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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years ago

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Happy Birthday (pt 2)

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was October thirteenth.

Luz’s first birthday without her mother.

She hadn’t told anyone what today was. She had mentioned it before, during the summer. But Eda and King weren’t known to be the best at remembering something so small from a single conversation.

They were already worried about her, it would only make things worse to remind them.

She saw the worried glances Eda and King gave her. Even Lilith looked concerned. Luz assured them she was fine before she holed up back in the library and, later, her room. Which she had made into makeshift into a study area.

Just because it was her birthday didn’t mean she had to stop trying. Even if it was her quinceañera.

‘Mamá must be worried.’ Her mind murmured.

‘She probably thinks you ran away.’ Added a snicker from the back of her mind. ‘She must think you hate her.’

Luz shook her head and hunched back over her papers. This wasn’t the time to mope and worry. This was the time for research! Even the words ran off the pages and her mind kept wandering.

‘You shouldn’t have gone through that door.’ Her thoughts spoke up again. ‘How bad could a reality check camp be, really? Would you really rather spend an eternity here, where your madre will never know if you're alive or dead?’

“Will you be quiet?” Luz snapped to no one.

‘Look at you,’ Her mind sneered back. ‘Talking to yourself. Maybe you did need that summer camp.’

Luz groaned and thunked her head on her desk, hands collapsing behind her neck. How was she supposed to work under these conditions?

She should’ve asked Gus to research with her. Out of all her friends, he was by far the most willing to spend all-nighters reading and searching for anything human. Any single link to the human realm.

This wasn’t to say Willow and Amity didn’t help her. They did, plenty of times. But it was always Gus she could call at two in the morning and ask to travel with her to some long-forgotten ruin on the slim chance it had even a sentence of human language on its stones. Amity was definitely a close second.

Everyone had tried. Even before the summer was over they had tried. Luz still beat herself up about not searching harder when she didn’t have to worry about her madre thinking she was lost somewhere. Every day that ticked by didn’t seem to bring her any closer to making it home.

The first week when summer vacation was over was horrible. Luz barely got any sleep and practically tore the library apart looking for any book on the human realm. She had crashed on the fifth day and slept all of the sixth. While she slept, her friends had taken up researching for her. Even Eda and King. Well, King tried. He couldn’t read all that well, but Lilith was happy to help.

Luz tried to at least get a few hours of sleep each day now. She still had bags under her eyes and her footsteps still dragged, but at least she wasn’t about to collapse anymore.

‘Mamá would tell you to go to sleep.’

Luz lifted her head and looked towards the window. It had originally been a hole in the wall courtesy of one of her recent adventures, so Eda had turned it into a wonky window instead of bothering to fix it up.

It was dusk. How had time gone by so fast?

Luz dug around in her desk for her glyphs and pulled out her light spell. She tapped the paper and it transformed into a small ball of light. She let it float next to her for a moment, simply watching it.

“She would like this spell.” Luz said to herself. “It doesn’t cost any bills to keep up.”

She almost laughed at her own joke. Almost.

‘Yeah, like she’d be proud of anything you did here.’

Luz sighed and turned back to the pages spread out before her. She stared blankly for a few moments, repeatedly telling herself to focus and failing to do so.

Then her bedroom door slammed open.

“LUZ!” King cried.

Luz yelped and shot backwards, tumbling out of her chair and hitting the wooden floor.

King winced and scurried over to where she lay, giving her a nervous look.

“Eh heh, sorry…”

“King! Don’t scare me like that!” Luz scolded, sitting up and rubbing her head.

“Sorry, but it’s important!” King said, waving his little arms. “Come on, come on!”

“Is something wrong?” Luz worried, standing up as King tugged on her cape.

“Well, no,” King said, still pulling her out of her room. “But it’s still important!”

Luz, more confused than ever, followed King as he finally let go of her cape and scampered down the stairs, practically shaking with excitement.

A part of Luz was expecting some prank he and Hooty had concocted. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for them these days.

Luz wandered down the stairs as King skittered towards the living room. She heard murmuring and frowned, slowing her steps until she was right by the doorway and peeked her head in, one hand resting on the doorframe.

Willow, Gus and Amity were sitting on the floor around the couch. They had pushed a table up in front of it. A cake sat on the table, and Amity was currently trying to stick in a candle shaped like a five next to the one shaped like a one, though was clearly having trouble as the candle was made of something very squirmy and kept shifting into something that looked more like a weird S.

Gus was trying to help contain the candle as Willow looked on with concern, holding a small square lidded box in her lap.

Eda and Lilith were sitting on the couch directing Gus and Amity with little success. As Lilith was also dealing with Hooty continuously bugging her with questions or whatever he ate outside that day.

King had just arrived and was now climbing onto the table, promptly freaking out everyone else who clearly didn’t expect him to be back so soon.

“Guys…?” Luz blinked, taking a step into the room.

Everyone's heads whirled around to her, none of them having expected her to make it downstairs faster than they anticipated.

Hooty, as per usual, was the first to break the silence.

“Hi, Luz!” He greeted. “We made a cake!”

“You didn’t do anything!” Lilith snapped. “All you did was be a lookout. A very lousy one, at that!”

“Hey! I deserve credit for doing something!”

“What...is all this?” Luz asked, deciding it was better to cut in before Lilith and Hooty started arguing again.

“What does it look like, kid?” Eda snorted, snatching the five candle from Amity and sharply sticking it into the cake, making it lopsided and causing clear distress to Amity’s OCD.

“This is what human birthdays look like, right?” Gus worried, sitting upright and putting his hands on the table. “Was there supposed to be streamers? I knew we should’ve gotten streamers,” He grumbled.

“No, no, it’s just…” Luz looked over everyone before her eyes landed on Eda and King, who had hopped onto the couch beside her.

“You...remembered?” She asked quietly.

“Of course we did! The King of Demons never forgets!” King said proudly.

“Yesterday you forgot that you drank your own apple blood and threw a fit because you thought someone else drank it.” Amity deadpanned.

“That was one time!”

“Happy birthday, Luz.” Willow said, gesturing for her to sit down and setting the small box on the table.

Luz slowly walked towards the table, sitting on her knees at the end of the table. Still stunned, she slid the gift closer to her and pulled off the lid.

Inside it was a book. It was dark blue with golden lining along the edges. It’s title in gold cursive read; Glyph Spells & Other Written Magic .

“Thought you could use one of those,” Willow said casually. “Since you’ve got your own students to teach now.”

“We all pitched in for it,” Eda said gleefully.

Amity gave the witch a very pointed glare. One that Eda sighed in response to.

“Alright, we all pitched in to look for it. Little Miss Rich over here paid for it.” She relented, pointing a thumb towards the girl.

“I tasted it!” Hooty added happily. “It tastes like old dust and death.”

Luz carefully lifted the book out of the box. It seemed like well-kept book. Though the frantic scratches among the cover here and there proved that it had likely been quickly cleaned before placed in the box. The pages were yellow and crinkled, and there was the occasional stain or tear. But overall, it wasn’t unreadable.

“Do you…” Amity swallowed. “Like it?”

Luz kept her eyes on the book for a few quiet seconds. She pulled the book close to her chest and lifted her head, trying and failing to fight back the tears welling in her eyes.

“I love it.” She said hoarsely, a wide smile stretched across her face.

Everyone in the room visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging.

“Does this mean we can have cake now?” King asked, impatiently tugging on Eda’s dress. “I’m starving!”

“Nope!” Hooty chirped, his head popped up beside Luz and startled her. “It’s group hug time!”

“Wait, wait, Hooty NO--!”

Hooty was faster than any of them could react and wrapped around them all, pulling them into a tight ball with Luz squished in the middle.

“A little more warning next time?” Gus wheezed from where he was currently being suffocated by the insistent bird tube.

“The cake!” Willow exclaimed.

Everyone craned their necks downwards towards the table.

Sure enough, amongst the struggle to get everyone in a circle, the cake had been knocked off the table and onto the floor, completely smashed against the carpet.

Everyone stared at it for a few moments.

“Floor cake!” King exclaimed. “The best kind of food!”

Nobody knew who laughed first, but it wasn’t long before everyone had smiles on their faces. Now, it didn’t seem to matter how human they made her party.

“Thanks, guys.” Luz said once she’d calmed down. “I...I think I needed this.”

“Any time, Luz.” Eda smiled.

Luz giggled and looked towards the stained windows of the Owl House. She could already hear Lilith and King arguing with Hooty again, probably to put them down, but it was tuned out.

The sky was completely dark now. And though the sky back home looked different than in the Boiling Isles, Luz couldn’t help but wonder if her mom was looking up at the stars, too.

She glanced back to her friends, still not processing any of the arguments or conversations they were having as they tried to free themselves from Hooty.

Yeah, she’d be okay.

Luz smiled and relaxed. Even if her mom didn’t know where she was, Luz could at least rest assured that she’d make it home, eventually. And she’d have real friends helping her out.

‘Keep that light on until I get there, mamá.’ She silently asked.

‘Te veré pronto.’

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wizardofrozz · 4 years ago

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Put to the Test

Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Now it’s time for Roz to spill all the secrets from her past.

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, angst, mention of past trauma

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Chapter 5: Secrets

A blinding light broke through my eyelids when I finally started to wake up. I opened my eyes, blinking a few times, trying to figure out where I was. My vision finally started to clear, and I realized I was lying on a table in the compound in Bruce’s lab. I sat up, looking around, when my eyes landed on Bucky lying on another table across from me. His eyes were closed, sweat covered his face, but I couldn’t tell where he got hit. I swung my legs around and jumped down from the table, quickly made my way to the mirror over the sink in Bruce’s lab, pulled my shirt off, and checked my left shoulder. The bandages covered where I got shot; it ached slightly, but it wasn’t anything too severe, and it would heal in a day or so; thank you, Super-Soldier serum. I gently poked around my left shoulder, trying to figure out where the bullet hole was. I glanced over at Bucky when I accidentally pushed too hard on my wound. I poked my left shoulder and had to bite my tongue to stop from yelling out in pain; then I noticed when I poked my shoulder, Bucky’s body tensed too. My head started spinning from a combination of pain and confusion; what the fuck was happening. I slowly walked over to Bucky’s side again, hoping he was just waking up and it had nothing to do with me, but he didn’t move again. I reluctantly reached toward my shoulder again, keeping my eyes on Bucky, and pressed into the spot again, grinding my teeth against the pain. As soon as my finger pressed into my shoulder, Bucky’s arched off the table, and he yelled so loud I almost reached to cover my ears. Once the pain subsided, his shoulders slammed down again, but his breathing was heavy, ragged. The door behind me slammed open, making me jump.

“What the- “Bruce cut off as he ran into the room. “You’re awake. Why was he yelling?” he asked as he walked towards the table. I couldn’t take it anymore, my legs collapsed out from under me, and I fell to my knees, breathing hard. “Roz, hey, what’s going on?” Bruce knelt next to me.

“Where was he shot?” I whispered.

“That’s the question of the hour. I can’t find a bullet hole. Did Bucky hit his head or something?” Bruce asked, looking up from his phone over his glasses.

“No? Not that I remember, at least. But…. if he’s not shot, why does it hurt him then!” my voice rose as I continued to talk.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, stroking my arm.

“If he wasn’t shot, then why when I, accidentally, hit the wound, did it hurt him?” I yelled through tears.

“I’m hoping I have an answer to that question. Nat and Steve told me what was going on with you guys, so I've been running tests while you two have been unconscious. I got some interesting results,” Bruce spoke to me softly.

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping he’ll come around soon,” Bruce gave me a sad smile. “Now, let me see your shoulder again,” Bruce said as he helped me to my feet. He slowly reached towards me and unwrapped the bandages; he gently poked around the entry wound. “Okay, lift your arm as much as you can so I can wrap it up again,” Bruce rolled over to his medical supply cabinet. Bruce came back with more bandages; lifting my arm sent a jolt of pain through my arm, then suddenly Bucky yelled out again, but this time he shot up into a sitting position. Bucky was panting and holding his arm, still yelling, but it was getting weaker. Bruce pulled his hand back; I rushed to Bucky’s side and laid my hand on his leg.

“Bucky, Bucky,” I said, squeezing his calf. He finally looked at me, and relief flooded across his face, and his breathing starts to even out again.

“What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” he sounded out of breath, but he was responsive.

“I got shot,” I said softly, still rubbing his leg.

“What! Wait, was I?” he asked, looking at his shoulder.

“No, you’re fine. Why?” I asked, confused.

“Why the hell does my arm hurt so bad,” his voice rose in pitch as he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” I kept my eyes on his face.

“Well, it’s metal. I don’t have nerve endings anymore. If you pull or twist my arm, it hurts up by my collar bone, but even if I did get shot, it shouldn’t hurt. But it does,” his voice got softer. “Where were you shot?” he looked up at me.

“Left shoulder,” I said, vaguely gesturing to my arm.

“What the fuck, what is going on?” he looked over my head at Bruce, directing his question at him.

“I think I know what’s happening,” Bruce said over his shoulder while he messed around on his computer. Nat and Steve burst through the room with Wanda in tow before Bruce said anything else; they made a beeline towards us.

“What the hell happened?” Nat said, grabbing my face a little too tight.

“We have no idea. Apparently, Bruce has an answer though,” I noticed Bucky was looking at me while I spoke. “Hi Wanda, when did you get here?” I asked.

“Hi Roz, Hi Bucky, I got here a few hours ago,” she smiled a little. Bruce handed Wanda a folder with a smile before she turned to leave again. Wanda saw me looking at her; she nodded towards Bucky, a smirk pulling at her lips when she winked before hurrying out of the room.

“Okay, you guys probably want to sit down for this,” Bruce said as he pulled a chair over. I looked for a chair, but Bucky moved over and offered me a seat on the table with him. I climbed up next to him, noticing the pain in my shoulder was already subsiding; thank you again, Super-Soldier serum. Bucky put his hand on my knee briefly before turning his attention to Bruce; I wish he wouldn’t have let go. “So try to keep up because this is going to sound weird. I did full-body scans on both of you, a blood test, and ran your DNA; I was hoping something would jump out at me, but nothing did. Well, nothing abnormal for Super Soldiers at least,” Bruce stopped for a second.

“Wait, you’re a Super Soldier too?” Bucky whispered to me.

“No amount of training could let me kick your ass if I wasn’t,” I gave him a small smile.

“How?” he said softly.

“We have a lot to talk about,” I said, patting his leg and looking at Bruce again.

“So after nothing seemed abnormal, I did more tests, comparing DNA and things like that. Don’t worry; you’re not related or anything,” Bruce chuckled when Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “This is where it gets weird. I compared your DNA and blood contents. I don’t know what it is, or how it happened or how it works, but it’s almost like your DNA depends on each other,” Bruce said before sitting down again.

“I don’t understand,” I said blankly.

“Well, whatever or whoever did this intertwined yours and Bucky’s DNA, in a way I’ve never seen before, connecting the two of you,” Bruce said quickly.

“So, the electric, firework feeling that happens when we touch is?” I asked, growing more confused. It hit me, somehow, someway, Hydra had something to do with this. I felt a pang of guilt; I should’ve talked to Bucky about his time as the Winter Soldier; I never thought we could’ve been with Hydra at the same time, let alone the same place.

“Basically, it’s your bodies reacting to your DNA finding the rest of itself,” Bruce smiled. “When I looked at your DNA strand, somehow, someone altered the DNA strand with, I guess the best thing to call it is, a biological, electronic receiver. These empty pieces contain electronic receptors that code strictly to Bucky’s companion piece. It’s unbelievable, I have no idea how someone managed to do this, but it took a lot of work. The way they made your DNA strand accept this insert and continue to replicate it without rejecting it is unbelievable, and it’s fascinating. I plan on studying it more if you don’t mind,” Bruce said, turning back to his computer.

“Uh no, go ahead,” I said, barely paying attention anymore. My head started to pound, my vision was blurry, and I kept seeing flashes of something that I couldn’t make out; it felt like someone reached into my chest, squeezing my lungs.

“So, what we are feeling, isn’t a bad thing?” Bucky asked quietly.

“From what I can see, no. If I were you guys, I’d try to be happy; you were artificially made for each other,” Bruce gave us a tight smile. Before I heard anymore, I stood up a little too quickly and stumbled into the hall. I faintly heard my name behind me, but I need to get outside; I needed fresh air. I don’t remember how I made it to the compound's front door, but once I opened it and felt fresh on my face, I fell to my knees. I started to take deep breaths, hoping to chase away the memories that were flashing through my head. Memories of that retched dark basement, the barely manageable pain, dead bodies, a cramped tiny cell, and the last memory was the back of someone’s head. I saw the person turn their head, and I recognized them right away.

“Bucky,” I whispered. The last of that memory was him being dragged down the hall in front of me, screaming, yelling, fighting. Tears ran down my face; my chest hurt like I couldn’t get enough air, then I heard my name from behind me. Bucky knelt in front of me and softly lifted my face to look at him, wiping tears away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, it should’ve been me,” I cried harder. The image of Bucky and that symbol on the wall at the end of that fucking hall were burned into my head. Hydra.

“Roz, please, what’s happening,” Bucky’s voice sounded strained. I looked up at him, seeing tears in his eyes, and didn’t hesitate to throw myself into his arms, knocking him on his back. He didn’t say anything, try to move, or pull away; he held me like he’d be waiting to do. After a few minutes, I pulled away, rolling onto the ground next to Bucky, needing a break from the fire all over my skin. “Why did you apologize?” Bucky asked, looking at the ground.

“Do you remember your time with Hydra?” I asked finally.

“I wanted you to hear it from me, not just my file and news,” he sounded slightly angry.

“Please answer the question,” I pleaded with him.

“Not much. If I really think about it, I can pull up some memories, but I usually avoid them. Why?” he was getting more concerned.

“For whatever reason, I thought there would be a better time to talk about this, but there isn’t. I was captured by Hydra during WWII when I worked as an undercover agent for the army in the Soviet Union. My cover got blown, and the Soviet Union handed me over to Hydra instead of killing me. That’s how I became a Super Soldier; you and I were the first successful attempts after Steve. I never had any memories of you until right now; they just told me all those years ago that they had one more successful attempt after me. I have a few other memories, but they are all just pain, surgery, cold, except for one. One memory came back to me when Bruce was talking, and I realized how we are the way we are; Hydra is behind it. I vaguely remember the last time I saw you before I saw you here. We were standing in a cell at the end of a hallway; you heard voices coming down the hall, you turned your back to me and waited for the door to open, but you said something to me. The door opened, the doctor said something, and two guards grabbed you, and all I see is them dragging you down the hall. You kept yelling something and fought as hard as you could.” I had to stop, I was hyperventilating, and it was all too much. I managed to look up at Bucky and saw tears flowing down his face.

“I remember,” he whispered.

***

(Bucky POV)

Roz finished talking, and the weight of what she said hit me hard. I tried to remember; I thought of every memory I had of my time at Hydra. One memory hit me; it was right before they froze me for the first time, I saw being pulled down a hall, but I couldn’t remember why until I focused more on the beginning of the memory. A flash of a face at the end of the hall opened the flood gates in my head; hundreds of memories flooded me. Her smile, games we used to play in the cell to pass the time, nights curled in bed together, and so many other things. I couldn’t hold back tears any longer; I finally remembered how much I love her, how much I need her.

“I remember,” I whispered. Roz’s head snapped towards me, and I saw she was crying too.

“You do?” she asked softly.

“I think more than you do,” I laughed weakly.

***

(Roz POV)

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I remember all the time we spent together. I have memories of card games we played, small mission they sent us on, and I remember what I was screaming at you when they drug me away. I don’t remember what the doctor said though,” he said quickly.

“What were you screaming?” I asked, needing to know.

“I was screaming I love you,” he whispered. Now that he said it, I could hear Bucky’s screams in my head, him screaming down the hall that he loved me, no matter what. Hundreds of memories flooded my brain as I remembered the time I spent with Bucky, all those years. Along with the memories, all the feelings I had for Bucky came rushing over me in waves. I remembered feeling his skin against mine, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body asleep next to me; my heartrate took off at the rush of emotion. I’d still go to the ends of the Earth for this man. “I love you,” he said again.

“I love you too, Bucky,” I said back, looking directly at him. Finally, I felt like I was home; I felt like I found my missing piece. I wiped my face off with my shirt, looked at Bucky again, and smiled; the man I loved for decades was mine again.

“So now that I know we aren’t going to slowly waste away any time we touch; I have to do something,” Bucky said with a smirk. He got to his feet and reached down for my hand to help me up, pulling me to his chest once I was standing again. Standing in front of him made me realize how short I am compared to him because he had to look down at me. Before I could say anything else, Bucky grabbed the back of my neck and leaned down all in one motion to pull my lips to his. I tried to stand on my toes, but I was still too short. Finally, Bucky got sick of bending over and reached down to grab my legs to lift me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, which made him groan into my mouth, and he stumbled a little before breaking the kiss. “I think we have an audience,” he whispered into my neck.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said as I tensed. I kicked my legs, trying to get Bucky to let me down, but he just laughed, then heaved me up onto his shoulder. Bucky headed for the door of the compound with me over his shoulder; I pounded on his back, but all he did was laugh. “Bucky! Put me down,” I yelled as I continued beating on his lower back.

“Nope, sorry, doll. I’d love to continue, but I’d prefer no audience, and we can’t run off just yet,” I could hear the smile in his voice. I fought a little too hard and yelped at the sharp pain in my arm, thankfully, it didn’t last long. I finally quit fighting and just let him carry me and accepted that he was taking me wherever he wanted.

“Wait, your shoulder doesn’t hurt?” I asked, realizing he was carrying me on his left shoulder.

“No, it didn’t hurt to begin with. I think we fell into a loop. I felt the pain you were feeling, but not necessarily in one spot; I just felt pain on that side of my body. Your body is starting to heal quickly, so I don’t feel any pain,” he said, turning the corner.

“Bucky, will you put her down. You two ran off before we got any more answers,” Steve must have been standing in the hall. Bucky huffed but stopped walking and set me on my feet, grabbing my arm when I stumbled; my body felt cold suddenly when Bucky’s hand left my arm.

“Steve, you better not have been spying on us outside,” I groaned.

“He was,” Nat said as she poked her head out of Bruce’s lab.

“I got worried about where you guys went; I happened to look out the window,” he looked at the floor as he spoke.

“And he caught a glimpse of the beginning of a porno starring his best friend,” Nat giggled from the doorway.

“Will you shut up!” Steve yelled at her, but it just made her laugh harder. “You were watching too!” he yelled again.

“Hell yeah, I’ll admit it. I mean, come on, have you looked at these two? I’d pay to see it,” Nat wiggled her eyebrows and laughed at the look on Bucky and Steve’s face. Bucky recovered first, and I saw the idea pop into his head; he started to walk closer to Steve.

“You could always join, bud,” he whispered to Steve as he reached to touch his arm.

“Bucky, if you don’t get away from me, I will kill you,” Steve jumped away from Bucky.

“Aw, come on, we used to share everything. Unless you’re a natural, I have nothing to worry about,” Bucky said around giggles. Nat was now laughing so hard she was crying, and I couldn’t contain it anymore; I started laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

“What is wrong with you people? Why would you want to have sex in the same room as your best friend?!” Steve was getting more uncomfortable as time passed. Bucky kept moving towards him, trying to touch him, and Steve was ready to punch him. Bucky got close enough to lunge for Steve and grabbed him in a hug; Bucky was vibrating with laughter, and Steve looked shaken.

“Don’t worry, bud, I don’t want to fuck you, or for you fuck her,” Bucky said after letting Steve go.

“Can this conversation be over?” Steve’s face was bright red. Steve was too focused on Bucky to notice that I had moved closer too.

“Unless you want you some training Rogers,” I whispered in Steve’s ear. He jumped and back away from me, fueling everyone else’s laughter; Bruce was even giggling at his desk.

“Okay, can we get the subject away from my depressing virginity and talk about what happened with you two,” Steve said, trying to hide his bright red face. Eventually, the laughter died down; we calmed down and made our way back into Bruce’s lab. Steve was sitting on the table Bucky was lying on earlier; as Bucky passed, he ran his hand down Steve’s leg, which earned him a swift kick in the back.

“Alright, spit it out. Why did you run off?” Nat asked as she sat next to me.

“Well, I’ve never said this out loud until today. I was turned over to Hydra around the same time Bucky fell off the train in 1944,” I said, looking at my hands. Bucky rubbed my shoulders, giving me a confidence boost. “He wasn’t the only success after you, Steve; I was another success. I have no idea what they did, I never looked for the files, but Bucky and I worked together and spent a lot of time together. I couldn’t remember him, I can’t remember a lot of what happened there, but I have many memories of Bucky. One stands out,” I finished but didn’t look up.

“I remember more than she does. We lived in a cell together; we went on numerous missions together. I don’t remember a lot of details or how long it was, but I know we were there together,” Bucky rubbed my arm.

“So you two were together, in a relationship, while in Hydra?” Nat asked.

“I guess so, but that’s what confuses me. Why, why did they allow it?” I said, just as confused.

“Well, let’s look for the files and see what we can find out,” Bruce said from his computer. For the next few hours, we searched through the public Hydra files Nat released, looking for anything that mentioned my name or Bucky’s going back to 1944.

“Wait, if you were with Hydra, how did we meet in the Red Room…?” Nat slowly turned in her chair to look at me.

“That is a whole different story; I should just get it out in the open now,” I kept my eyes glued to the keyboard.

“Spit it out, now,” Nat said lowly. I sighed, I hoped I didn’t have to do this yet, but I rolled my chair over to her.

“Well, they wanted to have control over one of the deadliest assassins in the world. Madame B wouldn’t allow Hydra to take any of the girls she already had, but that didn’t mean she refused to work with me. They struck a deal; she would train me to graduation before turning me back over to them,” I kept my eyes on the floor, trying to detach myself from the memory as much as I could.

“When did you get there because we… graduated around the same time?” Nat whispered.

“I arrived the same week you did, but Madame B refused to let me into training until I gained some personality back. When I got there, I was wiped and dead inside, but she wasn’t going to train a robot, as she put it,” I was wringing my hands as I spoke. “I was already a trained marksman, so it didn’t matter that I missed the first couple of months; I-I did my ballet alone for a while,” I glanced at Nat, and she was just watching me.

“Why did it matter if you didn’t have a personality?” Steve’s eyebrows pulled together. I realized Steve, Bucky and Bruce stopped working, listening to my life story.

“I wasn’t capable of fear; the program doesn’t work if I’m already brainwashed. They had to bring back some of who I was before in order be able to instill fear,” I said, praying my eyes stopped watering. “I started to remember why I was there, what Hydra wanted from me, and that’s when I was introduced to the rest of you, then I joined in with training and ballet.”

“That’s why they never let us spar; they couldn’t risk the Super Soldier hurting one of their girls,” Nat said softly before looking up at me.

“Yep, they were cautious about what I did. They wanted the honor of saying they trained a Super Soldier without me causing any damage to the rest of their future girls. So I made it to the end, a Super Soldier that’s trained to be one of the deadliest assassins ever,” I finally let out the breath; apparently, I was holding in.

“It seems like overkill for them to perform the graduation ceremony on you, though. That had to just be for fun,” Nat said as she picked at her nails.

“They didn’t,” I cringed after it came out of my mouth.

“What? Why?” Nat looked shocked.

“I only know because I overheard Madame B arguing with someone from Hydra. For whatever reason, Hydra insisted everything stayed intact, but I have no idea why it mattered,” I leaned back in my chair, hoping this conversation was almost over.

“Wait, how do you remember who I am?” Nat’s voice got louder, and she stood, sending her chair flying. “You shouldn’t remember who I am if you went back,” she looked confused and upset.

“Yeah, well, Hydra didn’t realize the mistake they made sending me to the Red Room. I came back, aware of who I was and what they were doing, and what I had done for them since the last time I had been wiped. They had no one to stop me if I decided to fight back, which I did. I wasn’t going back to forgetting everything, so I fought my way out, or so I thought. I made the fatal mistake of stumbling into the cryo room. They fought me into a chamber, and I spent 20 years frozen again,” my voice trailed off. “I have no idea how I got out, but I woke up in an abandoned warehouse in Russia and knew I needed to find you again,” I looked at Nat with tears in my eyes.

“Thank god you did,” she grabbed my hand and squeezed, crying too. “I wish you would’ve told me when you found me; maybe I wouldn’t have been such an asshole,” she laughed through tears. A laugh flew out of my mouth, and I looked up at her and smiled. I stood, pulling her into a hug and squeezing, ignoring her rigid stance until she softened and hugged me back, harder. After a minute, her body went rigid again, and she pulled back, looking into my eyes. “Bitch, how old are you?” she asked. I couldn’t help but laugh; I laughed so hard it hurt, and she joined in.

“I’m 100 years old,” I said through giggles.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nat shook her head, still laughing a little.

“Okay, as much as I enjoyed watching you too have a heart-to-heart, we should get back to research,” Bruce said as he turned back to his computer. Nat and I nodded and went back to our chairs; Bucky grabbed my hand, fireworks shot up my arm as he lightly squeezed it.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told a lot of people stuff a lot sooner,” I said, smiling sadly at him.

“Don’t worry, doll, we have time to talk about it,” he smiled at me before going back to his computer.

Series Masterlist | Chapter 6

Taglist:

@criminalyetminimal @kendallthesimp @marvelfansworld

#bucky #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter solider #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes x ofc #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sergeant barnes #sergeant james barnes #hydra #red room project #hydra experiment #black widow project #hail hydra

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kimtanathegeek · 4 years ago

Text

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 29

Will Sans and Papyrus be able to make their way out? Or will it be the end for one of them? :(

Thanks for reading! :)

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.

First

The putrid stench hung heavily in the air like a damp fog, a miasma of decaying matter and waste-infused water. The droning clapping and splashing of the waterfalls casting their streams into a plummeting crash at their bases echoed against the walls too dark to see. The pitch darkness, void of the bioluminescence and natural illumination that was so abundant high above, engulfed the reservoir of refuse, as if trying to conceal its very existence. A single speck of light glinted in the gloom, flickering as it shook like a tiny star in the velvety night sky.

Sans stood on top of a shattered barrel on the bank of the mound closest to the set of waterfalls he believed stemmed from where they had been before his brother was swept from him. The blue bone shook in his grasp, held tight in his hand as he supported Papyrus in both his arms. Sans was exhausted, violently shivering from the cold, and panting through chattering teeth.

He glanced down at Papyrus, his head leaning against his lower left shoulder and chest. His eyes were closed, wanting nothing more than to sleep the remnants of his pain away. Sans furrowed his brow sadly, knowing that, although his bones had mended, Papyrus still needed to recover from his injuries with rest, food, and time. For now, however, his little brother needed to stay awake to cast the magic that would get them out of this horrendous place.

“P-P-Pap,” Sans whispered through chattering teeth. “W-we n-need a r-really long br-bridge, fr-from here t-to that s-side of the w-w-waterfall, on th-the w-wall.”

He indicated with the blue bone as Papyrus watched through half-closed eyes. Then, without a word, the little skeleton raised his right hand.

Four bones sprang from in front of them at the bank of the mound, shooting over the ever-running waters, until they buried themselves into the wall, several feet away from the churning base of the waterfall he had fallen from.

Sans looked at the bridge with amazement. His brother had rapidly improved with his bone magic, and he was extremely grateful that they had spent so much time practicing.

“G-good job, P-Pap,” Sans murmured as encouragingly as he could muster, nuzzling into his brother’s skull with his trembling chin.

He looked at the long stretch of bones, watching the waters lap against it, and felt his dizziness double just thinking about crossing it. He knew that he wouldn’t make it without falling over, so he carefully lowered himself to sit, keeping his brother tight in his grasp, falling the last few inches onto his rear with a painful bump. As he grunted in pain, Papyrus looked up at him, worriedly.

“S-s’ok, P-Pap,” Sans grinned feebly. “J-just b-bumped my b-butt.”

Papyrus didn’t seem thoroughly convinced, yet his weariness forced his eyes back shut.

Sans made sure he was centered on the narrow bridge, then, carefully holding Papyrus against him with his right arm, used his left hand to pull himself along the bridge on his rear, pushing with his bare heels against the bones.

He scooted backwards laboriously, inch by inch, blindly propelling himself up the bridge as the waters soaked his bottom. He wobbled a few times, shaking his head to regain his balance, as the darkness, noise, and his condition were extremely disorientating.

Eventually he reached the rocky wall of the sheer cliff face. He sighed deeply, knowing that they were one step closer to getting out, but the most difficult part was now ahead of them.

“P-Pap,” Sans stammered, almost needing to shout to be heard over the waterfall right next to them. “W-we n-need to cl-climb this w-wall.”

Papyrus opened his eyes halfway, looked up the cliff face that they were unable to see the top of, and turned his eyes to his brother. There was something in the weakened, apathetic look that Papyrus gave him that gave Sans the impression his brother was telling him “there is no way I can do that”.

“Y-you c-can do it, P-Pap,” Sans whispered, a hint of urgency in his voice. “I-it looks f-farther th-than it is. L-little by l-little, you c-can do it.”

Sans swayed where he sat, his eyes threatening to close. He shook his head again to snap himself out of it. He couldn’t rest yet.

Papyrus whimpered with concern for his brother. He knew something was wrong with Sans, which urged him to try. He looked back at the wall, considering it for a moment, then raised his right hand.

White bones shot from the wall in an upward slant, starting next to the bone bridge, and ending with a flat platform of several bones for a stopping point.

Sans gave his brother a gentle squeeze. “Th-that’s gr-great!”

He thought about the best way to ascend the steep bone stairway, shutting his eyes momentarily as his mind started to cloud over in a heavy fog.

Papyrus gasped softly as he watched his brother’s head droop, then Sans started to roll to the side as he was still clutched to his chest. They were going to topple off into the water.

“Sas!” he cried out fearfully.

Sans woke with a start, blinking rapidly. He realized he was tipping, and righted himself with a gasp.

“S-sorry,” he said groggily, still blinking. “I-I didn’t r-realize.... W-we have to g-get out of h-here.”

Sans looked back up at the bones, struggling to keep his thoughts focused. He shuddered heavily, then looked at Papyrus. His eyes fell on his brother’s scarf, still sodden, when an idea came to him.

“P-Pap,” he said, shivering terribly. “I-I’m g-gonna carry y-you on m-my back, a-and tie y-your sc-scarf around m-me so y-you don’t sl-slip. I-I n-need you t-to hang on t-to my sh-shoulders, o-ok?”

Papyrus nodded weakly, then started taking his scarf off. Sans helped him loosen it, then pulled it free.

He then sat Papyrus on the bone bridge so he could stand, gave him the blue bone to hold, and turned, offering his back to him. The little skeleton gripped his brother’s shoulders, the blue bone clutched in his left hand, as Sans swung one of the ends of the scarf around their backs, grabbing it around his other side. He brought the ends together, pulling them so that it was snug, and tied them in a knot. He slowly leaned forward onto the bone stairs, testing to make sure that Papyrus was secure. The little skeleton wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck in fear of falling, but was otherwise fine on his back.

With a deep breath, Sans began crawling up the bones, on his hands and knees, his little brother’s light skeletal body barely a burden. He started slowly, but the urge to get to the top pushed him to speed up slightly as he neared the little platform Papyrus had created at the top of the stairway. When he reached it, he remained on his hands and knees as Papyrus raised his right hand to create the next set, heading in the opposite direction and above the set they had just ascended, creating a zigzagged stairway.

Sans turned carefully to face the new set, his trembling body swiveling on the smooth bones. His dizziness caused him to lose his balance for a moment, but he quickly regained it, thankful that Papyrus didn’t seem to notice. Once again, he ascended the set until he reached the next platform.

As he rested on the platform, he leaned his head against the cliff face while Papyrus created the next set. They were near the waterfall again, and the spray misted over Sans, sending a deep shudder through his bones. He shut his eyes, just wanting to sleep and forget everything they’d been through. All he had to do was lay down and—

“Sas?” Papyrus was tugging at his brother’s neck.

Sans lazily opened his eyes. “Mmm?”

“C’mon Sas,” Papyrus said, a worried tone in his voice.

“Mmkay,” Sans murmured, turning to the new set.

This time Papyrus did notice when Sans’ arm buckled, leaning them a little too close to the edge.

“Sas!” he cried out, tightening his arms around Sans’ neck so hard, it choked him.

Sans held on to the bones tightly as he doubled over, his eyes shut tight and tearing up, coughing harshly. He gasped for breath, collapsing onto the stairway on his stomach as his limbs gave out. They slid down the bones, causing both skeletons to emit a small, startled cry. Sans grabbed onto the bones and held on firmly, panting for breath. Papyrus was whimpering on his back.

Sans shook sense back into his head, then proceeded to climb up the set, straining to keep his focus.

They ascended several sets of Papyrus’ bone stairways, and each time they came to the waterfall side, Sans looked up, hoping to see the top, but it was still too far from his view. So he continued slogging his way up the endless sets of stairs, his condition deteriorating with every bone step.

Sans knelt on yet another platform while Papyrus created a new set. He leaned against the cliff face, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep. The set was complete, but Sans just stared at it, breathing slowly.

Papyrus whimpered nervously on his brother’s back. Something was definitely wrong with Sans. He’d stopped shivering, so Papyrus thought that meant he was feeling better. But his brother had stumbled and swayed worse than he had lower down on the cliff face. They had nearly tipped over the edge countless times, and he was no longer sure that Sans realized he was doing so. He looked up—the top of the cliff had come into view a couple sets ago, and each one brought them closer. They just needed to go a little farther.

Sans started up the set—or rather, he fell towards it and used the momentum to urge him on. He, too, had seen that they were nearly there. But it was still so far away. They’d never reach it, what was the point of going on?

At the next platform, Sans rested as his brother created new bones, and decided that he was done. He turned and fell onto the set, reaching under him to untie the scarf.

Papyrus felt the scarf go slack and clutched to his brother, thinking it had accidentally come undone.

“Pap, yougo, gowanup,” Sans murmured, his face pressed into the bones, his words running together. “Leame here.”

Papyrus, who was still weak from his injuries, shook his head violently.

“No!” he cried. “Pa no leave Sas! We go home togevur!”

Sans didn’t answer. He was too tired to answer.

Papyrus nudged his brother’s shoulders. “Sas! Wake up! Wake up, Sas!”

Sans didn’t have the strength to open his eyes, but summoned strength to speak.

“Gonstay here. Ifyou donleave, I’ll rolloff, thenyou’ll hafta golone.”

This terrified Papyrus to his very core. He couldn’t bear to think of leaving his brother behind, but he also didn’t want him to fall off the edge into the depths, just so he would go on without him. He didn’t know what to do, so all he could do was bury his face in his brother’s damp shirt and weep.

Sans was semi-conscious, but he felt his brother’s warm tears on his back and heard him sobbing. It broke his heart, and roused him to try another set. He knotted the scarf clumsily, then crawled up the stairs, dragging himself on his stomach.

Papyrus had felt the scarf tighten around him and watched his brother slowly ascend. He stopped crying, a glimmer of hope that his brother hadn’t fully given up sparking in his soul. He nestled into his brother’s back, still scared of losing him.

Sans reached the platform, swaying on his hands and knees as Papyrus created another set.

“Almos dere, Sas,” he said, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “Jusa lil more.”

Sans gave a grunting sigh, unable to form an answer, then dragged himself up the set.

“Sas!” Papyrus shouted, looking up after making the last set. “We here! Look! Look! We here!”

Sans slumped against the cliff face, not responding through his rapid panting. The further up they had climbed, the warmer the air was, even with the chilled mists from the waterfall. Sans’ shivering had returned, but so had his alertness. However, he was thoroughly exhausted and desperately needed to get back to the shelter.

He looked up at the edge, his teeth chattering as they clenched in determination to finish this final stretch. He wobbled when he pushed away from the cliff face and collapsed on his stomach with a pained grunt, then achingly dragged himself up, bone by agonizing bone, until their heads were over the edge.

Papyrus saw his brother’s haversack and jacket near the cattail clusters, and his little bag and the pile of lucent gems in the little stretch of path sandwiched between the two waterways. He gasped happily, nudging his brother’s shoulders in his weakened excitement.

“Sas! Sas! We made it!”

Sans crawled off the last platform onto the soft, damp hydric soil, dragging himself and his brother several feet from the edge, then yanked to undo the knot of the scarf under him. When Papyrus was freed, Sans shut his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

Papyrus rolled off his brother’s back and stood up, shakily. His back, ribs, and neck were still in a great deal of pain, but he staggered over to his brother’s things.

Sans shivered on the ground, every inch of him hurting, his limbs aching and heavy, his fingers and toes burning and numb. Suddenly, he felt something cover him and opened his eyes slightly.

Papyrus had brought his jacket over and laid it on his shivering brother. He was now sitting next to him, rubbing his back vigorously to warm him up.

The sight of his jacket urged Sans to sit up, despite his body’s protests to stay down. He tried to pull of his damp shirt, but struggled, so Papyrus helped him. Once he was free of it, he put on his dry jacket and zipped it up to his chin, shuddering. Papyrus leaned against his brother to offer any additional warmth he could give, and shut his heavy eyes.

Sans sat, trembling from chills and exertion, putting his arm around his brother, and gave another deep sigh. They had made it.

The fog in Sans’ mind cleared enough that he remembered what was in his jacket pocket, and he gasped at the thought, shoved his hand in, and pulled out the bag of dried fruit. He shoved several pieces into his mouth, chewing their sweetness gratefully, then nudged his brother to take some as well, since Papyrus had used a great deal of his own magic up as well. Papyrus chewed the pieces slowly, too tired to care about the candy-like sweets he was just given.

Sans felt some of his pain ease, although his shivering continued. More importantly, he felt much of his fatigue dissipate—his magic was replenishing with the fruit. He ate another handful, feeling better with each swallow.

Although he was still in a seriously weakened state, he knew he needed to get up. He got to his feet, stumbling slightly when his knees buckled, and made his way to his haversack and shoes, as Papyrus sat watching him on the ground, too weak to stand back up.

Sans shoved his feet in his shoes, not even caring to tie the laces, and shouldered his haversack with a grunt. Then he saw his brother’s things and staggered over to the waterway. He looked down at it, far too weak and tired to jump over. He raised his left hand and grinned with chattering teeth as a white bone bridge was created—his magic was back. He shakily crossed the bridge, then knelt down beside his brother’s things.

He unshouldered his haversack and put his brother’s little bag inside, along with the pile of gems his brother had gathered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint, and turned to look into the water.

There, sticking out of the mud of the bank, was a pink gem, just under the surface of the water. The memory of seeing his brother standing in about the same spot, bending over to reach something in the water, flashed in his mind. This is what his brother had been trying to reach. This was the thing that he had been trying to get when he fell and was swept away.

Sans reached in and pulled the gem out of the water and looked at it. To the jeweler, a pink gem cost 200 gold. This gem, however, had almost cost his brother his life.

The impulse to throw the gem over the edge where his brother had almost died rose up in Sans, but as he turned around, he saw his brother looking over at him. His face had fallen as he sat there, sad and ashamed. Sans felt a lump in his throat.

Sans looked down at the gem, gripping it in fingers trembling with cold and anger. He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them as he put the pink gem in the haversack with the others.

His brother almost died for that gem. He was collecting them to help get food and supplies. He was just trying to help.... How could he throw away the gem his brother risked his life to try to get?

Sans shouldered his bag, teetering slightly, then crossed the bridge. After making his bone bridge and the blue bone next to Papyrus disappear, he went over to his brother and grinned weakly.

“L-let’s g-go home.”

Papyrus stood up, still on the verge of tears, and picked up his scarf and his brother’s shirt. Sans tied his damp shirt around one of the bag’s straps and gently wrapped the scarf around his brother’s neck. Then he held out his hand, which Papyrus took hold of.

Sans shut his eyes and took a step, the rushing wind biting against his chilled bones.

Then he felt the warmth. The soothing, comforting warmth of their shelter.

He opened his eyes, knowing what he would see before his eyes saw it.

It was so good to be home.

The two skeletons changed out of their damp clothing, dried themselves on the toasty rough cloth from the fire room, and put on fresh, warm clothes. They smiled at each other, both reveling in the feeling of the fabrics on chilled bones.

Sans looked at the pile of wet clothes in need of washing, still reeking from the decayed filth that covered them, but decided against it. They could wait. They weren’t important right now.

He took the pot from the side of the basin, filled with warmed water, and shakily poured some into their two cups. The brothers drank the warm water gratefully, feeling it warm their insides.

Both of them were full from the mushrooms and dried fruit, so they were spared having to prepare any food. Instead, Sans grabbed extra fabrics from the fire room and laid them on the bed. He helped Papyrus into bed and put his haversack at the head, gently lifting his brother’s head to lay on it.

Papyrus tugged Teddy into a warm embrace as Sans slid into the bed, pulling the warm fabrics over them. He made his blue bones disappear, then rolled over to take his brother into his arms.

He wanted to hug him as tight as he could, happy to have him back, relieved that he wasn’t lost forever, grateful that he had survived a fall that could have killed him.... But he held him gently, not wanting to re-injure his fully healed bones. He remembered the pain during his recovery, despite his brother completely healing his injuries. So he hugged him closely, but not too tight.

Papyrus fell asleep in minutes, sleep that would help him heal further. He fell into slumber as he clutched his brother, afraid to let go.

Sans nuzzled into his brother’s head. Despite the nightmare they had endured, they were now all right. Yes, they had to recover—Papyrus especially—but for now, they were safe, warm, and together.

The magical fire gently blazed in the other room, sending its heat through the shelter to comfort its inhabitants as it dried away the remnants of the moisture from their clothes and bones. The flame watched over the sleeping brothers, embracing them with its soothing warmth and soft glow.

#undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #sans #papyrus #sans and papyrus #sans undertale #papyrus undertale #babybones #skelebros #TBMP #TwoBrothersManyPaths #Two Brothers Many Paths

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thatesqcrush · 5 years ago

Text

Case of the Ex

Nevada Ramirez x Reader. CW: language, violence, NSFW (FR: smut galore!)

AN: from the prompt: #3. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.” Thanks @melsquared79

Tags: @madpanda75 @melsquared79 @obsessionprofessional @garturbo @delia26 @dreila03 @glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @ottosuricato @niyashell @mommakat32 @sass-and-suspenders

***

“I need you at the club tonight,” Nevada growled, as he lit up a cigar. He let the cigar hang from his lips as he pulled his jeans back on. He threw his shirt back on, adjusted his chain and grabbed his sunglasses.

You nodded, still curled in his bed. Nevada approached and sat on the bed, wrapping his hand around the back of your head, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You could taste yourself still on his lips; it was intermixed with the taste of the cigar he had previously smoked.

“Mamí, don’t be late. ¿Me entiendes?” Nevada replied, breaking the kiss. He started to head for the door and then turned back to face you. “I’ll have one of my guys come pick you up.”

You didn’t respond. “¿Me entiendes? he requested again, this time more sharply. “Ay, sí papito,” you replied, waving el Trujillo off. “No te preocupas.”

Nevada shut the door behind him. You collapsed on the bed; your mind reeling from the mind-blowing sex you just had with su novio - El Trujillo - the self-proclaimed King of the Heights.

***

The music was loud; you could feel the vibration from the speakers in your bones. Your hair was loose, just a few pieces in the front pinned back; that was how Nevada liked it. You wore an off-the-shoulder leopard print romper that had detached sleeves and a red patent heels. You watched through the clouds of marijuana and cigarette smoke, the club-goers dancing below you from the railing. The door to Nevada’s office was open and despite the loud volume of music, you could hear the murmurs of him and his men discussing business.

What you saw next, made you catch your breath. In walked your ex-boyfriend with his new conquest. Some other club-goers greeted them and they all made their way to the bar. You turned and saw Nevada was still occupied, so you made your way downstairs.

You headed behind the bar, and greeted the bartender. He gave you a nervous smile; they always did. Nevada made it clear to his employees to not get in your way. Not unless they wanted to deal with Nevada himself personally.

You poured yourself a shot and quickly downed it. Your ex-boyfriend wasn’t paying attention at the bar initially but when he turned and saw you, he froze. He quickly recovered and gave you a bright smile as he looked you up and down, as if you were dinner.

“Y/N! So good to see you. How long has it been?” Matteo greeted you, with a low whistle. “You look good. Better than the last time I saw you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I don’t know; it’s been so long and I don’t keep track anymore.”

You knew though it had been a year and a half since Matteo broke your heart, leaving you an empty and broken shell.

“I don’t have your sorry ass dragging me down,” you snipped. “Whatcha drinking?”

Matteo smirked. “You’re always so dramatic. I’ll take a couple of cervezas, flor,” Matteo continued, referring to you as his pet name. He wrapped his arm around the blonde woman next to him, who made sure to put her hand on his chest showing off the huge sparkler on her ring finger.

“That’s why I couldn’t be with you. You’re always so dramatica,” Matteo replied. “Mira, Pilar aquí - she’s so low key and fun.” Matteo punctuated his comment a kiss. “That’s why I asked her to marry me. She doesn’t weigh me down.”

You blinked rapidly. Your eyes immediately filled with water and you could feel your face and chest grow hot and red. You were with Matteo for years and he refused to commit, saying it wasn’t his thing and that he loved you and that should have been more than sufficient. But it was never was; and he broke up with you in the middle of the boardwalk on Coney Island. After a few weeks of a self pity-party, your girlfriends dragged you out to The Bronx to one of the hottest clubs in the city. And that’s where you met Nevada. And just like that, you forgot all about Matteo. More or less.

You shoved the beers towards Matteo. “They’re on the house. Congratulations on the engagement.”

Matteo shook his head at you and then looked at Pilar. “See? I told you,” he laughed. Pilar laughed, her tone mocking. “Thanks flor; I’ll see you around.”

You didn’t say anything; instead you marched back up stairs. You were fuming and the blood inside was boiling. You could swear, smoke was emanating from your ears. You stormed into Nevada’s office and slammed the door, startling Nevada and his crew. “¡Sal de de aquí!” You screeched.

“What the fuck?” Nevada bellowed. You looked at Nevada and crumpled onto his couch, hysterically sobbing. Nevada looked startled again at your outburst and turned towards his crew. “You heard her pendejos! Get out!”

Nevada’s men scurried out of the office, shutting the door behind them as they exited. Nevada took a lap around his office, while you cried, your head in your hands. Finally, Nevada grabbed the tissue box off of his desk and sat down next to you. He shook the tissue box at your face and you looked up, face streaked with mascara and took it from him.

“Thanks,” you sniffled.

Nevada reached over and grabbed the cigar he was smoking. He let out a long puff of smoke, exhaling.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that my ex is here with some new hoe, and he was a complete asshole. Should have told him to fuck off,” you sniffled regrettably.

Nevada’s eyes narrowed at the mention of your ex. “Matteo.” It was a statement - not a question. You hadn’t told Nevada much about Matteo but he knew enough that he broke your heart and had you all sorts of ways.

Nevada reached for a tissue and stood you up. He cupped your face and wiped your tears, cleaning the mascara off of your cheeks. Your breath hitched at Nevada being soft. If anyone told you El Jefe would be like this with you in this moment, you would have asked them for whatever good stuff they were smoking.

“Is he still here?” Nevada asked quietly. You felt a nervous coil build in your belly. Wordlessly, you nodded. “Stay aquí,” he ordered.

Nevada stormed past you and threw the door open. You peeked out and could see him talking to his crew. One in particular, Angel went down and spoke to Julio, the bartender, who whispered something and made a motion towards the table where Matteo, his girlfriend and the people they were with were sitting. Angel locked eyes with Nevada, who gave a curt nod.

Suddenly his crew was on Matteo and his table, knocking it over. Fists flew and the women scrambled for cover. The other club goers stopped to watch the scene unfold. Nevada casually strolled downstairs and approached the chaotic scene that had unfolded. Two men held Matteo, who was already sporting a bloody nose and a black eye. Matteo tried to break free but Nevada’s men held him tighter. Nevada smirked. Taking his cigar, he held the hot end close to Matteo’s face. Matteo tried to inch his face away from the cigar.

“So you’re the pretty boy that Y/N dated. Huh, some big man you are, pendejo,” Nevada mocked. Matteo hacked up a wad of spit and spat in Nevada’s face where it landed on his cheek. Nevada reacted instantly, throwing a punch into Matteo’s stomach. Matteo crumpled forward and Nevada’s men threw him on the floor and proceed to kick him. Nevada reached for a fallen napkin and wiped his face, throwing the spiked crumpled tissue onto Matteo. “Stand up maricón,” Nevada ordered. Matteo took too long to stand, so Nevada’s men stood him up. “If you so much as say something to Y/N, fuck, even look in her direction, I will break you.”

“Fuck you,” Matteo spat. “I wouldn’t want that whore anyway.”

Nevada threw another punch, this time straight into his jaw, so hard, a tooth flew. Nevada outstretched his hand, and looked over at Matteo’s girlfriend. “Puta,” he gritted. “Get them out of here.”

After they left, Nevada stared at the the remaining club goers who were still watching. “Come on, let’s dance. A round for everyone!” The music was turned back on and the crowd went back to their partying ways.

Nevada looked up at the balcony and his eyes connected with yours. You smiled.

***

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole,” Nevada growled in between heated kisses.

“Sí papi; por favor, give it to me,” you whimpered as Nevada sucked on the hollow point along your neck.

“Take this shit off,” Nevada replied as he struggled to figure out how your romper worked.

You batted your eyes coquettishly as you hooked your arms around your back to unzip your romper. You were bra-less and all you had on was a pair of red lace underwear.

Nevada whistled low as he watched you step out of your clothes. “Damn mamí.”

You reached down and began to unhook your underwear but Nevada stopped you. “Leave them on.”

Nevada was quick to unzip his erection. Before he could even ask you to suck his cock, you were on your knees before him worshipping him with your mouth and hand.

You spat into your hand and gave Nevada’s cock a few strokes before guiding him into your mouth. His cock felt heavy in your mouth and you relished in the feeling. You began to rhythmically bob, while using your hand to help jack him off.

“Fuck,” Nevada whined as a course of pleasure struck him. He looked down at you and your eyes met once more. “You look so pretty like that,” Nevada grunted. He thumbed your face as he watched his cock slip in and out of your mouth.

“Such a good cock sucker,” Nevada hissed.

His cock reached the back of your throat and you relaxed your gag reflex to take more of him in. Your eyes began to water once more, as he began to fuck your mouth. Nevada’s hands gripped the back of your head tightly, wrapping in your hair. You used your free hand to massage and gently tug on his balls. You lowered your mouth further, sucking gently on his balls.

Nevada pulled you off of him. His cock was slathered in your saliva and a string of saliva connected your mouth to his spit-shiny cock. Nevada wished he had his phone readily to take a picture.

You usually hated giving oral sex but with Nevada, you couldn’t get enough of his cock. You could feel the dampness flooding your panties.

Nevada pulled you up and kissed you passionately. He picked you up by your thighs and instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist. Nevada carried you over to the couch and sat himself down, with you on top of him.

Nevada dipped his head down and his tongue swirled over a nipple, causing you to moan. He cupped your other breast, using his index finger and thumb to pinch the other nipple. You rocked gently against Nevada, trying to relieve some of the ache in between your legs. Nevada groaned and he gripped your hips as you continued to hump him, your folds running over his length, your wetness coating his erection. Finally, Nevada flipped you so you were on your back.

You arched your back as he kissed along your abdomen. Nevada dipped his tongue into your navel before continuing to make his way down to between your legs. You raised your hips and he helped you remove your panties. “Spread them legs mamí,” Nevada requested. “Let me see that pretty pink pussy of yours.”

Nevada brought your panties to your face and inhaled your scent before dropping them to the side. One arm draped over you, pinning you to the bed. Nevada used his free hand to open your glistening folds. “My, my,” Nevada purred. “Tan mojado.” You writhed under his hot breath, your heart was pounding in your chest, bracing for the inevitable.

He ran a finger up and down your folds, before pressing a finger inside. He finger fucked you for a minute, watching you writhe. He removed his finger and sucked on it clean before diving into your folds.

You cried out as Nevada began his oral ministrations, his tongue lapping and sucking you. Nevada traced you with his tongue, flicking it against your lips. He pressed the tip of his nose on your swollen clit, and moved his head to the side so he could slip a finger inside of you. His nose rubbed your clit as he lazily fucked you with his finger. You groaned, gripping the cheap leather couch. “Fuck, Vada, don’t stop.”

You grabbed at your breasts, tugging on your nipples. Another finger slipped inside. You pushed against Nevada’s hand, trying to somehow get him deeper. Nevada was relentless with his thrusting, continuing to fuck you with his hand, while continuing to suck on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut as you came, chanting Nevada’s name. Nevada continued to lap at you as you rode out your orgasm; you were so overstimulated you tried to push him away but Nevada held you in place, continuing to fuck you slowly with his tongue as you tried to return to your body. Slowly he pulled his fingers out and placed kisses along your still quivering thighs.

“Let me grab a condom,” Nevada gruffed but you stopped him.

“No, raw me,” you requested. “¿En serio?” Nevada asked. You nodded. Nevada yanked his jeans off and patted his thighs, as he sat back on the couch.

You climbed onto his lap, swinging one leg over the side. Nevada massaged your ass, before giving it a good smack. Raising up and forward, you cried out as you sunk onto Nevada’s thick length.

“Yes, oh yes, you take my cock so good,” Nevada groaned as you began to ride him.

Your breasts bounced as you rode Nevada. One hand braced your hips, guiding you and the other reached up and grabbed a breast, squeezing. “Oh God Nevada,” you moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Take that cock baby,” Nevada grunted as he helped to guide you down harder onto his shaft. You leaned forward and placed your hands on the tops of his shoulders. The sound of skin on skin combined with grunts and moans filled the office.

Nevada could feel the familiar tingle in his balls, but he wasn’t done yet. “Get on your knees baby.”

Coming to a still, you gently climbed off of him and got on all fours, using the couch seat to brace yourself. You turned to look back and saw how red and angry Nevada’s cock looked. Cum dripped from the head.

Nevada stood behind you and ran his hand over his length, smearing some cum. He patted your ass with his dick before teasingly rubbing it against your folds. You moaned and tried to press against him, desperate for his cock.

Nevada snapped his hips into you, sliding his cocked into your wet and willing sheath. Each thrust propelled you forward.

“What a good girl” Nevada grunted as he continued to pound into you. “This is my pussy.”

“Yes, your pussy,” you agreed, your eyes fluttered closed. “Gonna cream all over that cock.”

Nevada smacked your ass, watching his cock slip in and out of you. “Damn, mamí, your pussy is so fucking good,” he complimented with another smack. He leaned over and wrapped his fist into your hair, pulling, causing you to arch back as he fucked you relentlessly.

“I am gonna cum,” you groaned feeling the coil in your belly tighten. Nevada smacked your ass in return. “You gonna come for me?” Nevada asked, slowing down his movements causing you to whinge.

“Don’t stop, harder, fuck me harder,” you begged. Nevada began speeding up his movements, his hands on your hips pulling you against him as he thrusted forward.

“Oh, fuck Y/N, oh fuck,” Nevada groaned as he reached around and used the pad of his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clitoris.

“Fu-uck Nevada” you cried out. “I’m going to...”

“Cum for me,” Nevada commanded with a growl and you obliged, crying out his name, as your walls fluttered, tightening around his cock.

Nevada came with a roar, his hips stiffening as he unloaded his seed into you. Nevada lurched over you, in exhaustion. You felt him reach down and remove his now softened cock. Nevada plopped his sweaty body onto the couch as you collapsed against the couch, completely spent.

After a minute or so however, you climbed onto the couch and Nevada pulled you against him. “You never have to worry about Matteo again,” he murmured.

“I know,” you replied placing a kiss against his bearded cheek. “Thank you.”

Nevada looked at you. “For you, anything.”

FIN

***

#my fics #my writing #life is short and nevada ramirez is hot #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez imagine #nevada ramirez smut

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city-writes · 5 years ago

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All’s Fair in Love and War

For years, Son Goku had been a superhero to many, having helped stop many an evil villain. From bandits to mercenaries to an alien like himself claiming to be a Demon King, Goku had stopped them all.

Well, almost all.

A trade piece for IGotTheMovesLikeErenJeager! Check out her art here!

Warnings: Superhero AU, Rating will go up in second chapter Pairings: Vegeta/Son Goku

Read it here on AO3! Commission info!

____________________

For years, Son Goku had been a superhero to many, having helped stop many an evil villain. From bandits to mercenaries to an alien like himself claiming to be a Demon King, Goku had stopped them all.

Well, almost all.

As he passed over West City, he was met with the sounds of screams erupting from down below, as well as alternating flashes of yellow and blue lights. Intent as he was to find the source of the issue, Goku took notice of a familiar friendly face down below, working with the police force.

"Krillin!"

Landing right beside the head of the police force, Goku looked down to his friend. "What's happening?"

"It's Vegeta!" Krillin exclaimed, pointing towards the direction the flashing lights were coming from. "He's terrorizing the city again! I've got my men evacuating citizens and aiding the injured, but none of us can get close to Vegeta!"

Goku frowned and nodded. "Leave that to me." With that, Goku flew up and towards the direction of the flashing lights.

Vegeta... Goku had fought him for years. The two were from the same planet coincidentally, but whereas Goku had been sent to Earth as a child and grew up among its people, Vegeta had arrived several years ago, claiming that he, as prince of their home planet, would rule this world. It was then that Goku learned of the destruction of not just their home planet, but nearly its entire population by a being named Frieza, and that while Vegeta had taken his revenge and killed Frieza, he still expected to rule something.

Unluckily for Goku, he chose Earth.

Vegeta was bent on world domination, intent on bringing the Earth and its people to their knees, and ruling them all. He'd murdered and taken hostages and threatened thousands, but ultimately, he usually used brute force to try and get his way.

Which, Goku noted, was what he was doing right now. Those blue and yellow lights were him rampaging in West City, firing off his two best energy based techniques: Big Bang Attack and Final Flash, respectively. As Goku flew to find him, he took note of the craters and destroyed buildings left in Vegeta's path, of people who hadn't been killed by his rampage crying out for help. Goku quickly did what he could to save as many as possible, trying to ease the job of first responders and Krillin's men. Though as he was saving a young boy and his mother from the inside of a collapsing building, he spotted Vegeta, charging a Big Bang Attack at a group of civilians.

Quickly putting the young boy and his mother down, Goku raced to Vegeta and the civilians, making it just in time as Vegeta fired off his Big Bang Attack, Goku managing to knock the energy blast up in the air to avoid hitting the people behind him, and sending a basic blast of his own to collide with Vegeta's high in the air, causing it to explode there where no one could get hurt.

"Go, get to safety!" Goku cried out to the people he was shielding, them all nodding and running away.

Vegeta scoffed. "Well, I don't mind a moving target..." With that he fired several basic energy blasts at the fleeing civilians, a dark smirk on his face as he did so. But Goku was quick on the draw again, and shielded them all by taking the multiple hits himself.

Goku panted slightly, his clothes slightly tattered and torn from Vegeta's blasts. "You won't be taking anymore lives, Vegeta. Not while I'm here."

Vegeta cursed under his breath upon seeing Goku take each and every one of the basic energy blasts he'd expelled, but at Goku's words, merely chuckled. "Is that so, Kakarott?" Goku's eyes darted around him at the utterance of his birth name, making sure no one heard it. Vegeta was the only one that used it, despite Goku having changed his name when he arrived on Earth. Why, Goku never understood.

"This ends today." Goku took an offensive stance. "I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Tch," Vegeta mimicked Goku's decision, getting into a fighting stance himself. "You hero-types make me sick." The moment he was done speaking, Vegeta rushed Goku, attempting to land a punch to his face, but was ultimately blocked by Goku's arms crossing in an 'X' shape. With a scowl, Vegeta then ducked low and swept his leg under Goku's, causing the taller man to fall backwards, or so it seemed. Goku caught himself with his hands, it looking like he was going to backflip to either stabilize himself or gain some distance, but instead, as his legs flew up, he reared back a leg and kicked Vegeta with much force under his chin.

Vegeta was knocked back into the side of a building, causing a crater to appear in the side of it. Goku did end up stabilizing himself, but as he took notice of the crater left my the impact of his kick, he mentally chided himself. He was supposed to be helping protect the city, not aiding Vegeta in destroying it! That meant retaliating with his own energy blasts were out of the question. But that was fine, Goku preferred the close up contact of physical combat anyway.

It didn't take Vegeta long at all to emerge from the wall crater, scowling as he cracked his neck, piercing eyes focused on Goku. Goku watched as Vegeta wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth using the side of his fist, looking down at the red smudge on his glove. "That's the only hit you'll be making on me today, Kakarott."

"We'll see about that!" Simultaneously, the two flew into the air and rushed each other, the fight a flurry of thrown punches and skillful dodging, the same song and dance most of their fights devolved into. Not that Goku was complaining, it was quite the opposite. As much as he disliked Vegeta's view of Earth, about how he needed to dominate it, he respected the natural born fighter the villain turned out to be. He was a challenge, a man not to be taken lightly.

Around them, people were still trying to get to safety, a few stopping awestruck at seeing their hero - Son Goku - in action right in front of them.

These people caught Goku's attention for the briefest second, as he wondered what the heck they were doing just standing there, when he suddenly heard, "Eyes on me!" followed by a sharp pain blistering in his chest, knocking the wind out of him momentarily, and sending him flying downwards into the concrete, leaving another crater on impact.

As Vegeta slowly hovered down to the ground, Krillin and his men arrived, some aiding the civilians, others hunkering down behind cars and large bits of rubble defensively, surrounding Goku and Vegeta in a large, wide circle.

"You're surrounded!" Krillin spoke, his gaze meeting Vegeta's. He swallowed harshly under the villain's malicious gaze, but continued speaking. "Give in!" At that, the members of the police force who had surrounded Vegeta and Goku raised their weapons, and pointed them straight at Vegeta.

"Pathetic." Vegeta raised a palm in Krillin's direction, blue energy beginning to gather there. His attention was no longer on Goku, who was pulling himself up. Upon seeing the sight of Vegeta getting ready to kill Krillin, Goku growled and lunged for Vegeta, being careful to restrain himself as they were still on city grounds, where people could get hurt. With a yell of rising power, Goku focused his energy into a single punch, his fist connecting with Vegeta's stomach. The shorter male coughed up spit upon impact, and the energy he'd been gathering disappeared. While he was hindered, Goku wrapped his arms around Vegeta's waist and flew them both upwards, toward the sky, where the two of them could fight without endangering the people and city below them.

The elbow he received to the side of the head forced him to change trajectory.

With a harsh thud!, the duo crash landed onto the rooftop of the tallest building in the city, Goku and Vegeta rolling to a halt against the concrete. Gritting their teeth, they both rose to their feet and charged for each other, hands colliding with one another as the two made contact. They were both panting, struggling to force the other man down. Their hands were locked in a power struggle, Goku looking down at Vegeta as he spoke. "That's enough, Vegeta!" He gripped the shorter man's hands tighter, only to seethe as Vegeta returned the action. "It's over."

"On the contrary, Kakarott," Vegeta said between pants, sweat dripping from his brow, "I'm just getting started." With that, Vegeta reared his head back, and swung it towards Goku, intent on knocking him backwards, but unfortunately for him, Goku saw the move coming, and mimicked Vegeta, the blunt force of their head strikes connecting with each other, a boom! of wind resulting from the impact. Both men grit their teeth as pain blossomed throughout their heads, though neither male pulled their heads away, instead keeping their foreheads together, despite the blooming pain they both felt from their impact. One of them was bleeding from the head, they realized, as blood mixed with sweat trickled down each of their faces.

Still they were panting, and neither one of them was backing down from the struggle. Their faces were so close together, their noses barely touching, one practically breathing the other's air. Goku knew he had to end this fast, if not to bring Vegeta down, than to protect the people of the city below, to give Krillin and his police force time to evacuate the injured, to--

Goku's mind stopped processing things almost instantly.

The feeling of slightly wet but still somewhat chapped lips pressed against his own set his mind into frizz, the majority of his body acting on its on accord still fighting against Vegeta, but Goku's face... he was frozen. His eyes were widened in disbelief, and his jaw went somewhat slack, his lips parting of their own accord, which gave Vegeta all the room he need to slip his tongue into Goku's mouth. Goku's first thought that snapped back into his mind at that was that Vegeta tasted like blood, but also somehow tasted both sweet and bitter, like coffee with some added creamer. (Do villains even do something as casual as make morning coffee? Goku couldn't help but wonder.) Goku shook off the thought, and instead thought to bite down on Vegeta's tongue, to stop this, this... whatever this was he was trying to pull!

But when he went to search Vegeta's eyes for an answer, he saw nothing. Vegeta had closed his eyes. This itself had startled Goku, as Vegeta had never before purposefully taken his eyes off an opponent. This left him exposed, Goku could knee him in the gut and he'd never see it coming. This was it, this was the advantage Goku had needed in this fight!

...So why wasn't he taking that advantage?

His body was slowly giving up the fight against Vegeta, but he realized, Vegeta was slowly giving up the fight too. The pressure forced by their power struggle was easing into nothing, their arms lowering of their own accord, but their hands still remaining conjoined.

Vegeta's tongue mapped out every inch of Goku's mouth, until he turned his attention to Goku's own tongue, prodding it expectantly. When Goku failed to respond in any way, Vegeta pulled away from Goku, the taller male suddenly missing the feeling of Vegeta's lips against his own, the bittersweet taste of bloodied creamed coffee. Vegeta opened his eyes, usually piercing black eyes seeming less volatile than Goku remembered them.

"Are you going to kiss me, or not?"

Before Goku could respond, Vegeta moved his hands, one gloved hand harshly grabbing Goku's jaw and pulling him down some, the other burying itself in Goku's hair at the back of his head. As Vegeta mashed their lips together with more intensity this time, Goku's now free hands instinctively planted themselves at different spots: One hand at Vegeta's midback, the other on a shoulder.

What was he doing? His body moved of its own accord, pulling Vegeta closer to him and he hesitantly kissed Vegeta back, not fully processing what the hell was going on right now. But as his tongue slid against Vegeta's, and Vegeta's hand at his jaw softened its grip, Goku came to a realization.

Oh.

He liked this.

Goku would have been lying if he'd said there hadn't been something inside him building up towards Vegeta for all the years they'd fought. He'd assumed it was some form of respect for Vegeta as a fighter, as a rival, maybe even as a fellow Saiyan, as something... But this? This hadn't sort of something hadn't crossed Goku's mind at all, and frankly, why should it have?

But now that he was here, tracing the inside of his nemesis's mouth with his own tongue, he was feeling bolder, more confident. Why hadn't this crossed his mind before? His hands gripped Vegeta a little tighter, kissed him a little harder, fighting back a chuckle at Vegeta's taken aback grunt towards his boldness. If Goku hadn't have known Vegeta as well as he did, he would have been surprised when Vegeta resumed his tight grip on Goku's jaw, would have yelped in protest as Vegeta dug his fingers into his scalp, would have been scared off when Vegeta glared at him and bit at his lower lip as if in retaliation to Goku's confidence, as if to silently say, 'Who do you think you are?'

Goku broke off the kiss at the nip, biting back a noise of indigence, but also giving him and Vegeta well-needed room to breathe. There was a fog slowly beginning to cloud his mind, replacing the frizz that he'd initially had been shocked by. Goku shook his head slightly, knowing he needed to get his head on straight! What was he doing!? He was supposed to take Vegeta out, not... not make-out! But as Goku's eyes met Vegeta's, he tensed, seeing a want for more in his gaze. The sight of Vegeta's slightly parted, somewhat reddened lips as he gazed at Goku with lidded eyes laced with want was an image Goku knew he'd never get out of his head.

And frankly? He was completely ok with that.

Goku was quick to dive in for another kiss, and Vegeta was more than willing to oblige, the two beginning to heatedly make out once more. There was a different power struggle now, akin to the one from mere moments - was it really moments? if felt like hours - ago, as Vegeta and Goku kissed each other fervently, trying to outdo the other in this new kind of battle. Hands grasped at each other for some sort of purchase, feeling all over the other's body, with the silent mutual exception of their waists, where their tails lied curled. The small of Vegeta's back, Goku's broad shoulders, Vegeta's toned chest, Goku's strong hips, Vegeta's built arms, Goku's ass--

A yelp left Goku as a hand squeezed his buttocks, and he pulled away from the kiss, pouting somewhat as Vegeta chuckled, his expression dusted with mirth.

"Not fair, Vegeta."

Vegeta gave a 'hmph!' in amusement, before leaning upwards and murmuring against Goku's lips, "All's fair in love and war, Kakarott."

So which was this? Goku wondered. Love? Or war?

Before he would question it any further, Vegeta was kissing him again, Goku finding it nigh impossible to resist the spell, the temptation of Vegeta's mouth against his. Goku was finally getting used to Vegeta's voracious style of kissing, when Vegeta's tongue swirled around Goku's, only to suck on it a second later. The groan that left Goku was damn near shameful, and he could feel the corners of Vegeta's lips curl up in a smile. For a moment, he wondered what that would feel like on another part of his bod-- what was he thinking?!

Banging on the rooftop door forced the duo to break the kiss, both men looking towards the door.

"Goku?!" Came Krillin's voice. "Goku, we're here for backup! Alright guys, knock the door down!"

Goku paled. Oh god, if the police force was to see them like this...!

"Tch, damn it." Vegeta sneered at the door, glaring daggers into it. "Fine then, we'll end this here for now." With that, a hand went to Goku's shoulder, the other to the back of Goku's head, and before the taller male could process what Vegeta was doing, Vegeta proceeded to knee Goku in the gut.

A yell of pain escaped the hero, hands going to clutch at his stomach as he slunk to his knees, coughing up spit as he did so. He watched with slightly blurred vision as Vegeta began walking to the edge of the roof, his vision clearing as Vegeta rubbed a gloved thumb over his own lips as he spoke.

"Come and find me, Kakarott."

With that, Vegeta flew off at high speed into the distance, disappearing from sight just as the police force knocked down the rooftop door. "Goku!" Krillin was quick to race to Goku's side, helping him rise to his feet. "Goku, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Krillin." Goku assured through a pained smile, one of his hands going to rest on Krillin's shoulder. Though the moment he was done speaking, he looked out towards where Vegeta flew. Vegeta's words echoed in his head, but were they a promise of more to come? Or a threat if some sort?

As the rest of the police force began to surround Goku and Krillin, Krillin followed Goku's gaze and frowned. "That's the direction he headed off in?" Krillin looked over Goku, seething slightly. "You're beat up pretty badly, buddy. What do you plan on doing?"

Without missing a beat, Goku replied, "I'm going to find him."

#DBZ #Son Goku #Vegeta #VegeKaka #KakaVege #Krys writes #Commissions

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dovahgriin-archive · 6 years ago

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Meet-Cute and Other Adventures {1/100}

Relationship(s): Clint Barton/Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Notes: There is a brief, nondescriptive mention of the Reader vomiting.

As a recent graduate of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you are well-versed in the skill of remaining undetected by the general populace. You have a nice, steady job working in a second-hand shop in a neighborhood near to the Hudson River. The woman who runs the store is kind enough and doesn’t ask questions that you don’t want to answer. Your landlord is of a similar mindset, content to leave you to your own devices so long as you pay your bills on time.

You don’t draw attention to yourself and that is exactly how you want it to be.

Now, given your abilities in manipulating biological matter, Professor Xavier had wanted you to stay on as a member of the X-Men (and maybe even as a mentor to future students). You firmly turn down the invitation. All you wanted to do was to live out your days in peaceful solitude.

Naturally, that doesn’t happen.

On your way to work one day, you are cornered by a trio of thugs who want something you are not willing to give to them. When your back hits the brick wall in the alleyway, you instinctively panic. All it takes from you is a touch of your fingers against the first man’s bare neck to cause him to collapse into a pile of unresponsive flesh.

You’ve never used your powers to intentionally harm anyone before. It is a horrifying experience. Your breakfast makes an unwelcome reappearance.

“You fucking freak,” the second man seethes, grabbing for you before you have a chance to raise your hands again. “Mutant bitch.” He pins your wrists against the wall. His breath stinks of vodka and stale tobacco. You wrinkle your nose and turn your face away.

“Let me go!” Your cry bounces off the alley walls and goes unheeded as the man crowds into your space. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your neck. It leaves your skin itchy, the lingering feeling reminding you of bugs crawling underneath your skin.

The third one is opening his mouth to probably shout more slurs at you when a new guy clears his throat.

“Maybe it’s just me, but my mama always told me that it’s rude to call a woman names.” Your attackers whirl around to face the man interrupting their fun.

“Shut the fuck up. She’s less than human. She’s a fr—” Number Two doesn’t get to finish his sentence; you pull your hand back in disgust as he melts into a separate flesh pile next to his buddy. Some of his reverted matter lands on your chest. Gross gross gross ew.

To his credit, the newcomer looks less disturbed than you feel.

Number Three (the only one left) suddenly seems to realize that since you’ve liquefied his companions, there’s nothing standing between you and him to stop you from doing the same to him. You’re seriously considering doing exactly that, too. See how he likes being attacked. The thought is harsh and callous and everything you’re not. The scary thing, though, is that you one hundred percent mean it. The newcomer steps between the remaining thug and the only exit of the alley.

“C’mon, man, apologize to her and then I’ll let you go.” His eyes are hard and you wonder if he’s really just going to let the goon walk away from all of this. With the way his arms are crossed and his feet are planted, though, you doubt it. You remember watching students spar at Xavier’s, and that’s a fight-ready stance if you ever saw one. This man clearly can scrap, and is comfortable with it, too. The thug seems to realize this, and he tenses, body taut like a bowstring.

“B-bullshit!” He cries. “You’re lying!”

Mystery Man narrows his eyes. “Huh. I guess you’re not completely stupid. You’re right; I was going to beat some sense into you, since you’re so keen on attacking defenseless women and all,” he glances at you, a small smirk quirking his lips, “but I don’t think she’s defenseless, after all’s said and done. What do you want to do about him, Miss?”

Melt him melt him melt him make him gone.You’re still simultaneously outraged and horrified, so it takes you a minute to recognize and process that the man’s last question was directed at you. You clear your throat delicately, flicking biological matter from your work blouse as you think of an appropriate answer. “I—”

Number Three bolts before you can finish speaking. Your mysterious savior intercepts him. Both men go down in a flurry of yells and grunts. Honestly, with all the noise you’ve been making, it’s a wonder that nobody has called the police on you yet.

Finding a better vantage point is easy — there are mountains of trash surrounding the nearby dumpster, and you clamber onto the top of it, thanking your lucky stars that you’d worn your ratty old sneakers today instead of your new mary janes. The scuffle continues on below, and you watch with trepidation.

Good Samaritans don’t actually exist, so who is this guy, and why is he defending you? He’s clearly well-trained. Is he a mutant, too?

No, you realize. He doesn’t look too much older than you — maybe thirty, at the most — and you don’t recognize him from Xavier’s. So who is this man?

Number Three lets out a pained yell as Mystery Man jabs his elbow into the former’s nose. You wince. The sound of the cartilage cracking sets your skin crawling, and you shudder like your cat does when you stroke its spine.

”Are you done?” The stranger holds his arm against Number Three’s neck, effectively pinning him to the ground. He waits until the other man nods, still choking on his own blood. You slide off of the top of the dumpster and make your way over to the two men. “Good. Now get outta here before I change my mind.”

Number Three scampers off, whimpering like a kicked dog.

”You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you mumble, helping the man to his feet. “But… thank you.”

Mystery Man grins charmingly at you. His eyes are a very pretty shade of blue-green, and the shiner he’s now sporting on his left cheekbone makes them seem more blue than green. “It was nothing, really.” He sticks his hand out. “Clint Barton.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself. “I can, um. Fix that up for you, if you’d like.” You gesture at his face. Clint raises his eyebrows, then winces.

”Really? Where’ve you been all my life?” You snort.

”Hiding away from the world.” Your voice is sardonic as you run your fingers lightly over his injury, willing the cells to speed up his body’s natural repair process. It fades from red to blue to green to yellow in the span of about thirty seconds, and the swelling goes down immensely. “Are you hurt anywhere else, Mr. Barton?”

“Clint. Dick got a good kick in my ribs, but — ah, shit, yeah, no, that’s probably cracked.” He lifts at his shirt, revealing a rapidly purpling bruise on his right side. “Could you—?”

“Of course,” you say quietly as you kneel beside him. His skin is hot under your fingers. Your hands longer on his side longer than they need to as you work up the courage to ask him a question that’s been bothering you since he first appeared. You keep your eyes on the ground beneath your feet. “Why aren’t you running?”

“Huh? I’m hard of hearing, sweetheart. Gonna need you to look at me when you talk.” Flushing at the impudent usage of the endearment, your ears go red and you look up at Clint. He’s got a small smile on his face. “Could you repeat the question?”

You acquiesce, and he shrugs. “Well, you were being attacked, so it only makes sense that you’d use your abilities to defend yourself. You don’t seem like the kind of girl to just up and zap a man for no reason at all.” He wiggles his fingers, miming sparks flying from his hands. You giggle.

”Fair enough, I guess. Could I ask you one more favor, though?”

”Shoot.”

”Could you not mention me, or, uh, my abilities, to anyone? It would be hard to relocate, especially with all the anti-mutant sentiment going around recently.” Clint tilts his head to the side as he thinks, then nods. “Sure thing.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Clint.” It feels as though a weight has been removed from your shoulders. He offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept. Your knees pop as you stand. “Ugh. I hate that sound.”

“Getting creaky in your old age?” You glare up at him, but your expression softens when you spot the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A glance at your phone reveals that you are running late. Shit.

”Good afternoon, Clint. Thanks for helping me out.” You don’t wait for him to reply, leaving Clint standing there staring after you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The walk to your workplace goes quicker than you expected, but then again, you’re not walking so much as jogging. Thankfully, it’s about as busy as New York City proper in your neighborhood; nobody pays you much — if any — attention. The bell hanging over the door jingles.

There are already some customers in the store. Double shit.

“Where have you been, kid?” Kitty, your boss, descends upon you like a flock of vultures (or, one giant vulture), her head bobbing up and down on her skinny neck. “You’re over an hour late, I—”

She takes note of your ruffled appearance and the dirt on your clothes. “What happened to you?”

”Some jerks decided that they wanted to play. Some random guy helped drive them off. May I use the bathroom to clean up, Boss?” You raise your eyebrows as you ask your question and Candy waves you off.

”Yeah, yeah, go on. Are you alright?”

”As good as I can be, Boss. I swear I’ll put in overtime this week.”

”Good, good, that’s good. Go get cleaned up, then help that woman in the green jacket.”

#clint barton x reader #clint barton #x reader #marvel #avengers #hawkeye x reader #clint bartonxreader #hawkeyexreader #reader insert #annika’s adventures in writing #s: actual human disaster

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kitty-chan17985 · 6 years ago

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I knew he’d be there.

I had felt him move in the bed, I felt him get up, but I was too newly awoken to really acknowledge it. I had woken up a couple of times during the night, but he hadn’t moved from the bed...I mostly woke up because I was too anxious about something, I don’t know exactly what, but I’d always just sink back into the inky blackness of sleep, paying practically no mind to the world around me. Maybe he moved...one or twice. I haven’t had much in the way of dreams or even nightmares lately...just emptiness until I wake up after what feels like a mere second or two. I had had my hand on his chest before he got up, my hand now resting just next to my face as I slowly open my eyes. I try to sit up after I hear the rustling of clothing, but I’m too exhausted, so I just stay in bed.

The air feels cold. Temperature wise, it’s fine, but...it’s cold. Angry. Tense. Something’s off, and I already feel my heart sinking deeper into the mattress than my body has. Still, I figure he’s just...going into his workshop. Maybe he’s just upset...Freddy’s had been closed down just a day or so ago, and...well...it meant a lot. He was beyond enraged when Henry decided on it...he hadn’t hurt anyone, but he was seething. I thought I had settled it down enough by talking to him, he seemed to settle enough to just sulk a bit in the workshop...but it seems this anger is seriously outliving any other time. I hear him huff furiously before storming out the door, though he’s...quiet. Too quiet.

By now adrenaline hadn’t yet surged through me, but it was slowly building as I hastily threw on a yellow tank top, a pale blue hoodie, a pair of deep blue jeans, and a pair of white flip flops. It shouldn’t be hard to get him back, right? I don’t necessarily need to leave the house. I leave my pairs of glasses in their places, deciding against putting either pair on as I hurry out of the room, but by the time I’m down the stairs, I hear the front door shut. What...in the heavens is he doing? I furrow my brow and frown a bit as I huff softly. I feel a slight twinge of irritation nag at my head like a gnat swarming my ears, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. I’m exhausted...I’m too tired to bother putting on a bra or anything, so I zip up the hoodie and exchange my flip flops for my old white boots. No socks, but...whatever. I’ll be back home soon after I settle him down. I head out the door, opening my mouth to speak when I notice William is...gone.

Where did he go?, I think to myself. Blinking a few times, I pull out a ribbon from my pocket as I pull my phone from the opposite pocket, calling Deacon over so he can watch the kids. It’s not okay for a mother to just leave her children at home, but...I feel worried about this, and I don’t feel Deacon’s presence is...necessary. It’d be helpful if William were a bit more calm, but...he seems to be absolutely seething. I tie my hair into a ponytail, grabbing my keys to the house, as well as the keys for Freddy’s, and wait just a few minutes for Deacon to arrive before I hurry off to Freddy’s. I don’t know why I feel the need to head there...but I do. I decide against using the car, since it would seem that would be at too loud. Is that the same thought William had? I don’t want to wake the kids, since Skylar is a light sleeper, and if I wake Penelope, she’ll never go back to sleep. Freddy’s isn’t too far of a walk anyway...and I need the exercise. I need to keep myself as healthy as I can...

As I rush over, I keep looking over my shoulder. It’s still dark, but...it’s starting to become lighter. As much as I hate being out in the dark, I know it’s...necessary, at least right now. Just a few minutes of walking and I’m at Freddy’s, and though it’s rather warm and I’m barely half awake yet, I find myself more determined to find William to pay any mind to the heat as I hear the noise of snapping metal and wires, enraged yells coming from a man, clearly William. What’s he doing?! I hear the noises stop and for a moment, I relax a little, though I still move closer to the building. I can’t see the animatronics through the windows...I figure he destroyed something, and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Maybe I should just...

Then I hear it. A scream. A horrified, bloodcurdling scream, coming from inside. I immediately run over to the doors, finding them unlocked, bursting into the restaurant.

“WILLIAM!!” I cry out, hearing nothing in direct response as I immediately run in, looking around frantically as the screaming quickly ends. I heard it from the back room, right...? Didn’t I? I pause for a moment as I rush toward the back, feeling the air grow colder and colder (now in terms of temperature), gripping my arms as I shiver. I hear William cackling from the back after only a moment or two, seeing the entrance just ahead of me down the hall. I come to a screeching halt as I make it to the large room, no door keeping me from getting to him. I turn to face him, seeing him by one of the walls as I gasp, my breath quickly catching in my throat. Our eyes lock as he stops laughing, and I’m not sure what to say or think. Whatever had him spooked appears to not be there right now, or maybe it still is? Is he seeing things? No matter about that...

What matters right now is the fact that he’s now donned the very suit that nearly killed him decades ago. I feel my eyes go wide as tears begin to well up in my eyes, and my first instinct is to pull out my phone. I don’t care what he’s doing here. I don’t care if he gets in trouble for destroying property. All I care about right now is getting that suit off of him. I cup one hand over my mouth in shock as I reach into my pocket. A scream would be let out if I could let it go, but nothing escapes as I stay still. He stays frozen as I see a panicked look on his face, and I see him start to move, hearing a creak from the old suit.

“W-WILLIAM, D-DON’T MOVE!! PLEASE!!” I scream at him in fear, my hand tearing away from my mouth as my brow furrows in an expression that would probably be best assumed to be a mix between anger or fear, based on how tense my features felt. He stops as he seems to realise his mistake, and doesn’t dare move his hand again. I call 911 quickly, my hand shaking wildly as I stare at him with fear, tears distorting my vision. Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up!!

Then it happens.

He didn’t even move...he just breathed a bit too much. A loud snap is followed by countless others as I gasp, watching in horror as every springlock goes off.

Every.

Single.

One.

Blood splays out all over the floor as rusted, already dirty, dry-blood-caked metal bars rip into my husband’s body in a matter of seconds, snapping and ripping through his cheeks, his stomach, arms, hands, chest, legs...everywhere. I can only watch in terror as I hear him scream in pain, grabbing at the suit while I freeze in place. A scream of my own rips through my throat, tearing it raw from the inside as I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed before, watching in a mix of disgust and horror as I see his guts spill from the upper torso of the suit, choked, gurgled noises coming out soon after his broken screams of pain. I drop my phone, my hands grabbing at my hair tightly as I can’t even hear if anyone has answered my call. I continue to scream as I stand helpless, backing away from the scene as blood pools around his feet while he slowly starts to lose his strength. His cries of pain are quick to turn into nothing more than small gurgles as I see those beautiful silver eyes roll back, scleras running bloody red, his mouth open wide and torn open from the bars ripping through him. Blood had sprayed behind him from the bars in his back ripping through him, and I know that this time no amount of surgery can fix him.

It feels like a millennia before his cries and gurgles cease and his body collapses, dozens of thoughts running through my mind. I cup my hands over my mouth as I feel my stomach turn, but I try to keep everything as contained as possible. In doing so, I feel a sharp pain in my left arm, shooting through me like a dagger rocket, ripping through my arm as painfully as a paper cut. I start to gag, coughing furiously until I drop to my knees, my chest tightening in a familiar feeling as I gasp for air. I hear someone calling for me on the other end of the line as I pant heavily, grabbing at my arm as I push myself up to sit on my knees. I throw my head back and scream again, my pathetic wails of grief reaching no one but the person on the other end of the line. I start sobbing like a child, my breathing growing short and quick as I feel as though I’ve been winded. My mind swims, everything happening so fast I can’t even comprehend it. Darkness tunnels my vision as I continue to scream and wail hysterically, though my cries are interrupted quite often by desperate gasps for air that begin to take less and less of it. I eventually cease, leaning forward as I resort to small sobs. I hear a question.

“Ma’m! Ma’m, can you tell me where you are?” a voice on the other end calls, breaking me from my daze momentarily. I vaguely hear something else from the other end, some other voice, but it grows fuzzy and hardly audible. I hadn’t noticed, but blood splattered out onto my face, a few drops running down my face and mixing with my tears, even more of a distressing sight as those tears fall just within my sight. My hands rest on the ground as I suddenly fall totally quiet, feeling my eyelids begin to weigh as much as anvils, my jaw experiencing the same pain.

Am I going to die along with him?

...do I even want to stay alive now? What’s the point of going on with this sight in my head, for the rest of my days?

“...F...Fr...edd...y’s...” I hear myself say feebly, earning a request to repeat it. “...Fred...dy’s...” I reply, using my final bit of strength to say it. I feel my eyelids grow too heavy to keep them open as darkness overwhelms me completely. I feel my head hit the ground as the last words he ever said to me ring through my head...words of comfort, the words that would always make my heart melt...words I’d never hear from him again.

“I love you, my sweet Angel.”

#drabble #Angel #Angel Ferguson #William Afton #gore tw #tw // gore #death tw #tw // death #blood tw #tw // blood

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whatdoyouthinkmyjobis · 8 years ago

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Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

AN: Inspired by events in BTVS 7.11 “Showtime.” Links to character sheets at the bottom of the story.

Warnings: Torture. Gore. FEELS!

Chapter 32: The Demon Inside

The body landed in the alley with a sickening crunch. Dani, Grace, and Wook heaved their blanketed package into Giles’ trunk. From Dean’s broken bedroom window, Buffy watched them pull away with the last Bringer corpse.

“I’m going to need you to repeat what you just said,” Xander requested. He and the rest of the Scoobies had spent the better part of an hour listening to Buffy tell Dean’s story while the Potentials helped unbloody the Winchesters’ apartment.

“About how Sam and Dean don’t know of anything that can kill Lucifer?” Buffy asked.

“About all of it.”

“For the record,” said Anya as she scrubbed the splatter off the wall, “this whole angel thing scares the crap out me. It’s not natural!”

“I’m more stuck on the Satan part,” said Xander.

“Angel. Devil. It’s all the same apparently!” Anya had been practically green since Buffy shared the news.

“And Giles has nothing?” asked Willow, hope still in her eyes.

“I think Giles has a splitting headache.” By the time he’d left Dean’s hospital room, Giles had taken on the glassy gaze of a wandering Alzheimer’s patient.

“At least that explains why they’re so strong and manly and ridiculously good looking.”

Xander’s relief brought a smile to Buffy’s lips. “Strong yes, but I think the rest is just genetics. I’ve seen the family photos.”

“Damn it!”

“Imagine keeping a secret like that,” Willow wondered aloud.

Xander shrugged. “‘Hello, I’m an angel in disguise,’ sounds like a great pickup line.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anya argued. “And that’s not what they are.”

“I meant Sam,” Willow clarified. “Having something like that done to you as a child, an infant. Being terrified of latent evil inside of you.”

“You get used to it,” said Dawn.

A cough from the doorway alerted them to Cloé with her arms full of books. “I don’t know how to get the blood out,” she said meekly.

Willow relived the girl of her burden. “I'll handle these, and you go get yourself a snack in the kitchen, okay?”

“Terrifying Lucifer part aside, this is a good thing, right?”

“How could you even think that, Xander?” Anya whined.

“Hear me out,” he continued. “The angels want Dean, and they don't want the bad guys to have Sam. Let's just tell them Sam was abducted. They saved Dean’s life, after all. What's the worst that could happen?”

According to Dean, a lot of bad could happen when angels were involved, but Castiel was his friend. “We could try--”

Anya tossed her bloody rag in the bucket of water and stormed out of the room.

“For once, I'm with Anya,” said Willow. “Angels sound kind of cosmically selfish. They helped Dean, but who’s to say helping Sam wouldn't take the form of killing him? Or, hey, now that they’re here and noticing things, how about they burn the witch?”

“I get where you’re coming from. I do,” Buffy said. “Dean told me the angels are bad news, but Castiel is on their side. He’s the only angel on their side, and it’s cost him. If we pray to him, maybe we can at least get some guidance.”

“You pray. I’ll be hiding. Dawn, you staying?”

The girl shrugged and settled onto the bed. “Pretty sure angels can smite me no matter what room I’m in. I’ll stay for the fireworks.”

“Do we need to hold hands or confess our sins or something?” Xander asked after Willow left.

“I don’t really know.” Buffy felt heat in her cheeks. The prayer thing still felt weirder than angels existing. “But we have to address Castiel specifically or the other angels will hear.”

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands upturned on her knees, and began. “Castiel, it’s Buffy Summers again. We need your help. It sounds like Lucifer followed the Winchesters here, and now he has Sam --”

The unbroken window exploded as the squealing roar of a freight train filled the room. Xander and Dawn huddled into balls screaming, their voices unable to overpower the sound. “Castiel, make it stop!” Buffy cried.

Silence.

“What was that?” someone shouted above the crying in the other room.

“He could have just told us he was washing his hair,” Xander said, shaking his head as he checked on Dawn.

Buffy stood and gently shook the glass from her hair. “Plan B. Gather the girls. We needed an army yesterday.”

It had either been hours or days since the Turok-Han bit off his fingers. Though the slightest movement made him want to scream, Spike held up his hand to look at the tattered stubs. They’d stopped oozing blood, but they weren’t any longer. Hours then.

Vampires were semi-immortal. As long as they avoided sunlight, few humans were strong or fast enough to stake or decapitate them. But, as Spike had discovered years before under the torturous knife of Glory, they don’t pass out from pain either. His entire body felt like a lit wick being eaten up by burn and sizzle.

Laying on the floor a few feet below him, Sam looked worse for wear. The bandage over his stomach was brown with dried blood; infection would set in soon. He was pale with sunken eyes and a confused gaze. Wearing only pajama pants in the drafty old church in December, his shivering had unnervingly diminished. No one had fed Sam or given him water since he’d arrived. If the goal was to see who could endure torture the longest, Spike would be the grim winner.

“Sam, you like poetry?” Spike asked.

Wearily, Sam lifted his head from the cold stone floor. “Poetry? Uh, kinda. It-it’s okay.”

“Fftt! Americans! No sense of romance.”

“I dunno. B-Bobby’s really into poetry,” Sam mumbled.

“Who’s Bobby?”

“Kinda like our, um, adopt-a-dad when Dad w-wasn’t around.”

“Oh, what’d ‘e like?” Spike asked.

“Uh, Fr-Frost and the Scottish guy. Auld Lang Syne.”

“Burns! Not bad. I like the romantics myself. You ever read any Keats?”

Sam shook his head.

A new twinge of pain shot through Spike’s hand, but he bit his tongue. They were going to talk about poetry until one of them died. “Most of ‘em are love poems. Now, don’t start thinking I fancy you. Like my hair a little longer and my heads a bit more fucked up. One of ‘is most famous goes:

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither’d from the lake,

And no birds sing.”

There was a dark splatter and smear at the sewer entrance to the caves. Sam’s blood. Buffy hoped that would be all for blood. How much damage could The First -- could Lucifer -- have done to his chosen one in less than twelve hours? She knew she didn’t want an answer, that the Devil’s desire for a body was Sam’s only hope.

The footsteps behind her provided no comfort.

She had no idea if her theory was correct, but the clock was ticking on Sam, and she couldn’t waste time hoping a clue would land in her lap. The Turok-Han had acted like guard dogs. They knew Spike was being kept in a church, but Willow didn’t recognize any of the windows the Winchesters had snapped. Because the church wasn’t above ground. Buffy was all in that Spike and hopefully Sam were in the church where she’d faced The Master.

As Buffy arrived at the spot of her last battle, a blood-curdling scream echoed off the ruins. She’d never been so happy to hear someone in pain.

One of the Potentials whimpered.

“You’re okay. Remember, The First doesn’t have a body. It can’t hurt you.”

“Now, Buffy,” said a soft voice that made Buffy’s heart skip a beat, “it’s not fair to give the girls a false sense of hope.” Standing where she’d last seen It as Angel, last seen It as The Master, was her mother in a long white dress. If she had to watch this near immortal dress up as her mother, she was going to give it more than hell. “After all, what I may lack in vessel, I more than make up for in followers. It was considerate of you to bring the girls. Saves me the trip.” It snapped its fingers, and a dozen Bringers stepped out of the dark, blades ready.

As they’d practiced, the girls formed an outward facing ring. “Bring it!” Dani yelled. As the Bringers rushed forward, Molly fired on them with a water pistol.

“I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming,” said The First.

Lys, Wook and Kate stepped forward with blowtorches raised, engulfing the gas-soaked Bringers in flame. The girls stepped aside, letting the monster-torches run past screaming.

“Next?” taunted Buffy. The Turok-Han, dark blood up to its elbows, slunk out from a crumbled doorway and snarled at them. Giles’ research had confirmed her experience, they couldn’t be staked. Gripping the handle of her machete, Buffy smiled recalling Dean’s philosophy: everything can be beheaded, which provides distraction if nothing else. “Hey there, short, grey and ugly. Ready for round two?”

They circled each other, Buffy acutely aware of the barely trained girls watching behind her. If it killed her, they’d be next. They’d done well against the Bringers. It was her turn to make them proud.

The vampire swiped, nicking her skin. She kicked it in the chest. It barely moved. They grappled and rolled, Buffy’s machete falling in the tumble. She bashed its head against the stone floor. The vampire started to push her off, so she jammed her thumb in its eye. It howled and released her arms. She rushed to her machete as it lunged at her. Using its speed and weight to throw it off balance, she swung her blade and lopped off its head. It sputtered and hissed before turning to dust a moment later.

The visage of her mother offered a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t get comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll be back, and you’ll be so grounded.” In a flash of blue light, Lucifer disappeared.

Buffy and the Potentials entered the torch-lit corridor the Turok-Han had come from. Most of the windows had been shattered from earthquakes, but the shape implied this was part of the buried church where Buffy had faced The Master. At the end of the corridor, they found a mostly collapsed chapel, one window still intact behind the bloody, meat-covered altar. Sam was chained in a kneeling position at the base of the altar steps. With one firm kick, she was able to release him from the floor. He was pale, his eyes hollow. Collapsing onto Grace and Keisha, he wheezed, “Get Spike.”

“Where is he?”

“Don’t recognize me, love?” Spike’s voice came from the bloody altar.

Ascending the stairs, Buffy started to see a human form in the meat. Spike’s skin was taut on his ribs, his cheeks more gaunt than usual. He was missing his legs and fingers. His naked body was covered in hundreds of puncture marks. The blood oozing from his wounds was nearly black and thick. “Not my best look, but my heart’s still intact. Head’s still on. Do a bloke a favor, and kill me, eh?”

Buffy didn’t kill him. She wrapped him in her coat and carried Spike out of his hell. The voices of dozens of girls asked what he was, but she didn’t answer. He rested his head on her chest and, despite his pain, fell asleep to the thumping of her heart.

He awoke when someone removed the coat, exposing his naked, maimed body. It was quiet where he was, but many feet were moving above him. He opened his eyes just enough to see that he was back in Buffy’s basement, and she stood over him examining his body. “Enjoying the view?”

“No,” said Buffy. “Even when I wanted you dead, I never wanted this.”

“Funny thing, all-encompassing evils don’t take kindly when you tell ‘em to sod off.”

Her small hand, gentle and warm, rested on his arm before she began to clean the punctures from the Turok-Han’s claws on his torso.

“How’s the giant?”

“Sam’s not great, but he’s doing a hell of a lot better than you.” Her voice was distant. No doubt, she’d rather be attending to her friend, but with a full house, Spike couldn’t imagine why she’d deigned to care for him.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to play anymore.”

“So It had a tantrum? What did It want from you?”

The night Spike returned to Sunnydale after his soul trials, he ran into a light. It was terrifying and comforting at the same time. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It went through him like his pockets were being rifled by supernovas. Then the light turned into Buffy, but more the Buffy of his dreams than the real thing.

“Are you a demon?” It had asked.

Spike said he was a vampire, but It was excited about the demon in him. Spike was certain It was a siren, but any port in a storm.

“It wanted a friend at first,” Spike confessed. Unflinchingly, Buffy started to clean the tattered remains of his fingers; he wanted to recoil from her touch. She didn’t deserve this gruesome sight. “No bandages, alright? Gotta leave room for me to grow back.”

“You’re going to grow back?” There was a hint of happiness behind her surprise, a softening of her mouth, and Spike wondered if caring for him had perhaps been her choice.

“Short story, this isn’t the first time those primordial vampires snacked on me.”

“That’s good news, I guess. Although, I’m not into this whole chapter on your best buddy The First Evil.”

“Pfft! That’s what It calls itself? Weak. And do I look like we’re on good terms?” He wouldn’t admit it, but It had kept him from climbing the walls when his soul was driving him mad, asking him questions about Sunnydale, the Hellmouth, demons, Buffy. “It was a distraction ‘til It started asking me to do things.”

“Things like kill people?”

“That was later. At first, it just wanted to know about you, and I painted a warts-and-all picture. Then it wanted me to follow you, spy on you. I did a little, but seeing you with Dean was torture.” Spike paused to mourn again what could have been if he’d ever gained full control of the demon inside. “Then It wanted me to kill you.”

Buffy turned away. He thought she left, disgusted by the sight of him, disturbed by what he’d done, but he heard her rummaging through some boxes. She returned with oven mitts -- one with pink and white flowers stained brown, the other red and printed with a festive black buckle and white trim.

“But you started killing other people, building it an army,” she said as she gently wrapped Spike’s maimed hands in gauze and slipped the oven mitts over them.

“Wot can I say? The Devil made me do it.”

Buffy’s cool, interrogator’s mask melted in surprise.

“Yeah, I know,” Spike said. Between torture sessions, Sam had filled him in on the true nature of The First.

Quietly, Buffy moved on to cleaning the stumps of his legs. She tore a sheet in two, gently folding each half around a leg before covering him with a downy blanket. “How does that feel?”

“Better,” he said with a small smile.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I--I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

What could he say? Ever since he’d regained his soul, he’d needed someone to talk to; but unfortunately, he and Buffy had been better friends when he was evil. Buffy had been so caught up in her new boyfriend, Spike’s only option for friendship had been the Devil himself.

But what choice did she have? Besouled vampires hadn’t exactly gone well for her in the past. And she had spent months flinching when he got near, the memory of what he -- what his demon -- had tried to do still clawing at her.

“I wish I could change things between us,” he said. “Rearranging the timing and all. We could ‘ave been great together under the right circumstances.”

She smiled as the tears fell.

“But I’m ‘appy for you,” he continued. “You found someone who understands you. I’m not jealous you didn’t pick me, but the loneliness stings. Love-sick vampire with a soul doesn’t ‘ave a lot of places he can go. No singles mixers or one-nine-hundred hotlines.”

“So when Lucifer appeared to you as me…”

“I took comfort in it, though I knew it wasn’t you. All that time, It was working me out, figuring out how to operate me. It kept complaining about how my soul and the demon were getting in the way. I think it figured out how to talk to each separately. So when I was killing--”

“The demon was in charge.”

“Gold star for the lady. So you see, Buffy, you have to kill me. Otherwise, It’s going to come back, going to make the demon in me do things again.”

The fight had gone smoother than they’d expected, bringing some cheer to the girls’ faces. But the confused aftermath -- watching Buffy expertly fight the Turok-han, finding Sam hurt and half naked in the chapel, Buffy’s mysterious package -- had driven a group of them to the backyard to talk in private.

“Did you see what she was carrying?” asked Vi while biting her nails.

“I think it was a body,” said Keisha more calmly than the statement justified.

“Like a dead one?” asked Cloé in breathless horror.

“No, it moved,” whispered Naomi, checking over her shoulder to see if anyone in the house was watching.

“No way! I was in the chapel when we got Sam. Whatever it was couldn’t have been alive,” said Gabi.

“It spoke,” insisted Naomi, who had been no closer to Buffy post-fight than the rest of them.

“No!”

“Guys, you’re ignoring the obvious,” said Kate, brushing her heavy black bangs from her eyes. “We ‘ad to remove the anti-demon symbol to get it through the door.”

Gabi shook her head and looked directly at Cloé to calm her. “It can’t be a demon! Buffy wouldn’t bring a demon in the house. She wouldn’t put us in danger like that.”

“Maybe it’s a vampire?” asked Lys, clearly delighted by the idea.

“Like the Slayer would be friends with a vampire,” said Keisha, her eyebrows raised in speculation.

“But she is!” Lys insisted. She pulled a cigarette from her pack and handed it to an expectant looking Kate before pinching another between her lips. “My Watcher said she was friends with a notorious vampire named Angel. I guess he turned his back on his kind or something.”

“I’ve heard them whispering about Angel!” added Naomi.

“My Watcher said she had a fling with Angel,” Vi added. “It was, like, this huge scandal, a Slayer and a vampire. Also, total ew.”

“I dunno,” Lys shrugged. “Sex with a vampire could be hot.”

Keisha curled her lip in disgust. “You are broken and gross.”

Sam remembered being rescued, but the next twenty-four hours was a blur of sleep, hospital noise, and gorging himself on chicken broth. The cold stone floor of the chapel had made his already damaged body ache, and he’d missed several rounds of meds. The exhaustion forced his reeling mind to rest. The nurses came in and out making sure he wasn’t lacking for anything, but mostly he wanted to hide.

Three words. Three words said in Xander’s casual, joking style as he helped him into his car after the rescue: “So Satan, huh?”

They knew. Maybe Dean had told them. Maybe they figured it out. Either way, his secret was out.

When Willow had said she saw darkness in him -- something evil like what was in the vampires -- he wanted to hide, but Willow knew what it was like to wrestle with her inner demons, to quell her dark powers. Even so, there was a difference between one’s own dark side and an evil planted inside.

I am the vessel of Lucifer. Sam couldn’t say the words.

The pain woke him. He’d slept long enough that the sun was dim through the blinds. Blinds? He barely remembered being discharged, yet he’d been returned to Buffy’s house and was laying in Willow’s bed. Reaching for his meds on the night stand, he saw Dawn curled on a trunk at the end of the bed staring at him like a he was an exhibit at a traveling freak show.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“I know,” she said brightly.

She dashed out of the room only to return with a glass of water for him. She perched on the edge of the bed. “Buffy always tells me that my choices are what define me. Screw fate and prophecy.”

He offered her a faint smile. “Sounds like Dean.”

“Maybe that’s why they like each other. They’re just a couple of narcissists.”

Sam laughed, which hurt, but the unexpected joy made his whole body tingle.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Dawn said. “I’m sorry you’re being chased. It was smart of your angel friend to bring you here. If anyone can stop Lucifer, it’s Buffy.”

Her innocent faith broke his heart. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what he was hoping.”

Dawn squeezed his hand. “Get some rest. Running for your life is super exhausting.”

Sam woke in the morning to find Dean on a cot beside him, his hand stretched out toward him as it always was when they shared a motel room.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” his brother replied without opening his eyes.

“Your girlfriend saved my ass.”

“She’s fucking awesome.”

After a few days, Sam felt he would go crazy if he had to lie in bed a moment longer. Willow’s soft mattress spawned knots in his back, and he felt bad that she was sleeping on the floor. In the still hours before dawn, he tiptoed around Dean sleeping on a cot and slipped downstairs for some space.

Only there wasn’t any space. Two dozen or so girls, double what he’d remembered before going to the hospital, filled the living room with cots, blankets, and bags.

A mousy redhead by the stairs stirred. She squinted at him with sleepy concern and poked him in the ankle. “Real,” she muttered, before laying down and adjusting her blankets.

A dark-skinned girl wearing what looked liked a dingy hand-me-down Catholic school uniform, complete with small wooden cross, stood at the kitchen counter peeling an orange.

“Good morning,” Sam whispered.

She nodded with a shy smile.

“Just an orange for breakfast?” he asked. She was thin, not sickly, but she would need to add some muscle for training.

The girl nodded, taking a bite of fruit.

“English?”

She pointed at herself. “Jabulela.”

It took a moment before Sam realized that must be her name, not a language he hadn’t heard of. “Sam.”

“Sam,” she repeated, holding the a in the back of her throat.

“Jabulela, parlez-vous français?” he asked, pulling up the six weeks of French he’d taken Freshman year.

Her face lit up. “Je remercie le Seigneur! Quelqu'un à qui parler.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand. Ne comprends. Enchanté.”

Jabulela’s shoulders slumped, but she smiled again before returning to her orange.

No doubt, in a few weeks, Buffy would have him and Dean training Potentials. They’d find a translator soon.

Sam slipped two oranges into his sweatshirt pocket and headed for the basement -- the only place they could have possibly tucked Spike in this packed house. The basement was so dark, Sam gripped the rail and felt the steps out with this eyes closed. One step. Two steps. Though Spike didn’t need to sleep, Sam didn’t want to wake him with a light if he’d opted to.

“What are you doing ‘ere, Samuel?” Spike’s voice, though soft, carried a hint of threat.

“It’s just Sam. I brought you an orange.”

“Worried about my vitamin C?” Spike was laying on a cot underneath the manacles they’d locked him in weeks before. A blanket covered his lap, but it was too dark to tell if his legs had regrown to fill the space.

Sam approached him, but as he crossed the demon trap surrounding him, Spike jolted upright and raised a mitted hand in warning. “You should stay back! My pet demon is rearing up you just being ‘ere. Wants me to take you back.”

“Did you recently grow some sporty peglegs I need to worry about?” Sam sat on the end of Spike’s cot. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Spike said earnestly as he watched Sam peel the orange.

“Sometimes I think it’s better to trust people. Want a slice?”

Spike pinned one mitt between his arm and chest, pulling out a bare hand with gnarled, small fingers that clasped around the orange slice. “I don’t need to eat, you know.”

“I know, but it’s nice isn’t it?”

Spike nodded. “Going to need ‘elp getting that mitt back on.”

“What’s up with those?” Sam asked.

“Growing back itches,” Spike paused to suck on his orange. “I don’t want to look at ‘em either.”

They ate a few more slices in silence as the house above them began to buzz with activity. When the first orange was gone, Sam said, “You didn’t have to save me.”

“But who’d peel my oranges?”

Sam chuckled quietly. Spike, or at least the man inside him, couldn’t help but be a hero though he wouldn’t take credit. Had Spike not kept Sam awake, kept the Turok-Han’s attention, stoked Lucifer’s hatred, Sam would have died or been in pieces or both. “I’m sure one of the Potentials would have helped you.”

“Potentials?” said Spike with surprise. “Is that all the ruckus upstairs? Slayer niblets?”

It was Sam’s turn to be surprised. “Have none of them been down to see you?”

Spike shook his head. “Mostly Buffy brings me blood. Willow a few times. Giles popped down once to ask me a bunch of questions. Didn’t even know ‘e was back in town.”

Sam’s experience had been completely different since the rescue. He could only get a moment alone in the bathroom. Dean, Willow, Dawn and Xander were constantly by his side anticipating his every need. It was nice to know they were still his friends even though he was a freak, but the way they treated Spike felt unjust. “What have you been doing down here?”

“Daydreaming. Sleeping. Buffy brought me some books, but--” Spike held up his twisted hand.

Turning on a light and grabbing the book on the top of the pile, Sam began to read, “Chapter one: The Boy Who Lived…”

The sun was up by the time Buffy came down with a happy-faced mug full of warm blood. If she was surprised to find Sam reading Harry Potter to an enthralled vampire, she didn’t show it.

“We’re all crammed in my room,” she said as she absent-mindedly watched Spike drink his blood. “It would be great if you could join us, Sam.”

“‘It would be great if you could join us?’ Way to make a sentencing sound like a birthday party,” Spike grumbled.

Deeply confused, Sam asked, “Why? What’s going on.”

Coldy, Spike said, “They’re sorting out what to do with me, more specifically, who gets to kill me.”

“No one is killing you, Spike,” Buffy said, taking back the blood-stained mug. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Appreciated, but I’m not sure you have a choice.”

“You’re in my house, under my protection. I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised.

“I’m not sure you have a choice,” Spike repeated slowly.

“Why doesn’t everyone come down here?” Sam asked, as memories of being locked in Bobby’s panic room flooded back. “Spike should get a say.”

Spike shook his head and smiled sadly, “Thanks, mate, but I don’t need to ‘ear exactly ‘ow much some of ‘em want me dead.”

“You’re not dying.” Sam hoped his determination combined with Buffy’s would be enough.

“When you can...” Buffy slipped up the stairs, leaving them in the basement’s uncomfortable quiet.

In the name of the greater good, Sam had killed many people, and he couldn’t blame demon possession for most of them. If Spike was guilty and out of control, then so was he.

By the time he caught up to her, Buffy was by the bathroom arguing with Lys. “I don’t care if you like her or not, French is the only common language Jabulela speaks. Show her around. Explain things.”

“But she’s some sort of religious nut!” Lys exclaimed, waving her hands as if that could hammer the point home.

“She’s a nun and less likely to bite than other people in this house, including me. Go. Do intros.”

Lys squinted at Buffy. “Fine, but you owe me!”

“I’ll get on that,” Buffy muttered as the girl stomped downstairs. “Like I’m not doing enough already.”

“Hey, can we talk?” Sam asked, leaning against the wall for support. “About Spike?”

Buffy raised her eyebrows and sighed. “He is the theme of the day.”

“Spike saved my life down there.”

“He probably did,” she said.

“So would it kill anyone in this house to spend a little time with him?”

Buffy leaned against the wall beside Sam, her head resting on his shoulder. She whispered, “I’m glad you care. Spike’s been through so much and tried so hard to better himself, but I know Dawn and Xander and the others just see the monster who--” He could almost hear her biting her tongue.

“I’ve tried, you know,” she continued. “I went down there the first day and cleaned him up; we talked for hours. But the First tripped something in him. I can see it in his eyes. The demon in him wants to hurt me even if the man doesn’t. I want him to live. Hell, I want him to win, but how can that happen with a time bomb in his chest?”

“So what we need is a way to separate the demon and the man?”

She sighed, the weight of her task pressing the air from her lungs. “We’ve been hitting the books for days, but I can’t find a spell that would help.”

“I know one,” Sam said.

Spike wiggled his toes in his newly tied boots. It had taken nearly two weeks to regrow his body. He stood by his cot and stretched before walking slow laps around his circular cage. He pressed on the air, but nothing he did could get him past the line painted on the floor.

The basement door opened and new footsteps, one of which was thunkingly uneven, descended the stairs. Spike sniffed the air. Engine grease.

“Winchesters!” He turned to see Sam, Dean in a cast, Buffy and Giles standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Come to gloat? Maybe poke the bear a bit?”

“No, we’re here to save your sorry ass,” said Dean.”

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and chuckled. “‘Course you are. Gotta fulfill that hero complex.”

“Spike.” How did Buffy fit so much exasperation into one syllable? “Dean and Sam have a plan to help you, maybe.”

Unable to suppress the smirk, he crossed his arms. “Maybe? Maybe if I’m a good boy or maybe it won’t work? Neither sound appealing.”

Leaning against the railing, Giles said, “You yourself said The First has been able to activate the demon within you, use you as a puppet. Do you feel any of its influence now?”

The smirk faded from his face. The demon’s voice was strong and pushy; usually when it was ravenous, Spike felt due for a good slaughter. “It’s like a dog, barking away in my ‘ead.”

“What’s it barking?” Dean asked.

“To kill you. Then turn ‘er,” Spike said, pointing at Buffy. “I - I don’t want to do either.”

“And what’s your plan to deal?” Buffy asked. “Yoga?”

Spike rubbed his tongue on the inside of his teeth, waiting.

Dean began, “So here’s the deal--”

“Not you,” Spike said, locking his eyes on Sam. “Can barely tolerate you. Sam, ‘e’s on my Christmas card list. You wouldn’t lie to a poor devil, would you, Sam?”

With a little color back in his cheeks but his eyes still darkly circled, Sam gazed at the floor as he thought. “It’s a theory, really. If it doesn’t work...you die.”

Spike shrugged.

Sam eased himself to the floor to sit cross-legged just outside of the painted trap. “Vampires are different where we’re from; it’s more like a genetic mutation, but here it’s a form of demon possession. Where we’re from, we would say you, William Pratt, are a vessel, and all we need to do to empty you is an exorcism.”

“Exorcism? Wot with the spinning ‘ead and pea soup?”

Dean and Giles busied themselves looking anywhere but at Spike, yet Buffy stared at him with tears rimming her eyes.

“Kinda? Demons don’t go quietly,” Sam said. “But the bigger problem is that to become a vessel at all, you had to be killed by a vampire. We’ve exorcised a few people who were already dead; they didn’t come to life once the demon was gone.”

Spike nodded. Was there a man inside him able to be saved? He wanted to think so. With the demon gone, would he return to his Victorian self? Sniveling, timid, desperate to please. Spike had never liked William Pratt, which is why he never fought to save him.

But the demon’s voice was getting so loud, filling his head with a thousand horrible things to do to Buffy, to Dean, to everyone in the house. Lucifer’s hooks were in him, and he wanted to be free.

“Do it,” Spike said.

Sam began, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus--”

Spike’s body slammed to the ground and pushed back to the other side of the circle, sending his cot flying across the room.

“--et omnis legio diabolica--”

Buffy and Giles rushed to the edge of his cage.

“--Cessa decipere humanas creaturas--”

The demon, furious Buffy didn’t have the balls to kill him, lashed out, “You fucking bitch!”

“--hostis humanae salutis--”

Spike clutched his throat. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out.

“--contremisce et effuge--”

Buffy held back tears.

The younger Winchester’s spell was replaced with a deafening roar, like drowning in a tidal wave. Blackness crept into Spike’s vision. He stared at Buffy until the darkness won out.

“--Benedictus deus. Gloria patri.”

Spike coughed and opened his eyes. Cold air rushed into his lungs as his entire body began to tingle. A strange pressure filled his chest as he bounded up the stairs in twos. Rushing past the startled girls in the kitchen, he burst into the backyard where, for the first time in over one hundred and twenty years, the sun glowed warm on his skin.

Read Giles’ dossiers on: Dani Vi Cloé Molly Lys Grace Wook Keisha Leticia Naomi Kate Gabi Jabulela

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imaginationhq · 7 years ago

Text

It Takes One Step: Boyf Riends Angst

Jeremy's dull blue eyes look down at his clean converse, a stark contrast to the rusty metal of the old bridge he's standing on. He keeps his hands on the safety railing behind him, gripping at it loosely for stability. The worn and damaged metal digs into the skin of his hands, making them sting slightly. All of the ruts and holes and sharp bumps on it cause Jeremy's hands to leak crimson, which begins to dry in between the railing and his palms. The disused metal creaks ominously, the only other sound heard being the wind and water. The wind whips his short brown hair in all directions, the oak strands flailing wildly just barely obstructing his eyesight. The black shirt he's wearing clings to his lithe frame, and does nothing to protect him from the freezing temperatures of this altitude - He could barely even secure his jacket to the support beam behind him because of how harshly the wind attacked him. In the pocket of said jacket he had securely tucked a folded slip of paper, and on it are his last words to a world that won't even bat an eye at his death. Though the ink figures on the paper hold such a high value, he thinks it will probably be left unread. It's not like the people to whom it's addressed care enough to look.

He looks back down at the bright toes of his converse, which are just barely poking over the edge. He looks past them to the waves below, crashing into each other relentlessly before sinking out and letting new waves take their place. To Jeremy, that pattern holds a metaphorical value; the inevitability of him dying and someone more valued immediately taking his place. All it takes is one step. The thought has tears prickling at his eyes again. Though he knows he can't stop his memory from being forgotten underneath the buzz of something more important, it still saddens him to think about. But at this point he's used to it. The most movement the muscles in his face make is to blink the tears out of his vision, almost perfectly expressing this unending emptiness he feels.

He deserves this, he thinks as he continues to keep his probing gaze on the water. The water's a deep blue, almost black he can barely make out without the accents of the white foam. Each wave collides roughly, White clashing with white and then turning blue again. They do so almost enticingly to Jeremy, who doesn't even have half a mind to turn back instead of doing what he came there to do. If he doesn't die on impact like he hopes, he can't swim, so he should drown if no one tries to save him. But who would waste their time saving the life of someone so common and unimportant. Who would waste their time saving Jeremy's life? Even if some unlucky soul were to try, his bones would be broken and he would only hopelessly float or sink as the last moments of his life bleed out of his vision. He pokes the right foot of his converse out to step off, almost letting himself fall into the depths below him. After that, he doesn't move. His hands' grip on the bar behind him loosen, and he almost drops to what will be the definite end of him.

Almost.

For a few seconds he stands there like that: foot poking over the edge and body teetering back and forth in the wind. Jeremy balances on the border of life and death for a few more moments before the sound of the wheels of a car on gravel startle him out of jumping. The car screeches to a halt, not even parking properly before the door is thrown open quickly. It's now or never, Jeremy thinks as he looks unsurely below him, breathing picking up dramatically. The door of the car slams with an echoing thud behind him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, ready to make a final decision. His head whips around with an expression of disbelief, hearing quickly approaching footsteps and a familiar voice calling his name. Michael. Wait, Michael?! "Jeremy?!" His persistent voice calls out as he does his best to sprint over the cracks and holes of the run down bridge. "Jeremy, is that you?!" The boy stops in his tracks, thinking he may have seen wrong. Strained pants puff out from in between chapped lips as he stutters out in a panic, "J-Jeremy?" When Jeremy doesn't answer and Michael can just barely make out his drooping and frightened facial features under the blanket of darkness, the Filipino begins to sprint again. As he's running again, Jeremy begins to speak in a small empty drawl that scares Michael beyond belief.

"Leave. You shouldn't be here."

Jeremy can't really bring himself to speak with any more emotion or force behind his words, making him sound like an actual zombie. His skin feels just as cold as one too, and Jeremy barely lets out an empty chuckle thinking that there won't be much of a difference once he's in the water. "W-What?" Michael stares back at Jeremy with wide eyes and a look of betrayal written all over his face. Michael stops moving. Jeremy remembers that look all too well, and seeing it again because of him gives him even more of a reason to turn away and jump."Jeremy, cmon. P-Please, don't shut me out again. D-Don't do this." The boy pleads. Jeremy gazes at him faintly for a few more moments before turning away from him. "Jer seriously. C-Come down from there." When he doesn't reply again, Michael takes another cautious step towards him. Jeremy can't hear Michael's sneaker hitting the tattered ground of the bridge over the high winds against his ears.

He wipes his eyes of the meaningless tears he'd shed tonight, but his face still feels damp and cold. He doesn't even know why he's crying anymore; he's not afraid, in fact he was resolute on going through with this until Michael had shown up, and he's been sad long enough that his tears no longer hold reason. The deafening wind continues to beat down on both of them, making Michael shiver and wrap his arms around himself. Jeremy does nothing to shield himself from the intense cold, not even shivering as his wan skin begins to sting and turn red. "Jeremy, y-you can't- you can't do this. Please don't leave me!"

The poor boy was already shaking out of immense fear, but his mocha eyes dilate even further when Jeremy sucks in a strangled breath and sticks his foot back out over the edge, daring to take another step. New tears pour down his face, this time with meaning behind them; Michael's making it really hard for him to just do it. "YOU PROMISED!" Michael screams in desperation, not knowing what else to say. Jeremy freezes immediately, guilt racking him as he remembers the promise he made to Michael. In their hushed whispers of 1am, the night of the play, he promised he wouldn't leave him again. In such a soft and sorry tone, he promised with every ounce of his being to stay by Michael's side from then on.

Jeremy swallows down a whimper, choking on his tears at the same time before exhaling shakily. His breath puffs out in a long cloud of steam that vanishes quickly in the wind. "Jeremiah Heere, y-you promised me that from then on y-you'd never leave me again. D-Don't do this to me." Jeremy sniffs loudly, just loud enough for Michael to hear over the rough winds. "Y-You said you would stick it out for me." Michael cries, wiping tears from his stinging red cheeks. Jeremy barely turns to look at him, and what he can see of Michael through the inky color of night causes him to shake violently. Michael is nearly collapsing from fear, glasses askew with tears rolling rapidly down his tan cheeks. Michael bravely takes a step with wobbly knees, saying, "Th-That you'd stay b-by my side."

Jeremy's grip on the railing tightens, but he still doesn't care when the blood running down his palms increases. The liquid falling down Jeremy's cheeks doesn't let up either, his crystal blue eyes now completely fixated on Michael. Michael takes another step, only leaving five feet in between them. "Y-Y-You even said that you'd-" Michael pauses to swallow down the fit of sobs threatening to let loose, "you'd stay to m-make sure that- that not another cut m-makes its way onto my s-skin!" Michael takes another step before his knees finally buckle under his weight. His knees hit the pavement hard as he struggles to keep as much of his sobs back as possible. He reaches his left hand out gingerly for Jeremy to take, and Jeremy's body tremors involuntarily trying not to move. His defenses are completely broken down when Michael says, "Y-You wouldn't break that last promise, w-would you?"

Jeremy bites his lip violently and sniffs hard in an attempt to compose himself, but it's pretty much useless at this point. He can't stop himself from slumping onto the safety pole and sobbing his eyes out at Michael's words. He was so sure that no one would even notice his absence, and that if someone did they wouldn't care enough to look for him. Then this boy, this beautifully genuine boy comes after him to stop him from ending it all. He didn't think it would be a possibility at all, but again Michael Mell saves his life and surpasses what he'd thought to be impossible. Jeremy quickly scrambles over the railing, barely even landing on his feet as he hears Michael let out a loud breath of relief.

Jeremy slowly reaches a trembling hand out to Michael, and as soon as their freezing fingers touch Michael pulls him into his chest. He wraps his arms around the skinnier boy, and both of them sit there on the cracked up ground of the old bridge together. They messily sob into each other's shirts for a few minutes as they completely lose feeling in their limbs. They didn't care how the tears dampened their clothing, or that their knees were becoming sore, just that they're back in each other's arms. Eventually Michael helps the both of them stand up and hands his hoodie to Jeremy, who slides the oversized garment on easily, breathing in the faint scent of weed embedded in the fabric. The familiar smell comforts Jeremy as Michael grabs Jeremy's jacket hanging from the support beam, pulling on the knot until it comes undone. The stains from the rust are left over on the blue fabric, and Michael makes a mental note to wash it and carefully contemplate the note left in the pocket. He leads them back to his old PT Cruiser in almost silence. "C-C’mon. Let's go home. D-Do you w-wanna explain to m-me why... this h-happened? I-I mean you don’t have t-to, c-cause I know th-that making the decision to try this w-wasn’t easy. But just... I’m here t-to talks if you n-need it."

The shorter boy wipes his face with the sleeve of Michael's hoodie softly before responding. "C-Can we just sleep? I-I don’t th-think I can t-talk about it r-r-right now..." Micheal nods understandingly, wiping fresh tears from his face as well. “That’s... W-Well, th-that’s fine. B-But we will talk about this tomorrow, okay Jer?” He doesn’t respond. With that they clamber shakily into the front seats of Michael's car, which had rolled away slightly since Michael never properly parked it. The Filipino boy fixes his glasses on his face, turning his keys in the egnition and glancing over at Jeremy’s shaking form. Michael turns up the heat. Once he’s buckled in, Jeremy immediately curls into a ball in the passenger's seat and stares out of the window, stares back at where he was about to jump off of. Just think about how heartbroken he would've left Michael if he had jumped. What if Michael wasn't there to stop him? He casts his gaze down and doesn't look back up. Jeremy can't help but think that all it would've taken was one step

#jeremy heere #michael mell #bmc #bmc musical #boyf riends #bmc angst #fanfiction #be more chill

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