your wrist in slow, circular strokes. When he’s finished, he raises your hands to kiss your palms, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes you melt.

“C’mere, baby.” Javi pulls you to lay on top of him, running his hands over your hair and pressing kisses to your face. “You good?”

It’s sweet, the way he fusses like this after having just taken you entirely apart, soothing you with the same single-minded determination he brings to every other part of his life, and you bask in the glow of his care. “Yeah Javi, I’m perfect.”

Javi huffs out a laugh at that. “I'll say.”

You shift in his arms to get a better look at him. He seems more like himself now, less agitated, more present. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He drops a kiss to the crown of your head and breathes out. You can feel his body relaxing as he does it, proof that he’s telling the truth.

“Sleep then, I’m sure you need it.” He nods, his breathing already turning slow and even as he drifts towards rest. You close your eyes, about to join him when the solution to your work problem flashes through your mind, clear as day. As soon as you’re sure Javi has drifted off, you slip out of bed and back to work.

Maybe you both could use that vacation after all…

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x F!Reader #Javier Peña x Fem!Reader #My fic #Pull the Blinds

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fallingappleshurt · 3 years

Text

At least I’d be of use

Me posting actual writing two days in a row?? Yeah don’t expect this ever again

This is a sadish Drabble I did and it’s just brrrr and reallly bad and BRBRBRBRRBRBR

This takes place in my DFF AU, it’s spunky and I wanted to write Ansgt ya know even if I’m bad at it

Anyways here we go, also this is half inspired by the song Boreas by The Oh Hellos

At least I’d be of use

Tommy was laying on the floor, neglecting his homework. He knew that he should at least start on it but he couldn’t focus, everything was distracting him today, the mice in the alley, the neighbors fighting above them, the chilly wind that pierced through his thin jacket and uniform.

He was racking his brain for ideas, any ideas, he wanted to do something useful, help out in some way. Grumbling to himself, homework didn’t help out the family but for some reason he still had to do it.

In another attempt he rolled over and opened his backpack, pulling out the math worksheet, the numbers and symbols swirled and scrambled around in his brain. Why did he have to learn this? It won’t help him in real life, neither Wilbur or Techno knew super complicated reading or math or science or anything like that and they were okay- Phil even admitted that he didn’t use that stuff in his job and he was a doctor! If he didn’t need that kind of math as a doctor then why did Tommy need it?

Then he finally had an idea.He pushed the paper away and sat up,Wilbur and Phil were still out but Techno was sitting on the couch, reading a book, at least he was when Tommy got home.

Stepping out of his and Wilbur’s room, Tommy jumped on the couch next to Techno, who’s eyes flickered up briefly.

“Teach me how to fight.” Tommy said, sitting on his knees, Techno didn’t even look up.

“No. You’re a child.”

“I’m serious, I want to learn how to fight so I can do those duels like you do.” Tommy said, staring at Techno. Techno closed his book and looked Tommy in the eyes, “How do you know about those?”

“I’m just incredibly observant,” Tommy said, almost matter-of-factly, Techno raised an eyebrow, staring him down.

“I figured out bits and pieces and then bugged Wilbur until he slipped up,” He confessed, not ashamedly, Techno sighed and rubbed his temples, he stayed like that for a few moments, considering his options.

“I’m not teaching you how to fight-”

“Come on!” He just wanted to help out.

“Let me finish, I’ll show you self defense tactics and self defense tactics only, under a few conditions; you cannot tell anyone about the duels, under any circumstances-”

“Why?” Tommy interrupted, Techno groaned, “Come on! Tell me or I’ll tell Tubbo!”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Techno said sharply, he paused, voice softening, “You can’t tell anyone about them because,” he licked his lips nervously, “They are technically illegal.”

“Oh,” Tommy deflated slightly, he chuckled lightly, then laughed a little louder, “Oh, Oh! They are illegal! I thought you were gonna say something about murder!”

“I’m ignoring that,” Techno said, “Listen, you cannot tell anyone about the duels and don’t go around showing off the defense moves, they are strictly for defense only-”

“What if I show them off anyways?” Tommy teased, biting his tongue through a grin, Techno rolled his eyes fondly.

“Then you better be ready to use them,” He cracked his knuckles, Tommy laughed nervously, he would never admit it but he found Techno to be a little scary. Red eyes, lean muscles, and scars that he never explained, Tommy knew he could do some serious damage and he hadn’t even seen him fight! Subconsciously Tommy also knew that Techno was a big nerd that got invested in weird books and cheesy radio shows but it took awhile to get to know that side of him.

The anxiety and frustration started seeping back into his skin, searing and shrinking it until it felt like he couldn’t breath.

“I want to go to the duels-”

“Absolutely not, the crowd is no place for a kid-”

“No, I want to fight in the duels, for money, like you do, I’m serious.” Techno looked at him and Tommy stared him down, mouth in a thin line.

“No.” Techno said firmly, red eyes piercing Tommy’s pale blue. Tommy’s chest felt tight.

“Come on Techno, school is useless, I could actually help out by doing them, it’d be better for everyone-”

“You can help out by staying in school,” Techno cut him off, “Enjoy your childhood, hang out with Tubbo, play, do whatever kids do, don’t worry about it, we’re doing just fine.” Techno waved his hand dismissively, opening his book back up.

Frustration wrapped its thick tendrils around his throat and made him want to scream, he wanted to blow up and yell and pull out his hair. They weren’t fine, he wasn’t stupid, he heard his older brothers talking in hushed desprate whispers. He had seen Phil sitting at the table late at night, papers scattered everywhere with his hands in his hair, trying to see if they could float another bill or if they could find cheaper options for dinner.

He saw the smaller portions the others had while his portions had gotten bigger, Techno claimed to not be hungry, Wilbur said he didn’t like the food, Phil just smiled and told him to eat it. He was growing, they said, he needed it.

Tommy felt like such a drain, going to school cost money, his uniform and books and bag cost money, everything he did cost money.

Money they didn’t have.

His chest hurt everytime he got something he could do without, like new shoes, the old ones had some holes and were scuffed but they worked just fine, he didn’t really need the new ones.

He was scared they’d get kicked out of their shitty apartment, scared everything they’d worked for would be gone, scared that one duel would go to far and Techno wouldn’t come home, that Wilbur would disappear like his parents did, that Phil wouldn’t take a break until he broke.

He feared they’d resent him.

All of the extra food and money spent on someone who made their lives more difficult,someone someone who didn’t help provide, on someone who drained their time with stupid questions and ideas, Someone who could barely pass his math class, someone like him.

He desperately wanted to feel useful, all his brothers provided something, Techno did the duels and chores, Phil was a doctor and got consistent pay and Wilbur had random odd jobs of some sort while Tommy did nothing.

He was a drain of resources.

But he couldn’t tell Techno that, he couldn’t tell any of them. He couldn’t speak or everything would burst out of him, instead he turned and went back to his room, going back to laying on the floor.

He put his math work back in his backpack.

Tommy was quiet for the rest of the night, only saying a few things about school at dinner, Phil tried to ask him about his day in a ditch effort to get him to talk but came up empty handed.

After dinner Tommy climbed the rusty latter on the side of their apartment building, then, jamming his feet in the grooves and cracks of the wall, just like he’d seen Phil do, he hosed himself onto the roof.

Standing on the cold brick he looked at the clear night sky. The moon was big and bright, casting icy light over the land, the wind was blowing so hard it threatened to knock him over so he sat down.

He wrapped his arms around himself, he wasn’t wearing a jacket. Suddenly his chest burned and everything came crashing down. Hot tears boiled in his eyes, stinging against the frigid wind.

He wanted to be useful, to help and provide for his brothers like they did him, he wanted Phil to be able to take a break, for Wilbur to have a better guitar, for Techno to not fight-

He wanted to not be a burden.

He burdened the people that had no reason to take him in, they’d resent him eventually, he knew it, and that thought alone caused him to choke on a sob.

He just wanted to be of use.

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queenrose730 · 3 years

Text

Reckless

Part Three

Master List

About thirty minutes later you heard Steve stand up to join you in the front of the jet. You hadn’t let go of the controls. Opting to manually operate the jet just so you were ready if Tony showed back up. Steve placed a hand on your shoulder a squeezed gently. Silently asking if you were ok.

“We just left them Steve. You know where they are going to put them.”

“I know yn.” He let out a small sigh. There were great odds that your friends were going to be sent to the raft. A prison in the middle of the ocean only reserved for the most dangerous people on the planet. You had been there a few times to help with prisoner transfers and the thought of them being held in those cells made your heart ache.

“Something bad happened back there Steve. Something with Rhodey. On minute he was on my radar then he was gone. I couldn’t make out what Sam was saying.” There was panic in your voice. “Could you make anything out?” You turned your face to Steve.

When he didn’t meet you gaze you knew it was more than bad. You bit back tears. Rhodey may have been fighting against you but he was a close friend too. He taught you how to fly when you first joined the Air Force. Long before Iron Man or the Avengers. Instead of answering Steve just squeezed your shoulder again. You nodded at him before he left to sit back down.

“We are about five minutes out guys. Get ready.”

You decided to land the jet close to the bunker. Steve and Barnes needed to get in there quickly. They didn’t have time to tread through the snow. After landing you joined them in the back of the jet. Barnes had already loaded up his gear and was carrying his machine gun. Both men were talking quietly while looking out the back of the jet. All your gear had already been laid you for you. You weren’t sure which man had done it but it made swapping out your gear for something more deadly quicker. The last step was to reach in the med cabinet for an auto injector for both men and one for you. You placed yours in its respective pocket and turned to Steve.

“Here.” You handed him the injector. “Just in case.” He nodded and you turned to Barnes. “One for you too.”

“That won’t work.”

“It’s dosed for me Bucky. It will work for you too.” Steve assured him.

“What’s in it?” He reached out and grabbed the injector.

“A little pain meds and adrenaline. Just pull the cap off and jam it into your body.” You demonstrated which end he needed to pull. “Make sure you aim for flesh.” You gave him a slight tease. “It won’t be any good if you use it on that metal arm.” He gave a quick smile back before you both turned back to Steve. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m not sure yn.”

“Well I have some ideas.” He looked at you surprised.

“Go ahead.”

“Well if there are five super soldiers in there, I’m not much good. You two go in and deal with them. I’ll take care of whatever or whoever comes out the door.”

“Yn? It’s not like you to pull yourself from a fight.”

“I know Steve. But let’s be real. You would spend more time worrying about me and get distracted. You both need to be focused.” Steve have you a slight nod. “Plus, I’ll be able to warn you if Tony or anyone shows up.”

“Right.” He stood up a little straighter. “You ready Buck?” Barnes gave a quick nod before both men headed down the ramp. You followed behind. Stopping to grab a large coat from a locker. Just before they began the decent to the bunker Steve turned back to you

“Don’t do anything stupid or reckless out here yn.”

“How can I? You’re taking it all with you.” Barnes stopped at your words and looked to Steve quickly. Steve let out a small laugh noticing the look from Barnes. Both turned back around and trudged off in the snow and you climbed on top of the jet to have a better view of the surroundings.

“Yn? You copy me?” Steve sounded concerned. You sat up a little straighter

“Yea, Steve. What’s up?”

“The doors open down here. Be on the lookout. You may not be the only one out there.” Your eyes immediately start to scan the landscape closely

“Copy that Steve. You be careful too. You may not be the only two in there.” You continued to scan the land. Feeling like the hair on every part of your body was standing up.

You heard it before anything. You could recognize the sound to Tony’s suit in your sleep. You rolled off the top of the jet before he could get too close.

“Heads up Steve. Tony’s coming in.” Your words were met with silence. “Fuck.” Stupid and reckless. Steve’s words played over in your mind. You were planning to go in the bunker after Tony. Three against six is better that two against six. You told yourself. You tossed off the coat you were wearing and took off to the bunker before your body could sense the cold.

You slowed down as you reached the door. It was still open from before Steve and Barnes went through. Inside was dark. Barely lit by the reflection of the sun off the snow outside. You scanned the entire room with the machine gun raised. It was empty except for a large door.

“Steve. Can you copy me?” You prayed that he responded. When he didn’t you headed to the large door. It was an elevator. It would ruin the element of your surprise but it looked to be the only way down. You cringed are the sounds of metal being pulled up. It was just too loud for your liking. As the noise grew louder you raised the gun again. If anyone was coming up with the elevator you would be ready. Thankfully it was empty. Carefully you stepped inside and began the dissent. There wasn’t any cover in the elevator, so you kneeled down in the corner. This way you could hopefully get the drop on any one waiting at the bottom. The door opened to an empty hall.

“Steve. Please fucking copy me.” Nothing. Dead air.

Slowly you moved down the hallway. Gun leading the way as you checked every crevice for anyone. Soon enough you heard a voice. You couldn’t make out what was being said, you just followed it deeper into the bunker. The hallway opened up into a large room. Barnes was the first one to catch your eye. He shook his head slightly at you. His face almost urging you to leave. But Steve and Tony were watching something on the screen in front of them. You moved closer to them as you heard a woman calling out from the screen.

“Steve?” He turned back to you. He didn’t react to your presence but closed his eyes then turned back to Tony. You made it close enough to see the final image on the screen. The Winter Soldier pointing a gun at the camera. Your brain finally registered the name the woman had been calling. Howard.

“Did you know?” Tony’s voice was cold.

“I wasn’t sure.” Tony turned to Steve.

“Did you know?!” You could feel the pain and anger in his voice.

“Yes.”

In an instant Tony fired a blast from his hand. Steve was able to deflect but it caused whatever machinery around you to come crashing down. You dodged it and landed on your knees. Quickly you pointed the machine gun at Tony. Taking aim at the back of the Iron Man suits knee. You knew that a few well-placed shots could help disarm the suit. Steve and Tony were locked at each other when you took your shot. Sparks flying from where the bullets made contact. Tony turned and shot other blast over your head causing even more metal to come falling from the ceiling.

“Bucky get out of here. Take yn with you!” He shouted as he re-engaged with Tony. You got back up to your knees and started to take aim at Tony’s other leg. You were stopped by Barnes slamming into you and gabbing your middle.

“Put me the fuck down!” You struggle at his grip but he held tight. Barnes walked over to a control panel at the bottom of a tall silo. He slammed his hand on it and metal started to groan to life. He then began to climb.

“Just stop moving and hang on.” He held on even tighter to you with his flesh arm. You could feel the bruises starting to form on your ribs from his grip. You complied for only a moment before begin to move in his grip again.

“Fuck yn stop!”

“Just let me turn!” He loosens his grip just enough for you to turn so your back was against him. Steve and Tony were still fighting each other but Tony was trying to get to Barnes. You had lost the machine gun sometime after Barnes grabbed you. You reached for a pistol that was still on your hip.

“What the hell are you doing!” Barnes had paused for just a moment to look at you.

“Just keep climbing!” You shouted at him and raised your gun. Trying to be as steady as possible as you dangled from Barnes. You found the right rhythm to move so that your aim could be steady. You took aim at Tony’s shoulder firing several shots. One must have hit because now Tony’s focus was on both of you.

“Shit!” You tried to aim again but Tony was faster. Firing a blast from his hand at the two of you on the wall. Barnes let go just fast enough to avoid the blast but it dropped you both down to a grated metal platform. The metal bit into any skin it could find and the weight of Barnes on top of you made something crack.

“What the fuck was that!” He shouted at you as he stood up. You didn’t pay attention to him because you had already rolled to your stomach aiming the gun again. This time you could get a clean easy shot. Sparks came flying from the base of the Iron man helmet.

“Dammit!” Barnes grabbed you up quickly and jumped to another platform.

You opted now to wrap your arms and legs around him so that he could climb faster. You were almost to the top. You peaked over Barnes should go see Tony aiming a rocket at the two of you.

“Barnes!” The rocket was off. Making contact with the giant metal hatch that had opened at the top. The hatch came crashing back down. Barnes fell on his back letting go of you. The force of the fall caused you to roll off the platform and fall down the silo. You reached out of anything to grab on to. Steve caught you half way down. You screamed in pain when he grabbed your arm. Pulling the shoulder out of socket. In one motion he swung you across to another platform. Tony and Barnes are now falling down the shaft. Steve grabbed on as they fell. The three hit a platform lower than the one you were on and that’s were Barnes stayed. Steve and Tony falling all the to the ground.

“Barnes you good?” You yelled down to him. Trying to reach for your auto injector for some relief from the pain in your shoulder. As you looked down you could see Steve’s shield a few levels down. Barnes was just across from it. He was starting to get up.

“Barnes!” He looked up at you just as you launched yourself off the ledge falling toward him. You actually managed to land somewhat easily on the same platform. Barnes was able to keep you upright from the jump.

You glanced down where Steve and Tony were at. Tony was now on top of Steve. Barnes grabbed you again and launched to the shield then down to the ground. He was up instantly slamming the shield into Tony. You took a second longer to right yourself.

“Steve! The reactor!” Breaking the rector at the center of the suit would be the only way now to stop Tony. You reached for any weapons on your body. The only thing left was a knife in your boot. That didn’t matter though because in a moment of distraction from Steve, Tony was able to let off a stun shot to your chest.

Everything was on fire. Your head spinning. You tired yelling again at Steve but weren’t sure if anything had come out. You couldn’t hear the punches being thrown between the men and you could only make out the flashes from Tony’s weapon in your vision. You closed your eyes against the pain. Willing the world to slow down. You opened your eyes just in time to see a large flash. Barnes fell close to you. You could just make out that his metal arm was gone. Things suddenly started to come back into focus. Steve had Tony pinned to the wall farthest from you. Barnes groaned next to you. You tried to reach out to him but your body was not wanting to move. When you looked back, Steve was now on top of Tony. Shield raised high over his head.

“Steve!” The shield came down. Buried deep into the reactor at Tony’s chest.

Nobody seemed to make a move for a long time. Feeling was finally coming back to the rest of your body. Barnes was starting to move next to you as well.

“Steve. We have to go.” You had pushed yourself up to your knees. Steve pulled the shield from where it was still stuck in the reactor. He walked over to Barnes and helped him up.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you! My father made that shield!” Steve paused in front of you. You had somehow made you way to your feet. The sound the shield made as it landed on the cement was deafening. You could feel tears start in your eyes. Blinking them back you moved to the other side of Barnes and let him lean on you for more support. Carefully the three of you made your way to the elevator.

By the time the three of you reached the metal doors, you were leaning more on Barnes than he was on you. The pain meds you had taken earlier wearing off fast. Your feet stumbled over the threshold of the elevator.

“Are you ok yn.” Steve looked around Barnes to you.

“Yea. Fine.” You sucked in a sharp breath. Trying to put on a brave face.

“She’s lying.”

“Fuck you Barnes.” You pushed yourself off of him to stand up straighter. Your body betrayed you though when you stumbled back, the wall catching you. You let yourself slide down to a sitting position.

“Yn!” Steve was all you could focus on. His hands were on each side of your face.

“Hey Steve.” You smiled weakly. The edges of you vision going black.

tags- @ginger-swag-rapunzel

#bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #steve x reader friendship #enemies to lovers #marvel fanfiction #slow burn #steve rogers #captain america #captain america civil war #mcu fic #james buchanan bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky fic #bucky x reader

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samanthadalton · 3 years

Text

Slowly falling (part 1)

Pairings: Kamilah x Amy

This was an idea that came to me a couple of months ago but I’m glad that I finally get to start writing it now. It’s basically a rewrite of chapter 10 of book 1 with the castle attack but I’m putting my own little spin on the story and letting the slow burn unfold more. Hope you guys enjoy ❤️❤️❤️ (also im writing star crossed lovers its just gonna take a few days dw it’s coming)

tw: mentions of blood and violence so reader discretion is advised

taglist: @alleycat97 @cloud9in @avalawrencefl @thedaft1 @mrs-avamontjoy @itszdavenport @iamsimpforpoppy @otakufangirl-12 @orisasay @justavampirefan @manilovshina @waterinathermostat @bloodkueen @sparklesoverlooked (i added people who liked the post about me wanting to write this fic, if you wanna be added or taken off let me know 😊)

wordcount: 3.4k (its long i know im sorry i was excited)

Screams fill the room as the first feral crashes through the door, letting out a blood-curdling screech to signal to the rest of the ferals to follow. Within seconds blood sprays all over the walls and floor as the ferals ravenously tear through the sea of vampires, letting their primal instincts out to play. In response, vampires begin running and fighting in all directions, while the humans run to safety, burrowing themselves into the smaller rooms, hoping to not end up as the gory decorations that besiege the room. Amidst all the chaos, the council leaders prepare themselves for battle, Adrian rolls up his sleeves, while Kamilah unsheathes her daggers from her dress. The Baron grabs a huge craving knife from the walls, as Vega stomps on a broken chair using two of its legs as deadly weapons, while Priya seizes a lit torch and begins to intimate the ferals near her, Lester hisses and bares his fangs as the council members join the fray. Their eyes burn with anger, the redness mirroring the blood spilled as the blur of their bodies move with such elegance and precision slashing through the crowd of ferals.

Amy watches, paralysed with fear before Lilly pulls her out of her reverie, dragging her away from the confrontation as the roars of both vampires and ferals echo through the hall, the reality of the deadly situation settling into her. Another assembly of ferals breaches through the halls and as Amy and Lily make their way towards the gardens, they lose sight of each other, as the crowds move in all directions, chaos only elevating.

“Lily! Lily!” Amy frantically looks around the garden, her voice panicked while her breaths come heavy, unable to stop the terror taking over her body. She suddenly stops in her tracks, she slightly narrows her eyes towards the woods to see a lingering figure just standing at the edge before moving into the shadows of the trees and without any hesitation she follows after the figure. Her gaze darts around as she runs through the woods, a dubious feeling in the pit of her stomach but she subsides her doubts and pushes through. It isn’t until she hears a snarl she stops in her tracks, her heart practically leaping out of her chest.

She slowly turns and sees a feral with blood dripping down its face as it hisses at the girl and leaps towards her. Amy lets out a yelp and leaps to the side, barely dodging its attack. “Oh my god!” The feral advances towards Amy ready to attack again, it manages to shove her to the floor, its slender fingers tightening around her arms, as blood slowly trickles down her arms. Amy lets out a sob as the feral bares its fangs, leaning closer to the girl’s face, ready to tear her to pieces. Drawing on all her strength, Amy attempts to push the feral away, her eyes scanning the environment looking for a weapon to help her. A small branch sits out of reach to her, and after a moment's deliberation, she uses one hand to reach out to the branch, her strength diminishing as she uses her other hand to hold the feral back. She grunts as she stretches her fingers, the feral digs its nails into Amy more and she screams in pain. Motivated by what she thinks are her last few moments, Amy lets out a primal cry and uses the last of her strength to grab onto the branch before plunging it through the feral's chest. The black blood splatters all over her face as she watches the feral turn into dust, the last few embers of it floating in the air as the wind blows it away. She takes a few moments to catch her breath before a resounding series of slow claps cuts through the silent atmosphere.

“Damn, I was rooting for the feral.”

The familiar voice brings shivers down Amy’s spine as she lifts her fatigued body off the ground, her voice a low gruff, “you.”

“Yes, me.” Nicole stands before the girl, a sated smirk on her face as she steps closer to the girl, as she does, the moonlight shines down on her, specifically on the crossbow in her hands as she dangles it by her side.

“You’re the one behind the feral attack.” Amy’s nostrils flare as she carefully watches Nicole’s grip on the crossbow tightening, slowly biding her time before she makes a move for it.

“Wow looks and brains, I can see why Adrian chose you as his little pet.” She takes one step closer, all amusement wiped from her face as her gaze intensently burns into Amy’s. “Before I kill you, tell me something. How’d you know it was me?”

Amy lip quivers slightly before she bites down on it, Nicole finds her display of fear amusing letting out a small chuckle, but she cocks her head to the side, curiosity glistening in her eyes. “Well?”

“You told us you wouldn’t be here tonight. And even though you were in the woods too, the feral only came for me.”

“Mmm, two and two. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Nicole takes one more step towards Amy and levels up the crossbow to her forehead, “I guess Adrian needs to look for another assistant now.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Amy cries out, she grits her teeth together in an endeavour to stop the tears in her eyes from falling. The corners of Nicole’s lips slightly quirk upwards as her finger hovers over trigger, “this goes far beyond you Amy. You’re just collateral.”

“Who are you working for because I know Adrian would never want this.”

“That old prude, please.” Nicole lets out an exasperated huff, “Adrian’s always been such a good boy following the rules, but he played me. Strung me along and made me do everything for him without giving me what I wanted most.”

“You wanted to turn.”

“And he knew that, and he kept letting me get my hopes up until your idiotic friend had to get herself hurt and took my rightful place in his clan.” The glare in Nicole’s eyes turn to pure hatred, as her hands shake in fury, “but at least tonight I get my revenge.” Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, Amy tackles Nicole to the ground and the two women begin brawling with each other, trying to grab the crossbow.

Amy wildly swings her arms and knocks the crossbow out of Nicole’s arms as Nicole delivers a sharp blow to Amy’s gut, knocking the wind out of her. The VP begins to crawl towards the crossbow and just as she reaches out to grab it, Amy jumps on her back and pulls her arm away.

“Why...don’t...you...just….die?” Nicole rolls over, pushing Amy to the ground before wrapping her hands around the girl’s throat. “Guess we’ll do this the old fashioned way.” Amy begins hitting at Nicole’s sides, as her gaze slowly starts to become hazy. She feels the air leaving her burning lungs, as Nicole’s grip only tightens, a malicious smile on her face, contentedly watching as she drains the life out of the girl. A flood of adrenaline rushes through Amy’s body just as her life begins slipping away from her, and she uses the opportunity to gouge out Nicole’s eyes with her thumbs. In retort, Nicole hisses and loosens her grip arounds Amy’s neck. Amy lets out a huge gasp, letting the crisp air infiltrate her lungs and shoves Nicole off her body, reaching out for the crossbow and clamps her hands on it as soon as her hands touch it. Nicole freezes as she’s on her knees, expression startled, she lifts her hands up defenselessly and begins pleading.

“Please..don’t do this.”

Amy tightens her hold on the crossbow, trying to stop her shaking hands as she stares down Nicole, “why should I? You almost killed me.”

Nicole shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes, “please, please.”

“Stop! Just stop!” Amy keeps the crossbow aimed at Nicole but she doesn’t make a move to do anything. All of a sudden Nicole’s pleading stops as she smugly looks at the girl, a glimmer of gratification in her eyes.

“You can’t do it.” The smile on Nicole’s face only broadens, she lets out a small devilish laugh as she slowly begins to stand, her hands still held up as she does.

“Stop! Just stay there.” Amy apprehensively squeaks out, the crossbow still pointing at the VP.

“You won’t do it. You’re not a killer.” Nicole degradingly pouts, her voice painfully demeaning, “you’re Adrian’s little pet. Too innocent for a world filled with killers.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Amy counters.

“But I know enough. Why did you even agree to stay? You could’ve walked away, you could’ve had a clean conscience, no blood on your hands.”

“I’ve never killed anyone!”

“Really?” Nicole raises an inquisitive eyebrow as she slowly steps towards Amy, “tell that to the feral you just killed.” Nicole lunges forwards, trying to grab the weapon from Amy’s hand but the trigger jams and suddenly Nicole lets out a huff before dropping down to the floor, her hands clutching her chest as her clothes begin to soaked in a crimson liquid. Amy gasps, throwing the crossbow to the side as her hand uselessly hovers over the spike in Nicole’s chest before using her hands as a compress to stop the blood flow.

“No. No. No. No. No.” Nicole’s blood permeates onto Amy’s hands, as she wipes her hands on her clothes before putting her hands back into the same position. “Please,” she whispers pleadingly as Nicole’s breaths come out in short intervals, blood sprouting from her mouth and oozing down her cheeks. When Amy meets Nicole’s eyes she doesn’t see any fear...just acceptance. Nicole laughs derisively, small flecks of blood falling on chin as she does.

“You..have...no...idea...what’s..coming...next.”

Amy momentarily freezes as Nicole’s words sink in, she realises she has still yet to learn who Nicole is working with but realises it’s too late when Nicole’s body is motionless, her eyes lifelessly hanging open. Amy lets out a choked sob, hands trembling as she glares at Nicole’s body, reality settling in. Her breaths become panicked, as she shuffles herself away from the body, she shields her eyes and uncontrollably breaks down.

“Amy?” A soft voice calls out to her, and Amy lifts her head to see a worried Kamilah standing in front of her, her own face and hands painted in blood. Kamilah carefully turns her head to look at Nicole’s body before shifting her gaze back to the human, “did you?” she trails off as Amy frantically nods her head, her body still filled with tremors. “Hey.” Kamilah squats in front of the girl and carefully puts two fingers under her chin lifting her head until their eyes are trained on one another. “Take a deep breath in and then a deep breath out.” Amy attempts to follow Kamilah’s advice, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly until she finally has control over her own breath. She nods in appreciation to the vampire. “Are you going to tell me what happened here?”

“Kamilah I-” Amy murmurs, her voice laced with pain, “she’s the one behind the feral attack.”

“What?”

“She tried attacking me but the crossbow, it jammed and then-” Amy cuts herself off as tears begin brimming in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to” she violently shakes her head, as her body begins to tremble again.

“Listen to me. You did her a favor.” Amy inquisitively gazes at Kamilah, confusion written on her face.

“What are you talking about? I should’ve brought her back to her council, you guys should have dealt with it.” Kamilah tuts in response as she turns her head towards Nicole, fury burning in her eyes.

“The council would have made her suffer for being behind the attack, you did an act of mercy.”

“I don’t feel like I did,” Amy pulls her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly. Kamilah for the first time inspects the human’s, she assesses the mixed colours of black and red on her face and the scratches and blood all over her dress and arms. Kamilah stands and moves towards Nicole’s body and just as she’s about to lift her body Amy shouts out, “no! Please, no one can know about this.”

“Amy…”

“Please Kamilah,” Amy says pleadingly, “Adrian, Lily, they can’t find out, please.”

Kamilah sighs, before she begins to rub her temples, “okay, wait here.” She wordlessly leaves and a few moments later returns with a shovel in her hands and begins digging in the ground next to Nicole’s body. When she’s created a hole deep enough, she carefully lifts Nicole’s body and lays into the newly dug hole and begins to fill it up again. Amy silently watches the soil hit Nicole’s body as the grave begins filling up until Nicole’s body is completely concealed. Kamilah lets out a huff before looking over to Amy who hasn’t moved from her spot in the last hour. “Amy?” Amy noncommitedly hums in response, her gaze never leaving Nicole’s grave. “Come on,” Kamilah reaches out her hand awaiting for Amy to take it and as Amy’s hands slide into hers, Kamilah effortlessly pulls Amy up, before pulling her hand away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Kamilah walks out of the woods with Amy trailing behind her and the women catch the train, silence filling up the atmosphere as they wordlessly trudge up to Amy’s apartment. A breath of relief escapes Amy when she comes home to an empty apartment, glad that Lily isn’t here to question the state she’s in. Kamilah promptly stalks towards the bathroom and Amy closely follows behind. Kamilah grabs a towel from the cabinet and begins running the water, dabbling the towel under the water. “Come,” she commands as Amy obediently stands in front of the vampire as Kamilah lifts the wet towel and delicately begins dabbing away at the blood. Amy watches as Kamilah’s brows furrow ever so slightly, a hint of concern in her features as she softly wipes away at the blood.

Without thinking, Amy lifts her hands to cup Kamilah’s face, Kamilah’s breath slightly hitches as she freezes while the human’s thumbs gently stroke the vampire’s cheeks, surveying the dried blood on her face. “There’s so much blood,” she quietly speaks out.

Kamilah keepsher focus on wiping away the blood on Amy’s face, unable to look into her eyes, as she responds, “nothing that hasn’t happened before.” Kamilah freezes, her face scrunched up before her hand trails down Amy’s arm. “Take off your dress.”

“What?”

Kamilah stares at the human, her gaze serious. “Take. Off. The. Dress.” Amy turns and pulls the zipper down and as she does Kamilah gasps.

“How did I not pick up on this before?”

Her fingertip ghosts down Amy’s back as Amy looks over her shoulder, “picked up on what?”

“You’re- you’re hurt.” Kamilah touches the large gash on Amy’s back and Amy’s recoils in pain.

“Ow!”

“Here, let me heal you.” Kamilah’s fangs descend as she lightly pricks her finger with her tooth and presses the blood onto Amy’s back. “There, it should heal soon.”

“Thanks.”

“This is taking too long, you should take a shower and clean off the rest of the blood.” Kamilah turns to leave but Amy grips her wrist slightly pulling the vampire back.

“Please stay, I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Kamilah contemplates but as she takes in Amy’s distraught demeanour, her gaze softens and she sighs, “okay.” Amy pushes off her dress, but keeps her bra and panties on as she steps into the shower and begins running the water. A few moments later, Kmailah follows suit, letting her dress join Amy’s on the floor as she steps into the shower half naked.

Wordlessly Kamilah cups Amy’s face and lets the water begin to wash away the blood, her thumbs tenderly stroking the human’s jaw as she does. Amy, although slightly taken back by the vampire’s sudden benevolence, allows Kamilah to gently caress her face. In return Amy squirts some shower gel into her hands, letting the suds bubble up in her hands before cleaning away the blood on Kamilah’s face. Kamilah tenses, realising her abrupt hesitation, Amy stops but keeps her hands on Kamilah’s face, her eyes searching the vampire’s. When Kamilah doesn’t pull away, she continues rinsing off the blood as the two women soundlessly help each other to clean up, the intensity of the atmosphere being more intimate than any moment shared between them before.

Kamilah senses Amy’s mind drifting and speaks out, “it gets easier.”

Amy looks up at the vampire, solemnly, “which part, the killing or the guilt?”

They continue washing off the blood in silence until Kamilah replies, “both.”

Once they are cleaned up, Amy offers Kamilah some of her newer clothes to try on. Kamilah hesitantly but without complaint puts them on before moving towards the front door, when she turns back to look at Amy, Amy can already sense Kamilah’s walls being built back up as her usual cold demeanour takes over.

“Right, I should be getting back to the council, Vega’s called an emergency meeting.”

“Do you know what it’s for?”

Kamilah shakes her head, her voice devastatingly monotone, “most likely to figure out how to spin this story and clean up the mess back at the mansion. According to Vega, amidst the..” she clears her throat and carefully chooses her words, “events of tonight, Marcel was killed by the ferals.”

Amy gasps, sadness overcoming her senses, “oh my god.”

“Well, for now you need to lay low.”

“What about Lily? Where is she?”

“I’m not sure,” Amy sharply draws in her breath but Kamilah lays a hand on her shoulder, “Adrian told me she’s okay.” Amy exhales elatedly. “You need to find her and lay somewhere safe for now. Something tells me that someone was using Nicole as a puppet and your apartment might not be safe for you right now.” At the sound of Nicole’s name Amy tenses, fear creeping up on her.

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t. I’ll….figure it out but for now lay low okay?”

Amy nods and Kamilah removes her hand from the girl’s shoulder before giving her a curt nod, leaving the human in the apartment. Amy takes out her phone and texts Lily, a few seconds later Lily responds and Amy pin drops a location for Lily to meet her at.

Eventually she meets with Lily and Jax and Jax gives the girls a tour of the shadowden where the girls meet members of the clanless and seek refuge in the shadowden for a few hours. Eventually a commotion of voices interrupt the tour as they step out to see Kamilah being held by two clanless as the crowd begin cheering and screaming at her presence. When Amy looks at Kamilah she feels a pang of disappointment in her chest as she sees Kamilah has changed back into her regular suit. After some convincing Jax lets the women go and they all go to Kamilah’s office for some privacy after Kamilah explains there has been a development in the recent attack.

“Well? What’s going on?” Lily blurts out. Kamilah stalks towards her drinks tray pouring out half a glass of bourbon before downing it in one gulp. “Hello?”

Kamilah shoots daggers at Lily and the young vampire immediately clamps her mouth shut. “It seems we have an issue.”

“What’s wrong?” Amy asks and for the first time since Kamilah left Amy’s apartment, she stares directly into the human’s eyes, an unfamiliar glint in her eye.

“They’re saying it’s Adrian.” Kamilah grits her teeth, her nostrils slightly flaring.

“What is?” Lily raises an speculative eyebrow at the older vampire.

“They’re saying he’s behind the attack at the castle.”

“What? Who the hell is saying that?” Amy speaks out, the anger on her face almost matching the level of Kamilah’s.

“The council. They’re giving him a trial in a week, to determine if he’s innocent or guilty.”

“What happens if they think he’s guilty?”

Kamilah squeezes the glass in her hand, crushing it into pieces as Amy and Lily share a worried glance, “he dies.”

#playchoices #BloodBound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #i miss the blood queen so much #hope you guys like this

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Tear In My Heart // Alfie Solomons

(A/N - hehe im back. im working on a bucky oneshot and a tommy series but both of them are super long and i wanted to take a little breather. this was supposed to be a drabble but you know me... ive got a few more ideas for shorter imagines like this with tommy and alf, requests are open! hope you enjoy. pls reblog and comment. love u see u soon xoxxo - also this is like the smuttiest thing ive written even though its not explicit but wow who am i)

warnings: violence, mention of fights and blood, protective alfie, heavily implied smut, lots of terrible language.

You knew something was wrong when Ollie practically crashed through the door. He took off part of the frame and made the hinges tear from the wood, nails and screws clattering onto the ground. The afternoon had been wonderful, perhaps too wonderful, and as always, real life found a way to shatter your rose tinted glasses.

It was starting to fall into autumn, the air chilly but comfortable, the streets slick with rain and the leaves turning into a sweet, buttery caramel all around you. The house was silent save for the birds singing in the trees and the rattling whip of the wind against your windows. The quiet was a perk of having house out in the country, far away from anything and anyone. Just the way he liked it.

Because to him, all he needed was his girl.

Well, and his dog.

The sun had barely risen when you got up - much to your husbands protests. You felt him stirring from beside you, a solid wall of warmth as he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed sleepy, half drunk kisses onto your spine. You laughed tiredly as his hands curled over everything they could reach, long calloused fingers roaming against your bare skin. He grumbled as you swung your legs from under the duvet and onto the floor, throwing on his white cotton shirt and letting it fall to your knees, trying to ignore the threats he was mumbling about what he was going to do to your boss for making you come in so early.

He made one last feeble attempt to grab you, exhaustion clouding his brain so he could do no more than swipe at the top of your thigh, making you laugh at his wandering hands.

“Stay.” He said, voice raspy and muffled by his pillow.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Alf.” You sighed playfully, grabbing your strawberry slip dress and beaded heels and fur coat, darting into the bathroom to wash up and change. Through the noise of the running water you could hear the bed springs creak as he shifted, the entire frame groaning almost as much as him. Cyril watched you with his big chestnut eyes from the doorway as you fluffed up your hair and patted on coffee coloured lipstick, pinching the apples of your cheeks for a little flush.

You rummaged through your handbag as you made your way to the bedroom door, lost in your thoughts until you heard him speak, all low and gravelly and sending shivers up your spine.

“Oi. C’mere you.”

You rolled your eyes but walked into his outstretched arms, his body completely slumped and covered in thick duvets and pillows, just his tattooed skin and coarse, tousled hair poking out from underneath. He pulled you close into him, smelling like green apples and rum and sex and sea salt, like home. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out, the sun starting to shine through the cracks in the curtains and as you started to get up he tugged you in tighter, placing messy, sloppy kisses down your throat and onto your collarbones.

You smacked his shoulder, grabbing his jaw and holding it still, placing a kiss on his lips, feeling him smile against your mouth.

“Bye, my love.”

“Hmph.”

You made it halfway down the hall before you heard: “Fred is driving you. Don’t even bloody think about walking alone at this time.” Followed by grunts and groans and finally deep, throaty snores.

———————————————————-

You accompanied your boss to a few meetings, taking notes and helping him check stock. After a few hours filled with cinnamon lattes and finger cramps and ink stains, he took you aside at the office and gave you the rest of the day off. You were a little suspicious, and had a feeling his good deed might have had something to do with your slightly intimidating husband, but you accepted it nonetheless and headed to Camden after lunch.

The air was brisk and you pulled your scarf tighter around your throat, dodging puddles and fat droplets of rain as they dropped from the trees. You stopped off at a little cafe on your side of town, buying turkey sandwiches, a garden salad and a platter of seasonal fruit, ignoring the fried sugar donuts and sausage rolls and thick, crispy cuts of bacon. A routine check up to the doctor had lead to Alfie being told that perhaps a healthier lifestyle would benefit some of his ailments, so despite his grumbling and childish ways you were doing your best to make sure he was eating his five a day - no matter how much he protested.

But at the last second you grabbed a cherry jam donut. His favourite.

The rain had become torrential by the time you left, the clouds morphing into a block of ashen, sooty grey, teetering on black. Once upon a time the impending storm would have made you feel nervous, the rattling trees and flashes of lightning had been the reason for many sleepless nights when you were a child, but now you looked forward to it.

Because now it meant something different. You, Alfie and Cyril curled up in bed, the fire roaring and flickering a brilliant orange gold. Your husbands arms tight around you, squeezing softly every time there was a clap of thunder, his kisses warm and protective across your throat, knowing that he’d never let anything hurt you. Drinking tea spiked with rum and playing cards, listening to the rain against the windows, feeling the white burst of lighting every time it struck the sky. Falling asleep next to each other, Alfie always waiting for you to doze off first, unable to sleep unless he knew you were alright.

You had once hated storms, and now you wished for them.

Your umbrella was totally battered by the time you got to the bakery. The bottom of your dress was damp from puddles and your shoes were on their last legs, the satin ruined and black with mud, but you didn’t care, walking through the side entrance with a smile bigger than the moon. A few of the old boys saw you instantly, straightening up and grinning at you, welcoming you with whisky soaked aprons and calloused hands. Back when you and Alfie started dating he had all but forbidden his staff from looking, talking, or even thinking about you, but over the years you had formed a close relationship with his workers - something about your warmth and light easing up the darkness. At first Alfie huffed and puffed about it a little, but he couldn’t exactly blame his men for loving you - he was a perfect example of how you brought a strong man to his knees after all.

“Is he upstairs?” You asked George, one of the distillers. As soon as he nodded you left, your heels clicking against the cool basement flooring. You didn’t bother knocking as you approached the big, intimidating door to his office, instead just grabbing the brass lion head knob and twisting it, hearing the hinges whine in protest.

“What the fuck?” His voice was as deep and rumbling as a low tide, his tone so dark and sharp that it might have scared you, if you didn’t know him as the man who fed the ducks fresh bread at the park and cuddled Cyril when the vets had to give him an injection. “How many fucking times do I have to ask you lot to fucking knock. I mean it’s a - ”

He stopped short when he saw you, eyes going wide and lips twitching upwards just a little. He slipped into business mode whenever he sat at the leather chair behind his desk, but you always managed to chip away at his foundation.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” You laughed, walking around his desk to see him, his legs naturally opening to let you stand in between them, his eyes following every curve and line of your face, settling on the natural rosebud flush of your lips.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He mused, ring clad fingers darting around your waist and pulling you in. He toyed with the buttons on your dress and the jewellery around your neck, his fingers rough and large and as hot as a fire. His day had been shitty so far, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes and the loose curl of your hair had made everything much, much better.

“Hmm.” You said, leaning into his touch, batting away his hand as it slipped somewhere a little too low. “Marcus gave me the afternoon of so I thought I would come and surprise you.”

He blinked up at you, all wistful and love drunk and making your knees turn into blackcurrant jelly. “Did you now?”

“Yep.” You smiled, brushing your nose against his before pulling back and teasingly shaking the paper bag of baked goods in your hand. “And I bought gifts.”

“Yeah. Yeah. In a minute.” He barely registered them, instead dragging you into him, pressing kisses to your lips and letting you wash away any thoughts from his brain, not stopping until he was totally, completely drowning in you.

——————————————————-

That was how you ended up cross legged on the sofa, devouring your new novel and sipping on the rose and oolong tea Alfie kept in the cupboard for when you visited the factory. You could hear the rain pattering down the windows around you, mixed with the scratch of Alfie’s fountain pen and the sound of him rifling through his papers. It was fun to watch him as well as listen to him, the way his eyebrows raised when he read something he didn’t like, the twitch of his nose and the way that he ran his fingers through the coarse hair of his beard, moulding it to a peak at the bottom of his chin.

He watched you as well. When you got so into your book that your brows furrowed and your nose wrinkled. The way your hair was loose and wild, your stockings a soft pink under the stormy sky, your eyes wide and frantic, desperate to read as much as you could. He smiled at the way your leg bounced, how you tried to pick the stems from your strawberries with one hand but then accidentally squished them, the juice running down your wrist. He especially liked the way you were using his winter coat as a blanket, drowning in the fabric like a child, the collar snug around your chin.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard Ollie before you saw him, the crash of his laced black boots thundering up the stairs, the way that he collided with the door rather than opening it first. You and Alfie stood up at the same time, his eyes immediately darting to you, gesturing for you to get behind him.

“Eric’s here.” Was all the boy said, and you watched the colour drain from Alfie’s face.

“Eric?” You said, “Eric Martin?”

Your question lingered in the air as the two men walked around one another, gesturing wildly and talking under their breath; Alfie completely frantic and flustered. You had only heard of Alfie’s new business partner in passing, the two of them had spent the better part of a year talking through agreements and shipments and trying to manoeuvre a deal where the two of them could co exist happily - Alfie’s rum and Eric’s stolen goods sharing a boat so that the city checks would be easier. Alfie had never been particularly quite when it came to business. He liked to include you and get your opinion on things, he trusted you most of all anyway, but he had been secretive when it came to Eric.

You had heard through Ollie and rumours at the club and whispers in the factory that this “Eric” was a man not to be trifled with. Apparently he was unpredictable and violent, and he belonged to one of the major crime gangs in Cambridge. None of this scared you though, many people thought the exact same of the man you shared your bed with, and you knew a side of him that nobody else saw. The gossip was barbed and cruel though. They said he was conniving and underhanded, and that his last two wives had been admitted to hospital with broken and fractured bones.

So Alfie tried cutting him out as much as he could, never wanting to say his name or talk about him in the safety of his home, not with you around. Your home was his solace, and he wouldn’t taint his life with you in blood red - you were too important. You never thought much of it, but watching his reaction, his sudden overprotectiveness and stern frown and rattled demeanour, made you just a little bit frightened.

“What the fuck does he want?” Alfie snapped, pulling your coat over your shoulders frantically and starting to button it up, then helping you tug on your boots and lace them.

“He’s pissed about the Brighton shipment, he says his liquor didn’t get there on time.”

“Stupid fucking...” Alfie’s voice trailed off like smoke, something downstairs on the factory floor clattering loudly followed by distinct, angry shouts. “We told him it was too risky with the police there, he should have fucking listened. We were due a meeting next week, tell him to fuck off and come back then.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Make him.”

“I...” He started, but Alfie cut him off again, standing next to you and taking your face in his large, calloused hands.

“Right, pet. Stay here for a little bit, and when it clears up, Ollie will take you out the back, alright?”

“Alfie...” You started to protest, before exhaling and sighing as he turned to his protégée.

“You got that, Ol? Nothing is to happen to her.”

You were getting a little hot with being ordered around, but the visible anxiety swimming across their faces like the midnight sea was enough for you to close your mouth. Instead of agreeing with his boss, Ollie shook his head, sucking on his lower lip as he tried to think of a way to convey the sincerity of the situation.

“He’s really angry, Alfie. You need to go down, now. Before he decides to come up.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Your fingers clenched, and you darted out to tug on the edge of his sleeve before he left.“Alfie. Please be careful.”

There was a smog of anxiety in your stomach and warning signs ringing like alarms in your mind as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips brushing your hairline. You chewed on the edge of your lip as he left, and you wondered how your blissful afternoon had turned into this: your body shaking with nerves as your husband descended down the stairs and into the belly of the beast.

Ollie reached out and touched your shoulder, trying to help you feel calm but his face was the colour of tepid dishwater, paling by the second.

“He’ll be fine.”

You crossed all of your fingers and toes.

———————————————————————

About twenty minutes passed, and the shouting had gone from ear piercingly loud to a low hum, which you found oddly comforting despite everything. You watched as Ollie fiddled with his pocket watch, the two of you waiting until it was safe to head downstairs.After a moment you heard the sound of the giant metal door opening, the one right at the front where the workers came in and the bakery goods were delivered, a clear indication from Alfie that Eric was leaving.

Ollie leapt up and smiled faintly at you, edging you towards the door as you swung your handbag across your chest. You scoffed a little as you walked, turning to face him.

“If Eric is gone, why can’t I stay?”

Ollie merely rolled his eyes, his hand migrating to your lower back as he all but pushed you forward. You might have been able to get away with ignoring Alfie’s orders, but he certainly wouldn’t. “You know Alfie won’t want you here after that. There’s no use fighting him about it, he’ll want you back at home.”

You sighed but conceded, allowing yourself to be guided down the staircase. At least at home you could distract yourself and have Cyril with you, his big treacle eyes were the perfect remedy to a bad day.

You were right beside the back door and ready to leave when you heard a voice cracking like thunder from behind you, something as sharp as a knife and as loud as a church bell. You both froze instantly, every nerve in your body feathering, your heart aching to know that Alfie was alright.

“You little fucking liar.” Cut around the room like barbed wire. “How long were you planning on hiding this shipment from me?” There was another crash, and you could hear liquid trickling and dribbling into a puddle, followed by the sweet, sour smell of alcohol.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re on about mate.” It was Alfie speaking now, his voice lowered to a dangerous octave, and you could picture the lightning like anger on his face. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? You’ve been sending things off without my knowledge!”

“I said. Fucking calm down.” The sound of a hand slamming down on wood, as fierce as a slap on the face. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

There was another scuffle: rapid footsteps on the floor, the crack of knuckles and the smell of ash. A couple of the boys darted in from the other room, their shirts untucked and hands turning red. You watched them curiously, stepping forward on unsteady heels to try and pinpoint the commotion. You felt Ollie's hand reach for you but you leapt out of his grasp, at the same time a body flew from the next room and landed in a heap next to barrels of aged rum and whisky, the wood heaving from the strain.

You glanced at the man on the floor, his body oddly contorted, his bald head glistening with sweat and his body reeking of putrid alcohol and cigarettes. This was obviously Eric. Your eyes widened in disgust at the drunk, violent man taking swings at whoever he could, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. You saw Alfie emerge from the shadows, his gaze flitting straight to you, his hands swollen and his face flushed with visible anger at the man sprawled on the ground.

Before you could retreat, Eric’s wide, black eyes landed on you, practically bulging out of his head with adrenaline and anger and excitement. “ You know, Alfie.” He asked through bubbles of saliva, scrambling to his feet as best he could, lunging for you. You saw Alfie and a few of his best men move forward, hands ready like cocked guns to strike if they needed to. Eric ignored them, wanting to pack as many fatal blows in whilst he had the chance. “Everybody at the club talks about your little whore of a wife, Solomon’s.”

The room fell deadly silent. His words didn’t affect you at all, but you felt a pool of dread settle in your gut and you stepped backwards, warning him with your eyes. He was at the back of the room, but you could still feel the anger vibrating from your husband, and you heard him smack his lips as he tried to calm himself down.

Eric ignored your alarmed glare, spitting onto the concrete and looking you up and down with pure disgust and shameless lust. “You know that people only do business with you to get to her?”

“Don’t. You. Fuck - ” Alfie’s boots thundered like a stampede, his voice as dark and raspy as midnight, his words sharpened like butchers knives.

“Maybe I’ll have a go at her. Maybe it’ll teach you a little respect. If I have a go at that smug little whore and slap her around a little and....”

He didn’t finish his sentence, Alfie’s cane smashing against the side of Eric’s head with enough momentum to send his teeth flying, small milky white canines lying a few feet in front of you in a pool of sticky blood. He made some kind of noise from on the floor, his hands coming up to protect what was left of his face, his polished shoes desperately trying to grip onto something to help him up. There was a second hit. And then a third. Each accompanied by ear splitting cries, and the sound of flesh against stone.

“Don’t you ever, ever, speak about my wife like that again.” You could just about make out Alfie from the darkness, his silhouette mighty and terrifying, leaning over the shattered body on the floor, filled with a hatred that seemed to overpower him.

“I - ” Eric tried to speak but only blood pooled from his mouth, his body weakened and damaged from the attack. He tried to cover himself with his hands but failed, another ear piercing crack echoing around the room.

You lunged forward, wanting to stop your husband before he went too far. “Alfie! Stop! You’re going to kill him!”

He blinked up at you, his pupils swallowed by black. His gaze lowered from you onto the wailing man on the ground, his words playing on a loop in his brain, digging their nails in every time the record restarted.

He had said those evil things about you.

He glanced at Ollie, finally opening his mouth to speak. “Take her home.”

You struggled in Ollie’s grip, desperate to see your husband and knock some sense into him. Your heart hung heavy in your chest, equal parts terrified that he would either end up hurt or in a more dangerous situation than the one he was already in. You fought hard but Ollie’s hold was tighter, his fingers squeezing you tightly. He tried to be kind but forceful as he pulled you out into the alley, your heard turned back to face your husband, watching as him and the shadow on the floor faded to a dull, awful, obsidian.

—————————————-

You were certain you were going to make holes in the wood. You had been pacing back and forth the living room floor for almost an hour, and Cyril had abandoned his mission of trying to cheer you up, and instead watched you protectively and cautiously from his wicker basket beside the sofa.

You had chewed your sunshine yellow nails down to the wick, and your heart hadn’t stop thumping since you had left the warehouse. Ollie had left you to your thoughts, keeping watch outside to make sure nothing harmed you, and also that you didn’t harm somebody else.

Dealing with hysterical women wasn’t really his forte.

There had been no word from Alfie since you had left, and so you watched the teal wall phone endlessly, hoping that it would ring and you would know he was alright. You were greeted with nothing but ice cold silence, and so you resumed your pacing, biting down on the skin of your thumb until you could taste blood.

Right before you were about to lose all control and demand Ollie take you to see him, you heard the crunch of the gravel outside, and saw lemon headlights flash against the wall. Cyril’s head lifted quickly, and his tail began to thump, but your feet turned to concerted and you were unable to do anything other than wait.

You were as still as a spectre as you stood facing the door, your body prickling with anxiety and adrenaline. A car - you assumed Ollie’s - coughed and spluttered over the rocks and into the road, leaving you alone with Alfie. You heard the key in the lock, practically felt the metal ridges running over your spine as he pulled and twisted and finally came inside, the sky a gloomy, smoky grey, rain falling so harshly it was almost hail.

He was shaped so strongly, his figure so barbed and brawny and beautiful. You felt totally mortal beside a man like him, and he looked even more so like a God when you saw him under the icy white lamp light in the hall.

He was covered in blood. Soaked in it, really. It was matted in his hair and in ugly brown splotches across his once pristine shirt and under his fingernails and smeared across his boots in a shade of red you had never seen before. It was obvious he had tried to clean himself up judging from the uneven patches and water marks, but he had given up, deciding to risk everything and drive through the streets like an abattoir worker, just so he could see you as quickly as he could.

You let out some kind of noise and stepped forward, he caught you effortlessly, the way that he always would.

“Alfie.” You said, wide eyed and innocent and good, and he felt like a sinner holding something so angelic in his arms.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.”

There was blood in his beard, and a plum sided bruise turning nightshade on his upper arm. “Oh God, Alf.”

He shook his head, pulling you in and smelling the orange and cinnamon of your shampoo and the vanilla perfume on your neck and felt the softness of your hair and the curves of your body. The day had been bad. It had started so wonderfully and ended up shattered and splintered into something so awful and malevolent, and now there was nothing he wanted except you, his home.

“We need to - ” You started, but he frowned, his arms engulfing you and tugging you in. He pressed his lips to whatever flesh he could find, open mouthed and desperate, sucking and biting and aching for you.

“No. No.” He whispered into your neck, his voice so small and desperate that your heart throbbed. “I need you, my love.”

You knew what he wanted. How we got when he was like this. Touch starved. Greedy. Insatiable. How he wanted nothing else but the feel of you under him, the weight of your ribs and the feel of your body and love consuming him until nothing was left. Fuck his back and his cane, he needed to claim you and mark you and show you just how badly he needed you. He needed to find religion at the alter of your pliant, yearning body. Show you how much he loved you on the cold kitchen tiles with the rain casting grey shadows and his lips biting your own as the thunder clapped above.

————————-

The tap was still leaking.

Alfie had promised to fix it weeks ago and yet it still dribbled lukewarm water continuously, you didn’t mind for once though, the soft noise it made as it bounced into the water was somewhat calming.

His legs around you were as thick as tree trunks and covered in curly, coarse hair. His arms were tight around you, and you played with the jewels on his fingers as you both relaxed, letting the hot steam cover you both. You were cradled in front of him despite your instance that his back would hurt and it would cause more harm than good. He simply got in the water and dragged you on top of him, letting the pink bath salts do their job.

You hadn’t really spoken since you’d made love like teenagers on the kitchen floor. Afterwards, he tugged you on top of him and held you close, the two of you skin to skin, letting your pulses synch and breathing calm all whilst he stayed warm and throbbing inside of you. Needing to be joined with you for as long as he could.

Then you ran a bath and filled it with all of the expensive lotions and potions you had stockpiled. Cherry and rose and sweet mint and chocolate and lime, things that might have clashed but would easily cover the smell of sweat and sex and thick, coppery blood. The two of you sat in the water, not speaking but filled with love, despite all of the unspoken tension in the air.

You felt him shift behind you. His huge body sent water and bubbles lapping wildly over the tub edge, coating the floor in marshmallow pink. You giggled softly, and the sweet, angelic noise gave Alfie the final push to tell you everything.

“I know what you want to ask me.”

“Hmm?” You murmured, letting round, iridescent bubbles fall through the cracks in your fingers, knowing exactly what he was about to say but feigning innocence anyway.

“You want to know if I killed him.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to, he continued anyway.

“I did.”

The bathroom fell silent again and Alfie could feel you stiffen under him. You knew from the moment he swung his cane across Eric’s head that he would be buried six feet by the end of the day, but it still hit you like a punch to the windpipe to hear the words aloud.

“Does that bother you?” He asked after a moment, the words thick and raspy, as though they had been stuck in his throat like congealed honey.

“I’m not sure.” You said finally.

It was the truth. You weren’t sure.

You knew he had killed people before. You knew what the war had made him do, what it had turned him into. You weren’t stupid, either. You knew that he often came home with dirt under his nails and blood splattered on his boots and that glazed look in his eyes that made your stomach tie itself in knots. You knew because you had been there through it all, cleaning him up and disinfecting his wounds, talking him down when the memories of gunshots and trenches got too loud, listening to him tell you all of the secrets that lingered in his mind like flies around a carcass.

But if you were being honest, you didn’t care that he had killed. You never judged Alfie or his choices, you understood the way his brain worked and how he made his decisions. Most of the men had been awful. Abusers and violent thieves and con men with dirty intentions. This was the business you had signed up for when you fell for the six foot man with questionable morals but a heart of solid gold. There was no way you were turning your back on him now.

It wasn’t murder that scared you, it was the possible repercussions that led you to sleepless nights and bloody, bitten lips. You were terrified that one day everything would catch up to him, and it would be your husband that ended up in a coffin. He was so powerful and dangerous and magnificent, but he wasn’t invincible.

You were about to say as much but he continued, the water sloshing around the two of you. “Don’t let it bother you. I’d do it again. Kill a fucking million men if I had to. If anyone talks about you like that - if they even think it. They’re gone. Bloody scum. The lot of ‘em.”

You sighed, shifting up and grabbing his hand under the water. You rubbed circles across his palm, conveying your love through actions. “I don’t want to be the reason you have blood on your hands.”

“I’m a big lad right, I can make my own decisions.”

“I know you are Alf, but you know how I worry.”

“Listen to me, right.” He muttered, the candles flickering clementine, his fingertips pressing gently onto the bare flesh of your hip. He cleared his throat, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his belly. “After the war I had nothing - and then I met you and fuck me you changed everything.”

He paused, reminiscing internally about how you met and your early dates, thinking of toffee kisses and giddy, pure love and fucking in back alleys and winter walks and finally feeling something after the war had shot everything right out of him. “And you are my wife. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You tugged on his big toe, making him wince and playfully hit you, the air lightened just a little bit, but enough so that the two of you could breathe. “I don’t care that you killed them, Alf. I never have. But God, if something were to happen to you! What if the police start looking? What if...”

A million fucked up scenarios of your beloved in silver cuffs and a bullet in his head made you feel completely nauseous, but he held you tight, grounding you back to reality.

“I’m not going anywhere. And for the cops - they should be thanking me. Got rid of a lot of nasty criminals without them getting their hands dirty.” He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, the tip of your spine, the crook of your ear. “I promise you, my love, everything will be alright.”

The future was uncertain, but you knew that when you married him. Some days were just bad.

Clouded in darkness and tinged with blood and rust. Your relationship had always been a little unconventional, a little rough around the edges and at times, like a small wooden boat on a rough sea. But despite everything your love had been unwavering, as solid as a steel, the kind of dreamy infatuation that people longed for. For every bad day and every fight and every knot that wound itself in your belly - there was also so much good. Sleepy kisses and pillow talk and sharing the parts of yourself that no one else saw. A language without words, the safety of his arms, the home in your hips, domestic mornings and a love that could last through anything.And in that moment, with the storm starting to ease and the sky starting to lighten and his arms around you and Cyril starting to whine for his dinner downstairs...

It was enough.

Because you weren’t just the girl he would kill for. You were the girl he would live for.

#alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons headcanon #alfie solomons oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader #writing #alfie solomons hc

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

https://wiypt-writes.tumblr.com/post/644486634874847232/stark-spangled-banner

Ch58: You Have To Go Through The Worst, To Get To The Best.

Intro: In the aftermath of the battle, Katie grieves for Tony as the world comes to terms with the fact that people they lost five years ago have reappeared.

Warnings: “Language!”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: This is it! We head into the last part and as such, a brand new banner again from @angrybirdcr. Only a few chapters left.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 57

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Sorry for your loss.

Four words that Katie was already sick of hearing. Sorry. What did people have to be sorry for? It wasn’t like it was their fault. Still, she acknowledged the sympathy that came her way, completely automatically, almost emotionlessly. She barely registered the fact she had spoken to Fury and Hill, two people who had been dead five years ago, she didn’t have the energy to wish she could knock Ross’ head off his shoulders and had no idea how long she had walked what was left of the compound, maybe an hour or so? Who cared anyway? She simply did what people asked her to do to help out, whilst Steve hurried around organising everyone and barking orders.

Nevertheless, when the crowds of Emergency Services, Armed Forces and Support Staff that had flooded the Compound left, she suddenly felt alone and found herself in their compound apartment, which had miraculously survived bar from a smashed window in the living area. She glanced around before she headed to the bedroom and slumped heavily on the large bed, staring at the wall.

Just staring.

It was quiet, but her mind was anything but. Her brain was screaming all sorts of stuff at her, a jumble of words and sounds and visions, but she couldn’t really understand any of it.

She simply felt broken.

“Katie?”

A voice broke through her reverie and she looked up to see Steve in the doorway.

“Hey.” She gave him a soft smile. “Pepper just spoke to Happy, the kids are fine. All three are fast asleep. He’s going to wake them in a few hours and bring them back.” “No.” Katie shook her head. “I want him to bring them now.” “Honey its almost two am.” He said, and Katie frowned. Okay, so she’d been walking around a little longer than she thought, then. “Let them sleep. We can go, get cleaned up and…” “Plan how we tell them their Uncle is dead.” She swallowed, gazing back down at her hands.

Steve took a shaky breath. He felt beyond guilty. Guilty that he got to go home to his kids because of the fact that Tony didn’t. Steeling himself, he made his way to the bed, sat down next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“What’s everyone doing?” She asked softly.

“Rhodey is in with Ross and President Ellis…” “Ellis is here?” She looked at him, frowning.

Steve nodded. “Rhodey’s giving him a brief on what’s happened. They’re gonna need to put an announcement out so…”

“Suppose it was probably a shock everyone re-appearing again.” She reasoned, quietly. “What about everyone else?”

“Well Lang, Parker and Bruce already left.” Steve explained as his hand gently rubbed up and down her arm. “And there’s a chopper on the way to take Pepper home and a couple more following to take the rest of us to the Tower. The roads are completely jammed, apparently there’s impromptu parties taking place all over. Might be a while before we can get back through to Brooklyn.” The thought of partying seemed alien to Katie, but as she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. People would be greeting lost loved ones, celebrating the fact the world has returned to normal.

For them anyway.

“Clint will want to go home.” Katie nodded. “He’ll be desperate to see Laura and the kids.” “We’ve got a jet on the way for him so he can go as soon as possible.” Steve soothed, dropping a kiss to her head.

If ever Katie was grateful for having a husband with Military organisational skills it was now. He’d literally thought of everything. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into him even more, seeking out comfort like a child, before Steve reached around and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close to him, as they sat in silence.

****

“I guess this is strange for you too, huh?” Steve said as they made their way into the Tower. “Yeah you could say that.” Sam shrugged, “One minute everyone was in Wakanda and then the next minute it was just us, and the jungle had changed.” He paused, scratching his head. “Then that Strange dude turns up and tells us it’s been five years and we needed to go fight one last time.”

“Has it really been that long?” Bucky asked and Steve nodded. “So now you’re older than me?” He grinned. Steve chuckled as Katie gave a small smile. “Shut up.”

They made their way into the elevator and FRIDAY greeted them, somewhat forlornly, as Katie asked for their floor. The elevator fell silent as it scooted upwards, pinging open. Katie stepped out first, followed by Wanda then the men.

“So, where do you want-“Bucky began but he stopped dead causing Sam to bump into him.

“What the hell, Frosty?” he spluttered, frowning as he followed Bucky’s eye line, his own eyes growing wide as he saw what Bucky was staring at. Wanda was also gazing, her mouth open, and Steve immediately knew what they were looking at- the large framed photo on the wall in the living room.

Even though their home was in Brooklyn this was still very much their apartment. Katie sometimes stayed if she had a big meeting, or on occasions they would crash here when they grabbed a rare night out in Manhattan. And it was for that reason that the photos in the apartment had been updated over the past five years as their lives had moved on. The wall their friends were gazing at contained two prints. The first was one taken by Katie at the hospital when Jamie was hours old, the same photo also adorned the wall in the lounge at home and it showed Steve asleep in the chair by her hospital bed, hair unkempt, shirt crumbled, stubble on his chin as his baby son was clutched to his chest as they both slept. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, one snapshot moment out of God knows how many, all of which the three people stood in front of him had missed.

The second was from last year, and showed Emmy with Alex as they sat on the sofa at home, both grinning at the camera.

“You…” Sam gasped as Wanda and Bucky turned to them, mouth hanging open.

Steve nodded, “Yeh, err, did no one tell you?” He asked, rubbing his neck.

“No.” Bucky breathed.

“But then it never really cropped up in conversation, you know, on account of us being in the middle of a battle and all.” Sam said, a little sarcastically and Wanda thumped his arm before she turned to Katie.

“How old?” She asked softly.

“Emily is sixteen next week.” Katie said, looking at the photos smiling softly. “We adopted her after the snap, it’s a long story.”

She then looked at Steve who smiled, knowing she was allowing him the task of revealing their boy’s name to two of the men he was named after.

“And Jamie’s three.” He turned to look at Bucky and Sam.

“Jamie?” Bucky asked thickly.

“Or to give him his full name James Anthony Samuel.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, the pair of them floundering for words.

“Cap,” Sam swallowed, his eyes misting over. “Wow, I’m so happy for you guys.” “I can’t wait to meet them.” Wanda beamed.

“You might regret saying that.” Steve chuckled. “Emmy’s a sass bag and Jamie can be a handful. He’s only three but he’s stubborn, opinionated- don’t even say it.” He pointed at Bucky who had opened his mouth to comment, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

“They’re awesome.” Katie spoke softly as her eyes moved round the apartment and fell on a photo of her and Tony taken at her wedding. Suddenly she couldn’t be there anymore. Excusing herself she headed into their bedroom where she flopped onto the bed, now feeling utterly overwhelmed, still struggling to make head or tail of her emotions. She should have been celebrating like everyone else in the streets was doing. Their friends and trillions of other people were saved, but she couldn’t because again, just like the other week when they had grieved for Natasha, there was one person who wasn’t coming back.

Her brother.

Taking a deep breath, she shed her boots before she stood up and peeled off her cat suit before she made her way straight into the en-suite.

She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand, an attempt to sooth the pain she now felt in every inch of her body. But whilst some of it was bruising from the multiple blows she had taken, some of it was coming from inside. The pain of losing her brother was physical, and hard. Closing her eyes she lay her head against the tiles, allowing the water to beat down on her, lost in her memories. “I got full marks on my English essay Tone!” Her 10 year old self grinned up at him as he leaned against the car, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

“Get you, you little brainbox!” He ruffled her hair. “That’s awesome, so awesome in fact I think we need to stop for pizza and a shit load of ice cream on the way home. Sound good?” “You’re the best!” She beamed as he took her pink back-pack off her and dropped it into the trunk as she climbed into the passenger seat of his BWM.

“Oh no, you are not going out wearing that!” Tony stod up as she walked into the living room of the house. Sixteen year old Katie rolled her eyes.

“Tone its boiling hot outside, what you want me to wear? A pair of jeans and a fucking coat?” “Anything but that!” He scoffed, looking at the rather short denim skirt. “Young Lady, I can see what you had for breakfast!”

“Oh bite me, Tony.” She shot back, hearing the guffaw that Rhodey gave out from the sofa before she shot out of the front door to greet her boyfriend who had just pulled up the drive.

She was eighteen…, cruising along the cliff in Malibu, laughing, her hands on the steering wheel of her convertible bug, Tony in the passenger seat sipping an iced tea as the pair of them sang as loudly as they could to Drops of Jupiter- their song.

“Mr Rock and Roll over there, listen to you!” She laughed as the song finished and it changed to AC/DC ‘Thunder’.

“If you ever tell anyone about my love of Train I will kill you.” Tony looked at her over his sunglasses and she snorted, grinning.

“I’m so telling Pepper.”

“Err you know I can still pull my funding.” He glared “You can kiss goodbye to going to Oxford…”

And speaking of Oxford, at twenty-one, she was there, accepting her first class honours in English Literature and Mythology. As she smiled for the camera, she could see Tony stood up in the middle of the hall, whistling before he punched the air. “That’s my girl!” He yelled “Katie Maria Stark. That’s my girl! No I won’t sit down…what did you just say?” And he began arguing with the person behind him.

At twenty-six she was crying, tears of happiness as the ramp on the aircraft carrier opened to reveal her brother. His hair was longer, he looked thinner but he was alive. He was barely at the bottom before she flung herself at him, not caring that his arm was a sling.

“Hey Kiddo.” He said softly as she buried her face into his neck.

“You fucking asshole!” She sobbed, “Next time, you ride with Rhodey, you got that?”

“Trust me, there will be no next time.” He chuckled as she pulled back. “Afghanistan is a shit hole.”

A year later she was crying again, sobbing even, as Tony sat with his arms around her, gently shushing her as she sat up in her bed. “How could he do that to me Tony?” She sniffed, her tears dampening her brother’s t-shirt as he rubbed her back, laying his head against hers. “I thought he loved me…but…” “He isn’t worth your tears, Kiddo.” He sighed “Grant Ward doesn’t deserve them, or you. No one ever will, you got that? No one will ever be good enough for you.”

And then she was walking up the aisle towards her future husband, her arm linked tightly around Tony’s. He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Remember, just because I’m giving you away doesn’t mean I won’t kick his ass if he ever hurts you.” Tony mumbled and she snorted, turning to look at him. “I love you to the stars and back, Katie, remember that…”

Like she could ever forget. Tony hadn’t been to everyone’s taste, hell, at times he hadn’t be hers, and they’d been estranged for two years. But Katie had never, not once, stopped loving the man who had brought her up as his own. Her brother and father all rolled into one.

She finished washing her hair and stepped out of the shower, the tears still not arriving. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She’d cried more when Natasha died. She pulled on a towel robe that was hanging behind the door and began to dry her hair, squeezing the water out of the long strands.

“I remember when you used to do that for me.” She grinned, watching Tony as he sat with Morgan between his legs on the lounger round the pool at her Brooklyn home, rubbing the little girl’s wet hair ferociously with a pink beach towel, making the three year old cackle with laughter. I remember…but Morgan won’t.

And then the cry ripped from her chest, like someone had reached down her throat and pulled it from the very depths of her heart.

***** Steve made sure the guys were settled in a spare apartment a few floors down, the three of them opting to share, none of them particularly wanting to be alone. Making his way back into theirs, he headed straight to the bedroom and heard Katie turn off the water to the shower. With a groan he stripped off the top half of his uniform, dropping the grubby item to the bed. His eyes were drawn to the silver star in the middle, and he ran his fingers over it, the material torn in places having seen better days, much like him.

With a deep breath he reached to pull off his compression shirt, but before he got chance, he heard a noise from the bathroom, a primal, raw, broken scream that chilled his every bone. Quick as flash he crossed the room and pushed open the door to the en-suite and found his wife slumped on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying uncontrollably.

“He’s gone! He’s gone, he’s gone!” Steve had known this was coming and it broke his heart that he could do nothing to help, nothing to take away the utter desperation and pain and anger his wife was feeling. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees and she turned to him, fisting her hands around his top as he pulled her close, one arm round her back, the other in her hair.

“Let it out,” his voice was croaky as he rocked her, gently stroking her hair as his cheek pressed against the top of her head, “I got you, sweetheart, I got you.” How long they stayed there for, with Katie screaming and crying over the soft sounds of his soothing, Steve had no idea, but eventually her sobs became sniffles as she regained some form of composure.

“Steve,” she managed to stutter as she pulled back to look at him, “Tony’s gone, he’s gone, why? Why did he have to do that? There had to be some other way!” “Oh, Doll.” Steve’s voice cracked, his own heart ached with grief and sympathy and love as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, pulling her onto his lap as he sat back on the floor, making no attempts to move her. He buried his face into her hair, his own sobs catching in his throat.

“All my life Tony has been there.” She whispered gently as kissed her head. “Even when we were apart those years I knew that if I needed him, he would be there…but now…he’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you always do.” Steve whispered softly as he pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “You get up, you dust yourself off and you act like the amazing, strong, beautiful woman you are. My wife, my baby momma.”

“I don’t know if I can. Katie spluttered.

“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know.” He implored her, sniffing a little.

“I don’t feel strong.”

“You won’t.” He shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m here. Okay? And we’ll do it together.”

Katie looked at him for a moment before she moved once more to bury her face into his t-shirt again, simply breathed him in. His warmth and familiar smell, even if he wasn’t as fresh as he could be after the exertion of battle, was a comfort, a balm to her broken soul.

Tony was gone, she knew that, but she wasn’t on her own. She’d never be on her own as long as she had Steve.

****

“Don’t be sad Momma.” Jamie whispered, as Katie’s tears tickled down her cheeks, her son on her lap. TO her right, Emmy sat on her father’s, despite her age meaning she was normally way past that stage, as she cried into his chest, his arms gently cradling her. “Uncle Nee isn’t on his own.” “What do you mean, baby?” Katie asked, sniffing as he played with a strand of her hair.

He looked at her with his baby blue eyes and shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because he’s with Auntie Nat-Nat.”

“Yeah,” Katie stuttered, a soft sob escaping her. “You’re right. But I’m still sad, but you don’t need to be worried about that okay?” Jamie nodded, before he blinked and frowned. “I can kiss it better, like you kiss my ouches better.”

Katie smiled as he leaned up, connecting his lips to hers with a loud smacking noise.

“That’s it, you just made it all okay.” She smiled, wiping her eyes.

“When can we go home?” Emmy asked, sitting up slightly, her voice croaky.

“Soon, I promise.” Steve looked at her. “I think we’ll stay here for tonight, your mom and I both need a rest.”

Emmy nodded “I expect kicking alien butt for hours takes it out of you.” Steve snorted. “A little.” “You did it though. Everyone came back.” “Yeah, and on that note,” Katie picked up, “we have some people we’d like you to meet. That’s if you’re feeling up to it.” “Is it them? Bucky, Sam and Wanda?” Emmy asked, her wet brown eyes opening wide.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled. “And, if it’s ok with you, we thought we could all have breakfast together.”

“Pancakes?” Jamie asked hopefully and Katie nodded, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Pancakes” She affirmed.

“Now?”

“Do you ever think about anything but this?” Katie chuckled, prodding his tummy. He pondered for a second.

“Legos.” he said, nodding. “I think about my legos sometime.”

Emmy snorted and Steve let out a little laugh “Pancakes and legos eh, son?” he reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair. “What more could a three year old want?”

****

Manhattan was in utter chaos and going out in public was the last thing Steve or Katie wanted for fear of being mobbed. However, the kitchens in the tower were well stocked and after sending Emmy to forage what she could, it was easy for Katie to whip up a batch of batter and throw some bacon into a pan.

She set Emmy to work chopping some fruit, and never one to miss out, she stood Jamie on a chair in front of her and gently guided his hand as he held the whisk to stir the batter. Katie was literally grabbing the ladle to drop the first load into the pan, when the door to the apartment opened and Steve’s voice carried in to the kitchen.

“Hey guys?” Jamie squealed in excitement and Katie moved so he could get down. He shot out of the kitchen, barrelling into the lounge where he skidded to a halt by his dad and gazed up at the three strange adults in front of him.

The first thing that hit Bucky was just how like Steve the little boy was. Stocky, bright blue eyes and a shock of dark blonde hair.

“He looks like you.” He smiled, nodding to Steve as Katie stepped into the room with Emmy and smiled.

“Jamie, Emmy, this is Bucky, Sam and Wanda.” Steve introduced them all, as Emmy raised her hand shyly in greeting.

Meanwhile, Jamie simply gazed up at Bucky, his attention focussed directly on his metal arm and Bucky suddenly began to worry that it would scare him. He was attempting to move it out of view by standing side on, until Jamie stepped forward with all his usual boldness and pointed.

“Is that metal?” “Jamie.” Steve spoke, his tone soft. He couldn’t scald his son for being curious, but at the same time he had seen the apprehension in Bucky’s eyes. Apprehension that had now turned to amusement.

“Yeah it is.” Bucky chuckled, crouching down so he was eye level with his namesake. He held his left hand up, wiggling the fingers. “Wanna touch it?” Jamie reached out and placed his palm against Bucky’s prosthetic and grinned, “Cool,” before he looked up at Steve. “Can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head with a grin.

“You think that’s cool you should see my wings.” Sam crouched down next to Bucky, smiling at Jamie.

“You have wings?” The little boy’s eyes grew wide “I want…”

“No!”

“Fine I’ll just ask Santa.” Jamie shruggged and Sam let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid!” he grinned, standing up.

“You can have him.” Steve winked, as Bucky stood up straight and grinned. “Saves us sending him to The Children’s Prison.” “Morgan told me there’s no such place.” Jamie looked at his Dad and Steve let out a sigh. The threat of the Child Prison was their biggest bargaining chip when he was being naughty. Especially as the naughty step wasn’t an option, because the first (and last) time they tried that they caught him climbing up the staircase and sliding down the bannister.

“I told you titch, it does.” Emmy gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I lived there before mom and dad adopted me. And all they give you to eat all day is slugs and slime…” Steve shared a look with Bucky and let out a loud laugh.

“Don’t.” Bucky shook his head with a grin.

“You gave Becca nightmares for days with that story!” Steve laughed as he recalled Bucky telling his sister about a hole in the ground where bad kids went. “She wouldn’t go near a manhole for months!”

“I can still feel the blow round the ears my Pa gave me.” Bucky automatically reached up to rub at the back of his head. The well natured chatter continued as they made their way into the kitchen. Steve went to brew the coffee as Sam, Wanda and Bucky took seats round the table with the kids. Occasionally he caught the odd snippet of their chat as Jamie told Bucky about his toys at home, informed Sam all about his friend at day-care, whilst Emmy was busy talking to Wanda about school and what she wanted to do in the future. But all the time Steve had one eye on his wife as she stood, silently, cooking enough pancakes to feed a small army.

Which, to be fair, was probably what they would need with two super soldiers and a hungry three year old to feed.

Moving over towards her, he slipped his arms around her waist and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“You ok?” He asked, before he sighed “Sorry, stupid question.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No it’s not stupid, I know what you meant. And honestly, no. I’m not. Not really. But I will be, in time. I hope.”

Steve dropped another kiss to her cheek and winced as a loud “GET A ROOM!” sounded across the kitchen and he turned to glare at his son. Bucky and Sam exchanged a gleeful look as Steve raised his hand and pointed at Emmy accusingly. “That was not me!” She scoffed, indignantly “It was Bucky that told him to say it.” “If this is the impression you have on my kids after all of fifteen minutes, James Buchanan Barnes, then I’m going to have to seriously consider letting you near them again.” Katie shook her head as she dropped the plate of pancakes into the middle of the table.

“Why did you just call him James?” Jamie asked, frowning

“Because my name is James too.” Bucky answered for Katie.

“No, it’s Bucky.”

“He only gets called James when he’s been bad, bit like you, pal.” Steve chuckled, placing Jamie’s plate of food in front of him. “Now eat that, and then you can show Buck your legos.”

“My legos are here?” Jamie said, grinning.

“Yeah they’re in your bag, we brought them from the compound.” Steve answered, dropping a kiss to his son’s head.

“What the hell is a Lego?” Bucky asked, his face contorted in confusion. The room feel silent as all eyes turned to the man who glanced around, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “What?” ****

Rhodey called later that morning to give them a heads up that the President would be addressing the nation later that afternoon, and to also inform Katie that they were talking about honouring both Tony and Natasha posthumously. Katie had merely snorted, not entirely sure what Tony would have said about any of that, until Rhodey made her laugh about the last time he had received an honour, getting stabbed with the pin by the Senator awarding it to him, Senator Stern.

Who had turned out to be HYDRA.

True to his word, just as he had done five years ago, President Ellis’ address rang out across the nation at precisely three that afternoon, on every TV and Radio channel there was.

“I know there is much speculation surrounding the events of the last 24 hours, and it is for that reason I find myself addressing you all once more, with regards to the Decimation. Only this time I am happy to greet you all with much better news. Thanks to the brave actions of the Avengers and countless others who fought in a ferocious battle Upstate, the Vanished have been returned to us in the same state in which they left.

But it isn’t without cost.

Unfortunately, I have the very sad job of confirming to you all that the rumours are true. Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff both lost their lives in the mission to bring everyone back. My sincere condolences and thoughts are with the rest of the Avengers, in particular the Rogers and Stark families, and I’m sure I speak for the entire world when I say we will be forever indebted to the two fallen heroes for their brave sacrifices which ensured that friends and families across the globe could be reunited.”

Katie glanced down at her hands as she took a deep breath, the tears falling into her lap as Steve’s arm curled round her shoulder, sniffing a little as his own eyes were once again misted over.

“I know you will all have many questions, some of you will be at a loss as to what to do, and unfortunately I don’t have all the answers, so it is for that reason, if I may, I’d like to address those who have been returned to us.

Over the past five years the world has become a very different place to the one you knew. People lost entire families, friends, husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends. We had to rebuild, make sense of living without you. So I ask you , please be patient with us whilst we try once more to make sense of events, only this time they are a lot happier as you have all been returned to us. Don’t take it too personally if we seem a little, well, astounded.”

Ellis paused, wiping his eyes as he smiled, licking his lips.

“Thank you all, God Bless America, and God Bless the Avengers.”

****

That night fireworks exploded across the skies all over the country. The current occupants of the tower sat on the roof watching the symphony of colours and explosions as it light up the Manhattan sky-line, Jamie opting to sit on Bucky’s knee instead of his father’s, because of course Bucky was now his favourite person on the planet.

But Steve didn’t mind, well, not too much anyway.

The next few days passed them by in a bit of a blur. They moved back to the house in Brooklyn. Sam and Bucky came with them. However, surprisingly to Steve (but not to Katie) Wanda opted to head to Clint’s after the archer called and offered her a room. Steve’s time was divided between speaking to the UN, various people in the senate and government alongside Rhodey as they started to make plans to help those people who had returned because reversing the snap had raised a whole cacophony of different problems, just as Tony had predicted it would.

Some of the vanished had come back to find their wives or husbands had re-married. Others found themselves with no-one left as they’d passed away. Some found themselves homeless as new occupants had moved into their apartments which had been left vacant. Two of those people were Peter Parker and his Aunt May, who were now residing in the Tower until Katie could find them somewhere permanent.

And then there were the kids who had been adopted, suddenly finding themselves with two sets of parents.

Katie, on the other hand, had no time or energy for anything other than planning Tony’s funeral with Pepper, and a service of sorts for Natasha with Clint. Natasha’s was to take place first, a small ceremony at Clint’s farm where they would be planting a red maple tree in her honour. Tony’s, however, was slightly more tricky.

Her brother had, at one point, led a very public lifestyle and naturally (even if unfairly) he was attracting the most public interest. They’d been approached by President Ellis, who had asked if they would be open to a full, state public funeral. Katie had been horrified at first, until Pepper had snorted and reminded her that the Old Tony would have loved the attention and fuss.

But New Tony wouldn’t.

Which was why, in the end, they compromised and chose to celebrate the two sides to Tony’s huge personality.

For the Genius, Billionaire, Play-Boy, Philanthropist they would hold a service at St Patrick’s Cathedral and for the husband, father, brother, friend they would then hold a more intimate wake at the lake house, where his ashes would be scattered eventually.

It was draining, emotionally and physically, so it was no surprise to Steve that Katie was constantly tired and a little irritable and the Solider felt the harsh side of her tongue on more than one occasion. But he never bit back, he knew how she was feeling. He’d had to do it with his Ma. Instead he listened to her bounce ideas off him, helped with the organisation where he could, and simply comforted her, holding her close whilst she cried when she needed to.

A week post the return of the Vanished, people seemed to have reached a half-way point, so to speak, between what they had been like before the Snap and what they had become post. But what was noticeable to all of them was that they were persistently mobbed in the street, people wanting to thank them constantly.

Jamie found the whole thing hilarious, waving to people as he walked with his Father one morning to the play-ground. Steve, however, after half an hour had returned home because he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s mad.” He shook his head with a sigh, flopping onto the sofa next to her. “I mean…”

“It’ll die down.” Katie yawned. “Just gonna take a while. People still don’t know what to do. Hell, half the time I don’t know what to do.” She took a deep breath, the back of her hand pressing to her mouth as a queasy feeling washed over her for the umpteenth time that day. “You still feeling crappy?” Steve asked, watching as Jamie sat on the rug with his trucks.

“A little.”

“You thrown up again?” “No.” She shook her head “I don’t feel sick anymore just a little funny, drained almost. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Probably just the stress of all the organising and stuff.”

But as she said the words something in her mind clicked and she sat bolt upright, Steve giving her a curious look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bruce’s Snap.” She whispered. “The one where he brought everyone back.”

“What about it?”

“What if it brought everyone back?” “Well we know it did…” Steve frowned, not following her line of thought.

“No I mean,” Katie took his hand and placed it on her stomach, “everyone.”

It took Steve a second to cotton on, but when he did he blinked, looking into his wife’s eyes, a faint buzzing ringing in his ears.

“Shit.” He spluttered out.

“Language.” Jamie reprimanded him almost immediately, but both parents ignored him.

“I didn’t,” Steve swallowed, “I mean, I didn’t even consider that a possibility. Do you think it has?”

Katie took a deep breath. “I dunno, I mean the first snap took it away…”

They stayed still for a moment, simply looking at each other, both thinking the same. If one snap had taken their baby, the second snap could quite as easily have brought it back.

“I think I need to go to the store.” Katie muttered.

**** Less than an hour later husband and wife were stood in the bathroom looking down. Down at four different tests. Four different tests that all told them the same thing.

“I can’t believe it.” Steve whispered, his arms wrapping around his wife from behind as he stared down at the test in her hand.

“Me neither.” She whispered, turning to face him, tears in her eyes.

“I’m gonna be a daddy, again.” His hands fell to her hips, blue eyes shining as she gave him a smile, the tears falling down her face.

“And I’m gonna be fat again.” She spluttered, a watery laugh. There was a pause, before Steve’s face cracked into a huge grin and he pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms round his neck and he hugged her close, the pair of them laughing through their tears.

“I like you fat with my kid.” Steve pulled away, wiping the tears that were trickling down her face with his thumbs. She smiled and returned the gesture, brushing the back of her hand over his wet cheeks.

“I love you. So fucking much.” He whispered softly as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“I love you too.” Her voice croaked before Steve pulled her close once more, his huge arms holding her tightly to him, as he breathed her in, his face pressing into her hair.

And for the first time in a week, Katie’s heart felt a little less broken.

**** Chapter 59

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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clementineofmine · 3 years

Text

Here, I wrote a fluffy fic about our favorite kiddos ruining Veginald’s holiday party. (I’ll also put it on AO3)

Enjoy!

REGINALD THROWS A CHRISTMAS PARTY: IT GOES AS EXPECTED

"Typical," Five spat as he listened to Grace's announcement about the Christmas party. "Dad even knows how to take the fun out of holidays. I'm sure this soiree will be full of big shot politicians or whoever he's trying to schmooze these days."

He turned and started pacing around the room, hands pulling at his hair. "And what do we get to do? We get to perform tricks, like the trained monkeys that we are."

"Hey!" Luther responded. "Five, that's enough. Remember Dad's lecture? About how we need to show good manners at all times? This could be an opportunity for the Umbrella Academy."

Five scoffed and turned away. He was sick of Number One's blind obedience and repetition of Dad's rhetoric.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one. "Opportunity, my ass," muttered Diego. "He just wants to humiliate us."

"Diego! Language." Grace interjected. Once delivering the announcement she had stood calmly, allowing the children the opportunity to speak, but foul language always triggered her circuits.

"You boys are just spoilsports," Allison decried even as her eyes lit up with excitement. "This is going to be so much fun!"

"Really?" Vanya asked with awe. "Are you going to sing a solo, Allison? Gosh, I would be scared to sing in front of so many people."

In reality, Vanya was just praying that she wouldn't be excluded from this event. It's not like performing at a Christmas party required one to be special, right?

"Have you picked out a song, Allison?" Grace asked.

Allison took a breath, and set a smile on her face in contrast to her scowling brothers. "I'm going to sing…'All I Want for Christmas is -" and she pointed at Luther as she belted out the words "Youuuuuuuu'."

Luther turned a shade of crimson and looked away as the other children rolled their eyes simultaneously.

Grace simply nodded. "That sounds lovely, dear." She turned to the cluster of boys slumped on the couch. "Klaus, Ben, do you know what you want to do?" Grace asked. Klaus nodded his head vigorously while Ben shook his side to side fearfully. "Remember children, we need to tell your father tomorrow what you will be performing, so if you don't have a song you want to sing, I suggest you use the rest of this library research period to find one."

"This is stupid," said Diego, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the couch cushions.

"We could sing a song together," Luther suggested, and the others immediately scowled. "As a team. How about the '12 Days of Christmas'?"

A collective groan chased its way around the room.

"Luther, if you think I'm singing five golden rings, you've got another thing coming" Five hissed. He knew he had hit the mark when he saw Luther scowl, his face turning even redder.

Before he could reply, Five continued. "Besides, I'm not singing, with you or anybody else. Vanya can play the violin and I'll accompany her on the piano."

Vanya looked over at Five, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Really? You - you mean that?"

"Sure," Five shrugged. "Why not. It's the best shitty option. Pick out what you want - I don't really care. Just find me the sheet music today so I'll have enough time to practice." With that, sat down in one of the library's big oak chairs, pulled the notebook he always carried out of his pocket, and began ignoring his siblings.

"Oh!" Vanya exclaimed. "Oh, thank you, Five! I’ll go pick something right now. Mom?" she turned to Grace. "Do we have sheet music in the library?"

Grace nodded. "Yes dear, I believe we do. Does anyone else want to look at sheet music?"

"I don't need sheet music, I know the words already," Allison said. "And I don't want Five to accompany me, anyway."

"Good, cuz i didn't offer," Five muttered, not looking up.

"I'll accompany you, dear" said Grace. "What did you say you wanted to sing? All I Want for Christmas? Is that by Irving Berlin? He's your father's favorite, you know."

"No, it's by Mariah Carey!" Klaus rolled his eyes and swayed his hips, mimicking Allison's earlier movements lewdly. "All want for Christmas is yooooouuuuu!" Luther's ears turned an additional shade of red.

“Ok, come on, we have to pick something to sing,” Luther says through gritted teeth. “How about ‘White Christmas’?” Diego and Ben both shook their heads vehemently. Now that they knew it was Dad’s favorite, anything by Irving Berlin was off limits.

“Hey we should do something fun. Like, 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’?” Klaus looked around hopefully, but saw no takers. “Ok, what about ‘Frosty the Snowman’?”

“Klaus, we’re almost eleven. Not six. Let’s quit it with the kids songs.”

Klaus huffed and scowled at his brother. “Well everybody likes ‘Jingle Bells’,” he muttered.

Diego looked up at that, an idea forming in his brain on how to make the best of a bad situation. “Hey! I want to do ‘Jingle Bells’. Ben, you in?"

"Ugh, fine I guess."

"Good. You can sing and I'll do the bells," Diego smirked.

"Damn it, that's not fair Diego!" Ben protested.

"This whole situation is not fair, Ben," Diego said with a shrug. It’s either that or you sing with these idiots." He gestured over to Numbers One and Four.

"Alright, great, ‘Jingle Bells’ it is.” Luther looks around at his team. “That just leaves me and...Klaus?”

Klaus’s eyes lit up and he gave Luther a wicked smile. "Hey, I know what we can do. How about we show off those new dance moves Mom taught us?" He stood up and mimicked waltzing around the room holding an invisible partner.

"I’m not dancing with you, Klaus." It was Luther’s turn to roll his eyes.

"Whyyyyy noooot" Klaus whined, pouting at Luther as he continued twirling.

"What about...Little Drummer Boy?"

"Oh, fucking Christ, no!" Klaus yelled.

"Klaus! Language!" Grace’s smile transformed into the admonishment frown that Klaus was all too familiar with.

"Sorry, Mom," Klaus grumbled. "But Luther has the...stupidest ideas."

"How about -” Luther searched his brain for an idea. “-Silent Night’?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. I don’t even care anymore."

“Now that that’s decided, maybe we can get back to ‘Silent Reading Time’” Five muttered again from his chair.

The show went off....well no one would say without a hitch. But it went off just the same.

Allison insisted on going first (of course) and while her exuberance embraced the spirit of the holidays, her propensity to barely miss the high notes while making up for the lacking pitch with excessive volume was more than enough to put a small crease between Reginald’s eyes.

Sir Hargreeves seemed to relax slightly (as much as relax was a verb that could be used to describe the uptight host) as Five and Vanya went next, playing a passable rendition of ‘Greensleeves’. Reginald was pleased to see that Number Five managed to smile and look relatively charming (if one didn't look too closely at the sarcasm buried beneath the smile). He didn’t notice that Vanya was as red as a beet because he didn’t look at Number Seven at all.

Numbers Two and Six (an odd pairing, thought Reginald absently) entered the stage area next. As Grace began playing the lively tune, Diego produced a set of sleighbells and began ringing them with forced enthusiasm. While his mouth moved at the appropriate times, it became quickly apparent that the only vocal sound was coming from Ben, a sound which grew quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely by the third verse, leaving Grace’s piano notes and Diego’s bell ringing to finish out the song.

Sir Reginald’s frown had returned.

As his guests clapped coolly and politely, he was glad to see the least disappointing child stepped out in front of the piano. Number One’s uniform was crisp, his hair was neat, and he stood with correct posture. Sir Reginald breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Where is Klaus?” Luther whispered out of the corner of his mouth at Diego and Ben as he passed, but they only shrugged.

Well, the show must go on. Luther pasted on his best smile, and nodded to Grace solemnly. And, as rehearsed, he opened his mouth and took a breath just as the instrumental bars of the music led towards the start of the first verse. Luther had practiced those words with Grace relentlessly over the last week, until he could utter them in his sleep. He knew the words backwards and forwards, and even considered singing in the original German (which he spoke fluently).

Alas, Luther never got to utter a single syllable. Just as he opened his mouth, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Klaus stumbled into the ballroom, his disheveled uniform covered by a rich velvet cape that bore a surprising resemblance to a curtain from one of the third floor guest rooms. There was a crown of tinsel jammed on his head crookedly, and several long garlands wrapped around his shoulders and torso.

Luther blew his cue. And the next one. And the one after that, as Grace circled back smoothly for the third time. He was frozen in place in horror at the sight before him.

Klaus appeared to be oblivious to the crowd, oblivious to the beat, but not quite oblivious to Luther as he shot his brother a dastardly wink as he spun past. Half a waltz, half ballet, and half a herb-induced trance, Klaus stumbled, bowed, and spun around for a good fifteen seconds before he finally crashed into one of the Christmas trees, causing it to topple over onto the piano with a tremendous crash.

That snapped Luther out of his trance. A quick look at their father showed barely restrained hostility. Luther was sure that it was only the presence of the many guests, some of which were chuckling politely, others who found a sudden interest in the buffet table, keeping Reginald's temper at bay.

Luther knew he was expected to fix this situation, so he did the only thing he could think of: he walked over to his brother, extracted the flailing mess of limbs from the tree's branches, slung him over his shoulder, and walked as quickly as decorum would allow out of the room.

“And to alllllll, a good night!” Klaus cried out, his voice carrying over the sound of the piano and echoing in the high ceilings of the Academy ballroom.

The other children scrambled to make their exits, trying to be invisible to their father's enraged stare. Ever unflappable, Grace played on, the piano music soothing over the sounds of the disaster children's shoes shuffling over the polished floors.

The children were each made to do seven days of dishes as a punishment.

Luther and Diego both handled their tasks with the usual competitive stoicism of Numbers One and Two.

Allison and Ben grumbled incessantly during their punishment days about how it was all just so unfair.

Vanya offered to do Five’s share. She felt bad, knowing that he didn’t do anything to deserve the punishment.

“Oh, no way.” Five responded with an absent wave. When Vanya made to protest, he continued. “Klaus is going to do them, aren’t you?”

Klaus gave a wide grin.“Oh sure, fine, whatever. It was totally worth it. I mean did you guys see Dad's face? It was as red as Luther’s."

Unsurprisingly, the children were never again invited to Reginald’s annual holiday party.

#veginald hargrapes #tua christmas party #we were just kids #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #grace hargreeves #tua fics #i wrote it

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

In The Moment - Neku Sakuraba x Reader

Not gonna lie, this one was hard. Between hectic life, writer’s block, and abandoning my first idea, I really struggled coming up with something good and I’m still not 100% on this one but it is long overdue. Thank you, anon, for patiently waiting for me and thank you for bringing me back to a fandom/game that I truly love.

~~~~~

Today is proving to be simply perfect. After mulling over ideas for weeks, going through all the necessary channels, and hours of tedious prep, I’m going to start my final art project today.

Stepping back, I take one last look at the two-story building that will serve as my canvas. With my paint all prepped, the rarely-used road blocked off, my favorite music blasting in my ears, and perfect weather, I begin hurling balloons at the blank wall. It takes only a few balloons before I’m entirely engrossed in my own little world of music and art. The stone wall is already livelier with a handful of pink, blue, green, and yellow splats.

In my own little paradise, I bounce towards my bucket of ammo. Another balloon rolls in my hand while my groove has consumed me. I turn back to my canvas, launching the paint.

My heart stops. The balloon soars through the air in what feels like painful slow motion, inching ever closer towards its unsuspecting victim. It’s like a horror scene watching the projectile make contact with his face, molding against it before the rubber skin breaks. A wave of pink paint bursts forward, crashing down on the poor boy before the actual impact takes him to the ground.

Hand to my mouth, I gape at the casualty before my senses snap back to me. Ripping my headphones out and snatching up a towel, I rush towards him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!”

Sitting up, he pulls down his headphones and rubs the paint from his eye. “What the hell?” He looks down at the smear across his hand. “What happened?”

I push the towel into his hand. “You kinda got caught in the crossfire.”

His orange brows scrunch together. “Crossfire?”

“Yeah. I’m working on an art project and you walked right in the middle of it.” My hand waves to the dripping wall.

More in awe than anger—which I found surprising—he stands up to look at my work. “An art project? Isn’t it illegal to tag buildings like this?”

“One, it’s not a tag, it’s a project. Two, this building is scheduled for demolition, so I got permission from the city; that’s why I blocked the road off. Didn’t you notice?”

We look back at the “road closed” signs.

“Oh…No...” he mutters.

“Hmm, maybe I should’ve put some on the sidewalks.”

My gaze turns back on my victim. Beneath the neon color sprayed across the side of his head is a wild flay of orange hair and fair skin. His cloudy-sky eyes are outstanding, somehow lending themselves to the bright interest despite how soothingly cool they appear. I’d be clearly amiss if I didn’t admit that he’s cute.

“Sorry for getting in the way.”

He’s looking at me, and by the time I realize it, I feel my skin alight at the thought he caught me staring into his eyes.

“I’m sorry you’re…pink,” I reply. “I might be able to save your headphones but I don’t think your shirt’s gonna make it.”

He tugs at his shirt, a corner of his lips pulling back in disappointment. “At least it wasn’t my favorite, I guess.”

There’s something strange about this guy, like he doesn’t quite know how normal people react; most people would be upset after being covered in paint and having their clothes ruined, regardless of whether or not it was their fault. However, next to this unusual naivety is the light of someone completely open, someone out to actually see the world for what it is. This is someone I want to understand, to aspire to be like.

The words leave my mouth before I can even think about them.

“Do you wanna join me?” I’m an idiot.

“Huh?”

The idiocy continues when I jam a thumb towards my buckets of supplies. “You’re already covered in paint. Why don’t you join me? It’ll be fun.” I pull this innocent kid towards the paint station, reaching into the bucket to plop an orb into his hand. “Here.”

He glances between me, the balloon, and the wall. “Are you sure? I might ruin your project.”

I grin. “You can’t ruin arbitration that easily. Besides, the whole point of this part is to just make a mess. So go on, throw it.”

He shrugs and tosses the balloon against the stone where it breaks.

“There you go!” I pick up another balloon, flinging it across the road.

School projects aren’t traditionally fun, but I was having a blast with this school project from the start; with the guy—who introduced himself as Neku—helping me out, this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. He genuinely puts his heart into simply throwing balloons, like a bubbling stream of inspiration, spurring my inspiration and turning this project on its head.

My hand meets the bottom of the bucket—an empty bucket. “Damn. All out of balloons.”

Neku looks up at the dripping wall. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure there’s at least three layers of paint here. Might’ve been overkill.”

“I had to make sure there was enough to cover every brick. Better too much than not enough in this case,” I say, starting to pick up scraps of scattered rubber.

He helps me collect the garbage. “So is this all there is to this project? Hurl paint at walls?”

“No, this is the background set up. Later, I’m gonna get some spray paint and do the more tedious work later.”

“What was even the point of this project?”

“Well, it’s an art project so…a good grade, first off. Second…” I pause to really think about how to word it. “I guess I really wanted to capture the spontaneity of life. That every moment can be a bright and colorful splat.” Neku chuckles, bringing out a more bashful side. “I guess that makes it pretty obvious who my role model is, huh? But I try to remind myself every day: Enjoy every moment-”

“-with all you’ve got.” Neku finishes my sentence with an all-knowing grin.

Even if the embarrassment burns between my shoulders, I can’t help laughing. “Is it too obvious where my inspiration came from?”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure CAT would approve of your methods.”

“That actually makes me really happy.” I look back at the mess I hope to turn into something incredible. “CAT’s art that got me through some tough times; I’d love to be able to inspire people someday the same way CAT’s art inspired me.”

My brain short circuits. For a split-second while, I attempt to process what just happened, all I can feel is buzzing just beneath the skin. A hand reaches up to brush the spot he’d grazed but the fingers come away with pink paint. Neku, on the other hand, stands there, avoiding eye contact, a different shade of pink peeking out from beneath the paint across his face.

“What-…” I can’t even come up with the words to finish my question.

His face still blushing, he gives me a warm smile. “Just living in the moment.”

The buzz surges into my chest, crashing against my heart with a wave of happiness. Building up my courage, I follow his lead.

“Would your moment object if we maybe extended it by a couple hours?” A brow arches in question. “Tomorrow, six o’clock? Maybe with less paint?”

When he understands, he shrugs. “Less, more, I’m sure it’ll be fun either way.”

“Great.” Lifting my phone, I snap a picture of the paint-riddled kid.

“What was that for?”

“Your picture for my contacts,” I reply. “I assume you’ll be giving me your number, right?”

He smirks. “Nah, I’ll just walk down the street and wait to get pelted with more paint balloons.”

“So you’re gonna ignore more traffic signs?”

The simper is marred with a laugh. “Worked the first time.”

I shove my phone into his hands. “Don’t push your luck, buddy. You already got the date.”

We swap numbers and clean up the rest of the remnants scattered about. I’m sure he can tell how reluctant I am to say goodbye, but we inevitably do and part ways. Once I’m sure he’s around the corner and out of sight, I literally jump for joy like a child on Christmas.

My entire plan for the afternoon was to work on my project—taking into account both prep and clean up. I had absolutely nothing else in the books for today. Never in a million years would I have guessed that, in the midst of my work, an artsy accident would end up with a spontaneous date. I know my adopted motto says to enjoy the present, but tomorrow just cannot come fast enough.

#neku #neku sakuraba #neku x reader

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whumpywhumper · 4 years

Text

Photographic Evidence

Please see the new Markus/Lucien Series: Masterpost

This follows shortly after: Here to Help there’s a little time skip with some mentions of things that haven’t been written yet, but it’s fairly obvious what’s been skipped over.

Tagging: @oceanthesarcasamfox @insanitywishes @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump @captivity-whump

Huge shout out to both @0idril0 and @rosesareviolentlyread: I would not keep writing without you two, and Idril puts up with way too many questions.

Also, @walkingchemicalfire HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Have 6k words :P

TW: aftermath of captivity; aftermath of abuse; graphic depictions of injury and medical treatment; mentions of potential brain injury. Please, let me know if there’s something specific I’ve overlooked.

V***V

“Look, ma’am, I’m just trying to do my job. I didn’t meant to—“

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant to do, you are endangering my patient. Get. Out.”

Ben heard the raised voices from the other end of the bullpen, turning with the nurses and other police officers to see what the commotion was about. Not that it was the only commotion taking place, they were less than a day out from one of the biggest raids NYPD had seen in decades and there was a truck-load of uniformed officers and plain clothes detectives milling around the harried nurses, but this particular commotion sounded volatile.

Eyeing the crowd, Ben saw that he was likely the ranking officer available to mediate the dispute and sighed.

He was exhausted, sweaty, and still in his tactical pants from the raid. His head was killing him, and his eyes were blurring and scratching with the need to find his glasses. He had no idea where Kincaid or Holland were located, and this was the very last thing he wanted to be doing right now. He didn’t, however, hesitate to heft his stack of files and the clip board he’d been using to take notes on his interviews, and step toward the room. The room was like many of the others on this floor, glass walls with curtains that protected the patient’s privacy, and made them convenient for private interviews. That they also just so happened to be the hospital’s more intensive stay rooms was not something he was trying to think too hard about, guilt that they were interrupting the hospital’s natural rhythm settling heavy in his gut.

At this point, there was no telling who was inside this particular room, the victims had been shuffled like a back alley shell game as they tried to make sense of who needed to go where. He was pretty sure he’d already conducted three separate interviews in the room next door, and it wasn’t even noon.

There was a uniformed officer inside, the creases and pressed nature of his uniform screaming rookie, with his back to the door. His hands were at his hips as he tried to, quite unsuccessfully, stare down a tiny brunette nurse standing in front of a bed. There was practically a storm cloud over the woman’s head, her dark eyes flinty as she poked him in the chest. “I’m not going to ask you again,” the woman threatened, her voice soft over a rolling hispanic accent.

Reading the tags on the door, Ben quickly grabbed a face mask and juggled his precarious paper burden to slip it on, before knocking on the door jam and sticking his head inside. “Is there a problem here?”

The rookie turned sharply on his heel, and Ben’s eyes caught that he didn’t have a mask on, but his attention was drawn away when the nurse’s gaze snapped toward him as well. Ben winced at the vitriol in her expression, even half-covered by the mask, and prepared himself to soothe some ruffled feathers.

“Yes, there’s a problem here. Your officer is endangering my patient, and he needs to leave. Now.”

The rookie, Peters, from his lapel, sighed and held up the camera hanging from a strap around his neck. “Sir, Captain Holland asked me to get pictures of the victims and their injuries. I’m just trying to do that, but she’s interfering.”

“That is not the issue and you know it.” The woman’s eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

The young officer turned on her with bared teeth, apparently repeating something he’s said to her before. “Captain Holland told me not to get in the way of the nurses or bother them. I’m not trying to hurt your patient.”

Ben could feel his head throbbing as his migraine grew, and pressed his lips together, trying for a calm, measured tone as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ma’am, it really is very important that we collect the necessary evidence from the victims. I’m sure if you and Officer Peters can cooperate—”

“Cooperate? You think this is an issue of cooperation?!” The storm fell with a fury, and Ben’s eyes widened as the nurse’s voice raised, words coming faster and faster. “If he’d asked for help then there would be no issue, but moving a critical care patient by himself and almost ripping out his chest tube is absolutely an issue.” She drew herself up to her full height, the top of her head coming up to Ben’s shoulder, the force of her spat words making him want to lean away. “I don’t care if you don’t know his name, but he’s my patient, and I won’t let you to hurt him out of ignorance.”

Ben blinked, eyes shooting to the still form on the bed. It felt like he’d been punched in the gut when he recognized the pale skin and dark hair, and his breath left him in a sharp exhale.

The John Doe that he and Kincaid had transported from the nest was still intubated, the tube pulling the side of his mouth painfully from where the apparatus holding it in place had been knocked askew. There was a wetness to his lashes which spoke of fake tears and absolutely no color had returned to those pale cheeks. Ben’s eyes were drawn lower, to where the blankets had been pulled away from the younger man’s torso, vicious red droplets of blood staining the white sheets where a chest tube, amongst others, was running under the mostly unconnected gown.

Ben felt his expression harden and his shoulders straightened from their fatigued slouch. He turned from the nurse’s rage to look down on the rookie, whose eyes widened at the cold fury on Ben’s face. “You tried to turn this patient without the assistance of one of the nursing staff? What are you? Stupid?!”

“No! Sir! I was just—“ A slashing hand motion cut Peters off, and his teeth clacked together with the speed of his jaw closing.

“I don’t give a shit what Holland ordered. Use your goddamn brain, Officer.” Ben’s voice was seething between his teeth, and he used his free hand to grab the young man’s shoulder and swing him around so that he could face the patient in the bed. “You could have killed him, do you get that? Use your brain and ask questions next time.”

The rookie, wisely, did not say anything other than a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ben took a deep, calming breath, wincing as the ache of his head turned into a knife behind his eye. “Now, give me that camera and take these to the conference room at the end of the hall. Report to Holland, and let him know that I’ve put you on filing duty. Explain to him what happened, and if what I hear from him does not match what actually happened then we are going to have words. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Peters nodded, not quite meeting his gaze as the camera and folders exchanged hands.

The younger officer left the room quickly after that, and Ben closed his eyes as he fought to control his temper, his fingers massaging against his eyelids in an effort to push away the headache for a few more hours. Of all of the stupid, idiotic, ill-conceived. . .

The nurse cleared her throat, and Ben jumped, shooting her an apologetic glance at her over his mask. He adjusted the angle of his shoulders, giving her a slight nod. “Ma’am, I apologize for Officer Peters behavior and thoughtless actions.” The professional apology slid out of his mouth automatically, belaying the still swirling protective drive that was making his heart pound in his chest. “It is never our intention to put victims at any more risk than they’ve already been.”

She nodded at him, her expression easing out of its angry cast at the sincerity in his words. “Thank you, Lieutenant—?”

“Carter,” he answered, offering her his hand to shake until he saw her gloves and retracted it. “Lieutenant Benjamin Cater, but please, I answer to Ben.”

Ben tried to smile at her, even with the futility of the mask hiding his expression, but it felt hollow even to him. Usually, he was charming, flirtatious even, but he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours, had forced himself through the adrenaline crash following the raid, and he didn’t know how long it would be before he got to sit down, let alone sleep. He was tempted to cry.

“Now,” Ben took a deep breath and set the camera on the empty chair, “before I address that again—“ he glanced at her badge “—Ms. Dominguez, would you like some help resettling your patient?”

She raised her eyebrow, looking him up and down shrewdly. “Call me Catrina,” she huffed and uncrossed her arms with an eye roll, “pick up the camera, and I’ll help you after I check him over.”

He felt himself relax a little. At least he wouldn’t have to sweet talk her into helping him after all. “Thank you, it really is important that we get these photos as soon as possible.”

“It’s always important,” Catrina muttered, turning to the John Doe. “Get some gloves and a gown before you even think about touching my patient,” she instructed him sternly.

Ben didn’t even consider arguing, and did as he was told. After he suited up, he snagged the camera by the strap and stepped to the opposite side of the bed from Catrina, his back to the door.

Catrina was carefully adjusting the apparatus holding the intubation tube in place, freeing the younger man from the painful pull on his mouth. “Okay, there you go, cariño,” she said softly, almost to herself. He felt his estimation of her go up another notch when she fully addressed the John Doe, her voice only a little louder. “We’re going to turn you now, Mr. Doe, so I can check your chest tube.”

Ben watched her steady hands as she folded back the blanket and unsnapped the shoulder of Doe’s gown, uncovering the mottled purple skin of his chest. He’d seen it in the nest of course, but the light of the lantern and flashlights had done a poor job of actually showing the damage. In the full brightness of the fluorescent hospital light, the damage was stark and told a story of overlapping misery. With all of the trauma and bruising, Ben felt like it shouldn’t be possible, but he was sure that he could see the impression the heels of his hands had left on Doe’s sternum from where Ben had tried to keep the other man alive.

He swallowed hard, shaking himself out of his self-recriminations, as Catrina folded the Doe’s arm across his torso in a way that didn’t pose a danger to the other IV lines or drains, and, at her head tilt, he helped her pull Doe on his side so that she had better access. One of his broad palms covered the swell of Doe’s shoulder, the other the jut of his hip over the gown, and Ben tried to ignore the impression of holding eggshell in his hands, conscious of the bones so close to the surface that Ben could feel them shifting.

The new position revealed the tube Peters had apparently almost ripped out. The white gauze around the chest tube was stained red, and with Ben helping her, Catrina’s hands were free to peel back the bloody bandages to fully reveal the intrusion to Doe’s body. The thick plastic tube was as wide as one of his fingers at the fattest knuckle, protruding from between his ribs with jagged black stitches holding it in place. His stomach swooped at the dark liquid being pulled through the drain, and he shook his head, tsking between his teeth. “You had to replace the chest tube.”

The brunette nurse looked at him askance, eye brow raised. Her eyebrows were very expressive, Ben noted. “And how do you know that?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, gesturing with his chin. “Fresh stitches, and it wasn’t pulling blood at the extraction site.”

She blinked, connecting the dots, and tilted her head to look up at him through her lashes. “You’re the one who found him.”

Ben nodded. “My partner and I were the ones who brought him in.”

“Everyone was talking about how you rode in here on that gurney like a pro,” she acknowledged, her hands never faltering as she re-bandaged her patient and tested the patency of the drain.

He hummed, unable to find the heart to feel anything other than sad about the circumstances of that story. He did not like having to perform CPR. He especially did not like having to perform CPR on nameless victims.

Catrina picked up on his somber mood, and dropped the subject. “That should do it, Mr. Doe,” she said to her patient, “We need to get a better look as some of the injuries, so we’re gonna be moving you, but it shouldn’t take long, okay?” Obviously not expecting an answer, she looked at Ben with a raised eyebrow. “How do you want to do this?”

“Help me move him, and I get photos of all of his injuries. Even the little details can help us break the case.”

“That’s going to be really stressful on him, Ben,” Catrina said, shaking her head. “He’s got a lot of injuries.”

They were both silent for a moment, their gloved hands keeping Doe on his side, the rasp of the ventilator filling the air. Ben could see the level of damage that they were dealing with, and it made him nauseous to think about everything else that was hidden by the gown. He knew a lot of it, but there was only so much he’d been able to see at the nest itself.

“I hear you,” Ben acknowledged, “We’ll do what we can, and you make the call on when we need to stop, okay?” Catrina nodded her agreement. “Since he’s already on his side, let’s get his back.”

Their hands swapped position, and Ben stepped to the other side of the bed as he fished out the forensic scale from one of the many pockets in his tactical pants. With the blankets pushed down and none of the ties done on the gown, the patient’s entire back was visible, and there was a cold sympathy circling in Ben’s gut as he took a photo of the exposed length of his back and shoulder, motioning Catrina to move her arm out of the shot. Moving closer, he placed the scale against the other man’s skin, taking photos closer and closer. There was a massive bruise across the breadth of his upper back, the green tinges at the edge putting the healing at most a few weeks old. If Ben had to guess, it was probably from being slammed into a wall. Or the floor.

Catrina moved her hand at his gentle nudge, and Ben shifted the scale again, taking a photos of a bullet scar in the John Doe’s shoulder. “How old do you think that is?” he asked quietly.

The nurse clicked her tongue, pondering. “There’s no telling, a couple of months at least.”

He nodded, taking pictures of a clearly defined hand print on his bicep. Fitting his hand over the bruises, Ben stretched his fingers, noting that his hand didn’t have quite the reach as Doe’s attacker. “Definitely a male,” he noted under his breath, feeling his eyebrows draw together when he imagined how much force would be necessary to cause bruises that deep. Definitely a vamp, he thought. Tugging away the lingering edge of the gown, Ben got photos of the bruises that trawled along his ribs, placing the scale on several different boot marks. One of the blotchy marks lower on Doe’s side was the impression of the sole of a shoe, a popular brand name etched into his skin. “Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“You’ll want to get this one,” Catrina interjected, her hand sliding to the back of Doe’s head.

Stepping around Catrina, he examined where she was indicating, and his stomach bottomed out. The other man’s neck was a symphony of healing bruises, the equidistant fang marks littering up and down the column of his throat, but at the nape of his neck was a bruise on the latter stages of healing. Even as healed as it was, Ben could make out the bite mark. This wasn’t just the penetration of fangs, it was the clear oval of someone’s teeth, the top and bottom of the impression on either side of his neck.

“Goddamnit,” he cursed, a steady thrum of rage kicking up in his chest. Ben closed his eyes for a moment. Trying to get a rein on his eroding temper.

That bruise wasn’t just an injury. It was degrading and possessive. Marking. For a vamp to use all of his teeth in an attack like that, when he’d clearly had physical control of the victim. . . Ben could guess some of the reasons for the location of the injury. He shook off the anger, taking several different photos of the teeth marks, including the ones over his jugular.

“I think that’s all for this side, he’s got bruises on the opposite hip and leg, but you can get pictures of those when he’s laying back down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben responded, following Catrina’s instructions as he helped her role him back to his supine position. Ben’s hands were shaking slightly as he helped Catrina unsnap the rest of the gown hiding Doe’s torso, and he consciously stilled them. It didn’t matter that peeling back that flimsy material was like peeling away the curtain on a horror show, it had to be done. With Catrina’s help, he removed the white gauze hiding the incisions that had been made, both old and new, that covered the massive trauma that was John Doe’s existence. There were more openings to his body than should have ever occurred: drains and tubes tunneling into his torso; IV’s and catheters pumping him full of fluids, medications and fresh blood; incision and stitched stab wounds that introduced staples and stitches in varying sizes. It was a travesty of cruelty and pain that stripped Ben’s heart to the marrow.

He did what he could to preserve the John Doe’s modesty, but Ben took every photo that he could to document the injuries that littered Doe’s wrecked frame. Too many to focus on, unexplainable bruises and abrasions, the unwritten history of torment.

Ben could tell that the younger man had taken care of himself before being taken, the lingering muscles in his chest and stomach speaking of someone who had been in shape before captivity. But what he had gone through was wasting him, making Doe appear fragile and weak with every mechanical breath as his chest rose and fell. “God bless, sweetheart,” Ben muttered, the flash blinding him again as he captured the image of the huge bruise that engulfed Doe’s hip and thigh, crawling down to his knee. The swollen tissue there was clearly painful, telling of a lot of damage. “What’s this injury?” Ben asked, looking at Catrina.

She stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her patient and the monitors for signs of distress. “Torn ligaments and muscle damage.” Stepping forward, she unvelcroed the compression devise from around his calf, stripping it down to his foot. “You’re going to want a picture of that too,” she said, tone dark as she revealed a black hand print on her patient’s ankle.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ben spat. The headache he’d been ignoring flared to life with a vengeance, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, blinking forcefully to force away the pain. This guy had been through so much shit, and Ben wasn’t even done taking pictures.

“Are you alright?” Catrina asked, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just been a shit 48 hours.” He shook her off, taking pictures of the dark marks around his ankle. They looked like they were the same size as the ones on his arms, but they’d have to get an accurate measurement later.

From there, he had Catrina help him remove the bandages and splint around his wrists and hands, taking more photos of the damage there. He noted the overlapping finger marks from where he’d either been held down or held in place, and carefully, he traced the lines that wrapped around his wrists, the rough scabs and deeper abrasions from too tight cuffs. “You’re a fucking fighter, Bambi,” Ben muttered, splaying Doe’s long, nimble fingers over the blanket to get photos of his regrowing fingernails.

Catrina scoffed under her breath, already working on recovering and rebandaging her patient, “you can say that again.”

The last thing Ben took photos of was Doe’s face. Which was the opposite of the procedure that he normally followed, making sure the victim came before their injuries, but desperate, overworked times.

Doe’s features were slack, the intubation tube resting on dry, cracked lips. The delicate skin of his face was peppered with bruises, the arch of one cheek bone split, a sharp angle from some kind of corner marring the otherwise unmarked expanse of his forehead in green tinged memory. His thick, dark lashes were fanned over the purple half-moons under his eyes, the color so deep Ben wasn’t sure if they were from a black eye or lack of rest.

Examining the bruises scattered across the bottom of his face, Ben squinted and found the shape of the black marks even under the apparatus holding the breathing tube in place.

More finger marks.

He didn’t have the energy to curse again. There weren’t words for what had been done to Doe. All Ben could do was finish taking pictures.

When he straightened from his stoop over the bed, Ben’s vision swam, and Catrina’s firm grip on his elbow steadied him, kept him from toppling over. “Damn...” he groaned, pressing against his temple, head splitting open with the fury of its ache.

“When was the last time you ate something, Ben?” Catrina asked, her quick, accented speech softening slightly as she pushed him toward the empty chair.

“Um?” The noise was more than a little sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck, plopping down into the chair without resistance as his legs tried to give out under him. “Does it mean that my memory is shit if I can’t remember or just that it was that long ago?”

She rolled her eyes, pressing him forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his head was hanging. “Stay there, don’t pass out, I’ll be right back.” In a blur of blue scrubs and yellow gown , Catrina left the room. Leaving Ben alone with her patient, the quiet beeps of monitors, and the steady pump of the ventilator.

After a few seconds, the dark vertigo inducing throb of his head let up, and Ben lifted his face out of his hands. “Well, pumpkin,” he said, addressing the still form on the bed, “I hope you’ll forgive the lack of professionalism.” He smiled sadly, rolling closer so that he could take Doe’s hand between his own. “It’s been a hell of a long day, you know?”

Ben studied the other man’s face, looking past the bruises and tubing to the person beneath. He was handsome, whoever he was, the dark hair and pale skin contrasting to make him stand out rather than blend in. The faint beginnings of lines around his eyes made him seem like someone who was used to smiling. Someone Ben would’ve liked to know.

He remembered those striking green eyes and how they’d stared at he and Kincaid—the vivid emerald color enunciated by the broken capillaries, probably a result of the blow that cut his cheek bone, creating a stain of red on the background of white. The fear that had no business being in his gaze. What kind of hell have you been through, sweetheart?

The knowledge that this John Doe was a witch just amplified the horror that Ben was feeling. The fact that, in another life, this could be Kincaid in that bed. Used as a plaything, as a junkie’s source, until he was a shell of who he really was—with no one knowing who he was or where he came from?—it killed him. This guy was clinging to life with blood coated tenacity, and no one even knew his fucking name.

Ben had no idea how long this guy had been held, the bruises not even a clear outline of what had been done to him. Vampire venom was an anticoagulant, amongst other properties, and most every vampire victim Ben had come across was anemic. It made for interesting bruising history, the marks of captivity and abuse lasting for weeks longer than they should.

His teeth were grinding together, and Ben loosened the clench in his jaw, letting his frustration out in a shaky exhale. Fuck, he thought, I’m tired.

It didn’t take long for Catrina to come back, and Ben looked up in time to accept the small box of apple juice and crackers from her. “Thanks,” he said, rolling away from her patient, far enough he was comfortable moving his gloves and mask to suck on the straw under her hawk eyed gaze.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, another expressive movement of her eyebrows indicating that it really would be better forgotten.

Catrina busied herself with her patient while Ben made sure he didn’t pass out, moving smoothly around the room to check a beeping drip and taking a new blood sugar. Ben watched her, fatigue coming for him in heavy waves.

“What’s his prognosis?” he asked, the question slipping free while he rubbed at his blurry eyes. He had to ask it for his report, even if he knew the likelihood that it was a good answer was a nullity. Plus, there weren’t any loved ones here to ask, to worry about him, so Ben would have to do.

The nurse looked at him, her dark eyes holding a well of emotion at bay. “Not good,” she answered, voice solemn. “I’m going to give my report to Anna in about fifteen minutes at shift change if you want to sit in, she hasn’t been on with him yet so she’s going to get a full run down, but in short, not good.” She sighed, adjusting the pillow behind Doe’s head, breaking her gaze with Ben. “He’s having seizures, we suspect an anoxic brain injury.”

The words hit hard.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” he hissed, running his hands over his face and burying his fingers in his hair. Fuck.

Anoxic brain injuries were caused by lack of oxygen. Commonly occurring during CPR. Which Ben gave Doe when he crashed in the ambulance.

“Ben,” Catrina’s voice was adamant, she crossed to where he was sitting, her bright purple shoes invading his eye line as she put her hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know how serious it is yet. It’s been, what? Eighteen hours since your raid? He’s been through emergency surgery and anesthesia and a whole lot of other things since he’s been here, but there’s still a lot we don’t know. You didn’t do this to him, okay?”

He wanted to believe her. Logically, he knew that he didn’t do anything wrong. There was no way for him to do CPR better, no way for him to have gotten them to the hospital faster. The witch was so heavily injured at the nest that moving him was a risk, but it was a risk that they had to take. They couldn’t have left him there any longer, and he was going to crash whether they were there or not. It just so happened that Ben and Kincaid were able to get him help when it happened. There was no other option.

So, logically, he knew he did everything he could. But. . . what could he have done better?

Ben nodded, taking a shaky breath. It took a minute for his next words to come, but when they did, they evaporated from his tongue with a whisper. “He was conscious at the extraction,” his shoulders curled in, “he could answer questions. . . he was awake.” Her shoes blurred into a smear of purple, and he sniffed, swallowing hard against the tears. He was so fucking tired.

Catrina’s inhale was soft, surprised, and her hand tightening on his shoulder.

“You know what that raid was for?” he asked, tipping his head up to look at her face. Even if it wasn’t openly stated in the reports, a lot of people would put two and two together. It just took a person who actually believed that there was the supernatural out there.

At Catrina’s nod, he lowered his gaze again, feeling a tear slip down to dampen his mask. He closed his eyes, the scene playing out behind his eyelids. “Raids are these brief, staccato clips. They move so fucking fast, and you have to piece everything together afterward.” He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I haven’t. . . haven’t gotten the chance to do that yet.”

Catrina didn’t press him, didn’t stop him either. She settled on her knee. Patient. Expectant.

Ben swallowed, chest heavy. “When we first breached the building. . . “ he stared, words wet and slow, “there was this barrage of humans and vamps trying to get out. Until, just, one second to the next—“ he made a poof motion with his hand, “—they were just gone. I don’t know what happened, how they got out.” His eyes were wide, unseeing, and he didn’t feel his body shaking. “There were a few stragglers, but otherwise it was this dark silence that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“After every corner, we expected there to be a hoard of them ready to pounce on us. Every sense was on high alert for any noise, some small—“ his face screwed up in search of the right word, “—animal corner of your mind trying to feel where the predator was going to come from. Our teams cleared most of the compound by the time we made it up to the clinic, but so much was still unknown.” His breath hitched, and he let go of his hair, his hands falling between his knees. Shaking. “We didn’t have any idea what we were walking into, really. There wasn’t much to it, just some curtains and medical supplies. It was innocuous.”

He paused again, licking his lips behind the mask. Nose not quite stuffed enough to miss the medicinal smell of the disposable shield. “The other rooms on the floor were all empty, everywhere you expected someone to be was empty. So when we heard the machines, it was just background noise. Enough to know we needed to be on guard, but we were on guard anyway.

“We have these flashlights on the ends of our guns,” he said, waving a hand in vague explanation,” and the lights jump around, create these jerky splashes of light and shadow on the walls. They’re useful, but it also makes you jumpy as hell.” Another tear slipped free, dripping down to plop quietly onto the sleeve of his crinkly, yellow gown. “When we pulled back that curtain. . . I think the only thing that saved him was the fact that he couldn’t move.” Shame flushed through him, and his bit his lip, throat closing up over his words as he fought to explain himself. “None of us expected to see someone in that clinic. In the cells below? Sure. In the quarters with the vamps? Yeah. But for some reason, we all expected that clinic to be empty once we got up there.”

Ben blew out a choked breath, almost a sob, tucking his chin against his chest before he continued.

“The sinking feeling that went through my gut when I saw that figure on the bed. Fuck. For a second, everybody just froze.” Logically, Ben knew that he should be filtering his words. That he should stop. That Catrina didn’t need to hear about how scared her patient was when he was found, or what it did to Ben to see him like that, but the words wouldn't stop. “He was so scared. Hands flat—“ Ben flattened his own for a second in demonstration, “—on the bed like he could be any threat to anyone in the condition that he was in, like he wasn’t already strapped down and helpless”

Catrina’s breath caught, and he saw her gloved hand go shakily to her mouth.

“I’ve got a lot of training,” he wiped at his eyes, looking into Catrina’s dark eyes, unsurprised to find tears there too, “enough to know that how they were treating him. . . “ He shook his head, unable to put it into words. She would know better than he would anyway. “He was too weak to talk, but the way he looked at us. . . “ Tears were choking him, and he couldn’t get a full breath. “And now. . . now. . .”

He wasn’t expecting the arms pulling him in, the warmth of Catrina’s embrace, but he gave in to it all the same. His head rested heavily on her shoulder, her gloved hand on the back of his hair, the latex pulling slightly at the short strands there. Her breaths weren’t steady either, and he heard her cursing quietly under her breath, her voice shaking.

When they pulled apart, Catrina looked him dead in the eye, her hand tight on his bicep. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? What he needs, now, is for us to take care of him and for you to find out who did this, and who he is. Find where he belongs, right?” Another tear escaped, her mascara smudged underneath her eyelashes.

Ben nodded, sniffling quietly before he rubbed his tears away with the back of hand. “Yeah. . .” he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, “yeah, we’re gonna find who did this.”

They both looked over to the John Doe, his unconscious figure unchanged from where Catrina had left him.

Ben was going to find who did this if it was the last thing he ever did.

#Markus/Lucien Series #Protective Caretaker #Crying Caretaker #Medical Whump #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Unconscious Whumpee #Intubated Whumpee #Chest Tube #Exhausted Caretaker #Urban fantasy setting #All will be revealed #captivity #abuse #graphic depictions of injury #graphic depictions of medical treatment

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softsketching · 4 years

Text

That Spring Noon

For Ashlyn.

Word Count: 2505 words

By the time that white blankets of snow melted to unearth the vibrant, green blades of grass underneath, your own heart had thawed. You sighed happily. Thanks to Suga's unrelenting kindness, the wounds from your first love's rejection slowly healed over. A seemingly humiliating experience had only deepened your friendship with Suga; you were beyond thankful for his camaraderie. But at some point, the feelings of gratitude he'd sowed in your heart sprouted into something that transcended the boundaries of friendship. With the amount of time you two spent together during that winter, you'd be a fool to deny the familiar yet paradoxically foreign feeling bubbling to the surface.

Stop it. He's just a friend. You shook your head, dispelling your thoughts. And he likes someone else anyway.

It'd taken you almost ten minutes to decide where to spread your yellow picnic blanket. You wanted to find the perfect spot to lay it down–somewhere underneath a tree with a significant radius of shade and surrounded by small spots of bright, white flowers. Luckily, the only people at the park today were a few little children and their parents, so finding an ideal location proved little challenge. After laying down both the blanket and your picnic basket, you checked the watch on your wrist. 11:40. Suga would probably arrive in five or so minutes, knowing him and his tendency to overdo everything. You smoothed down your white dress, then moved to pat your frizzy hair down with your fingers. A soft breeze picked up and ruffled at your skirts. Checking your watch again, you tugged at the hem of your clothing, waiting on Suga to arrive.

"Sorry I'm late," came the voice you most wanted to hear. "I think I went a little too far with prepping the side dishes." Bingo!

You tore your eyes away from the fabric of your dress and turned to face Suga. Today, he wore a light pink, long cardigan. You could see the outline of his sculpted body through his white undershirt, a fact that brought spots of heat to your face. When your eyes moved further down, you realized he was wearing the black jeans that you gave him as a Christmas present.

"How much did you prepare?" Your eyes quickly snapped back to his face as you feigned a laugh.

Suga gave a sheepish smile before plopping down across from you. "Just...this and that."

That day, the two of you joked around until both your sides split from laughter.

"You look like a hair stylist!" You cackled, watching Suga's mouth drop open in fake hurt. It was easier for you to make fun of his appearance than it was to admit that his outfit fit him perfectly, accentuating his toned body and contrasting perfectly with his fair skin.

"Are you kidding? This cardigan is great!" He retorted. "At least I don't look like-" Suga scanned your outfit with lovestruck eyes. What was he going to say to you, anyway? You looked beautiful today. The white dress you wore highlighted every dip and curve in your body, and he had to resist every urge to run his hands through your soft, silky hair.

"Like what, huh?" You laughed harder.

"Shut up," He blushed, tears of laughter brimming in your eyes. "let's just eat already!"

While jesting at each other, you both pulled out the insulated lunchboxes and thermoses stored in your picnic baskets, revealing the contents inside. The smokiness of charbroiled meat, the dance of steamed vegetables, and the earthy aroma of sesame seeds filled your nose as you and Suga uncapped the food. You two dove in.

"Try the meat with perilla leaves and this sauce, Y/N." Suga brought his lunchbox closer to yours, trapping bits of sauce-coated beef and vibrant, green perilla leaves between his chopsticks and bringing it to your own.

"Mah pwate ish fuh." You said.

The laugh that came out of Suga's mouth made your heart skip a beat. "Stop talking with your mouth full, dummy." He waited patiently for you to swallow your food before talking again.

"I'll just feed it to you then."

What? You must've heard that wrong.

"Say ah!" Suga's chopsticks approaching your mouth confirmed that what he said was definitely not a figment of your imagination. And for just that moment, you allowed yourself to succumb to the romantic feelings begging to burst open inside of you. Suga gently place the food onto your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut to imagine how lovely it'd be to have Suga by your side like this everyday–what it'd be like to be someone special to him.

Suga's heart pounded against his chest. So beautiful. At the first taste of the smoky combination of flavors, your eyes shot open. "Mmmm!!!"

Suga smiled and returned to eating his own food. It hadn't even been more than five minutes when...

"Wipe your mouth. There's sauce on it." He poked your forehead. You scrunched up your face in embarrassment. Taking a napkin from the picnic basket, you aggressively rubbed it against your lips.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. I told you to wipe your mouth—not maul it."

You giggled, sticking your tongue out at the amused, gray-haired boy. "Alright, mom. Wipe it for me then."

"Okay."

The next turn of events passed by too quickly for you to properly recall them. All you could feel was the ghost of Suga's fingers swiping at your bottom lip. He'd closed in on you by then, the beauty mark below his brown eye fading into view as his hands cradled your face. Faint hints of strawberry wafted off of his skin as his thumb delicately wiped at the corner of your mouth. When Suga retreated back to his food, no words left your lips. Your chest tightened; your mind was spinning.

You knew that Suga's presence served as a catalyst that allowed your heartbroken wounds to heal faster. He helped you regain the confidence you'd lost post-confession, and with that confidence came newfound feelings of intimacy for him. But the fact of the matter was that speeding up the process of healing doesn't mean that you've fully recovered.

And when you open up a wound that hasn't healed over...

You gasped, freezing in your spot in Karasuno High's courtyard. In that moment, you could no longer feel Suga's warmth by your side. The world around you crumbled. You were face to face with your first love, eye contact unavoidable, longing eyes square against cold indifference. You were shaking. The thought of glancing over at the smaller figure next to him terrified you, but you did it anyway.

It was like a punch to the stomach, seeing your first love with his arms wrapped around another girl. All the confidence you'd built up over the course of the winter drained out of you at the sight of him and her, and in its place was the same freezing emptiness that choked the life out of your trembling body.

How long had it been since school started? A few months, maybe some months and a half? How long ago was your picnic with Suga? Two weeks, maybe two weeks and some change? Your grasp on time was shaky at best. All you knew right now was that you had to get away. So with a quick turn of your heel, you did.

Your pace was slow at first. You didn't bother turning around to see the look on anyone's face. But as soon as you were out of your first love's sight, you took off sprinting. You quickly pushed past groups of students chatting idly after school, asphalt and cleanly trimmed lawn blurring together to form streaks of grayish, green ground. You sniffled. Tears flooded the corners of your eyes, drowning your vision. Before you knew it, you'd tripped over your own feet, crashing onto the pavement with a hard thud. The impact had scraped both your elbows and your knees, but you couldn't feel the pain. You just needed to get away. Run. You hoisted yourself up off of the ground, tiny pebbles jamming into your palms, and made your way across the school, stopping only when you'd turned a corner that was devoid of students. Soft cries escaped you, rattling your entire body. You felt like the air in your lungs had been ripped out of you. Anger and disappointment churned in the depths of your stomach; you'd been swallowed whole by the plethora of negative emotions swirling dangerously inside.

"Y/N!" You looked to the side to see an out of breath Suga approaching you. The expression on his face told it all: you'd worried him so much that he chased after you.

"Suga?" You whispered. "why'd you follow me? You're gonna be late for prac-"

"It doesn't matter." He replied quickly.

"B-But it does. I was supposed to walk with you to the gym."

"It's okay." Suga said.

You wiped at your eyes aggressively. Seeing this, Suga sighed and inched closer to you. With the same kindness he'd shown you the day you were rejected, Suga ran his thumb across your closed eyes to wipe away stray tears, delicately, as if you were bound to break apart at any second.

"I'm here now..." He whispered. But unlike before, the bitterness in your heavy heart had all but consumed you.

"Don't be sad.." You heard him say.

"He's just one guy. You can do better..." Ha. How would you know? Frustration licked at your insides, and you flinched away from his tender touches. Suga scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"You're lucky, Suga." You hiccuped.

"You're lucky that you're so perfect. Nobody would ever pass up on being with you."

Suga retracted his hands, taking a perplexed step back. Despite your own brain telling you to stop, you pushed forward with your distateful thoughts.

"Of course you think he's just another guy. You don't even know how painful it is to be in my position."

Stop. It isn't his fault.

Suga shook his head in an attempt to block your words. "That's not true. I understand."

"How could you get it?" The pointedness of your question left him speechless. "You have no idea what it's like to be rejected!" For some reason, the more you talked, the louder your voice grew. Suga hadn't done anything wrong. Matter of fact, he was the only reason you hadn't broken down from sadness that winter. But why? Why were you so frustrated at the gray haired boy who was oozing care for you? Why?

"You don't know that at all," came his uncharacteristically curt response. The air hung heavy around your skin.

"Really?" You said back. "Because the last time I checked, you haven't even had the guts to confess to the girl you like. You really think that you can understand how I'm feeling right now?"

Suga's jaw tensed, but his eyes remained on you. You couldn't breathe.

"Am I ugly?" You asked. Dull pains littered your body.

"No."

"Am I boring?"

"No."

"Am I stupid?"

He broke eye contact with you. "No."

"Then why, you cried, "don't I deserve to be loved?"

"You do."

"The person I wanted already rejected me, Suga!" A formidable distance had grown between you and Suga, both in physicality and in mentality. "Who could ever like someone like me?!" Tears streamed down your cheeks in huge bursts, obscuring your vision. Perhaps it was because of your tears that you couldn't see his own expression.

Suga was gnawing at his lip, his eyebrows furrowed as he burned holes into the ground. His brown eyes were telling their own story of hurt, confusion, and love, but you were blind, so blind. He looked up.

"Me. I would."

It was like the world stopped moving the moment he uttered those three words. You blinked your tears away, eyes widened in unadulterated shock.

"You say I don't know what rejection is like? I watched you, listened to you spill your feelings about him for two years." A thin layer of ice was beginning to coat Suga's voice. "I listened to you every night when you'd tell me why he was perfect for you. All those times you and I climbed onto the roof of my house to talk–I had to hear you tell me he's the one even when he treated you like crap. All I could do was comfort you when you cried and I-"

"I would like you—no, I do like you. I like you so much, Y/N! Why can't you...look at me like that?"

His voice shaking with desperation. "It's always been you."

Suga's eyes stung. He couldn't believe that he'd exposed his feelings for you this way. With just a few words, he'd ruined everything. Gone were the days where he could admire your laugh, your smile, your sparkling eyes. Your hugs, your voice, your platonic love. Your support, your jokes, your care. You were fading, fading because he couldn't hold his selfish feelings in. Fading because he overstepped his bounds. Fading because he could no longer deny his heart.

You couldn't think of any words to say. For years, you assumed that Suga was head over heels in love with some enigma. You never bothered invading his privacy, thinking he'd tell you when he was ready. But to think that the girl he'd been longing for, the girl he used to cry over during his lowest nights, the girl who dulled the twinkle in his eyes at just a mere mention of her...

was you?

Despite every feathery touch he'd leave on your hands, the overextended bear hugs he'd give you when you two were alone, the slight blush on his cheeks that only appeared when you were around, you were oblivious.

How could you not have figured it out?

"I might not know what it's like to get turned down after finding the courage to admit my feelings." Suga's breaths were uneven, wavering. "But to say that I haven't experienced what it's like to be rejected isn't right." The sound of his breaking voice made you want to rip out your ears.

"You rejected my love before I even had the chance to give it to you."

He shook his head then. You watched in agony as a single tear cascaded down your friend's loving face, your friend's loving face which was now twisted from the hurt. Your heart was in absolute shambles.

"I'll see you later" was the last thing Suga said to you before his back faded out of sight. The sound of his retreating footsteps rung in your ears. Regardless, no matter how much you wanted to move your feet and chase after him, you stayed glued to your spot.

Warm spring air slapped you in the face as you stared out into the open fields. The sun was supposed to be beating down on your wet face today, rays of light supposed to be tanning your uncovered skin. But you were stone cold, alone.

...you get a deeper scar.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#fanfiction #sugawara fluff #sugawara #sugawara kōshi #sugawara x you #sugawara imagine #suga x reader #sugawara x reader #angst #fluff #sugawara angst #karasuno

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bipadme · 4 years

Text

the thrill of proximity

pairing: female detective (leila) x ava du mortain

prompt: wayhaven week day 4 - thrill

word count: 2213

warnings: none

tagging: @likemoonlights 💜, @otomefandomevents

read on ao3

The key to lying to a vampire is to be comfortable with telling only part of the truth.

Leila had discovered this the hard way, when she’d told Morgan that of course she didn’t know Felix had snuck his laundry into hers again, and then proceeded to spend the next week waving smoke out of her face and out of her office. Felix had cackled pitilessly at her plight, and asked how she hadn’t known better.

A great question.

Well, she’d learned eventually. She’d learned that telling the part of the truth and being okay with it was key to lying successfully. Or, rather, simply omitting uncomfortable truths for the good of the overprotective vampires of Unit Bravo. This was the mindset she went into when she agreed to have a “girl’s night” with Tina, and then told Ava she planned on having a “nice night watching a movie and listening to this new group Tina wants me to check out.”

All technically the truth.

Leila slings her bag over her shoulder and then gives the team leader a warm smile. The stiffness in Ava’s shoulders seems to have dissipated a bit and she nods curtly, “Acceptable. Considering the recent trapper threat--”

Leila scoffs, “Overgrown teenagers with the poor sense to try and accost me outside of the station?” The incident itself had been more annoying than anything else. A sidestep and a quick kick to the rear had sent one straight into a wall, the other downed by the taser she’d jammed into his gut. They hadn’t so much as landed a hit, that time, but it had been enough to make Ava scowl and demand full-time Leila-sitting duty for the better part of a week.

“Trappers are a credible threat, just because this group wasn’t prepared doesn’t mean the next won’t be,” the vampire pauses.

Then she takes a step closer, fear flashing in her eyes, “More and more people are finding out and I…” Her hand reaches out, hovering so close to the detective’s skin that Leila feels a thrill race straight to her heart until it pounds like she’s just been shocked. All she wants is to close that infinitesimal distance, to stop wondering whether Ava runs warm or cool, whether her hands are calloused from training or if she heals too quickly and her hands are soft, or whether her hands will clench a hair too tight in concern or be achingly gentle. She wants to close that distance, but she feels arrested by the intensity of Ava’s full attention. Instead of pushing forward she’s frozen and struck dumb.

Then the tension breaks like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

The vampire seems to notice how close she is and jerks backwards a good three feet until the distance leaves Leila feeling cold and slightly shattered. She rocks back onto her heels, trying to find her equilibrium in the midst of a moment she is sure the other woman is feeling as well. She swallows past the tightness of her throat, clogged with disappointment.

God, I’m pathetic, she can’t help but think.

What had she expected? Why did she continuously let these moments haunt and torment her like she lived in a romance novel instead of reality? It was as if their orbits had destined them to pull close, but never touch. So instead they spent their days vacillating between being tantalizingly near and terribly far. How long could she be expected to keep this up? Why did she allow it?

With that thought, she releases the breath she’d been holding and tries for a smile. It feels brittle on her face, and it must look as much too, judging from the crease forming between Ava’s brows. A crease that soon smooths out into her usual stoic non-expression (or as the detective had privately taken to calling it, her repression face.)

The vampire opens her mouth, but she cuts her off before she can say anything that will sink her heart any further, “Have a nice evening, Ava.”

She turns on her heel and determinedly walks away with the weight of Ava’s stare on her shoulders. But she knows better than to let her posture droop so soon. She knows how to walk away and smile at the passing familiar faces with something approaching nonchalance, but she also knows that she hasn’t fooled the people she wants to fool the most.

Or herself.

Once she leaves the warehouse and is safely in her car, that’s when she lets her shoulders drop and passes a hand over her face in sheer exhaustion. That’s when she makes her decision.

I’m going to have a nice time with Tina, she swears to herself as she jerks her car into gear, and for one fucking night I’m not going to dwell Ava fucking du Mortain.

That, she hoped, was the truth.

(It wasn’t.)

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

By three in the morning, she has a distinctly pleasant buzz, a lighter wallet, a happily drunk Tina deposited safely at her apartment, and feet sore from dancing all attesting to a night well (and safely) spent. She and Tina had watched a movie, danced, drank, eaten greasy and cheap pizza, and allowed themselves to relax into the comfortable anonymity of the city. For an hour or two, Leila had even allowed herself to forget the team that thought she was safely ensconced in her living room.

Until the texts, and the calls, and the inevitable need to silence her phone to buy a little peace. Beyond all the remnants of a fun night, she has one text conversation reassuring Felix that she hasn’t been brutally murdered and/or kidnapped by ne’er-do-wells, sixteen missed calls from Unit Bravo, and what she’s sure is one furious team leader waiting for her at the apartment.

Leila steps out of the car with a shiver at the cool air on her skin and the near freezing asphalt under her bare feet. Immediately, her gaze is drawn upward to the silhouette in her apartment window, broad shoulders painting a severe figure against the warm light of her living room lamp.

It’s either a particularly stupid trapper, or Ava lying in wait with the lecture of a lifetime, and no matter what she would admit to out loud, Leila knows what she’s secretly hoping for.

Ava, even angry and lecturing, is always far more delightful to see than Leila is ever prepared for.

She takes her time meandering into the building, heels dangling from her fingers as she quietly makes her way through the dark hallways. Her front door isn’t even locked, and she takes a moment to drop her shoes next to the mat before dragging her gaze to the ice-cold fury of Ava’s eyes.

She forces herself to look away and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. She can feel Ava’s eyes on the unusual looseness of her stride, and Leila hopes she isn’t so tipsy that she looks foolish.

Glass in hand, she takes a small sip before leaning forward onto the island and tilting her head in faux curiosity, “I told Felix I made it home safely. What brings you here?”

“I came in,” she says stiffly, “When I was on patrol and discovered that you weren’t in your apartment as you’d told me you would be. Where were you?”

It’s stated more as a demand than a question, and Leila purses her lips before speaking. “I did watch a movie and I did check out some new music,” she hesitates and bites the inside of her cheek, “While I was in the city with Tina.”

At that moment, the buzz notification of Leila’s phone fills the silence following her question, and Ava scoffs.

“Ah, so your phone does work. I was starting to wonder if it was unable to take calls,” the blonde sneers, the aristocratic lines of her face still unfairly beautiful. “Or is it simply my calls you can’t take?”

“I don’t take calls when I’m out with a friend, and I’ve been texting the group and Felix all night to check in,” Leila argues, her ire rising despite her intentions to stay calm. “Just because I didn’t deign to answer your questions--”

“I should not have bothered with texting at all! I should have tracked you down the moment you--”

Leila slaps her palms onto the counter with a glare, “For what? I was careful! I took an Uber there and back, I only had a few drinks, I stayed in sight of a group of people at all times--”

Ava pushes onward and circles the island to stand directly in front of the brunette as if proximity will win her the argument, “You come home, drunk--”

Leila scoffs, “I’m barely even tipsy—“

“In an Uber—“

“Oh, the horror!”

Ava’s scowl deepens, “Uber’s safety policies are far from—“

“Ava,” Leila raises a hand to stop her and rolls her eyes, “If you cite Uber’s safety policies, the most dangerous thing about this evening will be me jumping out of my window.”

Ava sucks in a breath on a hiss, her eyes narrowed, “Someone has to prioritize your safety, since you seem thoroughly determined to take every risk that crosses your path! Do you have any idea how easy it would be for someone to make you disappear from a crowded room?”

Leila takes a step forward, and it’s a testament to Ava’s stubbornness and irritation that she refuses to back up despite how close they now stand. “Ava, I’m human. I could trip on Douglas’s stupid charging cable and crack my head wide open, tomorrow!” She scoffs and crosses her arms, “So excuse me if I’m not impressed by how easy it is for some ridiculously strong supernatural to kill me! Why should I be more scared of you or anyone else than I am of sharks and car crashes? Or even particularly aggressive geese?” She flings her arms into the air, “Are you going to nail down every vending machine in Wayhaven in fear that I’ll shake one and it’ll crush me? Where do you draw the line?”

She crosses her arms again and watches with irritation as Ava takes a shaky breath and pinches her nose before speaking, “You are the most impossibly infuriating human I have met in 900 years,” she seethes.

“Well I’m not much impressed by you either,” Leila lies, her idiotic brain choosing this moment to notice how close their shared anger has brought them. How, in her pique, Ava had put a hand on the island next to her and drawn close until she loomed over Leila in a shiveringly satisfying way. She’s still irritated, sure, but it takes a backseat to the desire rushing through her and making her warmer than any alcohol could manage.

Determined to maintain her stance, she tilts her face up, jaw set stubbornly even though she only wants to kiss the sharpness out of Ava’s glare.

It’s just for show, she thinks bleakly. She can glare and bluster all night, but she can’t deny what she wants more than anything else. She can’t deny how frightened she is that admitting her feelings would drive Ava so far away from her that this closeness, even if antagonistic and charged with irritation, would be nothing but a distant dream. And fuck if she isn’t pathetic as hell, but she has no plans on giving this up any time soon.

Yes, she feels guilty for making Ava worry. Despite that, now the vampire is closer than she usually ever dares, her full attention pinned on the shorter woman in front of her until Leila’s every nerve sings with energy. Her warmth is magnetizing, and she feels sober in a way that is nothing short of electrifying. So, yes, she chases this feeling harder than any adrenaline junkie looking for a thrill, and damn if aggravating Ava didn’t always always manage to deliver it.

Her heart pounds, and Ava’s eyes flick a quick glance to her chest, before meeting the detective’s eyes once more, this time with a noticeable flush in her cheeks. And Leila… she can’t help herself. She’s sure she’s visibly trembling at this point, and still she can’t stop herself from swaying forward until her chest is barely brushing the other woman’s. If Ava won’t lean down and meet her halfway, that’s fine, she’ll just--

As her hand drifts forward to brace itself against the vampire’s hip, Ava whips away in a cold rush of air. Leila stumbles hard and catches herself on the counter with a curse. When she looks up, Ava is halfway out of the door, trying to school her stricken expression into something resembling neutrality.

Good for her, Leila’s shoulders droop even as she straightens from her near fall, at least one of us can pretend this is okay.

“Next time,” Ava croaks, her voice betraying her, “You’ll take one of us.” She takes a breath that seems to steady her, and glares, “And you’ll answer your phone.”

Then she’s out of reach once more.

The momentary thrill long gone, Leila sinks to the floor and drops her head into her hands.

And she plans on doing it all over again, if that’s what it takes.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven week 2020 #twc detective #ava du mortain #twc: leila #welp i tried!!!!

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savannahsdrabbles · 4 years

Text

Ocean Song - Part Six

rating: PG summary: Marine biology student April O’Neil makes a startling discovery.

notes: 5k words - this chapter is a big boy! A03 link can be found here. Special thanks to @cloakedrabbitand @starfiretheninja for beta-reading!

Being constantly together meant that there wasn’t always a need for names in his family; no matter where they went or what was happening, a brother was always within earshot. Besides, surviving as a group often called for one to put aside the concept of ‘I’ and ‘me’, and instead focus on the importance of ‘us and ‘we’.

Us, Brothers. We, Father and Sons.

Individual names were thought of as precious things to be shared. To be called by name was one of the most intimate ways of being identified – it was a way of telling the other that they in particular were important and cherished and held a special place in the speaker’s heart. Being given a name was a special gift, and to be able to give someone their name was an even greater honor.

Father had given them their original names when they were still very small, cooing the sounds as they burrowed into his worn white fur and drank in the warm, safe scent of each other.

Small. Brave. Strong. Clever.

The chirped sounds were a reminder of his love for them - a verbal affirmation that he held them dear.

Once Father had passed, those names became something almost sacred in their family and were reserved for only the most special of occasions. They were spoken primarily in times of overwhelming emotion, such as during a particularly harsh winter when Strong Brother brought home a catch large enough to feed the whole family for many suns. The turtles had gathered around him that night, churring happily and celebrating their brother’s great and likely life-saving accomplishment.

Other occasions were less joyous but just as intimate, such as on nights where one of them startled awake from a terrible nightmare – an event that happened more frequently since Father’s passing. Brothers would huddle around their frightened member and press close, filling their ears with whispered names and reminding them that they were safe, they were home, and they were loved.

At this moment he yearned for nothing more than to be drawn into one of those tight embraces, cool scales and warm breath tickling his skin as the sound of his name chased away the surrounding monsters.

“Brothers here, Clever. Clever Brother safe.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly – one of the few body parts he could still move – as tears blurred his vision and began to roll down his face. The cold, hard object that had been clamped around his neck vibrated softly, a cruel imitation of the cool skin and hummed tones he was desperate for. The turtle bit down on the inside of his cheek and roughly chewed in an attempt to distract himself. No, he couldn’t cry yet, no matter how much he wanted to. For now he had to stay alert. If death was to come, he wanted to face it and be brave. That’s what Father would have wanted.

An acrid scent filled his nostrils as the ground swinging beneath him slowly transitioned from light to dark, and the harsh lighting above was replaced with a handful of flickering orange lights. The turtle let out a soft grunt as they came to an abrupt stop, his momentum continuing to carry his head and arms forward until they collided against the human called Ivan’s back. Before he could process what was happening, the hands holding him shifted to grip the edges of his shell and he was twisted around to face his captor.

Ivan stared down at him for a moment, his brown eyes seeming to note the turtle’s lolling head and the tear tracks that ran up either side of his face before he smirked. “Alright, in ya go.”

The turtle felt himself being turned again and then he was shoved into a small, dark place. He gasped softly, eyes flicking around to take in the new, colder enclosure. This one was much different than the other prison – it was much smaller, offering him only a few inches of movement on every side, and made of a shiny silver material that looped together to form an interlocking web. Several other prisons lined the one that he was being placed in, signifying that there was room for other prisoners if necessary.

The icy floor beneath his skin vibrated rhythmically as a mental image rushed to his mind, causing his already twisting stomach to gurgle a warning. No. Brothers safe. Brothers not here.

“Th-that cage is fairly small for a creature his size – and he should really have some source of water-” the red furred man that they had called “Doctor” leaned around Ivan as he attempted to peer into the silver prison. Waves of pity emanated from the human’s eyes, so similar to the expressions Red Girl and Boy Human had given him.

The turtle squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to shake his head and erase the memories from his mind. They hadn’t come back for him. Father had been right about Humans – they only sought to hurt and destroy. Their promises and looks of pity meant nothing.

All of the sudden a hand reached out and gripped the back of his neck, causing his eyes to snap back open. A warning hiss bubbled out from the back of his throat.

“Oh hush,” Ivan tapped sharply on the bridge of the creature’s snout, then leaned into the touch as he shoved the creature further back in the cage and swung the door shut. The turtle could still see through the metal links as Ivan latched the cage and reached into his pelt to retrieve what looked like a large gray egg. The man tapped the shell once, triggering a low beep from the object around the turtle’s neck. He gulped, bracing for the worst, and then barked in surprise as a wave of tingling warmth began to slowly wash over his body. It was an odd, hot sensation – like the feeling of urinating after a cold swim – but it was welcome. The turtle shook his head and gave a small sign of relief as life began to creep back into his limbs… until Ivan clicked the egg a second time and the weight came crashing back down.

“Eh, better keep you still for now. Just in case.” The large man twirled the egg between his fingers for a moment, looking thoughtful, then tucked the device into an inner pocket on the van door. Once he was certain it was secure, Ivan grabbed the doors and looked back over his shoulder. “You’ve done enough, Dr. O’Neil,”

The doors slammed shut with an air of finality, plunging him into darkness and making him whimper softly.

Seconds later a roar screamed at him from every side, and then a sudden jolt of movement sent him crashing into the cage door. He clenched his now bruised jaw as the rumbling continued to slide him back and forth, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust and then locking onto the door pocket that shifted in and out of his line of sight. He hummed in determination. That was it – his ticket to freedom. He needed that egg.

***

Okay, so it turned out that car chases were a bit difficult when you didn’t have a plan and didn’t want to alert the other car.

The Jonesmobile had exploded from the parking garage with a vengeance, spitting up gravel in its wake, only for Casey to quickly second guess his actions – a rare occasion and one to be noted – and slam on the brakes. He killed the headlights, essentially casting a cloak of invisibility over the Jeep, and waited impatiently for the van to put a bit more distance between them before gunning the engine. The two vehicles weaved their way through Hamato Lab’s property, the Jeep’s headlights staying dark until they emerged onto the freeway. There weren’t many other cars out at this time of night, but it was just enough for the teens to be able to blend into traffic without tipping off their target.

“We need a plan – is there a rest stop or something coming up? Maybe we can wait until they stop and confront them then?” April leaned down to retrieve her laptop from the floorboards and started to pull up a map of the highway. “I’m not sure where exactly Oroku Inc. is located, but I know it’s at least several hours away; they’ll have to pull over at some point to-”

“And then what? They’ll stop to get some Funyuns and we’ll break into the van?” Casey tapped his blinker as they changed lanes, moving the Jonesmobile one lane closer to the van and pressing on the accelerator. The Jeep rumbled beneath them as they powered forward. “As much fun as that sounds, I don’t think it’ll work – one of the goons will probably stay behind to watch the car.”

“Ugh, you’re right,” the redhead moved her hands to her face and rubbed her temples vigorously as if to stimulate brain activity. “Okay, okay. Did they lock the back of the van before they drove off?”

Casey shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road as the van signaled right and began to change lanes. “I don’t know – you had a better vantage point than I did.”

“I don’t think they did, but I’m not one hundred percent sure. But if we can get them both away from the car for a bit maybe one of us could get in through the back and pull him out?”

“Hmmm…” the boy hummed, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought.

Ahead of them, the van signaled once more and began angling towards the nearest off ramp. Casey waited for half a moment before doing the same. He’d never driven on this part of the coastal highway before, but he could tell at a glance that the traffic was a lot less dense on the upcoming side street – meaning that there would be less cover and the goons would quickly catch on to the fact that they were being followed. If they wanted to take advantage of the element of surprise, they needed to act soon.

“How good are your acting skills?”

April blinked in confusion. “My what?”

“I have an idea. Just follow my lead – and brace yourself.”

Before April could ask any more questions, Casey jammed his foot against the gas pedal and the car rocketed forward like a sugar-high child released into Disney World. The girl shrieked in surprise, hand swatting at the roof as she grabbed for the ceiling bar and held on tight. The Jeep careened onto the off ramp, narrowly missing the siderail as they powered down to the lower level. Streetlights whipped by, illuminating the inside of the car in photographic bursts. Casey’s crazy, wild-eyed grin. April’s confused but determined resolve. The gap between them and the van began to close.

50 feet.

40 feet.

30 feet.

“Casey-!” April braced herself, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as she prepared for what was sure to be a colossal collision. But then, without warning, Casey jerked the wheel and they blew past their target. April pried an eye open just in time to see the van whip past and start to shrink in their rearview mirror. “What the heck are you doing – we need to be behind them!”

“Just trust me – I saw this in a movie once!”

Once Casey seemed to be satisfied with the distance between them and the other vehicle – at least ten car lengths – he threw his right arm in front of April and slammed on the brakes.

Tires screamed in protest, immediately chorused by the voices of the Jeep’s passengers. Casey’s left hand gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep the car under control as it skidded from side to side. A second screech joined the cacophony of noise, and April squeezed both eyes shut again as she waited for the impact that never came.

Then, with a crunch of gravel, everything stopped moving.

The two teens slumped forward in their seats, chests heaving against their seatbelts as they attempted to steady their racing hearts. As soon as she was sure that they were still alive, April turned her head and gave a snort at the shell-shocked expression painted across Casey’s face. “You good?”

The boy moved slowly, prying a white-knuckled hand off of the steering wheel and slowly patting it across his face and body in search of injuries. “I… I think so. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” April closed her eyes in relief and nodded breathlessly, then turned sharply in her seat as she threw a punch to Casey’s shoulder. “What the heck was that?”

Casey recoiled, color flowing back into his pale face as he attempted to dodge her flailing fists. “I have a plan – I told you, just trust me!”

“Trust you? After you tried to kill us? Boy I-”

“You call that crap driving?” A voice boomed from behind them, followed by the slam of a car door being kicked open. April tensed, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Both of the men they had seen at the lab emerged from the van, looking every bit as shaken and angry as she felt.

“Like I said – follow my lead!” Casey grabbed April’s hand and squeezed once as he hissed his words. Without any further explanations, the teenage boy unbuckled his seatbelt and threw himself out the car door. He started speaking even before his feet had touched the ground, voice pitching into a pitiful and unsure tone as he turned to the approaching goons. “I am so sorry, sirs! I don’t know what happened – I was just driving along and all of the sudden I lost control of the wheel! Are you two alright?”

Now that they had headlights and streetlights to illuminate the situation playing out, April was able to give the Oroku Inc. employees a once over in the rearview mirror. They were definitely enormous – both solidly built men each standing at least six feet tall and towering over even Casey’s lanky form. She squinted, eyes straining to read their nametags as they passed the Jeep’s bumper and continued to move closer. Anton and Ivan. Those certainly didn’t sound like any Japanese names she’d ever heard – maybe they were transfers to Japan, like she and her father? Then again, these guys didn’t really look the part of well-educated scientists – more like club bouncers that had been handed official nametags and set loose.

“I think that something is wrong with the flux capacitor – I heard it making noise earlier this morning and thought to myself: ‘Self, you need to get this fixed’ and by golly look where that got me now.” The men continued to stalk forward, shoulders hunched and not speaking as they got within an arm’s reach of Casey. The boy stepped backwards, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he continued to ramble.

Okay, this didn’t look good. Time to step in.

Taking a deep breath, April pushed herself through the passenger side door and did her best put on a mask of nervous innocence. “Oh yes, I hope that we didn’t scare you two gentlemen!”

Both mens’ heads whipped around to face her, as if just realizing that there had been a second person in the Jeep. They glanced at each other, eyes sharing a quick conversation, and then Anton gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Not at all, Miss. We were just checking to make sure that the driver of this car was alright – you were driving a bit erratically back there.”

“That’s because my girlfriend really has to pee!” Casey interjected. “We were speeding to get to the nearest gas station.”

April blinked, taking the moment of temporary darkness to roll her eyes back into her head before nodding and crossing her legs awkwardly. “Err, yeah. I really gotta… go.”

The bigger of the men blushed and glanced between the two teenagers. “Oh. Um, well then if you two are okay, we’ll let you go on your way-”

“No!” Casey and April both yelped at the same time, startling the two men and catching each other off guard.

“I really need help to get my car running again, and you can’t leave us stranded out here!” the teenage boy gestured towards the hood of his car and shrugged helplessly. “I totally suck at cars – I mean, look what happened! If I don’t get this fixed, someone else might come along hurt us or something and then I’ll have to tell the cops what happened and –”

“Alright, alright, we’ll give it a quick look,” the black man interjected with another tight smile, though his eyes betrayed a deep aggravation with the turn of events. “Ivan, you’re good with cars, aren’t you?”

“Good enough,” the white man shrugged and started to roll up his sleeves.

“Thank you so much, gentlemen, we really appreciate this,” Casey gave a small bow as the two men moved to the front of the Jeep and started to raise the hood. Before they could get started, he turned back to April and continued to speak in his lilting, false voice. “It’s pretty quiet out here, Babe. How about you go behind these nice men’s car and see if you can find somewhere to take care of business? I think their van will block you from the road.”

April nodded. Okay, maybe Casey knew what he was doing after all. “Okay, Babe. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Casey gave a wide grin, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Impossible.”

Before he could continue playing along and dragging things out, April turned and slowly started to make her way into the darkness. The van was still running, making her cross her fingers and pray that the back of the car would still be unlocked. If it wasn’t, she wasn’t sure how she could go about stealing the keys from the cabin without alerting Anton and Ivan.

From behind her, she heard a shouted “DUDE SHE’S PEEING, DON’T LOOK!” and bit back a snort. Bonus points for dedication on Casey’s part.

Moments later Casey’s voice resumed its awkward tone, assuring her that the goons had turned their attention back to the car. “So I always forget - how often are you supposed to change the oil in your car? It’s like once a year, right?”

April wanted to laugh at the absurdness of this all, but she knew that she didn’t have time to waste. The red head walked slowly, trying to appear calm before she ducked behind the van. Anton had apparently jerked the wheel when he slammed on the brakes, causing the van to fishtail and come to a stop at an angle – perfect. She waited in the shadow of the vehicle for a few seconds, half-expecting one of the men to charge around the corner, and then reached for the door handle.

“Please be unlocked, please be unlocked.”

Click.

The van door swung open, and April was suddenly face to face with the turtle.

A wave of relief rushed over her, and the girl grinned as she reached for the sliding latch on the front of his cage. “Oh thank God – are you okay?”

The creature hissed loudly, his narrowed eyes locking on hers and shining with anger. “No!”

She hesitated, drawing her hand back and watching as the turtle trembled in the low light. “Hey – I don’t know what all happened after we left, but I’m here to help.”

“No! Human hurt!”

April bit her lip. He was right – she could see the scrapes on his arms and face where it looked like he had been roughed up, and the humming collar on his neck didn’t look good. Casey cleared his throat in the distance and continued to talk loudly, but she could tell by his tone that he was starting to sound less confident. She didn’t have much time to argue.

“Listen – I’m going to need you to trust me.” She whispered as she raised her hand to the latch again and slid it open. The turtle gave a low grumble, but made no move to snap at her or fight back. “I’m sorry that those humans hurt you, but I promise that that’s the last thing I want to do. Casey and I are trying to get you home. You know, home with Small Brother?”

That was the key – she could almost see the switch being thrown in his brain as soon as she mentioned his brother.

Once the latch was undone, the girl slowly extended a hand into the cage. “Trust me, ok? Just come with us, and we’re going to get you home.”

The turtle regarded her hand for a moment, then moved his eyes to look past her. “Egg.”

April froze. “Egg?”

“Egg!”

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means?” They didn’t have time for this – April reached into the cage and tried to grab for one of the turtle’s legs to pull him out, only to brush against the collar on his neck. The metal buzzed slightly, sending pins and needles through her fingers and causing her to jerk her arm back. The tips of her fingers felt numb to the touch, and she flexed her hand to force blood back into them. “Ow – what the heck?”

The turtle blinked up at her almost apologetically, then turned his focus past her once more. “Egg. There egg-egg-egg-egg-egg!”

The collar – maybe that was why he wasn’t moving? So what did an egg have to do with this…?

Casey yelled in the distance, and April froze. “Can you check my gas tank as well? I filled it up last week, but maybe I’m running low?”

“Fine, whatever, Kid! Just stop yelling – they can probably hear you from Tokyo!”

That didn’t sound good – Casey was running out of things to distract them with.

April turned in the direction that the turtle was looking and reached into the door pocket. Immediately, her hand closed around something small and round. She pulled the object from the pocket and held it out to him. “This?”

“Egg!” he chirped excitedly, still not moving but eyes shining with child-like excitement. “Egg egg egg!”

“You doing okay back there, Babe?” Casey’s strained voice floated around the corner and she gulped.

“Almost done,” she called back, trying to keep her voice even as she turned the device over in her hands. There was only one button on the object, so that meant it had a 50/50 chance of helping. Taking a deep breath and praying that it would do what she hoped, April pushed the button.

A beep sounded from within the cage, and April heard the turtle sigh with relief. He didn’t make any moves to climb out of the car, but she could tell that something was happening as the turtle slowly turned his head from side to side and looked up at her with eyes full of adoration.

“Hurry it up, little miss! We’ve got to get back on the road!”

Okay, no time to wait. April shoved the small device into her pocket and reached into the cage to hook her arms under the turtle’s armpits. “I’m sorry if this hurts, honey, but we’ve got to move now.”

The turtle’s legs trailed limply behind as she hauled him out of the van and attempted to lift him fully into her arms, only to stumble backwards and nearly drop him. Nope – not going to work. He was surprisingly heavy despite his small frame. April grunted as she shifted her hands and tried to hug the turtle to her chest with his head resting on her shoulder. His arms still dangled at his sides, twitching occasionally as feeling started to flow back through them, and the turtle let out a nervous hum.

“I gotcha, bud. We just got to figure this out –”

“Dude, you can’t interrupt her when she’s going to the bathroom -!”

“She’s taken long enough – what’s going on back there?”

Before she had a chance to consider her next action – fight? flight? - two sharp cracks rang through the night followed by the sound of multiple heavy objects hitting the ground. Less than a second later, Casey barreled around the back of the van and nearly crashed into her. His eyes had a wild shine as he quickly took in the situation and then lunged forward to scoop the turtle out of April’s arms. “We gotta go!”

April gave a grateful nod as the boy shifted the turtle into a bridal carry and tucked the creature’s head under his chin. “What about -?”

“I gave us a few seconds – now GO!”

The teens exploded from around the van in time to see both men moaning and slowly pulling themselves to their knees. The splintered remains of a hockey stick lay scattered at their feet, clearly telling the story of their downturn. April gulped as she leapt across Anton’s long legs and threw herself into the passenger side of the Jeep. Across the car, Casey pulled open the back door and quickly dumped the turtle onto the bench seat with a “sorry, dude.”

“You will pay for that, boy,” the white man snarled as he rubbed his head, then raised his eyes and let out a yell. “He’s got the turtle!”

“Thanks for the car help, guys!” Casey scrambled to the driver’s seat and threw himself inside, managing to slam the door behind him right as Ivan lunged for his arm. “Really appreciate it!”

Another hand slapped against the passenger side door, and April shrieked as it was yanked open. Anton towered above her, a deep scowl on his face as he reached down to unbuckle her seatbelt and drag her from the car. “CASEY! DRIVE!”

“On it!” Casey’s foot slammed onto the gas pedal and the tires spun madly in the gravel, searching for traction and throwing small pebbles into the air. April continued to scream and kicked out, her flailing legs connecting with Anton’s chest and sending the man stumbling backwards. Across the car Ivan pounded on the backseat window, yelling to be let in as the turtle squawked in terror.

Suddenly, they were off! Tires gripped the road with terrifying ferocity and the Jonesmobile went flying onto the pavement.

Casey yelped as the car lunged forward, nearly overcorrecting and sending them back off the other side of the road before he could get a firm grip on the wheel. He let out a whoop of excitement as the Jeep powered down the coastal highway, aiming for a small side road that wove above the shore. Soon the van and two screaming men fell into the distance, and both teens sighed in relief.

“Freedom, here we come baby!”

Their celebration was short-lived, however, as a loud BANG suddenly cut through the darkness like a knife.

April’s eyes widened, and she turned to look out the rear window just as headlights burst to life behind them. Another loud BANG echoed through the air, and then something thudded into the back of the car. “Oh my gosh – they have guns!”

“Oh heck no – we are not dying today!” Casey gunned the engine, forcing the car to work harder as they drove onto the rocky, winding cliffside road. “Look at your computer – see if we can find the nearest police station or something!”

“Uh – sure – ok. Keep your head down!” April lunged towards the floorboards, her hands flailing to catch the laptop as the car started bouncing and shaking violently. Small bangs and thuds echoed against the Jeep, and she wondered how many of those were rocks being kicked up versus bullets being intentionally lodged their direction.

A heavy weight thudded behind her and April whipped around, wondering if another bullet had connected with their car, only to see that the turtle had slid off the seat and landed on the floorboards between the bench and the back of the drivers’ seat. His arms flailed helplessly, clearly having regained enough life to move but not to push himself back into an upright position.

“Here – ” Keeping her head down, April pushed a hand against the turtle’s shell and rolled him back onto the seat. The creature chirped in surprise, but continued to flail his arms around as the car began to shake even more violently. “What - are you going off road?”

“I am until you find directions – ” Casey had to raise his voice to be heard over the chaotic combination of bullets, rocks, and squawking coming from the back seat. “I’m trying to throw them off!”

Another BANG rang through the night, shattering the back window as a bullet lodged into the ceiling just above Casey’s head.

“Dude – that could have killed me!”

“I think that’s their point!” April ducked her head down again and started typing frantically on her laptop. She wasn’t even sure what to search for. The police? I mean technically they were the criminals in this situation – but the other guys were shooting at them, so they were clearly in the wrong, right?

Casey let out a whoop as he jerked the steering wheel to one side and then the other, eliciting a shriek of metal as the Jeep sideswiped the guardrail that separated the road from a steep drop into rocky, wooded area. The van was getting closer now, its headlights shining brightly in the rearview mirror and making it impossible to look back without being blinded.

“This is totally wicked!” Casey hollered as they took another sharp turn, tires spinning and spitting gravel up into the windshield wipers. “It’s kind of like we’re in an action movie, ya know?”

“You’re insane - and slow down on those turns – and calm down!” the red-head snapped first towards the driver, and then over her shoulder as the turtle continued to yell wordlessly and scrabble to get a grip in the torn upholstery. Her hands flew across the keyboard – maybe she could just find them directions to another side road where they could lose the people pursuing them?

Another loud BANG rang out, and then a large jolt rocked the Jeep first to one side and then the other. April’s eyes snapped up from the computer just in time to see a bridge pass them on their left… while the Jeep continued to plow forward into open air. “CASEY! BRIDGE!”

***

Somewhere across Osaka, a phone rang.

#rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #sea turtles au #nickelodeon #savannah drabbles

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hufflautia · 4 years

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Hope you’ve had a great day today 💛

funnily enough, i literally just stopped crying. today was a bad day, I don't know

why but my anxiety was just quite bad today and I was panicking before school started. something happened in my first class and I overthink a lot, so my mind was like, “oh my god why did they write your name last, do they hate me, am I boring, am I forgetful, people are always forgetting about me” and “my teacher doesn't like me, why didn't he respond, I'm embarrassed, why did you have to say what you said??” my English teacher does these “mindfulness” moments in which we sit in silence for a minute and reflect on the day, and I literally started crying. after the minute ended, I just stopped bc I didn't feel like crying anymore, and suddenly my brain said, “ur so fake, ur just acting, why did u stop crying all of a sudden, u just want attention u crave attention ur such a faker!!” also I keep thinking about something that happened years ago with my dad, I don't rlly wanna get into it but I think it would be good if I just say it so that its not jammed in my head. basically, I was really young, like in elementary school; my dad asked me if i wanted to sleep in his room with him, and originally, my mom was sleeping with him and i shared a room with my little brother. however, i was like hmm maybe, and then my dad said, haha ill pay u 5 dollars. at the time, i said YAY OK but now i realized that's so fucking creepy, yall know what its insinuating right?? anyways, i said ok, bc it was just a change from the usual sleep schedule and i liked spending time w my dad, so my mom went to my brothers room (it was a king-sized bed so it was ok, it wasn't a small bed that we had to share or anything like that) and i went to my parents room. basically, what happened was that we went to sleep, and in the middle of the night, (the next part makes me feel so uncomfortable and i feel queasy writing it) my dad slapped my butt really really hard to the point where i woke up and i was like ?????? and then he rubbed it softly immediately afterwards. i didnt know what happened, and i told my sister the day after, and she was confused too. recently i was thinking about it and I'm still confused and a lot more uncomfortable with what happened. here is my theory and i was very upset by it bc no one would want to think things like this- maybe my dad likes hurting women during sex and it was a reflex that night, but once he realized it was me, he tried “soothing me” or some shit by rubbing my butt (i literally hate this, i hate the fact that this happened and i don't like typing it out). no one wants to think about their parents sex life so this was just disgusting to think about. also my brother and mom keep arguing and fighting with each other, and I'm sure i have trauma from hearing my parents argue all the time so i rlly don't like it when they fight. my brother has explosive anger and he literally screams at her, which is very disrespectful; however, she screams at him too and sometimes hurts him, which scares me. I'm not worried about my own safety, I just hate violence i hate abuse, that scares me. so much stuff has happened in my life, and it results in a lot of trauma and other stuff that i don't even know about. i just know im really fucked up, im damaged and it just all felt like crashing down on me today- like everything thats happened, i was feeling anxious for no reason, i was thinking about the past, and i started crying again while watching netflix after school, so i just kept crying and i talked to myself out loud about my day and why i was feeling the way i was. that did help to some extent, and after i did that, i stopped crying, and then my brain said “why do you shut off your crying so easily, you seem fake, you seem like you wanna be sad and cry just so that you can see your pretty little tears drip down ur face like an actress, ur so fake ur so fake ur faking it ur not actually sad”, and the hardest part was that i didnt even object to it bc i didnt feel like anything was real, i felt like i didnt know who i was. i was like ok bitch whatever maybe ur right maybe i am faking it. i dont even know how to explain it, but its like being tired of that nagging and negative voice that you just submit to it, and you say ok whatever sure i am faking it, but in truth, the sadness i was feeling was real and genuine. about 10 min ago, i saw that someone tagged me in a fanfic and while i was reading it, i literally started bawling. i guess it was bc i saw in my email inbox that people had sent me asks, and i was happy bc i thought that maybe the person who sent me the fanfic idea responded back with more details. i was anxious about that before, bc i was thinking, oh god what if they just never respond, what if they just dont care about u anymore. when i saw the asks notifications, i felt a lot of relief bc i thought to myself, oh phew ok people still care about u. when i was crying while reading the fanfic, i couldn't stop crying, it felt endless. i couldn't just stop crying like i had before, and it reminded me of the time when my mom was going out to meet someone that she met on a dating app, and it was in the earlier times when she started doing this; she had gotten involved with some terrible men in the past, men who catfished her and were rlly vulgar and gross. im sure this was somewhere in June, when i had just posted chapter 1 of the slytherpuff series bc when i was freaking out about the date, i wrote about it in my journal and i know that it was somewhere in June bc i wrote something like “mom is going out to meet someone and im nervous, please please please i hope shes ok and careful, im really nervous and scared, no one likes my writing, mom is probably in danger, oh god oh gosh”. it was just a whole bunch of negative and anxious thoughts, including how i was feeling about the whole situation with chapter 1, so that's how i know it was somewhere in June. anyways, basically i was really scared for my mom bc shes had a bad history with online men and i was scared that someone was gonna kill her. i read and listen to a lot of murder mysteries, so my mind was going absolutely wild. i remember on that day, i went to take a shower after writing that entry in the journal, bc showering makes me feel better. when i stepped into the shower i started crying bc i was really scared for her and i was hoping she was safe and ok but i was just feeling so scared so i was crying and i couldn't stop crying. that was the scary part because i just kept bawling and i couldn't stop like i usually do; my brain said ok that's enough, you’ve cried enough, but my heart just kept going on and on and my brain said ok ok jessica holy jesus that's enough and eventually i sucked it up and was kinda ok afterwards but still sad and numb. that was similar to what had happened about 20 min ago. also im sure i was also sad today bc yesterday, my mom talked to me about in-person college visits, and her demeanor was very rushed and controlling. she said, “ok jessica we’re gonna do the college visits, we’re gonna drive there, and your dad is gonna come home for that. tell him that you need to do that, ok? tell him we do the college visits together.” i said that colleges are doing virtual tours, and her facial expression was very strained, she was like “DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. dont tell him that, ok?!” and she was pointing her finger at me and everything. she said, “tell him we’re going to do the physical college tours, which colleges do you wanna visit??” and she kept telling me not to tell him about the virtual tours. it reminded me of whenever she told me to say this or that to my dad over the phone, and i was upset, like oh great ok so dad’s coming home and i dont even wanna see him bc i dont like him that much, and now im gonna have to lie bc dad is probably gonna already know about the virtual tours and im gonna have to pretend that none of the colleges are doing virtual tours. in essence, today was a terrible day. while i was crying my eyes out when reading the fanfic, i wanted to tell something, i wanted to reach out to lee and jolie, but my brain said that i would burden them, im always telling them about stuff that happens (concerning my family or other stuff) and its probably getting too much for them. my brain said that they wont be able to help anyway, im still gonna have to deal with the stuff im dealing with, and no one can help. that's a sad thought, it seems so helpless and sad. sometimes i overthink the smallest things, and when i see a text from lee and jolie that doesnt seem “right”, i think, oh gosh they hate me now, why did i have to say that?? i usually see my therapist every Thursday, aka today, but we didnt meet this time bc her schedule is becoming busy so now we’re gonna do it every other week, so next week i shall see her. perhaps she can help.

thank you for this ask, it seemed so out of the blue bc no one rlly sends asks like this anymore. while writing this, i literally thought to myself, shes like an angel sent from heaven

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