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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Dark Inside

Pairing | Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary | she’s locked away, by the orders of the government. And you are the guard that is chosen with the responsibility of taking her to shower. Surely nothing unprofessional could unfold...

Warnings | nudity, smut, its a little dark I guess idk, shower sex, brief mention of infection, oral sex (fem receiving obvs), fingering, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“Maximoff, get up.” You barked at the convicted avenger, whom kept her head down, staring at the cement floor of her cell. You rapped your hand against the door of her cell, as her head tilted towards you. It was her fault she was here, not yours, there was no reason for you to pity the strange woman, for her actions had come with consequences, and she knew of them before she decided to stand against the governement. “Now, I won’t ask again.”

It was a warning, and she fully understood that, no matter if her ability to read minds was restrained. That collar, metal and encrusted with a luminous red light, prohibited her from bewitching any one or any thing. Her arms were also bound together, limiting the possibility of her escape. She was the perfect prisoner, pretty and withheld, unable to exhume damage across the world, as she previously had done.

Wanda slowly came to stand, her eyes filled with emptiness as she slowly strode to the door, which you came around to. Hastily, you pulled it ajar, watching as her teammates converted their protective eyes towards you, wary for their friend. You hardly paid them mind as you escorted Maximoff through the walls of their holding, and through the corridors.

She plodded, like a barren mare, eyes sullen and downcast as you escorted her past the empty halls, and towards the shower room, where you lightly shoved her forward, lightly smirking as she did not struggle against the pressure you enjoyed roughing her up with. Out of all the government official inmates, she was by far your favourite. Her mouth remained shut, no sounds left her defined cheeks, all emotion was tucked away, in that blue suit that constricted her.

“Alright Maximoff, let’s get you out of this tight number.” You smirked at your own words, your hands pulling at the blue gear that kept her arms folded. As you stripped her, you could not help but let your hands scrape her pale sides, running down her waist as you pushed the navy suit down, keeping the collar on of course, as you reached behind her, watching as her breasts lightly bounced from the action.

Next to be removed were her panties, her feet shuffled as you dragged the material down, feeling as your eyes bore into her pussy lips, though you didn’t keep your gaze up for long. Instead of staring at her pretty cunt, you stood and tapped her ass. “Forwards girl.” She obliged with the action, moving slowly under the shower head, wrapping her arms around herself as you reached around her, your covered breasts pressing against her back as you turned the spray of water on.

As you moved away, you noticed how she tried to keep her modesty, not changing her stance of having her back turned to you. Her hands slowly raked through her dark hair, stroking the grease out of the strands as you watched, as was your job to do. Her back was thin, yet strong. She had held onto so much throughout her life, supporting her team, and that amounted to nothing more than declaring her a sentence.

People saw Wanda as a danger to society, here she was safe from causing more pain upon the world, restrained from reigning damage upon the earth. It had been ten minutes of her pathetically grazing her body with her shy fingertips, her attempts to cleanse herself were poor. “We don’t have all day inmate, if you want to actually be ridden of all that sweat and dirt that you’ve collected whilst being contained in that bag that clothes you, I suggest you get to scrubbing. Quickly.”

From you words, Wanda gulped, though nevertheless began to massage her knuckles on the midst of her chest, down to her stomach, and... she felt almost sick as she was about to wash the most private part of herself in front of someone. But she had no choice if she didn’t want to guarantee herself the severe cost of an infection down under.

Taking in a calming breath, that did little to actually calm herself, Wanda cupped her mound, lightly rubbing, her body jolting at how sensitive she was. A shuffling alerted her ears from behind, and she watched you kick her restraint suit lightly, her head prompting its gaze over her shoulder.

“Time is up, get dried and dressed.” The words sounded like a curse free falling from the curve of your lips. She didn’t want to be returned into that box, until the next time she required to use the lavatory, or her every other day shower. It was more constructing than the clothing that she was forced into, the four walls caging her in like a wild animal on show for children to see.

“Can’t I just have a couple more minutes?” Her voice was rough, sounding like seething sandpaper, for she had not used it in weeks. She usually spoke to no one, and thus it was a surprise when she finally did, more so when it was you.

“I have a tight schedule.” Your teeth gritted as you tutted deliberately at her enquiry. “But if you want my help to allow you bask in there a little longer, it’s gonna cost you, baby girl.” The sound and context of your voice made the young woman shudder, aware that your silent suggestion was an invitation for something deeper, and not one for the light hearted to take up on.

But she never considered herself weak at the knees from emotions, not anymore. There had been too much pain, and too many losses to think of herself as such. She could get through this, coil into your offered whim, or she could keep her dignity in tact, though it wouldn’t be complete for she would still remain tangled with her own dead skin clinging onto her for dear life.

“What do you want?” Her accent, which had somewhat faded a smudge, rang through your ears, making you curiously squint at her. But you said nothing, instead, pulling your shirt over your head, cocking your neck at the woman as her eyes went wide, seeing you be so forwards with your intent.

“I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate Maximoff.” You spoke as you kicked your boots off, toying with your belt, as your eyes denied to leave her bare skin. “Why don’t you turn around, so that I can see that lovely little bush I expect you’re growing.” She wasn’t sure if your words brought her somewhat comfort, or had her skin crawling, there was now a thin line between the two.

Nevertheless, the woman turned, blessing your eyes with her full silhouette. She was admittedly beautiful, especially out of her restraints, except of course, that heavy metal collar that forbade her from using her scarlet witchery. “Come closer, I’m not the one here that supposedly bites the hand that feeds.”

As her body spiralled around, to give you a clear and overall view of her body, you couldn’t admit to yourself that you were impressed. You had been right, there were hairs beginning to peak out of her skin, and her breasts, well they were like balanced bowls of water, awaiting for someone to drink from them.

At your words, Wanda gulped, though she did not stop moving, she instead, paced her feet forwards, not withholding her motions as came to stand before you, nervously licking her lips as she watched you toy with the waistband of your bottoms. It was uncertain if you were teasing her or yourself, though she figured that she best not complain, you were the one in charge here, and one step out of line could leave all her efforts for nothing.

Eventually, after moments of nerve wrecking and pent up expense, you dragged the cargos down your legs, showing her the blankness of your grey underwear. Grey was an understated colour, she saw it all around; from the falling of her country, to the walls that the government had encased her within. But this particular shade, encompassed quite literally against your skin, making her no longer envision it as a dull exterior, but instead an exciting barrier that concealed all the goods beneath its plain material.

Without instruction, Wanda dismissed herself unto her own knees, collapsing her weight down upon the back of her thighs as she tucked her hands around the back of your shins, her green eyes boring up at you, as she pressed an experimental kiss upon your thigh. “Go on Maximoff, earn yourself that extra shower time.” You kicked your panties off, leaving your bottom half bare to the enhanced woman, rolling your shoulders back as you took a steady breath through your nose.

Your fingers cascaded through her long locks, gently tugging her closer, forcing her to breathe in your scent, before her tongue darted out, licking a fine line along the outside of your lips. A frown settled upon your face at her obvious lack of knowledge when it came to pleasing a woman, though you allowed her to continue to explore herself, holding your lip between your teeth as you hungrily stared down at her.

“Good girl.” You coaxed her as she allowed her eyes to lightly flutter, her fingers, small and agile, reached up to part your pussy open, allowing her more access to what was behind its curtains. “Focus on the clit Maximoff, uses your fingers too.” Instead of your instructions leaving you as orderly, as you had planned them to pass in your head, they heaved from your chest in a breathy whisper.

Wanda complied with your verbal assistance, circling her warm and wet tongue around your special bud, rotating it around in her mouth as she pulled the pink ball of flesh into the confines of her mouth, striking it with rolls of her spinning saliva. Her hand trailed down from your lips, rubbing the pads against your slit, as you leant your head back, her nailed digits moving towards your entrance.

Her fingers fumbled, as one tried to surpass the entrance of your pussy, but slipped, only for her to try once more, succeeding to have your cunt swallow her digit into its lubricated depths, suctioning it within the confines of your walls. “Fuck, you’re not terrible at that inmate.” It wasn’t supposed to come across as a compliment, rather it was a noted observation to yourself. Though Wanda still muffled a moan against your mound, pumping her finger in and out of your walls.

Her administrations sped up, causing you to clench around her ravaging fingers, that albeit messy and irregular with their movements, were bringing you closer to fulfilling your satisfaction. It was wrong, to get off using the aid of an inmate, but she was far too compelling to just leave to her own innocent devices, alone in that little cell of hers. “Fuck.” You came over her face and fingers, rutting your hips as she lapped up your sweet nectar.

Once you had rode your orgasm out, you shoved her head away, falling down onto the tiles, and laying her down, spreading her legs wide as you by palmed at her perfect breasts. “Such a gorgeous little cunt. I knew that you’d get off on this, there’s a tantalising darkness to you, and that is what pulled me in.”

Your palms caressed her thighs, stroking soothingly down the parting of her legs and her centre piece, throwing your face between her revealed boudoir, trailing your tongue in quick motions up and down the expanse of her cunt, your fingers running languidly upon her swollen clit.

The fuzz from her growing hairs rubbed against the bottom of your face, but you cared not about the natural order of her body; in fact, it was kind of sexy. Your tongue entered her, slipping through her folds as you tasted everything that she had to offer you, tracing the shapes of figure eights within her flushed walls, your cheeks pressing against the insides of her cheeks.

“Oh my gosh.” Another few words that fell from her open mouth, her hands grasping the solid slate of the floor, as her hips lightly bucked up into your mouth, strings of moans dribbling off her tongue. “I- I-“ you soothed her thigh, confirming that it was okay, and all she had to was release all the tension building up within her.

And with that, she spilled, her swarm of essence falling onto your tongue, as your tongue eased out of her cunt, raking up the length of her pussy, cleaning up the mess that you had made of her.

“Looks like you’re gonna need another shower Maximoff.” You smirked, as you pulled your mouth away from her dripping cunt, her juices painting your rabid smirk in the most beautiful resolution. “I’ll let you have that extra time now.”

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kelleycubes · 2 years ago

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is one of many reasons the foritifcations won't hold, my Lady." The following silence rang in the ear of every remaining solider in the grand hall. He knew the opinion was unpopular, he knew the weight of the suggestion, what must follow- but the Advisor had carried that before. The feeling of his metal armor tearing and ripping in the cold. The steam of heat from failing to escape his freezing armor. He had seen the depths and depravity the enemies of the kingdom held within and bared unto their shared battlefields; and he saw no other recourse. "What would you have the council do?" the Elder said, finally breaking the silence. "Our senate either fled or been fed to those... THINGS outside, and you would have us- what?- Fight them?" The elder dropped her head with a sigh. She was flittering between despair, desparation, and determination. Something had to be done, but the frost clouding and cracking the stained glass behind them gave no comfort. Only the grand-furnishings-turned-bonfire could keep their hopes and dreams of safetly nestled in its warmth, but it's flame was fading, and the embers threatened the floorboards. Time was fading, and the howling of the wind warned of the enemies approach. "We press what little advantage we have, and take back our streets." the Advisor stated, sternly, but with fear peaking from behind his tongue. "And how do you suppose we do that?" says a voice far off in the corner The sound of a dozen odd soldiers and officiates of the kingdom turning in unison towards a single bloodied man, huddled around the other other refugees burning tapestries in the corner. "Half of our fallen are frozen stiff in the midst of this hellish winter." said the man, struggling to his feet. "The other half are begining to rise and shamble into the shapes of the enemy, their materials shoved into those most grievously wounded... They mock us! These are our friends! Our peers!! Our children..." A knowing silence. The wind howls. Everyone's blood curdles. "They are taking us. They are taking our homes, they are taking our lives, they are taking what we are." says the broken man through gritted teeth. The sound of bated breath. "There is nowhere left to flee, you pathetic sod" lets out the Advisor.

"No." says the man, "No- we can't run. We can't hide or fight it or them. We can only relent. Subsume." "You just said they took everything from us!" the Advisor now screaming, talking long strides over to the man. "And you would give in? You would join their annual crusade of death and decay?" "I seek rebirth. I would give anything to see my boy again, no matter the form." "You would not find him, only the ice-addled body of a boy that used to be your own!" "Stand down advisor" says the Elder. "No, he would-" whimpers the man. "No?" the advisor, grabbling a smouldering chair leg from the pyre. "I said stand down Advisor-" the Elder commanded to a room who had forgotten her. "NO?" You would find him as he was? Not a broken and pathetic beast wrought by the snow itself? You would succumb to the storm. The ice." the Advisor yells, slamming the chair leg through the stained glass mural against the back of the Keep.

The blizzard screams into the room, whisking the fire out in a single breath like a kid at a birthday party. The man weeps. The soldiers run and apprehend the advisor, but it's too late. The snow swirls around the room, and the people scramble and scream and wither and rot and fall. The Advisor laughs as he is proven right, and the ice takes his tongue, his asphoagus, and his lungs in turn. The Elder weeps, but the tears shatter as they leave her eyes. The sound of frantic movement. The feeling of panic and frenzy taking those that remained, followed by a moment of pure bliss. The sound of dozens of hundreds of bones collapsing in unison. And then silence once more. Snow and Embers and Ash and Blood spin around the hall.

And all the while, as this dance of death takes the room, the flushed cheeks of the father wander aimlessly towards the shattered window. He stares at the frozen ruins of his home, as the warmth begins to leave his body. He stares at the alley way he and his son were mugged in many years past. He stares at the roof they sat on after, and his son swore to never let that happen again. His breath is so cold now it lets out no steam as he exhales. He stares at the courtyard of the Keep he resides in, where his son swore to serve and protect his home. He stares at their enemies, gathered around the city. Playing. Frockling in the snow, rolling together corpses and. Playing.

He stared at them, wondering if this was to be his Son's fate, or perhaps his.

They did not look up at him. His final breaths were that of anger, pity, and desire. They did not look up at him.

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years ago

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The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open.

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint.

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open.

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.”

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation.

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically.

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?”

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.”

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you.

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?”

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.”

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.”

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #the sommelier #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x reader #hannibal x will #tw violence #tw grape without the g #tw sex abuse #tw sex trafficking #tw christianity

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charlthotte · 3 years ago

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Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 18

Without a moment’s hesitation, Futakuchi bombarded his shoulder into the door frenziedly – his face the epitome of panic. Relentlessly. Not ever stopping to take a breath, nor recognising the fact that he was probably injuring his shoulder beyond relief. Furrowing his brow, he wiped at the sweat accumulating on his forehead from the sudden rush of adrenaline, and the fact that he would simply not give up. “Hey! Takanobu! Please, just listen to me. Stop whatever you’re doing… Right now.” Kenji commanded, heaving unsteadily, wincing at the discomfort from his shoulder. “Please… You’re my best friend.”

Right then, I witnessed something I never believed I could set my eyes upon, the stoic yet master cajoler, Futakuchi Kenji shedding a tear. His desperation to see his truest friend unharmed taking precedent over everything else.

Gathering his remaining strength, he gulped down his nervousness, his Adam’s apple bobbing in inhibition. With the force of a wrecking ball, he collided into the door, shouting out in agony he clutched his marred shoulder, his face writhing in anguish – but alas, the door had finally been opened.

Behind it was a greatly dishevelled Takanobu, in a crumpled heap on the floor, various objects from the medicine cabinet strewn about it. However, what concerned me immediately was the unscrewed bottle of bleach, clumsily set next to the trembling wreck. Darting right to Takanobu’s side – I cupped his lolling head with my unsteady hand, firmly grasping his shuddering palm with the other. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Trying to muster the calmest, unwavering voice I could, I tried to reach out to him, but all to no avail – no matter how hard I tried, there was no response. Almost as if he was drifting away to another plane of being. He didn’t even shed a single tear.

Right at that moment, the mood snapped, as did Futakuchi. Not caring that the bleach bottle was entirely unscrewed, he yanked it from the floor, his eyes seething with an emotion that I couldn’t quite place into one category. But there was one thing I could see: desperation. “Takanobu,” he spat between gritted teeth, “How much did you drink?” No response. “HOW MUCH DID YOU FUCKING DRINK, TAKANOBU? YOU NEED TO TELL ME!” Takanobu flinched, burying his head into the crook of my neck.

“Futakuchi.” I said, my tone laced with warning. “Calm down.”

“NO, (Y/N). I CAN’T CALM DOWN. IF YOU HAVENT NOTICED, MY BEST FRIEND IS DYING AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING LIKE THE SELFISH BITCH YOU ARE! SO JUST SHUT UP AND HELP ME.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to ascend to his level of anger, “Kenji, I-“

“Do you even care about him?” he spat, venom adorning every inch of his words.

“Of course, I do.” I glared back at him, “But, Kenji – now really isn’t the time for this.” I sighed heavily at the floor, “You should know what your priorities should be in this moment in time.”

Faintly, Takanobu whimpered into my collarbone, Futakuchi taking an instant notice to it. “You’re right.” He deadpanned, his voice still swarming with fury.

Taking my free hand, I gently cupped Takanobu’s face, lifting it so we were eye to eye. “Hey…” I nearly whispered, “How much did you drink?”

Burying his head in his shoulders, Takanobu stifled a cascade of tears. “Only a little.” He answered, his voice gruff and hoarse from the pure agony he was experiencing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I smiled, trying to distract the snivelling wreck from his sombre thoughts. “Just don’t try to vomit, okay? Or if you feel like you need to, tell me. It’ll only hurt you more and we don’t want that at all.”

“What’re you talking about? Leant against the bathroom wall, arms folded, Kenji scowled once again, “You’re hurting him more by not making him throw up.” He glowered, returning to his cynical mood.

I turned towards him, careful to not let my anger get the better of me, “Futakuchi Kenji,” I scorned. “Trust what I say, I do know what I’m talking about, after all.” Pausing to take a breath, I attempted to cool myself down against the riling heat of the cantankerous Kenji. “Please could you go and call the ambulance? We are going to need it either way.”

With a little more volume lacing his steps than usual, Futakuchi sauntered out of the room, leaving just Takanobu and myself. Once his footsteps were no longer audible, a tonne of tension rose out from Takanobu’s body, letting him finally have a moment of ‘peace’ for the first time in a while. Despondency woven into his demeanour, he clung onto my arm, sinking his face into it – desperately trying to hide his wounded expression. “Don’t listen to anything he said, okay?” I averred, partially cradling the dejected person in my arms, “I don’t know why he acted that way, but just know that that isn’t Kenji, that isn’t your best friend.”

Feebly, Takanobu nodded into my arm, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.” He croaked, “So, so sorry.”

Reassuring him, I softened my voice, “Don’t apologise, Takanobu. You did nothing worth an apology, so don’t worry about me leaving. I’ll always be there, do you understand?”

“I do, (Y/N). Thank you so much…” He paused, “For everything…” His last words barely perceptible, he began to drift off, and to which plane I didn’t know, and that petrified me.

A few seconds I waited with bated breath, anticipating his. Soon they came, albeit pained and wheezing – but at least they were still there, even if only by a fraying thread. Repeatedly, I caressed my hand up and down Takanobu’s back, as if to reassure myself that he was still existent – he hadn’t disappeared yet.

The faded sound of the phone ringing partially distracted me from my preoccupations, if only by a miniscule amount. As it continued to ring, Kenji began to curse in both anticipation and fear, his guise wearing thin, from vague translucency to complete transparency.

Quite the substantial amount of time passed before the phone was connected to an emergency service worker, which Futakuchi seemed to take notice of – he certainly wasn’t any world close to cloud nine. “I need an ambulance to my current location,” He paused for a second, presumably listening to the person on the other side of the line, “Of course it’s urgent, that’s why I fucking called you.” A second-long plateau, “No, I can’t calm down, just send the damn ambulance. My best friend just drank bleach, okay?!” With a bucketload of vigour, he slammed the phone down onto its holder, virulently cursing under his breath. Damning the poor operator who was only doing their job.

Letting out a fevered scream, he writhed in the turmoil of both his internal and external quandaries, not bothered if anyone within a galaxy’s radius could hear him. He had not a single clue how to present himself or even what to think – his worst nightmares made starkly apparent to myself and everyone around.

Seemingly after having calmed himself down, he trudged up the staircase, but not into the bathroom – his action acting as some sort of repentance, and for the first time in his life – reticence. The mercuriality of Kenji knew no bounds. His head in his knees, his body flush against the wall, he sank to the floor, mirroring Takanobu. A metre away, but somehow a lightyear.

The air stagnant, not a single muscle twitched until the ambulance’s siren came into earshot, they blared, startling Takanobu from his dreary state of something close to slumber.

Was, he thinking straight? I don’t know. Was he having a newfound revelation? I don’t know that, either, but what he said after he awakened made every one of my heartstrings snap like those of a tragic harp.

“(Y/N)… I don’t want to go.” His voice as shaken as a petrified child. “I’m scared.”

“I know…” I averred, careful to choose my words wisely, “But, Takanobu – you’re not going anywhere where I’m not right there by your side. Just hang on a little longer…”

With great care, I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pulling him in closer than humanly possible until his head was close to merging with my shoulder. Running my fingers through the snowy peaks of his hair, I had to refrain from my next action. So badly, I longed to kiss him upon the forehead, to let him know that everything would turn out just fine. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the time nor place, it seemed that never would have been the perfect time, having to curtail my feelings for his sake, for Takanobu’s sake. After all, I couldn’t risk hurting him even more.

While I sat, marinating my thoughts, the ambulance’s blaring sirens halted, finally parked outside the house, paramedics cascading through the door, unto the stairs – their stretcher hurtling up behind them.

It was all a blur. Takanobu being hurled onto the stretcher, away from my grasp – his eyes never leaving mine, a heart wrenching look of longing upon them – and that was when I finally saw how broken he truly was. Sclerae crimson from tears and turmoil, yet somehow dull and dejected, as if nearly all life had been sucked out of them, only the tiniest wisps remaining. Sockets sunken into the skull, skin being the only thing that separated him and a skeleton. And even though he stood above 190 centimetres tall, he cowered like a mouse, burying away from its predator, absolutely petrified of being eaten. No longer the stoic mountain I met on a bus a mere 20 days ago – such a short amount of time for him to become completely intertwined into my life – and I into his. Almost “a pair of star-cross’d lovers”, but I the Petrarchan, the love unrequited, never to see the light and freedom of the daytime.

Before I knew it, the stretcher aboard the ambulance, Takanobu finally on the way to achieve some sort of salvation, but not that of his sombre standard. But with it all being outside of my hands, the world felt to be crumbling to pieces, dust to crumbs, to stones, to boulders, to asteroids.

A paramedic turned to address both Kenji and I, “I’m sorry, you two but there’s only room for one of you to accompany the patient to the hospital. So, make a decision between yourselves about who’s going to go.”

Without a second thought, Futakuchi piped up, “You should go, (Y/N).” he muttered, his tone utterly monotonous.

After taking a step towards the ambulance, I halted, “You’re sure about that, Kenji?” I questioned.

Silently, he nodded, taking the spirit of his best friend upon himself, gesturing for me to get on the vehicle. Once sat, I writhed my hands together, inhibitions taking the best of me – which was when one kind paramedic, her face calm and understanding, rubbed my back, reassuring me that things could only get better from that point forward. She then poked her head out of the back side of the ambulance, somehow noticing Futakuchi’s sullen mood without even seeing his face. “Hey, kid! Come in here, you can take my seat: I don’t mind standing up for a bit!” She smiled, bringing a miniscule amount of light unto the situation.

Silently obliging, Kenji hopped upon the vehicle, taking the seat opposite me, but his face in his hands, distancing himself from everyone in the vicinity. For what reason I didn’t know, but I presumed penitence for his actions barely ten minutes before.

The benevolent paramedic held out her palm out towards me, “Hinode Megumi.” She introduced, a small beam upon her face.

Giving my palm to her, I responded, “(L/N) (Y/N).” That handshake we shared was strangely yet vaguely comforting.

She did the same for Kenji, yet he didn’t bother to lift a finger, or even his line of sight. “Futakuchi Kenji.” He sighed, making only eye contact with the floor. Seemingly having entered some kind of trance-like stupor.

“Is there anyone you need to call?” Hinode asked, eyes fastened with concern.

I nodded, immediately fumbling inside my pocket for my phone – dialling Ejiri’s number with shaky hesitation, only apprehending as something inside me told me she’d become enraged with me, having been unable to keep her nephew safe. However, not in a single circumstance would that be the reality, Ejiri seemed to be the forgiving type, hardly the choleric person.

When her voice met my ears, the instant worry in her words became apparent, “(Y/N), is everything alright, has anything happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry Ejiri, but it’s not me.”

“Okay…” She sighed; inhibition twined into her dialogue, “Can you tell me what happened, dear?”

Gulping, I sat with bated breath, unable to let those next words escape my lips, “Well… Takanobu tried to kill himself. He drank bleach…”

“I see,” Her voice cracked, petrified. “I trust that you’ve called an ambulance?”

“Mhm.” I hummed, voice beginning to waver, “We’re in one now, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

“Thank you, Ejiri” I barely whispered. Unable to say goodbye, I hung up the phone.

At the mention of her name, Takanobu seemed to stir, only slightly, just enough for me to see. He never opened his eyes, though – as if he was unable to face the world that he felt a burden to. And so, after what felt like a millennia, we finally arrived after the hospital, rather shaken up by the rickety ride. And just as she had promised, Ejiri stood at the ambulance bay, arms outstretched and running as soon as the door to the ambulance opened, but not for her nephew, no, but for me – scooping me up in a long-awaited embrace that I could have taken residence in.

Before I could take a second breath, the stretcher Takanobu lay upon was rushed into the hospital’s interior, far away from me in more than the literal sense. Sensing that unease, Ejiri hugged me tighter, citing the words, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Without a word, Kenji loitered behind us, eyes sunken with dismay, following closely behind me as Ejiri and I waited outside the room where Takanobu was having his stomach pumped.

The noises exuding from that room were close to unbearable, squirming, sobbing, retching. I had half the mind to become the next Vincent Van Gogh. But I couldn’t show that, it wasn’t my time to be vulnerable, all I could do was wait, wait unable to blockade the tirade or abhorrent sounds oozing from the walls behind me; and to not let a crack appear in my exterior, Takanobu’s infamous stoicism having transferred unto me. I didn’t even notice Ejiri sat at my side, averring many statements, trying to release me from my tenterhooks, but they were just background radiation compared to the nuclear meltdown in the room in my posterior direction.

As that debacle carried on, Kenji was nowhere to be found, perhaps having walked away when I wasn’t paying attention, whether her was simply around the corner or loitering in another end of the hospital, I didn’t know – but what I did know was that I could probably never see him under the same rose-tinted light I was used to. The way he turned almost feral at the snap of a finger was utterly astounding; obscenities blurting out from his mouth, words so contrary to his usual snarky persona I could have sworn he had been possessed by a malevolent spirit. I wondered if I’d ever be able to see the real him again.

I do not know how much time passed before the doctors finally exited Takanobu’s hospital room, but after waiting what felt like several eternities and after being given the all-clear to be able to see him; I rushed straight towards his bedside, almost crumbling at the sight of his body trembling in fear.

My legs buckling under me, I collapsed into the chair next to where Takanobu’s head lay, facing away from me, completely passed out from exhaustion – not even stirring the tiniest bit as I smoothly brought his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers, unconsciously gripping so hard, unable to let him out of my grasp once more. Pressing the back of his hand onto my lips, tears began to prick at my eyes, but couldn’t fall. No matter how much they welled up in my eyes, as though I had lost the ability to cry, or I simply wouldn’t let myself.

Out of reflex, my voice close to breaking, I acquiesced my feelings to Takanobu’s sleeping body. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel like I need to apologise to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, Takanobu. I should have made you stay by my side… And then, none of this would have ever happened, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now – you exhausted from coming from the brink of death, and me a mess over a person I met not even a month ago. None of this feels real. To think that you could have changed my life completely in such a short amount of time. Normally, I would have thought that… Falling in love with someone so quickly was strange and shallow, but it’s the deepest feeling I’ve ever felt for anyone: my parents, my friends or even celebrities on the television.

Originally, I was bitter about the move from Hokkaido, but now, I don’t think I could ever move back. My life is here, with my family, and most importantly… You.

And I’m sorry that I’m not saying this to your face, or your conscious face at least, but I don’t want to heave all of my feelings onto you. You deserve some time to yourself, to better yourself, not worrying about me… Of course not.

There is one thing I want to say to you however, because I know I probably won’t ever have the courage to say this to you directly. Aone Takanobu, I-“

Abruptly, I was cut short at the most agonising time by the brooding figure of Futakuchi bounding through the doorway, his jacket slung over his forearm, hair unkempt and his eyes uncharacteristically red and puffy. Seemingly out of his previous disposition, he shot me an apologetic look from his strained eyes, his expression truly repentant.

Sitting down on a stool at the foot of the bed, he slouched over the sides of it, once again avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry about earlier, (Y/N), I really am. I don’t know what came over me.”

Giving him only a mirthless laugh in return, I looked down at mine and Takanobu’s entwined hands, feeling only a tiny flash of warmth radiating from his.

Kenji paused, quietly scoffing to himself at my reaction. “I’ll rephrase that, I lost control of myself, I let my fear turn into anger and I let it out on you and Takanobu, my biggest mistake yet. He definitely hates me now. My best friend, who I’ve known since I was a child – I might have lost in an instant.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I interrupted him, “You know he won’t hate you. If you’ve been friends for as long as you say you both have, he’ll knows that wasn’t the real you.”

“I guess so.” He sighed, “I want to apologise to you too, (Y/N). What I said to you was unacceptable, and once again, I’d lost control of myself and let the heat of the moment take the driving wheel – which isn’t an excuse at all. What I said was so fucking disgusting, and I promise it’s not a representation of the real me.”

“I know that you idiot.” I cajoled, trying to lift the mood away from the stagnant food looming in the room. “You don’t think I already know the real you? You’re not that hard to miss, Kenji. You don’t think I’ve seen your scheming smirk enough times for it to be burned into my retinas? You don’t think I’ve seen how happy you make Takanobu? You are his best friend Futakuchi Kenji, and I don’t think that will ever change.” And with that, I finally managed to crack a smile out of the previously vacillating man.

“Thanks, (Y/N). I needed that.” He chuckled, straightening his posture.

Neither of us spoke for a while, the silence harsh but oddly comforting. While I leant back in the hospital chair, having let go of Takanobu’s hand, resting my eyes while ruminating my thoughts. Sure – I’d forgiven Kenji, but I still hadn’t forgiven myself.

Futakuchi sat on his phone, presumably texting his parents about his location, typing away in silence, while I drifted off into the realm of slumber. And just as I was about to pass the brink of falling asleep, Kenji spoke up. “Why didn’t he come downstairs rather than going to the bathroom?” He asked. He blamed himself too.

“He probably didn’t want to bother us.” I answered groggily, rather annoyed about being disturbed.

“He wouldn’t have bothered us though! God, why didn’t he just think it through?” He questioned, his voice rising in volume.

“Quiet, Kenji – let Takanobu rest. And besides, he was going through a lot, with losing Shiro. The straw that broke the camel’s back, in my opinion. Unable to get that thought out of his mind, he couldn’t think of another way to escape it. We probably weren’t a part of that thought process.” I said, my tone closer to a whisper.

“I guess you’re right. I just want him to know that I’ll always be there for him.” He exhaled, hopelessness emanating from him.

“I know… And so do I. But I think its best to leave him for the moment.”

However, right as those words escaped my mouth, Takanobu stirred, groaning meekly and shifting around in the bed. My whole body froze in a second, my longing to be there for him took over, springing to action immediately, I hopped to his bedside, hoping to see his face with the smallest semblance of life’s vigour.

In a second, all hope was diminished as Takanobu ceased to move once again, his stirring only being an unconscious movement in the realm of torpor.

Kenji didn’t seem to take much notice of Takanobu’s small movements, but he did take a great interest, seemingly, in my reaction. He leant towards me, even though he still sat near the foot of the bed and I near the head, a quizzical expression upon his face. The expression of a great detective. “You like him, don’t you?”

I shot my head in his direction, my eyes widening slightly, then immediately turning back to Takanobu, giving him no verbal response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And with that, he stood up, hands upon his thighs, exiting the room, leaving a great imprint in the air.

(A/N) And here’s Chapter 18… published on the one-year anniversary of this story’s birth. I want to thank everyone reading this for your immense support, no matter how long you’ve been following this story. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart.

#Aone #Aone Takanobu #aone x reader #aone x y/n #aone takanobu x reader #aone takanobu x y/n #aone takanobu x gn!reader #aone takanobu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #takanobu aone x reader #takanobu

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firstblesssed · 2 years ago

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Walking alone unto journey’s end

ffxivwrite2022: 6 - Onerous

751 words | ew - ultima thule | Masterlist

“The sorrow of a thousand, thousand worlds weighs heavy.”

Elletha could say with confidence that the past couple of hours in Ultima Thule had been the worst hours of her life. No primal, no near death experience, no battle could match up to the overwhelming sense of despair and loss that felt so suffocating here.

She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t affecting her, but the warrior must stand tall, must be the scion’s beacon to continue forward, to rally her friends to keep moving on. But as she watched the twins disappear into smoke, creating another beautiful bridge for her to continue onwards, she found herself without allies to inspire any further.

Elletha just stared at the spot that they had disappeared from, the deafening silence interrupted by an involuntary sob that had her clutching at her chest and cursing her emotions.

‘I’ve cried too much in the past 2 hours.’ She thought bitterly, thinking back to after G’raha had sacrificed himself, the twins leading her up the crystal bridge as she sobbed. She’d almost considered using Hydalelyn’s magic there and then to return everyone to her, ignoring Y’shtola’s words ringing in her ears, but Alisaie had knocked some sense into her.

To return her friends to her side would mean invalidating their sacrifices, to throw away everything that had brought them so far would mean the end of the star, all for her own selfish wishes.

“It’s not fair” She choked out between her tears, sinking to the floor, “It’s not fair.”

Why couldn’t it be someone else? Always the last left alone, more important than the others supposedly, but she didn’t understand why. She hated it, wished she could’ve been the one to guide her friends forward, build a bridge of flowers and light, her gentle magic lighting the path. Elletha dug her nails into the dirt, sobs wracking her whole body, feeling guilty for even feeling this way, feeling like a disappointment for breaking down at the last second, but no one was left to tell her otherwise. Metieon having flown to the next place to taunt her, no one was here to tell her off for indulging in her emotions, so she screamed.

Screamed and cried and wallowed in the despair of Metieon’s domain, even if just for a moment, the weight of the situation finally landing on her shoulders.

The Warrior of Light left alone at the edge of the universe, screaming with grief at the position the world had put her in.

She slammed a fist on the ground, gritting her teeth at the shock it sent through her. Elletha picked up her cane from the floor, using it as leverage to stand up, brushing long purple hair out her face and wiping her tears on her gloves. Knowing she has to continue on despite everyone being gone had left her bitter, for her companions gave her strength, and while Elletha knew that everyone back home was counting on her, it only added to the grief she felt, that she was here wallowing in pity rather than being the hero that everyone was counting on.

As she wished for someone, anyone to be at her side, someone to tell her that everything was going to work out, the sound of distant chatter filled her ears.

Elletha looked up to see shades of people floating through the empty city, she approached one without thinking, using her cane as a walking stick, and yet when she came close to it, the shade evaporated and a voice sounded out. It sounded like it came from inside her head, resonating through the courtyard.

“If you need a push, I’ll be right there behind you.”

Elletha choked back more tears, the universe had heard her. She approached another shade, listening in shock to a voice she had not heard for a very long time.

“Do not despair, you are not without allies.”

She knew her mind was just pulling memories from the various people she had known and loved throughout her travels, but the exact words comforted her exactly the way she needed. That didn’t stop her from sobbing each time a memory was pulled from her, pausing at each evaporating shade and having to compose herself before walking forward.

‘I’m probably going to be a mess when I see Metieon up here.’ She smiled to herself and placed a hand over her heavy heart. ‘But I’m not alone at least.’

So yet, she can still walk on.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #elletha #oh man i saw the word and immediately thought of this moment #a struggle for both me and elle it get through lmao #actually walking up the bridge drowning in tears so i gave that to her as well yeahthumbsup #im gonna end up fully colouring the cover images at one point im getting a little bored with monochrome purple #we'll see #oh right uhh #endwalker spoilers #whoops

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whump-a-la-mode · 4 years ago

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Static and Sneezes

This is somewhat inspired by the fact that I spent last weekend laying around with an awful cold. Now that I’m well enough again to write, I figured I’d turn it into some good sickfic whump.

Hope you enjoy!

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, sickness, respiratory disease, vomit (minor), mentions of past injury

Hero couldn’t help but grit their teeth against the noise. It was less like an audible thing; it was audible in the same way that electricity was. It wasn’t a noise, per se, but the movement of particles through the air assaulted the ears in its own way.

The sensation penetrated even all the way across the street, in their van. The dashboard lights were all that punctured the overwhelming darkness of the city streets, aside from the scattered streetlights, which the vehicle deliberately avoided as it screeched to a halt.

With a click and the groaning of a tired engine, Hero took the key from the ignition. Before the chassis had even settled against the axles, the driver’s side door was thrown open, then closed just as quickly, as a shadowed figure emerged from it and tore across the street.

The noise got horribly loud, the closer they got the worse it became. In tandem, the closer they got, the larger the building before them seemed to become. It spiraled into the air, a corrugation of steel and blue glass and well-hidden rivets.

A nearby streetlight sparkled against the heap of broken glass that had once been the front door. Villain was bold, they noted with a grunt.

As if synced to their thoughts (which it very well could have been, given the technology Agency flaunted about), a voice flashed in their earpiece:

“It’s looking like Villain is moving up to the third floor, now.” Handler spoke.

“What are they doing?” They tried to whisper, but regardless, their voice still seemed to echo in the silent street.

“No idea. The cameras are no good, the static knocks them out.”

“Then... how do you know where they are?”

Hero could almost hear the eye roll on the other end of the line.

“Wherever the cameras aren’t working, that’s where they are.“ The tone seemed to turn to one of concern. “When you go up there, you’re going to be cut off. Anywhere near Villain is a communication dead zone. Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can still send in a team...”

“No. Don’t send anyone.” Hero shook their head. “If we make too much noise, we’ll scare them off. We’re too close. I’m not losing this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I...” Hero bit their lip.

They didn’t even know Villain, not even their name. Not their real one, anyways. Nothing other than the codename Agency had filed them under. They weren’t like other villains. Sure, they were cocky and annoying and overall a danger to society, but they were different. Clever. They had no care for notoriety. They didn’t want the world to fear them or know their name.

More than that, they were careful. They never fought back. They were never there to fight back. By the time Agency made it to the scene, they would leave little more than a residual hum and a shattered window. Few had ever seen them. Fewer had heard their voice.

The thought made Hero bite their tongue. They weren’t going to let them keep getting away with this. They had hurt too many agents. Stolen so much. Caused so much damage. And no one even knew their name.

It ended tonight. The building, a Research and Development institute for a technology company, was built like a maze, and it was one that Villain wouldn’t be get out of this time. Not again.

Tonight was Hero’s big break. Tonight, they would win back their respect. Their reputation. Their confidence. Everything their injury had taken from them.

Finally, finally, they were going to be a hero again.

Without another moment of hesitation, they hurried towards the building. Their boots made the broken glass a trivial issue, and soon, they were in the building.

From the lobby, hallways swirled and spiraled about like the tentacles of a great beast. But that was not their concern. For a moment, they considered using the elevator, before remembering that elevators, too, would be knocked out by Villain’s powers.

They curled their fists in annoyance, shrugged off their overcoat, and unfolded their wings.

The feathered limbs were beautiful things. Everyone seemed obsessed with saying so, from teammates to trainees to doctors. They had the coloring of a hawk (’a Black Chested Buzzard Eagle’ an overly chipper biology student had stated once), but stretched to a length of around twelve feet.

Oftentimes, Hero found themself wishing that their feathers were of a darker hue. They’d even considered dying them to be so. That way, the metal braces strapped to them wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

Still, in the dark of the building, no one would know. They moved to the stairwell, made a few light flaps, and launched upwards.

Generally, their wings were wonderfully silent things, hardly making the slightest sound as they beat against the air. However, with the metal pieces attached, they made a horrible grinding sound of metal on metal on feather.

It only took a few powerful flaps to carry them to the third floor, and they landed as quietly as they could on the steps. For a moment, they stood there, taking a deep breath.

“I’m going in.” They whispered into their earpiece. On the other end, they heard nothing more than a resigned hum.

Hero threw open the door.

The static burst unto them as if it were a physical thing, filling their ears and threatening to creep into the edges of their vision. They blinked a few times, gritting their teeth against the horrible noise. The stupid hum had knocked out the lights, but enough moonlight crept through the windows so that some things could be made out.

They spotted them.

Hero wasn’t sure what they’d expected. The description in the files was basic. Young, short, wears street clothes. And, all those descriptors were certainly correct.

But none of them described the sheer shock present on the thief’s face. For a moment, the shock turned to fear, then fear to fury. They stepped back, as if steadying themself, as a swirling form of static grew around one hand. It appeared almost like the static on a television screen when turned to the wrong channel, but in physical form and morphed into a three dimensional object.

Hero had no idea what would happen if they got hit with that thing, but they weren’t exactly keen to find out.

“Villain.” They spoke the criminal’s codename in the deepest, most official voice they could manage. “You are under arrest. Place your hands behind your head and-”

It was difficult to describe how static, in physical form, moved through the air. It was almost like a swarm of insects, all joined in purpose and being. Of course, Hero’s instincts didn’t care about that. Before they had even realized what was coming towards them, they had dove out of the way, crashing into the tile floor.

“Why won’t you jerks just leave me alone!”

The reaction was fierce, seemingly built up after a considerable amount of rage had simmered for a considerable amount of time. Or maybe it would fear? It looked...it felt a little too much like fear.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Hero growled, scrambling to their feet. “But if you attack me, I’ll have to resort to it.”

“Just stop! Leave me-”

Villain seemed to cut themself off. Hero was unsure, for a moment, as to why, until they heard the fit of coughing break through the sea of static. They stumbled, as if the coughing had thrown off their balance completely. When the hacking was at last finished, they gasped for breath, in a way that sounded almost like they were gurgling.

“Leave me alone.” They finished, straightening themself.

In the time that the coughing fit had allotted them, Hero had taken a flashlight from their belt-- specifically an older model, one that had no need of radio or internet or anything of the like. They held it up, shining it on Villain’s face. They recoiled at the light.

“What are you doing here?” Hero intended for their voice to sound threatening, or at least official, but it came out with far more concern than malice.

The flashlight’s beam illuminated Villain’s face, even as they attempted to block it with a hand. Their eye sockets had a hollow, sunken quality to them, only accentuated by the redness of the eyes themselves. The redness blossomed out to the rest of their face, all the way up to their ears. From their forehead, sweat bloomed and fell down their jaw in droves.

It was a horrible picture of disease.

“I could ask you the same question.” The coughing seemed to have done a number on their voice, as the words came out croaky and strained. They picked up something from the floor that they had seemingly dropped. “Now, if you would leave me the hell alone, I think it’d be great for the both of us.”

“No.” Hero shook their head, taking a step closer. Another ball of static formed on Villain’s hand, but it did not deter them. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going to the hospital, if I have to drag you there with my own two hands.”

Villain looked up at that, clutching their item close to their chest. They weren’t frightened, at least not in the immediate moment. Instead, they seemed incredibly confused.

“You’re sick. Have you seriously not noticed?”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I don’t have time for it. Move away from the door, and I’ll be on my way, kapish?”

Hero glanced to the door behind them. If Villain got to it, there was likely no stopping them from leaving the building entirely, and disappearing back to wherever they had come from.

“Not a chance.”

Villain’s lips curled in a way indicating that they were about to retort with another cocky remark, when another bout of coughing attacked them. This one brought them to their knees, forcing them to brace themself against the floor. Onto the tiles below, they spat up a horrid looking green liquid.

That was it. Hero clenched a fist, stalking over to the other side of the room and kneeling down beside the sickly villain (taking care not to touch whatever they had just coughed up.) As they recovered, they tried to fight, but were no match.

The click of cuffs sounded as Hero secured Villain’s wrists behind their back. With the leverage the cuffs gave them, Hero brought them to their feet-- though they did so gently.

With one hand, they kept hold of the cuffs, while with the other, they placed a palm upon Villain’s forehead. Even before they touched skin, they could feel the heat radiating off of them.

“You’re under arrest. But first, you’re going to the doctor.”

#whump #whumpee #sickfic #sick whump #environmental whump #villain whumpee #hero villain whump #superhero whump #sick whumpee

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skylarmoon71 · 4 years ago

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E2 Harrison Wells x Reader- Oneshot (Flash)

"Listen to me, you don't have to do this. You aren't a killer. "

You just closed your fist, eyes dark with hatred. The more you squeezed, the harder it was for the criminal in front of you to breathe. Barry took a step forward and you raised your free hand.

"I don't want to hurt you Barry, but I will if I have to. BACK OFF!"

"No! I'm not gonna stand here and watch you throw your life away. I know what it's like (Y/N), to resent someone to the point that you're willing to risk it all." your hands faltered for a second, and the man on the floor groaned. Your lips were quivering.

"H-He killed him Barry..for a stupid watch and some cash. "

"I know, and I'm so sorry (Y/N). " Bit by bit he was inching closer, and you could feel your anger dissipating slowly. You should have known that Barry would be the one to figure it out. After losing your boyfriend to a mugger, you dedicated your life to tracking his killer.

You worked under Joe at CCPD. You were just an officer. A close call with a meta one night when you were working with Joe had led to the discovery of your own abilities. Shortly after he introduced you to the team. Even with your loss, you felt like you were slowly but surely getting your life back together. Then you heard of another robbery. Similar MO, except this time the individual survived. They were able to identify the perp. It could have been an impulse, but you tracked him down. Took you hours.

Standing in his beat down apartment, all you wanted to do was inflict as much pain as you could. You just wanted the hole that he left in your chest to disappear.

"Please (Y/N)." Barry's eyes were pleading. You finally lowered your hands, and the male being pinned gasped, coughing. Barry moved forward, pulling you into his arms and you stood there, gripping onto his shirt as you bawled your eyes out.

~~~~~

"You saved a lot of people. He's been on the run for weeks. Hurt a lot of innocent people too. Good job kd." You can't even look Joe in the eyes. You keep your head down nodding and he pats your shoulder. This entire situation could have gone completely sideways. All you can do is watch as they take the handcuffed man away. You're standing next to Barry who's doing his best to keep you grounded. As Joe leaves, you look over at Barry. "Thank you." you whisper. If he hadn't brought you from over the edge, it could have been you walking away in cuffs.

Barry knows that no amount of sympathetic words can help, so he just offers a hug. "Anytime (Y/N)."

~One Year Later~

"Guys I could really use a hand here!!" The meta currently trying to break past your barrier was a little more than you could handle at the moment. Between fighting past his metal armor and trying not to become like the unconscious officers around you, it was a struggle. With gritted teeth, you push harder, but he's fighting through pain. Being able to control liquid elements was a nice ability, but for this iron head, it may not have been enough. You were manipulating his water components, but it was just barely holding him off. A normal person would have been out cold by now.

"B-Barry!" On cue he zips by. The meta looks down at the cuffs on his wrist. You grin, because he no longer has the metal to shield him. With a flick of your wrist, his body is thrown back, hitting the wall.

"You know he was bound right." Barry says. You just shrugged. "I know." He shakes his head with a laugh, calling in Joe to round up some reinforcements. Finally, you can relax.

"What took you so long?"

"Well Harry and Cisco were-" you wave your hands.

"Don't bother, I can already guess. " Those two never quit.

"Next time just ignore them." you state walking away.

"Will do!!"

~~~~

"The next time you dipsticks decide to have a fight don't forget their actual people out there that don't wanna get crushed by a psycho metahuman." Cisco and Harry stood still as you basically ripped into them. Most of the time you could care less, but Barry could tell that something about this case must have really agitated you. Storming out the cortex, Barry's eyes followed you. He hadn't seen that look on your face since, well since you lost Calvin.

"Did she seem off to you?" Cisco inquired.

Barry was still zoned out.

"Just give her some time." Barry advised. He wanted nothing more than to help you, but he could tell that right now all you really needed was some space.

~~~~~

Later that afternoon Caitlin and Iris invited you to a well deserved girls night. Fighting metas as well as dealing with regular criminals took a pretty heavy toll on you. So of course you accepted. Knocking on the door, Iris rushed to open the door. The moment she saw your face she was grinning. You barely had time to greet her before she was tugging you inside. You laugh at her excitement.

"Someone's ready to party." kicking off your shoes, you raised your head. You didn't expect to see the many faces that filled the room. "Uhhhh.." you were positive she'd said girls night over the phone, so why was Cisco, Harry, Joe and Barry here.

"Sorry we set you up, it was Barry's idea.' Iris apologized with a smile.

"Hey!" you can't really be mad. You step forward, and Barry is the first to hug you. Not anticipating it, you pat his back awkwardly. "Y-You okay there Barry?" He's acting a little strange. When he pulls away, all he does is smile, patting your shoulder. "Yeah I'm just...really glad that you're in our lives."

He's certainly being weird, nevertheless, you appreciate his words.

"That's sweet Barry, thank you." He nods.

"Alright let's get this party started!!" Cisco cheers. He's never one to pass up getting drunk.

"I'll make sure Ramon doesn't pass out on your couch Allen." With the both of them you know it's only a matter of time before the bickering begins, and it's sort of comforting.

For the night you all talk, drink and exchange stories. Harry gives some moments where he's had to scare away Jessie's potential boyfriends. Joe states the same when Iris had started high school. You're dying of laughter at one point when he says he flashed his gun to intimidate one of them. The night carries on. Somewhere along the line, you've slipped out to the balcony. You enjoy the company, but right at this moment, you need to be alone. You lean over, eyes staring up at the sky.

The facade you've been keeping up all day has fallen, and you allow the tears to flow freely. You sniff a couple times. When you hear the door behind you slide close you straighten, wiping at your eyes frantically.

"I-It's pretty chilly outside. Kind of makes your eyes water. The man standing there, it's not who you'd assume. Harry just watches you for a moment, and you're convinced he can see right through you.

"W-Well I should get inside before they start to worry." you try to bolt.

"Who did you lose?" Then he asks that question. You haven't even fully made it to the door yet, and you're lucky for the curtains that block the view on the other side of the door.

"I've been watching you all night. This morning Ramon was concerned you were acting unusual. I brushed it off, but seeing you tonight confirmed everything. The smiles don't truly reach your eyes. "

You have half a mind to tell him that it's none of his business. Who the hell did he even think he was, profiling you like some kind of criminal. Harry takes another step, and when he looks down, your barrier crumbles instantly. With a shaky hand to your lips, you lean your back against the wall. His eyes convey sympathy, and he takes your hand softly. You sob, and Harry slowly pulls you into his arms. You hold unto him, breaking down right there. It's been such a struggle carrying on all day. Harry is the absolute last person you ever would even think could provide comfort, but you're grateful.

~~~~~~

It takes a while for you to calm down, at one point Barry even comes searching, upon seeing you chatting with Harry, he closes the curtains with a smile. The both of you just sit in silence. You've pulled out a chair, and Harry is right beside you. He doesn't press for any kind of information. You kind of like this.

"His name was Calvin."

Azure eyes move in your direction.

"We were together for three years." You place a hand on your chest, and Harry watches as you reach under the neck of your shirt, pulling out a necklace. There's a ring attached to it. A beautiful diamond right at the center. "The night he was.." your throat tightens.

"The night I lost him, he was going to propose. They recovered all the items that were stolen from the guy's apartment. Calvin bought it a year before. He was making down payments to afford it. " Your hands grip the ring, and you can feel the tears about to spill again. You swallowed, looking over at Harry.

"I-I'm really sorry that I yelled at you guys today. I-I was just.."

"You don't have to explain. " He was starting to get the bigger picture. Today was important to you. This is what was needed for you to mourn. He understood, more than you realized. You knew about his past, and now he knows about yours.

"How long does it take for this feeling to go away?"

He wished he could give you an easy answer, but he was the last person to ask about dealing with loss. Tess was the most stable and treasured thing in his life. Then he lost her, shortly after that he almost watched his only daughter get killed. Safe to say he was the worst at trying to move on.

"It never really goes away." he knows that isn't the answer you want.

"But it will get better (Y/N). You have people here that care about you. Family."

They were the reason he no longer looked at the world at people as if they were expendable.

"You'll be fine." He takes your hand when he says it, and the confidence of his assurance. It's exactly what you need.

"Thank you, Harrison."

A brilliant smile.

"You're welcome."

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

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By Any Other Name (12)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: the moment of truth 🌹series masterlist 🌹

It was pitch black outside; the only light surrounding you from the stream of your headlights and the cast of stars gently illuminating your path huddled by acres of trees. The countryside was untouched by the pollution of the city and it was almost unbearably quiet amongst the woods, with only low hum of your engine and the faint chirping of crickets outside the crack of your car window to fill the emptiness around you.

The ink hastily written on the scrap of crumpled paper curled up in your hand was smudged. You couldn’t quite make out if it was a six or an eight in the address, but your GPS had long abandoned you several dirt roads ago, so you supposed it didn’t matter much anyway. There was nothing else around for miles.

When you finally pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse, there was no relief. It looked like something out of a horror film. The paint was chipped on the walls, the name of the metalworks company faded under years of weathering and neglect, tiles of the roof were gathering in piles on dusted, dirt roads. There wasn’t a single light in sight.

You swallowed as you turned off your engine. The headlights stayed on, reflecting on the single silver door. It was rusted along the hinges and looked completely untouched.

You had half a mind to call James to help ease the steadily increasing rate of your heartbeat, but he had been very clear when he asked you to turn off your phone and leave it behind at home. He couldn’t risk anyone tracking your location, so he said. He was acting so strangely lately, but you could sense the heaviness weighing on him.

You didn’t have much in the range of weapons in your car, not that it would have done you much good, but you stuck your keys between your fingers as you pushed open the side door. The air was brisk, sending a chill up your spine as clouds of dried dirt puffed up in clouds with every step you took. You crossed in front of your headlights until you paused in front of the warehouse.

With a heavy inhale, one you weren’t sure you’d let go of anytime soon, you turned the rusted knob and locked your car. The lights flashed off, leaving you surrounded in darkness.

You quickly hurried inside, more afraid of the darkness of the countryside than the unknown of what laid beyond the door. The slam of the door to its hinges behind you was louder than you prepared for and you winced as it echoed through the rafters.

You glanced up to find a group of people stood at the center of the room, all huddled over a long metal table filled high with piles of papers. Their heads turned abruptly in your direction.

One of them separated from the crowd, relief evident on his face as he quickly jogged in your direction; hair bouncing around his shoulders with every step, a half smile on his face though it struggled to reach up by his eyes. Ocean blue, and swarming in something darker, something pulling him under.

James.

But it wasn’t him you were looking at.

The inside of the warehouse was like something out of one of those spy movies Peter used to marathon on Saturday nights. The walls were lined with monitors, some filled with maps of the city, others with profiles and mugshots of men you recognized as friends of your husband, but the one displaying live security footage outside of your home caught your eye.

You could see the driveway, the row of plain, well-kept bushes lining the pavement, the lights on above the garage. One of the security men you snuck past was on a lap around the perimeter and stopped to take a drag of his cigarette before he tossed the butt unto the grass.

An unpleasant shiver swept up your spine; cold and detached, and it nestled deep into your stomach.

“What the hell...” you exhaled, hardly able to take it all in.

You felt a hand graze your arm and you flinched, shocked by the sudden touch before you realized who was behind it. You turned to find bright blue eyes watching you cautiously as James chewed on the healed scar at the center of his bottom lip. He glanced sadly down at your hand, noticing the keys nestled between your knuckles and you quickly released them, slipping them into your pocket.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” he said quietly and there was a slight tremor in his voice, a nervousness, as he looked back to the group of people watching him from the metal table ahead of them.

“James, what’s going on?” you asked and he forced a smile to his face, one that was meant to reassure you, though he could hardly muster it.

“Come with me. I promise, I’ll explain everything.” He extended his hand to you, open and waiting, patient, and you studied the lines in his palms, lines you’d come to be familiar with, and suddenly you weren’t sure if you knew much of anything at all.

Still, you took his hand blindly as he guided you further into the room. He pulled out a chair for you at the table, just ahead of a particularly high stack of papers. You didn’t say anything as you glanced around at his friends and took a seat.

The tall, blonde man with broad shoulders and the clear line of muscles visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt wore a slight frown on his face, though the way his eyes drifted to James protectively suggested he was concerned more than he was angry.

Beside him, slumped down into a chair of his own, was a dark-skinned man with a large, toothy grin, and dimples in cheeks. He smiled at you, like he knew something you didn’t, and you suspected that was more than the case because he was almost giddy with excitement, shifting in his seat and stealing looks at James.

“We don’t have much time before Rumlow finishes up in Harlem,” a red-haired woman to your right said.

You narrowed your eyes, recognizing her short, rounded nose, pointed stare, and perfect curve of a cupid’s bow on her lips outlined in dark red. She was familiar -- they all were -- like you’d seen them in passing but couldn’t place exactly where.

She pointed to a monitor behind you and you turned to find grainy footage of your husband sitting in at a table surrounded by men in suits you recognized from one of the dozens of parties he’d dragged you to over the years. It was from a Chinese restaurant in Harlem you got takeout from once with Peter. You gritted your teeth as you watched him clap a hand on the man beside him, throwing a wad of cash onto the table.

James nodded to his red-haired friend, pulling up a chair in front of you and turning it to face you properly before he took a seat.

“Where am I? Why am I here?” you asked tensely, unable to tear your eyes away from the monitors. You watched as one flickered from your living room to the hallway outside your library, to the staircase leading up to your room. Empty, haunted, in your absence.

A ruffle of papers to your left stole your attention and you found yourself staring at the blonde man with a file rifling through his fingers. A picture of your husband slipped out from the center and fell to the table. Even in his mug shot, his eyes held a kind of possessiveness, an arrogance, that transcended the page.

“Why do you have security footage of my house and—and Brock’s old RAP sheet?” your gaze flickered to the man sitting in the chair, watching you with a familiar kind of look in his eye, and then to the woman who was busying herself behind her laptop. You turned to James. “Who are these people?”

You could feel your breaths increasing in pace, the panic that was starting to take hold, but you stifled it down, buried behind closed doors and cement until it suffocated under the surface and all that remained was a vagrant stare and a jaw wired to stone.

James brushed his lips over with his hand, a heavy breath before he spoke again.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to say this.”

“Try,” you muttered out, voice like sandpaper.

You didn’t realize your hands were clenched onto the bottom of the metal chair until your fingers started to ache. James’ eyes wavered down to your grip and he nodded quickly. Your heart was pounding so painfully, you wondered if he could see the thump of it through your chest.

He dug his hand into his pocket, let out a breath that looked near painful, and slowly set a shiny, golden badge onto the table. The shine of it reflected in the dim lighting of the warehouse. You dug your hands into the metal edges of the chair until you felt a sharp burn.

“My name isn’t James Karpov,” he exhaled. Blue eyes flickered up to yours, gaging for a reaction on your face he wouldn’t find. He glanced back nervously at the blonde man pacing behind him before he continued. “I’m a special agent with the FBI and I’ve been undercover in Hydra for over a year now.”

Your features hardened over like stone, a protective layer to shield the surge of a storm thundering inside of you; the answer to a question you’d been suspecting for a while without realizing it.

You’d seen the way he flinched at his own name, how he got that kind of solemn look in the blue of his eyes when you talked about your husband, about wanting to escape it all, how he’d promised for things to be different when this was over, if he had more time. Pieces started to fall together and somehow you were still more lost than you’d been in years.

He paused, watching you, waiting for a flicker of the woman he knew to break through the blank stare currently consuming your features, but when nothing came, he let himself exhale. You focused on the soft footsteps of his friend pacing along the wall behind him. It was comforting to use his steps as a metronome, something to ground yourself because you could feel your world pulling apart at the seams.

It was a single string at the very edge of everything you knew. It only took a moment for it to unravel, within an admission of a name that was not his own, and soon the floor at your feet was covered in the broken pieces of what you believed to be true. Tattered and tangled threads.

“It started after Jack Rollins was murdered in lockup. I was assigned to this case to gather evidence against Rumlow and his men, so that we could dismantle Hydra completely; prevent it from ever coming back again,” he continued, his voice even, almost matter-of-fact, and it didn’t sound much like your James at all. It was too clinical, too rehearsed, and you could feel the sharp twist of a knife embedding itself deeper into your chest with every word he spoke.

You listened quietly as he told you of when he first learned your name on a single page in the back of your husband’s file, how he’d known who you were before you even stepped foot into Brock’s office that first evening. He told you how he’d been assigned a cover, a new name and a history, to replace the role of Jack Rollins within Hydra as their enforcer. He’d been Brock’s right hand man for over a year and he was playing your husband like a fiddle.

“Director Fury thought it would be beneficial to the case to, um,” he released a heavy breath, as if the action in itself hurt him, “…to get close to you. He thought you might know more about Hydra’s dealings than you realized and he’d hoped you’d open up to someone who, um, you trusted. Seems he was right.”

You didn’t allow him see the way your heart caved in; jaw clenched, impossibly still, even breaths, and yet the floor had dropped from under you and you were free falling a hundred feet below. Lost to an abyss from which you were certain you’d never return; darkness barreling in and taking you home. It was where you belonged, wasn’t? It was where you had lived for years. Back to the fractured sense of safety, to the shadows lurking in the corner, to the eggshells under your bare feet made of broken glass. To lies and manipulation and deceit and ruin.

You wondered when it happened, when he’d been officially assigned to claw his way into your heart as if you were nothing but a pawn in the scheme of his mission. You wondered if it was before or after he’d gifted you A Farewell to Arms and if it was even his at all; if the scribbles in the margins belonged to his youth or if it was the carefully constructed design of an analyst with the sole purpose of hooking straight through your heart and sinking you to the ocean floor.

That moment was the beginning of it all; when you showed him your library, your most sacred place to a stranger, but it had felt so right at the time.

Was the first moment you’d felt safe with him a complete lie?

There was always a comfort in being with him. A place for you to let down your guard and the walls you held up like stone around your heart. Beyond everything else, the one thing you knew about James Karpov was that he was safe. His presence was the only thing that allowed you to let go of the fear of the shadows of you home and the monsters lurking in the corners. He was a shining light in the darkness that had consumed your life.

You were young and naïve when you met Brock. You were eager for love and fell easily into his carefully constructed trap, overlooking obvious warning signs and the flaws of a man obstructed by the character he played.

For only a moment, you wondered if it had happened again, if you had become so foolish to allow yet another man to manipulate you and spin himself into the version of a man you’d desire until he could rip the floor out from under you just to see you squirm.

A pang burned in your stomach, something stubborn and instinctive, one that urged you to just look at the man in front of you, to notice the way blue eyes nervously sought out your own, to see how his hands were trembling and his voice was strained, to notice that he was scared with every word he spoke. But your world had fallen apart and you could only do so much to stifle the scream bubbling its way through your chest.

So, you held your tongue as he told you about the orchestrated meetings in Brooklyn, how his friends -- his team -- had helped plan what you thought were coincidences but turned out to be carefully constructed operations. Moments when you’d light up upon seeing him, a wash of warmth to your chest on even the coldest winter mornings, and it was a lie.

You realized then why you recognized his friends; it was from the outskirts of coffeeshops, sitting under sunglasses and baseball caps, hiding behind newspapers in the distance. The quiet observers in your life pulling away at the last shreds of dignity you had.

“I was assigned a job,” James said tensely, clenching at his hands, wringing them painfully in his lap as he stared down at the cement under your shoes, “no different than jobs I’ve had before. Take on a new name. Be a new person. I’ve done… terrible things to preserve my cover, things I am not proud of. I’ve hurt people because Rumlow ordered me to. It was part of the job. I kept telling myself that, anyway. Didn’t seem to matter that I never killed anyone he put a hit on, that the Bureau stepped in to relocate my targets and hand me a look-alike that was mutilated just enough so Rumlow could have his proof and I could keep my cover. The blood on my hands is still real.”

There was a lump in your throat, one that burned and ached and was on the verge of choking you completely. You wanted to scream, or cry, or run until your legs gave out completely, but instead, you were paralyzed. Frozen in place. Stone of a statue. A single touch would crumble you.

“But you have to know it was never an act with you, Y/n,” he urged, desperation in his voice. You could hear the grief in his words, the slight tremor in the dissonance, the fear that you might reject him in favor of a man who does not exist.

You could hardly meet his eye.

He paused, watching you for a moment, waiting, longing, for you to tear your stare away from the wall beyond his left shoulder, hoping you’d find your way back to him as you always did, but you gave no inch. You held yourself still, unreadable, and he exhaled a breath that must have weighed immensely on his chest.

“After a while, I started meeting you in Brooklyn when the team wasn’t around, when there was no one to listen in and no agendas to fulfill,” he started, a little softer now as he slumped back into his chair. “I started staying at the mansion long past when I should have, just reading with you in your library because it was the only place I felt like myself anymore. I started forgetting that on Sundays in Brooklyn, I wasn’t who I said I was. You don’t know how easy it was for me to spend time with you and just let myself believe for a while that I really was James Karpov…”

Jaw wired shut, clenched, and you did not respond.

He sighed, a careful look back at his team and he continued.

He told you about the red-haired woman, Natasha, who turned out to be the sales associate from the boutique downtown where you’d bought the lavender dress. She smiled at you in acknowledgement when the heat of embarrassment stung in your cheeks.

You realized that the two men were the same Steve and Sam he’d tell you stories about on your Sundays together; old friends, brothers. A single grain of truth in a web of lies.

“I knew, even before the gala, that my feelings for you had started to cloud my judgement,” he said slowly, laced with guilt, and your gaze flickered up to him, surprised, though he didn’t notice. You watched the shame seep into his features, his hands clenching at his pant legs. Steve and Sam turned away awkwardly as he continued, “I nearly told you everything that night. When we danced on the balcony and we almost--”

Kissed.

You remembered it well. You had committed the night to memory; to the way his hands felt pressed so delicately to your hips, the gently sway of your bodies, the subtle scent of his shampoo and how warm his breath was as it touched your skin. It was a dream, a fairytale, and you wondered if it was just that; a moment meant for the stories in your library, far away from the cruel realities you’d come to know.

James sighed, a hand brushing over his forehead, pushing away the hair from his eyes and exposing the blush in his cheeks. He was staring down at the floor, chewing painfully on his lip. He didn’t notice the way your features had started to soften, your lips slightly parted as you watched him, heart racing.

“I didn’t know how to make it stop… the way I felt about you,” he confessed, a pained kind of humor in his voice. “I’d never compromised myself like that before. I’d always been able to separate myself completely from the case, where a mask and a new identity like a costume and manipulate my targets without remorse, draw on their strings and tug at their levers. It was my job.”

You flinched; subtle, but as you unclenched your jaw you noticed a pair of green eyes watching you from behind a sweep of auburn hair. She smiled encouragingly before you turned back to James.

“But I never did that with you, Y/n, I swear it on my life,” James pressed, raking his fingers through his hair though it fell back into his eyes. “You… you found a way to push yourself through the cracks in these walls I built up and brought out pieces of myself I hadn’t seen in years. You made me smile again, and gave me something worth fighting for outside of my own damn ambitions, made me believe in a world where things could be different – kinder, maybe. You made me want to be myself again instead of these characters I so often lose myself in. You made me want to relearn who I was and stop hiding in the identities of my enemies.”

He rubbed at his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his nose, and exhaled a breath that provided no relief. “Steve almost threw me off the case entirely when he found out I’d started crossing lines between my cover and the man I wanted you to know me as.”

Your heart skipped at that, eyes flickering up to blue and you watched as he struggled to find his words. He was breathing heavy, hands constantly raking through his hair and there was a slight shakiness as he clenching them back into fists at his side. You’d never see him like this before. Scared.

“Please understand, I couldn’t tell you any of this,” he sighed, scratching his nails along the thighs of his jeans. You noticed rather quickly that he stopped trying to meet your eye. “You have no idea how much I wanted to, how much it was fucking killing me that I couldn’t, especially after--”

He clenched his teeth, stopping himself before he could say it, but you knew what he meant; the night he’d put himself on the line for Peter, how he’d kissed you through broken lips and everything changed. It was evident in the way his friends turned away, giving him space, red tips on the end of Steve’s ears.

“The director thinks I’m a damn fool for bringing you in on this,” he continued, “but, I trust you, Y/n, even if I just destroyed any trust you had in me. I know you and I know you want to see Rumlow brought to justice. I know you want to be free of him and for Peter to be out of Hydra’s control. I still know you and... despite all this, I promise, you still know me, too.”

He seemed to have finished as he allowed a deep, unsettling silence take over. You could vaguely hear the soft ticking of the clocks hanging high on the wall and the exhales of breath coming from across the room. He glanced back at his friends nervously, who offered him nothing but clenched jaws in return, before coming back to you.

“Say something... please,” he asked timidly, desperately.

There was something unpleasant churning in your stomach and you weren’t sure what it was; dread, humiliation, betrayal. Maybe it was something more like the edge of relief, so close you could just barely touch it but it wasn’t yours quite yet. Just beyond your fingertips but still there, still visible, waiting.

You swallowed, letting your hands unclench from the chair and you looked up to find his friends busying themselves with the paperwork on the table; various files on your husband and the company he kept.

You glanced over to the door, the weight of your keys heavy in your pocket. There was a pull urging you to the door, whispering in your ear like a siren’s call to leave, to run and never look back, and fall straight into the darkness you knew. It was familiar at least; a demon you knew by name.

But as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you, watched the way he hung his head in shame, accepting the worst of his fears that in your silence you’d rejected everything you now knew him to be, that call urging you to run seemed a little further away. Drowned out by the overwhelming urge to draw him into your arms, you could no longer hear the voice beckoning you away from the man you’d come to adore, perhaps even love, even if he was a man you weren’t sure you truly knew at all.

“I can’t, um, back off the case,” he started, clearing his throat as his words seemed to give out before he could continue, “but I can give you space. You won’t have to see me unless I’m around your husband. I’ll do what I can to keep my distance but—”

“Stop.”

He froze, head lifting abruptly at the sound of your voice. It was then you realized his eyes had glossed over, reflective with unshed tears, his lower lip nearly chewed raw.

You held his gaze for a moment, searching for the man you knew him to be within the shades of blue you’d come to know so well. The darkest part of yourself wondered if there were pieces that reminded you of your husband in there, if he held the same qualities that allowed Brock to manipulate you and lure you into a false sense of security and love and affection before he ripped it away.

But you’d seen the way James smiled at you from across the room. You’d seen the way the lines around his eyes wrinkled when he laughed. You’d seen the kindness nestled into every touch upon your skin, a warmth in his embrace you hadn’t known in years.

You’d seen grief consume him; pain and the guilt sweeping over his features as he told you the truth of who he was. Facets of a complicated man who was more than just one thing; subtle moments one could not easily fabricate.

James was not just the man who lied to you. He was not only a man with a name you did not know and a history wiped clean. He was also the man who reminded you what it was like to laugh again, who reminded you that you were stronger than what Brock led you to believe and that you carried more worth than what your husband assigned to you. He was a man who took a beating that could have killed him to spare your sixteen-year-old cousin and gave over every Sunday he had just to listen to you talk and run errands around Brooklyn.

He was messy and complicated, flawed but human. In the years you’d fallen under Brock’s spell, nothing your husband ever faked even compared to how James treated you. Brock had made himself to be perfectly designed, an impenetrable lie.

James had been the one to break through his cover of his own volition. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose in doing so; the case, his team, his career... You wouldn’t dare allow yourself to wonder if you were within that list.

You took a deep breath, steadying your gaze. “I have questions.”

His eyes widened, surprised, but he nodded quickly, brushing his palms on his thighs. “Anything. Anything you want to know. Just ask.”

“So… you’re not Hydra." It wasn’t a question, but you were still seeking confirmation.

“No,” he confirmed quickly. “I’m not.”

“You’re not a hitman. You don’t kill people because Brock tells you to.”

“I’ve killed,” James replied sincerely, “but never for him. I was an army ranger before I was recruited by the FBI. I don’t take a life unless I have to.”

You nodded, trying to find your ground again now. Those were the easy questions, ones with answers you already suspected to be true. It was the next ones you were about to ask that held answers you were truly afraid of. You pushed out a deep breath through your lips, though it trembled on its way out and you felt the shake of it deep in your lungs.

“The copy of A Farewell to Arms… was it yours?”

The question startled him, eyes narrowing for a moment before a soft smile curved at his lips. “Yes. Sam made fun of me relentlessly for digging through my ma’s house for it. I can’t say it had nothing to do with the assignment, because you did open up more after that but... I didn’t do it just because I thought it would help our case. I just thought you'd like it.”

You nodded, taking in his answer. It didn’t relieve the ache in your stomach, but it was something. A piece of the beginning was still intact.

“How much of it was real?” you asked, surprising yourself. The words stumbled out before you could stop them and it wiped the smile from his face almost instantly. It was like a punch straight to his gut, the wind knocked out from under him.

You swallowed, gripping painfully tight into your sweater and trying to avoid ocean blue eyes and the curious stares of his friends. You needed him to say it, needed to hear it out loud, or you might collapse within yourself entirely.

“The times you’d call late at night and we’d watch dateline over the phone or when we bought the lavender dress downtown or dancing on the balcony at the gala. All you did for Peter, every Sunday we spent together... Tell me it wasn’t just for the cover... to get closer to me so I’d tell you secrets about Hydra I didn’t know I had. Tell me it was real... that it was really you and not some character you played. Tell me you’re real. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until James – not-James – threw himself down to his knees in front of you. His hands reached up to your thighs before he froze, hovering, because he didn’t know if it was okay to touch you anymore.

“Sweetheart, please, look at me,” he begged. He finally sat his hands against your thighs, just in an effort to ground you and when you didn’t flinch away, seeming to relax as your heart rate softened, he began to trace delicate patterns with his thumbs.

“Everything -- and I mean this -- everything was real between us,” he implored. There was a redness in the whites of his eyes, a subtle tremor of his lower lip as he tugged it between his teeth. “There were some circumstances that allowed me to run into you when maybe I otherwise wouldn’t have, that let me spend more time with you, but I swear on my life, nothing I ever said to you was scripted, nothing I ever felt for you was forced. Every second I spent with you was the happiest I’ve been in years. I won’t lie to you again. Not ever. Please believe me when I say that what I feel for you is real. It's always been real.”

Sniffling back tears, you let him brush a hand up over your cheek to wipe the wetness away. His lower lip tugged between his teeth in concentration, purposeful to keep the rough edges of calloused palms from touching your skin. He was so gentle, so tender with you, and it was entirely your James, even if he wasn’t.

“It was real, honey. The important parts, those were all real,” he whispered, his voice so achingly sweet it made your heart clench. There was a desperation in his voice, like the very foundation of his soul was etched into every word, his heart sitting within the dissonance. “I am still the man I was yesterday. I’m still him, sweetheart. You haven’t lost me.”

He smiled sweetly at you, though it didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. No, his eyes were filled with a remorse that consumed him whole. The guilt always sitting on the surface, the hesitation in his hands but the longing in his stare, the pain in the pleasure; it made sense now.

When you set your hands on his forearms, it startled him, his eyes darting down to where your touch met. Without a word, you let your hands wonder along his arms, sliding up his shoulders, his neck, to finally cup the sides of his face. Rigid muscles relaxed as you passed them by, his body caving into your touch with ease as his eyes fluttered closed, like he was sinking into the palms of your hands.

You just needed to feel him, remind yourself that he was real, that he was solid and tangible, and right under your fingers. The slight bristles of his beard scratched under your palms, the wrinkles of a shirt creased in his drawers, the divots in his skin from old wounds.

You let out a heavy breath, grazing your thumbs along his jawline, over the healing scar on his right cheek and the discoloration that had long faded to a soft, light pink. Marks of a man who was everything you always believed him to be.

“I don’t know what to call you,” you confessed, a whisper of a smile touching at the edges of your lips and you felt it in your palms as he choked back a sob of relief, jaw trembling under your touch.

He nodded, his hands coming up to rest on your own as he turned his head just slightly enough to press a kiss to the heal of your palm. His eyes were red and glossy, but there was a smile on his lips; it was aching and tired, but it was swollen in relief, like yours.

“For now, just call me James.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your name.”

“It is, actually,” he countered, with a nervous chuckle. He gently pulled your hands from his face and set them into your lap, though he didn’t let go. “It’s technically on my birth certificate and it’s just a coincidence this identity and I shared it in common, but it’s not what my friends call me. It’s not what I want you to know me as when this is finally over.” He paused, a deep breath in a beat later, “I would... I would give anything to hear you say my real name.”

You took in a deep breath, trying not to focus on the gravity of what he said, but it hit like an anvil to your chest. You wondered what his name was, how he might act around you without Brock hanging over your shoulder, how it would feel to be with him in the light of day; no restrictions, no hiding in the shadows, nothing holding you back from one another.

“You… you still want this— us— when the case is over?”

James paused, a sad kind of heartbreak in his eyes that you would even ask such a question. He nodded slowly before he lifted your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed sweetly at your knuckles. “I told you, honey, everything between us was real. I’d give you my whole life if you asked.”

A tear slipped past your eye as a breathy laugh escaped you, a strange mixture of awe and surprise and relief washing through you. You stayed there with him, reveling in the feel of his hands encasing yourself, the touch of his lips to your fingertips, watching as he started to come back into himself, as the guilt faded from his eyes and he was smiling at you with that flicker of light in in the blue of his eyes.

James pulled up a chair beside you, freeing his knees on the hard, cement floors, and you tugged yourself closer to him; thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He was still yours.

“So, what happens now?” you asked, glancing to the papers on the table curiously.

“Now,” a voice called from behind him, deep and commanding, and Steve stepped forward, setting a file on the table ahead of you, “you help us bring down your husband.”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued, and pulled the file into your lap. You thumbed through the pages, eyeing the transcripts, glanced over names of men and women, over the date in the top left corner and the address of the pier scribbled in James’ handwriting.

You set the file back on the table. “You’re planning a raid for the shipment at the end of the month.”

It wasn’t a question and Steve seemed surprised by how quickly you’d gathered that from the information he presented you with. There was no doubt in your mind, you’d do anything they asked if it meant putting Brock behind bars where he belonged.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, hand seeking out James’ and he squeezed it back lightly.

“That we’ll decide when the opportunity presents itself,” Steve responded. “In exchange for your help in this and frankly, all the evidence we’ve gathered based on your unknowing intel… uh, James,” Steve cleared his voice, clearly having to remind himself to use the cover’s name, “has arranged for your immunity.”

Wide eyes met his and he offered you a shy, reassuring smile. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You always assumed that the price it took to bring your husband down meant sinking the ship with you inside. You knew he held a number of charges over your head; it was why you stayed complicit for so long. But now...

“You just have to sign the papers,” James said, sliding a pile of folders across the table to you. There were two stacks and you looked at the second suspiciously before James answered your unspoken question. “I got the judge to sign off on immunity for Peter, too. It was part of my condition before I handed over the shipment log for the raid next month. Wasn’t that hard of a sell, honestly. Peter’s a good kid.”

Lost for words, heart pounding tight in your chest. “You-- what?”

James nodded casually, a slight purse of his lips like he hadn’t just doused you in a relief you hadn't known in years. “Yeah, well, no jury was ever going to convict him anyway, but I figured it was best to cover our bases. I told you I’d watch out for him, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to let you down on that promise. Plus, a kid as good as Peter didn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this. The judge could see that pretty easily.”

He was smiling softly at you but you could hardly breathe. You knew he cared for Peter. It was obvious the night he took a brutal beating for your cousin, but this was something else entirely. This was something far beyond his cover, the identity he wore like a mask, this was him at his core; a man who was true to his word, a man who was decent and kind and good.

He was your James, regardless of his name or the badge he wore.

Without the proper words to thank him, you surged forward, despite his friends standing at the table surrounding you, and kissed him. Hands pressed to his cheeks, lips communicating what words could not, and you only pulled away when you felt him searching for a breath.

His cheeks were burning pink, eyes a little wide as he nervously glanced up at Steve, who had conveniently turned his back. Natasha was smirking in the corner as she attended to the files in her hands, and Sam was sprawled out in the chair across the table, sparing no expense and grinning wildly as he winked at James.

“So, we bring down Hydra,” you said with a proud smirk upon your lips and James’ whole face seemed to light up. “We put Brock behind bars. We end this.”

Steve stepped out from behind the shadows, a hand extended in your direction. Stone cold expression melting into a soft smile, the blue of his eyes kinder than the façade he put forth.

“It’s good to have you on board, Y/n.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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artiewiles · 3 years ago

Text

You Just Think You Love Me (3/7) Fact: Pidgeons can smell

“Agent Sterling! How can I help you?"

Lance smiled with his smile number two. "I'm looking for Walter. Do you know where he is, Martin?"

"Walter is in lab four. He's working on something dangerous."

He looked around the shared lab, where something exploded or ignited every now and then. "Of course, I understand. Thanks, Martin!"

"You’re welcome, Mr. Sterling ..."

But Lance was leaving already. Armed with a practiced number one smile, he walked through the corridors, his face completely calm. He’s going to do it today. He’s asking Walter on a date today. Maybe he'll turn him down. It does not matter. Nothing will change. They will stay friends. Everything will be fine. Everything will be alright. Everything will be fine.

(links to ao3 and wattpad)

He knocked on the lab door and entered the decontamination room when invited. He closed his eyes and let himself be sprayed with this and blown dry with that. When the green light came on, he continued. Along the way, he waved at the guy in the control room, who was in charge of the whole process. Then, he finally entered the lab looking as confident and normal as possible.

"Hi, Lance, what brings you here? It's great that you came!” Walter welcomed him and then followed with? "I have tested the new gadget I told you about. The one that helps you to get the bad guys on your side. You know, to make them trust you and after that to love you, to entrust their secrets, maybe even to persuade them to change careers. Wait…” He studied Lance carefully. "What's going on?"

He looked at him confused. "What, what should be going on?"

"You look ... pale. Is something wrong?"

"No." He shook his head quickly and exchanged the smile for a smaller and perhaps more plausible one. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Tell me, what are your plans for tonight?"

"You really don't look well. What about my calming pillow, does it work? And wait, you didn’t have the canteen bread, did you? I'm sure it's not gluten-free, and you still have an upset digestive system because of the transformations."

"I'm fine. And the cushion works well, really. I sleep much better now.“ Lance waved his hand and tried not to pay any attention to his pounding heart. He should get himself together, for god sake!

"Okay. So, this one is done. Do you want to see it?"

He looked at Walter, who almost vibrated with enthusiasm. Was it just his imagination, or did his eyes shine? He smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Okay." He clapped and took a gray marble from a bowl. Although, when Lance looked at it properly, it seemed to bend slightly under the fingertips. "This is a mixture of gases and fragrant essences that directly affect the frontal lobe. And it works even when you have a cold. So we will not repeat Alaska again.“

Lance laughed softly. "That’s good. But we managed to slip out smoothly."

Walter pointed the ball at him. "You got out smoothly. I slid, and I still have bruises on my ass. I can’t believe it worked out. It was the weirdest fourth of July in my life.“

He raised an eyebrow. "Team Weird?"

Walter nodded with a smile. "Team Weird."

Is it just him, or do they look into each other’s eyes longer, than friends would?

It must have been longer than friends would look into each other’s eyes.

It was longer than friends would look unto each other’s eyes.

He made himself look at the gray ball.

Walter cleared his throat. "Um… yeah, so… Sure. Frontal lobe. Yeah. This," he pointed at the marble again, “will burst, and the air will release the scent. It's not very conspicuous, but it should be strong enough. I still plan on making it into a perfume that you can always wear. Just need to figure out how to give you immunity. It is a combination of our good old lavender with vanilla and sandalwood. Perfect for discovering any secrets and making best friends.”

He handed him the ball and put on a respirator. "Whenever you're ready, burst it."

He measured him suspiciously. "Why are you taking it?"

"Because I've been breathing it for a month, and when I overdose, I cuddle."

That wouldn't be so bad. He made himself look at the tiny ball in his hand. He took a deep breath.

"Wait!" Walter stopped him.

"What?"

He put on Lance an electrode cap and looked at his watch. "Go ahead."

Lance squeezed the ball between his fingers. It burst but nothing happened.

He frowned and looked at Walter.

"You have to wait. Breath in," he said muffled.

Lance listened. He smelled a faint scent. Smiled. It smelled nice. It reminded him of something…

"It works!" Walter cheered, watching Lance's brainwaves. "According to this, you are calmer and happier, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Lance smiled and took another deep breath. He felt calmer. He was fine. "Walter?"

"Yeah, Lance?"

"When we're done here, would you go on a date with me? Or in the evening? A film, dinner, or a walk through the art gallery sculpture park?”

Walter paled. "Oh no…"

The pleasant feeling was gone. Maybe he just didn't like the choices… “You don't want to go to the park? They still have summer opening hours, and you've said several times that you'd like to look at the statues. Or we can go to that cinema. We will find some with Korean movies… "

Walter was typing something furiously on his watch. "Not that."

Lance fell silent. He took off his cap and laid it on the table. Just calm down, nothing changes. "Okay, then no. It was just an idea.” He turned and smiled again. "Forget it."

"This is bad. This is very bad.“

Why doesn't he feel anything? Shouldn't it be sadder? He can't be in shock because of this.

"Hey, calm down." Lance wanted to put his hand on his shoulder, but then he changed his mind. "No need to make a fuss about it. Forget it. I have a meeting with the boss and then I have some other plans, so I'll see you tomorrow."

"Lance, wait!"

He changed his mind! "Yeah?"

"You have to stay here. This is science! I screwed it up! I'm so sorry, I don't know how, but I screwed up."

He shook his head and swallowed down the disappointment. "It’s cool. Don't think about it anymore. See you tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand! The scent was too strong! I didn’t plan it.” He shrank. "Are you mad?"

He sighed and rubbed the spot where the cap had pressed him a little. "No, I'm not angry. And you didn't screw it up. I feel good."

"Exactly. You feel too well. And it's my fault! I didn't mean to, but I promise I'll fix it! "

"Walter, calm down and tell me exactly what happened. Breathe.“

Walter sat down on a barstool and took several breaths. Then he began to explain: "The scent is to make the enemy your best friend. But I didn't expect what he would do to a best friend.” He looked at Lance and widened his big blue eyes. "I think I did create by mistake… you can call it a love potion."

Lance burst out laughing. "A love potion? What are you talking about?"

"You…" he pointed at Lance, searching for the words.

"I," he pointed at himself with his thumb, "am not under the influence of any love potion."

"But you invited me to dinner."

He gritted his teeth and nodded. "Exactly."

"Because you're under the influence of a love potion!" Walter insisted. "But don't worry, this should go away soon."

"No, I invited you because I love you, and it did not go away in months!" Well, the cat was out of the bag.

"You think you like me because of the smell. That is all. There is nothing more.“

He opened his mouth to argue. Closed it with a click. If Walter needs to believe it… Now he gets it. Walter is not interested in Lance. It gives Lance a chance to back off while both of them save their faces. It saves their friendship. He nodded. "All right. If you’re right… I'll take time off and go home. I'll try to sleep it off. If you came up with something or figure out how to speed the process up, let me know.“

"Okay," Walter nodded with relief. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Lance smiled and ruffled his hair. As he always does. He can still do that, can't he? "Sure thing."

He went through the decontamination room, then the whole agency. Responded to the greetings of others out of reflex. The smile number three plastered on his face. He turned into a pigeon and flew away. How much rum and whiskey does he still have at home?

Probably not enough.

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liam-cadmus · 4 years ago

Text

truth

/tro͞oTH/

noun

the quality or state of being true

Sasuke stays in Konoha, ANBU

Sasuke bites back a sigh, leaning back on his chair with crossed arms. Kakashi’s lone eye crinkles in amusement, making him scowl at his teacher, the man chuckling quietly.

His fingers rhythmically taps on the wooden table, unattentive to the elders exchanging their opinions on the matter, catching Tsunade’s eye. She smirks at him, before he drops his head down on the table, ignoring the loud voices of the elders screeching.

“Are we boring you, Uchiha?” Danzo’s voice asks, making him blink in annoyance, before smiling politely, sitting straighter. “Not at all, Danzo-sama.”

Kakashi’s masked lips turn upwards, his bastard of a teacher finding this amusing, even if he’s tempted to shunshin behind Danzo and rip the Sharingan embedded in his eyesocket.

“Then, do you have something to share to the table?” he asks, Sasuke humming, his thumb picking on the thread of the uchiwa symbol on his flak jacket before leaning forwards.

Danzo sees that as a sign to continue, before he links his fingers under his chin, sharp onyx eyes regarding the man. “Hn,” he says, before leaning down to get a stack of papers, gently placing it in front of him.

“I have something that I want clarification, if you don’t mind, Shimura.” he says calmly, his teeth bared and stretched to a smile. The bandaged old man closes his opened mouth before Sasuke slowly stands up, separating the stack to five folders, and passing it to Inoichi and Shikaku, the other clan heirs watching him from where they’re seated on the left of the room.

Inoichi glares at the paper as if it offended him, before Sasuke sits down once again. “I noticed you have bandages, what might have happened that caused that?”

“Second shinobi war.” The man stiffly responds before Sasuke leans back on his chair comfortably, pretending to look at his nails. “And the medics have told you to wear it ever since?” he asks, the elders glaring at him, shouting at how disrespectful it is.

“What am I to judge, it’s personal, so I won’t push it on you.” he murmurs, his quiet voice unusually loud in the room, even if he didn’t raise the volume. “I would, and will not have asked you, if it didn’t concern me, however.”

Shikaku and Inoichi stare at the other man, Kakashi and Tsunade mirroring them. “You broke a law, Shimura.” he hisses, “And I’m well damn sure that my clan doesn’t appreciate having their eyes getting plucked, nor seeing said eyes on your arm.”

The room quiets, the wind blowing across the room. Danzo stands in aggravation, before slamming his hands on the table, shouting, “I will not accept getting accused like this.”

“Well, you sure are proving you’re guilty then.” he says back, standing. “I have evidence, and you will stay seated until I finish my case, Shimura.”

Their attention snaps to his cold, steely voice, and the Sharingan whirring in his eyes. Inoichi, the kind man, places his hand on his arm, squeezing it to help him calm down before he sits back down, Danzo looking at him with a pinched expression, before following his lead.

“Hokage-sama, I believe my case needs to be heard, so that our members would understand.” Tsunade nods, the Godaime’s face morphed to an emotionless look, but Kakashi and Sasuke both know she would’ve let him, any chance.

He takes the file he gave to Inoichi before flipping it through, then handing it to Tsume Inuzuka, the woman’s eyes reading through the file, before passing it along to Chouza, the paper systematically moving to each clan head.

He licks his lips, before clearing his throat. “According to that file, that I have found in the Uchiha Archives in the compound, it is true that my clan planned a coup d’etat, and I am, in no way, approving or justifying their reasons, but I wanted to include this.”

The others nod apprehensively, before he shows another file containing the missing children. “As much of you know, a lot of children went missing, especially ones with the powerful kekkai genkai.”

There’s a collected silence across the room. “I, as a child, would notice that our clan specifically kept having clan members, ranging from children to jounin.”

He taps his foot, “This, of course, made our clan even more scared, as no one can or will listen to us because of the Kyuubi attack. You must understand, that we were placed in the outskirts of Konoha, and that even if we were the Police Force, we are overshadowed by the ANBU. In addition to that, the hatred and distrust on Uchiha made it so we could not ask for help.”

He gathers his thoughts, before his hand tightens, “Most of them would be kidnapped, but there would be Uchiha thrown in our compound missing their eyes, dead. The breaking point was the 'death' of Uchiha,” he takes a deep breathe, before steeling his emotions once more, “Shisui.”

“I will not talk anymore about the coup, but instead, focus on the bodies that return with no eyes.” He glares at Danzo, before smacking one black colored file, “I was able to retrieve this, alongside reports from shinobi out of the village in my ANBU missions, talking about how, an old man with bandages on his arms and face kidnapped children from other villages.”

He passes it. Danzo grits his teeth, before snarling, “You’re not allowed to enter our headquarters, and you shouldn’t have that.”

“Astute observation. Sai and Shin, helped me, along with Hatake Kakashi and Tenzo. Three of whom, are evidences to ROOT, with the cursed seal on their tongues.”

The three mentioned men walk out of the shadows, curling their tongue to show the imprinted seal. “I don’t give a damn, if the Uchiha did plan a coup d’etat, and I’m pissed that my brother was roped into killing his kin, but what I do not tolerate is the fact you have my clan members Sharingan in your arms and eye, and whatever else you did to the rest.”

He pushes a dark red file away, “That is for later, if you see to understand Itachi’s situation.”

He smiles menacingly, before flicking open a dark grey file, the uchiwa fan on the front, “I want permission to be given to investigate this case, and if it is proven, that if we remove the bandages, and that my clan’s dojutsu appears, that this will be investigated further.”

Tsunade opens her mouth to approve, when Hiashi Hyuuga lifts a brow and asks, “And why is that the Hyuugas not notice the apparent eyes.”

Sasuke resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, choosing instead to breath deeply. “I don’t see why it matters, after all, if my claim was proven to be incorrect, then it will be dismissed.”

“It does matter to me, it shows that you see our eyes incapable of noticing it.”

“I did not mention anything about your clan’s involvement.”

Hiashi Hyuuga’s stern white eyes and the veins popping by his temple makes a terrifying image, but he must not have seen an Uchiha angry. His anger has been simmering underneath, and he has been keeping it in ever since Danzo’s act of innocence earlier.

“There are two laws in Konohagakure ; village and clan laws.” he seethes, “I am showing you a case, of a clan law being broken, and this is Uchiha matters, and only to the Uchiha.”

“Please do not intervene in my clan affairs Hyuuga-san, I have been giving you nothing but respect, recognition, and courtesy, and never have I mentioned about the branch family’s seal, do you not see?” he growls, Hiashi’s eyes widening at the pure anger in his tone.

Sasuke dismisses his silence, before turning, “I am a clan head, and before Fugaku’s passing, has been trained to be one. My parents have offered my brother to you as a weapon, and he has proven his loyalty. Be it as it may, my clan has betrayed the village’s trust, but the village has broken ours.”

“I will not let my clan be disregarded for all it’s contribution to this village, and I will not allow you to dig it under lies and corruption, for the village’s ‘protection’.”

He breathes out deeply, only standing because of Inoichi’s grounding palm, “I have lost everything in one night, I only have my brother, and I’m not letting you take him away from me.”

“I ask you this for the peace of my clan, to avenge them from where they were mistreated, to let them rest. I was unable to burn their bodies as I was in the hospital unstable, and that alone, is a responsibility given to me. It was a clan tradition, and Shimura used that time to pluck their eyes. It is my right and duty as clan head to make sure the eyes are not taken as this is disrespect for the hard work of my clan members. You need to learn to listen.” he says, his voice wavering, but firm.

Tsunade nods at him, “The village has been unfair to the Uchihas far too long, I promise you, I will do everything in my power, to restore it in it’s former glory. We will show the truth, but before that, Otter, Weasel, hold unto Danzo Shimura.

A pair of chakra cancelling handcuffs covers Danzo’s wrists, The Hokage just clicks her tongue at him, disgust etched in her features, the old man’s fear and hatred showing through widened eyes.

“Crow, Hound, pull at the bandages please.” Kakashi walks over to the arm, holding the end of the bandage, “Of course, Hokage-sama.”

Sasuke watches detached as the bandages pull free, multiple Sharingan eyes staring at him, making him stand blankly. He gasps, breathing heavy, before Shikaku helps him sit down, his hand clamping comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Fugaku and Mikoto would have been so proud of you for defending your clan. You made to be a good clan head, and you brought justice to your clan.” Shikaku comforts him, as he chokes on a cry, biting his lips as the tears well up. He doesn’t let them fall, instead, blinking repeatedly for it to disappear.

He will not let Danzo have the satisfaction of seeing him affected by his doings.

He listens as Tsunade orders the ANBU around, Shikaku squeezing his shoulder before walking nearer Inoichi, the files filed on his arms. The two alongside Ibiki corner stand beside the Hokage, discussing about the interrogation.

He lets himself slump on the chair, before Kakashi ruffles his hair, also moving away to include himself with the hurried murmurs of the four. The clan heads talk among themselves, but he would see one or two of them looking in his direction with acceptance, and respect.

Kiba throws an arm around his shoulders, “Holy shit, that was Sasuke Uchiha as a clan head.” He grumbles pushing Kiba’s loud mouth away from his ear, raising an eyebrow, “Do you not believe in me, Wolf?”

Kiba gives him a toothy grin, “’Course not, Captain.”

“You’re terrifying, good job.” Ino says, sitting down beside him. “You would have been such a good member to my Intelligence Team.”

“Troublesome, utterly troublesome.” Shikamaru mutters, draping himself over Sasuke’s shoulders, Kiba moving away on instinct. “And this is our captain, don’t take him, Ino.”

Ino raises two hands, before chuckling, “Shikamaru, I will never take your lover boy.”

Shikamaru smacks her, before huffing, hiding his face in Sasuke’s hair. He chuckles softly, before letting the Nara doze off for a few minutes, reminding himself to wake him up.

Ino stands to go to Hinata, to their other fellow graduates, the tight-knit group of Konoha called uh, Konoha 12. Kiba pats him on the arm, before standing from Shikaku’s seat, making him move Shikamaru down to the seat. He moves the Nara’s arms so that it pillows his head, smoothing down his ponytail before fixing his flak jacket.

Someone drops to the seat to his left, “You’re scary in clan meetings, pretty boy.”

He takes one look before huffing in amusement, giving a wry smile. “I suppose so.”

“You got some guts to stand up to the Hyuuga head.” Neji drawls, bored, but one look to his eyes shows his gratitude. “Owl, I’m your captain, and I think there’s times I can stand for people.”

“Thank you, Hawk.” he says, before standing, looking over his shoulder to smirk smugly, “Meet at Ichiraku Ramen with the group, bring your Nara boy with.”

He glowers at Neji, the Hyuuga already walking out the door behind the group, leaving him to wake up Shikamaru. He sees Tsunade and the others filtering out the room, making him shake the asleep teen.

“Such a drag.” Shikamaru yawns, movements sluggish. He sighs, before tugging at Shikamaru’s arms, so that the Nara doesn’t fall asleep on them again. “Stand up you lazy ass.”

Shikamaru looks at him with a drowsy eye, half-asleep. “Such a drag.” he repeats to Sasuke’s face, just to spite the man. Sasuke stares back with disinterest, “I won’t hesitate to throw you over my shoulder, Nara.”

“Do it then,” Shikamaru challenges, making him pout. He lifts a brow to warn Shikamaru, his barely awake brain unable to notice it before he’s thrown over his ANBU Captain’s shoulder, making him shriek.

He irritable crosses his arms, before saying in a deadpan, “Why are Uchiha so stubborn.”

Sasuke’s tongue peeks out, “You asked for it. And you already know I can carry you.” he says smugly, laughing when the Nara kicks a foot to his stomach.

Sasuke’s grip on his thighs tighten, “I’m not gonna let you fall y’know, but that doesn’t mean you can take a nap.” he snorts, “I’ll let you sleep while they’re talking, Naruto’s gonna be loud after his visit in Suna, he’s gonna babble about Gaara again.”

Shikamaru smiles, “Good thing I learned how to sleep in loud places, and you promise you’ll allow me to sleep? On your lap?”

“Sure,” he agrees, “You can sleep anywhere, Shika. I sometimes wonder how you’re a jonin and a ANBU.”

A pinch to his back makes him bark out a laugh, the sound startling the chuunin and jonin around the hallway, making him flush in embarrassment. “Sorry.” he says flushing, the shinobi barely concealing their amused and surprised faces, after hearing the deep laugh of the usually stoic Uchiha.

“You scared them,” Shikamaru laughs, making him retort, pinching Shikamaru’s ass, “I did not.”

Shikamaru kicks a foot out in surprised laughter, making Sasuke hold him tighter. “Nara, calm down.” he snickers between stuttering breaths, laughing quietly.

Sasuke smirks, patting the back of his knees, “Hold tight, you know how fast I can shunshin.” Shikamaru twists his fingers in Sasuke’s cloak, before being carried in intense speeds, feeling himself standing on wobbly knees, Sasuke’s amused face staring at him.

“I hate Shisui Uchiha, why did he teach you pointers when you were young.” he breathes out, making Sasuke smile.

“Come on, Deer.” He gets pulled in the shop, moving to on of the rented rooms, down to a long couch. He exhales in relief when his head drops to Sasuke’s thigh, his body sinking, and eyes drooping.

Sasuke gives a quiet chuckle, before whispering, “Sleep babe.”

Sasuke hums as he runs his fingers through his lover’s brunette locks, kissing his forehead. He lets his other hand intertwine with Shikamaru’s other hand, his own head falling on the back of the couch.

He lets his friends’ voices lull him to sleep, his intertwined hand resting on top of Shikamaru’s chest. His mouth slips to a smile when the memory of proving his clan came to mind, before his breath stops.

His eyes flick open, before he gasps. Otter was Shisui’s ANBU, and Weasel was his brother’s. An ANBU mask and animal is burned or thrown once they failed to pass it on, or if they died.

“Miss me twerp?”

Thought of clan head Sasuke after Danzo because of the stolen eyes. Loved the thought of him standing up to Hiashi about clan affairs. Included Sasuke and Shikamaru because I craved it. (I always do.) Wanted Itachi and Shisui alive. (Uchiha Quartet + Kakashi, is my life and soul. Misunderstood socially inept tall ass men that were all ANBU operatives.) And no, Shin did not die, I do not want anymore brothers getting separated.

#shikasasu #sasushika #shikamaru nara #sasuke uchiha #anbu #danzo shimura #fuck danzo #uchiha clan #konoha 12 #tsunade #hatake kakashi #uchiha deserved better #itach uchiha #shisui uchiha #i love them sm #konoha 12 are jonin #they all have clan heirships #and heads of their own divisions #kakashi & sasuke

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jangmi-latte · 5 years ago

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Hi hi hi~~~ greetings~👁️👄👁️ May I order the savanaclaw trio and y/n Dating in a poly relationship and uhm............if so can it be nsfw (｡・//ε//・｡) I would like the scenerio to be where the three thought of... Low-key midkey kink shaming or using her kink against her So uh... It be humiliation, petplay,low-key midkey choking... And please be in one shot form? Ok thankyou👁️👄👁️ merci~~(◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

"ℜ𝔬𝔞𝔯, 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔊𝔦𝔯𝔩"

࿐. . . JACK HOWL, LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, & RUGGIE BUCCHI

➻ content: oh dear! we apologise for spilling your drinks!

➻ warnings: foursome, kink-shaming, pet-play, humiliation, and choking

➻ comments: so you picked manager's choice hmm? well then, time to bring out those special ingredients and serve thy customer with a delicious treat. though this was hard :'D

"Jack!"

Fast steps could be heard through the hallway as you dashed over to the wolf. Before the male could turn around, you had jumped and pounced on his back, making him let out a noise of surprise and take a sudden step forward. You giggled and clung on him tightly, not enough to choke him with your arms around his neck, "Hi," you chirped.

Jack held on your thighs, turned his head to look at you while his cheeks burned, “How many times do I have to tell you not to surprise me like that?!” he warned yet it left you unfazed. You continued to giggle then kissed his cheek, making his cheeks burn more, “You know how I couldn’t help it. You’re just climbable,” you said.

“Oi, kitten.”

A smack on your ass made you yelp loudly as you turned your head over to see Leona and Ruggie behind you. Their smirks making you feel quite nervous, "I thought you guys were practicing for the Magishift tournament...?" you mumbled while Leona still has his hand on your ass. No one was in the hallway except the four of you, probably why Leona and Ruggie could be so open about touching you, "We're done," the hyena snickered, giving your thigh a kiss. Your cheeks were turning red every second. You could even feel Jack squeeze your thighs and you were already distracted.

"Jack. Bring her to the dorm. I want to speak to the two of you."

Slammed to the wall, knees weak, and mind hazy. You were back at the dorm just as Leona ordered Jack to do. Except, you were panting heavily and your lips were probably bruised by now.

Ruggie had you pinned to the wall with his hand easily gripping your throat. He squeezed the sizes, not restricting your airways but making you go lightheaded. His lips slammed on yours again, tongue slithering in easily while you helplessly let out sinful noises, "You like that?" he hissed through your lips, a smirk like grin gracing his face, "How naughty of you. Exposed to being such a bad girl in front of the dorm members," he snickered. You whimpered as his hands snaked up your skirt and gave your ass a nice slap. Your eyes hazily looking at the other members watching you. You were embarrassed, and yet you're heavily turned on.

"Why are you so quiet?" Ruggie licked up your jaw, "Moan. Let out those noises and let them know how much you love being treated like a vulnerable herbivore," he husked in your ear. You couldn't think straight. What led the hyena to suddenly go down on you like this?

He wasn't complaining either. He enjoys showing the others who you belong to. Solely to the three of them only. He knows your weakness, all three of them do. Might as well let you taste what you desire like the naughty kitten you are.

A gasp emitted from you the moment Ruggie had sucked on your neck. His hand now on your jaw, tilting it back for him to easily bite down and leave his marks.

"R-Ruggie.."

"Louder."

The hyena held you close the more he marked you. His laps latching on your skin, his warm tongue giving you goosebumps, his sucks were harsh, and his grip was tight. You can feel his fangs pierce your skin as you are a whimpering mess under him, your knees are weak, “Ruggie,” Leona called out, making the called youth halt and look at his senior. You could still feel his lips on your neck and it made you bite your lip. The look in Leona’s eyes made you knew something will eventually happen. Something they had planned.

“Room.”

"Ngh.."

You held on Leona's thigh as your other gripped his cock. Your head bobbed along with the strokes of your hand, pleasuring the lion whose face remained neutral. Ruggie was under you, his tongue licking up your sweetness, making you squirm and moan on Leona's cock. Vibrations surging from your mouth and giving the king more pleasure.

You pulled away, gritting your teeth as your hips arched yet Ruggie held them in place, "Ah--Ruggie!" you gasped and gripped his hair, earning a snicker from the younger male. He nipped and sucked on your swollen clit. Your squirming made it evident on how much it's affecting you. A grumble was heard from Leona as he guided his cock back into your mouth.

What was even more arousing was you having cat ears on your head and a butt plug deep inside your ass. It had a small tail even, you were a literal kitten in their arms. Courtesy of Leona himself.

You continued to suck and envelop Leona back in your mouth, a twitching and whimpering mess, you are. Their actions had left you terribly wet, "Kitten," Leona grunted as he relaxed his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. He was rock hard and no doubt Ruggie was too.

The door opened. No knocking was heard. There stood Jack with his eyes wide and frozen by the door. He was looking for you everywhere, the only way he could find you was ask his seniors. This is what he found. The sight made him gulp and harden as he slowly closed the door. Your vulnerable eyes looked at him with that of lust and submission, Leona keeping your head in place whilst you pleasured him more.

"So you're just going to stand there and watch all this happen?" the prefect chuckled.

Ruggie had slipped two fingers up your cunt, in a rapid pace, he thrust them with his lips harshly sucking on your pea. Loud moans had slipped from your lips as Leona began to move your head himself. Jack was just silently staring, the way his seniors played with you was a turn on. He knew they needed to get their pleasures first before he does.

"What's stopping you from cumming, y/n?" Ruggie mumbled against your lower lips before landing a smack on your ass. You didn't even know you were on the verge of cumming till a strong wave of pleasure hit you. Your walls tightened and your hips twitched, whimpering loudly as you squirted on Ruggie's face. Leona had hissed and bucked his hips unto your mouth before his own strings of cum shot down your throat.

You pulled away, coughing and gasping, saliva and cum stretched from the tip of his cock and to your lips. Swallowing his salty sperm while whining like a pathetic little whore. Ruggie gave you one last slurp, you trembled with small stuttered breathing, then slipped out from under you before letting you lay comfortably on the bed, "You're not done yet, kitten," Leona growled and gave Jack the signal to sit on the couch in his room.

The wolf's ears perked up as he obeyed the lion. You looked over at the wolf, licked your lips before crawling off the bed, "Ah ah," Ruggie smirked and pointed to the ground, "On all fours like a good kitty," you obeyed. You bit your lower lip as you began to crawl towards Jack on all fours. It turned you on to be dominated by these three that you felt your walls pulsating and tingling for attention again.

Jack was a nervous wreck, he blushed brightly, "y/n..." he trailed off. You looked at him with those innocent eyes of yours before looking over at Leona, "On his lap, kitten," he ordered and you giggled before pulling his pants down, his erection sprang out, making you gasp. He was long and thick. You crawled on top of the Jack, stroking his cock before plunging yourself down, earning a loud whine from you and a growl from Jack. You were tight.

Ruggie had walked behind the couch and his hand wrapped around your neck. You moaned loudly, Jack gripping your hips as he rocked you on his cock, "That's a good girl," the older snickered, "Now bounce," Leona ordered from where he sat. He got his pleasure, now it was his turn to watch.

You hands laid on Jack's toned stomach before lifting your hips and slamming them down to his. His cock penetrated every inch of your walls, leaving you screaming and whining in pleasure. Deep growls and hisses were heard from the wolf as your core tightened around him. He guided you on bouncing on top of him as your skins slapped deliciously. Ruggie kept a grip on your neck, his lustful eyes looking at every expression you had as you pleasured yourself on Jack's cock.

You slammed your hips down faster, panting heavily as you arched your back, "Enjoying yourself kitten?" Leona called making you whimper and nod, "Speak," he demanded, "Yes sir!" you whined before a stuttered out gasp left you. Jack tilted his head back, eyes shut tight, and his thumb rubbed your overly sensitive pearl. Your pussy squelched and clenched around him, Jack thrusting upwards himself making him go deeper. Ruggie was jacking off to the sight, biting his lip before slamming his lips on yours.

You messily moved your lips against his as your hips began to stutter. Your thighs quivered and ached before you halted. Jack saw your tired self before moving himself and thrusting upwards faster, "Baby.." the wolf panted as his cock twitched. Strong waves of pleasure hit both your spines as you got lifted up and painted over by Jack's own cum. Your juices slipping out of your cunt as a long whine was heard from you. Ruggie had came already and had slipped some of his cum into your mouth by his finger.

You were tired.

But nonetheless had fun.

The three of them cleaned you up. The aftercare was sweet. Sure you were in pain, but it was worth it. They'll take care of you and make sure you're still treated well. After all, this only stays within them and the Savanaclaw members knew that.

They love you and you love all three of them equally.

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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All That Remains, Chapter 7: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 4]

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @claudeng80′s birthday! I’m only a week and change late this time, but everyone knows what they’re getting into when they request this fic for gifts-- aka, me dithering for weeks on if a chapter needs to be cut and where it inevitably needs to happen. But here is an almost 5K labor of love...and a little bit of hope... :3c

It would easy to speak of good and evil, would it not? To condemn a sorceress for her conjuring, to pity a girl and her deception. That is the way such tales are crafted: for simplicity, moral lines drawn in the sand.

But life does not fit so easily into the pages made to contain it. A line of prose may distill it to its essence, but a word spoken, an act done by a living creature-- these contain multitudes.

“Well.” Lady Mihoko fixes a shrewd glance over the rim of her teacup, pinning Shirayuki to her chair. Bombazine may creak with her every breath, but when Mihoko sets her demitasse upon its saucer, it is silent. “You are much improved.

The words alone would make a compliment, but with the way her ladyship threads them through her teeth, it is an accusation. Her eyes narrow even now, a proctor determined to catch her pupil filching answers from across the aisle.

Still, it’s the kindest words Mihoko has ever managed to spare, and Shirayuki seizes them with both hands. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

All her ladyship’s fine graces do not restrain her from a humorless grunt. “Do not think it so fine a feat. You could hardly have gotten much worse.” With another contemplative sip, she adds, “But your progress is at least...heartening. You might not be entirely hopeless.”

Polite, tea-appropriate smile firmly in place, Shirayuki casts her eyes down at her plate. How fortunate she is to be able to experience such a fine example of being damned by faint praise.

He mouth does not twitch; by now, she knows better than to allow any of her facial muscles free reign in the presence of the lady-- but it does waver. It was not her own voice lilting those words.

A toe nudges her ankle; the consort’s countenance is carefully composed of bland inquiry across from her.

“You are too kind,” Shirayuki manages, smile polished back to its original brilliance.

“I am.” She settles back in her chair, spine straight as a rod, conveying that her enjoyment of the meal now resides firmly in the past. “You are lucky indeed that Her Majesty deigned to take a girl like you under her wing. How fitting it is that my best student is responsible for righting my worst.”

“It is only because I had such a good tutor that I could even attempt to teach.” The consort sets her own cup onto its saucer, mouth rounded in a pleasant curve. Shirayuki’s never mastered the art of it, to smile to brightly with so little teeth or crinkling around the eyes, but on Haki the effect seems natural, right. “But I must say that Lady Shirayuki is a pleasure as a student. A quick mind and a dedicated learner.”

“What she lack in aptitude she certainly makes up with vigor,” Mihoko allows grudgingly. “In my day, that would not be near enough to make a lady.”

It would be easy to condemn the sorceress, would it not? To raise the roses from their bed and cast the bright light of truth upon them, to drag her into the village square and expose her as a deceiver, a most vile villainess to lead this stray girl astray. We would stretch our hands through the pages if we could but shake our girl awake, if we could put our hands around the throat of the conjuress and see she never bent another illusion--

But that would miss the point entirely. You were told, so long ago now, that life does not fit into the narrow confines fiction demands. Surely you have not forgot?

There is a reason for every action. Unfortunately.

“That is true enough.”

The consort speaks in honeyed tones, mouth composed in a thoughtful pout. But that, Shirayuki knows, is merely an inoffensive mask she wears, one that may be discarded at a moment’s notice. It is always her eyes betray her, burning with an intelligence she can never fully quench.

“But was that not also the era of the former Viscount Yuris? Or the Counts of Sui and Lido?” It should be an accusation, a condemnation, but from the consort’s mouth, it is little more than a polite conversation, small talk between two peers. “So many traitors in so few years.”

Shirayuki may have gained some dominion over her face, but not near enough to keep from glancing at Lady Mihoko.

“That is the nature of the peerage,” her ladyship says after a long moment, mouth pursed in a moue of discomfort. “There are always some that choose to overreach their bounds. It is up to every lord to manage his lands in his own way. Though I know Your Majesties have...newer ideas about such things.”

“Better ideas,” the consort reminds her, both silk and steel entwined. “Under the late king, the court grew indolent, as did the crown. If he had not passed when he did, Clarines might have become another Tanbarun.”

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, stemming the tide of protest that crashes against them. She had fled her home with little pride or trust in its royals, and it’s not as if she cares for the institution, but-- Raj was no longer the embarrassment he’d once been. It’d be a long time before he’d earn as lofty a reputation as Izana or Zen, but, well, he was trying. And as long as his father remained on the throne, that was enough.

She doubts either of them would appreciate the opinion. It’s not as if any of this is about Tanbarun after all.

Mihoko clucks her tongue. “I would not venture to say we had fallen so far as that.”

“No,” Haki agrees, so pleasant. “But I would.”

A silver spoon clatters to a dish, Mihoko’s aged fingers trembling above it. “That would be your prerogative, Your Majesty.”

“It is my prerogative to see to the quality of my husband’s court, my lady. While once this may have referred to the breeding of its members, I believe we have come beyond that. After all, Lord Zakura was hardly born with silver in hand, or Lord Sui, or Countess Yuris.” The consort hums, delicately setting aside her demitasse. “There would be worse things than to see one of the finest minds of our time raised to a position which suited it.”

Her ladyship does not smile-- a terrible business, nowadays, she would cluck, spoon chiming against the rim of her cup, men should know that every smile returns tenfold in ten years’ time-- but there is a softening in her face. Not of agreement, but allowance.

“We shall see,” she sniffs, waving away another tray of sandwiches. “In time. But none of that removes what a wonders you have wrought with this one, and in less than a month’s time.”

Haki dips her head, the barest bow. “Imagine what a lifetime might bring.”

“Yes.” Mihoko narrows her eyes above the rim of her cup. “Quite unforeseeable.”

What does it mean to conjure, to summon something from nothingness, to breathe life where there once was none? It is no mere illusion; not smoke and mirrors and lies shined until gleaming. Not just a lady’s magic, no substance nor thought, made of wishes and air alone.

No, it is creation; the act of sinking one’s hands into clay and forming something utterly unlike its origin, to take one’s will and give it form. It is any surprise that it is the provenance of women?

But that is the thing, is it not? For every creation, there must be a will, must be a spark. For man to be made flesh, there must first be clay. For illusion to be made real, there first must be a wish.

“One, two-- a sprightly pace if it pleases you, my lady! Lift your feet--”

Sweat spirals down her spine, but Shirayuki picks her heels up of the floor, her sashay the barest whisper of slipper sliding across wood. Far from the ethereal wood nymphs cavorting across the palace’s walls, but it carries her across the floor with far more grace than she’s ever managed before. Like flying, provided it was a hen across the chicken yard.

Shirayuki careens more than glides to the next sequence-- the turn, three, four, return, one, two-- and her heart lodges firmly in the vicinity of her throat. She’s never managed this one before, not without stomping on Arundo’s toes or gravity ruthlessly asserting it dominion over her, dragging her to the earth where she belonged, but--

Haki’s hand squeezes tight around hers before lightening into a lift, pulling right over her head. She curls under it, up-up-down, before swinging back, far less measured, but a thousand times more triumphant.

So many of these story children start with nothing-- unloved and unmissed, abandoned by their parents, scorned by those meant to replace them. But this girl--

This girl was loved. She did not have the mother and father that so many other had, one taken by fate and the other duty; but her grandparents tended her in their place. While other little girls were scrubbing floors, or chopping wood, or being chased into the forest with only the bread in their pockets, she was adored; a treasure on her home’s hearth.

And then, in a breath, it was gone. No time for tears, for contemplation. No time for grief.

She does what all bold little girls do: she moves forward, she adapts. All those fears and grief she locks away; a little drawer inside her mind that only opens in the dead of night, when sleep won’t come to her. How worn those memories are by now, frayed about the edges, folded and thin from neglect.

Strange how it is always children who bear the heaviest burdens. Stranger still that they can grow to used to them, that they can bear them even unto adulthood and hardly realizing they are carrying them at all.

That is, of course, until they are lifted.

“You did it!” Haki catches her arms, stopping Shirayuki’s body from crashing into hers, a smile stretched wide across her face. “With not a step missed.”

“I did,” she bursts breathlessly, nearly sagging in relief. “I did!”

A clap cracks in the cavernous room, but it is only Arundo, his own mouth parted in delight. “Brava, my lady! I am most impressed.”

“As well you should be!” The consort steps back, letting her stand on her own two feet. “There are plenty young ladies I have seen on a dance floor that have not done half so well as Lady Shirayuki.”

Even flushed with victory, Shirayuki knows that for an exaggeration; a thick bit of flattery to bolster her confidence. But it hardly matters, not when she traveled the whole floor without a single misstep.

“I truly despaired of ever teaching Lady Shirayuki much more than swaying in place.” Arundo glances at her partner shyly, color high in his cheeks. “I see it merely took a deft lead.”

“Ah, Master Arundo, it takes a woman to understand how difficult a lady’s part may be.” Haki huffs out a laugh that is far less dainty than one she uses in front of courtiers, sweeping long strands of gold from the frame of her face. “If I knew which place to help, it is only because I remember where I most needed it. As my dancing instructor used to say, we all start at the same place.”

“Still,” Arundo insists, “for you to be able to dance the man and the woman’s part-- a most impressive feat!”

“Not at all!” Haki loops the last of her wisps around her ears, and just like that, the consort’s smiling mask slips into place. “This is but a simple waltz. You yourself must know a hundred or more, and dance both parts with skill besides.”

The dance master waggles a finger at her, playful. “Ah, but in the realm of grace and elegance, Your Majesty has far outstripped my paltry skill.”

With the high drama for which the Viandese were known, Arundo swept into a deep bow, bending near in half. Over his back, Haki glanced at her wide-eyed, mouth twitching, though any proof of it was gone before he rose.

“Please, Master Arundo, I am merely well-practiced.” The consort’s mouth tilts, a wry smile playing at her lips. “Izana and I often switch when we...”

Haki’s eyes pulse wide, her cheeks blossoming with a delicate pink. “In any case, I would not have done so well had Lady Shirayuki not already been through the best instruction.”

You see, Miss? Obi’s laugh is bright in her ears, as if he were only right beside her. Anyone can do it. And if you stumble, only stand on my feet and I’ll guide us both through it--

An arm slips through hers, the consort leaning close. “Won’t my brother be surprised to see such progress?”

Shirayuki cannot fathom why Makiri might care about her dancing. He’s seen it before, both of them often pressed into the same endless dinner parties at Lilias, the sort that always seemed to turn into dancing and awkward moonlight professions. He’d been light on his feet when any of the girls dared to approach, not a born dancer like Haki, but a competent one; when she’d clomped past him, dragged by regretful partners, he’d only raised an eyebrow-- an improvement upon the usual sneers she garnered from fellow revelers. He’d never been forced onto her dance card, but still--

Haki slips her a wink, and oh, it’s not her brother she means, but Zen.

You’re supposed to be learning to dance with him, after all. Even in memory, Obi’s smile cuts like a knife’s edge. No wife dances with any man besides her husband.

Shirayuki’s palms sting where her nails cut crescent into them. This room, it’s-- it’s far, far too small. Too tight. So confining, little more than a cage--

“Shall we break for a moment?” Arundo’s jovial lilt crashes through her thoughts like a bird to a window. “And then we shall start the next!”

“A perfect idea, Master Arundo.” Haki smiles down at her, so bright that the shadows of her thoughts burn away. “I dare say my sister has earned a break.”

It was always just enough for this little girl: a grandfather, a grandmother, a loving home and hearth. There had been no dreams of another there, not even when she lost them, not even when she pruned her roses and found another set of hands to take hers. Not even when those hands became a home in themselves.

But with a single word, uttered so casually, a drawer springs open.

Sister. The word echoes through Shirayuki’s head as they walk. There’s an itch of irritation beneath her skin, a pebble in her metaphorical shoe, but still--

Sister. She’s damp, not gently dewed like Haki, so drenched in sweat that her dress clings to her. Fatigued too, every muscle aching, including a few that hadn’t been in her textbooks. She has every reason to want to bury herself in her covers, to try to find the reason her skin feels too tight.

But that’s not what her attention’s caught on, not in the slightest.

“I’m not your sister,” she says, wishing she hadn’t at all. It would be so easy for it to be taken away, for that soft glow in her chest to be snuffed out.

“No,” Haki agrees, looping her arm through hers as if it belongs there, as if she belongs. “But you will be.”

In the morning the girl rose, the cottage empty save for the scent of honeysuckle and forsythia. Her small feet padded across the floor, right to the window latched tight against the night. She pushed up to tip-toe, fingers flicking against metal, and--

And her first sight was a garden, piled high with blooms; a paradise that belonged on a canvas in oils, not at her fingertips.

Do you see? the sorceress asks, rising from where she tends her beds. I awake to this glory every morning. You could as well, if you wanted.

I can’t, the girl says, certain.

The sorceress blinks. And why not?

I... The girl stares out over all this beauty, its scent surrounding her. I do not remember.

Ah, well then. The sorceress smiles, the way she always thought her mother would, had she known her. Then stay a while, and perhaps we will help you remember together.

“May I...” Shirayuki hesitates, biting her lip as they take another winding curve through the halls. The longer she stays within the palace, the more she’s certain: she could live a lifetime here and never knows all the twists and turns it takes. “My I ask you a question?”

The consort peers down at her, both eyebrows lifted in gentle question. “You may.”

“How do you do this all day?” Shirayuki restrains herself from sagging in her stays, whalebone the spine that keeps her upright. “It’s hardly evening and if I hold my shoulder back a moment longer, I think I’ll...”

Collapse, she means to say, but it lingers at the tip of her tongue, too sweet, too untrue. Scream is close, rend this dress to pieces closer still, but closest--

Her mind snaps tight around the thought, a steel trap with a wolf’s paw between its teeth. From the murmurings she’s heard since she first came to Clarines, Wistal has seen enough madness for a lifetime.

“Ah, you see, the secret is--” Haki leans in, looping her arm through hers-- “I don’t.”

Shirayuki blinks.

“You are still learning,” the consort continues, setting herself upright, setting their arms into the proper form ladies strolling. “And thus, you must memorize protocol every day, eat your meals under supervision, and practice the mazurka. I, however, have mastered all this, and thus, I cannot remember the last time I waltzed outside a ball.”

“But the etiquette--” the poise, the presence, the elocution-- “surely..?”

“Well, of course.” She shrugs, jostling their elbows. “But those lessons were a part of my childhood, much like how you probably learned to cook and clean and pick herbs instead of poison. It all becomes second nature to you, in time.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her how easy it was to mistake mushrooms, but her point-- well, it’s a good one. “I’m not sure that will ever happen for me.”

“Perhaps not,” the consort allows mildly. “Certainly they will never seem as natural to you as they might to a lady born to manors and castles. And had you continued to try to learn manners from a book, than you would have had no hope at all. But--” Haki pulls her closer to her side, mouth curled with satisfaction-- “you are not alone, you have me.”

Her cheeks flush with heat; the very same as the flame that warms her chest. “Do I?”

“You do.” The consort nods, the sort that says she expects her will to be followed to the letter. “I have always wanted to share these things with someone. Alas, I was given but a single brother, and he my elder. But now I have you.”

What was it we said? A human heart has four chambers, beating in concert. A complex thing, a puzzle box of wants and desires, one buried beneath the other, a dangerous tower of longing crushed inside a container too small to hold it. And all of us live our lives never knowing its depths, not until a drawer springs open, and oh--

Oh how easy it is for our longing to sneak up on us, all unknowing. How easy it is to be blinded by it.

When the consort smiles-- really, truly smiles-- it’s too bright, like looking into the sun, and Shirayuki has to duck her head or be blinded. She’s light-headed from only a moment of basking in its radiance; she can’t imagine what might happen if she dared to look more.

“Besides,” Haki continues blithely, skirts brushing their slippers as they walk. “You could drop an entire tureen on my brother and I think he would adore you just the same. Maybe even more, if you dropped it on the right person.”

A laugh bubbles up from her, and oh, oh, it has been far too long-- it leaves her, a cage thing finally freed from its chains, and rampages through the hall.

Haki stares down at her, pale eyes wide and almost wary. For a moment her mouth works, rounding as if she might say, a lady laughs like a bell, not a gong, just like Mihoko--

And then she joins in, just as wild.

But how can she forget about her precious boy, you might ask? How can she forget about her home?

The answer is easy enough: one must only provide a new one. Oh, how easily a heart may be fooled when the illusion is so pleasant, when it is so wanted. Men on the verge of death imagine entire cities in the desert, oases just over the horizon, luring them yet another step to their doom. When there is no relief, no hope, when only doubts encompass us--

That is when we are most in need of fiction. Of an escape, of respite. How simple it can be to close ones eyes to harsh reality when it is paradise that lays before them.

But take heart-- such things never last. They cannot. It is folly to suggest there is no life without suffering-- an excuse to give breath to all kinds of evil-- but for plenty to have meaning, there must be a lack. To know joy there must be sadness, to know wisdom there must be ignorance, and when all one’s days are filled with a mindless, monotonous bliss--

Well, there is no paradise from which man does not escape, and no garden that will keep a little girl from what she seeks.

“Ah!” Haki’s jolts ahead, a filly at the end of her lead. Shirayuki nearly is dragged with her, her feet stumbling over the hem of her gown, but the consort extricates herself just in time, setting her to rights.

“Just-- just wait here a moment, if you would,” the consort tells her, fingers wound tight over the rounds of her shoulders. “It seems as though there is, ah, someone waiting for me at the door. I’ll only be-- a moment.”

Shirayuki blinks as the consort scurries away, skirts sweeping against the carpet in a rhythm and pace too hurried for Clarines’ stately queen. “But, your room is...”

Around the corner, she almost says, a better shorthand for not yet visible, which is what she means. Both points are moot; the consort springs away long before she can speak, the only part of her that remains the lagging lace of her train. And then even that is gone, all disappeared down the hall.

Perhaps it is the angle, Shirayuki allows. With her on the inside of the turn and the consort on the outside...?

Well, it hardly matters. She huffs out a breath, straightening her shoulders, and comes to stand in the intersection. This is a safe enough place to wait; the consort’s chambers are the first door on this hall, and--

And there is someone waiting. Or was, since all she catches of them the flash of a white coat.

The girl knows every inch of this garden in time, every undying bloom. For that is what they must be, at least for them to be so many, for so long. There are daffodils and daisies, dahlias and tulips, marigolds and gardenias, lilacs and lilies of the valley. A hundred flowers and more, too many to ever name crawling up lattice and sprawling over the bounds of their beds.

And yet, there is something missing. It sits at the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, but she cannot find the word, no matter how long she thinks on it. The only thing that comes to her is the memory of loam, and the warmth of hands brushing hers.

Don’t ever leave me, the sorceress would say, a smile on her lips, fingers tangled in her hair.

How could I, the girl would laugh, an inexplicable knot of dread tightening in her belly, when everything is so beautiful here?

“Shirayuki!”

Haki approaches her, smile wide and warm but also-- strain lingers at the corners. Maybe even displeasure. “I thought you were going to wait.”

“I was,” she says, wide-eyed. “I mean, I am. Who was...”

“No one.” The consort waves her off. “Just a delivery. A tisane. For my migraines. I ran out just the other day.”

“Oh.” Her mouth works, grasping for the words that had come so easily no so long ago, but now were like grinding glass. “From the pharm--?”

“Come!” Haki sweeps her arm up into her own, pulling her firmly against her side. “It’s time for dinner, isn’t it? We must see that you’re ready.”

It ends like this: she finds a petal.

It is no crimson red, no passionate pink, but instead a simple and clean white, not so unlike the gardenia. But it is too small for such a flower, too rounded, too plush. She presses it between her fingers and it is familiar as her own skin, as the scent of vanilla on the air, and yet she cannot find the name, nor envision the bloom from whence it fell. Surely it is nothing in this garden.

What it that you have? the sorceress asks, her voice suddenly sharp, like a blade placed between skin and bloated tick. Give it here.

The little girl has not reason not to. It must have blown in from elsewhere.

The sorceress takes it in her hand, slender fingers curling into a fist around it. When they unfurl it is gone, merely dust in the wind.

We need none of that world here, the sorceress says, kinder but firm. You will never leave me, after all.

Of course, the girl says, turning to her with a wide smile. The sorceress has a new hat on, black and covered in flowers, even finer than the ones she’s worn before. Why would I, when--?

Her teeth snap down, words stuck between them. It’s the only way to be safe, the only way to stop herself from saying now what she knows she cannot. Right there, painted on the cloth, next to a blood red dahlia--

--There is a rose. The sorceress’s hat has roses, and this garden does not.

Of course, she says again, stilted. This is where I belong.

Shirayuki stands frozen in the hall, mind churning like a mill’s wheel in the storm of her thoughts. The summer months mean whites and creams and ivories are in season, a playful palette that the consort’s court adorns with floral embroidery. But she did not see a floating train of silk, or the fluttering layers of linen, but instead--

A white coat. A brown paper package done up with twine and ink scrawled illegibly on the outside, passed so quickly from one hand to the next. The scent of herbs is fresh on the air, valerian among them.

She misses it. Almost as much as she misses...

“Shirayuki?” The consort tugs at her, a question writ across her brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Haki...” Her hands clench at her side. “Has there been any news of Obi?”

That is the thing about magic: it is easy to weave wishes into illusion, but to maintain it-- a different matter entirely. A woman may send all her roses underground, never to be seen again, but to remember to remove them from every vase, from the back of a brush, from a hat--

Impossible.

“Obi?” The consort’s grip tightens, even as her smile spread wide. “No, none at all.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #All That Remains #snow queen AU #ans #i really and truly thought i'd get to finish out this section #but NO #it is not to be #to be fair it's one of the longest in the story #and it has the most like...plot movement in one piece #so i guess it makes sense #but SIGH #soon guys #soon we'll get to the turn on this #NEXT CHAPTER FOR SURE

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