#darling i am covered in so much man residue you could use it to make a whole other man

[justanotherblonde23]

I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay? 

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty. 

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it. 

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way. 

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart. 

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him. 

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert. 

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was. 

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself. 

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out. 

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you. 

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise. 

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered. 

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it. 

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check. 

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next. 

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred. 

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers. 

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever. 

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.” 

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish. 

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.” 

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life. 

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago. 

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you. 

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure. 

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe. 

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian. 

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him. 

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core. 

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward. 

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close. 

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath. 

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars. 

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.” 

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s. 

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.” 

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him. 

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.” 

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going. 

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face. 

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot. 

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.” 

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share. 

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved. 

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes. 

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind. 

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you. 

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.” 

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy. 

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second. 

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt. 

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you. 

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him. 

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy. 

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.” 

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality. 

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair. 

“Like what, cyare?” 

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face. 

“You mean it?” He breathed out. 

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home. 

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three. 

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x fem!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #the madalorian fic #din djarin fic #star wars fic #requested #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fic

[btswishes]

Mistakes made

BTS Au (Medieval x Fantasy) 

Chapter 1 “Welcome to the rest of your life” / Part2 

A/N:  This is a trial run of an idea I have with Taehyung. I would really appreciate some feed back on it. This chapter is not much since it is just an introduction so far. Sorry for any mistakes made.

Word count: 2,115

Warmings: Blood, killing, torture and murder, graphic content 

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

Candle flames dancing under the command of the wind. A candied tango in pair with the ringing laughter and fulfillment, radiating from the near by village. What a sweet place it looked like, carefree. The music was loud and so were their voices, your eyes but a mere mirror reflecting the light. 

  In front of you there was the pureness of life, behind you the end. Agonizing screams ran through the hallways, reaching even the deepest of crevasses in the walls. The voices soon came to a blood curdling stop, letting a veil of silence fall over the building. The moon kept illuminating the titan like façade of the castle, buried deep between the forest trees. 

  Eerie sounds acquainted themselves with your home. Soft, tinted in the colors of nightmares, were your clothes. The bone chilling cold could not reach your as the garments shielded your elbow from the stone sill of the window, gently flowing away from your skin further up they went. Refreshing coolness lingered onto your arm, opposite of the elegant and gentle palm on which you were resting your chin, as you marveled at the distant festival.

“You are looking at them again.” the deep voice behind you did not come as a surprise “ Wasting time away with meaningless celebrations.”

“You speak like we ourselves do not celebrate.” your lips parted gently- chin pressing into your skin

“Do not lump us together with the likes of them!” a mild sound echoed in the room, as a towel hit the wall aggressively “We celebrate success! Achievements! Not...living another year. ” 

  Your eyes moved to their corners, focusing onto the discarded piece of cloth laying on your floor “Brother, as much of a vulgar man as you may be, I would wish for you to refrain from such manners.” his head crooked to the side “ Next time do not tarnish my room with your blood soaked towels. I do quite fancy for that carpet to stay snow white, than be tainted with the crimson color of some unknown corps.” you hissed at him, coaxing a loud laugh. 

 He took a few steps and picked his belongings up from the ground. “ Would it have satisfied you if it belonged to an innocent noble, or is red not your cup of tea sister?” he spoke calmly 

“No soul that enters these walls has even the tiniest drop of innocence in their blood. Filthy bugs thinking they can overthrow father and receive titles from some unknow king, disgusting. So please refrain from bring such filth in my room. I can smell how rotten this man was from just that cloth.” leaning back, you stretch gently. Your words hopefully reached your brother, leaving a permanent mark on his mind. The carpet though was already filthy.

“I shall try my best dear sister, with the next batch of bumbling idiots arriving tonight.” your heels clicked and clanked under the flooring. Candle flames took over your eyes, as your hand lifted the white wax cylinder out of its holder, dropping it onto the soft hairs of the carpet. The small spark soon engulfed the fur rug into a violent flame. “A shame. It was so pure once.” 

 “Y/N, now why would you do that my darling.” a tall dark eerie figure stood by your door, towering over your brother with ease. His steps were heavy, loud and unbelievably fast. He walked past the small fire like it was nothing and laid his big hand onto your cheek, encouraging you to lean into it. “ Wasn’t this your favorite carpet in the whole house. Your eyes used to light up the moment you saw it.”

“It was tainted father but dirty blood.” you spoke, emphasizing on the stain  

“We could have washed it like the dungeons. No one would have known what was on the hairs.” his voice reassuring you 

“If Yunan was a bit more considered and not a vulgar beast, this wouldn’t have happened.” your eyes glistened as the flames under you sored in the air with your anger

“Now now. I said I was sorry. I tend to forget how fragile and elegant my little sister is. Mostly during hunting season.” your brother sighed, rubbing the back of his neck “How about I compensate you?” your ears perked up.

“How so?” 

“Ramel and I will take you hunting again so you can slay another snow tiger.” your eyes widened at the offer

“I will skin it for you again my princess.”your father ran his hand through your hair when the flame extinguished under you, leaving no trace of a carpet ever being there. The sound of horses pulled your attention towards the window with a glance of your eye “ Seeing as you both settled that, let us join your brother in welcoming our new guests. Yunan?” your brother smirked, his arms rising to his sides 

“Their new homes have been emptied out, we just want our sweet Y/N to come and finish the disposal, as per usual.” with a nod of approval your father walked over and placed his big hand onto Yunan’s shoulder. 

“I expect you to behave next time in your sister’s room.” from such height, his eyes glowed in anger. 

“Yes father.”

  With the head of the family walking out first, the newcomers saw fear on two legs. His vest was black, tiny compared to his massive frame, contrasting the white fox tail resting upon his left shoulder. His eyes were just as the animal upon his body, lines bend upwards into a creepy smile. 

“Welcome to my lovely home. My name is Wiraem and I shall be your host on this beautiful full moon.” his arms rose in acceptance “I hope you like it here, since...” his eyes opened up still keeping the half moon shape, as a smile exposed his teeth “You won’t be leaving here again.” 

“How many is it this time around?” Yunan fixed his suit, speaking out towards a tall figure. He was almost the height of your father. His hair was dark and slicked back, face stoic and cold. This was Ramel, a handsome man with a body giving the illusion it was made from the strongest matter on earth. 

“About 10.” he threw a man in front of your younger brother’s feet “I caught them doing the usual snopping, trap laying and all that comes with trying to assassinate us.” your hand rubbed over your arms as the night winds cooled off your body more than desired. The men under your feet couldn’t speak, they were trembling in what one could call fear, not even noticing you. Your father’s expression changed, softened as he heard you next to him. 

“Yunan, Ramel get them all in. Let’s introduce our new housemates to their rooms.” With a swift motion of his huge arm, he picked you up. The warmth from your father’s body was pleasant, letting yourself indulge in it as you grabbed onto him. The walk to the dungeons was long and slow, your family did not enjoy rushing things. The night was not young anymore leading you to be swept away by the lullaby of silence. Fatherly and gentle, his movements did not even let your body twitch with his step. Skilled he was after all. No one dared to make even the smallest peep, it became an unwritten rule.

  Your father looked upon you with warmth. Yunan would crack an occasional smirk looking at your peaceful sleep, resting so calmly with the lingering smell of blood not even alarming you. Ramel was one to show his emotions through actions more than face, which he did removing a strand of hair from yours.

*Clank* 

 Someone’s chains sung out, before being picked up in panic. As rudely as the song hand been silenced, it was not fast enough - noticed by the family, stopping their steps. The man froze, no breath, no sound, not even a faint heartbeat. The three men turned to face him in unison flashing him disgust, a smile filled with murder and a stone face that could do anything.

“Mmm.” you mumbled under your nose, nuzzling yourself into your father’s chest. The sign of you potentially waking up contorted their faces. The smile was accompanied with blood shot eyes, Ramel’s head crooked up half covered by a shade casted upon his face and Yunan expressing even more anger.

“Would you look at that.” you father whispered sending chills over the already sweating humans “ It seems as though one of our lovely visitors just disappeared. I wonder where he went?” 

 Wind blew the curtain in the hallway ,as a howl joined inside. As the fabric calmed down the rest of the new arrivals noticed that their number had gone down by one - 9. The man that dared to make a sound was gone without one. No one noticed, no one saw, he just vanished. Magic was common in these times, yet this was far beyond what any wizard kin could explain.

“Hmmm silence.” Yunan smiled “Keep it that way.” he pulled on the shirt of a man with dark long locks of hair and thick eyelashes, the aura of a bear cub. His heart was calm, focused on you with bubbling interest and sane.  

  The men kept looking around the dungeons. They looked clean, they looked like no one used or had  used them, but there was a residual stench that one would notice immediately. A mix of old and fresh warm blood, maybe a few hours old and a few minutes new. The prisoners stopped in their tracks, falling back as silently as they could, as they laid eyes upon the scene in front of them.

  A pile of human remains if you could even call them that at this point. Bodies, parts of them all randomly throw upon one another and the star on top of the tree, our lovely missing tenant number 10.

“Oh my.”your father gasped “I am sorry to have shown you this. How unconsidered of me.” His head shifted towards the men “ I forgot to make sure your old roommates left for good. Seems as though they couldn’t...” 

  Their voices were stuck in their throats, stomachs convulsing trying to keep whatever food they had down. The floor wasn’t chilling no more, you could say the fear conjured such drop of their temperature, that they were making the room colder. Heart beats were faintly heard as all of these men, these soldiers, assassins and who knows what ,were ready to piss themselves at such sight. How useless. Coming here and thinking war could have prepared them for this land. One of them, one of them was still trying to stay calm. Young and so mentally strong.

“Princess?” the gentle warmth ran over your cheek “My little flower petal.” you frowned and tried to roll up in a smaller ball “It pains me to wake up so rudely my angel, but daddy needs your help.” the men watched as your half asleep self rose gently, leaning onto your father’s shoulders for support. Eyes still heavy, you peeked gently. The rocks beneath everyone illuminated in a faint golden color of fire. 

“ Evanescet...” but a faint whisper sneaking out from in between your tinted lips. Blazing fires enveloped the bodies, the flames sounding like the agonizing screams of their souls, as they vanished into thin air. Never to be seen again.

  The flames spread around, igniting all organic lifeless matter. Blood stains burned with passion, leaving only the stone cold walls and floors spotless clean. The smell was gone and the room filled with the crisp night breeze. For a moment it felt like no one had ever stepped foot inside these rooms.

“Thank you my little rose.” 

  Ramel stepped closer, placing his hand over your eyes, closing them. His gentle side put you back to sleep almost immediately, picking you up in his own embrace. Your father removed the fox fur off his shoulder and made sure to tuck you in well in your brother’s arms. With a swift motion, Yunan removed your shoes and hooked their ankle straps onto his slender fingers.

“I never understood why she chose such uncomfortable garments.” sighing, his hands ran over the small red patch of skin, heeling it. ”I have gotten her so many boots, yet here we are.” The prisoners were astonished at the warmth these men had for you and only you.

“We are not meant to understand ladies, but marvel them and protect.” Ramel tore the silence with his deep, sharp voice filled with righteousness. You drifting off slowly but surely, eyes turned in the direction of one boy. His front chunky eyelashes battered at you ,as his lightly tinted skin glowed in the moonlight . His face was too serious and focused on you, yet sleep took over and you drifted off again.

#bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #bts x reader au #bts fantasy au #bts fantasy scenario #bangtan au #bangtan aus #bts aus #BTS au #bangtan scenario #bangtan scenarios #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fanfics #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #bangtan x reader au #bangtan boys scenarios #bangtan boys scenario #bangtan boys fanfic #bangtan boys fanfiction #bangtan boys au #bangtan boys aus #bangtan boys x reader #bangtan boys x you

[spoopyredacted]

LOTS OF SPICE

The Mandalorian x f!Reader 1.4k

Warnings: smut, hair pulling, spanking, fucking in an alley, breeding(IDK WHO I THINK I AM), bd mando

Cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart

Mesh’la - beautiful

Tags: @wrestlingfae @helplessly-nonstop @spookyold-saintjm

Masterlist

Your hands catch against the wall as he pins you there. You arch your back as the Mandalorian rolls his hips against your ass and even with his right hand clasped around your mouth a moan slips out at his shamelessness and urgency to take you where you stand.

“Shhh— Can’t have anyone walking down here.”

A gloved hand travels down your spine and ends with a hard grope of your ass. He doesn’t get like this often, but with the way you were just cornered in the cantina by some slimy drunk, got him hot. Hot and angry and filled with a need to mark his territory.

And you want to be used by him.

To be marked by him.

To be claimed.

You want to be the only thing taking up space in his mind. Because he is the only thing on yours.

Smack. He gives one cheek a hard slap, one that you know if your ass was bare he would be able to see the handprint it leaves. Smack. He slaps the other cheek. You can’t help but let out a whimper in pain, but it quickly morphs into pleasure when he rubs at the spot.

You’ll pay for it. And you can’t wait.

At the noises you’re making the bounty hunter presses flush against you. A growl of his own escaping his throat. He keeps his right hand covering your mouth, while his left wraps around your hip playing at your waistline and traveling under your shirt, fingers splayed out across your stomach.

You can feel him. All of him. His cock hard, pressed to your ass. The coolness of his beskar armor and the heat of his body contrast, making your head spin with lust. A chill flows down your back as you grind against his hips, trying to make him cave. To make him buckle so he’ll give you what you want. What you crave. What you need. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck. Breath ragged. You hear his actual voice and the modulation of his voice he’s so close.

You love it.

“What do you need? Hmm—“ The hand on your stomach slides up and cups one of your breasts, giving a squeeze and tug to your nipple, “Do you need me to fuck you?”

Stars— yes. Yes. Yes.

“Mhmm.” You groan in response against his hand on your mouth.

You’re wet. So very, very wet. If he would only just reach down your pants and feel between your legs he would know. He would know how much you need him. How much you want his cock in you. Pounding into you. Breaking you. Breeding you.

He moves to your other breast, doing the same with that one. Squeezing, kneading, playing. He’s teasing you. Winding you up into a tight coil. To where any little thing could make you snap. Until you are a whimpering, moaning, needy mess for him. Just for him.

You absolutely hate it.

But you absolutely love it.

His hand leaves your breast and travels down wrapping around your waist pulling you closer and still pinning you to the wall. One of your hands wraps around his arm trying to ground yourself as he pulls a wanton noise from your lips.

As his helmet presses against your head he rasps out, “Do you need me to fuck you in this dirty alley?” The hand that was still clasped around your mouth moves and he presses two fingers to your pursed lips, “Have you begging me to let you cum?” He hums at you. Your tongue licks out at the leather pads, tasting dirt and blaster residue, you’re in no right mind to care about. You just need him. All of him. Your mind is blank of anything besides the feel of his arm at your waist, his cock pressing into you, and the heavy weight of his body against you. Biting down on his glove, he’s able to slide his hand free. His bare skin is soft and calloused from years of working in gloves, and the way it caresses down your neck and collarbone causes your heart to clench. As it so often does around him. You’ll look back on it later and ponder over what it means, but right now you just need to be consumed by him.

Traveling down your body he dips his hand into your pants and he can feel how you’ve soaked through your underwear. The blaze he leaves down your body will drive you crazy for days to come. And the things that he’s said. Maker. Those will stay with you forever.

“Do you need me to fill your pussy up with my fingers?”

His hand presses and rubs against your cloth-covered clit, winding you uptight with every word, every touch, until you’re ready to burst at any moment.

“With my cock?” With his question, his left arm comes up and rests between your breast while his hand settles against your throat. Giving a gentle squeeze as his other fingers pull aside your underwear, caressing your slit. Feeling the wetness he has caused.

“With my cum?” He presses two fingers into your cunt, coaxing a moan from you at their quickness. You press back into his hand. Grinding on to his palm. Trying to get more friction. More movement. Anything. Anything that would quell the ache inside of you.

Tighter and tighter.

“Hmm, cyar’ika? Answer me.”

With a crook of his fingers and he’s found that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The pressure on your throat tightens as your cunt flutters around him and he thumbs at your clit. You’re cumming. You're cumming so hard. Here. Against a dirty wall. In a dirty alleyway. With the Mandalorians hand down your pants and at your throat, and his dick grinding into your ass.

And you kriffing love it.

Before you can come down from your high, he releases your throat and presses your head against the wall twisting his fingers in your hair with a firm grip, and replaces his fingers in your cunt with his cock. He’s pushing into you. Slowly. Making it burn. He’s big— Mind blank, you’re barely able to moan out his name as he full sheaths inside you.

He’s intoxicating— He’s huge— He needs to kriffing move.

He places his bare hand at the dip of your back and begins to stroke into you. The soft burn of his cock as it slides in and out has you a mumbling mess of words and moans and you don’t ever want it to stop. You’re full— so very full.

“Pl-please.” You don’t know what you're begging for, you just beg. “Mando, please.” You’re almost sobbing, too overstimulated, overwhelmed.

“Mesh’la.” You hear him whisper out, voice sounding ragged, either from the vocoder or from the effect of watching his cock glide in and out of your pussy as you wine against him. You want to hear more. For a man who is so quiet, you love it when he talks his way through sex.

“You just grip me so well, I don’t want to pull out.” His hand moves down and takes a firm grip on one of your ass cheeks. That coil in the pit of your stomach begins to clench again, though it never really went away, as he keeps a steady rhythm of pounding into you. You won’t last much longer if he keeps going the way he is.

“Mando, p-please fill— fill me up.”

That does it. That’s what makes him crack, what makes him speed up, pummeling into you, the slick, wet sounds your cunt makes spurs him on harder. Faster. The grip in your hair tightens and he’s pulling your head back, arching your back even more. You’re so close too, moans and wanton sounds trembling from your mouth.

“Cum for me.” He says through bated breaths, “ Cum for me cyar’ika and I’ll fill you up.” Hips relentlessly pounding into you, your cunt clenched around him, gripping, holding. His helmet knocks against your head and you hear him cry out, “Let me breed you cyar’ika.”

“Pl-please”

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw #fic #julia tries writing #yall...pls tell me if thei is good #like idk how so many of yall write good ass smutt cause this shit was real hard #but i tried #also pls let me know if something doesn’t make sense #also i gotta go back and put a read more after i post this casue tumblr is shit

[abbynx]

Sibling things (Kakyoin X Sibling reader)

Spoilers for part three! Please skip if you haven't watched/finished it yet!

Just an angsty fic to satisfy my needs for my lovely cherry boi~

Yesterday... It felt like yesterday when you and I played together within the enclosed walls of our residence. Despite being too young to remember such things, the memory was vivid in my memories. That dumb cherry licking, mother chasing bastard was a tolerable asshat who tend to tease me a lot. He'd mess my hair style whenever he gets the chance, call me an embarrassing nickname, just sibling things nothing much. With all the teasing, all the fight picking, all the kicks, the punch, scratching, biting, possibly knife pointing... We cared about each other, for we were told that it would be us against the world when we grew up. If we grew up... I can't get to grow up with him like we planned.

______________________________________

"Happy seventeenth birthday! Oh my sweet darling child!" Your mother embraced you, pressing a firm kiss on your cheek leaving the residue of her red lipstick after you blew the small flame that burned the red candle moulded to mimic a cherry.

You softly smiled at her statement, when your eyes flickered up and caught a glimpse on the mirror. For some goddamn reason, you didn't see yourself in it. In your place, you saw Noriaki, embracing your mother with that smile of his while he was wearing his form fitting uniform of his he always wear for some god forsaken reason. You saw yourself in the mirror as well, holding the cherry flavoured you bought with your allowance.

_____________________________________ Seventeen. It was his seventeenth and last birthday. I can vividly remember planning his birthday, saving funds, baking him the cherry flavoured cake since it was his favourite, saving my allowance to buy him the video game he had his eye on...

A bright future was ahead of him, welcoming him. Bright young man with grace, regality, intelligence, had myriads of talents. He was an intellectual, a painter, a gamer! He knew a thing about other cultures, literature, norms, morals. A boy with the heart of gold, brains rich with knowledge and wisdom... The bright young man wasn't bright at all, as darkness snuffed his light and he was gone. ______________________________________

"We are so proud of you sweetheart." Missus Kakyoin wholeheartedly smiled, she took your cheeks within her grasp, softly running her thumb on your cheek. Her eyes became glossy with tears pooling in her eyes that couldn't escape. "We love you Y/N. Please remember that no matter what."

"Your brother would be so happy and proud of you." The patriarch of the Kakyoin family puts a hand on the matriarch's shoulder, smiling alongside her as tears has already escaped his eyes.

"Thank you mom, dad." You gathered them into a warm embrace in an attempt to hide your watering eyes, not wanting them to see you cry. You glanced up, catching the family's framed photograph from two years ago. Noriaki sat beside you, whilst your parents stood behind you. That stupid jerk and his stupid smile, he was seventeen and had decades and decades more to live when he died, he could've been nineteen already.

Upset, you gripped your parents tightly within your grasp, tears making their way out of your eyes whilst your chest tightened with your denied sobs.

_____________________________________ Loneliness... All he wanted was a friend, someone who can understand him, who will be there for him as much as he is there for them... And that he found, I was proud of him for making friends... But he was only friends with them for fifty days. ______________________________________

"Oh! Happy belated birthday Y/N!" Your classmate leaned on your desk with a bright smile. "Gosh, you're seventeen now! Only four more years and we're legal to drink! I would TOTES love to hang out with you."

"Thank you, Ibara. I would also love that!" You responded, putting a humble hand on your chest with a close eyes smile.

"Wow! That necklace is pretty! Emerald really suits you a lot!" She compliments, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It accentuates your features and it's really pretty despite not being that bedazzled. Simplicity really is beauty."

You blinked at her in shock. "You really think so?" Your hand unconsciously lands on the circular shaped emerald pendant.

"Yeah! It's so very pretty! Its the first time I saw you wearing a necklace, so it must be new. Is it a birthday gift?" She gasps, covering her lips with her opened palms before smirking mischievously. "Is it from your boyfriend~?"

"Oh, more like my brother's boyfriend!" You rolled your eyes, playfully punching the girl's shoulder.

Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki's friend visited you yesterday. The big guy was a statue towering over your small stature but that didn't let you be afraid of him. Despite being practically strangers with each other, only seeing one another during random bumps in school, a friend of your brother's is a friend of yours. And besides, you found yourself being fond of his family after his grandfather and Jotaro came to your residence that day to share the tragic news. It was a complicated situation, very messy... But in the end, the tragedy was all the same, the death, the circumstance... Despair inducing.

Jotaro Kujo shared so many tales about your brother, how smart he was, how helpful, how brave... How dead he was.

___________________________________ "I honestly didn't know he'd be capable of that..."

"Same here. In all my years of knowing him, I never knew he'd pull that stunt... But undeniably, sounds like him," I smiled, looking over the normally silent behemoth. "And you're right about the cherry stuff. He regularly does that whenever he'd eat cherries."

"It's unnerving, to be frank." The hat wearing boy turned away, tipping his hat downward.

"It is! I remember when we'd buy milkshakes after school! He would often take my cherry and do that thing he always do....."

The storytelling went on, endless stories of Noriaki's childhood with me went on and on. I could never get tired of taking about him, his memory lives on with me, in my heart and in my soul. It hurts to admit he's gone in this certain young age of seventeen, but he still lives inside me... That came out wrong, but you get my point.

After our not-so brief talk about Nori, it was time for him to leave, when he turns back to me. In his hand, was a black velvet box wrapped with an emerald bow. He said it was my gift for my birthday and wouldn't you know it, the behemoth is a huge softie. He is like an older brother to me, but of course, I would never replace Nori.

Let me tell you this, it wasn't easy being friends with Jotaro. I'm a junior year while he's a senior. And for some god forsaken reason, they thought we were dating... Uh, I like him as a friend/brother. Nothing more, really.

The box... Inside it, was the necklace. The golden chain and the circular emerald pendant, a certain colour I often associated with my older brother as he named his stand's attack just that. Emerald splash... No one could deflect it, as he claims alright. That's what I thought at least, he never aimed the attack on me.

I gave Jotaro a hug before he parted ways with me. The green certainly reminded me of the stand and it's user... I honestly miss them. _____________________________________

"Say Y/N, I say we go get some boba tea after this class! My treat of course!" Your friend beams, posing with a peace sign at you. "It's the least I can do since I wasn't able to attend your birthday yesterday! And it really makes me feel guilty!"

"Oh Ibara you don't have to," you giggled. "But if you insist!"

As of cue, the bell rang to signal class was over. Ibara has always been a close friend of yours since you've transferred in this school. The girl with an obsession for boba milk teas and middle aged actors who were thrice her age. The comforting soul that stuck with you while you mourned for your brother's death and never left your side. After packing you bag, you glanced at the orange haired girl who was already waiting for you in the doorway with an encouraging smile. Giving your friend a smirk, looping your elbows through hers.

"Off we go, Ibara. A certain cherry boba milk tea is calling my name~" you giggled.

"Oh you always get that flavour. You're obsessed with cherries, aren't you? How come you don't try other flavours?" Ibara asks, casting a questioning glance at your direction. "And your pin is even cherry! And your earrings! Seriously! You and your cherry obsession!"

"I don't know why, but I think they taste good and they're oddly aesthetically pleasing." you lied. "I just like how cherries taste and how they look, that's all."

______________________________________

Heavenly... Every moment spent with you is the reason why I lived.

You may not realize it, big brother, but you were a great influence for me. I was hard on myself for not knowing how certain mathematics work, I knew not much about literature, culture, history, sociology and you taught me all about it. Stands, what the fuck were stands? I developed one and I was afraid and you helped me cope with it and now we're friends.

I knew nothing about friendship, but my relationship with you alone made me feel relevant, valid despite being bullied back in elementary. Your influence lurked within me every single time.

Thoughts like "What would big brother Nori do if...." Frequently crossed my mind whenever an inconvenience occured. You are, in a way, my role model. I love how you handle things, the way you think, negotiate, move after thinking... Such a quick witted guy you were. That's how much I look up at you despite I acted mean to you. You never knew how you influenced me to be a person I am today...

I miss you, truly. I wish you weren't dead.

But I have to ask... Why? Why do you always want to make me feel better about myself when you can't even do the same thing for yourself?

You did everything to make me smile, make me feel comfortable, make me feel loved, appreciated, you helped me feel valid while you suffered with your own pain. You bear your pain alone while I had the nerve to unload my personal baggage as if I was the most miserable person there is...

Hell, I don't even know how much you've suffered until you died. I'm such a useless younger sibling who can't even return the same gestures you've made for me... _____________________________________

"Ewww, what is that?" Fifteen year old Y/N Kakyoin pointed at the canvas in which the red haired male painted on.

"Why, it's my very own magnum opus, dearest youngest sibling," Noriaki jokingly stated with a mock posh accent. "It was time that I replace De Vinci, don't you think?" He moves away for you to get a perfect view of his painting.

It was a painting of your Stand that stood behind a street light. The rough painting was difficult to recognise, but the colour scheme was a dead give away for your Stand. You presumed it was still unfinished, considering there was a clear outline of another character that stood in front of your Stand.

"Why would you chose to draw trash like me?" You pointed at yourself, seating yourself on a stool whilst you watched him dip his paintbrush on a pile of mixed paint before making soft, precise stroke on the canvas.

"No don't say that, you're not trash. You're the whole dumpster." He retorts with a smirk. You couldn't see him as he had his back turned away from you, but you highly suspected he was smirking.

"Wow, that's toooootally original," you dragged the vowels, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. "Says the one with a trashy looking hair."

Noriaki chuckles, shaking his head, the dangling cherry earrings he has shook alongside him. "Okay, I take it back. You're not the whole dumpster, nor trash. You're just my cute little sibling." He has this smile that can light the whole damn town with fire, and girls would swoon and fall and dance around that fire like witches in a ritual to summon a demon... Ugh, it sounded too specific, but that's how you'd describe his smile. Irresistible, not easy to contained and it easily affected you as well because in no time, you were smiling just like him.

"Okay, what the fuck did you eat for you to say those things to me? Who are you and what have you done to my Noriaki?" You laughed, poking him by his tiny waist and immediately elicited a flinch and a laugh from him.

"Oh nothing, just feeling particularly thankful for the existence of my younger sibling who is totally relevant and beautiful in every way. They think that they're bad looking and is often feeling down, as they doubt themselves every time makes me feel like a bad brother." He puts the brush down alongside the others and turns to face you. Noriaki firmly places his hands atop your shoulders and shook you repeatedly. "You haven't been completely honest with yourself and your family. I know something's happening to you in your class. Tell me what's wrong."

His firm grip prevented you from escaping, prompting you to pout. Of course he'd know you were being bullied. He always knows something is up. You're starting to think he uses those good looks of his to pull gossips from gossiping school girls who knew of your circumstances. Nevertheless, you sighed, you spilled your problems as he listens intently.

"I just... I don't feel like expressing myself if people can't accept me. They're right though. I'm just an irrelevant trash and— ow!" You were able to barely flinch when his grip tightens around your shoulders.

"You. Are. Valid and beautiful! Don't forget that okay? You're a flame that doesn't deserve to be snuffed out." He reassures. "I know how you feel, but know that there will be people out there who will love you for who you are. You're not irrelevant, you're not trash. You're the best, unique and the only you they will ever meet and they will miss out for not meeting you. I will not stop saying these things if you do not know, scratch that, believe you are one of the most wonderful person everyone will meet."

"Tsk, stop being cheesy you dumb dork." You playfully punched him by his pectoral, trying to deny your glossy eyes to escape, prompting you to coil your arms around his waist to prevent him from seeing it. "Big dumb dork."

"See? There's my little sibling!" He strokes your hair with a soft smile. "So cute and small, growing too fast!"

"You're not mom, you don't have the right to say that." You glanced at him with a smirk, poking a finger on his waist earning a slight flinch from him, as he is ticklish there.

"Well I am your older brother and I am always in charged on watching you," he flicks you by the forehead in retaliation, prompting you to lightly smack his cheek with a toothy grin. "Have you finished packing yet?

"Yep. I honestly can't wait for the trip in Egypt. I think this going to be the best vacation slash celebration of successfully moving to another house." After speaking, you let out a high pitched shriek when he ruffled your hair with his palms with a mischievous chuckle. As you were about to attempt to free yourself from his grip, he tightly held you to his body and resumed ruffling with your hair as you squirmed and moved. Once he had his fun, he released you with a playful chuckle, watching you rearrange your hair. "Ohhh, curse you!"

"Shut up, now go to bed. We still have a flight to catch tomorrow. If you need me I'll be in my room. Good night!" He waves, abandoning you in the living room as you tend to your hair.

"Whatever you cherry sucking idiot." You incoherently mumbled to yourself, straightening your hair into its former glory.

____________________________________

I love you Noriaki... I hope you believe that. Mom and dad are proud of you, they love and miss you so much. Your friends miss you and they are grateful for what you've done for them.

I hope you're doing well up there with the angels and the cherry gods or whatever.

Know that your little sibling is alive and well and living the best years of their life because of you. By this, I will fulfill everything you have never done.

I miss you big brother and you will always live in my heart. _____________________________________

#jojo kakyoin noriaki x reader #jojo's bizzare adventure stardust crusaders #jojo sdc #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin #cherryboi #sibling #x reader #platonic #angsty #death

[bssaz97]

I have to ask how did Qrow and Juanes family react to the kids in Missing for a Year

Missing For A Year Part 3

Ruby: “Miss Goodwitch, thank you so much!” *Large Anime Tears fall down her face*

Glynda: “You’re welcome Miss Rose, although I do recommend keeping a closer watch of your children while at events in the future.”

Both Ruby and Jaune nodded rapidly to her sound advice, who will make sure to take the advice to heart.

Ruby/Jaune: “We promise we will!”

Glynda: “Good. Now.” *lifts up her riding crop directly at the ice block*

*CRACK!*

The ice prison around the two newlyweds had been broken apart, freeing them so that the two can freely move again. Much to the joy of the two leaders and displeasure of a disgruntled ice queen.

Qrow: *approaching* “Well I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Does it kiddo.”

Ruby: “Uncle Qrow!” *petal bursts out of the ice cube and launches herself at him*

Qrow: “Oof!” *catches her while laughing* “Geez pipsqueak! I’m not as young as I use to be, you could be a little gentler...”

Ruby: “Sorry I’m just so excited to see you again!”

Qrow: *hugs her tightly* “Yeah me too.”

Ruby: “I’m sorry it took so long.” *hangs head in shame*

Qrow: “Hey none of that alright. What’s happened has happened, no use in crying over spilled milk. Just seeing that you’re alive and well is all I need.”

Ruby: “You too. I know we’ve been gone for awhile but we missed you all so very much and I wished we could’ve come back sooner to you all.”

Qrow: “Well maybe remember to stamp your letters next time.” *he jokes*

Ruby: “It was a honest mistake!”

Qrow: *laughs and ruffles her hair* “Whatever you say kiddo.”

Ruby: “Meanie...to think I almost named one of my children after you.”

Qrow: “Probably a good call that you didn’t. Don’t need to have a kid named after me until I’m at least in the grave.”

Ruby: “Oh ha-ha.”

Jaune finished swiping of all the ice residue on his person then rubs his hands together rapidly to warm them up. Being trapped in a large ice cube wasn’t very comfortable in the least. His mother helps her son by removing her scarf and wrapping it around his hands.

June: “Are you alright sweetie?”

Jaune: “Yeah just a bit frosty.”

Yang: “...Did he?”

Taiyang: “I think he just did.”

Jaune: “What? I can make puns too. You all didn’t originate them.”

Taiyang: “Ok fair enough.”

Jaune: “Oh yeah by the way...are we cool?” *gestures between himself and his father-in-law*

Taiyang: “Well considering that you pretty much married my daughter behind our family’s back, I should be furious. But since you’ve already made me a grandfather I can’t really stay mad at you.”

Jaune: “Really?”

Taiyang: “No.”

Jaune: “Figured.”

Taiyang: *laughs* “Relax kid, I’m just messing with you. Glad to have you in the family.”

Jaune: “Thanks.” *smiles*

June: “Speaking of grandchildren...YOINK!” *takes an infant Rowan/Summer from Taiyang and Yang*

Taiyang/Yang: “Hey!”

June: “Hello my little darlings~ I’m so happy to meet you two. Look at how big you two are already. I’m your Granny June and I love you both so much! Oh you’re both so cute~” *she coos as she cradled the two infants rocking them to and fro*

Jaune: “Uh mom, I know you’re excited about your new grandchildren but you should really-.”

June: “Oh come now Jaune I’ve raised eight kids including you so I think have this under-!”

Summer: *gurgling noises with her face turning green*

June: “...oh no.” *face paled*

*BLEEEGH!*

What Jaune tried to warn his mother about was that Summer was unfortunately cursed with his inherited motion sickness. As such Summer did not like to be rocked otherwise it would lead to her spit up all over said person’s shirt.

June: “....oh dear.” *looks down at her ruined dress*

Ruby: *gasp!* “Mrs. Arc I’m so sorry!” *grabs a tissue and tries to clean it off*

Jaune: “I tried to warn you.”

June: “That’s ok, this isn’t something I haven’t gone through before. Although I would be more than grateful if you could take back these two while I get cleaned up.” *handing their babies back to them*

Ruby: “Are you sure you don’t want me to help? I feel really bad.”

June: “It’s alright dear. I’ve raised eight children after all, so there’s nothing to worry about. Jaune, be a dear and introduce your children to the rest of the family before your sisters complain about not seeing their new niece and nephew, ok?”

Jaune: “Sure.”

As June Arc was making her leave most, of not all of Jaune’s sisters swarmed them just as she said they would.

Rouge: “Oh my goodness look at you two!”

Saphron: “You’re so small and look so cute!”

Vert: “What’s their names little bro?”

Jaune: “Uh, This is Rowan and Summer.” *points at each of his children*

Bleu: “Do they have all their necessary shots?” *adjusts her glasses*

Jaune: “What? No, they’re barely three months old!”

Noir: “Why didn’t you tell us you two eloped?”

Blanc: “And how did you get pregnant so fast?”

Ruby: “W-Well we wanted to marry after the war so that’s what we did.”

Violet: “How can you tell which is a boy and girl?”

Arc Siblings/Ruby: .....

Violet: “What? It’s a legitimate question.” *shrinks in embarrassment*

Nicholas: “Girls.”

At the sound of his voice all the Arc women made way for the patriarch of their family. He walked towards the brand new couple/parents, his towering figure nearly encompassing them in shadow.

Nicholas: “Son.”

Jaune: “Hey Dad...long time no see. Heh”

Arc Sisters: *winces*

Terra: *facepalms*

Ruby: *whispering* “Really?”

Jaune: “Uhhh. So! ...How are you?”

Saphron: *mouthing ‘NO!’*

Jaune: “I mean. What I mean to say is-!”

Nicholas: “Stop.” *raises his palm*

Jaune: 0x0

Nicholas: “What’s done is done. There’s no use to bringing up the past.”

Jaune: “Right...”

Nicholas: “But I am very happy to see you alive.....and apparently with a wife and children.” *rests his raised hand on Jaune’s shoulder*

Jaune: “...Thanks Dad.”

Nicholas: *nods then removes his hand* “So if I heard correctly, this one is Rowan and this one is Summer right?” *gestures to the two infants*

Ruby: “Yessir. My tiny little blessings.”

Nicholas: “...heh. I see you’ve adopted June’s nicknaming habit.”

Ruby: “Yep.”

Nicholas: “Mm. Looks like you have a keeper my son.”

Jaune: “I’m lucky to have her.” *one arm hugged Ruby*

Ruby: *smiles*

Nicholas: “Good. Don’t do anything stupid to mess it up. You hear me boy.”

Jaune: “Wouldn’t dream of it sir.”

Rowan/Summer: “Ahh!” *make curious baby noises*

Nicholas looks down to see both Rowan and Summer then bends his knees, lowering his large frame to look into the little ones. They looked at the older Arc curiously, looking at his aged but still strong facial features and Summer was brave enough to reach out touch the older man’s beard. This caused Summer to giggle as the hair tickled her tiny fingers, causing Nicholas to laugh softly at the child’s pure laughter. Rowan followed soon after Summer and he giggled as well once he felt Nicholas’ beard.

Nicholas: “Hello little ones, I am your grandpa. I am pleased to meet you.” *he said with what could be called a genuine smile*

Ruby: “ohhhh” *she watches the display in amazement* <3

Qrow: “WOW Nicky, I think you just made a genuine smile on your face.”

Nicholas: “Qrow...”

Qrow: “Hey don’t scare the babies now! They’re impressionable.” *while smirking*

Ruby: “Qrow be nice.” *she chides her honorary uncle/mentor*

Qrow: *raises his hands in mock surrender*

Ruby: “Hey Rowan, look this my Uncle Qrow. Isn’t he cool?”

Rowan: *head tilts* “Ah?”

Ruby: “Yes he’s the coolest uncle ever. You want him to hold you?”

Qrow: “Uh Ruby I don’t-.”

Ruby: “Here you go.” *moves Rowan into his arms*

Qrow: “Wait Ruby don’t-! Ok here we go. Uh hey there kid. Nice to...meet you.”

Rowan: ....

Ruby: “It’s ok Qrow, he’s only a baby. He won’t bite.”

Qrow: “Right. Um, heh, You look a lot like your mom. Kinda surprised that your supposed to be the boy.”

Rowan: .... *hrk!* *BLEGH!*

Qrow eyes widen but it was already too late, all he could do was look down and see that Rowan had just spit up all over his new shirt. Both parents gave nervous looks but also tried not to laugh at Qrow’s expense. Taiyang, Yang, Nicholas, and the seven Arc sisters, however, did not follow their example, laughing their guts out.

Rowan: *giggles and points at Qrow*

Qrow: “Oh now you find me funny. Don’t ya, you lil’ gremlin.” *eye twitches*

Ruby: “Hey I’m sure he didn’t mean to do that!”

Yang: “Hahahaha! I don’t know Ruby, he seemed pretty determined to puke all over Qrow!” *covering her mouth*

Qrow: “Well at least I know you’re your Mother’s kid. You’re a brat through and through.”

Ruby: “Hey!”

June: “Ok I’m back what did I-...Oh dear. Apparently both children have motion sickness.”

Nicholas: “No dear, it’s just the boy knows how to get back at others.” *he smiles in pride of his progeny*

-Fin-

A/N: Boy did this one take me awhile to get done. I had a lot of ideas for how this were to go and tried to fit them all in so hope I met your expectations. Thanks again for your support! 😊

P.S. I did my best to make names for the remaining Arc sisters and I decided to simplify and translate the names of the girls in accordance to their color from the portrait we saw in Volume 6 in Saphron’s house. Also keep in mind I have no idea what the age difference is just know I did my best and this will be my head canon until proven otherwise.

Rouge = Eldest (Red w/ Short Hair)

Saphron = Second (Orange that was Upside down. Her name is closer to orange so yeah)

Vert = Third (Green)

Blanc/Noir = Twins (Ok so they had blue bows but the also look to be wearing black and white so I went with that to avoid confusion)

Bleu = Sixth (Blue w/ Glasses)

Violet = Neña (Violet, no brainer)

Jaune = Youngest (Yellow. Ok so he appears to be the youngest from the photo as most of the time the most recent child is at the center of most family pictures. But again I could be wrong but I stand by what I said until CRWBY says otherwise...probably)

#rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #rwby lancaster #lancaster #yang xiao long #arc family #rwby saphron #saphron cotta arc #qrow brawnwen #rwby qrow #rwby taiyang #taiyang xiao long #anonymous asks #missing for a year

[vtscasefiles]

Case File 762-4

Trigger warnings: Isolation, suicidal thoughts, violence, blood, depression, animal bites, animal injury, cops, racism, homophobia, conversion therapy mention

A note before reading: I am unsure if I have tagged all potential triggers properly. 

Case Begun: 2/07/20**

Case Concluded: 2/12/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Washington

Marked as Closed, Payment Declined

This is one of the rare occasions where I am perfectly happy not to receive payment for a job. The value of a life always beats cash, period. 

It started a bit...underwhelming, to be honest. There’s a secret message board for Eliminators. It’s not easily accessed, and there’s a rigorous vetting process to even be allowed to view the posts. I was well into my sixth year working before I received an email invite. Since then, it’s become a welcome resource.

The first post on my feed was addressed to me, personally. This wasn’t new, I’ve built up something of a name for myself. I get regular work, but I still can’t afford to get out of this shithole apartment. I mean the door doesn’t even fucking lock. And the fucking “landlord” is so strung out on cocaine that -- 

[Editor’s note: Personal information revealing where VT lives followed. I have removed it for her safety.]

Anyway, the post was simple enough: a werewolf gone berserk. It’s not an uncommon thing, a new werewolf can take to the wolf too much. The wolf takes over and, feeding off of the human’s anger or indignation, attacks. First, it’s everyone who hurt them. Second, they attack their family. After that...it’s a bloody free-for-all.

Let me preface by saying I hate these hunts. It’s no different than putting down a rabid dog, honestly...the human is too far gone and the wolf operates entirely off of the residual rage. Even so, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t like killing anything living, even if it’s lost it’s mind. 

I read the post three times before I sighed and closed my laptop. “This is why I like dealing with the dead.” I said, frowning. I’d be needing silver. Which meant spending money. The reward was good, though...so it’d cover any expenses. I packed up my gear (a wolf’s bane lotion, a femur from a dead wolf and a silver knife) and headed for my first stop: Ramona’s.

Ramona Torrez has been my best friend since...ever. She was born in the states to Mexican parents who’d settled here in the nineties. They’ve both returned to Mexico since, but they come to visit fairly often. Mama Torrez was more a mother to me than my own was, and she’s one terrifying lady. A powerful witch in her own right, she’d made her then boyfriend her familiar through a series of spells and incantations that bordered on the black. His physiology changed, as a result. Despite being in his mid sixties, the man’s barely aged. He’s stronger, faster and has more stamina than any human I’ve ever met...not to mention he’s an absolute sweetheart.

Ramona is possibly the most gifted witch I’ve ever met. If there’s a spell she can’t do, I’ll eat my boots. Her shop is a little hidden place. Right on the corner of [REDACTED], she’s very open about what she does. A small sign dangles over the door reading “Bruja” . I pulled open the door, hearing the cheerful jingle of the bell (despite there not being one in sight. Or a motion tracker.) “Welcome!” she called from the back. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” I said nothing, opting only to pick up my friend’s familiar and give her a stroke.

It always makes me laugh, honestly. A witch with a black cat as a familiar. How cliché can you get? Issy’s a sweet thing, though. Purrs like an engine if you so much as scratch her ears. “VT!” Ramona appeared with a wide grin on her freckled face. “Why didn’t you say it was you, dummy?”

I’ll preface that, despite my father being Hispanic, I never had the opportunity to learn Spanish. He was always busy on one hunt or another. Ramona’s tried to teach me, so that I could get in touch with my roots...but languages never came natural to me. Hell, I barely speak English.

Ramona rattled off her usual rapid Spanish, taking Issy from my arms. “You know I can’t understand a word.” I said as she turned to lead me into the back room. Her shoulders shook and she looked over her shoulder with a coy grin.

“Oh, I know. Payaso.” 

If Ramona hadn’t been my best friend, I’d likely be trying to get under her dress. She’s a curvy thing, with a heart shaped face and big brown eyes that’d melt even the coldest of hearts. She dimples when she smiles (something I’m immediately weak to) and does this adorable thing with her nose when she’s irritated. Her hair tends toward bushiness, framing her face like moss on a tree. (To my knowledge she doesn’t dye it, it’s just...green.)

“So, darling.” she chirped, stopping next to her cauldron to let Issy dash off through the fabric drapery that led into her kitchen. “What is the illustrious VT hunting today?”

“Berserk werewolf. Probably recently turned...and probably not by a pack. I’m thinking boyfriend or girlfriend. Which means -- “ She cut me off with an uttered curse.

“Which means that you’ll have to get in touch with the local werewolf pack.” she finished with a grimace. “Where’s the contract taking you?”

“Washington state. Little town called [REDACTED].” I answered, not expecting any miracles. I was granted one, none the less.

“Ah. That’s a Native American pack. I met their um...I’m not sure what the proper vernacular is, so I’ll just call her a witch, if that’s okay?” she said, worrying with her lower lip. Ramona’s always been very big on calling people their proper titles, and felt terrible guilt when she messed it up.

“She the Alpha? Or an elder?” I asked, seizing upon the thread before Ramona fell into self-deprecation.

“Well...yes and no.” she said, pouring something into the burbling cauldron and turning it a sickly puce. “She’s something of a Seer. She led them to an old, abandoned ghost town. They asked for witches from all over the continent for assistance in warding and rebuilding. Naturally -- “ “Naturally, Bleeding Heart Torrez helped.” I cut her off, again. She frowned and nodded. “Hey, Ramona, I ain’t saying you did the wrong thing. I’d have done the same. Are they friendly to outsiders?”

“Kind of.” she said, her frown relenting for a thoughtful expression. “You’ll likely be met by an envoy before you make it to the town line. I can call ahead, if you’d like. Let them know that I trust you so they won’t be on full alert.” she smiled, slightly. “Just don’t...shoot anyone that you don’t have to. Okay?”

“I’m not in the business of killing people just trying to live their lives, Ramona.” I said, pulling a frown of my own. “I might be trigger happy, but I’ve never shot anyone who didn’t come after me, first.”

“I know, I know...they can just be a little wary with outsiders. You can hardly blame them.” she said, carefully. I agreed with her, but I didn’t like the implication that I just ran in like some idiot waving my gun around and shooting at everything that moved.

I only do that sometimes.

I stayed long enough to catch up and have some lunch. Ramona’s cooking was always amazing. Her carnitas is to die for, full stop. With my belly full and my paranoia subsiding, I made for Ellie’s. It was time to see if the corpse had any silver.

Elinor Lyktor is a lich. She “died” at some point during the eighteen hundreds. Stomach cancer. She was already a necromancer by then, so when she felt her end approaching...she made a bargain with Death. The way she speaks about the “Lady of the Void” is how some people speak about their chosen deity. But how many of them have actually spoken with their god? Or had her over for tea? 

Elinor’s shop was in the dead center of town. The signboard above her shop proudly proclaimed “Ellie’s Emporium”. Her front was an antique shop (all her possessions from when she was alive litter the front of the store). When I entered, her bespectacled gaze caught mine. Even indoors, if she was minding the shop, she wore sunglasses.

“Valerica.” she greeted, pushing from her stool and smiling, marginally. “Lock the door.” I obeyed. What else do you do in the face of a being that could force your skeleton to come clawing out of your body?

“Elinor.” I responded with a nod. “I’m looking for silver ordinance. .44 if you got it.”

“I do. Got a werewolf problem?” she pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were pitch black. The only light in them came from the faintly glowing, multicolored runes that slid across them like leaves on a still pond.

“Not a problem.” I responded, coolly. “Ramona’s got me an in. I just don’t have the identity, yet.” I paused, thinking that maybe I should be a little warmer to my primary ordinance merchant. “How’s the lady?”

“Which lady to you speak of?” she asked, grinning cattily. “The woman I will make my wife, or the Great Lady of Dusk?”

Fuck, she loved her puffery.

“Do you just make up these titles or did Death give you a list?” I asked, grinning. It got a laugh, so I’d say that Operation Butter Up the Lich was a success. 

“No, I only use them to annoy her. She’s teaching me a lot, VT. I’d love for you to come over and meet her someday. Isali is a rather sweet woman, if you can get past the fact she’s Death.” she said, earnestly. “Did you know she has a son? And he has children, too? I wasn’t even aware she could reproduce.”

That was enough to get my attention. “Death...has a kid. Okay, I’ll bite: what’s his name?”

“I don’t know. She only refers to him as “my darling boy”. The only thing I’ve figured out is there has to have been a point in history in which no one died. The only way I think she could have had a child is if she took on mortal guise and -- are you even listening?”

I was. Oh, I was. I admit that I was wrapped up in the thought of how DEATH had a SON. He must be one terrifying, austere motherfucker, that’s for damn sure. “Sorry, I was just thinking about what kind of man her son has to be. Gotta be some kind of...demigod or something. Having a mother like Death.”

Elinor shrugged “She described him as being an absolute goof. Dotes on his kids, overtly friendly. I’d like to meet him, someday. It looks like I’ll go wanting, though. He lives in a world beyond ours. An extra dimensional being.”

Now it made sense. I wanted to follow that rabbit hole down to the end. I still want to. But business beckoned and I had no choice but to end this intriguing line of thought. “As interesting as this all is, I still need bullets for something more mundane. Can you cut me a deal?”

“Depends on the volume, Valerica. If you want an armory’s worth, I can’t help you...but if you’re just looking for a few boxes, well...” she smiled. “How does fifteen bucks a box suit you?”

“It doesn’t.” I responded immediately. “I’ll give you five.”

I left her store after securing my ammunition. She drove a hard bargain, but I managed to talk her down to ten dollars a box. I had five boxes, each containing twelve bullets. If I couldn’t finish the job with that, then I was in the wrong line of work. 

Now, it’s a little known fact that a werewolf and a rugaru are two separate entities. They both conjure the vision of this half-wolf, half-man meat tank that tears through the opposition like so much wet paper. That particular creature is a rugaru. Not all werewolves are rugaru, but all rugaru are werewolves. The rugaru transformation is only possible under two circumstances: complete acceptance of the wolf that dwells within, or the complete degeneration of the werewolf’s human mind due to unchecked homicidal urges. It isn’t a fine line or any of that bullshit that other people have perpetuated. It’s a simple matter of willpower. If I was dealing with a rugaru, it’d mean real trouble. I could only hope this werewolf was still on four legs.

As Ramona had promised me, I was barely five miles down the dirt road that led into our little werewolf commune before I was stopped. He was a tall, impressive specimen. Fine bone structure, inky black hair brushed neatly into two, thick braids that were decorated with beads and feathers...what really threw me was his smile. It was welcoming. Not a normal sight for me. I killed the engine and stepped out into the morning air, then man walked forward and extended a hand “You must be VT. It’s a pleasure, truly.”

I took his hand and shook it. I felt the tell tale calluses on his palm in the shape of paw pads and smiled, this was the right place. “Glad to be of help. I hear there’s a berserk wolf on the loose.” his smile faded.

“Yes.” he replied, simply. “My son’s boyfriend.”

Swish. Called it.

“That’s unfortunate.” I said, bowing my head in respect. “Is there no hope of helping him cope?”

“I’m unsure.” he responded, looking thoughtfully at the thick forest that shadowed the road. “We’ve tried, but...he’s so angry.” he paused, his gaze returning to me. “I apologize, VT. I haven’t even given you my name: folks around here call me Thunder. You’re welcome to do the same.”

I nodded and smiled “Anything you say, Thunder. If you have another name that you’d prefer to go by, I’ll do my best not to butcher it.” he’d laughed, a booming sound like his namesake.

“Thunder suits me just fine.” he said, kindly. “We can continue our discussion back at the compound. Would you mind if I rode with you? I can tell you about our lifestyle while we ride.”

I gathered that Thunder was the Alpha of this particular pack, given how he spoke about his friends and family. The pack had started on a reservation, but wanted a place of their own. The reservation was abandoned in favor of the Seer’s word there was a place of their own. They all turned in the dead of night and disappeared. No one knew where they’d gotten to, save for the SC. They were completely self sufficient. Hunting and fishing for food, growing their crops in soil blessed by their spirits and making their own clothing. Back to basics, he’d said. I could see the appeal.

“You got a free house I can post up in or...” he’d laughed at me.

“We don’t have internet, power or running water. You might get sick of it pretty fast, hm?” he’d nudged me and broke into that same booming laughter that caused my eardrums to ache.

He’d stopped me just outside of town, where two, tall totems stood on either side of the road. “Stop here. Your car will die if you cross.” he said, stepping out of the car. “I’ll introduce you to my son, VT.”

I killed the engine and stepped out, reaching behind the seat to sling my backpack over my shoulder. One of the two totems stood out. Each of them was carved with delicate care and beautiful in their own right, but the one on the left was the most interesting to me. It was Ramona’s work, I knew the feel of that anywhere. “Torrez did this, didn’t she?” I asked, brushing my fingers against the carvings. “Not the design, but the ward.”

“You’re close to Miss Torrez?” Thunder asked, pausing to look at the totem. “Yes. Spent a week solid working on it. She even refused payment, only asked for one of my wife’s blankets in return.”

“Do you...deal with cash?” I asked, feeling the slightest bit insensitive.

“Rarely.” he responded, eyes still on the totem. “Some of us have work in a town nearby, certainly...there are a few things that trading can’t get us. Gasoline. Generators.”

That threw me and I frowned “Thought you said you didn’t have power.”

“We don’t.” he responded, simply. “The generators are for the Elders who didn’t leave the reservation.”

Well, good to know I’d been here all of twenty seconds and already taken a big bite of foot pie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think -- “ “You don’t live like us. Why would you?” he responded with a somewhat bitter smile. “No reason for me to take offense or for you to feel guilt, VT. Though your apology is...appreciated.” the last word felt forced, but I said no more.

The town was pretty enough, each house painted in accordance to the occupant’s taste. Designs swirled and jerked in eye catching beauty across the wood or brick. Thunder led me to a single-story ranch type home and beckoned me inside. He called for his son in his native tongue and a beanpole of a boy appeared. I say boy, but he was at least eighteen or nineteen. “Introduce yourself.” Thunder said, sternly. “You’re the cause of this mess.”

“Thunder.” I broke in, sensing the tension between father and son. “You know better than anyone that the change is unpredictable...it isn’t his fault.”

Thunder’s stare turned on me, and that friendly gaze was gone. If I’d been made of gentler stuff, I might’ve even backed away. “I’m not upset he changed his lover, VT. I’m upset because his lover is giving us a bad name, and he doesn’t seem to care.”

“Excuse me for caring about my boyfriend, Father.” the boy spat. Even in children, or teenagers...there’s always respect for the Alpha Wolf. To hear the vitriol in the young man’s voice told me one thing: there was going to be a power struggle here one day. “VT, I heard about you from Ramona Torrez.” he said, with much less anger in his voice. “Please...Dorian never meant to hurt anyone. He didn’t even know what I was doing and...please, don’t kill him!” tears were welling in this young man’s eyes. I couldn’t help but be sympathetic...but I still had a job to do.

“Dorian’s his name?” I asked, humming beneath my breath. “I might be able to call him out using that information. But I’ll need your name too, kid.”

Thunder’s son puffed up “I am no child! I am a man grown!” he said, indignantly. 

“A grown man doesn’t make decisions for his loved ones.” I shot back. “He makes decisions with his loved ones.”

He deflated marginally. “My name is...Crow Flies. He called me Crow...” he said, no longer able to meet my eyeline. “Please, VT...I...”

“I get it, kid.” I said, softly. “I won’t kill him if I don’t have to. I promise.”

Thunder took me from his home and introduced me to the rest of the pack. They were a kindly people, if a little wary of an outsider like myself. Thunder’s presence helped with their misgivings, but only slightly. “You did well with Crow Flies.” he said, softly. “Miss Torrez had described you as a hot head, but even so...you were very patient. And there was wisdom in your speech.”

Despite myself, I flushed. “Well, ah...I’ve had good teachers.” I said, trying not to grin. “Say, Thunder. After all this unpleasantness is done, could I come back? Just to visit. I like it here.”

That seemed to surprise the Alpha, he looked at me and then smiled “I think that I would like that. I think the pack would, too. Once they see that you are here to help, of course.”

I had dinner with the pack, as they all dined together in the center of town (or the old town hall, when the weather was foul). It was a raucous affair, full of song and laughter...Crow sat off by himself. Alone. I thought it best to leave him be. The boy was going through all kinds of heartbreak. The last thing he needed was another lecture.

It was late by the time dinner wrapped up, and I’d gathered a bit more information about Dorian. He’d been cast out by his family due to his sexuality, and taken in by the pack. They’d kept their lycanthropy secret from him...that is until Crow Flies turned him. Thunder had even had a family portrait taken of the three of them. Dorian had to have been at least Crow Flies’ age, if not a bit older. He was dark skinned, his hair styled into a small afro. What struck me the most was his smile...there was such...kindness. Love. It twisted my stomach into tight knots.

I made a promise to myself then and there: there were enough gay, Black men dead. I was not going to contribute to that number.

Even if it killed me.

No one “hunts” a werewolf. You see these self-styled vampire/werewolf hunters enough these days...and they’re all absolute pricks. Worse than that, they’re murderers. I’ve had to kill a couple of them, to save an innocent life...but when you murder someone just for their differences, you’re the monster. The point is, no matter how many berserk werewolves you’ve encountered it all boils down the the same fact: they’re the hunter, you’re the prey.

I applied a thick layer of the wolfsbane lotion to my skin. It wasn’t going to stop a werewolf as much as it would overwhelm their sense of smell and taste. Silver weaponry only works because of a simple fact.

Have you ever heard of a tulpa? It’s...a sort of group hallucination made real. The basic principle is if you believe enough in something, it manifests as reality. The more people who believe, the more stable a tulpa is. Silver is a sort of pseudo-tulpa. A mass belief of silver being a weapon against lycanthropy has made it reality. That’s the power of belief.

Problem being is I didn’t know whether the mass belief here was that silver kills...or simply incapacitates or weakens. I had to be careful. I had to leave Peace behind. If I wanted to save Dorian, I couldn’t rely on firepower to do it.

[Editor’s Note: A rarity for VT. Coherent thought.]

Dorian’s hunting ground had been, as of late, his own home town. His first victims were his parents...hardly a surprise. Poor guy had to have felt betrayed, and was angry for it. Researching the case, they hadn’t been eaten. They’d only had their throats ripped out. That was a good thing and a bad thing. If Dorian wasn’t eating his victims yet, that meant there was humanity left in him...but he’d tasted blood, and he’d want more. I didn’t have time to dally, I had to act.

I drove straight to his former home.

The house had been cordoned off by police tape. As anyone sane does, I ignored the warnings put forth by the police and ventured inside. The carpets were stained with blood...it meant there was a struggle. A vicious one from the looks of things. Dorian might not have even been in wolf form when it started.

I ventured deeper into the house, searching for any kind of clue. There was Christian iconography all over the house, which explained why he was thrown out. It was getting harder and harder to feel anything but repulsion for the dead, sanctimonious pricks. Throwing their own son out just because he’s gay...I related entirely too much.

I found Dorian’s bedroom without much struggle. Posters of his favorite sports teams hung on the walls, along with musicians and actors. I felt a creak in the floorboard beneath my foot, so I crouched and tried to pull on it. It came up effortlessly.

Hidden within was a notebook, a small bag of cosmetics and a pressed flower. Probably from Crow, I thought. I didn’t read a lot of the journal, but from what I did read it was a chronicle of his self discovery. I admired him for the bravery he showed in facing who he truly was, but the thoughts were private. I closed the journal and replaced it, along with the other items. Those were his and not mine to take. If...things went badly, I’d come back and give them to Crow.

I approached the bed, and got a deep whiff of wet dog for my trouble. He’d been here. Recently. I pulled the sheets back and found what I’d expected: fur. He’d even been sleeping in his own bed. This was good. This was very, very good. If he still sought out human comfort, he was still in there.

A sudden creak and the sound of footsteps sent my heart into my throat. I had no weapon, no way of defending myself against a hungry werewolf. The air was probably thick with the scent of wolfsbane by now...I did the only thing I thought I could.

I stood and waited.

It wasn’t Dorian. It wasn’t even a werewolf. I felt my stomach drop into my shoes as a uniformed police officer appeared, flashlight in hand. “Who the fuck are you? This is a police investigation zone, bitch.”

My hackles raised, but I raised my hands, showing I was unarmed. “I’m a Private Investigator. My license is in my jacket pocket. I’m going to reach for it now.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but clearly this pig thought I was being belligerent. 

“Keep your fucking hands where I can see them!” he snarled and approached, stepping forward to shove his hand into my jacket. Thankfully, he went straight for the pocket instead of feeling me up, like I’d been dreading. He looked at the fake license with his mean, piggy little eyes. “They hand these out to anyone, huh?” he said, pure malicious glee in his voice.

I said nothing, keeping my hands raised and waiting for an actual question. “So, you think you can do this job better than us?”

“No, sir.” I responded, shaking my head. “I’m only looking for their son. He has a right to know, even if he hasn’t been living here. I was hoping to find a clue and didn’t want to trouble the police department for something that’d only take a few minutes.”

He laughed, cruelly “Well, that’s earned you an arrest, Valerica Torianna.” he said, gleefully. “For interfering with a police investigation. You have the right to remain -- “

The next thing I heard from the officer was a scream. I hadn’t even heard the wolf enter. The wolf, lean and black as pitch, leapt atop the cop and dug his fangs in. Blood sprayed my face as the pig’s throat was torn from his neck. The wolf didn’t chew. Didn’t swallow. Just spat the flesh and sinew clean out. Then it turned it’s eyes on me.

“Dorian?” I asked, softly. It’s hackles raised. “Dorian, I’m a friend of Crow Flies. You know who Crow Flies is, don’t you?” it backed away, and I took a step towards it. “Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not here to hurt you. I only want to help...Crow asked me to help you. Please.”

It snarled...and it lunged.

For anyone wondering if I’ve turned lycan: no. It’s not as...simple as just a bite. I don’t quite understand it, but it has to be an actual, conscious thought. Dorian would have had wanted to make me a werewolf. It didn’t seem he was quite accustom to the change to be able to make conscious decisions. He was only defending himself from a perceived threat.

That didn’t stop his fangs from tearing my forearm open, though.

“Fuck!”, I yelled as it’s teeth dug in deep and ripped my flesh. I had my fair number of scars, but this one would be a doozy. That’s alright. Girls dig scars...well, my type does. Not trying to generalize or anything. Anyways, I was bleeding. A lot.

“Dorian, let go!” I yelled, feeling my bones practically screaming in his jaws. “You’re gonna break my fuckin’ arm!” I balled my fist and started to hammer on his nose with all my might. Nothing. “Dorian, brother, I’m real fuckin’ sorry about this!” I grabbed onto his throat with three fingers and squeezed. He started to choke.

I released him the second his jaws released me. “Sorry.” I croaked, holding my arm against my chest as the wolf wheezed. “Will you -- “ he was gone. I’d blinked and looked at my arm for a half second and he’d up and bolted...leaving me with a dead cop, and his blood all over my face. It wouldn’t matter that he had lupine saliva in his wound, it’d mattered that his corpse would be discovered next to me. So, I bolted.

I returned to the pack’s commune and staggered past the totems. Blood loss was already making my head spin, and I needed medical assistance. Problem was I still had cop blood all over me...so a hospital was out.

I passed out before I could even get to Thunder’s door.

When I woke up it was still night...or night, again. Ramona’s heart-shaped face, her hair sticking up all over the place was looking down at me. “Ah. An angel.” I wheezed. “So, I’m dead.”

Ramona flushed and slapped my chest “Idiota!” she squeaked. I laughed weakly. “You scared me! Thunder called and said Crow Flies found you half-dead! Your veins were torn to shit, VT! You could have died!”

“So just another day at the office then?” I sat up and my head immediately began to swim. “Shit.”

“Lie down, VT. I did what I could, but you still lost a lot of blood. I’ve dealt with your clothes, and Issy brought back your fake PI license. Sloppy, Valerica. Very sloppy. You would’ve been caught if not for us.” she said, standing from my bedside and straightening her dress. “You owe me.”

“Add it to the tab.” I said, pushing to my feet, doing my best to ignore just how sick I felt. “Dorian’s still out there. I can’t let him succumb, I can’t. The world has enough murdered Black men...let alone gay Black men.” my conviction was strong, but my body...

I was wrecked. I could barely stand, let alone run or fight.

“The pack is dealing with him, now. He’s...becoming unstable. I’m sorry, VT, but there’s nothing left for you to do.” Ramona said, hanging her head. “He’ll be killed before sunup.”

Like. Hell. I knew where he was nesting, now. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back. I had to beat them to Dorian’s old home. “Ramona. Think you can drive really, really fast?”

“VT...”

“I’m not taking an L on this one, Ramona. I won’t. I know how Dorian feels, I’ve lived his life. I won’t let it end like this.” Ramona looked at me, tears in her eyes. “What? What is it?”

She smiled and wiped her eyes on her forearm “Who’s the bleeding heart, now?”

Ramona broke just about every traffic law in existence getting me back to Dorian’s home. I’d been unconscious for two days. During that time the pack had met and decided that the only way they could stop Dorian was to kill him. He’d gotten more violent, more reckless. His kills were happening in broad daylight, now. Three cops, a high school teacher and a pastor. None were eaten, but all were killed, viciously.

“He’s attacking those that wronged him.” Ramona said, softly. “He has the power to fight back...he’s losing himself in it. I’m afraid the pack might be right...if he keeps going like this...”

“He won’t.” I snapped shut the cylinder on my weapon. “Crow will never be able to look his father in the eye, let alone forgive him, if the pack kills Dorian. If there’s going to blood spilt...I’d rather be the one hated.” I said, softly. “But I’m going to try, one last time, to get through to him.”

I didn’t go beneath the cordon tape, this time. I went through it. Thunder didn’t know where Dorian lived, thankfully, only the town he lived in. Ramona had agreed to go and ask them to give me my last chance. I had to make it count.

“Dorian!” I bellowed, the instant I rammed through the tape “Dorian! My name is Valerica Torianna! I’m like you! My mother cast me out on my own when I came out to her!” I shouted as I sprinted towards his bedroom. “I know you’re angry! You deserve to be! You deserve your revenge, but you’re going to be killed if you don’t -- “

There he was. Eight feet tall, jaws dripping with blood. He’d lost the plot. He’d lost his humanity. He was a berserk rugaru, now.

“Shit.” I cursed as lupine eyes met mine “Dorian? Dorian, please...I can’t fight you. I won’t fight you. Please.” 

I was thrown, bodily, through the drywall. Luckily, I didn’t hit a stud or wiring...but I could feel shards of something embedded in my back. Peace was still in her holster, so I pulled her free as I struggled to my knees. The rugaru kool-aid’d through the wall after me, eyes full of bloodlust and rage. I aimed my weapon and pulled the hammer back.

A second rugaru exploded through a window and slammed Dorian bodily to the floor. The pair rolled, biting and snarling and clawing across the floor. More than once I had to scurry out of the way of the battle to avoid catching a flying claw or misplaced bite.

Who the fuck was the second rugaru!? Was he a friendly? Was *he* enraged? Fuck me sideways, I had no idea what was going on anymore! All I knew is I was suffering from blood loss and losing energy by the second.

CRRRRRRRACK.

I turned, just in time to see the second rugaru, deep brown fur covered in blood and wounds, ripping Dorian’s jaws apart and ripping his heart from his chest. “NO!” I screamed, feeling tears streaking my face. “Goddammit, no! Fuck!”

When a werewolf dies in lupine form, it’s body shrinks. The wolf leaves its body, free to roam the great hereafter, while the human husk remains. All that was left of Dorian was a pale skinned...wait. Dorian was(?) Black...this mutilated corpse was white.

What the fuck.

The second rugaru threw it’s head back and howled in victory...and turned on me. “Who the fuck are you?” I said, voice trembling. “And who the fuck did you just kill?”

The rugaru was shrinking, but collapsed before the change was through. I tore my jacket off and draped it over him. When you lose mass that rapidly, you lose body heat, too. If a werewolf doesn’t have something to warm them after a rugaru transformation, they could easily suffer from hypothermia. I rubbed the dark skin that was rapidly loosing fur. “Dorian? Dorian, is that you?”

“Yeah.” came the soft rasp. “Yeah...my name’s Dorian. Who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s VT. I was hired to -- “

“Kill me?” he cut me off and glowered at me with hate filled eyes. “Just like my parents wanted?”

“No! Fuck, no! I was thrown out by my mother after coming out. Like hell I’d kill someone suffering from my same pain.” I said, quickly. “I was hired to try to help you. By Crow Flies’ dad.”

Dorian stared at me, untrusting...but soon looked back to the corpse. There was such hatred in his eyes...it made the glare he aimed at me look positively tame in comparison. “That thing was a pastor. A pastor at one of those...those...” he wretched.

“Conversion therapy...” I hissed beneath my breath. Suddenly, I was hoping the corpse would get up, again. Just so I could have the pleasure of killing him, myself. “You gave him what he deserved.”

I successfully returned Dorian to the pack. He wasn’t ostracized, but welcomed. He had gone berserk, just as the job posting had claimed. He’d killed his parents and their pastor, but no one else. After he’d had his vengeance, he regained himself. He hid, feeling such guilt in his heart that he never wanted to see anyone again. 

Poor kid.

His reunion with Crow was a sweet one, they’d wept and kissed and held each other so tightly I was sure I could hear joints cracking. I couldn’t help but feel accomplished for what I’d done. The rugaru he’d killed, one Peter Edwards, had been a werewolf for years. Hiding in plain sight...and killing those that couldn’t be “saved”. He couldn’t nail down Dorian, so he tried to frame him. He’d be martyred...if not for one, little thing.

“Oh, I burned his corpse with the rest of the house.” Ramona said, forcing a cup of coffee into my hands. “What went on there was no one’s business, anyway. No one’s but the pack’s. And yours, I guess.” she’d said, cheerfully. “Thanks.” I sipped the coffee. Possibly the best tasting coffee I’d ever had. “Dorian saved my life. I don’t think I can accept payment for this one.” I said, smiling. “I’m happy it turned out the way it did...still...it’s impressive that a new werewolf found the rugaru so easy to control.”

Dorian broke away from Crow and approached me. “Miss VT?” he said, timidly. “I just...I wanted to say thank you. Crow said that...that you wouldn’t kill me. That you were against it from the outset.” he stuck out his hand “I...thank you.”

I took his hand, feeling those same calluses I’d felt on Thunder’s. “I should be thanking you, Dorian. You saved my ass.” I grinned and squeezed his hand. “You have a family now, brother. You’ll never have to feel alone again.” he smiled that same smile, so full of kindness and love, that was in the portrait. “Take care of yourself, Dorian.”

Thunder caught me as I was climbing into my car. “You forgot your payment, VT.” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Ramona said you wouldn’t accept, but...” “But nothing. All I did was run around in circles. Dorian’s the hero here, Thunder.” I said, pushing my sunglasses onto my face. “But hey...if you really wanna give me something...this job ruined my jacket.”

I received a gorgeous, handmade jacket in the mail a few weeks after. My initials emblazoned on the back in golden thread. I wouldn’t be wearing this thing on jobs, but...maybe I can get it framed.

Yeah. That’d be pretty killer.

Case closed.

#tw: isolation #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: depression #tw: animal bite #tw: animal bites #tw: animal injury #tw: cops #tw: racism #tw: homophobia #tw: conversion therapy mention #VTverse #OC #writing #horror

[bucky-is-a-hero-fightme]

Royals (6/8)

ROYALS MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Universe: Mobsters!1940′s!AU

Word Count: 8000 approx. I’m so sorry.

Summary: Weeks after the storm settles and you and Bucky start working together, a visit to Printsessa will bring forth choices to make and past hurts to face.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, my shitty writing, I think some mentions of physical assault and again, my rusty writing skills after being in a block for so long lol

A/N: I'm alive, surprise! Sorry it took me this long to post this chapter, I just couldn't get my writing motor running.

Hopefully I will continue cranking out updates from now on somewhat regularly. But I don't make any promises because I don't like breaking them.

Thank you so much for giving this story a chance and, if the case, for staying with me for so long lmao.

I could keep writing, but does anyone ever read these? Anyhow, hope you enjoy, sorry if it's shit I am so rusty

Taglist: (Lemme know if you wanna be removed or added, darlings!) @amandamartinez3568 @champagnejoker @lovemarvel101 @itsbuckysworld @mooniightbucky @whimsicalatbest @catvader1o1 @nickyl316h​

Once again the thick but calming atmosphere of the bar embraces you as you walk in, and the Bratva eyes following your moves do not feel as constricting, as judging, as those waiting for you in Manhattan.

The cool drink is pressed to your hand as you rest your weight on the counter, looking over the dancing couples, the laughing groups, the quiet but persistent stories taking place before your eyes.

You catch sight of Sam sitting on the other side of the bar, and he greets you with a small nod. You return it, smile curving your lips upwards but it quickly disappears when his eyes focus on a spot over your shoulder, the Bratok standing to full attention and putting you off.

What’s going on?

“Miss Y/N.” A deep voice calls behind you, and you turn to see one of Brock’s trusted men waltz to stand at your side.

Leaning back and schooling your features, you protest, “It’s Captain to you, dear.”

His laugh is dismissive when he answers, but the tremble of his fingers as he orders a drink gives him away. He is very much aware he’s out of his depth, this city not his boss’.

“I am here with a message to relay, from your-…from the Avtoritat.” The ‘slip if the tongue’ is very much intended, and either alternative -calling Brock Rumlow anything of yours or the rightful Avtoritat- is buying him tickets to end up in a ditch, but you let it slide.

He doesn’t say anything else, and instead pulls out a small velvet-covered box from his suit jacket pocket. You know perfectly well the kind of ring that is inside, but you still smile up at the Captain in front of you.

“Brock should know by now to stop pretending this is a lover’s quarrel,” You sigh, shaking your head, before looking him in the eye and asking, even if you do not care for his answer, “Do you have orders to take me home, Captain?”

“I’m afraid so, miss.”

The laugh tastes like poison when it leaves your lips, the siren song guiding your steps as you rest your drink on the counter, looking sideways at Brock’s trusted man.

“Try.” You taunt, the smile on your lips feral even as a couple of men you should have identified as soon as you walked in take a few steps closer to you.

There’s fear in his eyes, you see it, even if he pretends his boss’ influence can keep him safe. You know with absolute certainty, or used to, that Brock would execute to the last of his most loyal men for a chance at putting that ring on your finger.

Despite that, the Captain and what you assume to be his Bratok step closer, menacing, in a stupid display that still unsettles you. If Manhattan Captains cause a scene in the heart of Brooklyn…war will follow not shortly after.

“It will always be my family’s territory, the fact that you blackmailed your way into taking it is n-…” Your words and cut off when your back hits the wall, head slamming forcefully against it, prompting black spots to dance in your line of vision.

Your nails scratch at Brock’s arm as he presses into your throat, taking away your air and making panic flood you. He leans in closer, bourbon-stale breath fanning over you.

“You are loyal to me, little Siren. Aren’t you?”

The sharp thud of the ring box hitting the bar makes you flinch before you can school your features, bringing you out of the memory. And the Bratok notices, because of course he does.

“Please avoid making a scene, miss.” He drawls, as if he’s already won. A smarter man would know better, but then again, they know you through Brock’s eyes, and the brute still thinks a part of you wants to be at his side.

“I believe the correct term is ‘Captain’.” A voice you know too well interrupts, just as you feel the calming warmth of Bucky’s chest as he steps in behind you, guarding your back.

Not even your pride can let you ignore the way your body relaxes, the way you feel so much safer now than a second before, even if you were never truly afraid of the man in front of you.

The Bratok takes a step back instinctively, looking up and down at Brooklyn’s leading Captain. Even he oscillates between respect and ire. The men that accompanied him, you notice, also hesitate on whether to get closer or not.

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“You already delivered your message, didn’t ya’?” Bucky presses when the man remains quiet, and the underlining anger in his voice makes you realize you should probably step in.

But you want to have a little bit of fun beforehand. And if you manage to send Brock a message in the meantime…well, who can blame you?

You keep your eyes on the Bratok, daring him to react as you turn sideways into Bucky’s side, “Wait now, this gentleman here said he had orders.”

Of course that he knows you are playing him, taunting him to follow through with his boss’ orders in a territory far away from his reach. The Bratok squares his shoulders, looking back at you with a clenched jaw.

“To bring you home, miss.”

Bucky takes a step closer to the man, chest expanding on an angry breath against your back. You do not hesitate when you lean more of your weight on him though, keeping him from advancing on the Bratok without showing your hand.

Still, even as Bucky doesn’t move any closer to the Bratok, the men accompanying him see the threat, and step closer to the both of you.

Your eyes travel between the Bratok and the brutes at his side, to the ring sitting at the bar table.

You feel the residual burn of the alcohol in your throat, the beating of your heart in your ears. You feel Bucky’s hand find its place by your hip, a symbol of protection and support you know you do not deserve. Not after what happened eight years ago, not after the way you turned your back to him and so many others, not after the conditions to send information you agreed a few weeks ago to with Brock.

The conditions that apparently are no longer enough to Manhattan’s false Avtoritat, that sends his men to force your hand into declaring your loyalty to him.

Whispers of questions recent and ancient reach your ears.

“I can’t believe I’m even askin’ this,” Bucky mutters, back still to you as he runs a hand through his hair. When he turns to you, you see a confusing swirl between desperation, betrayal, and anger in his eyes. “Between him and me, doll, who’d it be?”

But you are shaking your head before he is even done speaking.

“This isn’t like that, Bucky. This is not a competition.”

His clenched jaw turns into a sneer quite quickly, though.

“Really? Then why does it feel like I’m tryin’ to convince my girl to stay with me?”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated, staggering the breath out of your lungs as you stumble to find the words you want to say.

But your silence bears more of an answer than anything, and your pride keeps you rooted in your place as he stalks to the door of your apartment.

“You made your choice, Princess. When you leave with him tomorrow-…” Your back is turned to the door, so he doesn’t see the tears trailing silently down your cheeks, but you can hear his words stumble, his breath catch. Finally, Bucky sentences, “You made your choice.”

You cannot take your eyes of the extravagant ring on the bar counter, feeling the eyes of so many people, past and present, set on you, on the choice you have to make.

A question earlier tonight, that you should have answered.

And would ya’? Betray him, I mean.

Your eyes travel up to the Bratok, and if your heart is as quick as a rabbit’s, if your hands tremble a little, you don’t think anyone could blame you.

Still, your smile is genuine when you answer,

“I am home.”

Yes, I would.

The Bratok hesitates, blinking past his stupor and looking back at you with widened eyes. If only Brock had taught him the Game, he wouldn’t have shown his Boss’ hand so easily.

They wanted to lure you back to Manhattan, hoping it would be incentive enough to start a war either by Bucky lashing out against your city or Brock claiming your betrayal of Brooklyn as enough.

That, or Rumlow truly believed you could stay with him out of anything but convenience.

The Bratok’s eyes remain on yours for a second too long, enough for your smile to start turning cold and threatening. He decides not to take the bait, nodding respectfully once before turning to leave.

Your eyes return to the ring, still on the bar table, for a few moments finding yourself stuck on the what ifs before you call out,

“You forgot something,” You say, noticing how your voice wavers a bit as the weight of what you have done settles upon you. Still, the Bratok says nothing, taking the box and pocketing it before walking out of the bar.

You can hear nothing past the beating of your own heart in your ears, but you keep your eyes trained on the back of those men’s heads until the doors close behind them, as if a part of you waits for them to strike back, to drag you to Manhattan kicking and screaming.

Made aware of Bucky’s presence still at your back when his hand squeezes your hip lightly; you turn around to face his grey-blue eyes.

“You okay, doll?”

You nod numbly in response, your mouth dry no matter how hard you swallow past the knot in your throat, and it is mostly muscle memory when you turn around in his arms, still leaning against his chest.

“He’s going to kill me.” You mumble.

“He can try.” He promises, but you shake your head, panic finally settling in.

“You don’t understand, Brock has the power to ruin me. Everything I have is in Manhattan, my contacts, my reputation,” A chocked sound leaves your lips, “Natasha was right.”

“About what?”

“She warned me I was pushing too much,” You mumble, jaw tight as you recall so many of the late-night encounters with the so called Widow. “I tried for too long to buy time, to stall him from moving into a full out war.”

“Why?”

The question is barely anything more than a whisper, his eyes intensely searching yours as a few breaths go by between his question and your answer.

“You know why.” You bite out, and you could swear something akin to regret shines behind Bucky’s grey-blue eyes.

“Y/N…” He starts, but you shake your head, angry and disappointed, as soon as the words leave your lips, taking you gaze away from his.

“But I was stupid, I was careless and I…” You stop yourself, swallowing your words. I would do it again. “I was taught better. My mother married off for the Bratva, why shouldn’t I accept that fucking ring?”

Your words are bitter, a rebellion against what you were told and shown all through your upbringing, but the meaning is not lost to either of you, for a second sending you back to tearstains on your face and a cracking voice around a sentence that so long ago sent you into a city of lies to become nothing more than Nayada, the Siren, the one forced to work in the shadows.

The mantle of the Captain falls over Bucky’s shoulders so fast a part of you doesn’t recognize the change for a moment. Shoulders straight, eyes cold again and already turning away from you, he signals for another drink that he is almost instantly served.

Downing it in one gulp, he smiles your way, but the gesture is nothing but another play in the Game.

“Already regrettin’ it, Princess?” He teases, the venom in his voice impossible to miss, and he knows it, because you both notice the distance between you being more than the step you take away from him.

Still, because you were taught to, because your pride doesn’t let you do otherwise, you hold his gaze, chin raised and eyes firmly on his own, even if the coldness in his grey-blue eyes hurts you more than you would want to admit.

Deserved, you ponder, that you have to stand in front of Brooklyn’s Captain, when so many times the Siren almost led him to the rocks. Still, you grit your teeth, and the words escape your lips before you can think twice about it.

“Don’t play the Captain with me.”

Bucky merely lifts his eyebrows, that damned mocking smile still on his lips. When he answers, he leans even closer to you, and you hate how he towers over you, you hate that you can still catch the faint scent that it’s just him, and above all else you hate how your heart quickens its pace in your chest.

He licks his lips before speaking, letting you for a second consider you may not be the only one not playing the Game, “Or what? You’ll put that ring on?”

The Game lets you put a smile of your own on your lips even if your throat feels dry and your pulse that of a teenage girl with too much hope. You force your eyes to stay on his as you return the mocking glare, “Why would you think me not going home has anything to do with you?”

A breathed laugh, and Bucky’s lips are grazing your ear, his breath with a hint of the smell of whiskey as it trails a hot path down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Ya’ said it yourself, doll: you are home.”

You can hear the smile playing on his lips, and whether it is mocking or proud or something else, you do not care to know right now. Because at his words you realize how much of your hand you have shown, betraying that you never agreed to Brock’s terms because you couldn’t assure yourself of their safety, being stupidly naïve and light and agreeing to that dinner at the Barnes household almost a week ago, being so unguarded in all the meetings since then that Peggy, Steve, Bucky, Sam and you have been taking part on to get to know Brock’s true reach.

You have let go of the Siren without realizing, and it was the lack of her shield that made you make what probably was a horrible mistake: turning your back on Manhattan.

Either at your silence or the new tension in your body that leaves you as stiff as a board, Bucky takes a step back from you. Your eyes are narrowed and distant when they meet his, but you do not say a word.

“Let’s continue where there’s no audience, Captains.” Sam Wilson interrupts, a hand on your back as greeting and his voice and words reminding once again what’s expected of you. Bratva Captain, Heir to Brooklyn and Manhattan, Princess first, Y/N second.

With a deep breath, you agree, “You’re right. Brock never let me out of his sight, he definitely has people…around.”

You watch as Sam’s dark eyes scan the room quickly, before returning to yours. The method, the tenacity of a soldier shines through the civilian clothes, you think to yourself.

“You think they oughtta try somethin’?”

You shake your head, downing the rest of your drink. “No. But let’s not give them anything to report home about.”

Bucky interrupts with a side smile and that mocking shade in his grey-blue eyes you have learned to hate.

“’Fraid he’ll get jealous?” He teases, but you reply with nonchalance, refusing to give him another inch.

“Love, I let go a long time ago. Although clearly, I was the only one to.” You pointedly trace the letters on the napkin under your glass with a manicured finger. принцесса.

A small muscle jumps on his cheek, and you hold back a triumphant smile as you slide past both men and into Bucky’s office.

As you walk in, you catch Peggy hanging up the office phone, eyes wide and her red lipstick uncharacteristically smudged where she was biting her lip. With only Steve, Peggy, Sam, Bucky and you in the room, the silence that follows after the door closes and the line is dead is deafening.

“Doll?” Steve asks, reaching for her shoulder, but Peggy walks through his touch like he’s a ghost. Her eyes are on you.

“Peggy?” You try, gauging her reaction.

“That was an informant from Manhattan,” She explains, and even if her voice is even her eyes still look a little crazy, “Word is already running that you turned your back on Rumlow. With no games, this time.”

The words make something in your chest tighten both in apprehension and adrenaline, but you still bite out, “He wanted to put that damn ring on my finger, Peggy, there was-…”

She gives you no time to finish your sentence, her strong arms wrapped tightly around your back as she hugs you with what feels like the glee of forgiveness and the nostalgia of a reunion.

You return the hug without hesitation, closing your eyes.

The last of the bags is in the car, and the driver awaits your signal. For some reason, even if you feel your mother’s eyes on you, even if you know you have nothing to hold on to here anymore; you find yourself unable to say goodbye to this house, this city, just yet.

“Leaving without saying goodbye? The Firm kills for lesser offenses.” An accented voice you know well states, and when you turn around Peggy Carter stands before you, red hat and blue suit at the entrance of the manor.

“Peggy.” You breathe out, and even though it breaks your heart even more, you smile.

“A lifetime side by side deserves a proper farewell.” She promises swiftly, but years of friendship let you see the crack in her armor, the tremble in her voice, the smudge of her lipstick signaling she bit her lip too many times.

And it’s all those years, all those memories and all those secrets shared, that make you let go of the mask for a moment, that make you not hesitate as you cross the distance between you.

You wrap your arms around her tightly, trying to pretend you do not feel the wetness around your eyes, the tremble in your hands as they curl into fists.

“I’m sorry, Peggy.”

A moment of silence, and then,

“I wish things were different, Y/N.”

You pull back from the embrace, eyes wide, and face Peggy. She bears a similarly shell-shocked expression, but still a smile teases at her red lips.

The weight of what you have done settles on you like a deadweight on your chest, robbing you of air and making your pulse more frantic than ever before.

“What did I do, Peggy?”

She punches your shoulder lightly, the smile widening, “What you should have done eight years ago.”

Still, the fear will not let go of you.

“Peggy, he’s going to-…”

“We will handle it.” She promises, and something in her smile is a little too feral, but neither of you say anything.

“You have been waiting for this.” You state, lifting an eyebrow. Her expression sobers a little, and she nods once.

“We need to talk, you and I.” She promises, before stepping back and taking a hold of the papers she was scribbling on as she took the call.

“What else did your…informant tell you?” Sam asks, taking a seat in one of the sofas and with Steve following his lead.

You take a seat too, next to Sam and accept the drink he hands you silently with gratefulness. Peggy leans back on the desk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not much. The news are still fresh, but here in Brooklyn word of what she chose are outweighing what she left behind.”

Shit.

Even though the prospect of making Brock angry enough with the rumors of you choosing Brooklyn -or Bucky- over him terrifies you a little bit, the proud smile on both Peggy’s and Steve’s lips keep you from saying anything.

“How fast do you wanna bet this reaches your mother?” Steve teases, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

“How fast do you wanna bet Brock throws a tantrum and tells her?” You shoot back, feeling strangely and suddenly unbothered by what the unlawful Avtoritat of Manhattan chooses to say or do. “His men probably did some digging as to why I’m meeting with you lot, and when he hears about it…”

“He probably knows already.” Bucky promises, and before the words are past his lips you are already frowning, set on edge at the possible implication of you having planned this or having told Brock any of what has been happening these past weeks.

“If you are implying what I think y-…”

He interrupts you, shaking his head, “I’m not. But he has men in the city, doll, has for years.”

“Oh, I know,” You acquiesce, before recalling with a light chuckle, “Their men stumbled upon mine a couple of times.”

Peggy clears her throat, dark eyes still running over the words scribbled over the papers in her hands, “Actually, as far as Brock’s men know, those men are working for me, not you.”

“You tricked them?”

She finally lifts her gaze from the page, sharing a glance with Bucky you do not miss, to which he answers with a shrug. She turns back to you and offers an uncharacteristically sheepish smile, “Not exactly.”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, “Exactly how many of my men are working for you, Carter?”

She laughs, but doesn’t say anything, and that is answer enough. Rolling your eyes in response, you try thinking when was the last time you felt this safe.

After a few minutes of casual conversation with Steve and Sam while Bucky and Peggy study whatever her informant from Manhattan told her, you are all interrupted by a loud sigh.

“I want a drink.” Peggy exclaims, moving naturally to sit on Steve’s lap. He pats her head comfortingly and offers her his glass, but she shakes her head, turning her eyes to you.

“Want to go to the pier? For old times’ sake?”

The smile turning your lips upwards is instantaneous, and a mirror of it appears on your best friend’s lips, her dark eyes shining in excitement.

“Are you going to tell me now you can hold your liquor, Carter?” You tease back, already standing up from the couch and grabbing your coat, although it may not be enough to hold back the biting cold of Brooklyn’s pier, considering you are still on a skirt.

“She can’t,” Steve promises, brushing off Peggy’s glare with a breathed laugh of his own, his arm going around her shoulders with easy affection. Steve’s eyes turn to the figure hunched over the desk, the nonchalance in his voice so forced that it makes something within you flinch, “You coming with, Buck?”

When Bucky lifts his head from the documents before him, his eyes do not search for Steve’s, but instead focus on you with surprising speed, the hesitation, the accusation wrapped in a question clear in his gaze.

You try offering a smile, but you don’t think it looks half as confident as you want it to. For a second you ponder if you should resent those damned eyes for the way they make you feel as excited and light and hopeful as you did so many years ago.

After a few moments, he acquiesces, “Sure, can’t leave her to be third wheelin’ with you two saps.”

“Like you two did to us.” Peggy points out, eyebrow raised and a knowing smile on her face as her words make your cheeks grow hot.

Bucky and you share a glance before he argues, “We weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, you were, pal.”

“Oh, you so bloody were.”

Peggy and Steve answer at the same time, prompting a laugh out of you. After Sam declines the offer, looking very pointedly at Bucky probably relaying a message that goes secret between the two, judging by the way the brunet flips him off and rolls his eyes; the four of you start a leisurely walk towards the pier.

Unwilling to let the previous argument go, Bucky grumbles, “I wasn’t as doll dizzy as you are, though.”

Steve just laughs, “Try selling that lie to someone else, jerk.”

“He has a point,” You defend with a smile, feeling more at east with the group since maybe before you and Bucky even started going steady. “The only reason Bucky and I spent so much time together in the first place was to get you two to smooch.”

“Way to hit where it hurts, doll.”

Hearing him joke around with you, even if you don’t deserve nor his smile or his humor in the slightest, makes warmth spread through your chest. You turn to Bucky with a smile so big your teeth hurt, and it is with a laugh quite reminding of your teenage years that you bump your shoulder with his.

“Shut up.”

__

The moon is so up high you have to crane your head all the way back to see it by the time the topic of Brock Rumlow comes up, so you count your blessings and face the music.

A small frown forms between your brows, and you cock your head to the side, explaining slowly, “I have him under control, if that’s what you’re going at, Peg.”

She crosses her arms, red lips pursed, “What I’m going at, darling, is whether or not you were going to share with us how he stopped shy of strangling you a couple of days before you came back.”

“He what!?” Steve jumps up, lifting his head from Peggy’s shoulder with a scowl and shock written in his baby-blues.

You catch your name said in a voice you could never forget, and out of the corner of your eye you seen Bucky’s left hand lift and move towards you, before stopping midway and falling back into his lap, curled into a fist.

“I’m alright.” You promise, both to her and any who thinks a brute trying to beat you into submission is all it takes to shut you up.

Peggy shakes her head obstinately, eyes alight with a fury you have not seen many times in your life. You would be lying through your teeth if you said it doesn’t terrify you.

“Why did you hide that?”

“Because it was not important, Peggy!” Her eyes widen in disbelieving rage, a part of it directed at you, and you rush to explain, “He has been on very unstable ground for a few months now, he wanted to try and intimidate me into swearing loyalty to him.”

“Did you?”

You just smile back at her, cocking your head to the side, letting her know she is fully aware of the answer. After a few seconds, Peggy blows out a breath, leaning back against Steve’s chest and looking out at the sea, gathering her thoughts.

“You could’ve. Sworn loyalty, I mean. The whole of Manhattan knows he wants his ring on your finger. You could’ve had it all.” She argues, still not looking at you. You have a feeling she’s not talking just about what happened in Manhattan so many weeks ago.

You shrug in response, “I had my reasons.”

“Which were?”

Whispers of dreams, traces of a future you could never have had as you and Bucky lay side by side, the dead of night making it easier to pretend you could be free. You hide a nostalgic smile by looking down at the label in your bottle.

“Promises I made, promises I intend to keep.”

She knows, what she’s doing, of course she does, you realize as she pushes, “To your father.”

You keep your eyes on hers, defiant, because you know you want to face the grey-blue eyes that have been searching yours since this bizarre conversation started.

“Among others.”

Conversation flows into some business topics, and you cannot help but notice how uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn Bucky grew since Peggy’s admission. After a few minutes, he breaks the silence,

“He tried to kill you.”

“He didn’t.” You argue back, mechanically.

Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he growls, “That’s not the point! You would still stay with that-…Ya’ know what? I’m done. Cheers.”

He downs the rest of the bottle in one gulp and stands up, walking tensely and briskly away from the small group. You cannot keep your eyes from following his figure though, even as silence stretches and his form disappears in the dark mantle of the night.

Steve stands up, always the best friend, always ready to have Bucky’s back, and you catch Peggy’s eyes as Steve shrugs on his jacket to follow Bucky down the dark street.

Peggy probably sees something in your face, and when you meet her gaze her smile is the same secret one you used to share when you helped her sneak out of your house so she could meet with Steve, or when she would pretend to know nothing when your mother asked her about what was going on between you and Bucky.

She takes a hold of Steve’s hand, and you take a second to admire with a happy smile how his focus completely shifts to her the moment she touches him, the adoration he holds for your best friend clear as day in his baby-blue eyes. She leads him away from you with whispered words, and one last glance towards you tells you she knows quite more than she lets on.

With a deep breath you gather your courage and start walking, quickly finding the man sitting alone by the pier, gaze on the ocean that now shows the same grey-blue murkiness as his eyes. You take a seat silently on the ground next to Bucky, keeping your eyes on the horizon as well, unsure what to say.

Either way, he breaks the silence first.

“You do regret it, don’t ya’.” His words are not even a question, and the bitterness in his tone is so heavily outweighed by hurt that you cannot bring yourself to be affronted by them.

You know he means refusing Brock’s offer earlier tonight, the thorn on his side ever since the confrontation in the bar earlier today. You wish you could tell him you are certain you did the right thing by your family, you wish you could be confident and stoic like your mother and stand by each and every choice you make.

“Can you blame me?” You answer instead with a sigh.

“What?”

“He may be…whatever he is, but at least I know what Brock wants out of me. I-I-…Bucky…” A frustrated breath leaves your lips, and too late you realize your hair will be a mess as you run your hands through it. “You used to tell me you didn’t care for the Bratva. Hell, I know the reason you got into working as a Bratok is because you needed help paying for Steve’s hospital bills. And now…now you want to wage war on the off chance you can take Manhattan from me?”

As the words leave your tongue you are faced for what feels like the first time with the reason you have been so angry with Bucky for so long now, and even if your voice cracks and your eyes sting you keep talking, your gaze stubbornly set on the horizon.

“I’m not tryin’ to take anything from ya’, doll.”

“What you have been doing for these last months, or even years; says otherwise, Barnes.”

Bucky sighs next to you, and only when his shoulders expand with a deep breath and brush against yours do you realize how close you are to each other.

He runs a hand through his hair, conflicted and frustrated, “I have my reasons, even if ya’ don’t believe me. Ya’ want me to trust you without you trustin’ me?”

“I trust you! I have been working with you for weeks, Bucky. If I had wanted you dead, hurt, or worse, you would be.”

You ignore the part of you that reminds of how, at least until earlier tonight, Brock was certain you were still working for him. You ignore the reminder that useless, pointless, and even false information was delivered to Manhattan with your name on the back.

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw set tight and his left hand clenching and releasing multiple times in what looks like a nervous motion. After a few moments with only the sounds of the waves to accompany your loud thoughts, Bucky turns to you, grey-blue eyes almost soft, as soft as you have seen them since your return.

His voice is quiet, but it manages to silence the thoughts of having betrayed your cause, of still being too naïve.

“If I want to take Brooklyn is because I want it to belong to you again, Y/N.”

“Then level the playing field. Don’t play games, don’t put on masks.” You beseech, your eyes searching his with a hint of desperation, a hurt and pain you weren’t expecting. And you know you are pushing your luck, you know the right to demand equal honesty you lost a long time ago.

Any softness that could be in his eyes vanishes like sand between your fingers, and you know exactly why, already regretting the words after they leave your lips.

Bucky lets out a bitter chuckle, and a mix of anger and hurt curls at your insides.

“Like it was ever even, doll.”

He does not believe you. Not about the present, the past, or the future.

You let out a groan of frustration, angry and hurt and tired of this. You let your body fall backwards, laying down on the pier and looking up, trying to blink past the memories that try to resurface and make you soften.

The gentle murmur of the waves against the shore lull you into an almost slumber, your eyes closed but the stars still shining under your eyelids.

“Stark says we are goin’ to visit the moon soon.” You are startled awake at the rumble of Bucky’s voice in his chest, and you lift your head sluggishly from his shoulder to look at him. He offers you a sheepish smile, “Sorry, doll.”

“What are you talking about?” You mumble back, blinking awake and not bothering to resist pressing a soft kiss against his cheek when you see how adorable he looks with his eyes shining in wonder as he stares up into the stars.

“Howard Stark, I read on the ‘paper he said they will invent somethin’ to get us to the moon soon.” He explains, and you cannot help the giggle that builds up in your throat.

“You want to have another date on the science fair, don’t you?”

“If you insist, babydoll.” He teases, but the bright smile on his lips and the excited way he turns to face you tell you another story.

You kiss your own smile into his lips, and burrow back into the place where his neck meets his shoulder, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you let yourself be lulled to sleep again.

“Fine, but next time it’ll be Coney Island again.”

You keep your eyes on the sky and force your words out past the knot of memories clogging at your throat, “Then what am I doing here, Bucky? Why am I working with you, why do you say you want to trust me if you are not willing to believe a word I say?”

He turns sideways to face you, leaning back on his elbow so you are face to face. You try, you swear you do, not following with your eyes how the fabric of his shirt tightens around the muscles of his arm. You try, and fail.

Bucky gestures with his free hand as he accuses,

“You are the one that came back, and now you act all high and mighty expectin’ everything to go back to what it used to be-…”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

But he shakes his head, insisting, and if his eyes show he is a little lost, a little fragile, you do not mention it.

“Yes, you are! Th-the outings with Peg, jokin’ with Stevie, getting along with my fuckin’ sister; you…you left, things cannot- just-” He groans, frustrated at himself and dropping to lay on his back as well, his eyes on the stars. You wonder if he too sees the memories of so many nights spent in this very same pier in what feels like a lifetime ago. “I don’t know what the hell ya’ are playin’ at, Princess, but I’m not gonna be stupid enough to fall for it a second time.”

“I’m not ‘playing’ at anything, Bucky. I’m trying to keep the people I care about alive and safe.”

“Too little too late, Princess. Shoulda thought about that when you left us.”

The words feel like a knife in your chest, and for a moment you feel your air lacking as if truly were embedded there, between your ribs. The girl you were before would’ve listened to her aching throat, her burning eyes; but you were taught to be the Siren first, Y/N second.

After all, that’s what Bucky sees too, isn’t it? He doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t believe a word you say; because what you are to him is the Siren. The girl that loved him died eight years ago, and he acts like it.

The thought shouldn’t hurt you like it does.

Clearing your throat, you nod firmly, standing up and keeping your jaw set tight and your hands curved into fists to keep them from shaking, “I’m going home.”

For a moment Bucky looks like he wants to say something, maybe apologize, maybe explain, maybe keep you there for a while longer. But he doesn’t, answering instead with a sigh and standing up too, “I’ll walk ya’.”

“Aren’t you afraid I will take my chance and stab you in the back?” You spit out in response, eyes narrowed, “I’ll pass, Barnes.”

But he doesn’t let you walk far, falling into s quick stride with you with no problem, with those damn long legs of his. You refuse to look at him, even if you feel his eyes on your face and his itch to say something.

With a huff, he admits, “You ain’t the only one with people you-…you want to keep safe, okay? I’ll walk ya’ home.”

___

The walk is quiet, but the silence is not as angry anymore as it is tired, hurt, yearning. There’s this wound you yourself created, and yet for so long haven’t been able to stop from bleeding.

Being back in Brooklyn made all this mistakes and old pains and memories and…and this old you come back, or at least try to, like a song you hear from a faraway radio, that gets louder and louder, harder to ignore, the closer you get.

The streets leading to your apartment and the façade of the building have never looked so cold and ominous before. You stand there in silence, looking up at the place you bought after being made Captain, the porch where you spent all those late nights whispering promises and dreams and hopes, the windows that became witnesses to the times you felt the most loved, the most worshiped, the most wanted.

When Bucky murmurs a goodbye, you cannot bring yourself to let him go.

The words are leaving your lips before you are even done turning back to face him,

“You let me go.”

His shoes as he stops in his tracks make a sound in the gravel that seems to echo through the streets.

“What?”

“You keep saying I’m the one that left, and yes, I did, but you let me.” You explain, standing your ground in the stairs even as he gets closer, even as your legs beg to walk closer to. You stand your ground, because you were taught to.

“You chose Manhattan, Y/N.” Bucky grits out, jaw set tight.

Looking up at his stormy eyes, you cannot find it in yourself to hold yourself back when you explain, “I chose what I was taught to choose! I wanted to…”

The words die at your throat though, the courage and the freedom short-lived, as the Siren’s teachings reach for your conscious mind, reminding you of how wants are not of importance when it comes to the Bratva, if how love is not of value in the Game.

Bucky doesn’t let you keep that particular thought to yourself though, walking even closer to you, so close you can feel the warmth of his body in this cold Brooklyn night.

Even if his breath is quickened, even if his eyes are dark, his voice is merely a whisper, “What? What did ya’ want?”

You shake your head, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it matters a hell of a lot, doll.”

There’s something in his expression, something both hopeful and broken, something both angry and hurt. Something that reminds you of the man you love.

So, you take a deep breath, and force the truth to leave your lips.

“I wanted to stay. I wanted you.” You breathe out, not giving your heart to dwell on Bucky’s soft gasp before you bite out, spite and hurt in equal proportions clear in your tone, “But you let me go.”

When you walk up a couple of steps to set distance between you, Bucky lets you, taking a step back himself and facing you with wide eyes.

“Let you go!? I didn’t have a choice, Y/N!”

Your eyes narrow and your voice rises to match his before you can remind yourself of what is proper, “What are you talking about? I asked you to come with me, I asked you, begged you, to join my family so we could stay together, and you said no! I deserve my answers too!”

The brunet runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it, and he turns his back to you as he paces, letting you see the tension in his muscles through the dress shirt.

“I said no because I knew I couldn’t keep you, Y/N!” He exclaims, and the pain in his voice alone could forever sentence you into silence. “Why do ya’ think I was never made Captain while your father was alive, huh? Why do ya’ think I never joined a family? Why do ya’ think I never joined yours?”

“Bucky…”

This time he walks closer, eyes set on yours, jaw set and lips tight, the face of determination, “Do ya’ really believe I wanted to see the woman I love go off to Manhattan and marry Brock fuckin’ Rumlow? No, but I had to sit back and watch it happen because it was the only choice I got.”

The pieces fall into place, the questions that have been running through your head way before the dinner at Winnie’s where you learned Bucky knew of your parents arranged marriage even before you did finally have an answer, and like a doll whose strings have been cut off, you let yourself fall to the steps underneath you, sitting numbly on the stairs.

“That’s why Father told you about his arrangement with my mother. He was counting on my marrying…who? Fucking Rumlow?”

You wonder if you should sound more hurt, more betrayed. You wonder if you shouldn’t feel like you have known of what your father was capable of, and willing to do, since before you even left Brooklyn.

Bucky sighs, but you can’t look at him, you just do your best to look ahead without letting tears flood your eyes, as the realization of what your family did to you sets in your stomach like a dead weight.

You feel his warmth next to you before you can understand he took a seat in the stairs by your side, “He was tryin’ to protect you, in his own way.”

“I kn-…” You stop yourself. You don’t want to give the answer you were taught to give, you don’t want to accept it because that’s what the Bratva is supposed to do, because that’s what the rules are. You may have been taught the rules, but you were raised to push past them. May the Queen overthrow the Game. You stand up, fists clenched tight and expression firm even if your eyes still shine a little too much, “It doesn’t matter, it…it shouldn’t matter. That’s not how things ought to be done, I cannot make a choice if I don’t know what I’m choosing.”

The man before you shrugs, still sitting in the stairs, “You did choose, though.”

It’s just then that pain lacers through you like a knife, leaving you bleeding with whispers of could have been’s and wonders of what if’s. The first sob leaves your lips before you can think of holding it back, tears overflowing your eyes and racing a burning path down your cheeks.

Bucky’s arms wrap around you and you cannot bring yourself to pretend anything anymore, hiding your face in his chest and somehow feeling the ache deepen, the wound blister and burn at the reminder of what you lost, at the warmth you missed and left behind.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp through a shaky voice, but his only answer is to bring you in closer, chin resting over your head and his hands soothing as they travel up and down your back.

Your toes lost sensation by the time you bring yourself to pull back, and you wipe your hands across messy cheeks and stare up at him.

The smile Bucky offers you is a little sad, a little encouraging and it somehow makes you all the more courageous.

“Come upstairs with me? We have a lot to talk about.”

___

After washing your face and tying back yourself in your bathroom, you walk out with a new determination in your step. This time, past the hurt, past the bleeding heart, you promise yourself to find healing.

And it starts by admitting to all wounds. So, with a deep breath, you start,

“What my father did, how he handled business and…family, I don’t want that,” Bucky doesn’t say anything, sitting in your couch, hands clasped together and forearms resting on his thighs. You try telling yourself it’s the best choice when you admit, “Just when I had gotten back to Brooklyn a month or so ago, the day I ran into Becca…I…Brock called me, he knew too many things about what had been happening. And to ‘prove’ my loyalty, he wanted information, whatever I could get you to tell me. Well, whatever the Siren could.”

If the man before you is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

His voice is gravely when he states, his question not even truly one, “And ya’ did.”

“I did, dead trails and some other useless information to keep him off my back. I wanted you to know, because…I want to start over.”

Itching with uncomfortableness, you switch from one foot to the other as the silence stretches into awkwardness. After a few moments of watching you squirm, Bucky leans back on the couch, a hint of a smile playing at his lips and hand inviting you to sit.

You do, hoping your eagerness was not so noticeable.

“Fine. Why are ya’ here in Brooklyn, doll?” He asks, and thought the question has been asked before, you fear this is the first time the answer will be truly, undoubtably honest.

“To take it back, even if it has to be from you.”

The smile now fully tugs at his lips, both a promise and a secret as his hand closes over yours. The touch startles you,

“Ya’ won’t have to.” He whispers, and although the gentle hold of his calloused hand of your own startles you, you still return the gentle squeeze when you whisper back,

“I know.”

___

Did you like it? Please tell me what you think, I'm seriously squirming because it has been so long I fear to have lost my touch when it comes to these character's voices and this story I wanna tell.

Btw, in case you caught it, in neither of those times were Bucky or the Reader character supposed to speak in past tense, it wasn't a typo ;)

Please tell me what you think!

Love, Luce.

#bucky x reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mobster au

[indomitablemegnolia]

He growled, his eyes rolled, I had finally pushed him onto his uncomfortable place; "My imagination, my wants, my needs are simple; I just hunger to be near you. I would love to just sip coffee and kisses for days; make out like mad teenagers; I want nothing from you; all I require from you, all I ask of you, all I want is for this sliver of a moment, a simple time away from time."

He stopped, a look crossed his face as if something inside was daring him to tell the unvarnished truth; I simply waited for that idea that struck so suddenly his jaw dropped as though he had a revelation, he looked away letting out half a chuckle, finally he came to a resolve; "I realize to rip your attention away, to cast these doubts away is to lay it all out; I finally understand it's my turn to lay it all out bare; I have to be as unashamedly honest, to let you know what my imagination screams: I hunger for you," he raised to his knees crawling over my legs, "I need to touch you; I am lost to it," he crawled slowly up my body, "I want you, all of you;" he locked me in place as his arms braced his frame planted on either side of my head; "your eyes, your lips, your mind," he sighed, kissing me soft, "your heart, your body," he nestled himself between my legs, "sensually," he kissed me harder doing things with his tongue that made my breath leave in a moan; "sexually," he ground suggestively against me "I want bury myself so deeply in you;" he stopped looking a little ashamed, he kissed me, holding me close, "I want you, simply as a man wants a woman; simple, no rules, no expectations, no explanations just simple, basically, I am willing to take as much as you are willing to give." He kissed me softly, slowly, undressing my soul; "I ask you in return, why not you? Why me?" I must have given him that look again, he set his jaw, "Seriously darling, why me? How did you find me acceptable?"

"Simple," I rolled to where he had left my journal, he tried to reclaim it from my fingers, I slapped lightly at his hands, pulling it farther away from him when he reached for it I carded through until I found the dress piece; "Read, I knew you, I loved you well before we met." I pushed the look under his nose, he read, his eyes flairing; he looked up. I nodded, "Yup, I wrote of you long before the possibility of you seemed real. Look at the date." I pointed over the cover at the left corner. "Ages ago, fifteen years; back when I had friends and they spoke to me of their wedding plans; a friend was belabouring the cut of the dress, the flavour of the cake, how the brides maids would behave; but always ignoring the fact that her intended was a jerk, who ended up beating her; I wrote that to satisfy my soul; solidly believing that no such human existed; that I was safe; then there was you."

"How, how, I doubt anyone knew me; I didn't even know me, then." I watched him read it again, "I gather you thought these were impossibilities," he rolled to his side as close to me as possible, that long leg laying over mine like a downed tree; he began reading in that dramatic voice; "I was listening a friends diatribe about trying to find the perfect wedding dress… It has to have a bit of this, or an overlay of that. She was fussing and fawning over the bow details when the Person about to stand opposite of her was of inadequate material. So I started mulling over who, if ever anyone, I would stand opposite. I thought I would fuss over the important things.

Accepting NO less than the sum of all of these traits.

I imagine it like walking up to the service counter a lot like a cosmetic counter, kind of playing paper dolls. I would like him have eyes of green and blue; he must be tall like Clint Walker;" he was holding caressing my journal in one hand in the other he began counting the qualities he possessed; "he would speak with a strong Baritone like Marshall Dillon; he would have the sensibilities of Sargent Tyree, 'no ma'am I don't chaw and I don't play cards'; in essence no conformity and no lying;" his leg began caressing and rubbing where our bare skin touched; he looked to me, "I am sure our current understanding does not count in that" he looked into my eyes as I confirmed with a nod, he counted three; "the ideals of Steve Rogers. Boots and Hat would be nice, Cowboy, Mountie, fireman or other.' Hiking boots, I hope, count," he held up five fingers; "He must love dogs, cats, goats and well most animals except killer whales.' I have a dog, don't mind cats, never met a goat and we will come back to the whale thing; 'I’d like a man who can speak at least one computer language and two audible languages.' Check and check." He held up another completed hand of qualities.

"Someone who gets String theory, science jokes, bad puns and delicious entandre." His eyebrow raised deliciously on the last word, understanding what I was inferring. "Who loves all kinds of music, or at least who can stomach my musical schizophrenia, entailing all of, but not limited to: rock, punk, classical, country, especially older country, psychobilly, regae.' Oh, darlin you know I do;" he kissed my cheek; "The ability to laugh at himself is a MUST, laughing at my jokes…. still a maybe, I know they are bad.' You will have to believe me, but yes, I can. 'He has to enjoy singing and dancing, even if done badly.' I am charmed by your sing along and dances actually when it comes to the dances I am more than charmed, it's more of a turn on, and you know I dont hold back that much either; 'I would like a soul who loves whimsy, doing the funny walk up Market Street, singing and walking in the rain and willing to do the insane and comical, including moving every item in the house to center around a new precious gift.' I never thought about it, but I am game to try, 'I would hope he would like to cook; observe good etiquette, open the doors for me;' at all times, 'he should know the ignition timing for a ‘64 Chevy 283.' Not that exact information, but I like to tinker and grease monkey around in cars; 'I hope he would understand me when I tell him that simple things like a french toast breakfast for dinner using almond extract instead of vanilla, washing my hair or checking my engine fluids, means 'I love you' as well as hand written notes, cards made of glitter and cardboard are as romantic as diamonds in the right setting.' Anyone else I would doubt, but you, you are that anomaly."

"'He has to know how to say things that cut through to the heart of the matter, either romantic, apologetic, inspiring,or just truth and mean every word.' I have left the days of part measures behind. 'He has to like pancakes and breakfast for dinner' more of a waffle guy but I do understand, 'and ice cream in the morning. He has to value my thoughts BUT not weigh them too heavily,' you just watched my transition, 'debate especially HEATED debate is fun (and more than a little sexy),' Sounds fun. 'I would love someone who adored words as much as me, I always wondered if it was hoping too largely to hope for someone who could pick up my favorite books and know the passages that strike my very innermost being, maybe read them aloud to me with the longing and emotion I myself read them with,' Oh what a fun game that will be. 'Money wouldn’t hurt but neither is it a must, it is not important to me, neither are looks, according to most I do have an odd taste in beauty anyways.' Odd taste? I must probe that later, 'Most of all He has to take me as I am because I can’t change myself for anyone else. I was 12 the one time I tried to be someone else, I have never wanted to be anyone other than what life has shaped me into. He has to appreciate my laughing snort, my funny ugly toes, and the fact that I will laugh when he trips or falls, stubs a toe, or any other slapstick comedy-esque routine injury that doesn’t involve blood…He has to find my oddities, eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the fact i wear oversized thermals as my sexy night clothes, t-shirt and ripped sweats, flirty dresses and sparkle jeans as sexy as fishnets and a bustier…. But most of all He has to laugh with me, love me even when he’s mad at me and not mind a lot of residual radiation…. Until then I don’t care to even think about bows, bustles, frocks or hoops, I want a hero, anything less would be completely inacceptable and uncivilized' god I love how you laid it all out exactly like playing paper dolls."

He kissed me long and deep, "So, you think I stack up pretty nicely do you? The ideals of Steve Rogers and the voice of Clint Walker. So, you like cowboy shows?" I nodded, "eyes of green and blue, so, then k mmm I assume for you this has been oddly easy for you?"

"Not in the least, I have to trust in hope, and we are not on speaking terms, I had to trust that you were not some figment, some dream, I had to trust in the universe; just this once. Too often, especially of late, hope has dangled dreams just beyond my fingertips simply to pull them away, just as I almost touched..." I sighed, still mourning the loss of my last dream; "so, when you appeared I assumed this was another hard lesson to be learned. You made that easier by being you." I pulled him down to me kissing him sweetly.

He sighed, finishing reading, "Damn darling. I am stunned. How did I make it easier by being myself?" His eyes got glossy and he drifted away.

"The cupcake, I didn't even think you were truly real until you did the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen personally." I kissed him sensually with a subtle roll of my hips; I pressed hard to him, it was his turn to let loose such an erotic sound, half moan, half growl. He pressed me hard down feasting on my soul. He almost let himself run with the moment; he slowed fingers soft, lips cajoling; slowly he edged to a stop, pulling away.

"Where did you go?"

His music changed again, Billie Holiday singing kiss me once, god, his smile, "I imagine recapturing that first kiss, no stumbled step just a surrender; you naturally, fiendishly moving against me; god, that first kiss we shared, the laugh, it wrecked me." He tucked my hair back behind my ears, I cuddled my cheek into his palm. "I want to see in your eyes, when that simple truth, that in this give and take, that you give yourself to me freely, that you take equally greedily; not because you have to, or because I asked you, but because you want it too. I want that mad passionate love. Mostly, I want you, any way you will give, the only way I get you."

He pressed me back into the bank of pillows, "Now, of course, for such a gem, I offer all that I am," I moaned as I felt his weight settle into my body. "I offer you freedom; a pure and total freedom; freedom from the drudgery of that other everyday life." He laced his fingers through mine, kissing each fingertip. "I offer freedom as an abstract ideal. I can't offer a freedom from pain." He ran his hands delicatly over my body, lingering in places "I offer you a freedom from responsibility, from guilt, from regret; momentarily a freedom from sadness. I offer you moments of pleasure, moments to be happy. Oh, I can offer you pleasure likes of which you have never known."

I rolled my eyes closed, pleasure already making my soul free. "No, please, don't close your eyes;" my eyes snapped open, "I need you to look at me." I let a slow breath out, "I want to see the realization in your eyes that I am offering you my love." Slipping along the deep V in the robes neck, his skilled hands teased my flesh, his deft tongue pulled my eyes. I felt so very alive, his fingers moving at a slow, a tantalizing pace, pressing the edges of the robe out, exposing more of my flesh; I was already drowning in lust and need; his eyes holding me captive. "Ah there it is, all of me is what I offer you, all of you is all I ask of you."

I had been so lost in this feeling I had forgotten to be self conscious, I notice finally, his fingers caressing some of my scars, angry red welts I have never let anyone see. I stopped breathing but then I saw his motion, his revrence, "Gods, you see them and you are not revolted?"

He shook his head, then I watched his lips caress the welt that transacted my sternum. "Nope, not even a little. All of you, it's all I ask of you."

"Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life." God, did he, the man's kisses were amazing I felt his hands his tongue, both working in unison; I gravitate toward him, longing for, wanting to use my hands in such a delicious spell; thirsty for more contact. My awe apparent in my voice, as he pulled away, almost a whisper, "wow," I smiled. He was magnificent.

"Well, my sweet you never really defined, 'really, very good,' for me..." he kissed me almost in passing, "maybe we can work that out together." He kissed me, soft, asking, "or you tell me your favourite food."

"Chinese." I giggled,

He laughed, oh, that gorgeous marvel of deliciousness, pulling me to my feet, starting a sweet waltz, "I do love a good chinese dinner," he danced me in a soft circle, he buried his nose in my neck kissing at first; his tongue lightly licking, "I want you, I need you in the purest ways, the longing in my bones howls to be near you, to be with you;" he pulled me closer his hands, his lips, his tongue becoming more insistant; my arms slid along his wide shoulders caressing his neck my fingers playing with the soft curls there, he started with soft bites. I gripped the robes lapels, "I want bring all of your senses alive;" his hands began to move over the thick terry cloth, soft, looping circles he traced in the opposite direction of his tongue; pulling him closer, I let out a breathy sigh. My breath hitched, I slid my hands under his robe, sliding along his silky skin; "tell me sweetheart, total honesty, tell me how you feel about what I said."

"Hmmm, nerves, I never knew I had, are all on fire; I am lost on this ocean adrift on sensuality and revrence; I want more, to be honest no one has ever told anything like the intoxicating words the dreams you have been laying at my feet; like Yeats; I feel as if this is not one of those times hope isn't playing me for a fool. I am no longer unsure, afraid; we are alive in a way that I have never experienced; alive, I am having trouble making up my mind which I want the most; I crave your words, but that sweet haunting revrence of your touch," his hands moved with more intent, beginning to grip pulling the robe, holding me close, his lips with intention, I moaned unashamedly, living in the friction of his fingers using the terry cloth to excite, "mmm, the trailing fluidity of your hands creating punctuation for your crafted sentences, natural aphrodisiacs. Oh, those words followed by the delicious brush of your hands; oh, feeling, that feeling." Duet of the flowers started as if by Devine intention; "Apt moment for this particular aria, the quiet end of one flower, my fears, and the resurgence of beauty in this; these moments."

Kissing me breathless he bent me back taking advantage of the parting robe, his lips feasting along the edges of the terry cloth; I sighed, I bucked, I strained backwards, shuddering gasps escaped. "I love how you react instantly, honestly, you senses on edge, your shiver at my voice, your bend to my touch."

His revrent hand glided up my neck, dipping his thumb between my lips; words were pulled from me; "The way your touch softly glides, fingertips delicately trace the furrows, the hollows for those words to sweetly flow." I licked his digets, caressing the pads with my tongue; "the texture of those large, luscious, calloused hands, each of your fingers touched with just the perfect roughness; each finger pressed softly, trailing against my aching, hungry skin. The gentle veracity, the keening desire, your lingering breath weaves our tale." As I spoke I have been licking and kissing his glorious chest running my hands fore the skin of his shoulders.

His hands traced soft but insistently along my body over the robe; his lips sweetly asking for more. "Oh, sweet darling, please believe me your words flow so deliciously, just keep talking and I promise I will only follow your lead."

His sweet asking pushed me to a bold move; I traced my hands from his chest to his abdomin, his delicious breath hitched then shuddered his hands stilled; "Your kisses craft slowly flowing paragraphs; long languorous passages; savory, sensuous stanzas of will and want;" I found his sash and pulled it slowly, determined, it came loose, his robe falling open; he half moaned, half sighed in relief; my hands grew bolder at his reaction, my eyes skimming along, what can only qualify as the most beautiful specimen of human male I had ever seen, complete with perfectly bleached white jockey shorts, "the hushed whispers of the soul allows the movement of our bodies to create the chapters of our own perfectly written novel. Your eyes spoke to me of the extent of your will, I am shaken;" his hands now bold, reciprocated, pulling my sash, my robe fell open, I shivered, my soul had been standing here naked for a while, finally phisically I matched, dropping my arms letting it slide from my body; the steps to our dance had turned to soft swaying; he pressed our bodies close. His breath sucked in through his teeth, mine left in a gust of a sigh; "though, I confess not disappointed." He hooked his foot behind my knee and pushed; with a squeal I landed on the soft duvet, his weight delightfully covering me. I giggled.

"For long moments there, I could not speak," his lips soft on mine, his words an echo of my soul, "the fate of the world could have hung in the balance of my one uttered syllable and I would have been unable to even whisper acknowledgment." His hands revrently sliding mine gripping along his warm delicious frame; "I wish I could say sorry for falling over you, but you are just so delicious, this communication, so honest like blatant souls." I giggled as his fingers tickled, turning quickly to a hiss of air between my teeth, his lips caressing the scars lacing my abdomen, shocking myself I didn't try to push him away, instead I continued letting my lips kiss every piece of skin it found. "The more I get, I just want even more; tell me more, please, just keep talking."

I licked my hungry lips, surreptitiously making sure they had not fallen off completely. His glorious mouth drifting revrently over my scars, resting and reveling in my hungry skin; the things he was doing his hands, lips and tongue were deliciously driving me wild, he wasn't kidding about waking every one of my senses, "Oh, I watched as your eyes spoke, I was drowning in those green seas of desire; now, hearts, souls slowly burn. Gods, now I admit freely, it is you that I want; it has always ever been you, believe it always will be you." I gathered his robe pushing down his shoulders, running my fingers light over his soft skin, letting my nails lightly trail, his growl played across my skin. "In fact, I will fan the flames, I want to let them burn, right through my skin, right through the heart of me. I want to burn in this sunspot moment."

Our eyes locked, the look in those fathom deep depths stilled my breath; will and want and something more simmered deeply; he pulled me close, our bodies pressing sliding conforming to eachother; his mouth moved along my sholder, his tongue tracing lightly the length, gripping softly pushing my face to the left; his lips taking full advantage of the opened space. Legs winding, my hands growing even bolder, gripping his bum, his fingers danced across my skin, they flitted, butterfly soft over my breasts; I arched off of the bed, my breath shuddering; I clutched at his shoulders; we melt together, like two links remembered and fused again together; "we thirst, hunger, want, need, crave … lust. How wonderful to be alive." I kept the words from flowing, but how will hurt when we are through?"

He slowed, pulling lightly away, as if reading my mind, "No one knows the if's, when's, or how's, we should just bask in the is;" his breath coming in deep billowing pants; keeping in complete contact; "I need to know how far I should go."

Panting, I try to quip, "I dont know, how far do you think you can make it in this storm?"

He laughed, delicious feeling rushing over my senses, my bare skin. "You know exactly what I mean, do we, you and I, go all the way, no regrets; we will just fall asleep together when the night is burnt and tired, and I want, I want, I want... you, I have wanted you, I want to finish this day feeling your pulse pressed against mine just so we know we are both alive, in this beautiful second. I want… I” he took a breath; "but to hell with what I want, if you wish we can just sip coffee and kisses, until the storm is past."

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer with every ounce of sexuality I had, in a very Lauren Bacall style; I angled my head seductively, stretching an arm over my head saying rather with a bored tone, "Here I thought my laying naked and panting in your arms would have been a clear indication." I yawned, "Take me to bed or lose me forever." God his laugh, "I want it all, if we were at a restaurant I would be ordering the lobster with out checking the price, or even looking at the chicken." I ebbed away losing steam, I wound up to let loose one of my nervous, inane topic traversing tirade.

He pressed his finger to my lips, "Shhh, yes, I know you are nervous, but seriously listen. You hold the power, be that hurricane you showed me, that amazon queen."

He nuzzled and kissed my neck sending delicious butterflies dancing through me. I hummed a solitary note of praise, "Gods, the way you see me, I. .." I trailed off as he worked deliciously on the sensitive nerves where shoulder meets neck, I went slack, I clung to him.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose this is the continuation to the last part.

@keeper0fthestars. @pedeka @writernotwaiting

@sweetfairy1 @fromthedeskoftheraven

[kurowrites]

The Second Time Around

Okay so I’m really sorry, since I completely butchered this prompt. Originally, @mind-the-wicked wished for a “Hocus Pocus AU only instead of reviving evil witches, Tony revives Steve” and GUESS WHAT I DID? A vaguely Hocus Pocus-inspired AU in which Steve revives Tony. There is a lot of handwaving involved as far as timelines and customs go, so please bear with me. It made sense at the time. I don’t know.

[cries]

Rating: Teen

Warnings: One Tony was harmed in the making of this fic, but when is it ever different. Otherwise, no warnings.

Word count: just shy of 4900 words

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had taught him better. They were Irish, after all, and if there was one thing that they had taken with them on the long way from Ireland to the new world, it was their superstitions and beliefs.

So lighting up that highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en? A terrible idea, no matter how you looked at it. It was something he would never do, usually, the stories that he had been told as a boy far too ingrained into his being to even consider it.

But tonight, apparently, wasn’t ‘usually,’ and so he ended up doing exactly that: lighting a highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en. It has somehow made sense at the time. It had been very dark in the building, after all, and there had been no light at all, so a crummy old candle seemed to be just what he needed. He hated having to admit that after the fact, but he didn’t think at all and just dug out his lighter (always be prepared, although why he had brought a lighter but not a flashlight was beyond him) and light the candle.

At first, everything seemed completely normal. The candle lit easily and burned brightly, and for the first time, Steve could actually see his surroundings as more than vague shadows.

The place was old and dilapidated, with a liberal smattering of cobwebs and animal excrements and all the other unmentionable things that seemed to magically gather in old and dilapidated places. It looked as in the fifty or so years since it had been abandoned, no one had even bothered to try and maybe save at least part of the building. A few old, dusty machines were still around, some of them collapsed due to the rust that was eating them up, but other than that, the place was empty.

Why then, Steve found himself asking, had several supervillains been staking out the place, showing faar too much interest in what essentially was a ruin? He had no answer to that. The only possible interest they could have in this place was the fact that every halfway respectable person would probably go out of their way to avoid it.

While Steve was still considering the emptiness that surrounded him, the candle suddenly made an ominous cracking noise, as if someone had thrown some kind of substance into the fire. For a moment, the candle burned bright blue.

And explosion went off, and Steve, luckily a few steps away from the candle, dropped to the floor and rolled away, covering himself up to avoid damage.

When he dared to lift his head again, the room had filled with thick pluming smoke, rendering Steve almost blind.

Then, something moved. Or rather, stumbled. Steve braced his shield, ready to lash out at whatever came crawling out of the residual smoke, his mind already supplying him with all the dark creatures that he had heard about in the old stories.

However, what followed was an angry ‘fuck’ followed by some creative cursing.

“God, what is this dump?” he heard the same voice say in a disgruntled tone. “Where did I end up?”

And then, out of the smoke, came a young man dressed in a smart if antiquated suit and a carefully styled head of dark locks.

He stopped when he caught sight of Steve, still crouched to the floor with his shield ready to be thrown any moment, and raised an eyebrow.

“Well hel-lo there, darling,” he said with a smirk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

This would have been the perfect moment for the sudden intruder to get acquainted with his shield, but strangely, Steve found himself hesitating. He gripped the leather straps a little more tightly, tensed to react at the slightest provocation.

The stranger shifted his stance once he realised that Steve wasn’t going to answer.

“So,” he said conversationally, “are you the asshole that kidnapped me?”

Steve jerked a little, surprised. “Someone kidnapped you?”

“Well,” the stranger replied, shrugging. “The last thing I remember are two big, burly guys gripping me from behind and bashing me over the head when I tried to get free. And then suddenly, I’m here. You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“There wasn’t anyone here until two minutes ago,” Steve said, getting up slowly. He wasn’t sure if this man was telling him the truth or not, but for the moment, he had the impression that he wasn’t an immediate danger.

“Well, I don’t know,” the stranger retorted a little sharply, putting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and lifting his chin defiantly (as if to dare Steve to mess with him). “I was kind of unconscious until a few moments ago.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, lifting his free hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “I understand. Why don’t you give me your name, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

The stranger snorted in an unkind way, looking at Steve from under his lashes. On someone else, it might have looked seductive, but on this man, it looked vaguely threatening.

Despite, as Steve couldn’t help but notice, his very handsome face.

“I’m Tony Stark,” the stranger finally deigned to reply. “But you know that already, unless you’re living under a rock.”

The name did ring a bell, but he couldn’t place it right now.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself instead. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark gave an amused chuckle.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow once more. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“That’s my name, yes,” Steve replied, both a little confused and annoyed. “And it’s not that isn’t public knowledge either. Most Americans know who I am.”

“You are so full of yourself,” Mr. Stark groaned. “I mean yeah, the costume is nice, although I don’t get all these alterations you made to it. But using that name is just rude, considering that Steve Rogers is dead.”

“I feel pretty alive for a dead person,” Steve replied drily.

“Steve Rogers died in 1945, stop talking nonsense,” Mr. Stark hissed.

“Yeah, and they pulled my out of the ice in 2011, alive,” Steve growled. It happened sometimes that people still insisted that he was a sham because there was no way that he had survived in the ice for so long. Steve, frankly, had no time for those people. “Why is that so difficult to comprehend? It was all over the news, and it’s not like that happened just yesterday.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose higher.

“2011?” he asked with confusion in his voice.

“Yes,” Steve said, annoyed still. “It’s 2017, this hasn’t been headline news for five years.”

“2017?” Mr. Stark repeated, with actual shock in his voice now. “No, it’s 1967!”

Steve considered the statement for a moment. Either this man was having some kind of episode or he had received such a heavy blow on the head that something had gotten mixed up in his brain. He would put his money on the second option, really. But then, he wasn’t a doctor and had no idea why a young man would suddenly believe he was living in 1967.

It was foolish to try to work it out. He should simply make sure this man got to see a doctor that would get him checked out.

He cleared his throat, trying to put his most reasonable face on. “Mr. Stark, I understand that you are confused right now, but I’m sure, once we’re out of here and you have been looked after by a medical professional, everything will turn out fine.”

“I am not confused!” Mr. Stark exclaimed. “Honestly, just tell me, what are you after, money? Just get whatever you want and let me go!”

“Please, Mr. Stark, calm down,” Steve said, still trying to hold on to his best ‘reasonable and trustworthy’ persona. It was kind of a bad fit, really, since these weren’t exactly the kinds of situations where he shined. Calming panicked citizens during a supervillain attack, sure, but not when they believed that he might be the bad guy. There was a reason why he usually left more delicate matters to Jan.

Mr. Stark glared at Steve intensely, his face clearly spelling out his complete distrust of Steve.

“What kind of game are you playing here?” he asked.

“No games,” Steve replied. He gathered himself before he slowly and carefully made his way over to where Mr. Stark was standing. Mr. Stark looked tense, but he stood his ground and did not back away as Steve approached. “My first and foremost concern at the moment is to get you out of here.”

It could be a trap, possibly. But no matter how much he felt that this situation was extremely strange, he didn’t feel that his man was a danger to him.

After Steve’s application of all of his rhetorical skills, Mr. Stark finally agreed to come with him and get out of the old, dilapidated building. He looked suspicious the entire way, glaring at his surroundings as if they had somehow personally insulted him.

It was only on the way back to the Avengers headquarters that it clicked why the name Tony Stark had seemed so strangely familiar to Steve. The building they’d been in had once been a small factory for Stark Industries, but it had been abandoned and left to rot a long time ago.

To find a Mr. Stark in a former Stark Industries building was likely not a coincidence. Maybe he had only remembered that name after the whack on his head because he had seen it somewhere in the building. On some of the rotting machine parts, probably.

When they had left, Steve had contacted Jan and given her a heads-up, so be the time they arrived at the headquarter, she was already eagerly waiting for them. She gave Mr. Stark (still glaring suspiciously at his surroundings) one look and then sighed.

“Steve,” she said. “What have you picked up this time?”

Steve lowered his voice, leaning closer to Jan so that Mr. Stark wouldn’t hear them. “He says his name is ‘Tony Stark’ and he believes it’s the year 1967. I have no idea where he came from. I lit up a random candle in the Stark Industries building and it exploded. The smoke from the explosion might have forced him out from wherever he’d been hiding.”

“1967?” Jan repeated, her eyebrows rising. She shot another quick look at Mr Stark, who glared back. “Well, his styling is certainly on point. That’s peak 60’s fashion.”

Jan would certainly know, considering that her actual job was fashion designing.

“I’m not sure what to do with him,” Steve continued. “We should probably start with trying to find out who he really is. And maybe get him checked out.”

Jan considered the situation for a moment.

“You know,” she said slowly. “It’s strange that the name Tony Stark would pop up, especially in combination with the year 1967. If my memory doesn’t deceive me, Anthony Edward Stark was the son of the rich industrialist Howard Stark, who made a fortune with his company after the war. Of course, the company still exists today, as you know. Stark Industries. Tony Stark was to take over his father’s duties in time, and he was a genius by all accounts. But before he could step up as the new head of Stark Industries, he tragically died in 1967. They say it’s been a tragic accident, but there have always been rumours that there was more to it than that.”

“But why would he believe he is Tony Stark?” Steve asked, gesturing at Mr. Stark, who gave him a poisonous glare for his efforts. “It makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jan agreed. “But that won’t stop us.”

Steve eventually handed Tony off to Jan, getting her to promise that she should take care of him and maybe recruit Natasha or Thor into keeping an eye on Mr. Stark, too, just to make sure that there wouldn’t be any issues.

They had taken Tony’s fingerprints and a photo in the hope that the more data they had, the more likely they were to find out who he really was.

Tony had been extremely fascinated with the came that Jan had produced out of her bag, taking it off her eagerly and turning it around in his hands, apparently just one screwdriver short of taking it apart.

It reminded Steve the tiniest little bit of himself when he’d woken up in the future for the first time, faced with all the technological advancements, only with a lot less hostility and a lot more enthusiasm.

After the photo session had been finished, Steve headed off to research Mr. Stark’s identity, while Jan took Mr. Stark to see a doctor.

The fingerprints they had taken had no match in the system, and after digging around aimlessly for a while, Steve decided to look up the deceased Anthony Stark instead.

What he found was… overwhelming. There were endless articles about him and his famous father, articles about his status as the most eligible bachelor and his undeniable appeal in women’s magazines, articles about all the different conspiracy theories after his death. There were also photos. An incredible amount of photos.

And, Steve had to agree, the man in the photos looked remarkably like the man whose picture he had just taken moments before. In fact, they looked the same down to the last detail.

Before he knew it, Steve had sent a request to the responsible authorities to get him a copy of the files of the investigation after Anthony Stark’s untimely death. It was likely to be a dead end in this case, but if anything, the original Mr. Stark’s death and Obadiah Stane’s subsequent rise to power seemed highly suspicious. A second look was doubtlessly warranted.

He decided to give up for the night just when his phone started vibrating. The call was from Jan, so he picked up quickly.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Well, not really,” came Jan’s not very reassuring answer. “The physical went fine, the doctor couldn’t detect any injuries or any kind of trauma. But he has no idea how modern technology works, apparently, and then he got his hands on some tools and started taking everything apart. He took apart my TV, Steve! And then he put it back together, and not only does it work, the annoying flimmering I’ve been complaining about is also gone! I had to stop him before he took all of my kitchen appliances apart, too!”

“So he’s handy,” Steve said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say to that.

“Handy?” Jan repeated, incredulous. “Handy?? Steve, I had to explain the internet to him because he’d never heard of it, and 30 minutes later, he’s picking fights with people in internet forums! I have no idea what’s going on in his brain!”

“I’ll be there soon,” Steve assured her, ending the call.

Oh well, he thought to himself. Better than a horde of Hydra agents, probably.

Mr. Stark was busy cursing at the display of a laptop in his lap when Steve arrived in the living room in Jan’s apartment. At some point, Mr. Stark had changed out of his 60s suit and into something more casual and much more modern and comfortable. (It was probably one of Jan’s prototypes that she was currently working on.) Steve couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked without the pomp of the suit. Somehow, it seemed much more… approachable?

Not to mention that the tousled hair was very cute.

Natasha was there too, curled up in one of the armchairs and staring at Mr. Stark like a cat observing a particularly fascinating and unusual prey.

Jan rolled her eyes at Steve when he entered, waving one hand at Mr. Stark in a gesture that clearly spelled ‘see what I mean, this is ridiculous.’

“They all say I’m dead!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, shaking the laptop a little as if that would magically change the contents of whatever website he was currently browsing. “I’m obviously alive!”

“Well, ‘you’ haven’t been seen for the past fifty years,” Steve said. “These things tend to happen.”

Mr. Stark looked up, surprise written all over his face.

“Hey, it’s fake Captain America,” he eventually said, overly cheerfully. “Well, not so much now. I gotta say, I dig the All American Hotness in t-shirt and jeans.”

When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, Mr. Stark raised one right back.

“What?” he asked. “The internet tells me that gay marriage is legal now. Don’t be a homophobe.”

“That’s really not the issue here,” Steve said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty sure that he of all things wasn’t a homophobe. “The issue is that no matter how similar you might look to the late Anthony Stark, there’s no way that you’re the real one. It’s been over fifty years since his death, and by all accounts, Anthony Stark should by getting close to eighty now. You don’t even look thirty yet.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Mr. Stark replied. “And it’s not like you of all people have room to talk, Sleeping Beauty On Ice.”

“That was all technology,” Steve said, frowning. “They tested me thoroughly and found out that I’m capable of surviving certain conditions that a normal person wouldn’t. So instead of freezing to death, my bodily functions just shut down enough to put me into a deep sleep.”

“How convenient,” Mr. Stark groused. “Of course, I have no convenient explanation for why I’m here, since I don’t even know how I ended up in that building in the first place.”

Natasha murmured something in Russian and Steve looked over at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Witchcraft,” she said simply.

“Okay,” Steve said doubtfully. “And since when have you become a specialist of the occult?”

“I have many talents,” Natasha answered cryptically and gave him her best razor-sharp smile. (Steve decided he didn’t want to know.)

Jan clapped her hands.

“Right!” she said brightly. “I knew there was a reason why we keep Stephen Strange on the emergency contacts list.”

Jan called Dr. Strange and Dr. Strange said he would come after making all of them wait for a bit because of some other, and much more important, “supernatural emergency.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Stark kept poking at the internet, cursing whenever he found something he didn’t approve of, and murmuring to himself whenever he did approve of something.

When Dr. Strange finally arrived after a seemingly endless wait, he took one look at Mr. Stark before he turned around and fixed Jan, Natasha and Steve with a glare.

“So who was it that dabbled in Necromancy?” he asked. “Because that-” he jabbed sharply at Mr. Stark, sitting on the couch, “-really shouldn’t be alive.”

The three of them exchanged glances with each other.

“That would probably be you, Steve,” Jan suggested when they had been quiet for too long.

“Me?” Steve asked, a little shocked at the accusation. He would never.

“Well, you lit that candle in the old factory,” Natasha said. “If you think about it, it’s pretty odd to just find a candle lying around in an old, abandoned factory. Someone must have left it there on purpose.”

Well, one thing was certainly true about that. Normal candles didn’t just suddenly flash blue and explode. That left the question: Who had put it there, and why?

Steve had an uncomfortable flashback to all the different supervillain organisations that had been sighted in the area recently. Next to him, Jan’s expression told him that she was thinking about the same thing.

“Can we reverse it somehow?” Steve asked.

Dr. Strange sent him a flat look that clearly spelled that he certainly wasn’t going to dabble in Necromancy to help them get rid of a reportedly dead person.

“We can’t just let him stay here!” Steve reminded them.

“Why not?” Jan asked, and her brow furrowed dangerously. “It’s not like this is his fault!”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaimed. “He’s supposed to be dead!”

“He died with 27, for fuck’s sake!” Jan spat. “He might have wanted a little more from life than that!”

It was true, and Steve couldn’t deny that. And it made him angry.

But he also knew how it was to be completely out of time. A lot of people that Tony had known before were dead now. And the other… Steve didn’t want to think about that. The only thing that he had really left was…

“What the fuck did Obie do to my company?” Tony shouted, glaring at the laptop still in front of him. “What is this? The future was supposed to be brighter, not full of weapons!”

Jan made a conflicted face and walked over to the sofa. Tony looked up with a genuinely upset expression on his face.

“The future was supposed to be flying cars and planetary travel, not high-tech wars,” he told her quietly. The heartbreak in his voice was one that Steve was only too familiar with. He too had once believed that the future was bright.

“I know,” Jan said with a sigh, putting a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But humanity has yet to learn how to be peaceful.”

Tony looked at her sadly. “We have already gone to the depths of depravity, how much further do they want to go?”

Then, suddenly, his expression changed into something much more determined.

“I’m going to dismantle them,” he declared, as if it was an easy thing to do.

“You’re officially dead,” Steve reminded him. “Technically, you don’t even exist.”

Tony glared at Steve as if he wanted to set him on fire by the force of his sheer will alone.

“We’ll see about that,” he eventually said, getting up and stomping out of the room.

Natasha sent Steve a judgemental and yet faintly amused look, and then turned to follow Tony.

“Don’t you just have a way with words,” Jan sighed.

Well. He couldn’t exactly deny that.

Tony certainly didn’t waste any time. Steve wasn’t sure how he made it all work, the trauma of his sudden arrival in the future, the fact that he had been dead for fifty years, everything.

Steve was sure that Natasha had her fingers in there somewhere, managing that Tony got his officially approved identity complete with social security number and tax returns suspiciously quickly. She also supplied him with contacts, Steve was sure, even though she would never admit that.

Once he was legally alive, Tony went to work without looking back. He immersed himself into the study of bleeding edge technology and before Steve even knew it, Tony had acquired the patents for three new kinds of smartphones, one paper screen, and a better hybrid motor for cars, among other things.

“It’s frightening,” Jan had said at one point. “Like, I knew they used to call him a genius, and he was actively involved in the research and development of Stark Industries when it had still been his father’s company. But it’s like the technological advancement since the sixties has completely unshackled him, as if he’s finally free to do the things he could only dream about before. It’s frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.”

In the privacy of his own mind, Steve completely agreed with Jan. It was amazing to see the transformation, and how effortlessly Tony seemed to adapt to the 21st century. After a short while, it felt as if he had never led a different life, as if he had never died at all.

And then, whenever Tony caught Steve observing him, he would look back with a serious expression on his face before it would transform into a daring smile.

Steve never knew how to react to that (Was it a challenge? Or smugness) and just stared back blankly, his heart beating a little bit faster in his chest.

The true sensation came when Tony’s newly founded firm, Stark Solutions, got powerful enough in a very short time to be able to take over Stark Industries. At his first press conference, he announced that he would merge the two companies under the name of Stark Industries, but that the weapon production would cease immediately.

Until this point, Stark Industries had been at the forefront of the weapons market, and suddenly people were scrambling in a panic because Tony had decided that it was a better use of his time to gear his tech towards civilian use.

Tony didn’t care about the media backlash, and he laughed at the military threatening him, making their lives harder on purpose.

Steve looked at Tony and sometimes wondered how a dead man was more invested into the living word than many people who had yet their lives in front of them.

They never talked about it, but Steve had looked through the files of the investigation of Tony’s death, and he had come to the conclusion that there had been foul play. All signs pointed towards Obadiah Stane, who had had Tony killed for the sake of his own personal success.

He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure that Tony had looked through the files as well, and come to the same conclusion. It was only a pity that Obadiah had died in the 90s, Steve thought, because if it was worth beating one person shapeless with his shield, Obadiah was that person. He didn’t really take pride in these feelings, but honestly, who cared about pride when powerhungry men murdered innocent people to get what they wanted. He’d been Tony’s godfather, for fuck’s sake.

Among the high society, it was pretty much an open secret that the Tony Stark that had suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere to become one of the most powerful people in the tech business practically overnight really was the Tony Stark that had reportedly died in the 60s, but strangely, they gobbled him right up. No one questioned him, and no one asked about Obadiah, instead loving everything he did and panting after him in obvious and humiliating ways that made Steve roll his eyes.

He was the king of the court, and everyone knew it.

Steve couldn’t care less about that.

Steve’s personal high point came one night when Tony caught him at the Avengers headquarters just when he was preparing to go home after a relatively calm day.

“You’ve never asked me to join,” Tony said by way of greeting, looking at Steve as if the answers were written on his face somehow.

Steve shouldered his bag and walked to the door Tony was currently leaning against, trying not the be too obvious in his appreciation of Tony in jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his figure just so.

“I’m not making a dead person join a band of superheroes,” he replied, but the jab had long lost its sting. Steve would call Tony a dead person and Tony would smirk and show him all the way in which he most certainly was very alive.

It was… addictive.

“I am richer than God,” Tony said with a slight smirk, but Steve knew it was neither a boast nor a joke.

Granted, most of that money would never even get close to Tony, since the moment it had been earned, it would be reinvested in one of his companies or his loyal employees as if he was compelled to do so, but the point stood.

“So what, are you planning to be our Daddy Long Legs?” Steve snarked, shooting Tony a grin of his own.

“Something much better,” Tony replied with an equally predatory smile. “I have a suit of armor.”

Steve looked at Tony in surprise. “You built a weapon?”

“No,” Tony replied. “Not that it doesn’t have weapons, but that’s really not what I had in mind. I built a defense. Something that will stop people becoming the victims of violence. People shouldn’t live in fear of death every day. I thought this is what you stand for.”

“I do,” Steve found himself answering.

“Then,” Tony murmured, stepping closer to Steve and curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt before pulling him down to eye level, “why don’t you show me what you’re made of?”

For a moment, they both breathed the same air.

“Show me that suit,” Steve said, feeling a little breathless.

“Gladly,” Tony smirked. “Oh my Captain.”

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had raised him better. No good things came out of consorting with the dead, he’d been taught, and all the better if you didn’t even try. All it would do was to invite more trouble into your live than it was worth. His mother would be so disappointed in him if she knew what he had done. And she had been right; it had invited a lot of trouble into his life, more than he really knew what to do with, some days.

But here was where she had been wrong: All the trouble was utterly worth it. And if she had ever met Tony, she would probably agree with him.

Tony, certainly, was worth the exception.

#kuro writes #stevetony #stevextony #stony

[dirty-dio-apologist]

Rebirth Chapter 10

Did I wait another year to upload a quick chapter,, yeah I did. Sorry yall here's to 2018 and writing more.. I didn't really proof read it so if there's any issuse; hey its almost 200am on a work night and i just wanna share this with yall. Happy Holidays <3

Read here on Ao3 or on Tumblr under the cut

Word count: 2094

"Ask Wang Chen, he'll know exactly what to give you."

Dio had not sounded this serious since Jonathan had met him not too long ago, his tone of voice caused an unnerving feeling to envelop around the newborn. A necessity? If Jonathan’s gut feeling was correct, he knew that he was not going to enjoy walking into that tavern in tow with Dio. Angel Tears? It sounded like something he heard out of a children’s fairytale book. Even if he did not fully trust Dio yet he decided that he would at least give this man one chance to prove that he was not an absolute terror.

“Dare I ask what it is?”

The newborn’s voice just as low as Dio’s was almost mimicking his tone. It caused the blond to snort a bit, a soft sigh passing from Dio as he walked the mares closer to a post that stood hammed into the broken pavement below. The blond shot a glance over his shoulder at Jonathan, tying the reigns to the post just to keep the mares in place while the two went inside the tavern. Dio straightened up, fixing at his coat before tilting his head towards the left a slight smile forming on those blood stained lips of his. He looked so god damn smug and it continued to make Jonathan sick.

“Like I said before, it’s a necessity.”

Another snooty retort from the blond, Jonathan really knew that he was not going to receive an answer as to what ‘Angel Tears’ actually was until he went into that tavern and asked for it himself. He began to glare at the blond, earning him a soft chuckle before a gentle pat on the forearm. Dio remained silent for the time being as he motioned towards the tavern he owned walking towards it with newborn beside him. Jonathan never really knew what to expect from this hellish man, but he tried not to hope for the worst. The noises of the patrons inside the tavern began to rile Jonathan’s senses like nothing has ever done before, his ears ringing- chest tightening as he came upon the door. Female and male voices alike laughing and singing from inside this painted walls of this tavern. Smells of ale, earth and burning candles wafted past Jonathan as he watched now as Dio began to press open the tavern’s heavy wooden door.

“A new world awaits you, Jonathan. Your rebirth deserves a proper celebration, don’t you think?”

Dio’s voice snapped Jonathan back from losing himself to all the sensations that surround him, he shook his head a bit, looking from Dio to the opening of the tavern door. What he saw next genuinely surprised the newborn; this tavern was not like any he had ever been to. It was beautifully decorated with pictures of women, fresh pale red paint covered the walls as well as a dark oak trim. Three candle’s hung from beautiful gold molds on each wall, covering the tavern in such a calming lowlight. Four tables sat in the interior, one where a man sat drinking and merry making all the while surrounded by gorgeous women. A bar adjacent to those tables, right beside the shuttered windows of the tavern where the older oriental gentleman worked.

Dio motioned for Jonathan to step inside.

“I know it isn’t much but please- it would be rude of you not to accept my invitation to have a drink on the house.”

His voice playful in tone as he slid by the larger man, slinking his way inside of his own tavern. The newborn averted his gaze from Dio before he walked back towards the bar, noticing the intense state of the barkeep. He gave the older man a small wave and smile as he sat against one of the stools. Thankfully no one seemed to be wanting to sit at the bar. Jonathan looked over the older man as he got himself comfortable on the stool. This must have been Wang Chen. He had dark messy hair, a long thin mustache that seemed to go down to his chest, strong frown lines and many wrinkles that dawned his honey colored complexion. He seemed to be busy cleaning a few mugs and wine glasses, hopefully Jonathan had not disturbed him. Without looking up from his work, the barkeep spoke.

“Welcome to the Devil’s Keep- what brings you this evening?”

His voice nasally in tone almost nauseatingly so, it made Jonathan lean a bit closer, that and he did not want to state what Dio had told him any louder than a whisper. Wang Chen raised a thin brow, looking up at the larger man he leaned closer, a chuckle passing from him as he watched and listened to intently. Jonathan glanced around, trying to look as inconspicuous as he could.

“I-I am a friend of Dio’s…”

The newborn began, shaking his head, god he felt so ridiculous.

“He told me to ask for a drink called ‘Angel Tears’. Do you know of it?”

Wang Chen’s posture straightened a bit as he heard what the large man had asked for. He sighed before setting the glass and rag down onto the bar before him, a smile forming on his lips before he gave the newborn a toothy grin; showing off that he himself had a pair of fangs as well. Another vampire, great, thought Jonathan. How many unholy creatures was he going to encounter this night? The barkeep glanced back at the many bottles of liquor and ale that covered the counter behind the bar where he stood before looking back at the newborn before him.

“A new comer, new to this life? Do not worry, I have what you need.”

His voice low in tone, as he crouched down a bit to reach under the bar, fishing for something so it seemed. A sound of excitement coming from the older man as he bounced right back up holding a dark bottle with a red colored cork. His golden eyes sparkled as he gazed this bottle over, hands caressing and rubbing the faint dust residue off the glass. He sat the bottle down onto the bar before turning on his heel to grab a large wine glass. He loomed over his shoulder at the newborn, holding the glass in hand before speaking once more.

“Lord Dio, he does not chose random people for this life…he chooses people he can use for his line of work.”

Jonathan looked over the bottle and glass that now sat at the bar, noticing how carefully the older vampire before him opened and poured the dark red liquid into the glass. It was thick, not like any wine Jonathan had seen before. He caught the scent as the wine glass was filled, oh, it smelt heavenly. He looked from the wine glass up at Wang Chen who was putting the cork back into the bottle.

“Will this help me?”

The newborn assumed it was safe to question the man before him as he used his right hand to lift the filled glass towards him lips, hesitantly licking them before grimacing a bit. He could feel a slight heat emanating from the cup…god that made him want to be ill. Would whatever Angel Tears was actually help Jonathan to not feel that horrid burning ache in the back of his throat; that insatiable thirst? Before he could get an answer out of Wang Chen a soft squeal rang throughout the walls; echoing right back into the newborn’s ears.

“Master has returned with some new company, ladies- look sharp!”

Jonathan raised a thick brow as he glanced over at the blond now, watching him chuckle and dismissively wave towards the girls that gathered around. Only three of them came to see who Dio’s new strange friend was; A short red head with a mole on her right cheek, another taller more slim with light ashen brown hair and one a bit rounder with the sweetest doe eyes he had ever seen. Her hair blonde, much blonder than Dio’s. Who on earth was she, and what was she doing in such a place.

“Darlings, this here is Jonathan- my new business partner; he’ll be helping to manage Devil’s Keep.”

The vampire spoke in such a soothing tone, his hands now resting at his sides as the women glanced from him over to Jonatan who sat at the bar with wine glass in hand. Was that really the name of his tavern? It sounded so ominous, who in their right mind would want to go to such a place? Jonathan watched from the distance as Dio spoke with his girls. They talked amongst themselves for a short moment as if discussing urgent matters. The red head giggling before playfully pushing as the brunette- the blonde, god how she batted those lashes at Jonathan. He noticed her staring almost instantly, Lord, help Jonathan, he was never really one to talk to girls and here was an angel staring him down in a tavern. The newborn felt such a harsh heat in the back of his throat, his eyes noticing the vein in her neck as she averted her gaze back to Dio before speaking up finally.

“I think it’s wonderful that you have help around here again. We really did need another man to lend a hand.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to get the lump out of his throat once more. What on Earth was wrong with him? His now focused on the drink in his hands, a scowl on his lips as if he were about to drink some sort of mediation. A quiet sigh passing his lips as he brought the glass towards them, hesitantly sipping at the contents. Oh. Oh good Lord, this was something ethereal. Whatever was inside that glass, it eased that burning thirst. The bitter metallic warmth of Angel Tears caused the newborn’s eyes to flutter shut. Jonathan exhaled rather deeply as he began to drink more and more of the red contents that filled the wine glass, tipping in back as he savored every last drop that had been poured in his honor. Both hands cupping against the bottom of the wine glass, completely absorbed in the taste and relief that he felt from such a drink. Wang Chen hummed as he leaned onto his bar, right arm flat against it as his left bent at the elbow; head in hand as he gazed up at the newborn before him. He knew how the first drink went, how that sweet relief felt. He glanced over at Dio, nodding his head in his direction as he noticed he was watching the two for a short moment. Jonathan was quite the looker, he still needed to be taught a few new rules however.

“Angel tears. It helps take the edge off.”

Wang Chen chuckled, shaking his head now as he went back to cleaning the mugs and glasses that patrons used that day. Jonathan pulled back from his glass with such a satisfied grunt, licking his lips as he noticed that rim and all around the glass was covered in a residue of whatever was inside the glass. He swallowed hard, thankful the burning sensation had died down, he wondered if he could have more but before he could ask for any it was put away. A defeated look now painted over the brunet’s face as he sat with glass in hand. How he craved more. He heard Dio speaking with the three women once more, noticing that they had all been looking over in his direction. His attention now on the small blonde as she began to speak once more.

“Jonathan will be a fine addition to our happily family.”

Dio listened to what the blonde woman had to say as he gazed back at the newborn who sat at the bar, he smirked faintly, noticing his new partner taking pleasure in his first sip of something so pure and clean. A nod in Wang Chen’s direction was given as he then turned his attention to his girls. Dio’s eyes now focusing on the blonde young woman before him, a hand reaching out to pat her on the top of her soft hair. A small content sigh passed from her lips as she nuzzled up into the vampire’s touch. She sounded so sincere, she always was such a sweet heart. One of Dio’s favorite workers in all honesty, such a valued worker.

“My sweet Erina, you always know exactly what to say.”

#jjba #rebirth #rebirth chapter 10 #jojos bizarre adventure #fanfiction #fanfic

[marvelleous]

a sword in hand and she fights her own battles pt.2

summary: she was a highborn lady, and he was no more than a bastard. notes: dedicated to the exceedingly awesome @carolineaquino73 for all the support! and to everyone who asked for more; your wish is my command. read on AO3

Melinda prefers solitude, even at eleven years old, but she is thankful for the workers heading home from after a long day of work to mask her escape from an embarrassing incident. She was usually so observant and cautious, far beyond slamming into others and knocking them down. Back home she could slink around the castle after hours, escaping notice from all (except her mother of course; though she never called her out when caught, Melinda could tell by the look in her eyes at breakfast the next morning that her little secret adventure had not been a secret at all).

She fumes quietly about her own shortcomings as she treks back towards the castle where she is to live for the next few years. There are guards in armour standing at the entrance, and she ducks behind the trunk of a particularly wide tree as she spies on of her own retinue looking frazzled as he rushes around, likely trying to locate her before they were all punished for her disobedience.

She thinks it through for a few moments, staring down at the dusty hem of her dress before an idea comes to mind. Bending down, she lifts her skirts a little with one hand and dirties them even more with the other, smearing dried dirt to create an authentic of a look as she could, before tearing the lace on her sleeves and bodice. She rubs the residue against one side of her face and tugs none too gently on her intricate braids which had already begun to loosen from her day out and about.

Pressing right up against the tree, she peers out and sees that there are now two of her household guards on the lookout for her. She slumps down at the base of the trunk between two large roots and quickly but carefully cleans off the dirt from her hands, picking beneath her fingernails to ensure no trace was left. Satisfied with her handiwork, she stands and steps out from the shadows.

“Over here,” she shouts in as hushed a tone as possible. She huffs and tries again when that fails to evoke a response from the two, a little louder this time and sighs in relief as their heads turn. It takes them a moment longer to finally spot where she is standing and a moment after that for them to rush over to her.

“My lady, where have you been? We have been searching for you all over the city,” the taller of the two, whose name she never bothered to learn, asks.

Clearly you were not searching hard enough or you would have found me, she thinks but does not say, because she does have manners, and this is an appropriate time to demonstrate them. And she honestly does believe that they looked high and low for her, but she has always had a knack for avoiding those that she wants. It is unfortunate that she appears to lack that ability when in regards to random strangers.

“Look, this is what we are going to do,” she says in a voice her mother has used countless times to give orders, standing a little straighter to demonstrate power. “I know that you have not yet reported that I was missing, or else all the castle guards would be tearing through the streets trying to locate me. You probably made up some story about how “the little lady” wanted to see the markets, and one of you took me there.”

They both scratch their necks and hang their heads a little lower and she forces herself to not roll her eyes at them. “You,” she says pointing to the shorter one, “are going to run on ahead, and alert the guards that we were attacked on the streets, they tried to take me away and succeeded in stealing my coin pouch.” When he opens his mouth to respond, she turns and points a finger at the other one, “And you. You are going to tell them that you fought the man, whose face we could not see because it was covered, and he ran off. And now, you are going pick me up in your arms while I pretend to cry.” With that, she takes a step forward and leaps up at him, almost toppling over as he secures her in his arms. She wrinkles her nose in distaste as she buries her face against his shoulder, and shudders to mimic the very image of a crying child in distress.

“As you command, my lady.”

***

They make their way to the great hall, where Melinda assumes the Lady of the House is awaiting her arrival, and she is truly tired of the fake crying by now so she stills and pretends to be asleep, keeping her breathing even.

“Lady Margaret,” she hears the short one say, before launching off into the story she had fed them earlier. She is grateful that the halls are mostly deserted, as her arrival was not to be celebrated until she was settled in, for while she has no qualms about twisting the truth or even straight up lying at times, she does not need the entirety of the neighbouring nobility to hear about it.

When he is finished speaking, Lady Margaret responds, offering her sympathies and saying that their tardiness is not an issue, especially not in a situation like this one.

“I am quite sure the poor thing will need time to recuperate,” she says, and Melinda can tell from her voice how kind hearted the lady is; all while detecting a hint of something else. Something more. Something that strangely reminded Melinda of her own mother.

“Yes my lady, I agree. She will definitely need to rest from this ordeal,” the tall one says. “At least two da-,” he stops short as Melinda jabs him in the neck twice, “Sorry, at least four days, my lady. She did have quite a fright,” he amends, and she feels like cheering when the short one quickly agrees. It was quite unfortunate that she had to feign weakness to escape her duties, but one had to do such things to get what they wanted.

She listens without interest as their conversation continues, and grins into the tall one’s shoulder as they escort her to her rooms where the two ladies she brought from home are waiting. As soon as the doors close behind her and she is left alone with her escorts, she wriggles down from the tall one’s arms, and jumps nearly a foot in the air in joy.

Maybe her new home would not be so terrible after all.

***

“Oh Peg, the poor thing,” Steve, captain of the guard, sympathises as she relays to him the events of the day while the pair share a quiet meal together later that evening.

Lady Margaret, or Peggy as he addresses her in private, nods slowly, taking a sip of her wine.

“I will have to issue a proclamation to capture this man of course,” she tells him, tapping her fingers against the wooden table. “For such a heinous crime, have your soldiers find him, and lock him in our dungeons. I will come up with a suitable punishment when need be. Maybe we could have him flogged.”

“Right away, my lady,” he says, reverting to “captain of the guard” mode, and she shakes her head before yanking him down for a long searing kiss. “Do not stay up too late my darling,” she calls to him as he heads towards the door, and he responds with a wide smile before ducking out, the door closing softly after him.

“Oh Steve, you would believe anything would you not?” she mutters, picking up her goblet and draining the rest of her wine. Not even a day and Melinda was turning out to be much more than her parents had warned. She smirks around the golden rim; the days to come would be a challenge she would surely enjoy.

#philinda #philinda fanfiction #philinda au #otp: she means everything to me #type: fanfiction #originelle fic