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lacontroller1991 · 9 days

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Blindsided (Mob Boss!AU Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean)

Main Master List || Misc Master List Part 1 || Part 2

Inspired by @ghoulcyamour's mob boss idea and requested by anon

Summary: After being kidnapped, Lucy demands answers, but is left heartbroken and with more questions than before.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping, alcohol, language, Mob elements

Author's note: So I typically don't write character x character fanfic (I'm much better with x reader), however I had a good idea for this one and so I hope it pays off. I definitely think it should be in two parts, and I plan on having the second out sometime this week!!!

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“What do we do now?” A muffled voice asks in the darkness, the voice rough and unsure.

What seems to be another man sighs. “He’s not going to be happy.”

“When is he ever happy?” “Well shit, I don’t know, but he’s going to be extra mad when he finds out we kidnapped the wrong Maclean. She’s waking up.”

Lucy wakes up with a groan and a pounding headache. Either she drank too much last night, or she hit her head against something and blacked out. Her bet is on the latter. Trying to regain her consciousness, her eyes slowly open, wincing immediately at the bright light. Why on Earth is it so bright? Sitting up on the oddly stiff bed, Lucy cracks her neck a couple of times before her eyes properly open, letting out a yelp of surprise to see two men in her room. Scurrying off the bed, Lucy flees to a corner, back against the wall while she watches the two men who don’t make a move toward her. “Where am I? Who are you?”

One of the men steps forward, setting a box down on the bed before returning to his partner’s side, their cold eyes piercing yours. “You’re in no danger. For now. Put that on and fix yourself up. He wants to meet with you.” Lucy gulps, hazel eyes flicking between the box on the bed and the two men. It’s clear to her that she’s been kidnapped. She’s never met them before, and she hasn’t seen them before. One moves to open the door, slipping out while the other stares at her, eyes traveling down her body, lingering on the party dress that reveals a little too much. “We’ll be back in 10.” The man comments before stepping out of the room, closing the door, and locking it from the outside with a soft click.

Once they are out of sight, Lucy begins hyperventilating. Who are these people and what do they want with her? She’s done nothing wrong. All she did was go out for a couple of drinks last night with her friends and now she’s here, in this room, with no answers. Looking down at the box, she runs her fingers along the edges before lifting the top, revealing a simple pair of ballet flats that lay on top of a simple black dress. Moving the flats to the side, Lucy lifts the dress, bringing it over to the mirror in the room and holding it over her body. It’s not her normal style, however it does have a certain elegance to it. Letting out a shaky sigh, Lucy looks at her reflection in the mirror, cringing at her slightly smeared makeup and appearance before looking down at the classy dress in her hands. “Okey Dokey.”

“Where are you taking me?” The hands on her arms are firm, but not firm enough to leave any serious bruising.

“Will you just shut up?” The man on her right comments, leading her through a series of hallways that maybe if she was paying closer attention she could map out. Wherever she is, whoever owns it must have a lot of money. The two men on her arms lead her through open double doors, revealing a large room with high elaborate walls and a large fireplace on one side while a library covers the other side. In the middle of the room sits a large oak table, filled with trays of food. At the sight of the food, her stomach grumbles as nausea sets in. She hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning and the alcohol is finally taking its toll. The two men forcibly sit her down on one of the chairs at the table before standing behind her.

A set of doors open, gathering Lucy’s attention, watching a group of men walk in and in the middle stands a man with a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. Looking him over, Lucy takes note of the way he holds himself. Straight posture, pressed suit, neat, combed back hair, sharp eagle like eyes that don’t seem like they would miss anything, and a persona that radiates boss energy. Lucy’s breath hitches in her chest. Aside from him being older than her, she can’t deny how attractive the stranger is.

Taking a seat across from her, the man snuffs out his cigarette, motioning for a waiter to pour wine into Lucy’s cup before moving to the man, filling his glass with the red liquid.

“Uh- hello?” The man tilts his head, eyes squinting at her, the gears in his head visibly turning. Leaning forward, the man rests his head on his clasped hands, eyes remaining on Lucy, making her squirm.

“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” At the mention of finally getting some answers, Lucy’s eyes light up.

“Yes actually! Among other things,” she smiles, stomach growling but she pays no mind to it. “Like who are you? What is this place? What do you want from me? I mean this is all so much and I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done to be kidnapped or why you gave me this dress and this food! I mean there’s so much! Can I start eating?" Lucy’s rambling causes the man to smirk in amusement. Gesturing for the food, he watches as she piles food onto her plate, immediately taking a bite and moaning at the taste, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Does your daddy starve you or something?”

Lucy stops chewing, instead turning her attention to the man across from her before swallowing her food. “You know my dad?” The room erupts in laughter, including the man in front of her, a puzzled look gracing her features.

As the laughing quiets down, the man in front of her takes the glass of wine and swirls it before taking a sip. Closing his eyes, he savors the liquid before swallowing, smacking his lips and setting the glass down on the table. “Now that is some fine wine. I’m personally more of a scotch man, but this brand is hard to beat. So little lady, down to business. Your dad owes me a lot of money. My boys were supposed to grab your brother, but I guess you’re just as good.”

“I think you’re thinking of someone else; my dad is a legitimate businessman. How can he owe you money?”

Letting a chuckle fall from his lips, the man puts some food on his plate, using his fork to shovel the food in his mouth, building suspense. “Your dad is not who you think he is. He took my wife, and he costed me a fuck ton of money, so I am going to put a price on your pretty head in hopes that he pays up.”

Lucy stands up abruptly, eyes wide in suspense as the two men behind her take a step closer, ready to step in when the moment is called. “You can’t do that! I’m going to call the police!”

“Sit your ass down,” one of the men forces Lucy down onto the chair as the man in front of her takes another bite of food, chasing it down with wine. “I get that you might not know of your dad’s business, but the police ain’t gonna help, not when they’re in my back pocket.” Gulping, Lucy grabs the wine, downing it in hopes that it will ease her nerves. She’s known that her dad runs a very lucrative business, but she didn’t know how lucrative, and if it’s anything like this man suggests, then she might be in for a shock.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Cooper Howard,” he scoots back from his seat, briefly standing up and fixing his suit before walking over to Lucy, handing her a phone. “Your daddy took something from me, and I want collateral. You’re going to use this phone and you’re going to call Hank, tell them that Cooper Howard has you and he wants his wife back along with the 3 million he stole or else you will be killed, and believe me, I am not above killing a pretty little thing such as yourself.”

He drags a finger down her cheek as a tear falls down Lucy’s porcelain skin. Just what has her dad done that could get him in such a mess. Reluctantly, she takes the phone from Cooper, flipping the screen up and silently pray, hoping that her dad will come to her rescue. “What’s your wife’s name?”

“Barbara.” Lucy’s head snaps up, recognition flooding her brain. Surely, he can’t mean the same Barbara that’s been living with them. If so, her dad kidnapped her? She doesn’t seem to be kidnapped, if anything, she seems happy, free. Not like how Lucy is feeling right now.

“Dark skin, brown hair? Really pretty?” Cooper’s head tilts, brows pushing together at Lucy’s question.

“That’s her. How do you know her?”

“She lives with my dad, brother and I. Makes some good hot chocolate.” Cooper’s eyes widen as a scowl form on his lips. Reaching forward, he grabs Lucy’s chin, as he leans in, his breath fanning against her face.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s living with you?” Cooper’s eyes burn with rage as the gears in his head turn. Lucy chooses her next words carefully.

“She said she needed to get out of her marriage, so she moved in with us. I had no clue that she was kidnapped. She seemed happy, never complained about anything, always laughing at jokes, and telling us stories. I’m pretty sure her and my dad have a thing going on.” It slips out of Lucy’s mouth before she realizes what she said and to who. The man in front of her growls, bringing up a hand and slapping her across the face as she lets out a gasp, pain tingling against her cheek.

“You’re a fucking liar,” he steps back, fists clenching and unclenching. There’s no way that she’s right, right? Sure, he and Barb went through a divorce, but he thought that they had come to an understanding, especially given that Janey was still in school. After pacing for a minute, he shoves the phone into Lucy’s hands. “Call him. Tell him he better give me 6 million now or else it’s going to be your head on a platter to his front door.”

Not wasting any time, Lucy ignores the pain on her face as she dials Hank’s phone number, hoping that he picks up. “Hello Dad? ... I’ve been kidnapped, and he’s demanding Ms. Barbara and 6 million dollars… Some guy named Howard.” Cooper’s foot taps impatiently as a hand runs over his mouth. This can’t be real right now. “Dad no. NO PLEASE! Just give him what he wants! I wan-“Lucy is cut off, tears welding in her eyes as she holds the phone against her ear, disbelief setting in. How has her whole life been a lie? How could her dad say, ‘good luck I’ll see what I can do’.

Noticing her sudden shift in demeanor, Cooper turns his attention back to the young girl. “Well, what did he say girl.”

“He said ‘go to hell you bastard’ and ‘you’ll never get her back’ and-“Lucy chokes back a sob, resisting the urge to break down in tears, “and he said that you can keep me.” The room goes silence as Cooper processes the words. He honestly didn’t think Hank was that bad of a guy, but leaving his daughter out to dry is something that not even he would do. Motioning to the two men behind her, he grabs the phone out of Lucy’s hands as they escort her out of site, the girl too emotionally wrecked to even fight back. Sitting down on his sofa by the fireplace, he sips on a scotch brought to him by one of the servants.

“What do you want to do boss?”

“We’re going to make him pay.”

Part 2??? I think so. Let me know how you guys like it in the comments!

Tag List: @reveluving @mariedork @palesatan @atttck @therighteousmanisdead

#fallout amazon #Cooper howard #the ghoul #Lucy maclean #ghoulcy #Cooper howard x Lucy maclean #the ghoul x lucy maclean #cooper x lucy #the ghoul x lucy #walton goggins #ella purnell #vaultghoul #fallout #fallout tv #fallout series #hank maclean

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thezombieprostitute · 4 months

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Dream Come True - Part 2

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Shooting mentioned, not written. American healthcare system. Insecure reader. Bullying with an emphasis on fat shaming. Please let me know if I miss any!

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

It's only been a few days but you find yourself unable to follow the advice of the medical staff and get some rest. Your brain won't let you. You've got budgets to consider, a resume to update, and follow up appointments to schedule. Thankfully when Jake and Jefferson had brought the girls for a visit they made sure to bring your laptop.

Because you hated not knowing, you opted to spend your time researching to see about how much you might be getting from that back-pay promised by Curtis. Jefferson had assured you that Curtis did, in fact, have that kind of pull but "please don't dig too much into it." You got the impression not everything was on the up-and-up but you have bills to pay so you agreed.

On day four you got a notice of deposit from your bank. You took a look and your jaw dropped. That couldn't be right! You'd done the research. There's no way even an experienced, highly qualified tutor would ever be earning that much! There must've been a mistake! You immediately make a note to tell someone who knows Curtis.

Curtis and Mace were going through their weekly itineraries. Between the two of them nothing got lost. Mace would, occasionally, grumble about needing a vacation but the two of them were the only people who keep all the moving pieces in mind.

"At least we can check a few things off the list this week," Curtis grunted. "Hal's got the bugs planted in the Smith law building. Jake's confirmed they're working."

"Fowler confirmed McMann won't be a problem," Mace reported. "Apparently the guy's busy trying to hunt down the guy that ran away with his wife."

Curtis chuckled at that. "That was Nat, right?"

Mace smiled, "yeah. Nat called "dibs" and we didn't have a counterargument."

"McMann's gonna spend a long time searching," Curtis shakes his head. "Nat's the best at not being found when she doesn't want to be."

"And the Missus is definitely better off," Mace agreed. "Nat's setting her up for life."

"That reminds me," Curtis interjected. "How's the back-pay for Hero doing?"

Mace double checked a few things on his phone before replying, "it's been deposited into her account."

"Good. One more thing we can cross off the list."

"Not yet, actually," Mace hesitated. Curtis gave him a curious look. "Turns out, she's trying to get ahold of you to talk about the amount. Beck says she's adamant that it's too much."

"Huh," Curtis's eyebrows raised. "There's something you don't hear every day. I'll talk to Barber and got some legal-ese that'll explain without explaining."

Mace nods and the two continue their meeting, switching to ongoing tasks.

"Excuse me?" It's been a few days since the money hit your account and you've finally gotten a visit from Curtis.

They kept you at the hospital longer because your stress levels made it "irresponsible" for Dr. Beck to discharge you, lest you have a heart attack as soon as you get outside. At this point you're certain Dr. Beck wants to get as much money from your stay as he can. Everyone who visits, however, says otherwise.

"Hazard pay," Curtis patiently repeated. "That's why there's so much more money than you expected."

"You can't expect me to believe that!" You are indignant. "That's not how hazard pay works. I've done my research Mr. um, Mr." you pause because you realize you don't know his last name. You feel the pang of embarrassment because you've been saying you've done your research but you don't know something as simple as a last name! You push past it and continue, "I've done my research, sir!"

You open up your laptop and bring up all of your documents of notes, focusing in on the bibliography. "I've got data from reputed tutoring websites, the Department of Labor, Glassdoor, even the Bureau of Labor Statistics, and none of them support the amount I was given."

Curtis finds himself smiling. He's been talked back to plenty of times, but never like this. "You're cute," he blurts out.

Thinking he's making fun of you, you look away from him and try not to show too much hurt. Curtis assures, "I'm not saying that to belittle you. You really have put a lot of work into this."

You shake your head, "it's besides the point, sir. You've grossly overpaid me. I know you've overpaid me. Yet you are refusing to acknowledge this."

"That's partly because I'm not sure why it's such a big deal to you," he calmly states.

"Because I don't want to cheat you!"

"Are you saying there's a price limit for saving my nieces?"

"I mean, technically there is. Could probably use some actuarial tables used in life insurance policies to find it out." Curtis gives you a hard glare but you persist, "I'm not saying that your nieces aren't priceless. I'm saying that I don't want to take what isn't mine. This is a lot of money and I don't want you going hungry or something because you feel you owe me when you don't. I only did what any decent person would do!"

"It's been my experience that decent people are rarities," Curtis stated. "As such they, and by extension you, should be treated well and given plenty."

"That's another part of the problem," you sighed. "I have not been told anything specific but I've seen and heard enough to suspect that this money might not be... legitimate."

Curtis's jaw tensed up. He'd have to have a word with the J's about being more careful. "I assure you," he nearly growled, "that the money you received was honestly earned by us and then you. All tax forms have been taken care of. All employment paperwork is settled."

You meet his gaze, undeterred by the intensity in his eyes. You see no signs of trickery. Nothing in those icy blue eyes indicating he was hiding the truth from you. You nod your acceptance and he relaxes a bit.

"Now," he says in a much lighter tone, "was there anything else?"

"Um, just one," you replied. "You said that I'm officially employed? That you might have more work for me? Who am I employed by and what other work should I be ready for?"

"The official name of my company is Everett Enterprises," he explained. "That's the company title on your W-2. As for the "other work" that was implied, it's simply a notice that I may have other employees in need of a tutor. I know Hal has been looking at getting his GED."

"So all you would need from me is more tutoring?"

Curtis can hear the tremor in your voice. You're a good person who doesn't want to get mixed up in anything illegal and he's happy to accommodate that. "Yes," he asserts. "Though that may involve helping some of my people learn how to cite their sources like you did."

That gets a half smile from you and Curtis considers the conversation done. "Now please follow the doctor's orders and rest up," he pleads. As he turns to leave he says, "make sure to get your beauty sleep."

Because he's facing away he doesn't see your face fall at the comment.

Part 1 -- Part 3

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would.

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@texmexdarling

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x plus size!reader #plus size!reader #mob!curtis everett #mafia!curtis everett #dream come true

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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 2 months

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can't stop thinking about someone comparing roman and darling's relationship to harley and joker's...roman would not respond well to that.

this would probably happen with a darling who loves him back. maybe you did hate him at first, maybe you have stockholm syndrome, but it doesn't matter. you're devoted to him now. you accept the affection he gives and the pain he inflicts.

and the thing is...his darling is not a well kept secret despite his efforts. you might be locked up in his penthouse 24/7, but it's impossible to hide you away from everyone.

his goons and staff know about you out of necessity. some of the more trusted ones are assigned to guard you when he's not around. they can all hear him fucking you, hear him making you scream almost every day.

maybe one of his goons makes an offhand comment about the boss getting his own little version of a harley. or maybe word gets out about you and another rogue slyly brings you up in a meeting and implies black mask and joker having something in common.

oh, he'd be seething. he'd hate it so fucking much.

Frrrr

I mean Roman and Joker are both very aware that what they're doing is wrong, they just don't care. But they differ in that Roman will never lay a hand on Darling outside of getting rough in bed (even when he gets that initial violent urge, he just throws furniture or beats someone else in the vicinity). If he's gonna punish them, he's making them watch while he brutalizes someone or leaving them confined until they beg to be let out. He's drugging them so they're too out of it to try running. He's keeping their family at arm's length and he's not above going after them if it means he can get what he wants. I say that he won't outright hit his Darling but he'll do pretty much everything else. Ffs this is the man who tortured a teenage girl to near death and who killed an entire wing of a hospital just to get access to his father.

Both of them DO view what they're feeling as love, but they have a very different and fucked up way of showing it. Joker DOES sometimes have a weird affection for Harley that he can't explain and doesn't like acknowledging, but it isn't love. In No Man's Land when she goes off on her own and is distant towards him, he actually finds himself wanting her around. I like versions of their relationship where Joker feels...something. Not love because he's incapable of it. But something that he can't really feel with anyone else.

Roman on the other hand does feel love, but he's a violent and angry mob boss who will prioritize himself over Darling's freedom and well-being 99% of the time. But he won't take any kind of comparisons to himself and Joker. For one, he keeps his girl safe and doesn't slap her around the way Joker does with his girlfriend-cum-sidekick. He doesn't string Darling along the way Joker does with Harley and her desire for a truly loving relationship.

Also Roman doesn't neglect Darling emotionally or sexually the way Joker does Harley. Like if Darling hopped on Roman's desk in lingerie and wanted to "ride her favorite Italian stallion", he would throw everything he was doing out the window. If she appeared naked out of a tub filled with pudding, he's gonna lick it all off and fuck her so much that the cleaning staff won't tell what's coom and what's vanilla.

Also even with a wooden lacquer mask melted to his face, he can still eat pussy better than Joker. Not a high bar to pass but still. He's the only one allowed to joke about Darling getting a splinter down there tho

#thots #.dc #.arkhamverse #yandere dc #yandere arkhamverse #.black mask #yandere black mask #.myshit

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coupleoffanfics · 10 months

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Hey, it’s almost 1am and I’m riding the angst train I wanted to ask ur opinion on something.

How would the fam react to Y/n getting grievously I hired or dying by the hands of a villain or by Jeremiah and getting caught in the crossfire???

❤️❤️❤️

I'm so glad that people like reading my stuff. It's more self-indulgent, but what fanfic isn't self-indulgent?

Anyway, I'm so excited by seeing this ask because it sounds fun to write about. Let's start with the "less" angsty one. y/n getting gravely injured (I'm assuming that's a typo) by a villain.

TW: Mention of suicidal ideation once and gore.

Getting Gravely Injured by a Villain

It'd depend on the Villain. The family is going to act accordingly in their personas. Their punches are probably hitting harder than usual.

Jason might shoot the villain in the head, but ultimately can't. He's in Gotham following the Bat's rules slightly. So he'll just shoot their knee.

y/n isn't Batgirl anymore. So that means the villain must know the publicity they'll get by attacking, kidnapping, or holding a minor celebrity would give them. The fact that it's Bruce Wayne's daughter who's painted out to be a saint by the media would spread like wildfire. They'd have to be doing it to get attention or money.

How severely y/n was harmed doesn't matter too much. Bruised, broken bones, stabbed, etc are going to make the family more protective. Trying to persuade y/n into coming back to the manor, so that they can keep her close and prevent this from happening again.

Now the Valeska twins will differ in how y/n gets hurt and their reaction.

Jerome is like a child on a sugar high when with y/n. Wouldn't deliberately harm her in any way. Kidnaps y/n and go on a joy ride around the city even though she has no choice and isn't finding any joy from this. She'll probably get a scrape on her legs or arms from falling because Jerome is running too fast while he is holding her arm. Maybe have a bruised arm or wrist because of how tightly he holds her.

He doesn't think too much about things and will get into dangerous situations. Pick a fight or mock the wrong person leading to a shootout. He's having too much fun to care about anyone until y/n is hit.

One of the family members finally caught up to Jerome and was ready to— oh, my God y/n is bleeding from her side! Oh, fuck! AHHH! Jerome knows he can leave y/n in the hands of whatever bat family member showed up. She'll be in good hands while he hunts down the one who shot her.

"I know you're one of the 'good guys', but take care of her. If I hear that you did something that upsets her I'll— actually, I'll keep that a surprise." He looks at y/n who is just bleeding on the floor and in pain with a big ol’ smile. "I'll make sure to give you the head of that fucker who got you. Until then see ya later, toots!"

After that y/n is forced to stay in the manor. They made a deal that it would just be a few weeks, but her stay is indefinite.

Bruce

Opens the door one day to find a large box. It wasn't a delivery because it has no shipping information on it. Just an envelope with y/n's name on top of it. Bruce opens the envelope first and reads the letter which has poor handwriting.

Hey, doll!

Hope you're resting up and not in too much pain. I didn't think picking on a mob boss would get so messy. They just couldn't take a joke. I'll pick a more private place for our next date cuz I know how shy you are. Hope seeing them brightens your day. Made sure to get rid of the eyes since I know how you don't like too many eyes on you. Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone who was there.

Love Jerome.

Bruce doesn't need a minute to take things in. He already knows what's in the box and sends it to the authorities. Does not mention a word of this to y/n. She is already going through a lot and best to not tell her.

He does increase the security around the manor. He ends up putting a tracker on y/n because knowing where she is the only way to keep him from worrying.

This further solidifies that she needs to be in their protection to keep this mentally disturbed boy away. The whole thing is twisted but the line "a more private place" bothers him the most. He's not letting his daughter be alone with Jerome longer than she already has.

Dick

It's early in the morning and Dick wanted to check up on how y/n doing. As he walks up to the manor there's a large box sitting in front of the door. A letter sits on top of it with y/n's name on it. Rips up the envelope and begins reading the letter.

Once Dick was done reading, he looked down at the box. Noticing dried blood around the box. This makes him nauseous and immediately goes to Bruce to inform him. They sent it to authorities so they could identify the heads in the box.

He doesn’t tell y/n or the others about this. Everyone is already in a frenzy from the events prior, so it seemed best to keep this between him, Bruce, and Alfred.

"Made sure to get rid of their eyes," Dick isn't sure why that sticks with him. Maybe it's because he wonders if Jerome beheaded them or took out their eyes first. It doesn't matter though because he needs to keep his little sister safe.

Barbara

Doesn't even want to go near it, checks that there isn't a bomb in there waiting to explode. She takes one peek in the box and immediately looks away. Does not read the letter because what was in the box said what needed to be said. Informs the whole family and that sets the mood for the day.

She checks up on y/n after telling everyone. The poor girl is so overwhelmed by everything that she doesn't want to be around anyone. Spends most of the day with y/n, trying to cheer her up. Get sweets since that's y/n weakness and sugar releases dopamine. She has Alfred cook y/n's comfort food.

The day is meant to help release all of the stress. Barb wasn't sure if it was working until y/n said thank you before going to bed. Barb makes a promise to herself that she'll become better at shielding y/n from this type of depravity.

Jason

Can tell who this is from just by the envelope. y/n's name with little hearts around it. Shoves it into his pocket, he'll give it to y/n when he sees her. Opens the box to be hit with a familiar disgusting odor. Looking inside there are 3 heads. Recognizes one of them being a mod boss he has on his list for a while now.

Jason wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't this. He pulls out the envelope and tears it open to get some sort of context. Reading the letter left him unsettled and a little…satisfied? Grateful maybe? For taking care of those who harmed y/n even though it was entirely Jerome's fault that this happened in the first place.

Closes the box and informs the whole family of what he found. Everyone is put more on edge. y/n isn't allowed out of the manor for a few days. y/n is upset by the news and she’s more quiet the following days.

Jason almost wants to laugh at, "They just couldn't take a joke." Bets that these" jokes" were just thinly veiled threats and pointing a gun at them. He probably would have snickered if this didn't involve y/n.

Tim

All he wanted to do was check the mail. Now he's reading a sort of love letter written by a psycho and looking down at the heads that could not look back at him. Their empty eye sockets had- ugh, God there was so much blood.

Debates on whether he should tell y/n about this, but ends up telling her. There was no point in hiding it because she'll probably find out one way or another. Sees the guilt and horror flash across her face. Wants to comfort her as much as he can, but all she does is detract from him. Of course, when Barb opens her arms y/n jumps into them. What happened to them always being there for each?

Doesn't like, "our next date", one bit. He doesn't like the insinuation or the thought of it. He starts keeping his eyes peeled for Jerome and ears open if anyone has information on where he is or going. The sooner he's in Arkham the safer y/n is from him and going on that next date.

Damian

Not impressed. The delivery was lazy and the writing was so sloppy that he almost couldn't read it. The heads must have been cut with a butter knife with how unclean and jagged the cut is. Every unprofessional. Nonchalantly brings this up at the table during breakfast. Not even when everyone is finished, just right in the middle of it.

Never really had respect for a villain or any, but the whole "Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone" was almost respectable. Damian having a speck of respect doesn't mean he likes Jerome. Still thinks he's stupid and annoying.

He'd give him a 3/10 for the delivery and would not order again.

Per-Spray Jeremiah isn't going to do anything, but Post-Spray Jeremiah is a different story. Will break one of y/n's arms or legs just so that she can't get away from him too easily. Though that's going to the extreme, he's more likely to guilt trip her. Getting into her head isn't hard and more effective.

"I thought you loved me. You were the one who always said you loved me. y/n, who has been here for you the most and always will? Not your best friend, Norah, she's leaving you behind and you know it. Not your family because they never cared about you in the first place. No one will love you like I do. You need me, y/n."

By the time the family saves y/n and brings her back to the cave for medical attention. She's consumed by guilt and almost believes she deserved any harm done to her. Will cry to Barb about this and only Barb.

Concerned by this revelation Barb will tell the whole family. Bruce is worried as it's clear that y/n's mental state is worsening. He knew that it would be after bad being kidnapped by Jeremiah, he just didn't think it would be this bad. Bruce and Tim have the same idea to get y/n another therapist if she's still not seeing one.

Jason and Damian are mad that y/n would think that she deserves any pain. Jason is kinda, sort of, not really more understanding about the whole thing than Damian. He gets how she could feel that she failed Jeremiah. If she has revealed that they had been dating and she can't or won’t give up on him, everyone is conflicted and concerned.

Dick has had the most romantic relationships and will try to convince y/n that Jeremiah is a lost cause now. Leading her to a spiral into a depressive episode. Oops!

If y/n is on the verge of death the family freaking the fuck out. Slowly recovers at the manor and convinces her that staying with them is the best thing for her. Depending on if her injury is life-threatening or not will determine how cooperative she is.

Getting Killed by a Villain

Doesn't matter who it is Jason is shooting them on the spot. Though with how emotional and choked up he's getting, he'll probably miss. Damian would react the same way if his whole body didn't stop upon seeing y/n's lifeless eyes. He doesn't want to step near her to see if it was true that he lost his sister.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim will force themselves to act professionally. They're still in their hero personas and killing was a strict no. If the whole family is there then whoever killed y/n is getting a beating of their life.

It could also depend on who's at the scene. Bruce and Dick hold on to the moral code that killing is wrong. This will prevent any further killings from happening.

Damian and Jason would probably end up killing the villain after seeing y/n's corpse. They know it's not going to bring back y/n, but what else can they do except making the villain to pay their debt?

Tim teeters between the lines. If Bruce or Dick is there then he's on their side of not killing. If it's just Damian and/or Jason then he won't stop them. He won't participate just stands back to let them do their thing.

Depending how and when she died will weigh heavily on their mind. Quick and painless before they got there? At least she didn't have to suffer too much, but still keeps them up at night.

Tortured for hours before succumbing to her injuries? They already feel guilty that they couldn't save her on time, but her last hours of living was being in pain will only intensify it. Out of the whole family, Jason would probably be the most distraught by this. He reopens old wounds and memories. y/n meeting a similar end is horrifying to him.

Get there on time, but it’s too late to save her from her injuries. Then slowly dies in their arms. If they're all there then y/n is dying in Bruce's arms.

"Please tell Jeremiah, I'm sorry and- and that I love him. Tell Norah that I hope s-she achieves her dreams of becoming a doctor. Are- are you still there? I can't see or feel you." She can slightly hear Bruce's deep voice while what seems to be the others are screaming. It's getting harder to hear and her body is starting to feel heavier.

This is the end and everyone knows it. Jason, Tim, and Dick don't want to accept it and are trying to patch her wound(s). Trying to get help there as soon as possible. Bruce and Damian are quiet trying to listen to her soft voice get quieter.

y/n starts slightly laughing, it's a nervous tick. "I always fantasize about having enough courage to end it all. Bu-but I- fuck. I'm such a fuck up." She starts crying and any words of comfort are either not heard or ignored. Starts coughing blood, but that doesn't deter Bruce in the slightest. Damian squeezes her hand though he doubts she can feel it.

"I don't even feel the pain anymore…At least I…At least I'm not dying alone." It isn't long before she stops breathing.

Alternatively, I thought of y/n saying, "I wished I was surrounded by loved ones." But she wouldn't stay that no matter how angry she is at the family. Might think it though.

In both cases of the Valeska twins, y/n would be caught in the crossfire. Jerome isn't going to kill y/n because she's his one and only. Jeremiah isn't going to kill y/n because why would he kill his wife? He's already planned out most of their whole lives and she already signed the mentally fabricated marriage certificate.

Jerome gets into a frenzy seeing y/n drop dead. No one is spared from his wrath. He can't bring himself to look at her body and will just leave. Inactive for a short time before getting back into the swing of things.

She is buried next to Jason. The family will catch Jerome hanging around her grave "talking to her" or something. Who knows what the hell he's doing. They'll have to chase him off or turn on the sprinklers if they want him to leave.

He didn't kill her himself, but he's still responsible for the events leading up to it. Meaning the family isn't going to pull back any punches.

Post-Spray Jeremiah has a similar reaction to y/n's death. Honestly, y/n could have died by just jumping in front of him to take a bullet. Doesn't matter how much y/n should hate him, she can't bring herself to. Ultimately it doesn't matter how she died, Jeremiah will blame Batman or the others for their inability to save y/n. Deflecting any responsibility.

This reinforces that he has to destroy Gotham and make it into his perfect image. y/n always talked about wanting to make the world a better place and that's exactly what he's doing.

If she dies in his arms he'll make a quick escape with her body. Having Echo hold back everyone to buy him time. Buries y/n in an undisclosed location and the tombstone will stay y/n Valeska instead of l/n or Wayne.

If he knew of the family's identity, he'd make subtle jabs at them. Mocking them for their mishandling of y/n. When or if he takes over Gotham he'll make sure that they all have front-row seats of the destruction before killing them off.

If he's feeling ruthless he might just have one of his followers get plastic surgery to look like y/n. Even change the pitch of their voice to get close enough to y/n's. Then send the follower after them and make various claims about how they lied about caring about her. How they let her die on purpose. That she'll never forgive them.

Traumatizing the whole family. Will make his follower's death gruesome just fuck with them and have them relive that day.

Bruce regrets not having kept y/n closer. He has a lot of 'should haves’ and 'if only’ in his head. He knows that's not going to do anything, but it'll take a while to accept her death. Always visits her grave every week.

Dick wishes that he'd been a better brother to y/n. He'll often wonder if she's looking down at them from above. Any mention of her will upset him for a while. Tim feels the same as Dick but often finds himself reminiscing about those happy moments. When they're smiling and laughing, once the memory is over he's left feeling melancholy.

Barbara is heartbroken by this. y/n always talked about how she wanted a normal domestic lifestyle. How much she loves Jeremiah and believes that he's the one. Now she's in the dirt and never experienced that simple quiet life she wanted. Carries a photo of y/n and her smiling on her all the time. Believes that y/n is in a better place where she can live out her dreams. One day Barb will see her again and give her a bone-crushing hug.

Jason and Damian think of throwing her body into Lazarus Pit if they have access to her body. Jason seriously thinks of it for only a minute before throwing it out. The pit messed him up and he can't handle bringing y/n back only for her mental turmoil to worsen. Damian doesn't think about that. He wants to apologize for all he's said and done. He wants his sister back, but the family is quick to turn down the idea. Explaining how it could only lead to more pain.

Damian would most likely listen to the family since they're technically right. Although there is a small chance that he wouldn't listen and do it anyway. Right out of the pit, y/n's thinking of her only love. Tries to run back to Jeremiah, but Damian is not having any of that.

When he returns to the manor with y/n tied up the whole family will have a verbal MMA fight. After that, they lock y/n in a nicely furnished room with hidden security cameras. y/n is like a zombie. Only has one thing, rather one person on her mind. She's a shell of who she once was.

At least they have a second chance, right?

y/n can not go ten minutes without talking or asking about Jeremiah. Will speak with herself if there isn't anyone else with her.

I think this turned out horrible, but hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to ask anything else as my inbox in always open. Also sorry for misspells or grammar mistakes, kinda rushed this.

#batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #richard grayson x reader #dick grayson x batsis #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x batsis #barbara gordon x reader #jerome valeska x batsis reader #jeremiah valeska x batsis reader #gotham x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Note

I'm in the mood for Steve to manhandled me 😞 please give me some nice input. Do I want medivial Steve, mob Steve, cop Steve, lumberjack Steve? What Steve? Help me 😭

I'm giving you medieval Steve

Merciless

Summary: You're caught in the spoils of war.

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/hitting, blood, death. You know what it is, mind the warnings.

Notes: this turned out much longer than intended. As usual, I would appreciate feedback, reblogs and likes. Love yall 💓.

You clamp your hand over Agnes' mouth as you lay hidden from the furor. The screams of horror and agony, pleas for death and life, and the slash of steel and flesh. She quivers, her salty tears flowing between your fingers. Your own trickle down your cheeks and patter into her orange hair.

The loft is poor protection, you know it, and to stay would be as dire as to yield yourself to the soldiers and their bloodlust. It is undoubted that they will strike flame to the barn as they have the rest of the settlement.

Tales of brutality and blood precede them but the common farmers and serfs never imagined it would strike the insignificant hamlet. The huts and the fields are too sparse to offer bounty to pillagers but it seems their desires are not uniquely material.

You shudder as Agnes gulps, the hooves growing closer and closer. You can't stay. You hear the men calling for torches.

You squeeze your hand around Agnes' lips and lean in to whisper, "be very quiet."

She nods and you cautiously peel your palms away and slowly push yourself up from beneath the straw. You mop your cheeks as fear blooms anew in your stomach, causing you to quake as you crawl towards the edge of the platform, peering down the ladder.

The orange light of flames flickers faintly around the barred doors, the night drifting in between the cracks in bitter gales. You wave Agnes closer and point her down first. She descends as you watch the door, the crack of fire eating at wood noisily without. Closer and closer.

You follow her down, the girl you've known since you were barely able to walk. She's pallid with terror, her eyes dilated in the shadows of the barn. You grab her wrist and pull her around the bales.

"Here," you point to the loose slat hidden along the rear of the structure.

"We can't go out," she hisses, "they will see us."

"It's our only chance," you whisper, "otherwise, we'll burn as easy as the hay."

"Please," she clings to you, "I'm scared, I can't."

"I am too but we must," you insist, voice quavering as you recall the desperate whimpers of your mother, "to stay is a certain death, Ag, so we go."

She sniffles as a new wave of tears overflows and she wipes them away with her wool sleeves. You carefully inch the slat aside, angling it on the loose nail so you can peek out.

The forest isn't too far, not if you run. Your heart swells as you ponder the expanse.

"Don't look back, right? I'll watch from behind and you run."

"What– aren't you coming–"

"I will be only steps behind, I will only keep an eye for any soldiers," you assure her, "you go out first and I will follow." You reach for her hand and squeeze, "don't look back."

She shudders and you can't help but do the same. You angle the board enough for her to step through and she kneels in the tall grass. You come out in quick succession and ease the plank back into place.

"Buncha old man and their forks," a soldier growls from somewhere on the other side.

"Likely sent the young ones to the church for refuge," another scoffs, "women too."

"Not all, Wilson found a pretty little thing up a tree," a third snickers.

"Oh, she got good hips?" The second japes.

"Didn't notice, cunt is a cunt," the other slithers.

You wince in disgust as Agnes looks at you in horror. You shake your head as if to say, don't listen. You press a finger to your lips then point across the field. Your gazes meet in wordless consent.

You make a fist, a signal, then open your hand. In a moment, she's sprinting through the grass with her skirts raised to her knees, the rustle and snapping of twigs marking her flight. The men's voices carry on in their nasty repartee then pause as the noise draws their ears.

You hold your breath as she bounds without a glance over her shoulder. You hear metal clinks, the friction of leather and mail as a man comes around the corner. He doesn't see you as he sights Agnes flees and he gives a smirk before leaping into pursuit. Your chest knots as you quickly follow suit.

You chase after him as you hear Agnes give a pitiful cry at the realisation of her pursuer. You can barely keep stride with the man and jump forward to grasp at him desperately before he's completely beyond your grasp.

Your fingers cling to the pommel of his sword and the back of his thick leather belt. He staggers and shouts in surprise as you throw your weight into him. He topples as you land atop him.

He's face down in the grass as you scramble to climb off him. You get one foot down, then the other, fighting for balance as you heave and look ahead as Agnes nears the treeline.

You take a step, then another, your third is caught by the man's thick gauntlet and you hit your elbows as you fall forward. You kick blindly and call to Agnes to keep running. Several other man clatter by in mail as she delves into the forest. You can only pray she loses them.

"You're a tricky one," the man grabs your other ankle and crawls up your body.

His hand snakes to the back of your neck and pinches, crushing your face into the bent grass. He's large, made heavier by his armor, as he curls his arm around your throat and forces your head up. You writh and claw at the ground as you try to squirm out from beneath him.

"Ah, you're going to be good fun, aren't you?" He snickers as he keeps his thick arm around you, hauling you up with him as he stands, bending your back painfully with the awkward rise, "let me get a good look, hm?"

He spins you, grabbing your chin as the scales of his gauntlet dig into your skin. A streak of blood crusts his hairline and continues down to his jaw, defined and trimmed on dark blond hair. He smirks as his other hand gropes through the layers of your apron and dress, "full-bodied in the least."

You try to shove his touch away and he squeezes your chin until you whimper, bracing his wrist in a silent plea for mercy. He chuckles as your eyes prick and the pain furrows in your brow.

"Please, sir," you murmur, "I am only the daughter of a reaper–"

"No doubt he's somewhere among the traitorous corpses," he snarls and yanks you closer, his hand slipping around to knead your bottom, "but he does breed good stock."

You flinch at the depths of his blue eyes, striking but sinister. His blond hair is pushed back, shiny with sweat and blood, as a single shank hangs down his forehead. He smells of battle, a gut churning stench.

His chestplate is marked with a large five-pointed star with thorny vines wrapped around its arms. It is armor due to more than the common soldier. He must be a knight.

"Oi, Rogers, caught yourself a fawn, eh?" Another man chuckles as he appears just behind your accoster.

The loud lick of flames rises behind them, rising up the boards of the barn. The orange hues tinge your eyes as your forebodding burns in the evening dim.

"She would go well with the cask we found in the farmer's cellar," the dark-haired man reaches to touch you but is stopped as the knight, Rogers they called him, releases your skirts to fend him off with a swat.

"Not for you," he growls.

"Eh, you lords, always so selfish," the other retracts his hand and scowls, "I suppose you won't need the wine anyhow."

You try to pull away, drawing his attention back to you as he jars your neck painfully. You grunt as the other man stumbles of, muttering discontently. Rogers turns his wrath on your, his hand quickly spreading across your skull, threatening to crush it.

"Let me tell you, bunny," he sneers, "you'll pray you'd burned up in that wreck," he turns you, forcing you to look at the smoke billowing from the sparking wood, "or at least hopped a little quicker."

"Why--" your hand slips down his bracer, "why are you doing this?"

"We take no mercy on treasonous rats," he snarls as he leans in, his nose pressing to your temple, "especially not their whorish daughters."

"We... we are no traitors, sir, we are commonfolk--"

"Raise not your axes and scythes for the king, but wallow in your fields," he shakes you, keeping hold of your scruff, yanking you along with his sudden march, "indifference is as good as an assault upon the crown."

You reach back as he twists the fabric of your dress tight, choking you as he drags you around the rabid heat of the burning barn. You stumble on your toes, held up by his unyielding grip

"My horse, where is my horse?" He barks out.

You hear a shrill cry and turn to see. He pulls you back meanly and throws you onto the hard ground, your knees scraping even through the wool and linen.

"Mind yourself, wench," he growls as you look up from the dirt.

"Please, don't--"

You glance over as you press your scratched palms against your skirts. Agnes struggles between two captors as they tug at her dress, the laces already loosened as her bodice droops down. You go to stand as you call out to her.

Once more, you're hauled back as Rogers catches your arm and spins you around.

"Lost cause, now," he girds, "less you want to join her."

You quiver and sniffle as you watch Agnes weep, barely able to fend off the men grabbing at her. Her helplessness compounds your own, suffocating you as tears gleams along your eyelids and spill over.

"Tears won't help you," he sneers callously as he accepts the leather reins from another man, a great white warhorse snorting at the looming fire, "up." You hesitate and he shoves you, nearly under the feed of the steed, "suppose you've no need of manners tilling the soil but you'll learn, bunny. Go on."

He doesn't wait for you to grab onto the horse, instead he takes you by the hips and lifts you, so swiftly you feel as if you'll fall over the other side. You latch onto the saddle and bring your leg around, clinging unsteadily on the sturdy beast, never sitting more than the old mule in Theo's stables.

He's swiftly up behind you, body flush to yours as he crushes you against the curve of the saddle. You can hear Agnes still as she whimpers and whines, wailing as the tear of fabric cuts through the air. You glance around frantically, trying to find her.

"Stubborn thing," he raps along the crown of your head with his knuckles, "be grateful you only have one master, she'll see a dozen by dawn."

"Please--"

"Please?" he challenges as he snaps the reigns, the sweat dripping down your chest as the heat of the burning barn permeates the night. "Please, what? Shall I take you down and pull your skirts up for those heathens? By all means, make your choice, bunny. Me or them?"

You shiver, despite the boiling gusts of the flames. You hear Agnes and other women, shrieking, crying, groaning. There are shadows limned in shades of orange and yellow, violent jerking, flailing limbs. You're dizzy with the repugnant visions all around me.

"What shall it be, bunny?"

You shake your head. You can't speak. Your mouth is dry, your throat lumped in dread. Your slump your shoulders and hang your head, sobbing in shame. You cannot protect Agnes, you're too weak, too cowardly.

Rogers snaps the reins, the horse breaking into a cantor. You sway with its motion, the world blurring behind the wall of your futile tears.

⚔️

The tall walls of the tent billow with the night winds. You stand in a haze, the soreness of the horse's gait lingers in your thighs and back. You weren't abreast long but the frantic energy of your fear recedes and leaves you wilted.

It is indeed a rich man's tent, not like the short poles of the common soldiers you passed along the outskirts of camp. There is a four-postered bed with a feather mattress and canopy, a war not waged without luxury. The oaken furniture and brocade cushions or finer than any piece found in your village, even before it was raized to cinder.

You press your hands together as his movement distracts you from grief. Several pieces of armor lay on the round trestle table, lain over a map drawn on hide. His sword leans against the side, still attached to the slack belt hanging from it.

He lifts his mail over his head, further messing his blood-streaked hair. He glances at you but says nothing. Only the glean of impatience in his eyes speaks his irritation.

You stare, witless, then look over your shoulder at the canvas flaps.

You wince as his shadow nears and you turn back to him as he snakes his arms around you, yanking loose the not of your apron. He whips it away from you and traces his fingers up your bodice, bracing the round neckline and renting the wool down the middle to reveal your linen shift.

His gruffness jerks you as he strips, ripping your dress to the hem and making short order of your shift. You hug yourself, trying to hold the fabric around you and he shoves your arms down, tugging the sleeves past your hands.

"Bed," he jabs his thumb behind him.

You swallow and shiver, rubbing your upper arm as you cover your chest and hover your other hand before your vee. You step back fearfully as you eye the mattress. He growls and grabs your elbow, dragging you away from the ruin of your clothes.

"Must I say everything twice?" He snaps and tosses you ahead of him.

You hit the bed and fall onto your stomach. You roll over, bringing your legs up to your chest and hugging them. He sighs as he pulls his tunic off and crumples it before throwing it away.

He stretches his fingers then furls them as his eyes graze over you hotly.

"You act like a virgin," he scoffs, "I've never known your ilk to be chaste."

You push yourself away from him as he nears the edge of the bed. He picks at the laces along the top of his breeches as he approaches. You dig in your heels as you awkwardly evade him.

"Not that the modesty of a peasant is worth anything," he sneers as he shoves down his breeches, revealing the thick muscle of his thighs.

You blink at the golden hair across his legs, that thickens around his turgid length, and thins against along his stomach, trailing up to and across his chest. You've seen men before as they bathe in the river, but never more than flaccid.

"Come," he reaches for you and you roll away.

You get your hands and knees beneath you, crawling towards the other edge with a squeak. His grip closes around your ankle and pulls your leg out from under you. He flips you over as he climbs onto the mattress and snarls, a low guttural noise.

"I should've known," he pulls your legs apart and moves to kneel between them. You slap at him and catches your wrists, pulling you up as your back curls tenuously, "you stop or I'll make you stop."

He threatens to crush your bones with his strength, only easing up as you still and whimper. He scoffs and pushes your hand down, sliding his fingers along yours and guiding them around his cock. You gasp as he holds you there, letting your other hand fall to the bed.

"You should be so honoured that you can get me hard, wench," he bristles as he moves your hand up and down his length, "perhaps it is that the road has made me too eager."

He pushes your shoulder down so your hand slips from him and he pins you flat to the bed. He sidles closer to you on his knees, shifting his hand to your chest and resting his weight there.

You turn your face away from him as the air rushes from your lungs. He rubs his tip along your pelvis, trailing along the creases of your thighs, as if teasing you, taunting you with what he's about to do.

You bite down as tears rise again, the thick cloud once more clogging your nose. He presses against your entrance and grabs your chin.

He forces your head up and you close your eyes. He taps along your folds and tuts as a pang radiates through your jaw. You look at him through glossy eyes, tears trickling down your temples.

"That's it, bunny," he growls, "it is improper to disregard a lord... or his will."

He pushes on you, slowly, the resistance of your body keeping him out. Still, a twinge of pain flickers in your pelvis and he pokes harder at you, stretching you around him as he grunts. He exhales and shifts his posture, dipping his hips lower.

You whine as he inches into you. The pain is immeasurable, a deep ache in the bones, the strain of flesh around his intrusion like a blade tearing through you. You grasp his forearm, reaching to touch his thigh with your fingertips.

"Ow," you whine, "please, it hurts, sir. Stop--"

You're struck suddenly, the world spinning as your head snaps to the side with the sheer fury of his slap. You hold your head as you babble cluelessly.

"You do not issue me orders, bunny," he sinks in further and your back arches as you cry out, curling your fingers in agony, wanting to claw at your own face. "That's it," he rocks back then in again, still barely inside you, "you cannot keep me out, bunny, I have never left any unconquered."

You murmur and slap your hands down on the woven blanket, fisting the fold of it as he tilts into you, each time deeper than the last. Your toes clench as he moves your thighs over his, pulling you closer as he topples the last of your resistance.

You gurgle at the stunning pain, the dizzying rattle in your head as your cheek sears from his assault. He bends over you, his rough hand covering your breast as he gropes you, rolling his thumb over your tender bud. He rocks steadily, long strokes in and out, stretching you over and over.

You grit your teeth as the tears wet spill out freely and gather in your throat. His body moves against yours, the hair along his torso tickling you as the heat and friction entwines you. His blue eyes drink in your tortured sobs, watching you as he thrusts deliberately, your squeaks and squeals goading him on.

He slides an arm beneath you as your hand spreads over the corded muscle of his chest. He impales you to his limit and you shriek. It's as if you will split in half.

He turn you over as he rolls with you, bringing you up over him as he lays on his back. You sink deeper onto him and brace his stomach as the pressure tingles down your thighs.

He chuckles at your struggle to take him from below, your body shaking violently as you mewl. He slaps your ass and squeezes the hot flesh, his other hand on your hips as he guides your motion.

You hang your head, breathless as he works you atop him, wiggling his hips and adding to the torment within. Your nails dig into the lines of his stomach as you tremble over him, tensing each time he tilts you against him. He groans and purrs as he moves you faster and faster.

"Oh, bunny," he slaps your rear again, then pinches you until you squeal, "you are such a weak thing."

You shakily cover your face in humiliation, unable to stem the flood of tears as they well over. His hand slips up your back and he pulls you down against him. He grips the back of your neck as he holds your body flush to his, stilling you as he bucks from below.

You wail as he hammers into you. All restraint is lost to his lust as his growls underline your pathetic babbling. You cling to him with nothing else to ease your pain.

He guides your hips, slamming you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You huff and puff as your eyes roll back and the shadows swirl in your head. You can't take much more.

"Shall I gift you with a bastard, bunny?" he growls as he slows, "hm? Something to recall me by."

"Sir..." is all you can get out as his motion turns erratic.

He groans and grunts as his fists your hair and a warmth erupts inside of you. His voice falters with his pace and he quakes as he spills his seed across your walls. He shudders as he falls limp, keeping you pinned against him as he pants.

You're stuck there, not only by his will but your weakness. Defeated, defiled, you lay over him, desecrated.

"If the lord wills it, you will have it," he rasps and wiggles his hips, "but it is said that it often takes much sowing to plant a seed."

#fic #dark!fic #dark fic #marvel #mcu #au #captain america #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #medieval au

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webbo0 · 3 months

Text

What happens if I don't like it? It's only-

Sierra Six (Courtland Gentry)

AO3

Length: 4,252

Summary: Six goes to a support group to make Claire happy. Senanigans ensue.

In which Six has a sexuality crisis, Ken is a being of pure sunshine, Driver would kill to protect his loved ones, K is tired of everything, Richard and Henry are messy as always, Barbie is intimidating as hell, and Claire was probably right the whole time.

Content/Warning: Sexuality Crisis, PTSD, Brief description of flashbacks/panic attacks, Brief description of abuse, Awkwardness

Authors Note: This all started bc I thought too hard about how Lloyd never unearthed every man or woman Six ever slept with and I concluded that he's asexual (bc I say so lol). Then he joined the group of goose boys I also headcanon as ace and, well, this happened.

Title is from "It's Only Sex" by Car Seat Headrest bc Jesus Christ that song hits HARD

Shoutout to the Goosecord as always, especially @ken-f-cker and @hollandstrophyhusband for beta-reading!!

Six had jumped off of high rises and not even blinked. He’d gone undercover in every major mob without even a raise in his heart rate. Hell, he’d even gotten shot multiple times and only huffed in annoyance. But this? Knocking on the non-descript doors of a high school gym? It was enough to make him want to turn tail and run for the exit, memories of awkward teenage years and repressed childish fears nipping at his heels.

He steadies his heart by telling himself he’s doing this for Claire. As student body president, she was aware of the multiple support groups that used the school’s gym after hours and had insisted he join one.

(“Setting aside the fact that you desperately need someone to talk to in your life, it’s a good look for me if my Da- Guardian participates in school functions, even if it’s after hours.”

Claire stood with one hand on her hip, the other firmly shoved in Six’s face with a paper containing a list of social groups. He didn’t let his face show the flip-flop his heart does at her almost-slip-up.

“For the love of god, I’m not lonely , how many times are we going over this? I’m literally trained to be alone!”

“I’m tired of you brooding all over the house all the time, you need to go talk to other adults that aren’t the delivery guy or that old lady who runs the laundromat.”

“Claire it isn’t safe for me to be out in public, you know this. One slip up and Carmichael or his cronies come for us both”

“I’m not asking you to go on live television , Six, the groups are literally just in the school gym and you drop me off there every day anyways. You need to get a life.”

Eventually, he chose the Gender, Sexuality, and Alternative Lifestyles and Families Support Group. Lord knows his “family” certainly isn’t exactly typical.)

Six takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door. The group starts in half an hour so the gym doors are closed still, but he wanted to get there early to do a complete surveillance check (can’t have any wannabe Lloyds finding Claire). He hears a Very excited voice from the other side of the door yell out.

“Be right there!”

A second later the doors swing open to reveal possibly the most energetic man Six has ever met. This guy has platinum blonde hair, an outfit straight from Malibu, and a bigger grin than Six thought was physically possible. The man sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Ken! Are you here for GSALFS?”

Six blinks, then composes himself, shock from this man's exuberance still clinging to his nerves. The man in front of him - Ken - was definitely not a threat, but in Six’s history, when people had been excited to meet him, it usually spelled trouble. He grabs Ken's hand.

“Yes, I know I’m early, but I wanted to get here with time to fill out any forms if I needed to.”

He’s not fully lying, he knows he’ll have to join a sign-up sheet or something, but really he’s here early to carefully scan the entire interior of the gym; both to assess his safety at this meeting and Claire’s safety in general. Can never be too careful.

Ken nods his head and opens the doors wider to let Six in.

“Well, you’re in luck! We just set up the chairs so I’ll give you the forms now while we set up the food, that way you can grab a bite once you’re done!”

He beams as if this is the best news he’s ever announced. Six would be irritated if it wasn't so begrudgingly cute. They both walk in and Six takes the time to scan the room, noting entry points, hiding spots, anything that would be useful in an emergency. Ken quite literally bounces away, returning only a moment later with a clipboard and a pen. Six takes them, quirking an eyebrow at the feathery pink pen attached to the forms, and nods a thank you at Ken.

“If you have any questions about what to fill out just ask, most things are optional but the more details you fill out the better, it’ll help us group you with the right people!”

Six scans the form. There’s basic information, name, age, pronouns (don’t see that every day), how did you find out about the group, etc. He pauses briefly at “preferred name”. Six might not be his legal name, but then again legally he didn’t exist anymore. And “Courtland” felt wrong coming from people's mouths now. He just puts “Six” down as his preferred name and leaves the other line blank, hoping no one makes a fuss about it.

He moves on. He has no emergency contact and almost scoffs at the “triggers to avoid” line. Like he would give anyone anything that could compromise him.

Then there’s the next part of the form.

“What group would you like to join today? If unsure, here is a list describing each group”

Alternative Lifestyles and Families is explained first. Apparently, it means more “people in polyamorous relationships, people in the Kink/BDSM world, etc.” and less “on the run from the CIA and most other major government organizations with a newly acquired teenager who’s the niece of your now-deceased ex-handler”. Whoops.

Not wanting to waste the trip out (or risk Claire’s wrath), he looks at the other options.

Gender identity is irrelevant to him, he’s never questioned being a man, but Sexuality? Six pauses again.

He never had crushes as a kid, on girls OR boys, and he went to prison too early to have any sort of normal teen experimental phase. Sure, he’s hooked up with women (and occasionally men) while in training or between missions, but those were mostly due to peer pressure or simply stress relief. Does he… know his sexuality?

Ken must see his frozen confused face because he subtly hands him another form after glancing at where he’s stuck on the paper.

“If you’re unsure of where you fit in here, this might help clarify a few things.”

Six sheepishly takes the new form. It’s some sort of self-assessment, questions and answers that tally up to different identities. Skeptically, he fills it out.

“Who have you felt romantic attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six blinks. Romantic? Is that different from other attractions? And “Neither” is an option? He circles “D”

“Who have you felt sexual attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six circles “D” again, more confident this time. He continues through the quiz and finally adds up the numbers. He has 2 results.

“Based on your results, you match best with Asexual . Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may also be categorized more widely, to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities.”

And the second.

“Based on your results you match best with Aromantic. Aromanticism is a romantic orientation characterized by experiencing little to no romantic attraction.”

Six blinks. Then rereads the descriptions. That’s… a thing? He isn’t just broken or built wrong? The words slot into a place in his heart, filling a void he had ignored for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. Asexual. Aromantic. There are words to describe who he is and an entire community around them. He suppresses this newfound sexuality crisis for later; right now he has to bare his soul to strangers or something.

He hands the forms back to Ken who’s still arranging the (extremely sugary) snacks. Ken looks over the forms and smiles widely.

“Well Hello Six! It’s nice to put a name to the face! And I’m glad the quiz helped clarify things for you. The Ace group could use a new face, they’re always so existential.”

Ken pulls a sticker pad from seemingly nowhere and hands it to Six.

“Here, put whatever you want to be called on this, and pick some pronoun stickers, however many you want. If you want to add any we don’t have, just write them down on the nametag!”

Six groans internally at the nametag. He’s not used to people readily being able to identify who he is. Part of being the Gray Man was being untraceable. But he shakes the thought out of his head. Those days are over (hopefully). Now he’s just a paren- guardian taking an interest in his child’s community. He takes a breath, steadying his resolve. He once flew a helicopter one-handed through a snowstorm while escaping Siberia. He can deal with talking about himself for a couple of hours.

He thanks Ken and writes down “Six” on the purple, black, gray, and white name tag, adding a “he/him” sticker to it. He hands them back to Ken who is now on the phone, talking animatedly to someone. (No way it’s with someone named Barbie. He must’ve misheard.)

He sticks the nametag on and picks a chair in the back of the room (close to the nearest exit, with plenty of improvisable weapons close by) to sit down on and watch everyone slowly trickle into the room. He takes note of all of them, assessing their appearance, demeanor, and threat level.

A blonde man in a white jacket and driving gloves, holding hands with both a blonde woman in a sundress and a Latino man with a shaved head and work clothes. The woman and shorter man greet Ken with a hug and lively words, but the blonde man just smiles at him,

A bleach blonde man in biker gear with tattoos peaking out wherever skin shows and a sad smile that hides the slight edge of danger Six senses from him. Six identifies several prison tats but doesn’t judge. He might even have matching ones.

A brunette in a perfectly tailored suit and immaculate grooming who greets Ken with a kiss on both cheeks

Two women, one feminine and one masculine who enter in a heated debate but holding hands

A dirty blonde man in a suit who only stops humming some old jazz song to greet Ken

A thicker, nervous-looking man in a winter coat (why?) with a nicely trimmed mustache who doesn’t do the usual hug-greeting with Ken but still waves at him

A silent, almost vacant-faced man with an eyebrow slit, who refuses to make eye contact with anyone

Three people that Six honestly couldn’t tell if they were male or female (he chastises himself for thinking in binary terms in a group literally about gender diversity, but hey, it's habit)

Two men, one with a trashy mustache goatee combo and a cast, the other with a harsh face and slicked back hair, both looking like they stepped straight out of the ’70s

A greasy-looking kid with long hair falling over his face that must be old enough to join the (18+) group, but only barely

A model-gorgeous woman and younger-looking person who both are dressed like they stepped out of a catalog and who greet Ken with squeals of excitement and kisses before helping him with some last-minute preparations (must be the co-runners of the group)

A tall built man with blonde highlights and a goofy grin to counter the muscles Six can make out from under his tight t-shirt. Six would consider him the biggest threat in the room if not for how clumsy he seems and the last person to enter.

The last man is perfectly nondescript (as if on purpose), but Six can feel that he’s…different. Military haircut, scars peeking out of his long overcoat, perfect posture, perfectly neutral face, and most condemning, he's subtly scanning the room for threats. The same way Six had. Six tenses slightly, on edge but no alarm bells are going off in his head because this guy doesn’t give off any aggressive vibes. If anything he’s acting… submissively? He’s acting strange either way.

Done with his threat assessment he turns his attention back to Ken and the two others that have joined him at the front of the room. Ken claps his hands to gather attention, exuberant smile never wavering.

“Hello everyone, and Welcome to GSALFS! For our newcomers who aren’t familiar with how this works, on your entry form you indicated which group or groups would be best suited to your needs, and that’s who you’ll be talking to tonight. If you fit into multiple groups don’t worry! You can choose another one to join next week. Take a look at your nametag and sit in the circle with the flag that matches the colors. We try to stay on topic during discussions but encourage the conversation to flow naturally. Have fun!”

Six looks at his nametag colors and searches the room for the chair circle with the corresponding flag, smiling a bit when he sees that it’s towards the back of the gym, right next to an exit. He grabs a snack (giving in to his sweet tooth) and makes his way to the chair with the best view of the room. He sits and takes in the other people arriving.

The man in the white jacket and gloves sits first and Six examines his expression further. He seems calm, if not a bit aloof, but Six can tell that underneath the boyish looks and gentle face, something is hiding. His name tag is… blank? Is that allowed? The man still has pronoun stickers (he/they), but instead of a name he just has a crude doodle of a car. The “car man” (or whatever his name is) nods his head as the next person sits.

The second man has short, cropped hair, an eyebrow slit, and the build of a boxer. He has none of the swagger of a fighter though, instead moving slowly, as if in a dream. Unlike the man in the white jacket’s calm, composed expression, this man’s face is entirely blank. He doesn’t nod his head back in greeting, instead slowly raising a hand in a halted wave. His name tag reads “Julian” in scratchy handwriting and he also has a “he/him” sticker.

Six watches curiously as the two men start gesturing to each other in presumably sign language. Their hand movements are slow, but he can see the man in the jacket quirk up the corner of his lip, and the other man’s shoulders seem to untense a little as they communicate. They keep “conversing” and Six is desperately trying to remember the little ASL he knows when the third man approaches.

Six straightens up automatically. The military (?) man walks up and Six knows for a fact now that he’s not a civilian. The man walks with precision, every step calculated and efficient. Six is bigger than this man, but the tight shirt under his coat lets him know that this other guy is nothing but muscle. He can’t help himself (the CIA drilled situational awareness into the fiber of his being); he does a quick room scan. There are 3 major exits, 2 potential ambush spots, 23 potential weapons within a couple of steps, and 42 ways to defend himself (both lethally and non-lethally) if he needs to. The newest group member sits down with his hands resting perfectly on his thighs (huh, interesting) and Six takes the opportunity to read his nametag.

“K”. That's it. Okay then. Not like Six can judge someone for not using their real name. K makes eye contact and Six, never one to back down from a challenge, locks his eyes right back at him. The other man isn't combative, but he isn’t backing down either. Six crosses his arms. K blinks, and a slight twitch of amusement flits across his lip, but his gaze never wavers. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Julian and Car Guy have stopped signing at each other and are waving at K, probably saying Hi. K waves back, eyes still fixed on Six, and Six could huff out of annoyance if the double doors don’t creak open at that exact minute.

A slightly scrawny-looking blonde kid no older than 20 with a smarmy-looking grin slips in, presumably late to the meeting. Six darts his eyes toward the sudden movement, then immediately curses himself for seemingly backing down in front of a potential threat.

K smirks (granted, it’s not unkindly), and turns his head to greet the other two men in the circle. He signs something at Julian and Six quickly realizes he either will need someone to translate for him, or he needs to start taking ASL lessons if he wants to communicate in this group effectively. Thankfully, when K turns to Car Guy, he speaks aloud, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. His voice is soft, steady, and deliberate. As if he thought over each word individually before speaking.

“Did Standard or Irene draw that this time, Driver?” he asks, gesturing to the name tag with the car doodle on it.

Was this guy’s name Driver? Ah well, again, not like Six could judge. His name is just a goddamn number.

Driver lets a shy smile creep onto their face.

“Benicio. He wanted to feel included.”

Julian finds this amusing, letting his facial features relax a bit. (Maybe he’s not deaf? Or he can lip read- but no, he hasn’t looked at anyone's face yet. Just mute?)

“Friend of yours draw that?” Six asks, trying to be friendly.

Driver’s smile lessens at his words and Six suspects he may be unwelcome in this apparently tight-knit group that’s formed.

“Kid, actually.”

“Oh, you have a kid?”

He really is just trying to break the ice, he swears. But Six can see Driver’s jaw clench, his gloved fists tightening, and he realizes he chose the exact wrong thing to ask this man. Casually, he moves his arm towards his waistband, not liking the alarm bells this guy is setting off. K must notice what he’s doing, and, muscles tensing, he reaches for his waistband. Julian notices the energy shift as well, but he’s not poised to defend himself, instead, his head is hung low, and he’s slightly trembling.

Six takes a breath and before he can dart for the exit, a shout cuts through the quiet gym, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“What the FUCK are YOU doing here?!”

He nearly draws and fires right then and there, but it’s immediately obvious the yelling isn’t directed at him.

The greasy, long-haired kid is standing right in the face of the blonde guy who slipped in late to the meeting. He has tears in his eyes as he pokes the chest of the shorter guy, who looks nervous but isn’t backing down.

“You really think you can just show up here like nothing happened? How fucking stupid do you think I am , Richard?”

All eyes in the room are on the two men arguing. The tatted guy Six eyed earlier is glaring at Richard with his hand in his pocket, and Six can tell he’s fidgeting with some kind of knife. The mustached man in the winter coat looks close to tears himself, and the equally broad but muscular guy with highlights is gently soothing him. The two men in suits (one immaculately groomed and the other that had been humming Jazz) exchange glances, vaguely amused by whatever drama is being played out.

“You blocked me everywhere, how else was I supposed to talk to you?” Richard’s words are just as angry, but he slowly backs up as the taller man stalks towards him.

“Obviously you weren’t supposed to talk to me.”

Across from Six, K sighs, slumping back into his chair, while Driver rolls his eyes.

“Henry, come on, you’re overreacting, I never-”

“I’m OVERREACTING?!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath before we do anything we might regret,” Ken interjects, stepping between the two men and placing a (surprisingly muscular) arm on each of their chests to keep them apart. “That includes you, Luke”

The tatted man — Luke — scoffs but stops twirling his knife in his pocket.

“Now Richard” Ken starts, turning to the seething blonde, “you know you’re on probation from this group, let’s calm down and talk about this outside”.

Richard seems like he’s going to protest until the blonde woman who helped Ken earlier steps up.

“Either you and Ken talk things out together outside or you and I can. Your choice.”

A flash of nervousness flits across Richard's face, but he grumbles out a “Fine” and lets Ken escort him out, muttering the whole way.

The tension in the room dissipates.

Six lets himself relax slightly, the brewing conflict between him and the other group members now forgotten in the chaos. K seems weary, Driver looks vaguely irritated, and Julian-

Julian is still frozen in place, trembling, eyes somehow more distant than before.

Six frowns.

“Is he OK?”

Driver’s face hardens again, but before Six can ready himself for the venom about to be spat in his direction, Driver turns to Julian and softens. He takes one of Julian's hands, squeezing softly before gently rubbing a gloved thumb over his skin.

Six isn’t an idiot (despite Claire’s insistence).

He’s seen plenty of guys have panic attacks in prison or even full-on flashbacks during CIA training. For a moment he recalls the countless nights in his cell, unable to breathe from the crushing weight in his chest, he feels himself being restrained and berated by his commander for blacking out and mistaking an officer for the enemy because he beat him just like his dad would-

Six squeezes his eyes shut for a beat.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Not now. He can flashback all he wants later when he’s not in front of a bunch of strangers.

Distraction time.

He turns to K, who’s staring at Julian mournfully. He clears his throat.

“Ahem. So, uhhhh, what was that whole fight thing about? Richard and Henry, was it?”

K hesitates, but when he notices Six dart his eyes pointedly at Julian and Driver, pursing his lips, he nods almost imperceptibly and slowly opens his mouth to explain.

Good. If he is ex-military or whatever like Six suspects, he probably gets it too.

“Richard and Henry, yeah,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed.

“They met at this high school and started dating in college. Henry has a history of… Issues.”

(He’s trying to be gracious, Six can tell)

“Richard exploited Henry’s, uh, instability , convincing him he'd never hurt him. Then Richard’s best friend lets Henry know Richard’s been cheating on him the entire time with him and even sends him a videotape of it. Apparently, Richard secretly records all his ‘conquests’.”

K’s lip curls in disgust.

“Anyways, Henry was shattered, and word got back to Barbie, Ken, and Allan. I’ve never seen them so angry before; Ken had to calm them down before Allan got into another fight they couldn’t win, or before Barbie eviscerated him.” K smirks.

Allan must be the other person running the group, but then —

“Wait, hang on, they’re actually Barbie and Ken? Are those just stage-names or…?”

K smirks again and Six can hear Driver huff out what could be a laugh next to him.

“Yeah, everyone has that realization once they join. I swear those are their real names. Apparently, they were raised together too?” K shrugs.

“Huh, wild. But yeah, that Richard kid seems like an asshole.”

K chuckles and Driver lets out another huff of laughter. Julian exhales an almost-giggle and signs something that makes Driver honest-to-god snort , while K has to put a hand over his mouth to cover his slowly widening grin.

Six’s grin falters a bit, wishing once again he had paid better attention to his ASL lessons during training.

“Sorry. I, uh, I don’t know signs all that well,” he admits, flushing with embarrassment.

Julian just nods and before any other group members can interpret for him, he opens his mouth and translates for himself in a cracked voice:

“Bitchard.”

Driver snorts again, hiding his head in his shoulder.

“He’s not wrong.” K smiles.

Six takes a breath. Biting the bullet (heh), he extends his hand out to K for a handshake.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Six.”

K takes his hand. His grip is strong but not too tight, the kind of handshake businessmen swoon over.

“K,” he replies.

He elbows Driver slightly, who nudges him back, as if irritated, but he still turns toward Six. He hesitates, then sticks out his gloved hand. Six takes it, more gently, and is surprised that his grip is almost as strong as K’s. Driver’s shoulders tense, but he relaxes them and flashes Six a small smile.

“Nice to meet you”

He doesn’t introduce himself, but K calls him Driver and he responds, so that’s what Six’ll stick with.

Julian doesn’t extend a hand, but he does bring his head up to look at Six’s face. No eye contact, but Six is just flattered the man trusts him enough to even just look at him. He doesn’t say anything but nods his head in greeting. Six nods back, smiling.

Maybe Claire was right. It was nice to feel like he belonged.

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amethystfairy1 · 4 months

Note

hello internet stranger,

i am in love. you've infected both me and my sister with your brainrot and captivating fics, we've talked about it non-stop the past few days, so naturally we have some questions.

But first, i want to ask what your boundaries are w/ fanart and writing. i've already drawn a couple pieces, are you alright with me posting them, and what should i tag them with? Also, i'm feeling very inspired to write more zed and tango for the travelling thieves au, is that alright if i take your ideas and just yoink them? Im not planning to post whatever i write at this point :P

anyways, moving on, i have a few world-building questions for you, starting w/ traveling thieves:

how does the mercenary guild and hits system work? Can anyone put a hit out on anyone, or do they have to be a wanted criminal? also, how does gem choose her targets? i like to believe she has some sort of moral compass in picking, but knowing the world they live in, i can't be certain

this is less of a question, but i don't see how the world can be resolved. For ttsbc, the obvious solution to the undercity folk living freely is that they overthrow the overcity government or just remove the laws keeping them banned. Sure, it'd be difficult, but from what we've seen, most people don't actually have strong prejudices against the undercity, they just vaguely believe they're evil, which can be very easily disproved. For traveling thieves, it's completely different, because not only is the discrimination in the government, it's in the people themselves; merely changing the laws would not change how people see hybrids, so how can that be fixed? My best solution to them all getting a happy ending is that they run away and found their own civilization where all hybrids can be free, but it doesnt seem like a likely scenario

again, not really a question, but I'm so so so happy in the latest fh piece that they looted the bodies of their attackers. the first time i read it through, i was practically screaming at the screen, telling them to grab the loot and weapons before they continued

next, ttsbc:

4. how do the mobs work? do they act like any normal animal, in that they just kinda exist and happen to be very hostile, or do they follow minecraft mob mechanics and spawn into existence from nothing when the conditions are right? could they theoretically all be exterminated? do all of them dislike light, like the zombies in the cleo bdubs fic? if they do, why are they making their way to the overcity?

5. how did the undercity become a thing? Was it just always there, or was it manmade? did hybrids and mutants always live underground? are the pits really bottomless? and if so, is the world a globe, or is it flat? i understand you might not have thought very deeply about these things before jumping in, but my sister and i were theorizing about different answers. i figured the undercity isnt manmade just like the grand canyon isnt manmade, it just came about through natural processes, and mutants and hybrids just evolved(?) seperately from humans, underground, which is a whole other can of worms with the science behind that. an idea about the "bottomless" pits has to do with physics. at the center of the earth (if it were hollow), you wouldn't feel gravity because it would pull on you equally in all directions. so maybe the bottomless pit really just leads to the center of the earth, and you're not really falling forever, you're just suspended in the center forever lol. not falling, but not hitting the bottom, either

anyways, this was a really long ask (i hope thats ok), and i still have more to say, but i'll leave it there for now. again, i love the angst, and have a wonderful day. im gonna try to get some work done, but it probs wont happen with all the brainrot XD

Hello hello! ✨

I'm so honored that you and your sister are enjoying my AUs and fics so much! That you've been talking about them and theorizing over them is so awesome to hear! Knowing that they've become something fueling discussion is super cool!

I LOVE IT ALL! Fanart/fanworks/fanfic I wanna see all of it! I would absolutely love it if you would post your fanart! Please use either the (#traveling thieves au) or (#through the sky blue cracks) depending on which AU it is for and mention me in the post (@amethystfairy1) so I can see it! And of course you are welcome to write fics based in my AU or using my characterizations, in fact I'd love it if you did! It's the best thing to hear that my writing has inspired someone else to get creative! I know you said you had no intentions of posting it, but if you ever do, please use the same hashtags here if on tumblr, or if you use A03 list the appropriate fic/series as inspiration and please credit me in the notes if you don't mind! I'm looking forward to seeing anything either fanart/fanfic related that you've created!

ONTO THE QUESTIONS 🏃‍♀️

The mercenary guild is basically like the underground/illegal version of the adventurer guild, and they'll take any jobs that the adventurer guild won't. Blackmail, assassination, smuggling, you name it. Gem has something of a moral compass, but it isn't exactly the strictest thing in the world. We learn when she meets Mumbo in Grian's wing preening fic that she is on her way to assassinate a noblemans son, and while that is a bit of a wink wink nudge nudge if you can figure out who that son is, exactly, it's still Gem agreeing to kill a teenager who is guilty of little more than pissing off the wrong person. Cruel world and all.

Perhaps that's exactly point? 😌 With Traveling Thieves, I did not set out to make a world that could be resolved or escaped from...the whole point is that it is cruel and inescapable, and the best you can do is continue to protect yourself and those you care about...and even then, you might fail to do that. You might be set up to fail in a sick system that would never give you a chance in the first place. And the best you can do is try to put the pieces back together in the aftermath. I don't want Traveling Thieves to resolve in any traditional sense of the word...for where that'll lead all our various characters, well, you'll have to wait and see. 🤔

Loot that body LOOT THAT BODY NOW 💃

They're like your typical minecraft mobs, they spawn in places with low light levels! We've also got some homebrew monsters that I've come up with, such as the bird-men, that we will be meeting as time goes on. Certain monsters such as zombies do avoid light, but there are plenty of monsters will go above bedrock just like certain monsters in minecraft can survive in the sun, like creepers and endermen. No, they can never be exterminated because of how they spawn!

The pits aren't bottomless, we've seen the bottom after all, where Pearl, Jimmy, and Grian were in the Depths! It is a natural chasm beneath the bedrock, and the various caves and tunnels stretch are incredibly huge and diverse, so while everything connects back to the main cavern of the under-city that's so huge, there are also other caves and tunnels where other groups live that we will be learning about eventually, such as the blaze-born pyres or where Cub is from in the Deep Dark!

It is completely totally 100% ok! I love getting long asks like this that give me the chance to develop and worldbuild the AUs and mention some details that might never really show up within the fics themselves! So by all means send more questions and thoughts! And I'd also love to see the fanarts you mentioned if you still are up to posting them, I can't draw so anything anyone draws that has anything to do with my AUs makes me incredibly happy! 😆

Thanks so much for coming by! 💖

#traveling thieves au #through the sky blue cracks #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #worldbuilding #life series #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #empires smp #pearlescentmoon #grian #jimmy solidarity #cubfan135 #flower husbands #scott smajor

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just-some-guy-joust · 24 days

Text

alright, as requested and promised, my explanations for why everyone on side b got into the tourney

once again making the note that i was desperate for women that weren't blatantly written by a misogynist and it influenced a couple choices

starting with the most argued about characters again

mob (mp100): 1 submission, good description. "he has powers he can't be just some guy!" NOT WHAT THIS TOURNEY IS ABOUT. mob is a kid. he's just a kid doing his best. like the whole plot of mp100 is that he's just some kid isn't it??? i haven't watched it i can't argue the details but he is a very good example of just some guy

rung (transformers): 1 submission, good description. submitter got extra points for being the longest submission and being so sweet to me. rung is like, God, or something but he doesnt Know That so he's just living a perfectly normal life. he's so average people regularly forget who he is or what his name is. from the submission, "He's just the definition of 'some random kind guy you bump into in the hall and then completely forget about two hours later' I really don't know how to explain it."

han solo (star wars): 2 submissions. its like his whole thing. the rest of the team is a princess, a jedi, man i don't know the rest i haven't watched star wars in years but they are all supremely not some guy, and han's just some cunt with a van to drive them around in. yeah he's got his own shit going on but also. i dont remember how it actually went down but he really feels like he just stumbled into the plot and now he can't leave

ok now the rest of the characters under the cut

carol kohl (cateotw): 1 submission, good description. the description really moved me and i have GOT to watch this show at some point. carol lives on an earth that's going to end in a few months and everyone is trying to make their last months exciting and happy and getting to do what they've always wanted to. what carol wants to do is keep working an office job and continuing her routine. the show does not shame her for this, it's just who she is. and man..... as a chronically ill person who's had to think about that kind of thing. that really hits hard.

jaehee (mystic messenger): 1 submission. the woman situation is fucking dire. i will admit she seems to be written the way she is because of misogyny n shit but at least this submitter actually acknowledged it. mystic messenger is i believe a dating game and her route involves dealing with her shitty boss and quitting her job. the other routes have fucking wild shit going on but jaehee just quits work

paul matthews (guy who didnt like musicals): guaranteed entry

emma perkins (guy who didnt like musicals): 3 submissions. one person described her and paul as "guy4guy" and i was so enamored with this concept i gave her a guaranteed position. she works at a coffee shop and seems to not give a fuck that she's in a musical and needs to sing. major "i cant wait to clock out and go home" vibes

su moting (god troubles me): 1 submission. the child of a monster and a god so she was just born a regular human. that's so fucking funny. she has some wild roommates (a "phone god" and a "cat monster") but she's got a normal office job so she's not even around them much on weekdays

satou hiroshi (saiki k): 2 submissions. canonically the most average guy. perfectly average in every way. average grades, weight, height, family, etc etc etc. as average as possible

chilchuck tims (dungeon meshi): guaranteed entry

michelle nguyen (wtnv): 1 submission. i mean. its fucking night vale. that place is fucked. and yet michelle just runs a record shop and loves her girlfriend good for her

tad strange (gravity falls): guaranteed entry

colin robinson (wwdits): 1 submission, personal bias. he's an energy vampire that feeds off peoples energy so he will ramble to them for 6-12 hours about taxes. has a regular office job because what better place to find miserable people to torment. prides himself in his ability to be just some guy

bard (wandersong): 1 submission, friend bias. they're the protagonist of the game but they are not the hero of the story. they're on a quest to save the world but destiny does not care for them. they are trying so hard to bring people joy and that in turn is what makes them actually able to succeed. they are not a hero, but they are a friend

usopp (one piece): 1 submission, friend bias. i will be honest you i avoid one piece at all costs but he gets a pass for my buddy. unfortunately none of the info they gave me actually stuck in my brain so my explanation is gonna suck ass but he seems very scared and very weak compared to everyone else and everyone knows he's the just some guy of the group

nick carraway (great gatsby): 1 submission. i do not remember reading this book for school but idk that seemed like a correct vibe check and i wasn't gonna argue with it

link (oot): 1 submission, personal bias. SCREAMS. WAILS. POUNDS FISTS ON THE FLOOR. I LOVE HIM!!! i am extremely mentally ill about most editions of link being just some guy but i agreed heavily with the submission saying oot is probably the best example. HE'S JUST A KID!!! he thought he would never have to grow up because he was a forest kid too but then he did have to grow up what the fuckk

kazooie (I MADE HIM <3): he is my oc and i love him so fuckign much

connecticut clark (florkofcows): guaranteed entry

samwise (lotr): 1 submission, personal bias. only here because he refused to let his friend have to deal with this alone. its the whole point of the story, that hobbits are the just some guys of the world. that these hobbits were just normal innocent men now trying to end a war. and sam is the most just some guy of the bunch

hitomi (madoka magica): 2 submissions. only one that isnt a magical girl. im sure there's more to it than that but i haven't watched madoka in years and the submissions didn't give me anything else so that's it

junpei iori (persona): 1 submission, friend bias. persona characters can get fucking wild but he seems to be the resident normal dude. and tbh i just can't stop thinking about this part of the submission

tomoya (ensemble stars): 2 submissions, good descriptions. ok so like. ensemble stars has like 50 main characters or something i dont know i dont go here. tomoya is the Only One that's normal. he's just trying to be a teen idol and his defining character trait is that he is tomoya and he is here.

peter sqloint (jrwi): 1 submission. i have listened to a bit of this and while i did have to put it down cause it wasn't really my thing, peter must've made an impression on me because the Only Things i can remember from what i listened to was just how bizarrely normal peter is. yes he has the angel of retribution inside him urging him to kill the gods but his life goal is to buy a new log for his pet lizard and his job is to sort rocks and its his favorite thing. sometimes you have to wonder if peter is even aware of whats going on or if he is too busy thinking about cool rocks to notice

cabbage merchant (atla): 3 submissions. i dont care. but very few characters actually got 3 submissions so i let him in. i was trying to avoid characters that clearly just existed for a bit or are simply background characters with nothing else going on (they count as just some guy but its just not as interesting to me) but he made it in anyways.

marta cabrera (knives out): 1 submission and that submission was ME because im THE ONLY PERSON WHO GETS IT (/silly). i cannot fucking believe no one else submitted her im so fucking mad her being just some guy is literally the entire point. spoilers for knives out, SHE'S A GOOD DOCTOR. SHE'S JUST A GOOD DOCTOR. SHE NEVER DID ANYTHING WRONG!!! she was always just some guy no matter how much everyone else wanted her to be something different. i love her

greg universe (steven universe): 1 submission, good explanation. he's just stevens dad <3 he lives in his van and is an ok musician and he's very content with his life. he's hanging out

mishima (persona): 2 submissions. he's just one of your classmates. this is signifcant because other supporting cast characters have a lot of their own wild shit going on. mishima is your classmate and he's trying to help the phantom thieves look cool on social media. thatse it babey!

gingerbrave (cookie run): 1 submission, good description, personal bias. ok so its a gacha game about cookies that run. gingerbrave is the mascot and the most basic guy you can get. he's a cookie and he runs. and he's very sweet and i like him <3 he loves his friends. anyways google like any other character in the cookie run franchise and you'll understand.

arthur dent (hitchhikers guide): 2 submissions. honestly i don't have strong opinions on him and he's got a fuck ton of propaganda on the post im skipping this

elsen (off): 1 submission, friend bias. i am enamored by how this is like a species of normal guys. they are meant to reflect the struggles of average normal people. they have office jobs and a fuck ton of anxiety so you can see how they reflect that <3

tadano hitohito (komi cant communicate): 2 submissions, good description. HIS NAME LITERALLY TRANSLATES TO "JUST A PERSON" THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME I HAD TO PUT HIM IN

#-mx narrative #some guy joust

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mybrothercainmybrotherabel · 28 days

Text

no one: ...

My brain: hey, what's just the worse AU ever that ends bad for everyone?

Me: well I suppose it would be if Caleb didn't manage to push Evelyn back when the witch hunters attacked, but I don't want to write that...

My brain: 😈😈😈

Me: damnit

TW: hanging, violence, death

Before Caleb could react the mob descended upon him.

“Caleb!” Evelyn leapt forward, reaching out to him. Caleb tried to push her back, but he was too late. The world seemed to slow down while he watched helplessly as Evelyn was tackled to the ground.

“EVELYN!” Caleb screamed, “Get off her!” Flapjack tried to defend her, but the next thing Caleb could see was the palisman smashed underneath a heavy boot. “NO!”

Evelyn screamed. Caleb fought off six men trying to reach her.

“Leave her alone! Don't hurt her!”

Something hard hit Caleb in the back of the head stunning him just long enough for someone to gag him. The next time he caught a glimpse of Evelyn she was also gagged. Blood and tears streamed down her face. Her eyes were wide in horror.

Caleb threw his body towards her, he didn't care what happened to himself. But he had to get to her. He had to find a way to get her free.

They were dragged to the hanging tree in front of the settlement, the bells ringing out loudly to announce their execution. Caleb did not stop fighting. He had to get to her somehow. He had to get her free. Perhaps if he could shake off his assailants and throw himself at hers she could have a chance to run…

People emerged from the settlement. Mr. Fuller amongst them. He saw Caleb and immediately confronted Mr. Archer. Caleb was too preoccupied trying to get to Evelyn to pay attention to their conversation.

The next thing he knew he was being pulled in the opposite direction, while Evelyn was being pulled towards the hanging tree. Caleb fought harder. Sheer terror filled her green eyes. She knew what was about to happen. They both did.

No! No! NO!

Caleb didn't stop bucking and kicking and throwing his body in her direction. He held her eye contact until she was ripped away from his view.

He was dragged to the church, fighting all the while. Even when he was tied up to the pulpit and left alone in the darkness he continued to struggle against his bindings, hoping to loosen them. He only stopped when Mr. Fuller entered the church.

The older man hurried to Caleb and removed the gag from his mouth.

“You have to save Evelyn!” Caleb cried as soon as he could get the words out. “Please, don't let them hang her!”

Mr. Fuller's face washed over in sympathy. “I'm sorry, son, tis too late.”

“No…No!”

The knowledge that she was already gone was more painful than his shattered ribs. Mr. Fuller held Caleb’s face as he wept. There was nothing he could do. Evelyn was dead. She had died alone and terrified. She was dead because of him, because he had failed to protect her, because he was too stupid and too selfish to stay away from her even though he knew the risk. Had she died hating him? As she hung there, the life choking out of her, had she blamed Caleb for her fate?

“I am sorry, son. Twas all I could do to convince them to allow you to stand trial. There was nothing I could do for her.”

“Tis all my fault.” Caleb sobbed. “I promised to protect her! I promised…I…”

“Breathe, son. I know how bad it hurts. Trust me, I know. But you need to breathe. We need to focus on clearing your name, once you are safe, we can mourn her. But first we need to come up with a plan. Philip is claiming you were bewitched, most people are inclined to believe him. No one can blame you for that, if we say that the enchantment broke when she died…”

“I wasn't bewitched. Evelyn, she…she would never do that. She isn't…she's not evil.”

“I believe you, but the others won't.” Mr. Fuller said, “I'm sorry, Caleb, I truly am.”

“I won't lie.” Caleb said, “I will not slander her, she is…” he could hardly speak. “She was kind and clever and thoughtful and…and good. She was good…and now…”

…now she was dead…she was dead because of him…

“...I won't say she bewitched me. I won't stand trial. I won't.”

“If you don't they'll hang you.”

“I know.”

For several long moments Caleb and Mr. Fuller held each other's gaze.

Mr. Fuller was not Caleb’s father by name or blood but Caleb was his son, there was no doubt about it. Mr. Fuller had worked so hard to keep Caleb alive over the past ten years. Anytime Caleb thought all hope was lost Mr. Fuller would come and pull him through. But this wasn't something Mr. Fuller could pull him through. He had made up his mind.

Evelyn was dead. Evelyn was dead because Caleb had failed to protect her. He would not betray her.

Slowly Mr. Fuller closed his eyes and lowered his head. The weight of failure aged him, turning his face into that of a tired old man.

He turned his head away from Caleb for a moment to regain his composure. He would not cry in front of Caleb.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time he nodded.

“You grew into a good man, Caleb. I am proud of you. I will always be proud of you. I only wish there was more I could do.”

“Take care of Philip for me.”

“I will, you don't even have to ask.”

“Do you think they'll allow me a Christian burial?” Dread was coursing through him. He was resolute, but not unafraid.

“I will do what I have to do to assure you are both buried. Your grave may have to be unmarked, but I will make sure the two of you are together.”

Caleb nodded.

“I'm scared.” He admitted.

“I know.” Mr. Fuller put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I know.”

“I can't repent. I can't with any honesty or conviction say I am sorry for the love I feel for Evelyn. If that means burning in Hell…”

“Do you want me to give you last rites?”

Caleb nodded.

Mr. Fuller took out the bottle of whiskey he kept in his pocket. “I know tis supposed to be wine, but this'll have to do.”

He held the bottle to Caleb's lips so he could drink. Then he made the sign of the cross on Caleb’s forehead and recited the Commendation of the Dying.

“I commend you, my dear brother, to Almighty God,

and entrust you to your Creator.

May you return to him who formed you from the dust of the earth.

May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints

come to meet you as you go forth from this life.

May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace.

May Christ who died for you admit you into his garden of paradise.

May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of his flock.

May he forgive all your sins, and set you among those he has chosen.

Amen.”

“Thank you.” Caleb said, his throat tight and his voice hoarse.

“Here, drink this, it will…it will dull your senses.'' The older man still did not cry, but it was becoming increasingly obvious how much of an active effort he was making to stay stoic. He helped Caleb drink a tincture of laudnuam. “I will make sure Philip is not there to see.”

“Thank you.”

There was still so much both of them had to say to each other that words could never express. Caleb could never express his gratitude to Mr. Fuller for everything he had done. There were no words to repay the guidance, trust, and understanding that Mr. Fuller had given Caleb throughout the years. Nor were there words that could express the depths of despair felt by a man looking into the eyes of the boy he had raised, knowing that there was nothing else he could do to save him.

“Goodbye, son.”

“Goodbye. And thank you, for everything.”

With that, Mr. Fuller left. After a long time he returned with the other four men who more or less governed the settlement. Zachariah Archer, George Tilley, Eli Carver, and John Percy.

“William says you wish to forgo your right to a trial?” Mr. Carver said.

“Yes.”

“He knows he is guilty.” Mr. Archer said, “I must say, Wittebane, I do commend you for choosing to face your actions as a man rather than put everyone through the spectacle of a trial.”

“Is there nothing you wish to say in your defense?” Asked Mr. Carver.

Caleb shook his head, “I was not bewitched. I truly cared for Evelyn and do not believe her to be evil. I believe we have a misunderstanding of witchcraft and that the witches are innocent.”

“Blasphemy!” Mr. Tilley hissed.

“Caleb, think of what it is you are saying.” Advised Mr. Carver. “If you were bewitched we can hardly hold it against you. We could not allow you to remain in this settlement, but you could leave with your life. If you claim such heresy, we cannot allow you to live.”

“I understand.” Caleb said, somehow he managed to keep his voice steady. “I did not expect you to believe me. And I will accept my fate with dignity. I only request that I am allowed to say goodbye to my little brother, and that he is not punished for my actions.”

“Surely you understand we cannot trust you alone with him while you are claiming such blasphemy.” Mr. Archer said.

“But you cannot deny brother's their farewells.” Mr. Percy argued. “Not when they are each other's only kin.”

“Very well, fetch Philip, but they may only speak under supervision.” Mr. Archer said.

Mr. Percy left to get Philip.

“Have you made your peace with the Lord?” Mr. Carver asked, his eyes full of sympathy. He was a kind man, Elizabeth's companion came from somewhere.

“Mr. Fuller gave me last rites.” Caleb said.

Mr. Carver nodded, “I shall pray for your soul.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Percy returned with Philip, who ran straight to his brother.

“Caleb! I don't understand! What's going on? Why do you refuse to stand trial?”

“Listen to me, Pip, we don't have much time. I need you to be strong for me, okay? You're going to have to take care of yourself now, but you can do it. You are smart, and Mr. Fuller will help you, lean on him if you need to.”

Philip shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No! The witch is dead, tis okay now! The bewitchment is broken! They can't execute you! They can't!”

“Tis okay, Philip.”

“NO!”

“Philip, please.”

“Tis all my fault.”

“No. I do not blame you for this. I love you, I have always loved you. You're going to be okay.”

Philip squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“I need you to promise you won't watch. I don't want you to see. Stay here with Mr. Fuller.”

“Caleb…”

“Promise me, Pip.”

“Okay…I promise.”

“One more thing.” Caleb leaned close enough to whisper into Philip’s ear. “Promise to stop witch-hunting.”

“I…I promise.”

“You'll be okay.”

“Time to go.” Mr. Archer said.

“No,” Philip cried, grabbing Caleb's sleeves, “No, no…”

“Tis okay, Pip. I love you. Goodbye.”

Mr. Fuller silently came up behind Philip to hold him back as Mr. Archer and Mr. Tilley roughly pulled Caleb to his feet. Caleb made eye contact with each of them one last time. Philip’s eyes were swimming with tears. Mr. Fuller gave a solemn nod. It was the last bit of strength he could offer.

Mr. Archer pushed him hard and he stumbled forward. Outside the church a crowd had gathered. Henry Jones and Elizabeth Carver amongst them.

“Father!” Elizabeth cried as soon as Mr. Carver walked out, she ran to him and clung to his arm. “Father, please reconsider!”

“Tis the law of the Lord, Lizzie. He confessed. Tis out of my hands.”

“Tis okay, Lizzie.” Caleb told her. “Go back to Henry.”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed. “At least give him a barrel to stand on.” She begged her father. “Please.”

“Very well.” Mr. Carver said.

“Thank you.” Caleb said, “and thank you for being my friend.”

Elizabeth threw her arms around him.

“Eli, you would do well to teach your daughter restraint.” Mr. Archer said.

“And you would do well to show some compassion!” Mr. Carver snapped back. “Come now, Lizzie.”

Mr. Carver pulled Elizabeth back, Henry came forward to comfort her.

Mr. Archer continued forward, pushing Caleb along. Tears sparkled in Elizabeth's eyes until she turned and buried her face in Henry's chest.

Others came out to witness Caleb’s final walk. People whispered, but Caleb kept walking with his head high until they reached the palisade gate, that was when the hanging tree came into sight. His knees failed him at the sight of Evelyn's body dangling limply from the branches.

Mr. Archer and Mr. Tilley caught him under his armpits to stop him from hitting the ground.

“You'll join her in Hell soon enough.” Mr. Tilley growled.

Caleb closed his eyes and looked away, she was dead. She was really dead. Tears rolled down his face. I'm sorry, Evelyn. I'm so, so sorry.

Mr. Carver called for a barrel and helped Caleb step onto it. He was far more gentle than Mr. Archer or Mr. Tilley. He was a good man.

“I pray your neck snaps quickly.” He said quietly as he slipped the noose around Caleb's throat. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

Caleb wanted to thank him for his tiny kindnesses, but he didn't think he could speak. His heart was racing in his chest, desperate to get as many beats out as it could before it stopped forever. At least the laudanum had been given a chance to work, causing the world to blur and sway a bit, but dulling the pain of Caleb's broken ribs.

Mr. Archer addressed the crowd.

“Caleb Wittebane stands before you, having confessed to consorting with witches. We now condemn him to face God's divine judgment.”

The next moment the barrel was kicked out from underneath Caleb’s feet.

William Fuller waited in the church as once again one of his children was taken from him. In spite of what some people said, he had never seen Caleb and Philip as replacements for his own children. The loss of his brave David, sweet little Felicity, and their mother would forever be a hole in his heart that nothing could ever heal. But when he found Caleb and Philip, they had started building around the hole. He had needed them as much as they needed him. They had given him a reason to carry on living even after he felt like his heart had died.

Caleb had grown into exactly the type of man William had hoped he would be: curious, open-minded, noble…those traits that had drawn William to him as a child, the traits that made him who he was, those were the traits that led him to his death.

Young Elizabeth Carver was praying at the pulpit, with Caleb’s buddy Henry Jones beside her. Philip was still clinging to William like a child might cling to their mother.

Finally, Eli Carver returned. Everyone looked up, his daughter stood as if hoping her father had come to deliver news of a miracle.

“It is done.” He said simply. A new hole ripped wide open in William's heart. Elizabeth crumbled, Henry caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. Eli crossed the room to stand before William.

“William…I…” his eyes were full of sympathy.

“Tis not your fault, Caleb had made his decision, not even I could talk him out of it.”

Eli nodded, “His neck snapped. I thought you should know that. Twas over quickly.”

Philip let out a sob. William put a hand on his head to comfort him. He didn't suffer, that was a small mercy.

“Thank you.”

“I presume that I need not remind you that giving a Christian burial to one accused of witchcraft goes against the King's laws.”

“I am aware.”

“I also presume that you have every intention of burying that boy.”

“You presume correctly. Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” said Eli, “I will aid you.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

William exited his bedroom to see Philip dressed and ready to go in the main room. The younger boy had come home with William, unable to face the idea of returning to the empty Wittebane house.

“You're not coming with.” William told him.

“You can’t stop me.”

“Caleb asked me to keep you safe. I'm not going to immediately go against that promise by bringing you out to break the law.”

“He's my brother.”

“I know.”

“I'm never going to see him again.”

“I know. But your last memory of him should not be seeing him like that.”

“I've seen plenty of hangings, nothing will be worse than what I am already imagining.”

William sighed. With both himself and Eli complicit in this crime, the likelihood of any serious consequences was low. How could he deny Philip the chance to see his brother laid to rest?

“Carry the blankets and for the love of God, keep quiet.”

Philip nodded and obeyed, William shouldered a shovel and led the way through the darkened settlement.

Eli and Henry were both waiting at the gates to the settlement.

“Let us make haste.” Eli said.

They approached the tree with the two bodies dangling in the dark.

“Cut him down, Henry.” William ordered. He and Eli got into position to guide the body to the ground. It looked like Eli had been telling the truth. While Caleb’s neck lobbed at an unnatural angle, his face was absent of the telltale bloating that came with strangulation. Philip could hardly contain himself. He held his brother's corpse to his chest and sobbed.

“You must pull yourself together.” Eli said.

“Give him a moment to grieve while we cut her down.”

“Surely you aren't serious!” Eli said. “Tis one thing to bury Caleb, but the witch? Have you gone mad?”

“She is but a girl,” William replied, “By looks younger than your own daughter.”

“She is the one who led Caleb to his fate.”

“As he led her. Believe what you will, but Caleb loved her, enough that he would rather die than sully her name. I will not leave her here to rot.”

Eli sighed, “Cut her down, Henry.”

Carefully, William guided the girl's body down. She was not as lucky as Caleb. It was clear from the red spots on her skin and her swollen lips that she had not died quickly.

He thought about all the stories Caleb had told about her. She liked exploring and watching animals. She had a little sister and an older brother. She loved to tell riddles and snorted when she laughed. She had hopes and dreams for the future. She was just a kid. They were both just kids.

“I'm sorry I couldn't have gotten to know you.” William whispered. “I hope you find peace.”

Carefully, William shrouded her in one of the blankets while Henry and Eli wrapped Caleb in the other.

“There is a clearing by the river where the ground is soft.” Henry said, “Tis out of the way enough that I don't think anyone would disturb it or notice fresh turned soil.”

“Lead the way, then.”

William lifted Evelyn’s body into his arms, Eli carried Caleb's. Philip trailed along with the shoves, shaking hard.

Henry had been right, the earth in the spot he suggested was soft and it did not take long to dig an adequate grave. William lay the two bodies side by side. Eli helped him climb out.

“Heavenly Father,” William prayed. “Look down in mercy upon these two children whom we offer now to thy care. Forgive them their trespasses and cleanse them with thy holy light. Grant them everlasting life in your kingdom. Let them know no more pain or sorrow. For you are the most holy. In your name, Amen.”

#caleb wittebane #wittebros #toh #the owl house #wittebane brothers #my brother cain my brother abel #philip wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #the brothers wittebane #caleb and evelyn

13 notes · View notes

haunted-xander · 1 year

Text

The encounter with Mahiru was draining, both physically and emotionally. She felt a little bad leaving her cuffed like that, but with how hostile Mahiru was there was no other option. Calling Future Foundation for help would be far too risky. Not one to give up easily, Chiaki went ahead to the Main Course building to search for the other reported Remnant. Even if she can't save them now, she wants to at least see them.

As she approached the tightly locked doors, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. It's been so long since I've been here... And to think that right now there's... ...I hope they get out soon. The feeling of helplessness isn't new, but just as unpleasant. Snapping herself out of it, she resolutely began searching around for any sign of the Remnant. She had no idea who it was, and as the school was important to all of them, it could really be anyone. ...At least I know it's not Koizumi-san...

Suddenly, she heard several footsteps all running around her, but before she could open her backpack and grab her pole a gunshot went off. It narrowly missed her cheek and had her on full alert, her eyes searching for the perpetrator. A woman wearing a Monokuma head cackled madly as she aimed her gun at Chiaki. The woman was about to fire again, but Chiaki had already grabbed her pole and smashed it into her stomach, making the woman stumble backwards and drop the gun. All the tension let loose as the entire mob charged towards Chiaki, each and every one getting struck by the pole as soon as they where within reach. Good thing I played all those VR games, huh... Swinging a real pole isn't so much different from a virtual one, just heavier...

The woman from earlier got back up and screamed as she launched herself at Chiaki. On reflex, Chiaki smashed the pole into her head and heard a nasty crack. Watching as the woman fell down with blood pouring out from her Monokuma helmet, Chiaki suddenly got a cold feeling. ...No, I didn't... did I? She's... still alive, right? I wouldn't... I didn't... There's no way... Not given the time to panic, the previously knocked out attackers slowly got back up and continued their assault. Fueled by panic and adrenaline, she showed no mercy. Her pole hit hard and she heard their bones break until they couldn't be broken any more.

By the time she was done the mob had become an indistinguishable mass of corpses. The adrenaline wore off and Chiaki was faced with the reality of what she's done. Holding her pole in an iron grip, she staggered backwards and broke out into a run, wanting to get away from her unfortunate victims. After a short while she fell down to her knees and stared blankly at the floor.

Soft footsteps could be heard approaching her, but Chiaki couldn't muster the energy to care. If it was another attacker she'd simply accept her fate. After what she did, she might as well deserve it. The footsteps stopped in front of her. The stranger knelt down and gently took her head in their hands and tilted her head up to look at them. Distantly, she recognized the serene yet off-putting smile, but didn't have the presence of mind to put a name to it.

"Oh my, look at you. What a despairing state you've entered, dear Nanami-san. Do you recognize me? It's fine if you don't of course. Trash like me isn't worth remembering. Ah, but you've always been so kind and considerate, haven't you? You always remembered me, Nanami-san." A soft yet breathy voice spoke quietly to her, slowly dragging her back into reality. "...Ko...mae...da...kun..." She was happy to see him, really. But the guilt from her previous actions drowned out any other emotion. "I'm... so so...rry... I couldn't... And now I... They're all..." She wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come. Speaking became difficult as she could barely breathe over the sharp feeling in her chest.

"Oh you poor thing. I'm sure it hurts now, but don't worry! This deep despair you're feeling right now will surely blossom into a beautiful ray of shining hope! So don't worry... All this pain will be worth it. Besides... You don't survive the apocalypse by being kind. You'll have to kill eventually. There's no such thing as an innocent survivor. Don't worry, Nanami-san. I promise it gets easier over time."

"...Komaeda...kun. I'm... happy to see you... I mi...ss y...ou......." All the fighting and traveling of the day has completely worn her out, and she fell unconscious in Nagito's arms.

"...Don't worry, Nanami-san... I won't let you die. You'll become the hope that everyone needs... Someone worthy of the title of 'Ultimate Hope'... Ahaha... I look forward to seeing where your journey takes you next... But I suppose I should let you get some proper rest first, no?"

"Don't you think so too, Kamukura-sama?"

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inneedofsupervision · 4 months

Text

An Enemy? A Friend? No, just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

Chapter 2: Sweet Sixteen

Chap Summary: Peter is busy patrolling and celebrating his special day while the Avengers are still trying to gather information about the red-blue-clad vigilante.

Read on Ao3

"Wake up, Peter."

With the feeling of a hand gently running through his hair, Peter's consciousness slowly emerges from the depths of sleep. Dark eyelashes flutter as the ministration of his curls keeps going, and the teen feels himself going lax as he melts even more into the warmth of his bed. A happy sigh passes his lips, and Peter feels like slipping back to dreamland if the petting of his hair keeps on like that. It seems like the owner of the hand knew that as well. An amused chuckle reaches his ear.

"Just five more minutes, May," mumbles Peter and presses his face into the pillow, not ready to crawl out of his bed when it's this comfortable. He could lay here for the rest of the weekend.

"Come on, sleepyhead. I want to see your face while you unpack your present before I go to work."

Right. It's already the 10th.

The mob of brown hair moves, and there is some shuffling before a pair of still with sleep-clouded brown eyes gaze up at the woman sitting at the edge of the bed. A slender hand gently cups his cheek as his aunt smiles at him with adoration sparkling in her eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Peter."

He returns her smile before groaning as the blanket gets pulled off of his body, exposing him to the cold.

"That's evil, May," protests the teen with a whine. His aunt laughs, having none of it as she drops the blanket on the chair next to his desk. Peter reaches his arm out for the blanket. He gives off a pitiful sight as he couldn't get it. May only spares an unimpressed glance at the antics and flicks the lights on. Peter groans in protest while burying his face back into the pillow.

"I'm hardly one year older and already suffering. You were nicer to me when I was still fifteen- May! Dohohon't!"

Peter kicks his legs out as hands settle on his sides before fingers dig into them, tickling him. The teen quickly rolls onto his back and catches his aunt's hands by the wrists, a grin plastered on his face.

"What was that for?" he asks, amusement playing into his voice.

"That's what you get for being a drama queen. Now up, with you. We have to eat your birthday cake for breakfast if you don't want to wait until nine in the afternoon."

May frowns at the lopsided grin on Peter's face. She can only shake her head. It takes her one glance at her nephew's face to know he wouldn't turn down the cake at any time of the day. "You won't get cake before going to bed, Peter," she says, although she knew it was hard to keep the teenager from stuffing his face with unhealthy food whenever he got the chance, not bothering to wonder how he doesn't start putting on weight. May pushes it onto the fact that Peter is a teenager, still growing and needing the intake, but she at least tries to establish somewhat healthy eating habits and hopes not coming off as a hypocrite. With her working shifts at the hospital, it takes a lot of discipline and more sleep than she gets to maintain healthy sleep and eating patterns, and she knew Peter started adapting them, hearing his stomach growl all the time, accompanied by dark bags under his eyes.

"Good, because I don't plan to go to bed at nine. That's way too early. Eleven sounds good to me. I mean, I'm sixteen now. Almost an adult - okay, wait! I'm going, I'm going!"

The teenager jumps out of bed and runs past his aunt before she can hit him with his pillow. Peter smiles as he hears his aunt laughing while he dashes to the bathroom. While washing his face, Peter thinks about what to do for the day. May will be working late as one of her co-workers called in sick yesterday. Peter reassured her that he would be fine. He planned to spend the day patrolling before meeting Ned. May did not seem too happy leaving her nephew alone on his birthday, but Peter convinced her to bring some takeout home, telling her he would be okay.

"Even if we only saw each other ten minutes today, my birthday would be perfect because you are here, and I get to see Ned. And I don't have school today. How cool is that?" They had sat on the couch, watching some rom-com when May had voiced her worries. Aunt May had stilled when he said that, leaving Peter halting the chatter, unsure if he said something wrong before May suddenly leaned in to hug him.

"You are the best boy one can wish for, Peter."

Peter had chuckled, a little surprised but happy about the praise nonetheless.

"And you are the best aunt one can wish for, May."

Her arms had pulled him closer, and slender fingers brushed tenderly over his hair before May pulled back slightly, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. She had looked at him with an unreadable expression before she planted a quick kiss on his forehead. She chuckles as Peter pulls a grimace without meaning it at her display of affection.

"You okay staying alone until dinner?"

"Have I told you that Ned is coming? We will hang out. I'll be alone for only a short time. It's all right."

May had looked slightly more at ease after his words, although not one hundred percent. She tried playing it over by ruffling his hair, a grin on her face.

"Aren't you mature now?"

He grinned back at her.

"I'm old enough to take driving lessons."

"Oh please, don't remind me of that. That has to wait until you are at least 21 years old."

"You don't trust my driving skills?"

"No, I don't trust your non-existent driving skills."

"Ouch," Peter had said mock-hurt and held a hand over his heart, causing his aunt to laugh.

"Peter, are you coming?"

May's voice breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he quickly finishes in the bath. The teen stumbles into the kitchen, mismatched socks sliding over the wooden floor in his hurry. Something gets caught in his hair. Peter looks up, brown eyes widening in surprise, when he spots a paper garland hanging from the ceiling, the bold and colorful letters spelling "Happy Birthday." In the middle of their dinner table lays a chocolate cake. The wax candle forming the number sixteen sticks slightly tilted out of the dark chocolate frosting, the bottom half of the numbers sinking into it. May pulls a lighter out of a kitchen drawer. Peter sat down while May lightened the candles before she took a seat across from him.

"Where did you get that?" asks Peter, looking at the cake with a hint of suspicion.

"I made it myself."

His aunt rolled her eyes at the pointed look she received, the teen in front of her not believing a word she said.

"I got it from the bakery around the corner. Before I forget it, Mrs. Clair wishes you a happy birthday. She also asks when you are going to stop by. She would love to see you sometime."

Peter looks up at the mention of the name, nostalgia washing over him. Mrs. Clair had known him since he was a pre-schooler, a shy kid holding his uncle's hand when they came into her homely café. Wide eyes were sparkling with excitement as his uncle lifted him to let his eyes roam over the vast display of sweet treats behind the glass before locking with the eyes of the lady behind the counter, who greeted him with a kind smile.

He fiddles with the fork in his hand. Peter had visited the bakery often, always wearing a toothy grin. After Uncle Ben's death, he had not been there again. Knowing that Mrs. Clair still thought of him, even remembering his birthday, left Peter guilty. The aged woman had never been anything but kind to him, and all he did was not visit her in months. How could Peter explain that it took all of his self-control not to let the heat behind his reddened eyes get the better of him standing in front of the café as memories of happiness he will never gain again break over his head, burying him in a place Peter wasn't sure he could get out off on his own once he got caught. It had gotten better. These floods of emotion breaking on him whenever he thought of Ben had been nearly unbearable in the past. But over time, he could handle them better, although, at times, the sudden dejectedness still pressed down heavily onto his chest, leaving him with a tightness in his throat that made it hard to speak. It's been nearly a year since the incident leading to Uncle Ben passing away.

Enough time to get over it.

Peter doubts he will ever get over it.

A hand lays down on top of his, thumb gently rubbing over its back.

"You don't have to go, Peter."

Although May smiled at him, she couldn't hide the hint of sadness behind her eyes. She had caught up on the conflicted expression passing his face. Sometimes, Peter wondered if there was anyone who could read him as effortlessly as Aunt May or if he was just terrible at hiding his emotions. With her sitting across from him, studying his reaction, the teen felt like he was an open book.

"I should visit her soon."

For some reason, Aunt May's expression grew sadder at his words. She patted his hand before letting go and gestured towards the cake.

"If you don't like your cake waxed, you should go on with your

birthday wish."

Grateful for the change of topic, Peter smiles at her playfully.

"You are not open to that kind of culinary experiment?"

May rolls her eyes with a smile, and Peter grins before bending over. He carefully blows at the tiny flame that flickers before it goes out, leaving a small trail of smoke dancing up from the still-glowing candlewick. Peter closes his eyes, ignoring the tickling of smoke in his nose. He opens his eyes to the sight of May holding a dark brown envelope with a silver gift ribbon carefully wrapped around it.

"Happy Birthday, Peter."

Peter glances up at his aunt. May nods encouragingly, gesturing for him to go on. The teen runs his fingers over the paper before carefully tearing it open, mindful of not accidentally damaging its content. He slips his thumb and index finger into the envelope, grasping the card sitting on the inside.

"Is that-" the words get stuck in his throat. There is a generic happy birthday card greeting him, but what caught his attention was the ticket slipping out of the card as he pulled it out of the envelope. Peter stares at it in wonder before raising his head. Aunt May had watched his reaction with amusement.

"May, this is a ticket for the Stark Industries Future-Of-Energy Mess!"

"I hope it is. I heard my nephew wanted to go there."

Peter ignored May's joke in favor of jumping from his seat. He circled the table in two seconds, wrapping his arms around his aunt's neck before thanking her profusely.

"Thank you so much, Aunt May! It's so great. I really love it, thanks. I can't wait to tell Ned about this. He's going to flip!"

Aunt May pats his back with a laugh.

"I'm happy you like it, Peter."

"Like doesn't even put it. May, this is absolutely awesome!"

May smiles at the open display of excitement. Peter went on about how great the present was while she cut the cake, placing large pieces on both plates. She began to eat when Peter's face suddenly fell, eyes flickering up to meet hers. May raises an eyebrow in question while chewing on the tad too sweet cake.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek before glancing back down at his present.

"This must have been expensive."

"Oh, Peter. Don't worry about it. You only have a birthday once a year, and I want you to enjoy it."

It takes a smile of hers to make him trust her words. Peter carefully puts the ticket back into the envelope, the present too precious to get accidentally stained with chocolate cake. He lays it to the side before picking up the fork, barely containing his excitement as he glances at the envelope. He had been talking about the Mess with Ned for weeks, and now he'd visit it!

May watches the teen taking a piece of his birthday cake, eyes lightening up as he chews on it, a smile forming on his lips. Their eyes meet.

"It tastes great, May."

"I'm glad to hear that. What do you want to eat later?"

Peter ponders over the answer before a grin finds a way on his face.

"How about Thai?"

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

"Hey, Ned."

"Hi, Peter! At what time should I come?"

"I'm done at four if that's cool?"

"Sure, four is good. By the way, where are you now? It's kinda loud in the back."

"Ehm, gimme a sec," Peter glances down from the top of the steel stilt he's perching on, phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder. He took a glance at the bypassing mass of cars and buses. "I'm at Queensborrow Bridge. You are right. It's kinda noisy here."

"What are you doing up there?"

"Oh, the usual, you know. A tired of life eight years old, a bet, too many energy drinks, and lots of boredom."

"I need the details of that. Sounds wild, dude."

"You'll get them. See you later, Ned."

"See you, Peter!"

Peter glances at his phone, checking the time before slipping it back into his backpack. He zips it and sprays a tiny amount of webbing onto the stopper, not wanting the content out of his bag sailing through the air mid-swing. Having to apologize to a man who nearly got a concussion by Peter's history book hitting against the back of his head had been embarrassing enough to keep him from repeating that mistake. He also wasn't ready to get questioned about why Spiderman owns suspiciously many schoolbooks for someone the public presumes to be an adult. Peter shoulders the bag, pulling the straps tight before leaping off the bridge. It takes him less than a minute until he's back in the center of Queens, streets buzzing at the foot of the building he's standing on.

"Look, it's Spiderman!"

"Spidey!"

The teen gives a two-finger salute at the people pointing and waving at him as he swings his way through Queens. Most of Spiderman's work happens after the sun settles. Not that Peter could complain. It doesn't matter to him if he retrieves balloons, saves kittens out of trees, or helps lost little children get back to their panicking parents during the day. He was happy as long as he could help.

"Can you tell me where you last saw your parents?"

Teary blue eyes gaze up at him. Peter crouches down to get on eye level with the lost boy he found wandering through the shopping streets, gently squeezing the small hand that clutches onto his gloved one.

"I- I can't remember!"

Peter grimaces in sympathy as the boy's breath hitches. Soon, big tears start running down reddened cheeks, and the boy's shoulders jump as he begins sobbing into the crock of his sleeve.

"Hey, it's alright. We'll find your mom and dad. Pinky promise."

He tilted his head as he held his hand out, stretching his thumb for the boy to take. Peter receives a puzzled expression, the crying boy staring silently at the thumb in front of him that Peter wiggles for good measure.

"You don't want to make a pinky promise?"

Peter wriggles the finger again, earning another questioning gaze from the child.

"Mr. Spiderman, Sir, that's not your pinky finger."

Peter leans back and makes a show of looking at his hand as if it had offended him at a personal level. He lightly knocks his hand against his forehead in acting dramatics, shaking his head.

"Silly me, how could I make a pinky promise with my thumb? Here, let's try that again."

He grins when a giggle slips past the boy's lips as he holds out his index finger this time. The boy's lips curl into a smile while wiping the last tracks of tears from his cheeks.

"That's not your pinky finger either!" he protests with a laugh. Peter grins under the mask, ignoring the curious gazes of people thrown their way as he crouches in front of the boy.

"What? It isn't?" Peter asks in disbelief.

The boy shakes his head with another giggle coaxed out of him as Spiderman's white eyes squint together again as he glances at his hand with mock offense. Feeling more at ease, the boy reaches out for the hand but glances up at the vigilante, who gives him a short nod. The boy takes Peter's hand and makes him stretch his pinky, pushing the other fingers back down to make place. Peter's smile is hidden behind the red fabric of the mask as a tiny pinky wraps around his own, squeezing slightly. He swings their connected hands back and forth. "It's strictly necessary for sealing the deal," he tells the successfully cheered-up boy before standing up.

"Now that we made a promise, it's time to look out for your parents, alright?"

The child gives him a nod. They begin to walk through the street, Peter asking the boy what his mom and dad look like while concentrating his senses, looking out for the sound of probably very distressed parents looking for their son. While walking, Peter notices a petit shoulder occasionally bumping against his hip as the boy shuffles closer, glancing around with large eyes, sidestepping whenever someone threatens to brush past him a little too close. Peter couldn't blame the skittish behavior. Just imagining getting lost as a child, probably not even in primary school, on the bustling street of New York leaves the teen with an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You know," begins Peter, glancing at the kid. "There is a secret I like to share with you."

"A secret?"

Peter smiles, slightly amused at the now undivided attention of blue eyes on him.

"Yes, a secret about Spiderman. Would you tell me your name before that? I need to know who I'm telling one of my biggest secrets. But you have to promise not to tell anyone. It's something I'm only sharing with you, okay?"

"It's Liam, Sir. And I won't tell anyone. I'll promise, Mr. Spidey, Sir!"

Peter bites his lip to keep from chuckling at the now very excited boy who had been more than a little timed just a moment before. He bends down and winks the child closer. He holds his hand next to his mouth to act more secretive, loving the excitement in the boy's eyes.

"Like I said, Liam, you cannot tell anyone about this," he begins to whisper but loud enough for the boy's ears to pick over the noise of the shopping district. If Peter learned something from playing with Ned's little sister is, that children love secrets. And superheroes. Liam's excited expression told him that the little boy was no exception.

"My secret is that I get very nervous around people."

Liam's eyes widen as he looks up at the vigilante as if he can't believe there could be something a hero like Spiderman could be nervous about.

"You get nervous, too?" Liam asks, sounding surprised. "But why? Are you afraid of people?" the boy asks, his voice barely over a whisper, careful, not wanting to reveal his hero's secret to unwanted listeners.

Peter shrugs his shoulder. "Not strictly of people. But I'm not great at dealing with the noise and crowds."

The boy glances around after Spiderman's words, taking in the mass of people walking past their place next to an ice cream parlor. His little face turns into a frown. He looks back at the vigilante, who had straightened up again.

"But there are so many people right here? Will you get sick if you are around them?"

"I won't get sick, but it makes me somewhat anxious. Silly, right?"

The boy is quick to shake his head vehemently at his words. "It's not silly. Dad always says that being scared is nothing to be ashamed of. It is your brain telling you to be careful. Or something like that. Maybe your brain works differently. Because you're Spiderman, you know? You have to be more careful than everyone else, right?"

Peter doesn't feel like correcting Liam that he didn't say he was scared of people, but he decided to leave it. He had managed what he wanted to achieve, getting the boy to loosen up a little, and that is all that matters. Although, Liam's words gave him something to think about. Does he have to be more careful? His eyes wander towards the bypassing masses, skipping from face to face before shaking his head.

He is the one with the inhuman powers. If anyone would feel the need to be nervous, it was anyone else but him. Of course, Peter wants to avoid anyone feeling afraid of him. He only has the New Yorkers' safety and well-being in mind, but at least he could understand if someone felt nervous around him and not the other way around. It felt surreal to think that someone like him would need to be more careful, to have a justification other than excessive overthinking to feel anxious about people. It would be more than difficult for any person to physically hurt him, not even taking his enhanced healing factor into account. But still, something about Liam's words stuck with him. Maybe he should talk with Ned about that.

"There is a way to help me with the nervousness, but I would need your help if that's alright with you?"

"I can help Mr. Spiderman? What do I do?"

At the prospect of helping the vigilante, Liam's eyes sparkle with unhidden excitement, his voice growing louder. Peter grins under the mask.

"Would you hold onto my hand while we look for your parents?"

"Hold your hand?" The boy tilts his head as he looks at the teen in question. Peter nods.

"Yes. It would make me less nervous."

A smile grows on the boy's face. "I can do that," he says with confidence, chest puffed out as he looks up. Peter's grin only grows.

"That's very kind of you. Thanks for helping me out here, Liam."

The boy's head bops up and down as he nods enthusiastically, blond curls jumping at the movement. "Mr. Spiderman always helps people. But now you can take a break, and I'll help you instead, right?"

"You got it, buddy. I'm sure with your help, we will find your parents."

"Of course!"

Peter doesn't have to say anything as a small hand finds its way around his, holding onto it tightly. It was as if the boy had forgotten to feel intimidated by the mass of people brushing past the unique pair, excitement evident on his face. His little head turns to face Peter, a smile reaching up to his eyes.

"Are you ready, Mr. Spiderman?"

Peter squeezes the small hand before throwing the child a thumb up, mirroring the smile behind the mask.

"You'll lead the way, bud."

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

"I still don't get why his rise in popularity leads to the Avengers having to look into the guy. You would assume that after ten months running around in New York in that get-up, SHIELD has at least some information about him. There are forums on the internet providing more info about the guy than this."

Sam pushes the grey folder, holding not more than four pieces of paper with barely any information, away from him with a sigh. The report, if you can call it that, holds few, if not any, additional information about the arachnid-themed vigilante. Not to mention that page four includes only a collection of grainy pictures that show a blur of something flying past a building and that something holding hardly the shape of a person. If it weren't for the vibrant red and blue, Sam wouldn't have thought about Spiderman being in the picture, but even then, you had to squint and throw a spark of fantasy into the mix to make out a person. Even the Daily Bugle has better pictures of Spiderman. To make matters worse, those images provided by the Budgle are probably the result of some underpaid college lads who hung outside all day to catch the Spider-Guy on screen and collect a few bucks to pay for their stay in some overpriced apartment in the middle of New York.

A metal arm reaches for the folder, and a curtain of dark tangled hair falls over Bucky's face, successfully hiding the sharp feature of a jawline from Sam's sight as the ex-assassin takes the chance to skim over the information written on unnecessary bright bleached paper.

"It astounding how you still had hope that SHIELD could do any good at gathering information. I'm unsure if I should be touched or concerned for the faith."

"Shove it, Stark," replied Sam with a roll of his eyes but getting caught off guard when Steve stepped forward from where he had leaned against the wall, closing the distance between him and the billionaire with assertive steps. He watches how the blond towers over Stark, who leans back into his chair. The latter merely glanced at the taller over the edge of his dark purple-tinted sunglasses, an eyebrow raised in a silent dare.

"Huh. What's with the sudden temper tantrum, Captain? Does the loyalty to your former employer bother you? Don't worry, Cap. Even SHIELD's underlings can't deny that they did poor work."

The two spies sitting across from Stark don't show a sign of getting provoked by the sharp stab at SHIELD's competence, the Black Widow merely raising an eyebrow while Hawkeye only stares at the man with an emotionless expression. Sam watches with an unsettling feeling how Steve's jaw clenches in suppressed frustration. It doesn't go unnoticed by the sharp eyes of Tony Stark, whose lips give a minuscule twitch in amusement.

"SHIELD helped save the world, Stark. You aren't in the position to disrespect their work," presses the blond between his teeth, clearly trying to force himself to keep calm. Stark tilts his head to the side and crosses his arms over his chest while his foot bops up and down where it lies over his leg, showcasing the man's incapability to stay still, the complete opposite of Captain America's almost frozen stance.

"Did they? That's funny. The last time I remember someone saving a planet, it had been me, flying a nuke into space."

"Did your ego expand into space while you were out there?" asks Hawkeye, the first sentence he bought out since they gathered in the conference room.

"It had already been there, Barton," quips Stark back without hesitation, turning to face Hawkeye, wearing his signature thousand-watt smile, usually reserved for the press and business. Steve steps forward and grabs the back of Stark's chair, pulling it back to force the man to face him, earning a surprised huff, but Stark's face morphs back to his overconfident mask of played indifference in a split second.

Sam catches a movement from the super soldier on his right out of the corner of his eyes, drawing his attention away from Stark and Rogers and onto Barnes, whose hands are clenching tightly around the folder as Steve's voice picks up in volume. Muscles of the flesh arm are bulging under restrained tension that seems to build up inside the man. Sam begins feeling slightly wary of the mood inside the room, catching himself wishing for Colonel Rhodes to be here to refrain Stark from provoking everyone and everything he could get a raise off. Steve, who is painfully unaware that raising his voice contributes to thickening the tension inside the conference room, is now openly glaring at Stark. His patience with the billionaire has seemed to reach the end of the line.

"Instead of picking a fight, why don't you try to provide something after spending time overseas while the rest of the team had been working."

Stark raised an eyebrow as he leaned back into the seat, silently assessing the criticism. He gives the man above a calculating look before his lip tugs upward. Without taking his eyes away from the scowl plastered across Roger's face, Stark speaks to his AI.

"Friday, show them the results of yesterday's search."

"Right away, Sir."

The large black screen at the head of the room springs to life on its own while Stark's AI simultaneously begins spitting down facts at the people around the table. Sam blinks at the sudden input, having missed the first two sentences of the monotonous voice rattling down information out of hidden speakers, and quickly tries to catch on.

"- between 5'6 and 5'8, estimated weight around 142 lbs."

"Hold on a second," interrupts Barton, throwing Stark a look.

"142 lbs for a grown man? Spidey sure is a lightweight."

Stark only raises an eyebrow as if silently asking if Barton stopped his AI from showing off his research to declare a seemingly unnecessary observation. Sam silently agrees with Hawkeye. 142 lbs isn't much for a grown man, but 5'6 wasn't very tall either. Sam reminds himself that the voice had been speaking about estimated height and weight. They couldn't take them for facts. While he was thinking about it, with what kind of sources did Stark's AI work to come to these numbers?

He got an answer to that a moment later as pictures of the vigilante are shown one after another on the screen, and although there are various degrees in quality, all of them are above what SHIELD had shown them. The sources seemed to vary from security feeds to pictures posted online and taken by the people of New York, who got the luck of catching sight of the man in red and blue spandex. There were even pictures of the vigilante throwing a piece sign, clearly aware of his picture getting taken. Sam was inwardly about to admit that Stark did his research, without a doubt having contributed the most until now, much against Rogers charging, when the AI decided to cap it all off by showing video material.

"Did you hack security feeds?" asks Rogers, now obviously sounding pissed. Stark merely shrugs his shoulder.

"Calm down, Capsicle. Some of these videos are from various social media platforms and thus available to everyone who cares to spare a glance. You know what a social media platform is, right? Small bluebird and lots of yelling in capital letters? Are any bells ringing? No? Color me surprised."

Rogers looks ready to grab the man by the throat when a voice catches the attention of every person in the room.

"I know it's a nice day to ride your bike in overcrowded streets, but maybe you should use your own and not steal one?"

Barton's eyes grow wide as he looks at Stark, who is wearing a smug grin.

"You have him on video with audio?"

"Well, I thought about contributing something to the team. Nothing special." Sam wants to snatch the folder off Barnes's hands to throw it in the billionaire's face if he could wipe off that stupidly complacent smirk.

They turn their heads back towards the screen where Spiderman currently stretches his hand out to shoot a white string against a young man's back who was about to swing his leg over a very expensive-looking bike, obviously trying to make a run for it.

"I hope that didn't come out of him," mutters Sam with his face pulled into a grimace as he watches in bizarre fascination how the vigilante shoots another string at the man before giving a powerful pull. The man stumbles back and lets go of the bike. With an unexpected quickness, the group watched how a blur of blue and red circled the man, the string seeming to stick against him as soon as it made contact and rendering him immobile in a second before shooting a hand out and catching the bike at the handlebar before it can get a scratch. The vigilante carefully leans the bike against the wall before turning towards the man, who tries again to run even with his arms bound tightly against his waist.

"Hey, wait!"

Sam raises his eyebrow as the man in the video stops at Spiderman's words, his expression showing he's just as surprised to follow the command. The vigilante holds his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, not making any move closer to the thief. If Sam hadn't seen the guy move with inhuman speed and shoot weirdly robust strings from his wrists just a moment before, he would also have assumed Spiderman to be pretty harmless. If standing still, his arms raised in a sign of not meaning to harm, the man doesn't radiate an ounce of ill-meaning.

"If you decide to run, let me tell you, I will catch you again. I know you won't like it, but we both know I have no other choice but to call the police," begins Spiderman and nods towards the expensive bike.

"But," the man continues, still holding his hands up to show he means no harm. "I can promise they will be more lenient if you don't try to run. I'll even wait here with you and talk to them."

Barton snorts at the words coming from the vigilante but does not take his eyes off the screen. "Wanna bet he'll run?"

Nobody answers as they watch the man staring at Spiderman with nothing but bewilderment, who waits patiently for an answer. "Told you so," says the spy with a grin as the tied-up man bolts, rushing past Spiderman.

"Aww, seriously? That's the fourth time this week," groans the masked man before leaping after the thief. The camera loses track of the men, growing slightly out of focus before reassessing the quality of the now empty street. Sam leans forward, eyes squinting as he glances at the screen, listening closely to the sounds caught by the security record outside the camera's reach. He barely suppresses a flinch as something rushes past the lens out of the blue, startling not only him as he catches Rogers and Barnes twitching at the movement, if only for a minuscule moment.

Spiderman is back on screen shortly after, making quick progress with the thief. The latter didn't get the chance to grasp what was coming for him. The bound man could only shout in surprise as a string attached to his leg caused him to fall. He stumbles forward, but before he can hit the concrete, Spiderman is next to him, webbing him up, and in a blur of a moment, the thief is dangling upside down off a lamppost. The group silently observes how the vigilante on the screen pulls a phone out of a hidden pocket and informs the police. He pockets the mobile and glances at the man above before shaking his head.

"To be honest," says Spiderman while leaning back against the lamppost with his arms crossed over his chest, whole posture relaxed as if he were talking to an acquaintance rather than a criminal he somehow had thrown over a 9-foot tall lantern post. "I expected you'd run, but it still hurts my feelings. Is it the mask?"

The man throws the vigilante a puzzled glance. Sam can only empathize with the thief, just as confused by Spiderman's word vomit.

"The mask," repeats Spiderman, a hint of impatience in his voice, and makes a circular motion in front of his face. "Is it too creepy? It's the eyes, right? Oh man, someone told me the eyes would freak people out. I can hear them tell me I told you so." Said white eyes squint into thin lines as Spiderman mutters to himself, "Nothing sucks as much as an I-told-you-so."

Sam feels like getting whiplash listening to the vigilante. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly was not the flood of nonsense coming out from under the mask.

"Good lord, he's worse than Stark," mutters Barnens next to him, earning a side glance from said man and a snort from Barton.

"They aren't creepy."

Spiderman's head snaps towards the man above, tilted to the side as he glances at him.

"You mean it?"

Oh god, does the guy sound young asking that? Sam had thought Spiderman would be a man in his thirties and just on the smaller side, but how his voice carries genuine curiosity and somewhat maybe close to insecurity leaves Sam thinking he couldn't be older than a college student. Apparently, the man still hanging down shares similar thoughts as he nods, assuring the vigilante shortly after that his mask was not the reason he ran. Spiderman visibly relaxes at the words.

"That's good to know. I can't have people freak out on me cause the suit is scary. It would be a little counterproductive. Well, I should go. The police will be here soon." Spiderman steps away from the lamp, arm stretched outward and probably planning to shoot one of those weird strings again when the man calls for him.

"Wait! You're going?"

Spiderman turns his head, tilting his head quizically at the man before giving a slight nod. "Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging. Not for long. The police will be here soon, and I kinda have somewhere to be, so-"

"Can you at least pull me up? I feel like my head is going to explode."

The vigilante on screen stays silent. Sam wonders if he will ignore the man before Spiderman crosses his arms over his chest. "You should have thought about that before stealing a bike and running. Twice."

"Please, Spiderman! Sir!"

Spiderman freezes in his step before he slowly turns to face the man entirely. He points at himself before looking around but finds no one besides himself near the lanternpost before his white eyes focus on the thief. "Sir?" repeats the vigilante as if the words were unknown to him as he lets it roll over his tongue.

"He's going to help him."

Sam glances at Black Widow, eyebrow raised at her words. She had not taken her eyes off the screen, an unreadable expression on her face, but Sam knew behind that lies a mind working overtime, pulling all the experience of her spy career to analyze the vigilante. Sam focuses back on the screen where Spiderman had turned his back towards the man. He stood right in line for the camera, feet raised to take a step away from the man, the latter still calling for help.

And just like Romanoff predicted, Spiderman couldn't let it go. Unaware of it, Sam's lips raise as he watches the vigilante's shoulders slump in defeat, the man probably rolling his eyes behind the white fabric. Sam's smile freezes before his face contorts into a mix of simultaneously impressed and taken by surprise. Without further notice, Spiderman jumps backward in a leap, defying gravitation and any norm a human should be possible to jump, skilfully bringing his knees closer to perform a neat backflip. While in motion, he shoots a string against the thief's chest and uses the momentum of his jump to pull the man upwards. Spiderman lands with practiced ease on top of the lantern. He attaches the string there before clapping his hands together. The recording cuts at that part, and Sam stares blankly at the blackened screen before tearing his eyes away.

"Are there more recordings like these, Stark?"

If the man in question is surprised by the question coming from Barnes, out of all people, he doesn't let it show. But it was hard reading Stark with him constantly wearing his tinted sunglasses to every meeting.

"This one is by far the longest. The others are short instances of the Spider web-slinging through the city or climbing trees to save kittens."

Sam thought it was one of Stark's jokes, but the billionaire, for once, looked serious saying that.

"Of course, he saves kittens out of trees," mumbles Barton under his breath, and Sam would have laughed and agreed with the sentiment if it didn't feel so out of place. It was Steve's voice that brought them back to the reason they were here.

"What have we gathered so far?"

"Apart from the obvious quirkiness and a moral compass close to Captain America's?" asks Barton with an amused grin.

"We still don't know if his powers come from the suit or the man himself," says Sam, wanting to get this meeting over with, not planning to stay longer than strictly necessary.

"I have sent the video material and the rest of the sources to Bruce. He said the chances are high of Spiderman being a mutant. On the other hand, if his powers come from the suit, whoever had developed it must be a genius lying under the radar. It would be a rather impressive feat to create a suit that seems to be nothing more than spandex to pull off what we have just witnessed. Personally, I also stick to the idea of Spidey being a mutant rather than a hidden tech genius."

"You're saying you couldn't build something like that? Someone is smarter than Tony Stark?" mocks Barton, but the billionaire doesn't even pull a face at the unmistakable provocation.

"I never said I couldn't create a suit like that. I merely hinted that it's unlikely someone had created something like it without anyone in the business getting wind of it. Words travel fast among geniuses. Not that you would be aware, Barton."

Barton merely shrugs his shoulder at the insult.

"According to witness reports and forums on the internet, Spiderman owns inhuman strength, speed, agility, and he sticks."

"He does what?" asks Sam, probably having misheard. Stark gives him a pointed look, not amused to have to repeat himself.

"He sticks to all kinds of surfaces. Friday."

Without needing to elaborate, the screen flickers to live again, showing pictures of Spiderman holding himself up several stories high. Glancing closer, Sam noticed Stark had been right. Spiderman holds himself up with only his hands and feet plastered against the glass of the window of an office building.

"Now I wish his powers come from the suit. That guy starts freaking me out. First, the strings, and now the wall-crawling. If we have to work together, someone should tell him to turn the spider theme down at least a little bit."

Sam feels like he hit his head against a brick wall as he listens to Barton's words. While watching and discussing Spiderman, he had completely forgotten that part of the mission.

"Do we have to work with him?"

He had meant it to be a mutter to himself, a slip of self-pity, but his words echo through the suddenly silent conference room, drawing five pairs of eyes on him. Sam watches with a sense of dread how Stark pushes himself out of his seat, a grin forming on his face.

"Now," the suit-dressed man begins, rubbing his hands together in glee, "who wants to be the first to go out and talk to the Spider?" He lets his eyes wander over the indifferent faces of the room before locking with Sam, his grin widening.

"I think we have a candidate."

Sam let out a curse.

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missvelvetsstuff · 1 year

Text

Guarded Heart

Bucky Barnes x Reader

MobAu

Summary: Y/N is the daughter of a powerful mob boss who only cares about her horses and making it to the Olympics but her father expects her to marry an equally powerful boss to help strengthen his business. Bucky is looking for a wife to help his business and give him an heir but already has a long term girlfriend, Natasha.

Chapter 16

Warnings: swearing, angst

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As all the guests were arriving at the Barnes townhouse, Y/N held court in George's office. First speaking to Wanda and Pietro when they arrived. Steve and Sam helped him up the stairs. He had been shot in the thigh but was expected to make a full recovery. His doctors weren't pleased that he insisted on checking himself out of the hospital but there was nothing they could do.

They also spoke with Loki and George separately. She was trying to get a bead on where everyones heads were to help work out what comes next.

When the food arrived, Y/N sat at one end of the Barnes formal dining room table, Pietro to her right and Wanda to her left. At the other end is George Barnes with Bucky on his right, Steve on his left and Sam next to Steve. Filling the rest of the seats are Tony Stark with Happy and Rhodey, plus Loki, Hela, Val and Heimdal. Yelena was still in bad shape but insisted on being there. Attorney Matt Murdock sat quietly observing and taking notes.

While everyone ate the conversation was casual, catching up with associates that hadn't been together in a non violent situation in a long while. It was a bit stilted since everyone had the coming discussion in mind, trying to figure out how to keep their advantages while working with former rivals.

Once the dessert, brandy and coffee had been served George spoke up.

"I want to thank everyone here for coming tonight and more importantly for your help in the mess that Pierce and Dreykov created. We are stronger when we work together and keeping that in mind I am proposing new alliances to strengthen the old ones."

He looked at his son, then to Y/N, who nodded subtly.

"Right. I want to announce the merging of the Barnes and Y/L/N families. Y/N and my son James will marry in one month."

George watched his son as he made the announcement and Bucky went from surprised to delighted to confused.

Tony protested "Wait a damn minute, George. You expect her to honor her agreement after everything that has happened and the reality that your son shares a good portion of the blame for everything she's lost?

I don't know if I can allow that to happen."

Y/N kept her feelings closer to the vest, revealing nothing. She was still wary about trusting Bucky but she wasn't prepared to handle her fathers entire empire on her own and she trusted George. She also felt she could trust Steve in a pinch.

"Tony, Tony" she tried to stop him. When he looked at her he saw the resolve in her eyes "I know you're trying to look out for me but I already agreed to move forward with the marriage. I can't, I don't want to do this alone. I would much rather be spending time with my horses than all this mess. Bucky can run the business so that I'm only needed occasionally."

Tony shook his head "But what about-"

She smiled softly at him. "I've looked at all the angles and this is the least disagreeable way to keep the business going and have a little bit of a life separate from it. It'll be ok. I'll be ok" she said firmly.

Loki looked at her, concerned. He knew Thor's death hit her harder than she was willing to admit. When she returned his gaze he raised his eyebrows in question, was this really what she wanted to do? "Y/N? Are you sure about this, love? Heimdal and I would be happy to help you until you are ready to stand on your own."

Y/N smiled at Loki "I know and your friendship means the world to me but you've lost important members of your family because of me. I couldn't ask for anything else from you."

Loki shook his head "You didn't ask, I'm offering"

"I know but I also know you have some reorganizing to do yourself. Don't worry, I'll call if I need you. I promise."

Loki sighed "Very well but if I find out you're having trouble and you don't call me, we're going to have a problem"

She nodded in response.

Bucky finally remembered how to talk and had to throw in his 2 cents. "Wait, I never agreed to anything."

Y/N smirked at him "Of course you did. We both signed a contract that included marriage. I know everything has been chaotic but it hasn't been that long. We might need to tweak it a bit but it's still binding. Unless you aren't a man of your word" she looked at him with her eyebrow raised, questioning.

Bucky stuttered under her gaze "N-N-No! I am a man of my w-word. I just, you, but we-" he stopped to take a breath and gather his thoughts. "We need to speak privately. After this meeting." And sat back, arms crossed, face stoic except for the slight up turn at the corners of his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes.

Y/N nodded "Good. Now, Loki has agreed to take Yelena in on a probationary basis, once she's fully healed of course. She risked her life to give us information on Dreykovs plans which helped us take him down so we believe she deserves a chance. One chance" she looked at Yelena seriously, who nodded in response.

"Now, about dividing Pierce's territory...."

They spent 5 hours at that table, arguing over who would control what as the available territory was divided. Finally in the wee hours of the night an agreement was reached. No one was really happy but that's how compromises usually work.

Y/N was starting to feel the strain of being up for so long. She was still recovering from the loss of her arm and the grief from losing Thor was trying to push past the walls she had built up in recent days.

Bucky noticed that she was wobbling, straining to hold herself up at the table and he spoke up

"I think we need to call it a night." He glanced at his watch "It's past 3am and none of us have slept much in the last few days."

Everyone nodded and grumbled but Loki had one more concern "Does anyone know what happened to Zemo?"

Y/N roused for a moment "You guys lost Zemo?" She shivered "But he's vile. Might come after me, he never got over being dumped. I-"

Bucky shook his head "We will get him and Y/N, I promise I will keep you safe."

Everyone said their goodbyes and made to leave as Bucky helped Y/N upstairs. She was almost falling asleep as they walked up the stairs. He helped her get comfortable in his bed and tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and whispered. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later. Y/N still hadn't had a talk with Bucky. Every time he was around she went to his bedroom and locked the door, refusing to even acknowledge anyone who tried to speak with her.

Y/N had barely left Bucky's bedroom, leaving him with the lumpy fold out sofa in the den. She slept most of the time or would just lay there staring at the ceiling. Even her mother couldn't get her to eat much.

Today she had to get up. Today was Thor's funeral. The thought of it made her feel sick and she couldn't keep anything down at all that day.

She just went through the motions. Dressed up in a black dress with a matching veiled hat and black pumps she looked in the mirror and told herself. She could do this, she tried to convince the tired woman who she barely recognized.

The cemetery was crowded with cars, mostly black SUV's. There were so many people Y/N felt lost, gripping her mother's arm tightly. She was still unable to process the grief, the ache from losing Thor too fresh in her mind.

Bucky came up to her other side and gently rested his hand on her back, relieved that she didn't shrug him off this time. He guided them towards the grave site and was relieved when he saw Loki speaking quietly with his sister, Hela.

Loki saw them coming and excused himself from Hela to greet Y/N. "Y/N? Love? Are you alright?" He pulled her into his arms but she stood their stiffly, not returning his hug.

He pulled back to look at her face and she nodded woodenly, whispering "I'm fine" as tears welled up in her eyes.

Loki led her to the front row of seats and sat her down next to him, her mother and Bucky on her other side.

Bucky sat next to Y/N for the service, holding her flesh hand with his vibranium one. When the casket was being lowered she squeezed his hand and he gently returned it, so she knew he was there.

Her shoulders were shaking with the sobs she was trying to hold in but it all became too much and she couldn't anymore. Loud, gut wrenching sobs broke through and she couldn't stop them.

Y/N felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest and there was nothing left but emptiness. Thor had been by her side for years, starting as her trainer then friend then blossoming into something neither one of them wanted to deny, even though they knew the risks. No one knew her like he had and that loss felt like more than she could bear after everything else.

Y/N collapsed next to Thor's grave "N-n-no, I c-can't leave him here. It's t-too cold in the ground. Please don't make me leave him alone. I can't." She looked up at Bucky as he sat on the ground next to her "please, Jamie. Don't make me" she fainted and fell into his arms.

Chapter 17

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #mob!au #angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff

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