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caramelkoo · 1 month ago

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be still my heart — jjk [two]

the one in which Jungkook lets his imagination run wild and you confront Jimin about your past.

genre : childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, physical therapist!reader x hockey player!jungkook, slow burn, smut, fluff, angst

word count : 5.1k

chapter warnings : strong language, kissing, jungkook is again nervous around Destiny. That's it i guess lmk if i missed anything.

a/n : ohmygod the first part got so much love i just couldn't wait to post this. This one is a bit intense. I love my babiest baby jungkook so much. Please enjoy my lovely people and remember you're so loved :> feel free to send asks. kisses.

Jungkook

During Jungkook’s college days, there was a guy named Oscar who’d sit beside him in class with his round glasses resting on his face. He would bunk classes almost every day which led the ever so curious Jungkook to follow him one day in order to find out what’s so special that he’s even willing to bunk classes for? Listen, the nerdy Jungkook thought bunking classes is bad manners. Don’t come at him.

Eventually, he found himself watching Oscar playing the guitar inside the vacant auditorium and he can swear he’s heard nothing more melodic than that. He figured the guy escaped so he could do what he loves. It was his passion.

If someone were to ask him, what’s his passion? Jungkook would say, Hockey. It pumps him up, it brings him back to life. He was born to do this.

He has seen his older brother playing hockey for as long as he can remember but trying the sport for himself? That never came to him, until his brother thought handing out a hockey stick to a 15 year old would be funny.

Newsflash, it wasn’t funny and as much as he doesn’t want to, Jungkook has no option than to give him the credit for him being here. It’s only right. The moment he held that hockey stick it was like the clouds parted and angels started singing.

This life right here is something he has built with hours and hours of practice, diet, diligence and working himself out until he’s a sweaty mess.

It’s not like every other 28 year old’s life, it’s different as well as demanding but every other 28 year old is also not being thrown into the penalty box like him right?

On a good day he would even call himself a conflict-avoidant guy until it comes to his teammates. Then, he’s an animal, ready to tear down every motherfucker who dares to touch them. Dramatic? he doesn't think so.

Yes, they piss him off but they’re a team, it’s a unified responsibility that they have. You stop at nothing to protect your own. The spark of defensiveness is bound to come to the surface given he's the defenseman of the team.

This is why he’s in here, trapped behind this glass shield as he watches the guys do their worst performance till date. The forward of the opposite team tried to get a fight started making Jungkook see red. His instincts led him to act immediately. He had to do something to put an end to it and breaking the guy’s nose seemed like a nice option.

The lions are not an easy team to play with, they’re hard hitters and show no mercy. That’s what coach has been telling them ever since they landed here. Seems like nobody listened. Fuckers.

Sweat drips from his hair as he watches the game, ears filling up with screams behind him.

“Jeon Jungkook I’ll have your babies”

“Jungkook you’re so hot it makes me insane”

“Oh god this man will be my death”

“He can slap me and I’ll thank him”

God help him. The thing is, the shitshow before him is not the only reason behind him being a mess today. Destiny has been… weird lately. At the risk of sounding like a goner, she’s not acknowledging him at all, like at all.

She used to grab the seat in front of him on the plane whenever the team flew for the games but this time she didn’t so much as look at the poor guy let alone sitting before him. Is she hurt because of last time? Did he fuck up again? This proclivity of fumbling every time he’s around her needs to be checked.

“Dude, we couldn’t have held a candle to them.” says Taehyung.

Ah yes, the guys lost the game if it wasn’t predictable enough and now the coach will have their heads on a platter ready to serve. Well, he doesn't want to do that any more than Jungkook himself does.

Jungkook gets rid of his shin pads, placing them on the bench. “Try saying that in front of coach”

“He’ll understand”

Yoongi glares at him, “The fuck he will. He’s been in our faces telling us how wild it might be over there. Who listened? Because you sure not did, Tae”

Taehyung chuckles in disbelief, propping his hands on his waist. “Dude, you’re targeting me as if I was the one breaking noses and all.”

He gives Jungkook a side eye. Oh he’s so gonna get Tae later.

“You might as well have. And as for you,” he glances at Jungkook, "I'll just hope you come back in one piece."

“Alright, cut it out” Namjoon says as he slips into his practice jersey. That’s so like him. Heading straight for practice after a big game, whether or not they win.

He’s one of the most dedicated people Jungkook has ever seen and you can’t generally get a praise out of him like this.

He blocks out their bickering and focuses on getting out of his hockey pants. A sharp pain shoots up in his knee making him cringe. That’s strange. He doesn’t remember his knee getting involved in the ruckus. Anyway, he makes a mental note of letting Destiny know about it and not repeat the same douchebaggery.

“Hey bud, you doing okay?” Namjoon asks as he’s rubbing the painful spot.

He looks up, “Yeah it’s… it’s just a slight pain. Might be a cramp for all I know”

He pats Jungkook’s shoulder in support, a kind smile plastered on his face. “I hope so and hey, don’t be picking fights like that anymore. You understand?”

Jungkook is quick to defend himself. “But that asshole–”

“I know,” he nods, “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Let it be your last.”

He gives up, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’ll resist”

Namjoon is right. Jungkook did not pick a fight and he knows it. He also knows that Jungkook is always ready to come at his players’ defense, however that might be.

After all, it all boils down to a nasty fight on the rink which is nothing to be surprised about. There have been plenty of fights down here, some resulting in broken limbs and some going as far as a person on a stretcher.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Nightclubs are hands down Jungkook’s least favorite spot ever. He hates the smell, he hates the crowd and he hates how loud everything gets. If it weren’t for Yoongi, he would be at home chilling or overthinking. No one can tell.

Although, he’s not sure if he can even call that four walled room his ‘home’. It’s not home, it’s just a place he was given to stay at when he joined the federation and while he’s more than grateful for it, an empty, emotionless space where he only exists in can’t be qualified as a home.

However, he can’t stop wanting a place which is only his. A place he can share with someone he loves, wakeup next to her, cook with her, make memories with her. A home overflowing with laughter and giggles only.

Clearly, that murky ass house can never live up to that expectation not when it consists of a bathroom smaller than his fist, a bedroom which can’t fit more than 3 people at once and a kitchen he, for some reason, can’t get himself to cook in. He believes someday he’ll have that albeit the wait.

“Do you think I’m joking?” Taehyung’s voice is louder than ever before because of the surroundings. Sitting beside Namjoon as his hands fist a glass of old fashioned, he acts like he just spilled the most expensive beans.

He dramatically places one hand on his chest and turns to Jungkook, “Dude, tell him. Tell him how I got my dick pierced last week”

A chuckle leaves him, “Better yet, you can lose those pants and give him a live show”

The guys break out in fits of laughter.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen my dick already, you twat. I did it for my girlfriend alright? Was this close to tattooing her name too but didn’t,” he holds up his thumb and forefinger to show how much,

“I don’t want my guy to swell and look like I accidentally got it stuck between a door or something.”

From his peripheral vision, Jungkook spots Destiny walking up to them looking like an absolute goddess. She’s wearing a shoulder strapped bodycon dress tonight with her hair curled in such a way that it makes her face look more feminine. He has seen so much of her in those scrubs that she’s doing things to him now. Hold your damn horses, Jungkook.

The poor guy can’t so much as look at her for too long or he’ll get hard. That’s something he can’t allow himself to do right here when all his friends are gathered. They’re never gonna let him live that down.

Maybe, when he’s alone he can fuck his hand with the thoughts of her taking him into that sweet mouth she’s got a bold red lipstick look going on. His cheeks turn crimson and he fights back a smile.

“Hey, guys” she greets them as she tucks a hair strand behind her ear. A gold hoop adorning her. God, she’s trying to kill him. She's like Jungkook’s own version of heaven.

The guys all smile up at her like she just asked them to give her a foot massage. Meanwhile, her eyes never land on Jungkook.

“Jimin, can I steal you for a second?” she hesitates.

“Sure” Jimin places down his drink and stands up. He walks up to her and rests his hand at the small of her back making Jungkook’s smile drop. Nice, he's getting jealous over a kind gesture now. Next thing you know, he'll be ending anyone who dares to breathe in her direction.

Namjoon shakes his head as he follows them both with his gaze. “Am I the only one who thinks they’re fucking?”

Yoongi dissolves into laughter while Taehyung spits out his drink. Almost. Jungkook? He finds nothing funny about it but refrains himself from saying something stupid in the heat of the moment.

“There’s some tension, yes. Can’t say anything about the fucking part though” says Yoongi.

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“Do you think they’re shagging?” asks Taehyung in a hushed voice.

“I think you assholes need therapy” With that he rests his own glass of drink on the table and walks away. Their voices calling out to him become more and more faint as he goes on.

He needs to find out what is it that gave rise to this sudden change in Destiny and if he’s the reason for it. His stomach churns as soon as the thought of her having something going with Jimin crosses his mind.

The guys were joking back there and given their proclivity of joking around, he takes their statements with a grain of salt. Howbeit, he can’t help but wonder the same.

The worst thing of all is he doesn’t have any right to feel this way. She’s not his and she might never be for all he knows. So maybe this is for the best, maybe if she keeps on discounting him like this, it would be slightly easier to forget her. Right?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Destiny

“What do you think you’re doing? This is a men's bathroom?” A guy who must be in his early twenties nearly pokes his finger in Jimin’s eyes. His gaze darts over to you as he gives you a disgusted look.

Jimin levels him with an intimidating glare, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business and we’ll be good. Yeah?”

He flashes you another appalling look, his nose flaring before he walks out. For a second you might even endorse with the guy but in your own defense, the club is buzzing with commotion and there was not a single space Jimin and you found where you both could have a proper conversation without anyone bumping into you. You spent quite the money on this dress and it'd be bummer to ruin it. It’s insane how crowded it is. So, here you are.

Jimin turns to you, his fingers still laced through yours for the sake of your safety. “I’m sorry for that”

You snatch your hand back. “No it’s totally fine. I mean it’s not usual for a guy to bring a woman in here” an awkward chuckles leaves you.

“It is”

Your smile drops, “Huh?”

“They do bring women in here. Well, let’s just say they do everything except have a talk”

Of course they do. God, this is more awkward than you imagined it would to be. You could die of embarrassment right now but if you don’t clear things up with him, it would be more humiliating to simply exist around him. You roll your shoulders back, plucking up enough courage.

“Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, shall we?”

He steps closer to you, just enough to catch you off guard but not enough to knock the breath out of your chest. There is someone else who's been doing that job lately.

“What elephant Destiny? The one about us having the best time together or how you left me the next morning? Alone and pathetic” he demands.

Well, knock me down with a feather.

Your mouth parts in shock, “I left you? You sneaked out, Jimin and you know it”

You wonder if he’s gonna come clean about that. If he’s gonna stop blaming you and take accountability for once. You guys did have the best time together and as short lived as it was, you regret nothing about that night until this point.

Now that he stands in front of you, accusing you of being so cowardly that you dared to leave him, it makes you question your own integrity.

He takes another step forward, automatically making you take one back as he searches your face. “So where were you when I woke up? Where were you when I reached my hand out and didn’t find you lying next to me, huh?” his voice barely a whisper.

Enough. You wouldn’t have bothered to stop the scream that’s begging to leave you had someone pointed a gun at your head. A gal can only take so much before she snaps.

“I WAS OUT THERE SEARCHING FOR MORNING AFTER PILLS”

The vacant bathroom echoes with your own words. The words you were holding back from saying out loud.

“I went in search of those, Jimin. Apparently, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you fuck each other and not take necessary precautions”

He stills, backing off as if you had slapped him. A heavy silence hangs in the air around you.

Jimin’s eyes flash with barely contained astonishment as he looks around trying to find words. When he doesn’t say anything, you take it as an opportunity to continue.

“You weren’t lying about us having a great time together. I accept that, we did have fun and I don’t regret it which honestly, I’m not so sure of now.”

A quick look of hurt passes through his face before he recovers.

“I was planning on staying back too oh… how badly I wanted to stay back but you have to understand that I was also at the prime of my career as a professional physical therapist. I couldn’t afford having a child, Jimin. Back then even the thought scared me. So, I left for a while, mentally promising you to come back. You were sleeping so soundly and you looked so beautiful and I didn’t want to disturb you—”

Your words come to an abrupt halt as he takes a long step towards you, backing you up against the white wall behind.

It’s not the same, your chest is not rising and falling rapidly like it did back then. Gosh, you couldn’t even speak in front of him. This time you’re immune to his eyes, his closeness and his warmth. Is this what they call healing?

“You should have” his brown eyes flash with hunger, “You should have disturbed me, Destiny. I would have woken up, ate you out, maybe fucked you again while wearing a condom, cuddled you and then accompanied you to the medical store.”

Oh fuck no, this is not happening. You’re not getting yourself back into this situation where he charms you with his mere words and leaves you cold. You deserve better than that.

You push him back with your palms on his chest, “Maybe, but I think I wouldn't have it any other way,”

You look straight into his eyes and nowhere else to make him feel how serious you are, leaving no room for uncertainty.

“Bella, my assistant, keeps saying that everything happens for a reason. It’s written up there," you point your forefinger up, "I feel the same about what went down with us. There was a reason why you left, there was a reason behind me not bothering to wake you up."

A bitter chuckle slips through your mouth, “Although, I can’t seem to grasp why the hell are you here?”

The way your heart is beating inside your chest, you might end up on a ventilator. It’s because you haven’t had much control of anything in your life, this feels particularly massive. This is one way for you to take back control, because it’s your choice and yours alone.

You try not to let the tears spill, “I asked you to spare me a few minutes just so I could talk to you about it but this isn’t how I imagined this conversation to go, Jimin. Regardless of that, I need you to do me a favor”

He holds your gaze. “What favor?”

You clear your burning throat, “I’m requesting you to please not initiate any conversation about our past with any of the guys. That could pretty much cost me my job and yours.”

He offers you a stern nod, “You have my word”

With that you turn and walk around just like you always do and always should when it’s time. Only this time, you don’t feel victorious. Instead, the feeling of utter shock rushes through your body because standing outside is the only person you had been avoiding to say the least.

You flinch. “Jungkook?”

He’s leaning back against the cold wall with his hands inside his front pockets, head hanging low. You can’t make his face out because of the darkness.

He frantically lifts up his head when he hears you calling, looking as surprised as you, “Hey, I— wait, why are you coming out of the men’s room?”

You shift on your feet, folding your hands in front of you. “What? OH !! Well, I had some business with Jimin and this felt like a nice place to.. you know”

You can’t talk for the life of you. How do you explain yourself to him without word vomiting? But then you think better of it and just shake your head.

“You know what? Never mind that. What about you? Why are you standing here like someone just broke your heart?”

No fucking way did you just say that. What is this? A bollywood movie? You immediately feel like you hit a nerve when his face falls, causing you to curse yourself.

He’s silent for a moment before he stands up straight. “You could say that”

“Wait, really?”

Yet again you’re struggling to breathe, a spark of curiosity threatening to rise up. Why do you care about his heart? He’s been all but rude to you every day since you’ve begun working by his side so why would you care if someone put his bloody heart in a blender? You have been assigned to take care of his body, what happens unrelated to that is none of your business.

Except, you do. There is a teeny tiny part of you that cares. Though, you can’t say if it’s the doctor inside of you or something else. Something which could ruin you and save you all at once.

“Who is it?” you ask in a small voice.

His eyes rank behind you and he pulls you close to him by grabbing your arm. You see a man passing by, faltering on his own under the influence of probably the sheer amount of alcohol inside him.

When you look up, you have to swallow a gasp. Jungkook’s face is so close to you, you can almost count his moles. The one under his lips is begging to be kissed and you hold yourself back from grabbing him by his jacket as you kiss the hell out of him.

Wait what?!

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with something you can’t pinpoint. It’s like a mixture of anger and adoration. Soft lips brush your temples as your heart beats out of your chest.

“It’s not safe here. Why don’t you go join Bella? If I break another nose it’ll cost me good”

You lean back, still in his arms. It would be nice if you get out of his hold. You should shove him away too exactly like you did with Jimin but for some reason, you can’t. His hold is safe, cozy. It reminds you of your grandmas cookie recipe. Warm and lovely.

“Another nose? Did you get into a fight?”

He breaks away, turning his back to you but you clutch his forearm as you hold him back before he can bolt.

“You know the PR is gonna make your life a living hell. What did you do?”

His jaw sets instinctively as he looks at you for a moment before speaking.

“Destiny, if you don’t want me kissing that sweet mouth of yours and imprint my name on it for once and for all, get the fuck out of here.” he rasps.

That's it. Flashbacks of that night and that fucking dream consume you. It doesn't help at all that he looks so dashing tonight in all black. Black leather jacket, black pants and his black boots. You're having visions you shouldn't have. They're nice. Farfetched but nice, nonetheless.

You release his hand like it will set you have you combust if you keep holding onto it for even a moment longer. You turn around, with the intent of getting out of his proximity when his voice stops you.

“Destiny”

You don’t turn around because something is telling you if you do, you will never be the same.

“My life turned into a living hell the moment you stopped looking at me”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook

Jungkook is dying.

Figuratively, of course.

He should have taken Destiny seriously when she said that the PR is going to make his life miserable once he gets to know about the mess he had made. His phone is buzzing on the kitchen counter. He knows who it is but he doesn’t pick up.

Instead, he just waits until it stops ringing. Jungkook can see it all playing out in his head. He will be called to the PR’s office as soon as he enters the academy and the PR is gonna ask him why he did what he did, Jungkook will then tell him that he's a a man of virtue, he will ask him to repent and tell him to fuck off. Very classic. Been there, done that.

He drops his head low, palms splayed in front of him. Calling last night chaotic would be an understatement. He said things he shouldn’t have and heard things he hoped he wouldn’t. It was not deliberate, of course. He would like to call it a spur of the moment.

Alright, he was fucking jealous. There he said it. He was jealous of Park Jimin because that man was touching who Jungkook had been longing for, he was talking to the women Jungkook had been begging to look at him once and allow him to breathe.

When he reaches the academy, he quickly asks about Destiny’s whereabouts and goes on to find her. He thinks his knee needs to be discussed because he can’t risk not playing the next game.

He's not sure if he's prepared for the uneasiness that's about to welcome itself but– god if you’re listening, help him, he prepares himself as much as he possibly can.

Raising his hand to make a fist, he knocks on her office door. This would be his first time inside, if she would even let him in.

“Come in” her voice reaches Jungkook.

He takes a long deep breath and pushes the door wide open. Stepping inside he looks at her sitting in her chair with glasses resting on top of her button nose. She looks so adorable. He doesn’t think he has ever seen her with glasses on but he approves.

“Jungkook? Is everything okay?”

Is it? Why is she acting like everything about last night was a dream? Did I imagine it all? Jungkook wonders.

He slips his hands inside his front pockets and nods, “My knee is acting a bit weird. I wanted to get it checked. See if there’s anything serious.”

She takes her glasses off and rises to her feet. Pointing to one of the chairs, she says, “Sit down and let me have a look”

He does what she asked as he leans back to make himself comfortable. An eerie silence surrounds them, making every inch of Jungkook's body stiff as he grips the armrests of the chair a bit tighter. He doesn’t let it appear that way of course. He’d rather die.

When she’s satisfied, she gets down on her knees and looks up at him. The visual is lethal but not something which he hasn’t already imagined.

He's not entirely proud to say that he has had the privilege of seeing her on her knees in his dreams, in the darkness of his bathroom, in his fantasies. He's seen it all but the real sight nearly makes him blow his load.

What do you think happens to a man who witnesses a queen getting down on her knees for him? Ask Jungkook. Mentally thanking himself for not wearing the sweatpants, he prepares to answer any of her questions.

“Do you wanna tell me what caused this?”

“There um, there was a fight back at the game. I felt a slight pain in the changing room but didn’t think much of it. Thought I’d let you know about it.”

She smiles, “Well I’m proud of you for that minus the fighting part. I’m sure you’ll be discussing that in the PR’s office”

As she’s examining any possible pulls or cracks, he thinks about apologizing to her about last night. To be very honest, he's tired of this awkward silence every time he's around her. Not talking is one thing, walking on eggshells around each other is another. He wants her to behave the same way she does with the rest of the boys.

“Destiny, I needed to talk to you about something”

She looks up again, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“Sure. Was something else hurt during the fight?”

“What? No. I wanted to talk about last night”

She stiffens as her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. Fuck, why is his heart beating so fast? Wait, is he sweating?

Then she shrugs, talking in a casual tone. “I don’t think it’s worth talking about”

“Why?” Jungkook can’t help but ask.

“Well,” she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “You and I both were drunk and people do stupid stuff when they’re drunk so.”

“There was not a single drop of alcohol in my system. However, whatever I said was in the spur of the moment.” he says wording his previous thoughts, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry”

She’s quiet for a moment before she lowers her head and mumbles something.

“WellIhadasexdreamaboutyousoweareeveniguess”

He lowers down his own head, trying to listen clearly, ‘What was that?”

“I said I had a sex dream about you so we’re even” as soon as the words slip out of her, she claps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes wide as saucers. Meanwhile, he just sits there wondering if he heard her right or his brain is as fucked as his knee.

His mouth goes dry as he keeps looking at her. He feels like someone just dumped a bucket full of ice water on his head. She had a sex dream about him? When? How was it?

“It was uh okay”

Kill him, kill him now because he said that out loud. See, this is what he means when he says he messes up every time he's in front of her. That’s exactly what the last thought that crosses his head before he pulls her by the back of her neck and smashes his lips on hers. Fuck it, he can’t take it anymore.

When she kisses him with the same amount of passion and hunger, he resists himself from hoisting her up on the table and eating her sweet cunt. She matches every movement of his lips. Hers suck his before his take her pink and pillowy ones.

Within seconds, he has her caged in his arms. A low moan slips past her lips as she clutches onto Jungkook's shoulders for support, his fingers digging into the sides of her waist. Is this what feels like to kiss Kim Destiny? Is he actually touching and tasting her?

She tastes like cherries and bubblegum and he swears he's tasted nothing sweeter. He wants to have this taste every day on his tongue, and wants to remember it till the day he takes his last breath. Maybe, even longer than that.

He pulls back and cups her cheek, running his thumb along her lower lip as she catches her breath. She’s got her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling against his. Jungkook can feel her hard nipples through her scrubs.

Someone shakes him by the shoulders and he snaps out, blinking rapidly. He looks around and finds himself sitting on the very chair Destiny asked him to but when a feminine voice calls out his name, it's not hers.

“Well, watching my best friend on her knees in front of my step brother was not the visual I thought I needed”

Turns out, it takes a lot to make that someone up there 'happy' because standing in front of him is his only step sister. It's hilarious how unpredictable life happens to be. After all, not only did he imagine kissing Destiny after she told him about her little sex dream but will now have to figure out how to face his sister without wanting to hurl himself out the window.

Can he catch a break?

Taglist - @keylime4eva @xumyboo @jash719 @dmstoyangyang @pitchblack0309 @withluvjm @chaelvrx @httpjeonlicious @lovingkoalaface @rpwprpwprpwprw (ilusm and thank you for reading <3)

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

Text

Mission Dad

Character: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky is just your average dad in his daughter's eyes. But deep down, she yearns for a father with more influence and power, like her friend's dad. Little does she know, Bucky is anything but ordinary.

Words Count: 3,712

Warning: Slightly bullying scene.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The midday sun streamed into the principal's office through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. Despite the abundance of light, the atmosphere inside remained heavy and gloomy.

"I’m sorry; it’s my mistake as a parent." You bowed your head to the people in front of you: two couples who wore formal suits, along with their teenage daughter, and the principal, who kept wiping the sweat from his head.

Your daughter, Faith, who stood beside you, clenched her fist. Her expression was ugly as she looked at her mother, apologizing and bowing to someone who didn’t deserve it. “Mom, don't apologize. it’s not even my fault.”

You glanced at her and nodded, assuring her that you didn’t feel hurt or offended.

Sabrina, your daughter's classmate, smirked at you and Faith. With her mouth silent, she told Faith, “You can’t win.”

“Yes. It’s just a small matter.” Roy, Sabrina's father and also a senator, patted his daughter's head. “I think this matter doesn’t have to go public, right?” He turned to the principal.

“That’s right.”

With that, the problem was solved. But the scar still felt fresh on Faith’s heart.

As you drove the car back home, the silence hung heavy between you and Faith. Then, unexpectedly, her voice broke the quiet. “Why did you marry dad?” Faith crossed her arms beside you, her tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by her question. You hadn't anticipated such a query from your daughter.

“Why did dad let you go alone and allow you to be humiliated?” Faith wiped the tears from her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion. The memory of you apologizing on her behalf still fresh in her mind.

You felt a pang of heartache seeing your daughter in distress. Today's events had revealed a truth you hadn't known before. The reason for your confrontation with Sabrina's parents was rooted in the bullying Faith had endured.

Faith had gathered evidence – recordings and screenshots of text messages – hoping it would be enough to put an end to the torment. But the power and influence wielded by Sabrina's family proved formidable.

With the evidence at hand, Faith had the potential to tarnish Sabrina's family name and derail her father's career as a senator.

Your fists clenched at the thought of Sabrina's cruelty towards your daughter. You wanted to scream, to exact some form of justice for Faith's pain. The urge to confront Sabrina and her allies gnawed at you, a primal instinct to protect your child at any cost.

But you held it in, knowing that today you didn't have the power to fight back. Another reason was because your husband wasn't here. Bucky Barnes had been gone for months for his job, a job so complicated that contacting him was nearly impossible.

You caressed Faith’s hair gently. “I'll try calling your father again.”

Faith sighed, her frustration evident. “He better answer, or else I'll find a better dad.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the circumstances. “Honey, don’t joke like that. Your father is the only one in my heart.”

She pretended to gag, a playful gesture that reminded you of the teasing banter you shared as a family. Whenever Bucky returned home from his job, you would become lovesick teenagers, unable to keep your hands off each other.

******

Back at home, you glanced around to ensure no one was near before your hand slid open a secret shelf, revealing an old flip phone hidden within.

You dialed a number and waited anxiously until a voice finally answered, "Hello?"

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Steve, can you find him?"

“Not yet,” came the disappointing reply.

You sighed again, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "Alright, I’ll call you later."

Closing the phone, you rubbed your temples, the stress of the situation weighing heavily on your mind. Your daughter was right – you needed Bucky.

Just then, you heard heavy footsteps descending from the second floor. "Mom, I’m going out for a sec."

You glanced up in surprise, realizing Faith was already on the move. "Faith, we just arrived!" But it was too late – she had already slipped out the door.

******

Faith heard your voice, but she sprinted faster. She had caught the name "Uncle Steve" in your conversation, indicating that he might know where her dad was. They had been friends since childhood, and she trusted him.

Upon arriving at the coffee shop owned by Uncle Steve, she pushed open the glass door and was greeted with a warm "Welcome."

Steve was taken aback. "Faith?"

Approaching him, Faith cut to the chase. "Uncle, do you know where my dad is?"

Steve hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he shook his head. "You know he has to travel all the time."

Faith rolled her eyes in frustration. "Yeah, cleaning up someone else's mess. He keeps saying that, but when there’s trouble at his own home, he's never there."

Sensing the tension, Steve tried to diffuse the situation. "Hold up, the topic is getting heavy. Let’s sit down." He gestured towards a nearby table, inviting Faith to sit and talk more calmly.

Steve offered Faith her favorite chocolate mint drink to cheer her up. Taking a sip, Faith felt a sense of calm wash over her. She grumbled and sighed, “I don’t understand why mother married my dad when she can’t depend on him.”

Steve widened his eyes in surprise. “Your dad would be heartbroken to hear that,” he said softly. Having a daughter could be both sweet and scary, he thought, realizing the impact of her words.

“But it’s true. I also found out that mother came from a well-known family. But she cut ties with them because she married dad,” Faith sighed, her gaze drifting to the café window. “I wish I had a powerful dad.”

Steve sighed sympathetically, picking up on Faith’s frustration, as well as your own from the last phone call. “What happened, Faith?”

As Faith recounted the events of the day, Steve listened intently, his expression growing increasingly enraged. “How dare they do that!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the café patrons to jump.

“There’s nothing I can do since her father is a senator,” Faith lamented.

After a moment of silence, Steve spoke firmly. “Faith, don’t worry. Your father will handle this.”

“But—” Faith began.

“It’s not my place to tell you. Believe in your father. He’s stronger and more powerful than you think.”

Faith couldn’t argue with her uncle’s words. “Fine,” she relented, grabbing her jacket. “I’ll go back.”

Steve wanted to offer her a ride home. “Let me drive you,” he suggested.

“No, it’s alright. I need some alone time. And it’s not far,” Faith declined.

Steve nodded understandingly. “Text me when you get home,” he urged.

“Okey dokey,” Faith replied before heading out of the café.

Back at home, you continued to wait anxiously for your daughter to return. Dinner time had long passed, and worry gnawed at your insides. You picked up the phone and dialed Steve. "Is Faith with you?" you asked urgently.

Steve's voice sounded grave on the other end. "She was, but she left around 4:50 p.m.," he replied.

Your heart sank. "Steve, she still hasn't come home," you exclaimed, panic rising in your chest.

Without hesitation, you jumped into your car and raced to Steve's café. He was waiting for you at the park nearby, his expression as pale as yours. You could see the worry etched on his face as you approached him, your breath coming in heavy gasps.

Coming closer, you noticed that Steve was holding Faith's smartwatch in his hand. The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks.

Faith had been kidnapped.

You panicked, struggling to catch your breath, and Steve steadied you with a reassuring hand on your back.

"I'll call for backup," Steve declared, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.

"I—" you began, but the sudden phone ring interrupted you both.

The familiar ringtone brought a wave of relief flooding over you. With trembling hands, you quickly accepted the call. "Bucky!"

"Honey, I'm sorry, I just got the chance to call you. I—" Bucky's voice sounded cheerful, relieved to hear his wife's voice again.

"Our daughter has been kidnapped!!!" you blurted out, the urgency in your tone cutting through the cheerful facade.

"Who dares lay a hand on our daughter?" Bucky's voice dripped with icy resolve, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

********

As Faith struggled to focus through her pounding headache, Sabrina's taunting voice cut through the dimly lit room.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Sabrina sneered, her eyes glinting with malice as she leaned in closer to Faith. "Did you have a nice nap, princess?"

Faith clenched her fists, her jaw set with determination despite her fear. "What do you want, Sabrina?" she managed to grit out, her voice trembling slightly.

Sabrina's laughter echoed off the grimy walls, sending shivers down Faith's spine. "Oh, just a little payback for ruining my life," she replied, her tone dripping with venom. "Thanks to you, my parents are furious with me. I'm grounded, all because of your little stunt."

Faith's heart sank as she realized the extent of Sabrina's anger. She knew she had caused trouble for Sabrina, but she never imagined it would lead to something like this.

Sabrina, sensing Faith's vulnerability, circled her like a predator closing in on its prey. "You think you're so smart, don't you?" she taunted, her voice laced with contempt. "Well, let's see how smart you really are when you're at my mercy."

Fear gnawed at Faith's insides as Sabrina's words sank in. She knew she was entirely at Sabrina's mercy, with no one to help her in this dark, desolate place. She braced herself for whatever torment Sabrina had in store, steeling herself for the trials ahead.

As Faith scanned the dimly lit room, her heart sank as she noticed an array of menacing tools laid out on the table. Were they planning to kill her? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

Sabrina's malicious grin widened as she picked up a baseball bat, swinging it menacingly a few times. The sound of the bat cutting through the air sent a chill down Faith's spine, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Closing her eyes tightly, Faith began to pray silently, her mind racing with desperate pleas for someone to come to her rescue.

With an evil smile stretching across her face, Sabrina walked menacingly closer to Faith, raising the baseball bat higher with each step. Faith could feel the weight of impending doom settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wished she had stayed home with you, safe and sound. She longed to see her father, to feel his reassuring presence beside her.

"Dad, help me," she whispered desperately, her voice barely audible amidst the tension of the moment.

"I'm here," a deep voice rumbled through the darkness, sending a surge of hope coursing through Faith's veins. Could it be? Was it truly her father?

"I'm sorry I'm late," the voice continued, each word like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness.

For a moment, Faith couldn't believe her ears. Was she in heaven? But then, a second time, the voice pierced through the silence, more tangible than ever. "Dad!!!" she exclaimed, her eyes snapping open.

Standing tall and imposing in front of her was Bucky, her father. He stood alone but radiated a sense of power and strength that dwarfed everyone else in the room. With a swift motion, he halted Sabrina's advancing bat, leaving her stunned and speechless.

Sabrina had always thought her father, Roy, was intimidating, but the aura of power emanating from Bucky now was on a whole other level. She could sense a palpable bloodlust emanating from him, a primal energy that seemed to course through his veins.

With a voice that trembled with fear, Sabrina managed to stammer out, "Who... who are you?"

Bucky's gaze bore into Sabrina with an intensity that made her shrink back instinctively. "I'm Faith's father," he declared, his voice low and commanding. "And now, I'm going to teach all of you a lesson."

*******

At the grand mansion, Roy lounged in his armchair, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully as he gazed into the crackling fireplace.

The sudden ringing of his phone shattered the tranquility of the moment. "Hello?" he answered, his voice laced with annoyance at the interruption.

"Dad!!!" Sabrina's panicked voice came through the line, causing Roy to furrow his brow in confusion.

"Why are you screaming like a crazy person?" he retorted, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.

"Someone tried to kill me!!!" Sabrina's voice trembled with fear, sending a chill down Roy's spine.

"Stop being dramatic," he scoffed dismissively, though a flicker of concern flashed in his eyes.

"She's right," a new voice interrupted, sending a shiver down Roy's spine.

"And who is this?" Roy demanded, his grip on the phone tightening.

"Your nightmare. And you're next," came the chilling response, causing Roy's blood to run cold.

"Tsk. Empty threat," Roy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly with uncertainty.

"No, Dad. He's serious. Call all the bodyguards!!!" Sabrina's urgency cut through the air, leaving Roy no choice but to take her warning seriously.

Roy wasted no time in taking action. He swiftly dialed his secretary's number, his expression tense with determination as he issued his orders.

"Get ready for an intruder," he commanded tersely, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Call in all the bodyguards. I want the mansion secured from every angle. Do whatever it takes to protect us."

As he spoke, Roy's gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, his mind racing with thoughts of the potential threat looming outside.

*******

As the night wore on, tension hung thick in the air of Roy's mansion. The threat from the mysterious voice had put everyone on edge, and they remained vigilant, acutely aware of any unusual sounds or movements.

"Good. Let that kid stay there for a while. She only brings trouble," Roy remarked, his voice tinged with bitterness as he spoke of Sabrina's misfortune.

"Who tried to hurt us?" Roy's question hung heavy in the room, unanswered and unsettling.

His wife, equally on edge, offered her own speculation. "Do you think it's the Barnes?"

Roy pondered for a moment, his brow furrowing with concern. "Impossible. I looked it up. Barnes is just a nobody."

But even as he spoke the words, doubt gnawed at him. Could he be wrong? Was there more to the Barnes family than he had initially assumed?

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the house turned eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Then, piercing through the silence, came the sound of screams echoing through the halls. "AARGH!"

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" The sharp cracks of gunfire reverberated through the air, sending shockwaves of fear through the inhabitants of the mansion.

"What the fuck is going on?" Roy demanded, his voice rising with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Are we going to be safe?" His wife's voice trembled with uncertainty, her eyes wide with fear.

"Don't worry, the bodyguards in this room with us are former special ops," Roy reassured, though the tension in his voice betrayed his own anxiety.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, his posture firm and resolute. "It's alright, ma'am. We can handle this," he assured, his words instilling a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

The door swung open, revealing just one figure standing in the doorway.

As the bodyguard moved to intercept him, Bucky strode forward confidently, his eyes fixed on Roy. "You have to stop before you get hurt," the bodyguard warned, his voice tinged with concern.

But Bucky paid no heed to the warning. With a swift motion, he grabbed the bodyguard's hand and effortlessly snapped it, causing him to curse in pain.

"Shit!" the bodyguard exclaimed, clutching his injured hand as Bucky swiftly took down the rest of the security detail with brutal efficiency.

The bodyguard, his eyes wide with shock, leaned in to whisper to his friend. "Do you think it's him? The lunatic?"

His friend's expression mirrored his own disbelief as he muttered back, "Shit. You're right."

Their hushed conversation carried a sense of unease as they watched Bucky's brutal efficiency in dispatching their colleagues, leaving them wondering if they were genuinely facing the infamous lunatic they had heard whispers about.

With blood streaked across his face, Bucky closed in on Roy, who tensed, assuming a defensive stance. "So you're strong, huh?" Roy challenged, his fists clenched as he prepared for a fight. "I was in the military too. Which special force are you from?"

"Black ops," Bucky replied curtly, his words sending a chill down Roy's spine.

Before Roy could react, Bucky unleashed a barrage of punches and kicks, each blow landing with deadly accuracy. Roy staggered backward under the onslaught, his face contorted with pain as he struggled to defend himself against Bucky's relentless assault.

Roy, already on the floor, bloodied and battered, pleaded desperately, "Wait. Wait!!! Are you Faith's father? The problem between our daughters is done. And this morning your wife also agreed to it. They're just kids."

The words "just kids" rang hollow in Bucky's ears as he thought of Faith, bruised and battered, her innocence shattered by the cruelty of others.

His heart ached at the memory, and he felt a surge of anger and helplessness wash over him.

Bucky laughed darkly, the sound chilling to the bone. "My wife gave you a last chance. But your daughter blew it," he spat out, his voice dripping with disdain.

Roy's eyes blazed with fury as he struggled to rise. "Who do you think you are? You're just a fucking nobody. I'm a senator. Even if you raze my house to the ground, tomorrow you'll be sleeping in jail. Along with your wife and kid," he declared, his voice trembling with rage and defiance.

"Oh, so you're that powerful, huh?" Bucky sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he looked down at Roy.

"I'm that powerful, you son of a bitch," Roy shot back defiantly, his voice strained with anger and frustration.

With a cold smirk, Bucky reached for his old flip phone, his fingers moving with calculated precision as he dialed a number. "Senator Roy? You know him? Yeah, that one. Could you erase him? Thanks," he said casually into the phone before ending the call.

Roy's eyes widened in horror as he realized the gravity of the situation. "You..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to convey his disbelief and fear.

But Bucky wasn't finished yet. With a swift motion, he snatched Roy's phone from his trembling hands and quickly scrolled through the contacts. Finding the name he was looking for, he dialed the number without hesitation.

"Call him. Tell him there's a lunatic who wants to kill you," Bucky commanded, his voice cold and unyielding as he handed the phone back to Roy.

Roy's hands shook as he brought the phone to his ear, his heart pounding with dread. "Hello?"

"Commissioner!! There's a lunatic trying to kill me, he's hurt my daughter," Roy screamed into the phone, desperation and fear lacing his words.

But to his horror, all he heard in response was a calm voice saying, "I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."

"What?" Roy's voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the phone in trembling hands.

"Who are you? You're just a guy from a cleaning company." Roy looked up at Bucky, dis, belief etched across his bloodied face.

"You messed with the wrong daughter," Bucky replied coolly, his voice dripping with a quiet menace.

Bucky Barnes, known by the nickname "Cleaning Service," earned his moniker through his unparalleled expertise in handling the toughest missions in black ops. With hundreds of missions under his belt, not a single one had ever failed. His reputation as a lunatic preceded him, but he wore the label with indifference on the field.

However, when it came to his family, especially his daughter Faith, Bucky preferred to shed his tough exterior and play the role of a regular dad. He didn't want to frighten her with tales of his dangerous exploits; instead, he chose to shield her from the harsh realities of his profession.

But now, as danger loomed closer to home, Bucky realized that pretending to be someone he wasn't no longer served him or his family. It was time to embrace his true self and unleash the full extent of his capabilities to protect those he loved.

Before Roy could react, Bucky delivered a devastating punch that sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

*******

As Bucky stepped out of the mansion, a cry of relief and joy erupted from both you and Faith.

"Bucky!" you exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace him.

"Dad!" Faith called out, her voice choked with emotion as she joined in the hug.

Steve watched the heartwarming family reunion scene unfold before him, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, especially with the backdrop of the burning house behind them.

Bucky held his daughter close, his arms wrapping protectively around her. "I'm sorry. I let you and your mother get hurt," he murmured softly, his voice filled with remorse.

Faith shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "No, Dad. You're not late. You're so cool," she reassured him, her words filled with love and admiration.

Bucky smiled, a rare warmth spreading across his features as he looked down at his daughter. "Thank you," he said softly before gazing at you. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm back.I will never let anyone else underestimate us ever again," he whispered, his voice filled with determination and love.

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comfortless · 9 months ago

Text

Only Other

chapter three of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.

notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!

wc: 9k.

<- previous.

König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.

You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.

You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.

Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.

You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.

Though… men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still… amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.

There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.

König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.

There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.

The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just… lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.

“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.

König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.

“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.

There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.

When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.

You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.

You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.

“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.

“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.

“Ja…”

“You really…” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.

When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.

You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.

The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.

You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.

“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.

“Yes…”

“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.

“Partly.”

You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,

“Is that why I can not have you?”

“I never said…” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.

König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.

It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.

He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.

Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf… the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.

His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.

You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.

“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”

It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.

And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.

“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.

When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.

His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.

It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.

Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness… and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.

Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.

His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.

You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.

His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.

He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.

You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.

He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.

“… everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”

The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.

He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.

After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.

König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.

He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.

— — —

The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.

Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.

Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.

Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.

It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.

There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.

“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.

König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.

“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.

His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.

The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.

“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.

“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”

Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.

You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?

Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.

— — —

Barbarian settlements are strange.

There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.

The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,

Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.

Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.

You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.

Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.

“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.

Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.

If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.

You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.

At least, until he begins to speak again.

“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”

“No… Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.

“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”

Surely… you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.

It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.

His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.

That may have been the case.

When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.

König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.

Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.

— — —

When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.

Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.

He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.

His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.

The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.

“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting…”

“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.

“Yes… but it’s yours.”

He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.

“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.

You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.

There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.

When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.

“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.

“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.

“Ja…” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.

Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.

He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.

You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.

The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.

The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.

He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.

“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.

When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.

You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.

König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.

“Wartet hier.”

He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head…

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you… you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.

There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.

You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.

There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.

And there is no sign of König.

You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.

Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.

But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.

Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.

The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then… a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.

As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.

When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.

Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.

You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.

Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.

— — —

The village takes time to rebuild.

You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.

Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.

Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.

When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.

Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.

When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.

The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.

The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.

Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.

The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.

You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support… even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.

When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.

The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.

You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.

“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”

“Nein… we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.

The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #okay i lied two hours early but i’m tired of looking at words today #f: only other

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etheraltides · 25 days ago

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BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔ - 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): none so far. Despite the photo being used as the cover of the story, there are as little body descriptions for the reader as possible.

A/N: English isn’t my first language and I did my best do edit it all - so if something escaped me, please, let me know .ᐟ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter one: sealing the deal ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Rafe Cameron stood on the front steps of Topper’s house, starring at the tall wooden door where the stakes were impossibly high. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw set in frustration. What the hell did it have to be her? He’d asked himself that question a dozen times on the drive over, and still, he hadn’t come up with a good answer. She was the safest option. Not the best. Safest. That was the only reason. Or so he kept telling himself.

As he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, the door swung open and there she was – Topper’s sister, dressed in a loose t-shirt and denim shorts, barefoot on the porch. Your hair slightly tousled framed your face, the same sharp, calculating expression you always wore whenever he was around sent a flicker of irritation through him - it was like you always seemed to know what he was thinking before he did.

Your gaze narrowed, sweating over him, briefly curious and confused.

“Rafe?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re at the wrong house. Topper’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. She always had a way of making him feel like he was already losing some unspoken competition. “I know.”

“Then why have you been standing on my porch like a psycho for the past ten minutes?” You arched a brow, holding the urge to just close the door and go back to your tanning session. You were so relaxed before your phone rang, an alarm from the camera app informing that there was movement in front of the house. You had rolled your eyes when you recognize the figure in the video, hoping he’d leave but he didn’t so there you were.

Wasn’t it too early for your patience and kindness to be tested?

“You are.. infuriating, aren’t you?” Rafe dry laugh escaped his lips, plastering on a fake smile as he held back the urge to call you names. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

You arched an eyebrow, lips curling slightly at the corner. “So… what do you want?”

Rafe hesitated, eyes flicking to the side for a second as if looking for an escape. He could still leave, save himself the embarrassment. But no, he needed this. He squared his shoulders, locking his gaze onto hers. “I need a favor.”

His words made you arch your brows, head tilting as you watched him with curiosity and suspicious – Hadn’t Topper stopped with the pranks?

Your surprise was brief, barely a flicker in your eyes before you masked it with a smirk. “You need me to do you a favor? Now I have to hear this.”

Maybe Rafe Cameron was finally out of his mind.

Rafe gritted his teeth, your teasing tone instantly getting under his skin, as usual. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You leaned against the doorframe, your body tilting slightly toward him, but with that same casual arrogance you always carried towards him. “Doesn’t seem like nothing if you came all the way here to ask. So, what is it?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to look away. “There’s a wedding this weekend. The Haverfords’ daughter. I need a date.”

Your eyes narrowed, lips pressing together as you tried to hide a smile, masking your laugh with a cough. “You’re asking me to be your date to a wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

“Fake date,” he corrected quickly, teeth gritted. He ran a hand on the back of his hand. Rafe sighed, shifting his weight “I need this to seal the deal with the Haverfords. Their daughter’s wedding is this weekend, and it’s a high-profile event. Showing up solo? Not good for business. It’s about optics—looking stable, like I’ve got my life together. You help me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You gave him a slow, incredulous look, eyes flicking over his face as if waiting for him to reveal the punchline. “And why me, Rafe? You could take any girl on the island—half of them would jump at the chance.”

Rafe felt a familiar irritation rising. Couldn’t you say no or yes already? “I don’t have time to babysit someone all night. I need someone who can, you know… hold their own. You get how these events go, and I won’t have to worry about you saying something dumb.”

Your smile faltered slightly, and you studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. “So I’m your safest option?”

“More like my most reliable option,” he countered, but there was a tightness in his chest, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground. “You won’t embarrass me.”

You crossed your arms more tightly, your lips pressed into a line as you looked at him with a mix of defiance and intrigue. “And if I do?”

“Then I’ll figure it out,” he said, but he could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks. Anger. It irritated him how you had this effect on him, like his heart was suddenly racing, erasing any trace of calmness from his being. “But I need someone solid, not a gold-digger looking for a free meal.”

You stepped a little closer, your expression unreadable, eyes locked onto his as if searching for something beneath the surface. “Was that Rafe Cameron complimenting me?”

“Don’t read too much into it. I think you know how to navigate these situations. That’s all.” Rafe said, trying to keep his tone steady. “Look, if I knew something else would work, trust me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you right now. And it’s just for one weekend, alright?”

“So that’s what I am to you now?” You tilted your head, finding it rather amused to watch him squirm. Desperate trying to be nice for once. “Your best option?”

“Look, I’m not saying that—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re saying,” You cut him off, your voice rising slightly, though it lacked real anger. Your eyes sparked with something he couldn’t quite define, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “You need me because I won’t make a fool of you.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, refusing to back down to admit that yes, he was a bit desperate for help. Your help.

He really didn’t want to risk making a not good enough impression. The best investor of Charleston would be in that wedding. Hell, he had invited Rafe himself. The Cameron young man needed him to boost his business to another level. To build something great, a name for himself so he wouldn’t leave in his father’s shadows and hear his disapproving comments whenever he hit the pillow. He’d make his dad proud for once. Be the man of the family.

Your arched your brows, lips trapped between your teeth as the rational voice argued with the kind voice in your head. “You really need this, don’t you?”

You held his gaze, a mix of challenge and unspoken understanding lingering between them. The air felt thick, and for a brief moment, he was struck by the way your expression softened, the corners of your mouth barely twitching as if you were holding back a smile.

“I’ll do it,” you finally said, breaking the tension. “But only if you take me shopping for the wedding. I need something that’ll actually fit in with that crowd, and you’re paying. Of course.”

He opened his mouth to protest but found himself momentarily speechless. “You really think you can just— I don’t have time for this.”

“Take it or leave it, Rafe,” you shrugged, stepping back slightly. The challenge in your eyes was unmistakable, yet there was something else there too, something that made his pulse quicken in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fine,” he relented, forcing a casual tone as he looked away, trying to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a sly smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast… Boyfriend.”

As you turned back to the house, Rafe caught a glimpse of her profile, the way her hair fell just right, and for a moment, he felt an unsettling rush – even her nose was slightly upturned in an annoying way.

While he walked down the steps, he could feel her gaze lingering on him, the tension from their earlier conversation still hanging in the air, heavy and confusing.

“Pick me up tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late, Cameron.” You quickly tell him before closing the door, not leaving any room to argue.

As he stepped off the porch, Rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that this fake date might become something far more complicated than he had intended. It wasn’t like you to do anything that favored him, even for money.

Lying under the sun, she closed her eyes, trying to relax. But Rafe Cameron’s words replayed in her mind like a broken record. Out of all the people, he had come to her – someone he couldn’t stand for more than half an hour without starting a fight. The thought made her scoff softly, her fingers trailing across the warm fabric of the lounge chair.

What had he been thinking? Or maybe the better question was, why had she even agreed? The sun felt oppressive now, its heat only intensifying the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. The same strange tension that had pulsed between them earlier crept back into her chest. She hated how her heart had raced during that conversation, how he managed to get under her skin just by breathing.

But she could use the money. Soon her college break would be over and her mom wasn’t being easy with her spending habits lately - even threatening to cut her credit card if she didn’t take better care of her finances.

She hoped this would count when she reached heaven’s gate. Helping Rafe Cameron should be a VIP ticket to the paradise in the after life because God knew she’d need all her patience and self control for that.

With a frustrated sigh, she stood up. Enough. She wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about Rafe Cameron.

Without a second thought, she walked to the edge of the pool and dove in, the cool water enveloping her like a cleansing balm. As she surfaced, the weight in her chest loosened, but she knew it wouldn’t be gone for long.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine

Please interact with the story. Your reblogs, likes and comments help me stay motivated. Your support means the world! ^ྀི 💖

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #bitter sweet series

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suguru-getos · 6 months ago

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//fractures// geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 3

links 🔗: part one // part two

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: after getting a fever from the injury, geto calls shoko to treat you — however, he ends up being conflicted and bruising your psyche again with his words & actions. you, (sorta?) fight back this time though.

warnings: signs of abu$e, heavy degradation, mean mean mean MEAN geto, reader also gets mean by the end of it. fluff if you squint-,-

a/n: i'm just writing off this chapter for my funsies :3 but please it is such a 'dead dove do not eat' story so i'd suggest people PLEASE read it after heeding through the warnings ;) also, not beta’d 🤺✨

"its 100 degrees." manami sighs, taking the thermometer out of your mouth. a soft pout on your lips, "then do something to get rid of it, where is the anti-fever medication?" suguru raised a brow. after having your hand carved, it was obvious you would get a high fever. it was too much toll on your body. ever so evident anyway. "and some painkillers." you added, frankly you were still sweating in pain, it hurt. everywhere hurts. "the doctor will be here soon." suguru huffs, looking at manami dismissively, he can't really show that his heart is breaking apart for a good for nothing monkey after all. manami leaves with an eye roll. she felt conflicted too, geto's feelings were enabling everyone to think a little about their actions.

soon, shoko was here to heal you. she glanced at your form, you were beaten and bruised. eyes mingling with suguru, "she is a non-sorcerer." she commented, and raised a brow. "geto, I am surprised she is alive here" she hums, no expression on her face whatsoever. suguru doesn't respond, and neither do you. it did not help at all that she was amazed at something like that. after a second or two, you hummed, "cus he wouldn't get the money from my parents."

suguru's eyes widen, it- is it? is it the money that's making him act this way? no, money is never above his moral compass. the whole reason you're so tattered is because money doesn't matter. his resolve is just being tested, that's all. "shoko, don't heal her." suguru's jaw twitches, he doesn't want to do this but seems like he has to. "I want her worthless self to remember who she is even after she leaves, I want that shit to scar." he crosses his arms, looking at you with predominant hatred.

your heart sinks, you hadn't even thought about how it would feel… to see the grotesque mark looking in your hand for the rest of your life. monster, geto suguru is a monster.

tears well up in your eyes, shaking your head no rapidly. "please don't- please s' hurting too much-" you begged, hands reflexively gripping at his gojo-gesa. "no- no- g-geto? geto- sama" you answered again, while suguru notices how your body shivers in pain and drenched in sweat. "did I say you could touch me? you piece of shit?" a snarl echoed through the room, geto's hand raised to hit you but stopping, you were cowering, all small and flinching. just like his girls. hot and cold, his behavior has been hot and cold. one moment he was hugging you to calm you down, now, he's ordering shoko to let you suffer in pain. "if you touch me again, you filthy monkey, I will make sure to break every bone in your body and leave you handicapped in the basement to rot and starve." his jaw clenched, while you couldn't do anything but listen. you don't want to die anyway. "I'm sorry." you mumbled, heartbroken. six more days with him. your broken voice shoves him back into his senses, he is trying so hard to ensure that it doesn't happen - that he doesn't feel like killing himself, so he is uttering shit, whatever helps to balm his own brimming rebellion against his own thoughts. your eyes are still kind, its just the way they are, you still can't look at him with anything except a silent plea for mercy.

"I think I should heal her, else she would die of an infection." she holds your wrist, a drastic change in your body immediately felt when she began to heal you. your internal injuries, popped lip, the carving, the cumulative blinding pain of it all fading away into nothing. geto only stands still, watching the way your creased brows turn softer, how your pained face turns neutral.

"thank you." you mumbled at shoko, and she smiles. "I don't know why he's got you kidnapped like some third grade movie's villain, but we have another certain someone who can save you perhaps." suguru raises a brow at shoko, the audacity was impressive. she leans back, watching the glimmer of hope in your face. her hand lands onto geto's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "she's a human, didn't you say picking on the weak was not a good thing geto?" suguru rolls his eyes, gently pushing her away. "leave." he commands instantly, while shoko smiles at you, "see you, ne? y/n san!"

you were curious, who was this other person that she could send to help? then again, you're not sure if anyone could help you against this monster in front of you. suguru sighs, the way he speaks to you torments him more than it could ever torment you. which in-turn, makes him try harder to reach a state where he DOES NOT, feel this pathetic after abusing you. so? he mumbles again. "I wonder if you worked like a stripper mm?" you blinked, unsure where this was coming from. no, you weren't a stripper. you waited for him to continue whatever he meant to say. "I mean you certainly look the part, perky boobs, are they fake or real?" your face pales, so far geto has harmed you but nothing was remotely sexual, this turn makes you want to throw up. the expression of sheer panic on your face isn't gone unnoticed by him. he wants to stop, he wants to make sure he never says something like this ever again. then again, he just needs to 'kill' this kind, and caring part of him anyway. "maybe next time I can carve your insides up with the knife, leave you bleeding if you ever try to touch me again. since you want me so bad anyway?" you shake your head no, like a forced obedient pup in training. he was horrifying, absolutely fucking disgusting and every part of you wished he was dead.

to suguru… though, these were all just words. maybe now you will stop looking at him with hidden expectations that he would be kinder, nicer. more tolerable… you don't deserve that, monkeys don't deserve that!

"you will get your lunch and dinner here, don't move or I will chain you with your hands tied up and let my girls practise boxing on your pathetic rag of a body." christ, he was fucking insane. your mouth couldn't help it-

"you utter so much shit just because you're capable of killing me? maybe you're a frustrated eunuch, clearly looks from that disgusting, vomit inducing face. I hope you're killed like the dog that you are, impaled on something sharp since that's all you could ever think of, bastard." you widened your eyes after these words left your mouth. dead. you are to be dead.

suguru is stunned. "this is what happens when pets like you aren't trained well. as soon as the pain is gone, your mouth is on again hmm?" he's amused, you clearly can't do anything to him. still… your words… hurt. why do they fucking hurt? are you important to him? certainly not-

"mutts sleep on the floor." he yanks you outside the bed, throwing you on the marble floor and leaving.

six more days… and he will have you gone.

six more days, and you will never see the fucking bastard.

#geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x y/n #jjk x y/n #fractures geto #jujutsu kaisen drabble #jjk drabble #jjk x you #geto x you #shoko x reader #suguru geto #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #geto angst #geto suguru angst

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devilfic · 9 months ago

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❝right place, right time❞

VII. twenty-one questions.

parts: previously / next plot: everything comes to a head. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, reader's a little stupid, descriptions of surgical stitching, blood, surgical needles, knives, violence, mentions of drugs and underage substance abuse (alcohol), minor character death(s). words: 11.4k.

a/n: it has been yet another hot minute and this chapter has given me a lot of grief in terms of all the ideas I had for it and what it ended up being. as you can tell by the word count, I could Not shut up

Alfred calls you bright and early to watch Bruce spar.

The billionaire had mentioned it before, and while you didn't doubt you would meet an untimely fate were you to challenge Mr. Pennyworth one-on-one, it was a whole other thing seeing them both on the mat.

Alfred is slow but thoughtful; when Bruce attacks, he goes for several hits at once. Alfred anticipates each one. He's more defense than offense, but when he strikes Bruce in the chest even you can feel it.

Bruce is lean, quick. He ducks and rolls and uses every part of his body, not just his fists. He looks a little sloppy when he wraps his legs around Alfred's—out of practice, maybe?—but it doesn't keep him from succeeding. Alfred fights like a soldier. Bruce fights like a martial artist.

Bruce makes a noise when Alfred falls to the mat and you spring up with attention, "Everything okay?"

You hear "his leg" and "I'm fine" overlap one another.

The real reason Alfred had called you was because he wanted you to watch Bruce hurt himself. The vestiges of a sprain, he guessed, that Bruce was too stubborn to rest. When he couldn't convince Bruce to pass on sparring, he resorted to you: "an objective spectator." Alfred had sounded pleased. Bruce had looked about ready to suplex him.

You head over anyway, ignoring the protests of the injured so you could kneel and survey the damage. "Can you walk?"

Bruce doesn't meet your eyes. He forces his body to stand, but you can easily tell he's favoring a side. You reach a hand up and pinch his injured calf, hearing him hiss through his teeth. "Of course it's going to hurt when you do that." He sounds childishly annoyed. Alfred is fighting a smile from his spot next to you.

"I don't understand. You're head of the company, you can afford to take a few days off. Even chair rest is still rest."

"Ah, but there lies the conundrum," Alfred pushes himself up to his feet, "he cannot sit still."

Bruce extends his hand to you, still avoiding eye contact. You hesitate but take it anyway, and the ease with which he hoists you to your feet is a bit disorienting.

Since your agreement with Batman, you were forced to be patient. After all, there were more pressing matters in Gotham besides your own ticking time bomb. He'd promised that he'd get back to you soon about Bruce and, until then, you would have to grin and bear it.

Alfred excuses himself to get busy with lunch the minute Dory enters with the groceries, leaving the two of you alone in the middle of the living room. "As your doctor," you begin, "I can't in good conscience let you keep pushing your body past its limit."

"It barely hurts anymore."

You bend as if you're about to grab at his leg again and he takes a step back, annoyed—if not offended, "You have no record of chronic pain. No record of serious past injuries at all. Yet you strain yourself doing... what, exactly? Sparring all day? You may be young, Bruce, but your body isn't indestructible."

You get the feeling he's heard this before, bristling like a scolded cat as you stare him down, "I'm fine," he brushes past you toward the table he and Alfred moved to the far end of the room, grabbing a sweating glass of water, "Alfred's just being... Alfred. He worries too much."

"I worry," Bruce raises a brow as he takes a swig and you clear your throat, "you said you need to be reminded to care of yourself. Well, that's my job now. Not that the hospital couldn't use more of your money but it's not worth the pain you'll be in." Bruce leans against the table, one leg crossed over the other. You approach, briefly taking note of the water that dribbles down his chin. "I'm starting to think you're just a masochist."

"Yeah? How do you figure?" His lip twitches up into a smile.

You open your mouth but the thought stops you cold. You were going to say, "Because I know someone just like you," but then you're transported back to that fateful morning where you first met. Bruce and all his... familiarity. The wild speculation of your exhausted mind. All of which, at the time, overlapped perfectly. Yet now that you knew them both better, they were worlds apart to you. Except for that one thing.

What was it that set them apart, again?

Your eyes drift up to Bruce's. "I get your type at General sometimes," you divert, "real pains in the ass."

Bruce steps closer to you with his glass abandoned on the table, "And your type can't seem to leave well enough alone."

You prickle. If it weren't for the fact that he was so clearly teasing you, you'd have lingered on the almost double meaning, "The fact you think this," you raise your foot and tap the side of Bruce's injured leg; his eyes narrow, "is well enough further proves my point. You need rest."

Bruce rolls his shoulders back; his compression tee clings to every muscle as he does, drawing your attention for a brief moment. "I'll think about it."

Your jaw drops. Bruce smiles. You feel a white hot flash of irritation that's wiped away when Alfred reenters the room, dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, eyes fixed on you, "Will you be staying for lunch?"

Before you can say no, Bruce interjects for you, "Yes. Thank you, Alfred." Then he turns to you, pats your arm like a friend, and pushes you in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm gonna shower. Make yourself at home."

You stumble over yourself, regaining balance just as Bruce's head disappears over the top floor banister. How quickly he could retreat when leaving you to the lions.

But Alfred is in a good mood today. Better than usual, actually. The hair on your neck stands on end as you follow him to the kitchen, preparing for the good mood to sour now that it wasjust the two of you, but it doesn't come. You watch him hum a little tune as he fixes up some vegetables to sauté.

You even find yourself getting comfortable at the island when he breaks the silence, "I appreciate what you're doing for Bruce... regardless of its efficacy. It's nice to know someone else has common sense in this house." Alfred sets down four empty plates at the breakfast table.

You take note of his tone, an improvement from his barely concealed dislike from weeks before. You take that as a small victory for today, "It's like arguing with a brick wall. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Like a soldier." Without asking, he fills a glass to the brim with water and hands it to you.

"Right. You're a veteran." Your observation gives him pause, the food he tends to at the stove crackling away. "I can tell. I've treated a lot of veterans so I can spot them from a mile away now."

Alfred snorts, straightening his shoulders. "I served as a young lad. Eventually retired and came here, took on the job as the Waynes' butler and bodyguard. I've been with them for quite some time. Since before Bruce was even born."

"You practically raised him."

"Rather... clumsily, might I add," Alfred glances at you and you're surprised to see him bashful, genuinely, "protecting him, I could handle. Raising him... well, that was another matter entirely."

"But you did a pretty good job. I mean, he's accomplished a lot. Especially with the mayor. I imagine that's why he's working so hard: really seems like he's dedicated to restoring his father's legacy."

You can't help the little hook you throw out.

Right before the Mayor was elected, when a bomb shook the penthouse of 1939 Kane St., Edward Nashton had taken to the airwaves to out Thomas Wayne as a cold-blooded killer. Not long after, the man who'd pulled the trigger was shot dead in the street before he could be brought to justice. That would bring anyone out of hiding.

Wayne Enterprises inevitably challenged the claims, Bruce Wayne had taken to his father's defense in an impassioned press conference that even you tuned into, and Gotham General made the decision to keep his father's statue in the courtyard.

It was never ruled out, though. After all, all of the Riddler's other exposés were true. But there was no paper trail. Nothing but he said, he said, and with everyone involved dead, it was Bruce Wayne's word over a zealot who'd flooded the city.

You take a sip from your glass to let Alfred ruminate on his reply. He doesn't raise his eyes to you again, "Precisely."

"I've been keeping a close eye on him in the news. His philanthropy this past year has been really remarkable." That was a bold-faced lie. You'd been keeping an eye on him for the past few weeks. Everything else you knew about Bruce Wayne's newfound appreciation for the poor and needy came from Em. "Some of the people at the party, however..."

"Councilman Roberts, was it? He was awfully spirited from what Master Bruce relayed to me."

The very mention of his name makes your blood pressure spike, "The guest list was very diverse."

Alfred transfers the cutting board to the sink, "Master Bruce has his reasons. He's become rather fixated on the state of political affairs. First behind the scenes, and now..."

"Now center stage." You finish for him, swirling your glass. "Think he'll run for office one day?"

Alfred looks somewhere between amused and horrified.

It would be natural. Thomas Wayne had almost done it. Why not Bruce? It'd be a comeback story for the ages if someone didn't try to kill him again.

"I'd rather he keep out of it. Being in a position like that has never been his true calling."

"Yeah? And what is?"

Alfred doesn't look like he wants to say. He scrubs at the surface of the wooden board, absentmindedly brushing the same spot clean over and over. His eyes catch yours for a split second, just as quick as the smile that he flashes when the answer finally spills out of him, "Altruism."

You and Alfred don't talk much more until Bruce comes down. Dory joins you all at the table soon after and, rather awkwardly, you find yourself having a quiet lunch with the Waynes. Hooks abandoned. Fish not caught.

You wait for what feels like hours, but eventually he arrives.

His car is an absolute monster. It growls as it pulls up beside you in the withering glow of street lights, and if it weren't for said lights, it would blend into the shadows almost completely. The raindrops that dot the hood help catch the light on the deep black paint job.

You look for the door handle but it opens for you. Inside, you see Batman with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. You swallow. This is new territory.

You throw your bag in first, then climb into the passenger seat, very aware of the pocket knife stuffed in the pocket of your scrubs. You go to close the door and it closes for you all on its own. Behind you is an intimidating engine that vibrates through your every bone and muscle, and when you look to the driver, he is staring straight ahead. A few beats pass as you try to keep your teeth from chattering, "Do the seat belts move on their own, too?"

Batman looks at you from his peripheral. Then—twisting in his seat—he reaches across you to retrieve the seat belt, dragging it across the front of your body until it clicks at your side, "'Fraid not."

Despite all the rumbling of the car engine, it's a smooth ride through the city. Even the littering of pot holes and uneven pavement doesn't ruin it. Still, it does nothing to quell your nerves.

You feel small, sinking into the passenger seat built for people wearing a lot more armor than you. You also note that there's nowhere for your legs to go underneath the seat. You bump the solid obstruction with the backs of your sneakers but can't make out what it is.

There are other weird things you notice when you start looking. Starting where your shoulders rest are six holes going down the seat, three on each side, all a foot apart from the last. You press your finger into one of the holes and feel hard metal on either side of the gap. Upon further inspection, Batman's seat has it too, "What are these for?" You ask.

Batman doesn't need to look at you to know what you're messing with, "Restraints."

You recoil, "I beg your pardon?"

"I could show you."

"I'm- sorry, what..." You bend at the waist to feel the metal plate beneath the seat and recognize that there are holes along the sides there too.

"In case I need to bring someone along who's less than willing. Metal bars are installed in the seats. Only I know how to activate them."

"Why your seat too?"

"In case someone tries to steal the car," he makes a turn into one of the boroughs and you realize you're getting close to your destination, "but I've considered putting a trunk in the back for... passengers."

"And where do you get the money for such... modest mods?"

At that, Batman does not answer you. You figured he wouldn't. There were a hundred answers he could give you that would surely, most definitely give his identity away. It doesn't stop your brain from beginning to wander.

It doesn't get very far before you're pulling up into the alley between two houses, shrouding the car in the shadow of Joey Russo's home.

It's not as nicely kept as the other houses on the street, and its age doesn't do it any favors. A lot of the off-white paint has been chipped off or discolored over the years. There's a piece-of-junk car in the driveway that looks like it works, but just barely. The lawn has outgrown the neighbors', kept at bay by patches of dead grass where you can tell someone had gone to town with weedkiller. There are old, faded garden decorations around the front porch. Some gnomes with their ceramic hats caved in, a wind chime missing most of its chimes.

You're wandering out of the alley and into the harsh, orange beam of the streetlight when you feel Batman's hand roughly drag you back into the dark. You're about to ask what the problem is when your eyes catch the side of the house.

There's a little window with its grey curtains shut, a dead flower limp on the sill. Next to the window is a backdoor cracked open.

You do not protest when Batman presses up against the side of the house and moves you behind him. There are dogs barking, cars driving by, faint sirens in the distance, but you can't hear anything from inside.

You watch as he presses his hand to the door and slowly pushes it open, peeking in from a safe distance into the dark. Most of the windows are blocked out by sheer curtains, and no light in the house is on from what you can tell.

Batman is a hulking thing, always, but every step is feather-light on the weathered floorboards as you both enter. There's no sign of Russo, even though the house feels warm. Like it'd been lived in recently. Your heart picks up as you swear you see a shadow move in the corner of your eye, but it's just the wind picking up one of the curtains.

You so desperately want to ask him what he's thinking but your voice is stuck in your throat, the thought crashing down upon you that you are here, that somewhere in this house is the man who had ensured you'd be here today (in nearly all the ways that that could apply), and that it was not so far behind you as you might've hoped.

And were you to get an answer—any answer—from Russo tonight, it would not change the fact that your name was still on Bruce Wayne's payroll.

You feel sick to your stomach all over again.

When the living room is clear, you're simultaneously relieved and terrified when Batman leaves you to scope out the adjoining dining room. The house is silent aside from your breathing.

It's a few moments alone that does it; you start to feel another wave of anxiety. It had been a few minutes, hadn't it? Maybe. A minute at least. You're not confident enough to go looking for Batman, and you fear calling out to him would just detrimentally unsettle the atmosphere. You listen for where he might be, any creaks in the floors boards, but there's nothing.

Just as you're about to step into the dining room yourself, something moves out of your peripheral again. Only this time, you realize too late that it's not the curtain.

You barely register the pain at first—the skin of your upper arm splitting in half—but then it's white-hot and you're choking on a cry before you can stop yourself. Something had rushed at you, a person. You shakily touch where they'd cut you.

Was it a knife? It had to be, with how cleanly it tore your skin. Your brain jumps to the next question: was it covered in anything? Would you get infected?

You stumble back and reach into your pocket for your own knife with a little more urgency. The person rushes at you again with something akin to a battle cry and you narrowly dodge their raised weapon, only the sound of it ripping through the curtains tells you it wasn't just another delayed reaction.

You slash at their back while they're still turned and manage to actually make a cut before jumping back. It's not enough, though. Your attacker spins and even though the light has now turned them into nothing but a silhouette, you can feel their crazed gaze on you.

It feels boiling. It feels personal.

Their breathing is ragged, panting from more than just the fight. It sounds like they're foaming at the mouth, rabid and wild, as they spit at you, "You should've died with your little bitch of a friend when you had the chance."

The anger in their voice stuns you before the words do.

They come at you again and you sidestep them once more but it's staggered, allowing the tip of their weapon to slice your cheek open. When you cry out this time, you yell for Batman.

You don't have any concept of time right now, but as you fall to the floor, you swing at your attacker's ankle, hoping to cut a vein, when you feel Batman rush past you and directly into your attacker.

They both crash into the coffee table, glass and wood shattering in a cacophony. You watch through burning eyes as the two wrestle each other, keeping your hand pressed to your arm to still the bleeding even as it slips against the skin. Batman has them pinned when your attacker starts wildly kicking, and one of his feet hits Batman hard in the leg. You don't expect it to be the leverage he needs, but it's enough to daze Batman—he looks suddenly awash with pain—and that's all the attacker needs to slip out from beneath him and head out the back door.

Your heart stutters. How hard did he have to hit him through the suit for it to cripple him so easily?

Batman tries to recover, tries to deploy the grapple gun in his gauntlet to trip him, but he slips into the alleyway just narrowly. Batman is after him in an instant.

You force yourself up from the floor to follow after him, when you realize that within all that commotion, no one else in the house made themselves known.

You stumble up the staircase, haphazardly swiping at the wall for light switches that might help clear the spots in your vision. "Russo!" You call out, and your voice is shaky. You realize you're trembling.

There are too many doors on the upper floor but there is one that is cracked open. You rush toward it first, shoving it open with your good shoulder.

And there, to confirm your worst suspicion, is proof.

You've had enough training in your field not to immediately vomit at the sight even as the smell overpowers you. He's lost weight and he looks smaller than he had been when you were just sixteen. Laying on the floor, drenched in his own blood, Detective Joey Russo isn't the crystal clear picture you'd preserved in your head these past 17 years.

You make it only a few steps before falling to your knees beside him. It's clear he'd passed from the stab wounds not long before you'd arrived and there's just so many. His chest, his stomach, his arms and legs and skull—his face had taken the worst of it. Whoever had done this had been furious.

You can barely bring yourself to stare into his eyes but when you do, you sob. You try to look anywhere else but your eyes just catch on pictures of him on the wall, happy, smiling, with a wife and a kid who leave no traces of themselves in this room.

It's just him. All alone here.

You sway a bit as you reach a hand up to shut his eyes but the blood on your fingers stops you. You realize that you've left a trail on the way up here, and as your eyes retrace back to the bedroom door, you see Batman standing there looking down at you.

He doesn't ask, just walks over to you and hoists you up to stand, forcing you to lean into him for support.

The time between him finding you and the walk downstairs passes in a muddy amount of time and you're stumbling into the hood of his car as your head swims.

You must be losing a bit of blood.

Batman presses a hand to your arm. His other hand goes to your cheek and you flinch away at the sting.

You watch him dizzily. He reaches down to the bottom of his cape and rips a strip off to tie around your bicep. "GCPD is on the way. We have to get you stitched up."

"If only there were a surgeon around." Batman doesn't find your joke funny. Neither do you, all things considered.

The doors open on their own again and he sits you in the passenger seat, leaning it back as far as it'll go before buckling you in. You think you feel his hand linger on yours before he abandons you for the driver's side. The thrum of the engine is the least of your concerns now.

You're halfway down the street when you mumble, "He said... I should've died."

"Stop talking." He doesn't say it with menace, or at least not the kind where you actually mean it. It's all bark and... worry, you think.

You hate the smell of your own blood, which is funny because it smells about the same as everyone else's and usually that's just fine for you. Or maybe you're still smelling Russo's.

You think of your attacker. About what they said. That you should've died with your "little bitch of a friend". It's too convenient to not be—one of the street lights you pass is far too bright and you have to shut your eyes to keep the thought going—be about her. And why her? Why Russo? Why now?

17 years of nothing. And now everything at once.

"Russo," your voice is weaker, "we gotta go back for him."

"Stop talking! I'm trying- shit." This is the most panic you've ever heard in Batman's voice before. The most fear. He hadn't been this worried when he was dying on your living room floor. "Please." He begs.

You're of sound mind enough to know what he's really asking. You should know, even as you sway in and out of consciousness.

You conserve what little energy you have left to focus on the side of his face. His jaw forever clenched. Eyelashes long enough to catch the city light on. And although it's not entirely clear from the angle you're laying at, you search out the blue of his eyes as his face turns to look at you. It's the last thing you see before you give in.

When you come to, you are laying in a hospital bed with a throbbing arm and an equally throbbing cheek. Your scrubs are still in tact, even with the bloodstains down the front and sides. The knees of your pants are stained too, and you are harshly reminded that this blood doesn't belong to you.

The next thing you notice is Em sitting in the chair beside your bed, head thrown back in a peaceful nap. She must've heard—or seen, you don't recall getting from the car to here—and came to keep you company. You'd reach over to tap her knee if it were your good arm's side. The next thing you notice after that is that there is someone else in the room with you two.

It takes a second, but you remember him: a kindly face even with the cloud of disturb that hangs over him. When he sees you're awake, he gets up from his position against the wall and approaches the other side of the bed, "Detective James Gordon," he introduces himself, nodding to you, "we met at the precinct before."

Your voice comes out scraggly, "I remember you."

He flashes you a quick smile, "Well, I'm happy to see you're alright. You lost a bit of blood, but your friend—" A pen materializes in his hand and he points it at Em, still dead to the world, "—said it was just a few stitches."

"Are you here to arrest me?"

He's trained well enough not to look shocked, but you see his expression shift, "Why would I arrest you?"

You swallow, looking down at your scrubs once more, "I assume you're not here to talk about our mutual friend."

James nods. "We examined Joey Russo's home. We found, among other things, your DNA on the scene. Blood in the living room and... upstairs bedroom."

You pinch your pants leg, trying to get at the skin so you could keep the churning of your stomach at bay. Anything to distract yourself from the very vivid image of Russo's lifeless eyes.

James clicks his pen and you focus back on him. He's got a small notepad in his other hand with a few words already written down. You wonder what he's written about, what he's thinking about you right now. "From what I understand, you dropped by the precinct recently asking for the whereabouts of Russo and were denied given his retirement. You mentioned that you were inquiring about an old case involving yourself, is that correct?" James continues after your nod, "You brought this up to the Batman too."

"Yes," your voice wobbles, "I asked if... he could help me."

"And?"

"He said no."

"But you were both there tonight. So, what happened? Why were you looking for Joey Russo?"

You lean up on your good arm, allowing your legs to swing from the bed so you could sit upright in front of James. One glance over your shoulder tells you Em is still asleep, "I told him it was urgent. I had reason to believe confidential information about the case had been leaked to someone. I wanted to confront him, find out if he... was the one that leaked it."

"The case being part of your sealed juvenile records, correct?" James casts a look over you, somewhere between pitying and skeptical, "given your involvement in this situation, I was given access to this record. Detective Russo worked your case 17 years ago, and was, in fact, the person to get your records sealed in the first place. Along with... three others, I believe. And you believed someone had unauthorized access to it?"

"I know- I know. I know they did."

"Can you tell me the name of this person?"

Detective Gordon seems trustworthy. Batman trusts him, you can tell that much. It's just the saying it out loud part that trips you up, "My, um... my employer. Not Rudy, but Bruce Wayne. I'm his personal doctor. I became aware he had this information and wanted to check with Russo myself before I said anything."

James doesn't bother hiding his intrigue this time. His eyebrows shoot up a bit when you say Bruce's name, "Right. And... do you have proof that he has this information? A picture or a recorded conversation, a witness even?"

Of course not. You'd been happy enough to get out of that penthouse without being caught. Your silence is answer enough. James writes something down on his notepad and nods at you, "Well, a single person—especially not a civilian employer—should be able to access something that's not public record. Even Russo couldn't, having been retired. I can't imagine Russo was the one to give him that information unless he just had a file lying around, and I doubt he did. He never revisited that case before he retired in any capacity."

"Is there any way Bruce could have accessed it?"

"There's plenty of ways if you have an in somewhere and the leverage to do so, but this is all speculation. I can look into it, though. See if anyone's accessed the file recently, sniff around. If you come across anything solid, let me know."

You doubted you would. After that night, those files had probably gone into a room with lock and key.

"There was something else that I wanted to talk about, though," James shifts closer to you, "Our mutual friend assured me that you've never been to Russo's house before tonight, and that he had been with you the entire time you were there. From what I understand, there was someone else in the house with the two of you. Do you have any idea who he might've been?"

"No, I... I didn't really get a good look at him."

"What about his voice? Could you describe it?"

"Uh, young. Sounded about my age." Your fingers grip the bedsheets tightly, "He said something. He said that... I should have died. Along with my friend."

James' eyes narrow on you, "Your friend?"

"Alex," you choke out, feeling a tear spill out of your eye, "I know he was talking about Alex."

"Hm. You think that's why he attacked you? He knows you?"

"But I don't know him."

James flips his notepad back a few pages, "There were eight people there the night Alex Villanueva was murdered, including herself and you: your three friends, none of whom have stepped foot in Gotham since 2019. The shooter, Natalie Young. Her younger brother, Dimitri Young. And a fellow member of their gang, Lucien Goulding. Natalie was killed in a shootout 17 years ago, Goulding is currently in prison, and Dimitri... he should be serving life in prison right now."

Your brows furrow, "Should?"

"He and several other inmates were reported missing from Arkham five days ago."

Your mouth goes dry. You squirm in bed with a sudden urge to take off running and never look back. Maybe you'd aim for your mom and dad's in New Jersey, or maybe the Atlantic.

You remember when Dimitri was a head shorter than you, had yet to sprout up so young. You remember what it was like looking at this kid not much younger than you, green eyes watering, curled up on the concrete as Alex kicked and punched and bled him until he could barely limp home.

And how he looked when Natalie came for you. Still a kid.

"Bat said he was about 5'11, 210 pounds, green eyes, shaved head and tattoos. A bit different from what he was when you last saw him. It makes sense you don't remember."

"He wanted to kill me." You whisper.

James—he's an angel, really—gives you a moment to let it sink in. "We want to put a security detail on you. We have strong reason to believe Dimitri was the one to kill Russo, and it's very possible you were next on his list, but I don't think he anticipated you being there tonight... which might've saved your life."

You shake your head, "Batman saved my life."

The detective smiles, "Twice in a row might make him your guardian angel." The both of you turn when you hear Em stir awake from behind, and James goes to dismiss himself, "Well, thank you for your time. You should probably be heading home to get some rest soon, but if you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to let me know." James hands you a business card, "And I'll look into Bruce Wayne for ya. Could be something there. Our mutual friend might know. Take it easy."

"Wait," you call, before he can get out the door, "Russo. He had a- a kid. A son. And a wife, I think. They weren't at the house. Are they okay?"

James looks a little pained as he answers you, "No... uh, his son was murdered a while back. His ex-wife's been living back home in Boston ever since. She's been notified."

There isn't much else to say after that, so he ducks his head as a final goodbye and exits the room, raincoat swaying behind him.

You're awoken by an incessant ringing about 24 hours later.

Popping one eye open, your brain takes in the shadowy lighting of your living room, blinds still halfway up from when you'd first returned home early that morning. Judith had caught you slumped outside of your apartment door and flanked by two officers—roused by the sound of you coming home late—and had helped you to your couch, poured you a glass of water, and stayed with you until the painkillers put you to sleep.

Frankly, you gave yourself permission to lie and rot today. But the ringing would not stop.

You grab your phone, uncaring of the caller, and accidentally press it to your cut cheek with a hiss, "Yes?"

You expect it to be Em, checking in to see if you were still alive. You also expect it to be your mother, checking in to make sure you still planned on staying in Gotham. You even expect it to be Rudy (who had been just about on the verge of tears when he saw you with a busted cheek).

It's none of them. "Can I see you?"

You place the voice instantly, actually going breathless. "I'm- what's... what's wrong?"

Sitting up hurts like a bitch and you realize that you're about two hours past your scheduled Tylenol. You inhale through your teeth and try to gather your bearings.

"I got... stabbed," Bruce sounds guarded, but it shockingly doesn't come across like that's because of the stabbing, "I need your help."

"Jesus! You need to call 911. Or- or get one of your ten million drivers to take you to the ER, or call a fucking helicopter to-"

"The tower, can you come? Now?"

You weren't supposed to be driving. The cops had brought you home, and you very much did not want to ask for that favor. You drop your forehead into your palm, massaging your temple with your thumb, "How deep is it? Did you stop the bleeding?"

"I've got something on it. I just need you to stitch me up."

You glance around the room, hazy, and reach for your water, "I'll need a ride. Can't drive right now."

"He's waiting outside." The line goes dead.

You don't believe him until you go to open your apartment door and see a suited man leaned against the opposite wall, nodding politely at you. You must look like you've sprung from the dead after last night, but no one makes a comment about it. The two officers on either side of the door nod to you, "Says he's a driver for Bruce Wayne and that you'd know what he was here for. His ID checks out, but we're gonna have to tail him if you go with him."

You shut the door and look through the peephole, but the driver looks comfortable waiting.

You'd wonder how Bruce knew you'd need a ride before you said as much, but it was clear by this point that he knew everything about you.

You probably shouldn't go. Not until Gordon looked into him, or Batman. Right?

You root around in your coat pocket for the phone Batman had given you and send a quick text to his number.

Going to Wayne's. Tell Gordon to hurry up with a warrant.

You pop two pills and pull on your coat.

When the elevator doors part, you drag yourself down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the main room. Alfred nor Dory is anywhere to be seen, but with it being past 10 at night, you can only imagine they're off to bed by now. There is just a single light coming from the kitchen, and when you turn to the breakfast table, there is Bruce. Waiting.

He doesn't look at you when you approach, however. One of his hands is holding stained gauze under the neck of his shirt, and the other is gripping the table with white knuckles. You wash your hands at the kitchen sink, then round up on his left side where he's pressing against the back of his shoulder, just out of reach for him to stitch himself. You fear he would've tried had you not answered the phone.

Or, God forbid, come to you.

He looks up when you're right in front of him, scanning you quickly, "Are you okay?" He doesn't sound all that surprised to see you like this. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You pull the neck of his shirt down to survey the damage, for lack of a good explanation, "I'm certain I've got a better excuse than you." Bruce shifts when you move his hand away, exposing the bloody flesh that makes you wince. You set your things on the table and command him to lift his shirt. He hesitates. "What is your excuse?"

"Got caught off guard."

"Where?"

Slowly, Bruce slips his shirt off, allowing you to see the full expanse of his back. There was the angry red stab wound, but there were other things too: moles and beauty marks scattered across his skin that paled in comparison to the several jagged lines across his shoulders and lower back—pink raised skin where it looked like he'd been cut before. Cuts that had healed years ago. You hover your fingers above one and realize they're shaking. "You never told me you and Alfred fight with knives."

"We don't," he glances at you over his shoulder but looks away just as quickly, "some of those scars are from martial artists I trained with in Thailand."

"Some?" You see so many, and those are only the ones that leave visible scars.

"Others are from the Russians."

You begin to lightly clean around his wound and ready the anesthesia but, despite the fact that he cannot see it in your hand, he waves it off completely, "Are they... the people who gave you this?"

He goes silent again. You feel like you should stop asking questions at this point, but they itch at your throat.

He wouldn't call you here to fix this unless he had nowhere else to go.

When you make the first stitch and he doesn't flinch, your eyes flit to his other scars. Martial arts training, he said. The second stitch and still no response. On the third stitch, you press your thumb against the edge of the wound and push down. He actually swears at you as blood dribbles out of the wound, and the hand that had been gripping the table reaches back to grab your lower thigh, effectively bringing the operation to a halt.

You shove his hand off, "What the hell happened? Your hands, your leg—that was easy to explain. But this?"

He has the audacity to glare at you over his shoulder, "I don't pay you to ask questions."

"No, you don't. And yet you could've hired anyone but you hired me. Even though..." You trail off, eyes blazing, because you're not feeling that confident, "the least you can do is tell me what happened."

Bruce holds your gaze until you feel your knees begin to wobble in place. For once, he doesn't look like a wide-eyed, nervous animal in front of you. He looks angry.

Then it's gone. Bruce rolls his shoulders back and you watch the needle, still hanging by its thread, roll against his muscles. More blood seeps from the wound as your hands itch to get back to work. "One question," he starts, looking away from you, "the night of the party, upstairs. You told Alfred no one got on the elevator. But you did, didn't you?"

You swallow. "He said it was broken."

"Be honest with me and I'll be honest with you."

"About anything?"

From behind, you can see Bruce's jaw twitch just so, "Everything."

You step closer. Taking your needle, you resume the suture, "A question for a question, then. To keep it fair."

"Alright."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was looking for someone."

"Who were you looking for?"

"That's another question."

"Fine," you try not to take your frustration out on his skin, "I did. Who were you-"

"Dimitri Young." You still in your stitching. It feels like your heart is inside your head, thumping against your skull with every beat. "What did you see down there?"

You have to rake your petrified brain for context, having nearly forgotten everything that had come before... before... "I- I was... nothing." Bruce hisses through his teeth and you realize that you're just pressing the needlepoint into his skin mindlessly. "Files. A computer. A car underneath a sheet, some tools, a motorbike. A TV playing the news." You don't bother with hiding it now, "How do you know about Dimitri?"

"Because I know about you. Why did you go down there? Not knowing what you might find?"

It takes all that you have to keep the burning tears at bay, "Because I don't trust you. Because everything about this has felt off. I needed to know what you were hiding. What are you gonna do with what you know?"

Bruce takes a moment as if he's thinking about it, but when he answers you, you're for once certain of his honesty, "Nothing. I might set it on fire, if that's what you want."

"You could have another copy lying around. Or a way to access it again."

"I could. But I don't. And I wouldn't want to." He turns his head over his shoulder and you are frozen under his stare, "I'm being honest with you."

"How did you get it?"

"That's another question."

You complete the next few stitches with a little more force than needed, "Then ask me something."

"Why did you take the job if you didn't trust me?"

You laugh humorlessly, "Because I knew the pay would be fucking ridiculous. How did you get my file?"

"You wouldn't have turned me down the first time if that were true."

"Answer me."

"Be honest with me, I'll be honest with you. Why'd you take the job?"

"Because-" You choke, "you... sent me those ridiculous flowers and a handwritten note." Bruce's head tilts, you choke out more, "And when I asked you why you offered me the job, you said that it was because I noticed you were hurt when no one else did. And I said it felt like more than that. I think- I have been trying to get an answer."

Bruce studies you. He must believe you because he finally answers your question, "Russo had nothing to do with it."

"Who did you pay to get it for you, then?"

"That's-"

"Just ask me, God damn it." You finish off the suture and bite off the thread.

"Why did you turn your life around?"

You'd thought about that a lot after that night. The simplest answer was right there, but if you were being honest with yourself (and you were being more honest than you would've liked tonight), you really didn't want to die. "I wanted to live. That's what I'd always wanted. Even though I... really didn't act like it. I never wanted to live more until that moment." This time when you lock eyes with Bruce, you don't want him to look away. Maybe it's because he's defeated you, broken your pride, whatever. Right now, you want to see him.

You don't have to ask again. You watch him rise from the table, flexing his back again, and though you want to scold him for irritating his stitches mere seconds after you've finished them, you just... don't have it in you.

And then he's standing face-to-face with you.

You think the lights and painkillers are deceiving you at first, but this close, you are certain: he is littered with scars and wounds color-picked from late twilight skies. His back doesn't even look this bad. It's always been more than bruised knuckles and leg sprains.

And it's familiar. All of it. Bruises and cuts new and old, the shape of him, the color. The stab wound is new but all of this is months (years) in the making.

The closer you get, the more it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes follow the length of his torso and then—your fingers press against his side, up against a healed gunshot wound. You brush your thumb against it. It makes you feel nauseous.

You look up and he's looking at you. Defeated. Relieved. You can feel the denial creeping in but it all clicks into place, doesn't it?

The bullet wound, the limp, the job offer, the sprained leg. You couldn't see it because, frankly, they couldn't be any more different from each other. And yet...

Bruce's hand covers yours and keeps it there.

That damned bullet brought you together. It had brought Batman to you, it had brought you to Bruce, and it had solidified in no small way that whatever had led you to this moment in time was years in the making. All because you wanted to live.

"Come with me." And Bruce leads you upstairs.

17 years ago.

"I think it could be good," Alex holds up the bottle to you, "if you're down."

You hate the taste of whatever she's giving you but it does make you tingly. You take a big swig and set it between you on the concrete, "You know I'll go wherever you go."

Alex grins, "That's the spirit!"

On Tuesdays, you and Alex like to watch the cars go by from the alley. It's between a Thai restaurant and a laundromat so it always smells good; if it's not the fabric softener, then it's the pho. It's where you always find her. After a few heart-to-hearts spent curled up on the ground with her here, it became "your" territory.

Claiming it didn't stop people from holing up inside and standing around a barrel fire, nor did it stop the laundromat owner nor the line cooks from coming out to smoke and take out the trash. But it did mean that you both liked it here. For lack of other places to go.

"You know that piece of shit from the Vipers won't take no for an answer?" Alex kicks at a rat that scuttles past, making sure it wouldn't take a bite out of her ankle.

"You're very popular, it's not a surprise."

"Shit, it's just cause they know my parents don't give a shit where I go. They're all like, 'Come join us! You could be one of our best! We'll pay you more in a day than you'd make stealing in a week!' but they don't talk about all the kids floating in the river when they try to do better for themselves."

"Like you'd let someone boss you around." You giggle, and Alex beams.

"No way in hell! I love my independence. See, I can take whatever I want whenever I want. Those sad fucks in the Vipers have to answer to some... some random guy they rarely ever see. Why would I want that?"

You'd seen the kids the Vipers recruited. There was no age limit, some as young as nine were happily making deliveries. It used to be a joke in your school that any kid with a front door would end up in the Vipers eventually.

You wondered if you would've ended up there too, had you not been with Alex.

Your makeshift gang of two which had grown by three in the last few months was less organized than the Vipers. It didn't pay unless you pulled your weight, and most of it was at Alex's discretion. For the most part, none of you moved without her. She was the head, the leader, and the only reason you could afford your new winter boots this month.

And you would truly follow her wherever she went.

You watch a few more cars pass. You press your head to the brick and let the sounds of the city light your nerves. That is until you feel a breeze where Alex had once been. You open an eye and find her inching further into the alley. "Hey," you call, but she turns and shushes you so your next words come out in a whisper, "where you going?"

She frantically waves you over.

You don't see what she's looking at until you get about halfway down the alley, but the voices are crystal clear at this point. There's a woman and a young boy standing off behind a dumpster, but when the woman catches sight of you and Alex, she shoves something into the boy's hands and dips around the corner. The boy, flustered, is just barely able to put it away before Alex is grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the light.

It becomes clear that he's not a young boy. He's about your age, maybe off by a year or two, but so thin and lanky that his puffer jacket engulfs him completely. Alex yanks his sleeve down to reveal a poorly done tattoo of a snake going up his upper arm, jagged and unfinished like he'd run off in the middle of getting it done. It didn't seem too far-fetched an idea: the guy looked 92 pounds soaking wet.

"You're on the wrong turf, kid." Alex warns, but you know her tone of voice is too final to be a warning.

The guy yanks his arm back, "Fuck off."

You realize what he was fumbling with when the woman had run. A small bag of something white, and a wad of cash sticking out of his pocket. You snort, "Dealing for the Vipers a little far from home, aren't you? You must be new."

The guy tries to escape but Alex grabs the hood of his jacket and drags him back, "We'll overlook the trespassing if you give us a cut."

"Leave me alone. This place doesn't belong to anyone." But as soon as he says it, Alex takes a hold of his dirty blond hair and yanks his face up to look at her. You go to grab his money while he's distracted but you don't expect him to brandish a knife until he slashes at you. He misses, but it sets Alex off.

She uses his hair to throw him into the side of the dumpster and you can see the thoughts rattling around his head upon impact.

"Right, everything belongs to the Vipers. Is that why your boss is still Falcone's little bitch?"

The guy is indignant against the taunts. He tries to slash at her but Alex is faster, always has been, and she has his wrist in a death grip before he can even get close. You watch her twist it back until he lets out a cry of pain, the knife clattering to the floor at your feet. You take it and hold it up to his neck, watching his eyes go wild between you and Alex.

"Give us the money and we'll pretend this never happened-" you start, but jump back when you feel something wet hit your cheek. You almost don't believe it, but the guy has some spittle dribbling down his bottom lip and a satisfied smile when you lock eyes with him again.

Alex wasn't just fast. You remember her standing up to your childhood bullies between classes and giving them shiners that she still bragged up to this day. It took a few years before you both stopped ending up with twice as many injuries, and a few more years after that before you stopped having bullies at all.

And this guy— maybe he didn't know what he'd gotten himself into and that extended to more than just this moment in time—was half the size of the guys Alex had beaten to tears in the past.

It does not surprise you that he crumbles to the ground with the very first punch to his gut. Alex hits hard first to make the fights quick, and so when her next punch lands on his nose, you know that something has been broken. With each kick to his gut, the tears free flow as if surely, the next hit will kill him.

You watch silently. Alex is unforgiving.

After a minute or two goes by, he is so beaten down that he wheezes every time he breezes. You're certain Alex has gone overboard but something in your heart swells at the thought that it was for you.

When all is said and done, you snatch the money from his jacket and he doesn't bother to stop you, head leaning against the ground as tears and blood and snot trickle into a puddle. For good measure, Alex snatches the drugs too, "Don't show your face in this alley again or you won't leave alive."

And you know this is a lie. A trick to make her bigger and badder. A threat that she would never follow through on. Because Alex always made herself look bigger, badder, scarier, deadlier. It's what protected you both on the streets. It's what made you follow her, what made your friends follow her.

Alex was everything, and you would follow her anywhere.

You ride in silence together down to the terminus. You feel much the same as you did the first time. Bruce pulls back the gate and you spill out into the dark, but much like before, the lights and TV kick on. The News 7 jingle plays, Bruce pads over to mute it.

You watch him stand a few feet away from you, avoiding your eyes as they sweep the floor. There are those same tools scattered about, hubcaps stacked on top of tires, wires going from one side of the room to the other. It looks just like you'd last seen it, only the car that had once been covered by tarp is now on full display. It gleams in the overhead lights, as much of a monster in clear view as it was in shadow.

He really wasn't shitting you.

When you still don't say anything, Bruce walks over to his desk. Underneath it is a crate full of folders, and you realize he's getting yours when he turns and holds one out to you. You take it, inching closer. Without a word shared, Bruce pulls up something on his computer and you nearly flinch when your mugshot is reflected back at you on one of the screens.

"Your record isn't accessible unless I use a workaround which isn't... legal, but it's how I found your file without Russo. The GCPD doesn't know." You peer at him from the corner of your eye, urging him to explain, "I taught myself how to get in."

Your eyes are welling up with tears the longer you stare at the younger version of yourself. Bruce continues, "I know what the record says. That they traced back a few robberies to you and your friends over the years, and that you'd had a run in with a Viper the night you met Russo. You helped track them down, took out a portion of the gang's operation, and your record was sealed. That's all."

"They didn't trace all of them back to us," you start, not really wanting to talk, "just some. There were more."

Bruce seems to sense that as he closes the record, "It's your turn. To ask, I mean."

You look at Bruce in the face and hate the softness there. You can't be angry, or numb like you wish you could be. Your chest is all twisted up with emotion with no one feeling staying for long, even if it would flare up again every once in a while. "Did you know about me before or after you asked me to work for you?"

"Before. After that morning, I couldn't stop... thinking about you. Truth be told, me and Alfred have been doing this alone ever since I started. Before you, he was the one that would stitch me up, kept me out of doctor's offices where someone might talk. But he was also running the company for me, and taking care of me, and worrying about me. I knew if I was going to commit to this, I would need to try and stay alive, and I always meant to find someone but it wasn't an easy decision to make. Until I met you."

You know it's his turn now, but you can't help asking, "And you didn't think... maybe the kid with a record would be a bad idea?"

Bruce cracks a smile, "I mean, the stitches never got infected." You would've laughed at that if you were in a better mood. "I wasn't always so understanding. But I imagine someone who's dedicated the better part of their life to saving lives has more than made up for it."

Your head automatically shakes, "I can never make up for what I did."

"You don't have to tell me everything," he begins delicately, "but I need to know what Dimitri is after. I need to know what he's thinking. You're the only one who can help me."

You blink away a few tears and plop into a stool by his desk, dropping your head in your hands. The memories suffocate you, rushing at you like a flash flood. You don't know where to start, let alone what you want to tell him. An hour ago, you were certain he was caught up in a Gotham mob, planning to use your history as blackmail for... something.

You can't quite reconcile the feelings you have for Batman with the face of Bruce Wayne. Or who you thought was Bruce Wayne.

But he was right. You were the best chance at catching Dimitri. You were the only one who could make it up to Russo.

You swallow at the memory of Russo's mutilated body, but then... you remember him in that police station. When you were 16 and wishing you were dead. You suck in a sharp breath, "I met Alex when I was a baby. I mean, we've known each other for a long time- knew each other. She and I used to be attached at the hip. She protected me from bullies and I would sneak out at night to listen to her vent about her parents, about Gotham. She fucking hated it here. I did too.

"Alex and I learned that if you want to survive, you have to be powerful. So we became powerful. You might not think a pair of 14 year olds are all that powerful in the grand scheme of things but when it was just us against the world, it was addicting. When we wanted something, we just... took it. We started off pickpocket-ting on the streets, usually assholes who could afford to lose a hundred or two. And then we started robbing places, small-time stuff, you know. Run down houses, apartments, swiping out of registers when no one was looking. If anyone gave us shit, we just turned tail and ran. It was hard enough trying to make ends meet for our parents, and we liked the thrill of it. We rarely ever got caught.

"Eventually, some of our friends from school joined us and we become a little piece-of-shit gang. God. We were like... fucking 15, running around the city like we were so big and bad. My parents had no clue what I was really up to but they knew something was wrong. I didn't care. I was with Alex and I would follow Alex anywhere. We had this little alleyway, right? Between a Thai place and a laundromat. That's where I could always find her. And one day, we were fucking around and caught some guy dealing back there. Alex got pissed. We tried to take his money but he defended himself. I said something... he spit at me. And Alex just lost it.

"She beat him into the concrete and I just... watched. This guy, couldn't even throw a punch if his life depended on it, and she just wailed on him. And I watched. And I liked it. I felt powerful. We felt powerful. I know, a pair of jackass teenagers hurting people for fun? We were pathetic. But it didn't feel that way, being with Alex. She was my best friend."

The tears are free-falling now and you don't even bother to wipe them away. It would feel cowardly. You couldn't hide from Bruce now, not anymore. Not if he wanted to believe in you. "We didn't know who this kid was, other than the fact he was a Viper. A young one, a weak one. We didn't think he'd even last a week. Most kids like him end up getting disposed of by the boss anyway. And then all five of us were fucking around in that alley again when they showed up: the guy, Dimitri, and his sister Nat and this other kid. All of 'em Vipers.

"Nat wanted the money and the drugs back. Kid had a black eye so I guess he'd gotten shit from his boss about it. Alex was... indignant. Refused. For once, I begged her to give in but she just wouldn't fucking listen. Of course she wouldn't, do you know how much I enabled her? We were on top of the world, why would she give in? And she really pissed Nat off with that, but then she started mouthing off and then... Nat shot her. Right in front of me. It was instant."

Bruce remains incredibly still. His lips part to say something but nothing really comes out. You keep on going, "I was so shocked that I didn't even move when Nat turned the gun on me. It was like... I don't know, it was like I couldn't quite believe she was dead. But I understood what happened. Logically. I saw it happen. I saw the bullet in her brain. And when Nat turned on me, I think a part of me just... didn't want to have to think about it. Like a coward. If it wasn't for our friends pulling me out of the way, I wouldn't... be here. Next thing I knew, I was at the GCPD getting investigated for murder."

"They thought one of you did it?"

"The cops that brought us in, yeah. They just so happened to be around the corner when we ran into them. By that time, Nat and Dimitri had run off. The cops thought it was some fight between the five of us and that one of us pulled the trigger, but they couldn't find the gun. That's when Detective Russo showed up."

"And he offered to get you a plea deal."

You nod, sniffling, "He told me... he said that he could tell I'd never seen something like that before. There was no way I could've done it. And when I couldn't even finish the whole story without choking up, he said... he said that in exchange for our help catching Natalie, he would make sure all the crimes they tied back to us were sealed and expunged."

"What about Natalie? How did they find her?"

"The GCPD had been looking into the Vipers for months. Vipers almost exclusively recruit minors because they're more loyal, but there wasn't a way to get in without putting some innocent kid in danger. So they had us look into it. We found one of their hideouts by the docks. GCPD wanted to get the kids out and into the foster system since a lot of them were orphans, like Natalie and Dimitri. But the ambush didn't take. They got a couple kids out but... a few died, including Nat. Last I heard of Dimitri, he got tried as an adult for killing a cop during the shootout. That was life in Arkham."

Bruce shifts closer, "Until he got out. And he came looking for Russo."

"He was just a kid, Bruce," your voice cracks, "he was just a kid. He couldn't even defend himself. And because we were assholes we got his sister killed and we got him put away. He was just a kid."

"So were you."

Something about the tender way Bruce says that makes you sob. For years, you've looked back on that moment with so much guilt, knowing how lucky you were to make it out of that situation alive and unscathed. How lucky you were to be taken seriously, to be cared for, for a detective like Joey Russo to show you a picture of his kid in his wallet and tell you that he would hate to see them in your position.

You were lucky that you got to fix your grades and go to college, study medicine, save lives, be here. Natalie didn't get that. Dimitri didn't get that. Alex didn't get that.

"You said... you said you hated Gotham. Why did you stay?"

You wipe at your cheeks, "I- I honestly... I wanted to. My parents made a deal with me that we would leave for New Jersey after I graduated but I didn't want to leave. I couldn't. I couldn't leave Alex. I couldn't leave the city, after all I'd done to it. In it. I wanted to leave like my friends because the guilt was so much but I felt obligated to fix it. I wanted to help people. Not hurt them. And I've worked hard to do better. I just can't leave. I don't want to leave."

What surprises you is the hand on your face afterwards. Bruce cups his your cheek. His thumb brushes away some tears, and it feels so unlike Bruce even though it's him, even though he's the one who cradled and comforted you after being held hostage, even though he was the one that stood on your fire escape and confessed that he trusted you, liked you even. Your brain just sort of stops there. You melt like putty in his hand. You realize you've been craving a gentle touch like this for a while.

"Then you won't have to," Bruce casts his eyes to the side, looking at where you laid your file on the desk. You can see the cogs turning beneath his furrowed brow, "I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"...You won't like it."

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne angst #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

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tremendum · 6 months ago

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Me and the Devil; v

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 8.7k

summary: "Paul's breaths are as sharp as yours; both of you like wild, scared beasts being hunted by something you cannot see. Something in the back of your mind tells you that you should not be wasting your anger on each other."

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, v light smut, brief oral (m!receiving), choking, height difference mentioned (paul is taller), more mommy & daddy issues, nothing else i can think of but always lmk if you see anything.

notes: back with another chapter! Paul and r are once again Confused by everything that is happening, and keep going back and forth with each other,, But they're learning to use their words <3 Referendum is nearing closer and things are beginning to happen!:)

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Houses Prepare to Assemble for Landsraad Council

In preparation for next week's Space Trade Referendum, representatives from across the galaxy have begun to prepare their travels. This pivotal meeting, set to take place on the planet of Kaitain, will see the great houses Major and Minor deciding on crucial matters, foremost among them the future of space trading routes.

Along these decisions next week will be the final arraignment in the case of House Bourbon, as well as proposals to establish standardized protocols for resource extraction and deposit of space debris. Expected to be on the agenda is the recent and surprising disruptions in Spice supply, which has forced the Spacing Guild to explore alternative fuel sources in preparation for the increased traffic of intergalactic travel for the Referendum. Nexarite and Petroleum have been suggested by Guild engineers: Though Nexarite proves to have dimensional warping implications if used at lightspeed, petroleum is secondary and similarly less effective.

Pressure has befallen Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, whose governance over the planet Arrakis holds him with the most power in the Spice trade; While petroleum may serve as a stopgap measure in the absence of spice, its inherent limitations underscore the urgent need for a sustainable long-term solution to the galaxy's energy consumption.

Will there be a decision drawn up at this Referendum, or will the scarcity of spice thrust the market power of these new fuel sources?

- Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan.

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You wake up with a gasp and fly upwards.

The sun is still slumbering - the sky a deep royal blue, castle so silent you can hear the waves crash against the cliffs below. You swallow breaths as they lurch down your throat, fighting off a cold sweat, a haunting; Paul's eyes - the fear, the recognition. Familiar.

You find the pitcher of water that was left for you and down almost half of it straight from the glass, letting it dribble from the sides of your lips as you gulp, the drops sliding over your damp skin and onto your trembling breasts.

The wall is stagnant under your gaze - there are dried lingonberries that remain on your resting table, harvested fresh for you days ago. You don't know why you asked Hestia to keep them there when she was cleaning. Their sickly scent infiltrates your mind, stomach turning queasy.

Mindlessly, you blink back the images of Paul's gasp, the blood flowing from his porcelain skin, the gritting of his teeth as he'd slumped against you.

You're very troubled.

In a moment of weakness, you almost pull your robe on to seek Paul and tell him, but a nervous part of you suspects he may already know what you dreamt. The look in his eyes was so.. familiar; as if...

You swallow hard. Perhaps you should have just told him. Told him all of it, even if he already knows it - about the breeding programs, about the selective mating, the Kwisatz Haderach; The reason it was so quickly approved for you to become Paul's child-bearer when Feyd-Rautha was no longer an option for you.

Fuzzily, you try to recall the nagging familiarity that his words yesterday had left you with. One of two, he'd said. You chew on your lip until it is raw.

Guilt swirls in your stomach, but you stay put, sitting still below your bedsheets, staring silently ahead. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. You repeat the mantra over and over until the sun rises over the cliffs, burning a bright orange and pink haze into the center of your vision.

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Late in the morning is the Strategy Council - once again struck with a bout of fuzz-brain, you're half-asleep as you walk into the chamber, eyes seeking only one person. There has been nothing on your mind all morning - even when Hestia had entered to find you wide-eyed and spooked, when she had whispered of some castle gossip that you didn't listen to.

Paul's chair is absent.

Your stomach drops as you slide into your own seat, blinking in surprise at the emptiness across from you. As Duke Leto enters and begins the meeting you try your hardest not to think too much about Paul's absence; Lady Jessica's eyes are on you intermittently, not serving to ease your worries.

When Duke Leto speaks, the sound cuts through the hushed murmurs of the assembled council members. Your eyes meet his.

"Before we begin our discussion on the Space Trade Referendum, there is a matter of great importance that we must address." He's kind, stern; kind, in a way that makes you look back on your own incompetent, nearly absent father with regret.

The Duke's gaze softens, "The arraignment of House Bourbon is set for the day after the Space Trade Referendum, and I believe it is imperative that we address it with you accordingly."

You blink in shock; you've all but accepted the fact that you might become a criminal within the next week and would have to beg the Atreides to buy your bail in front of the noble Landsraad Houses- you didn't expect to discuss it, though, and certainly not at a Strategy Council.

You've been ignoring this moment ever since news of the charges against your house and the consecutive assassination of your family had reached your ears; but there's no avoiding it now.

"Of course, sir," you reply, steeling yourself for the difficult conversations that lay ahead. "I'm ready for whatever measures need to be taken."

He nods. "The council and I have discussed it, and I am fully committed to advocating for your house's interests during the arraignment on behalf of House Atreides." He leans forward, "I plan to do everything in my power to convince the other houses to see reason and vote in your favor as well."

Given the political complexities surrounding the case, you raise your brows. "This might put you in a precarious situation, my lord," You start, throat dry. "I appreciate it more than you'd know, but..." You look around at all the faces; all of them but enemies to you weeks ago. All of them, loyal to the end of the House; the House that is claiming you as one of their own, even in the looming presence of what might come. "The Harkonnens are- well, they're powerful - not that House Atreides is not, but-" You flounder under the scrutiny of attention and for the first time, you feel small, embarrassed in front of them all. You're not sure what's gotten into you; gritting your teeth, you realize that Reverend Mother Helen has gotten into your head without even seeing you on her visit.

"-We understand your concerns," Lady Jessica speaks up. "but you are now a part of our house, and we will protect you."

You can't help the surge of gratitude washing over you; nodding, you concede. "House Bourbon has long been allies of House Atreides," Gurney Halleck says, his stern eyes meeting yours, "this is a return of the favor."

"Thank you." You say, voice sounding almost warm for what might be the first time in front of the council, "Your support means more to me than I can express." You wish your mind was less consumed with your visions; perhaps then you'd feel truly appreciative of their gesture. You force a smile onto your face, hoping it comes across less as a grimace. The Duke nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I cannot speak for the other houses," he admits, his tone somber suddenly. "But I fear there may be those who seek to exploit this situation for their own gain."

You expect nothing less, nodding in agreement. The great houses are not in your good graces, and you not in theirs.

"Whatever the outcome, you have the support of House Atreides behind you." Duke Leto says firmly, eyes meeting yours with unwavering resolve.

As the subject is laid to rest in preparation of the upcoming off-world travel, you try your hardest to listen and absorb the information about the Referendum next week.

You'll be leaving at the end of this week, in only a few days - half of the Duke's council will attend for the Referendum and the conferences, and you must go for your own arraignment.

Trying as hard as you can, you cast away the turmoil that spins around restlessly in your stomach - staring hard at Paul's absent seat, you can't stop thinking. Even as the meeting continues, you go through the motions and relay your own input with a hollow voice, eyes downcast.

Pain in his voice, gasps of sharp, labored breathing.

The glint of Feyd-Rautha's skin behind him as blood spills.

You need to find Paul.

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Your luck is struck within minutes of the council's conclusion.

Immediately after the Strategy Council is the first of likely many wedding planning meetings - significantly smaller in party than the Strategy Council, but infinitely more intimidating for you.

You never got any say in your wedding with Feyd-Rautha; likely why you remained living on Giedi Prime for four cycles and never actually married. He chose rather to train and attend strategy councils about spice and Arrakis or more often concerns on-planet; when he did consider the wedding, he would often disregard your opinions and insist it was only important after you gave him an heir.

Not that you've ever been keen to marry anyone, but what say does a girl have in such a matter?

Nevertheless, you are more than relieved to attend, solely because you're sure Paul cannot miss this meeting; if anything, because his parents would chastise him like a petulant child.

The Duke walks with you back to his own quarters, making conversation politely. You find a surprising comfort within his voice, even if you're still on edge - perhaps because of this, you actually succeed in making him laugh once as you mention your interest in learning to pilot a ship; He himself wanted to be a pilot when he was young, you learn.

You settle into your seat with a grace you don't quite feel; the room is more intimate: in the Duke's new study, at a round table with five chairs, four of which are occupied within seconds.

Paul's eyes have been on you since you crossed the threshold - an intent gaze that has you shifting, meeting his stare head on when you settle. He looks similarly spooked but there is an anger that simmers, bubbling low.

You want to ask where he was this morning; why'd he miss the council, when he'd clearly planned to attend not twelve hours before?

His own eyes scream at you; clearly, he also wishes to speak with you. You open your lips to say something, anything to him. Your dream - he has to know, he must.

But Duke Leto breaks the silence before you can. "Thank you both for joining us. This is our House Administrative Assistant, she helps us plan events."

You introduce yourself to the woman; She is kind, very serious but jolly at the same time - you wish you could be more present, but your brain is not willing to cooperate. Perhaps as a defense mechanism - the prospect of planning a wedding is thoroughly uninteresting to you, to be tied inexplicably to Paul; More present than this, your thoughts and opinions are overclouded by the more pertinent threat of war, economic or otherwise, being planned by the very sisterhood you were raised to be a part of.

They have their hands everywhere, especially in the great houses, and you do not wish to see the roles designed for you and Paul within their plans.

It is then that you realize the last chair is likely for Lady Jessica, who has foregone this small meeting.

Vaguely, you wonder if the Duke and Paul can tell how unsettling she is to you; it's nothing against her, actually - her loyalty to her house as well as the sisterhood is admirable - but perhaps she reminds you too much of your past. Of your own mother.

Easily, the coordinator launches into discussion, outlining the initial plans for the wedding; it will be an evening event, with most of the court and family invited - you barely hold in a sardonic laugh at this, looking solemnly at the ground. Shall we invite my father to walk me down the aisle? you think bitterly, recalling how hard his body had hit the sand in that arena, the sickening way his head snapped back.

You listen as intently as you can, nodding along as she discusses potential venues, guest lists, and ceremonial traditions.

"And now, onto the matter of your family's traditions," the Coordinator says, turning her attention to you; it jolts you from your own thoughts, images of a blood-stained blade, a gasp for breath, brown curls. "We'll be sure to incorporate them into the ceremony as you see fit."

You hesitate, brow furrowing slightly - she does not seem like she's planning on listing them now, so you're unable to pretend you know what to expect; sheepishly, you clasp your hands against the table. "I must admit, I am not as familiar with my house's traditions as Paul is," you confess, casting a glance in Paul's direction.

His eyes meet yours; tilting his head, his eyes almost chirp, I offered you the book. You glance back, I know. His lips press into a fleeting grin and for a moment, your stomach runs cold as if he'd actually heard you. But he hadn't.

You can't ignore when the Duke's lips twitch into a subtle smirk of his own; you fight the flush of embarrassment that creeps into your cheeks as he takes in the information, nodding slowly. He mustn't misinterpret your bond with Paul as romantic interest - instead of a keen instinct for survival at all costs.

"Is that right?" He asks his son, who nods curtly, almost indifferent.

Your eyes cast away, wondering when exactly it was that you started to see yourself on Paul's side; was it when he'd offered to share lunch, or when you'd seen those books about your house and homeplanet on his bedside? No, certainly not. Those are much too trivial; while charming, you know better than to trust a man on such frivolities.

Perhaps, more likely, yesterday - when he'd told you of the Bene Gesserit plans, of the visit - when you'd told him about his own mother. Or, the dreams.

While no amount of sexual fantasies could genuinely sway your opinion on an enemy (the Bene Gesserit in you has seen to it that sexual manipulation can only go one way), the other parts - the more unpleasant ones...

You're rather restless. - after the dream last night, you're not sure who to trust, or if you should tell the Duke; Paul may be the only one you can trust with this information, regretfully.

"Whatever rituals you deem fit will be incorporated into the ceremony. We're planning for it to take place in a month, just before the end of the galactic year." Leto says, watching you for your response. "Perhaps you two can review them and work with our coordinators after you've decided what seems right."

Paul nods dutifully, eyes flickering to you.

Your stare is intent, wishing to convey the urgency you feel to end this foolish meeting and get somewhere private, not caring one single bit about any rituals or ceremonies. It's all means to one end, isn't it?

"Do you still have the book on Bourbon Customs, Paul?" You ask, voice just as emotionless as usual; it feels as odd as it sounds to discuss something that might normally excite a wife with the tone of such boredom, but you truly have way more important things to be talking about. You hope he can read between the lines you so delicately convey.

"Yes." He affirms, perceptive and intelligent as always; sitting up, he starts to address his father and the coordinator, "Perhaps we can meet after the Referendum to further discuss the wedding - in the meantime, Lady Bourbon and I will discuss which of our house traditions we'd like to perform at the wedding."

You let out a microscopic breath of relief at the pleased look on the Duke's face; he dismisses the small meeting, but Paul is rushing out of the room quicker than you can even stand.

With as much effort as you can harbor, you exchange short pleasantries with the woman beside you and the Duke before rising to follow after Paul briskly, trying not to be too obvious.

Within the dim hallway that leads to Paul's quarters, his cloth tunic looks nearly gray.

"Paul." You call, your shoes clacking on the stone as you try to catch up with his stride; pausing slightly, he allows you to catch up to him. Your name is breathed gently, his voice sharp with importance as he pulls you with him towards his room.

You stumble to catch up with him, caught off-guard by the fearful, angry energy that radiates from him. He is calculating, quiet; this has not changed, but there is a heat in his sharp glare that alarms you.

"It was you." His voice is quick, whirling around on you - for a moment, there is a darkness in his eyes you haven't seen. He doesn't have to elaborate for you to swallow, staring up at him.

"Yes." You affirm, "And you..."

He nods so microscopically; your heart flips. It's silent, heavy with the realization in his silent bedchamber.

"It was normal, at first." He starts, shaking his head smally, "but then... suddenly we were standing there and- I felt it." He mutters, watching you intently. His jaw clenches.

"I know it was you. You used this." He rips away your robes from your left hip and it slides from your shoulders; affronted, your hand comes to halt his wrist, snapping him away. He expects to see the same engraved hilt - you see it in his eyes - but, where there is usually the black leather of your nameday knife, today there is just your waistline.

He stares down, eyes cold.

You couldn't bare to take it with you this morning when you left; you could barely stand to look at it as Hestia had dressed you.

His eyes rove over your figure slowly, as if expecting to find your blade snugly hidden in some curve of your skin; no avail, as he reaches your own strict gaze. There is heat in your abdomen, but you ignore it for the fear in your veins.

He dreamt that you stabbed him. He didn't see Feyd at all.

"I didn't..." You shake your head, "I didn't stab you." You insist. He looks off towards the wall above your head, sighing sharply, "You did in my dream."

"-No." You argue, "He was behind you," Your voice is a hushed whisper, so close to him you can almost feel the warmth that radiates; there is a fuzzy electricity in the room that makes your fingers itch as you release the grip on his cotton-bound wrist, pushing his grip away from you. His hand flies back like it'd been burned by your touch, anger seeping through his lashes.

"Feyd-Rautha." You clarify, your own jaw setting, "He was there, holding my knife."

Paul's brows furrow. "You stabbed me. I felt you, with me. You were there." He insists, shaking his head. You swallow thickly, "I know I was there. You aren't listening to me."

"Why should I?" He snaps, staring at you with distrust, "If Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was there, why didn't I see him?"

"I-" You tug at your hair in exasperation, "Fuck, Paul, I don't know." you hiss.

Such implications strike your heart with dread; and if your dreams with Paul are inexplicably intertwined, a beat of fright hits you - for once in your life, you wish beyond your world that Feyd-Rautha has been finding seamless, dreamless sleep recently.

You are dimly aware of the slight chill upon your bare shoulders; the tank-top you've donned, cotton like Paul's, is breezy without your robes to cover your exposed skin, and the material pools lazily around your bent elbows from where Paul had disrobed you, searching for your dagger.

"We can't risk telling my mother," he murmurs, his tone laced with urgency, "If she learns of our dreams, she'll never let us pursue Sabberon if the Harkonnens take it."

Begrudgingly, your fears are mirrored in his words and you run your hand over your face, "So we just hope she can see through our lies? Paul, you know just as well as I that it is a near impossible feat."

Paul hesitates- there is a shadow in his eyes, a dark looming thought you wish to unearth. "She'll stop at nothing if it means going against the Bene Gesserit's plans for us. We just- we don't know which path that is."

Your voice is steely with resolve, "I won't let them dictate my future." Not when the rest of the galaxy is going to do so next week.

Before Paul can respond, the distant sound of footsteps echo down the hallways outside and he guides you slowly backwards, away from the hall. Near the bedpost in his room, he stops and leans to whisper closer to you; his curls hang unruly in front of his eyes, not styled like it typically is. He looks slightly rumpled, as if poor sleep has rendered him consumed by thoughts.

His eyes flicker to the bedstand and back down to your eyes, "I think you need to let my mother train you."

You blink, inhaling sharply, "You don't know what you're saying."

Somewhere in you, you know he's right. He sends you a look, "I do, and you know it. Even if we can't lie to her, we need to stay sharp. Maybe we can find out what the Sisterhood wants from these dreams, because they're clearly important to them. We have to be prepared for whatever happens."

You lift a brow, "And if nothing happens?"

"You believe this all to be in our heads?" He asks, eyes genuine; a plead, a small hope that perhaps all this danger and concern is for nothing.

Your sharp sigh is answer enough.

He continues. "You wouldn't have brought up the Harkonnen petroleum reserves for nothing. Or the materials on Sabberon. This threat is real, and even if it isn't, our dreams are." He insists this, and you cross your arms.

"You sound like your mother." You snap. "She believes everything Reverend Mother Helen Gaius Mohaim says."

He stares at you incredulously, "You were in my dream, were you not?" His voice is stern and it sets your teeth on edge. "Unless we unknowingly consumed Spice last night, I think that was pretty real."

You are not a fan of the sardonic tone he takes - he's right, but it does not soothe your concern. Paul has been raised to become a Bene Gesserit by his mother - a male Bene Gesserit? The only reason for that lingers in the back of your mind; perhaps if you continue your learnings, you could remember. A phrase whispers to you, but you do not know what it means. The Shortening of the Way.

You briefly entertain the thought that Lady Jessica has slipped something into your morning teas - some Spice-laden elixir that makes you and Paul dream together - but this is a childish thought, an escape from the harsh reality of destiny and fate. You know these things to be true, because you know it was woven into your DNA centuries ago.

"I think this is a bad idea." You say honestly, relieved to have the freedom to argue with your husband-to-be without the real threat of having a throat slit or tongue removed. "Why should I trust your judgement?"

He huffs smally, "Why should I trust yours? You try to kill me in half of my dreams."

You glare sharply, "Well I haven't killed you yet, have I?" You snap, growling at him.

His glare is sharp, hostile. "I know my house better than anybody, and I know my mother just as well." He says, "You and I will train with her together. We need to find their plans out ourselves, and this is the only way. We will just ensure Reverend Mother Helen Gaius Mohaim is none the wiser."

"You are a fool if you think she will not catch on." You insist.

His jaw sets. "I have trained my whole life to make decisions like this."

"And yet, you make the wrong one."

"Watch your mouth." His voice is ominously quiet, taking a step into your personal space. "I will be your Duke one day." His chin tilts, ever prideful; you scoff. Defensively, you bristle.

"-and I will be your duchess. That means but little to me, my lord." You retort, leaning towards him; You're close enough to smell the soap on his skin again, the anger, the fear that radiates in beats of his heart. "I did not ask to be here, if you recall."

Even a sneer looks somewhat graceful on his face. "That means but little to me." He parrots back, eyes sharp, "You're here, so you will do what I say."

Fury rages in you; his voice is deep, more commanding than you've heard yet - your jaw clenches, not backing away even with him towering over you.

You're mine to keep. There's plenty of life left for you to serve - the voice in your mind warps, though, the ever-haunting rumble of Feyd's voice morphing into Paul's smooth, low one - fear and resistance sprout within you.

It's an impulse, a trauma response. You barely think. Your hand moves, palm open flat - aiming to strike him on the cheek, to slap him hard.

But to your shock, he catches it with reflexes quicker than you can imagine, fingers wrapping around your wrist just before it makes contact with his skin.

Eyes angry, his nostrils flare and the chimes that hang near his bedroom window tinkle gently as energy slips around you. His lips move before you feel the Voice.

"Don't."

The Voice sets your spine straight and your teeth on edge - still considerably weak in the skill, his command is combatted by your urge to drop your wrist as you stare at him, beyond bewildered.

He told you yesterday that he's been trained by his mother - until now, you haven't really considered what this means - he possesses the skills to use the Voice. He is keenly intelligent and, by your suspicion, being trained by Thufir Hawat in more than just tutelage, but also as a Mentat; an unlocked secret tries to worm its way from the back of your mind.

Your spine shivers. A phrase whispers in the back of your brain, a fear long-nestled and roused awake after years of hibernation: Kwisatz Haderach. The Shortening of the Way.

You shake yourself of the sudden trance, trying to wrench your hand away but failing by his surprising strength and grip on your wrist. You know you should tell him but you're too presently angry, too absorbed in your own fear and pride.

Using your free hand not caged by his hold, you shove hard against his chest, until he hits the wall with his spine and skull; wincing, his grip on you only tightens as you fight to free your hand. You glare at him, on your tip toes as you hold your palm flat against his heaving chest, feeling his heart thud against his sternum.

"No man holds power over me." You say, pressing harder, wrestling your wrist away from him to no avail; he maintains a firm, furious grip on you, his eyes sharp, watching you. "You are no different."

His breaths are as sharp as yours; both of you like wild, scared beasts being hunted by something you cannot see. Neither of you are truly trying to fight: Tired of running but knowing you've just started. Something in the back of your mind tells you that you should not be wasting your anger on each other.

His eyes still have that sinister stare; serious, calculating.

"It should not be a man you worry about." He whispers, head tilting down to you. His features are dark even in the light of day; "Despite what we feel about them, the Bene Gesserit give us power." His grip is tight; guiding with his heart, defiance in his eyes. Your lips part, arm relieving the pressure against his chest, still making sure he doesn't move otherwise.

His brows furrow, jaw set. "You should be accustomed to living with the enemy, anyways."

It's a slight against you; you grit your teeth - he's right, though. The Bene Gesserit is not an enemy, per se -both of you know this, but the sisterhood is dangerous, and if you aren't careful, this whole thing might completely backfire.

There's a moment of silence as you consider his words, the weight of your situation pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket; Paul is right - you can't just go blindly and without training that can help you in the future, no matter how fiercely independent you both may be.

You almost relent, but in the silence your arm drops and Paul's - still holding your wrist tight - follows until he holds your arm stiffly between you. In the tense silence, your other arm slides off of his chest slowly, your eyes flickering to where his hand still holds your wrist; as if genuinely concerned you might unsheathe a hidden blade and plunge it into his stomach in the blink of an eye.

"Paul?"

The voice belonging to neither of you makes you jump in shock; Paul similarly jolts, both of your heads snapping to the entryway where Lady Jessica enters, a servant hovering nervously behind her with a laundry basket in her hands.

"-I'd like to speak with you about-"

Her words trail off as her eyes flicker towards the two of you; your face burns, jumping away from Paul as he drops your wrist like a dead stone, jumping from the wall.

Your stomach flips in fear. How much did she hear?

Paul glances at you sharply, your heart pounding; it was as if she knew that you were speaking of her and the Bene Gesserit. Had she heard anything? How silent was she when she arrived in his quarters?

She averts her eyes at the sight of the two of you so close - at short glance, possibly appearing as if in some kind of embrace - but unfortunately her gaze lands on the bed right beside you; there is a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

You share the fleeting glance with Paul, a silent understanding passing between you; Despite the true nature of your conversation, the proximity of the bed and the... intensity of how close the two of you could be easily misconstrued as something far more intimate.

Which might actually play in your favor.

She presses her lips into a thin line, "-Apologies. I didn't realize-"

Paul clears his throat, shaking his head. "No, Mother, you're not interrupting anything," Paul assures her quickly as he moves away from the bed; another quick glance at you once again shows his fear of being caught talking about her.

You wipe sweaty palms on your trousers, hoping she can't see your hands shake; The embarrassment of her and the servant thinking you were becoming intimate is better than her becoming suspicious of your whispers and secrecy. You're nearly shaking with fear at the prospect of her overhearing your plot.

Thankfully Paul holds the same thought.

"We were just... discussing some matters of importance." He utters, clearing his throat as he reaches to adjust the robe of yours he'd knocked askew minutes before. You play the part just as well as he does. Smiling sheepishly, you pull your robe tight around your frame and duck your head.

Lady Jessica nods, eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, I was just hoping to chat with you while you walk to your weapons lesson, Paul," she said, her tone even, "I didn't realize you had company, my apologies. I'll leave you to it."

"-no, please," You interrupt as she turns; she stops, turning back to the two of you. You flash what you hope is a convincingly kind smile, pulling further away from where you stand next to Paul. "I was just leaving." You insist. Your heart beats hard in your throat still, but you turn to place your hands on Paul's shoulders. He stares at you, shocked as you lean towards him. If it were a different situation, you might've chuckled at the alarm in his eyes as you near him with your lips.

Your breath hits his cheek as his head cranes down slightly to meet you, sensing what you're trying to do under the awkward attention of the others in the room. "Find me later." You whisper, barely more than a breath, against his cheek. His curls tickle your lips gently.

Playing the part you peck his skin slightly over the sharp cheekbone, eyes flicking over his shoulder to see his mother avert her gaze politely. You hope, to the servant and Lady Jessica, that it looks like you're bidding him a good day - a flushed, embarrassed lover caught in an act of passion and taking her leave.

How simple life would be if that were the case.

When you pull back from him fully, his cheeks are a dusted rose color - a good actor, then. He nods tersely, watching as you spin on your heels and bow to Lady Jessica, smiling at the servant slightly as you slide past them, hurrying down the hall towards your freedom.

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Paul does find you later, in the afternoon when the sun is hidden by misty clouds.

Out in the gardens of Castle Caladan, the season is ending with the year and the plants that bloom are resilient to the less rainy months that come. Your feet are bare, your dress long as you stroll, unaware of his presence.

Odd to see you so relaxed - your hands smooth over stone figures within the garden; he walks up behind you silently, murmuring your name when he's close.

You jump slightly, acting fast; pressing with your full force, he's caught off-guard and shoved against the hedges which line the area. Catching his footing, his hands stop you - one on your hip, the other around your shoulder. His thumb dips against the hollow of your throat.

There is a misty rain that falls lazily from the clouds in the sky; serene, quiet. Your breaths intermingle, your hands against Paul's chest. "I dreamt of you this afternoon." You say, voice faint. He hums, tilting his head at the fuzzy feeling. "Did you?" He asks; his voice is far away. You nod, leaning towards him like you'd done earlier - you brush his own lips instead of his cheek, and he feels far away.

"I dreamt of you in a large throne room..." You whisper, lips just barely brushing over his, your hands roving over his chest. His own squeeze you; the one around your shoulder slides to hold your neck, the one around your hip holding you close. "One I've never seen before."

Your lips ghost over his neck then, head tilting back to the misty skies. "There was spice in the sand that tracked in through the entrance..." You whisper, biting at his skin; he feels like he's floating. His hand squeezes the softness of your throat.

"You sat on the throne atop the stairs," You whisper, suddenly sinking lower - your hands tug his belt, now on your knees before him. He does not fight the arousal that swirls within him, instead letting one hand gather your hair from your face. Your eyes are bright - for a moment, they're glowing a blue he's never seen, but you blink and it's gone in a hazy fog. He cannot seem to make out many features of your face, even as he blinks. It feels as if he'd swallowed cotton.

"-and I, between your thighs." You whisper, lips moving to mouth over his trousers; he lets out a groan, growing more hard by your touch - his hand squeezes and he's not sure if it's against your throat or your hair; you let out a mewl either way and it floods him with desire. You've never made a noise like that before, and he would quite like to hear you make it again.

Throne room? He starts to say - he is not so vain as to ever desire a throne to sit on - but the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock has him groaning, forgetting his words as he gasps-

Paul wakes up, sitting straight up -drenched in a cold sweat from the breeze that flows coolly through the open window. His chest heaves as he blinks at the wall ahead, disoriented and thoroughly discomfited.

"Shit," He whispers to himself, head falling back against his pillow.

He can hear the misting beginnings of rain - he must have slept for a few hours, because the sky was clear when he returned from his lesson with Thufir Hawat, intending to lie for just a minute.

The sun is hiding near the ocean; he must have missed supper.

Groaning, he forces himself up and into the shower, where he stares ahead at the wall silently and lets the ice-cold water soak through his skin.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

When he finally drags himself out into the castle, he has no luck tracking you down - done with lessons, you're likely in the dining hall or in your own room eating supper.

He checks your quarters first.

Walking in hesitantly, he calls your name and casts his gaze to the ground, wary of what he might catch glimpse of should he burst in unexpected.

"Paul?" A voice calls, but as he crosses the threshold into the room, he sees it is not you, but another familiar face.

"Oh, hello." He says, nodding as Hestia stands near your dining table - packing up the remnants of dinner. He eyes the two sets of silverware and dishes, noticing a crumb on the corner of Hestia's cheek; You've been taking your meals with her nearly every day since you arrived here. "Have you seen her?" He asks, trying to remain formal.

"Who?"

He gives her an unimpressed look; she rolls her eyes with a sigh. She's surprised to see him, he can tell. It shows on her face. "She just left for the gardens," Hestia says, crossing her arms suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

His head tilts at her, "Is it odd for me to wonder where my betrothed is?"

She gives him that look - the all-knowing one, the one that makes him wonder if they really are siblings. She knows him much too well. "Yes, it is odd, Paul." She's blunt; she'd never dare speak like this to him in front of members of the House court, but in their own time or with his parents, Paul insists they're equals.

"I didn't even know you talked to each other." she snarks, lifting one brow.

Normally he might entertain her teasing, but his mood is quite sour on the subject of you and he'd rather not hear more chastising about your strained relationship with each other.

He shakes his head, turning to head towards the gardens.

"You should watch your tongue, Hestia." He says half-heartedly. He ignores her laugh as he leaves, walking quickly to find you.

It doesn't hit him until he's in the garden, walking down a path that feels oddly familiar: It's just like his dream.

Cheeks heating, he rolls his eyes; Coincidences won't kill me, he thinks, but you might.

When he sees your figure, he's extremely relieved to see you completely bundled from head to toe and sitting on a bench, looking up at the darkening sky, squinting in the mist. When he's still a safe distance away, he calls your name.

"Paul." You say curtly when your gaze finds him. You pat next to you - a surprisingly child-like action as you scoot yourself slightly. "Sit."

He does. It's silent for a moment, in which the wind blows his curls around just as it does yours; it's evening, and this late in the year it is already growing dark.

"I told your mother I'd like to train with her." You say, staring up at the sky again. "I don't think she heard what we were saying earlier."

His shoulders relax at this; fear had shot through him at the prospect of his mother discovering the reason behind your sudden willingness to cooperate.

"She seemed pleased with me. She suggested we start after the Referendum."

Paul expected his mother would suggest this; With only a few days until several members of their House leave for the Referendum and your arraignment, there'd be no real time to start again until after. He knows better than to say I told you so, but he wishes to.

The thought of your arraignment has him turning to look at you, noting how your eyes look against the green of the grass, the dark of the sky, the soft light from the castle.

"How do you feel about it?"

You do that odd exhale from your nose again, shaking your head, "You must know how I feel about the Bene Gesserit by now, Paul."

"No," He starts, tilting his head to look sidelong at you, "the arraignment."

Your face changes, but you say nothing. He takes a breath. "The Baron is a cruel man." Paul starts, "You know we will do everything we can to make sure he does not sway the opinions of the other Houses."

To his surprise, your lips morph into a soft smile; a rare one, very uncharacteristic of such a cold, strong woman; it doesn't make you seem any less fierce, though. "You're so much like your father." You say, voice shockingly reflective. He doesn't know why you choose to say it. A moment of hesitation before you speak again, surprising him with your words. "You're going to be a good Duke."

Praise does not seem to come easy from you, nor does it from him; He lets himself be vulnerable for a moment and admits to himself that it is a good thing you are so headstrong and sharp-tongued. To keep him in check. He knows your argument earlier this morning was too far; both of you were anxious, stressed - truthfully, he's glad you are willing to push back.

"And you'll be a good Duchess."

In the quiet of the garden, not daring to meet each other's eyes, you huff a short laugh of doubt. He doesn't bother arguing with you about it.

"I know House Bourbon doesn't have any real power over Sabberon anymore, but it is still by decree under my family's sovereignty." You say; he nods as he stares off into the hedges across the way. "-when I lose it officially next week, it cannot go to the Harkonnens." Your voice is hollow. "They are unfathomably evil."

He knows - but, he realizes as your finger traces over a scar fading on your hand, he doesn't know like you do. He's seen that knife now in person and in dreams; he's studied enough to know the kind of ritual one must go through to get one. A nameday knife for a future bride of House Harkonnen - because that's what you were going to be, once upon a time. He's read about it, and it is not pleasant.

For a moment, he remembers you when you'd arrived on Caladan; teeth sharp and voice distrusting, a woman ready to lash out at any moment. A beast, you'd wanted everyone to think.

You're not a beast.

Confusing, dangerous, foreboding- sure. But you're just a girl, as he is just a boy; thrust into the hands of the powers way above your heads. There is real fear in your eyes when you speak of the potential for Harkonnens to gain power over the trading markets; real fear when you confess your dreams to him - real anger when he'd accused you of stabbing him; Real breath from your lips, upon his ear when you'd kissed his cheek earlier. Yesterday, real tease when you'd poked fun at his bedside reading choices. You are real, and you are stubbornly human.

Giedi Prime had forced you to build layers and layers of walls around yourself; it's still quite disarming to see glimpses of the woman inside.

"My mother's half-sister is Lady Ginaz." You say; both of you know that he knows this, but you say it anyways, fingers picking at the concrete under you. "She's sent me letters again. They were destroyed before I could read them on Giedi Prime."

He lets you speak, listening intently. House Ginaz; another old ally of House Atreides.

"I think... if we end up needing anything, like more fighters," You lick your lips. More fighters- the prospect is indeed chilling; House Atreides has great legions of soldiers, but you're right. If they war against House Harkonnen, it'll take everything they can find to maintain power.

"-I could try to convince her to send all of the Swordmasters." You whisper, sighing. A beat, then you quirk your lip up so fast Paul wonders if he imagined it. "We'll have to invite her to the wedding, of course."

Your humor is dry and hollow, but it still makes Paul crack a wry huff. "Looking forward to giving input into every aspect of the event?" He asks, feeling a freedom to poke at your shared misery - it's the least of your worries, and it's not so bad if you're in it together.

Your smile shows nice teeth, full lips. "It's a good thing our house colors are both green." You hum, turning to him, "No decisions to make there, at least."

He nods, "More time to decide what kind of ribbon to use for the handfasting."

You look off towards the same hedge across the way that he finds so interesting. "Whose tradition is that, mine or yours?" You ask. He blinks away a raindrop as it slides onto his eyelashes.

"Yours." He affirms. You nod thoughtfully, and Paul is plagued with the visions of you below him, looking up with those wide, big eyes - just across the garden to the right. He blinks away the thought.

"I thought you were Bene Gesserit when you came to Caladan," He says, "And I knew what kind of power you could hold over me if you were."

You look at him, a fire in your gaze. "And you're not afraid of that same power your mother holds over you?" You retort. He sighs; both of you, quick to irritate.

"She loves me. She'll try hard to protect me, and if she knows that we dream of death, she will not let us go to Sabberon." He says. "You don't love me. If you were Bene Gesserit, and knew what path the sisterhood intended for me - for us - you wouldn't hesitate to encourage it." He admits, and feels no particular heartbreak at the concept; you barely know each other. You look similarly unaffected.

"I don't know the path." You sigh, "But I suppose I'll be Bene Gesserit again soon." You mutter, voice imbued with regret.

The air is chilly, and a short breeze moves a curl into his eye. He brushes it away. "I know you don't think we're doing the right thing by training with her." Paul says, unable to ignore his thoughts on the subject. "But what would you have us do instead?"

You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't know." He watches you, how your hair - unstyled, natural- glints under the night, moving with the breeze. "But it feels like we're walking straight into a trap."

Paul's brows knit together in frustration, his jaw clenched tightly. "We don't have a choice."

"I understand that," you reply, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You don't have to keep saying it. But how do we know what to do if we don't even know the Reverend Mother's plans? At what point do we start causing harm just because it's what we think we're supposed to do?"

He shakes his head, head aching. He wishes to sleep; To wake up to find it was all a hallucination - to roll over in bed, and find none of this happened at all. "All we can do is play our hand and hope to come out on top." He says stiffly.

You are bitter, crossing your arms. "That's easy for you to say," your voice is eerily calm. "It's all means to your end. You shouldn't know anything of the Sisterhood, but you've been taught. You've had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

The accusation hangs heavy in the air between you, a silent condemnation of Paul's privileged upbringing and the stark contrast it poses to your own struggles; he knows how hard you've had it - but at the end of the day, you are still a Lady, a highborn member of society, marrying into one of the most powerful houses.

He does not know why his mother has tried to train him in ways that only sacred Sisters should know; For a moment, he wonders if you know more about his own destiny and that overhanging prophecy than you let on. One of two candidates, a voice whispers in his mind; You have more than one birthright, boy.

The air is significantly more tense, irritated - angry. He doesn't care to continue this discussion anymore.

"I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me," his own voice is sullen, sharp. It's foolish for him to waste his time trying to convince you that what he says is right - if, in the end, you might betray him anyways, going in circles is getting him nowhere.

"Me neither." Your voice is cold.

There is nothing left to say; in three days, his House will leave for the Space Trade Referendum, and you will be representing your House for the final arraignment.

Paul wants to sleep - to sleep, and not dream.

He leaves you in the gardens, surrounded in the dark.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

That night, when Paul dreams of you once again, below the great Pine that burns and cracks above his head, there is a hiss that blows in the wind. When you keen against his hands, your chest trembling and hands on his shoulders, there is a whisper, something that you cannot hear.

A sense of duty surrounds him as images of the planet he's never visited flash before him. A knife, glinting - a hand, pale, curling around the hilt - your own sharp gasp of pain.

Some whisper in the dredges of his vision, you are too deep in the throes of passion to stir at the sound; Paul hears it clearly, though it is not meant for him.

It is a deeply eerie voice - playful, sinister.

"I will never let them keep what is mine, my pet."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

#dune fanfiction #dune smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #paul atreides smut #paul atreides x you #feyd x reader #dune part two #dune movie #dune #paul atreides

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purplecoffee13 · 8 months ago

Text

Mr Sunshine - Part Three

Summary: “Harry takes you somewhere to celebrate, and it leads to some clarifying revelations.”

Wc: 5k (I’m guessing)

Tropes: grumpy!mc x sunshine!H

Warnings: talks about being drugged, SA, trauma

A/N: Hi! I’m back😎. Here’s the new sunshine chapter and the next one will be coming soon (and will be steamy! Be prepared!)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

************************************************

On Saturday evening, at 3:34 p.m. to be exact, Harry calls you. You aren’t quite sure why you remembered the exact minute. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that you rarely ever received calls from anyone that wasn’t your family. You had never thought it to be pathetic, but knowing the exact time at which he called made you realize that maybe it was.

You stare at your phone with a frown on your face. What on earth could Harry be calling you for? Once out of your state of shock, you scramble to grab your phone and answer his call.

“Hello?” You say, in a rather confused tone. For a second you wonder if something terrible has happened. Maybe he is in the hospital!

“Guess what.” Harry says from the other side of the line in his usual chipper tone. You roll your eyes and let yourself fall back onto your bed. You guess you’re glad he isn’t dying, but what on earth could he be calling you for then? And now you had to guess it? This guy could never just cut to the chase.

“What?” You huff.

“You have to guess, otherwise it’s not fun.” He insists, a breathy chuckle escaping his throat. “So… guess!”

“The world is ending.” You reply in your staple, monotone voice, laced with a thick layer of sarcasm. A sigh sounded from the other end of the phone.

“Is there not an ounce of positivity in your entire body?”

“What?” You faked your offense, trying to get on his nerves for once. “You told me to guess.”

“But why is it that something sinister like imminent doom is the first thing that comes to your mind?” He asks, sounding genuinely puzzled about it. You fight your lips from quirking up.

“I mean, it’s bound to happen eventually.” You shrug, even though he can’t see you. “I figure, if I guessing it, one day I ought to be right.”

“I will never be asking you to guess anything ever again.”

“Smart boy.” You praise him. “Now are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Right, yes.” Harry takes a deep breathe. “I passed— the test, I mean. I got an A.”

You smile, but try your hardest not to let it show in the way you talk. “I told you you were gonna ace it, dumb ass.

“Thanks… I think?” Harry replies after a few seconds of silence born out of confusion. He chuckles ever so awkwardly, shaking his head at your unusual ways. You can’t see it of course, but he is grinning from ear to ear. You are the first one he called actually. There was no one in the world he would’ve rather told first. Not even his mom, who had been drilling him about the exam for the past weeks.

“Yeah, never doubt you teacher again.” You say sarcastically, laughing along with your friend on the line.

“I won’t, I promise.” Harry assures you. “But it’s not the only reason I called you, though.”

Your swear you feel your heart stand still for a second. An overwhelming amount of anxiety takes over your body the second the sentence falls from Harry’s mouth and you find yourself beginning to sweat.

“Oh?” Is all you manage to say.

“I am also calling to tell you that you need to be ready by eight.”

“Why?”

“We are going to celebrate of course!” Harry’s voice rings through your phone and your eyes close as you let out a little sigh and mutter an ‘oh God’.

“God won’t release you from the wrath of my grip, sunshine.” You quite literally hear the smirk in his voice.

“Now who’s being sinister?” You say, shaking your head slowly.

“Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

“And the brightest.” You add cheekily.

“Sure. Be ready at 8.” Harry reminds you. You give him a small ‘yes’ as a confirmation, but before you can hang up, Harry adds: “oh, and don’t bring your ego, it won’t fit in the car.”

You let out a loud sigh in response and hang up the phone, but your cheeks are burning and your mouth hurts. Weird, your mouth never hurts. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and instantly relax those muscles. This is ridiculous. You will not be giggling over some guy.

“Stupid girl.” You murmur, pointing to your own reflection in the mirror.

But your confrontation with yourself does not quite stop you from counting down the hours until it is acceptable to get ready. You take a long shower and blow dry your hair, instead of letting it dry like you normally do. You also apply more make-up than you do on the regular. You would wear more make-up on a daily basis—you love to use it—but you have a tendency to oversleep.

Instead of the usual five to ten, it actually takes you fifteen minutes to pick out an outfit. There is a dress that has been hanging in your closet for far too long. And you really want to wear it, as this is the first time in almost a year that you have made concrete plans with a friend. The thought of it pains your stomach. God you have really isolated yourself ever since…

Oh well, that’s all changed now. You actually have a friend these days, or at least you think?

Nevertheless, you spend ten of the fifteen minutes wondering if the dress is not too much (it is the most casual dress you have hanging in your closet), and then you spend the remaining five actually putting the piece of clothing on your body.

It is 7:30pm by the time you give yourself one last look in the mirror. You put on a comfortable pair of high boots and wait on the couch until Harry arrives. You sent him your address after the call, and so far you haven’t gotten any messages about him being lost, so you think he’s good.

Sure enough, at 8:00pm on the dot, the bell rings. You force yourself to slowly walk to your door—you have no idea why—and take a breath before you open it up.

Upon opening the door, you are met with Harry’s wide smile—which he always wears. His hands are in his pocket and you watch his mouth slowly open—as if to say something—and close again before letting his eyes trail down your body. He looks quite surprised. You don’t blame him—you aren’t often in clothes like these.

Harry himself is dressed up a bit too. Not as much, but he doesn’t need to if he wants to look good; he just kind of does. The all black outfit works for him. The short sleeved dress shirt and the pants go perfectly together, as do the boots and belt he paired them with. You’re almost jealous of him for making such a simple outfit look so fabulous.

“You look…” Harry says, then trails off while he does a weak attempt at trying to find your eyes again. You are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, how can that be? “Wow.”

“Wow?” You echo.

“Unexpected.”

“I look unexpected?” The corner of your mouth lifts but you hold it as best as you can.

“No— I mean yes— wait…” He frown, as lost in his words as you are, and thinks for a second before offering his final answer. “Yes, you look unexpected.”

“In a way that makes me want to say ‘thank you’ or throw the door in your face?” You tilt your head ever so slightly. Harry chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just mean to say that you always look good, and tonight you look good in an unexpected way.” You notice his cheeks turning a bit pink, and in turn so do your own. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to refrain yourself from giggling like a fucking idiot.

“Well, thank you, then.” You say. Harry murmurs a ‘your welcome’ and nods his head to the car before taking a few steps back, signaling you walk with him. You close your front door, lock it, and follow him to his car. He opens the door for you, and upon entering the car you don’t forget to tell him that he’s an ‘idiot’, but your heart flutters anyway.

Harry is mysteriously vague about where he’s planning on taking you, and he doesn’t say anything other than ‘you’ll see’ the entire drive. Your stomach drops when you finally do see.

You are parked in front of the frat house that was throwing a party tonight. You were already confused as to why you guys were driving through campus, but now you know why; it’s the quickest way to get there.

Your terror filled stare finds Harry’s face, who wears some sort of a pride filled smirk, but it fades a bit at the sight of you. You are starting to freak out. What the hell does he think he’s doing?

“Hey, it’s okay.” He says in a soft voice, but you just shake your head. Instead of saying anything else, he steps out of the car and walks to the door on your side, opening it for you. He holds out his hand, and despite the slight panic that has been ringing through your body, you take it. Harry leads you to the trunk of the car. He lets go of your hand to open it, and when he does, you’re met with three cool-boxes, all lined up in a row. When he takes off all the lids, you see what is inside.

Every cool-box has different drinks in them. The far left one has got water, sparkling water, and water with different tastes to it. The middle one has all kinds of sodas, and the one on the right is filled with juices and smoothies. Apple juice, orange juice, a mango and banana smoothie… you name it.

Your mouth hangs slightly open, taking in the view of the trunk. You want to form a full sentence but your mind can’t comprehend much right now.

“What…” You begin to say, but your mind trails off.

“You said you don’t drink at parties, at all.” Harry turns his body towards you, despite the fact that you are still staring at the cool-boxes. “I don’t know why that is—and you don’t have to tell me—but I assumed it had something to do with a bad experience. Anyway— I thought this was the perfect solution. This way we can stay hydrated and nothing can happen to the drinks because the car is locked. You can keep the car key in your purse if that makes you more comfortable.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at him with wide eyes. Harry isn’t quite certain what your take on the matter is, and it is starting to make him doubt his decisions.

“I— I’m sorry if this crosses a line. I just really wanted to bring you along and meet my friends.” He scratches the back of his neck as a nervous tic. His jaw is clenched the entire time as he looks back into your eyes. Your gaze is terrifying to him, in spite of it seeming softer than normal.

“Thank you, dork.” You say after finally being able to gather your breath. It makes you realize that you are utterly screwed. You like Harry. As more than a friend? Maybe? You don’t know, you haven’t experienced something like that before, but you know that your connection with Harry runs deeper than you had planned.

“My pleasure, sunshine.” Harry responds, and his dimples start to show. Your head turns back to the cool-boxes, hoping Harry can’t see the blood that has rushed to your cheeks. You start eyeing all the drinks, but settle on water in the end.

“Can I?” You ask ever so hesitantly. Harry gets all fuzzy the second you ask the question, and happily nods. He watches with a big smile as you reach for the water and open up the bottle, sitting against the trunk as you take a few sips.

There is no exchange of words between the two of you, only glances. But those tell you a thousand things, though. He seems to be pleased, and your eyes tell him that you are too. In a burst of spontaneity—and something else that you are not sure of what it is—you begin to confess.

“Uhm, in my first year, I went to this party at a frat house, and someone spiked my drink.” You say, and Harry’s head flies to you. He is frowning. You aren’t sure whether that is just him concentrating or actually being shocked by your statement. You decide to take your eyes off him and keep looking straightforward. “I was unconscious and then when I woke up, I was lying on a bed with this random guy over me…”

Harry’s hand is balled up into a fist, initially because of the nervousness, but now he’s hurting himself with how hard his nails press into his palm. He never really gets angry, but these are situations in which he just can’t hide his pure unfiltered rage.

“But I did scream, a—and I said no. But it was a bit slurred, I think.” You say with wide eyes, still staring into the distance. You always quick to defend yourself on this topic, even though Harry hasn’t uttered a word yet. It is kind of preventive, you assume. That way no one can ask you what you did ‘to stop it’ and you won’t have to break out in tears, because questions like those form a lump in your throat that you fear will never go away.

“He should have never gotten alone with you in the first place, sunshine. He’s the one at fault here, not you.” Harry assures you, and your gaze automatically searches for his. It doesn’t feel quite as scary anymore to look him in the eyes. You suppose it always has felt safe.

“And he is also a dead man walking, if I ever find him.”

Your eyebrows raise at his aggressive comment. Harry had never talked about anything remotely resembling to violence. It truly catches you off guard, but it also makes your heart warm to see that he is so adamant about defending you.

“Anyway…” you trail off, hoping to calm him down a bit with the positive end to your story. “two girls in the hallway heard me and they got him off me. My roommate at the time brought me to the ER, and after that I went home.”

You temporarily pause when you hear the sigh that comes from Harry’s mouth. It doesn’t sound bored or rude, rather tired. Like he feels the weight of the burden you have carried on your shoulder for so long. Besides your parents and your former roommate, no one knows this story.

“After that, I didn’t really want to drink or go anywhere anymore. Eventually I got over my fear of going to social events, but I still don’t want to drink anything. Maybe it’s paranoid, I don’t know.” You shrug, massaging your neck a bit, mainly out of awkwardness.

“It’s not paranoia’, it’s trauma.” Harry bents down to meet your eye level, making sure you see him when he says the reassuring words. The logical part of your brain knew that, but sometimes you would get frustrated. You hated how long you had let this experience rule your life for the past three years, and quite frankly you were embarrassed about it.

You felt like getting drugged that night shattered what you thought you knew about yourself, and still do. You don’t trust yourself like you did before. That night was the ultimate example of your incompetence; it showed you that you couldn’t be trusted with yourself. It took years of therapy to mend that broken view, and the destructive thinking pattern would re-enter your brain at times.

“I don’t have many friends, none actually; my past experiences made it a bit tricky.” You blurt out, and turn red when you see Harry smile at you with his furrowed brows. “I mean— what I’m trying to say is: thank you.”

“For what?” He nudges you in your waist. You shake your head at him, a faint smirk lingering on your lips from his teasing touch.

“For being a friend.” You say, and Harry’s mouth falls open.

“Did you just refer to me as a friend?!” He gasps dramatically, leaning into you as the sentence leaves his mouth. You close your eyes and let your head fall back.

“Oh god.” You mutter tiredly. Here we go.

“Can you say that again? I want to record this.” He whips out his phone and you put your hands over your face as you let out a groan.

“You know you’re basically saying you love me more than anyone else in the world right now.” He begins to annoy you, knowing damn well what he is doing. You refuse to answer him, not wanting to play into these antics of his. “I’m interpreting your silence as a yes, by the way.”

“You know what? I’m gonna walk home.” You push yourself off the trunk. You want to walk away a few steps for dramatic effect, and like you expected, Harry puts a stop to his teasing. You don’t expect him to pull you back by your waist and turn you around towards him, though. It catches you off guard and you can’t do anything but stare at him with wide eyes.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He says, voice rougher than just a few seconds ago. Your hands are still on his chest from trying to catch yourself when he spun you towards him. The proximity of it all slowly starts to get to you, and suddenly you’re aware of how good Harry smells. He always smells good, but right now it is causing a physical reaction from you. You feel yourself start to get hot, as if the temperature just rose a couple degrees.

“Let’s go inside.”

And so you do. Harry grabs your hand like it’s no big deal, and you spend the short walk to the frat house trying to convince yourself of the same. Once inside, you stay a bit closer behind Harry, holding his bicep with your free hand as he leads you through the house.

What you don’t know is that Harry is freaking out inside at how you are touching him. He can’t believe it; you are here with him and you’re holding him like he’s yours. Even though he’s not, but he is enjoying the idea for now.

You enter the backyard, and it is full of people you have seen on campus or in class. Most people don’t bat an eye at you; they are mainly focused on Harry. A few look a bit confused at the sight of Harry with a girl, but you try your best not to overthink it all. You both finally arrive at where Harry’s friends are standing, and he is quick to introduce you.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. The girl who saved my life this term.” He says proudly, and he catches his friends looking at him knowingly. They’re probably going to be a bit of a pain in the ass, but he hopes maybe it’ll make you realize that he likes you as more than just a friend.

You smile and let go of Harry’s hand when you see two of his friends glance at it. You lean closer and greet each friend individually with a handshake. The last one, Mikey, offers you a drink and you kindly refuse. So far, it’s going great.

“How come we haven’t seen you at parties before, Y/N?” Another friend of Harry asks. You fiddle with your hands a bit, nervous because you haven’t met this many people at the same time in a long time, and you haven’t cared what this many people thought about you in a long time either.

“Uhm, not really my scene, I guess.” You answer with an awkward smile. Harry’s friends ask you some more questions and you answer all of them, even cracking a joke here and there in between. It is nerve racking, especially since you are talking so much.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” One of the girls in the group—Dina, if you remember correctly—suddenly asks. You are glad that the group has divided into small sections a bit, and only another girl and guy will hear your answer.

Harry is chatting with his friends left from him, but once that one question leaves Dina’s mouth he checks out of the conversation. He knows the answer, of course, but he still wants to hear what you have to say.

“Nope.” You shake your head, and Dina nods.

“No one on the horizon?” She asks again, excessively glancing from Harry to you. The two others start to giggle and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can respond, Dina continues talking in a slightly louder tone. “Because if not, I have a friend of mine I can set you up with. He is great! He’s somewhere around here actually, I could introduce you if you want?”

You suddenly feel a hand snake around your waist, and you already recognize who it is before you have proper time to process it. You worry about that; is it bad to be so familiar to ones’ touch?

“D’ya want to get a drink?” Harry asks, a bit more serious than you’re used to. You nod and excuse yourself from the conversation before letting Harry lead you to his car. His hand on the small of your back makes you have to restrain yourself from melting into a puddle.

You arrive at the car and wait for Harry to open the trunk. To your surprise, he lifts you up and seats you on it, before grabbing your already opened water bottle and taking off the cap. You take it from his hands and take a few big gulps, trying not to sweat profusely at the way he is looking at you, so concentrated.

“Having fun?” Harry asks you, and you look at him, nodding your head.

“Yes, you have nice friends.” You reply, your voice a bit breathy when you realize that his left hand hasn’t left your waist.

“You feeling good then?” He asks, tilting his head ever so slightly, and for a moment you feel like all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs. He raises his brows a bit when you don’t respond to him—instead staring at him as if in a bit of a trance—and you have to regain yourself, nodding profusely.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” You confirm again. He grins at that. You feel like you could be set on fire any second now. You hate yourself for the way you get when he’s so close like this. You haven’t really experienced this before with him, not with anyone actually.

“One of them already tried to set me up with some guy.” You say, hoping it would throw him off and grant you a little bit of space, but instead he comes closer.

“I heard.” Harry murmurs, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, calculating your every reaction in case he gets any indication that you are not comfortable. But there isn’t, because you aren’t.

“Do you think that would be a good idea?” You ask in what could almost be classified as a whisper.

“Do you?” He touches your nose with his, and there is only millimeters left between your mouths. Your eyebrows furrow at the little gap there is left. You lean forward to press your lips against Harry’s but he pulls back ever so slightly, tutting you. Before you can even stop yourself, you let out the smallest whine that could almost be passed for a huff. Harry just smirks and leans in a bit closer again, brushing your lips over his. “Well…?”

“No.” You breathe out and push your lips against his, your hand around his neck, as if it would keep him even closer than he already is.

The weeks and weeks of tension between you fades away with every second that you kiss him. The way Harry’s hands have got a hold of your hips drives you absolutely crazy and you don’t think you have ever wanted something like you want him. It’s the first time your body takes over your brain and it suddenly makes sense; why people do stupid things for love.

If your crush on Harry—or however you want to define your feelings for him—already has you clamping against him as if his touch keeps you alive, you couldn’t imagine what a fool like you in love would do. But if this only feels half as good as the real thing, you aren’t so opposed to finding out.

Harry deepens the kiss and moves one of his hands to hold your face with it, and you become even more intertwined than before. Every sense of yours is occupied with him, and vice versa. Harry feels like he might have died and gone to heaven. Either that, or you are a fallen angel that he was lucky enough to encounter.

The sound of people cheering and a couple of honks breaks the both of you out of the spell you’re under. Upon pulling out from the kiss, you see the pick-up truck with all the people on it drive by as they cheer you on. And suddenly the realization hits you: you were making out with Harry in the middle of the street!

“Y/N… I—” Harry tries to get a word in but you don’t let him, because the sound of him addressing you by your name freaks you out.

“We should get back to the party.” You blurt out, trying to walk back towards the house.

“Y/N!”

You freeze at Harry’s urgent tone of voice, and the volume of it too. He has never sounded so stern before. You slowly turn around, terrified of what he’s going to say. Or maybe you are terrified because there is something you want him to say.

“We should talk about this, sunshine.”

You feel your insides twist. There is a happy surge that is waiting to make it to your brain, but that godawful, dreadful feeling gets the best of you; fear. A fear that overflows any happiness about resolving whatever is going on between the two of you. A fear that maybe this is all a game, and you can’t trust him like you want to, because you haven’t trusted yourself again from the moment you got drugged. So, instead telling Harry how you truly feel about all of this, you just shake your head in disbelief.

“I can’t do this.” You sigh a hopeless sigh, hands on your hips. You stare at the ground; there isn’t a realistic possibility in which you could look into his eyes right now.

“Do you want to go home?” He asks, and you respond with a nod. Harry shuts the trunk before walking over to the driver’s seat.

The second you step into the car, it falls silent between the two of you. You sit with your knees away from Harry, body towards the window. You listen to the radio music that is vaguely playing in the background.

Harry always puts on his own playlist, but he felt that wasn’t very fitting right now, so he just left the radio on. He tries to avoid giving into the heavy pit in his stomach, but it grows with every intersection and stoplight where once again nothing is said. It irks him that you are so silent and he would throw himself out the window if this is it. If he’s blown his chance.

Harry stops right in front of your apartment complex. You don’t even realize at first, and when you do, you feel your own body almost trying to keep you in the vehicle, urging your stupid mouth to open up to him, but you don’t. Harry does instead.

“I like you.” He blurts out before he even knows what he is doing. He feels his cheeks getting red as the sentence leaves his mouth. You freeze, and slowly turn to Harry, unsure what to make of his words.

“I like you, sunshine. As more than a friend, or a tutor, or whatever you want to call it. I have had a crush on you ever since that first project we did together.” He sighs, feeling like a big weight has already been lifted off his chest. “I’m not going to waste time by being vague or playing hard to get. So I’m telling you: I like you. You can do whatever you want the information, it’s up to you. I just needed you to know.”

You stare blankly at Harry. He feels himself getting nervous again. Did he forget to add something? No… right?

“S— so, that’s all. Have a good night, Y/N.” He adds on, looking away from her confrontational eyes and focusing on the empty road in front of him instead.

A scoff. A scoff leaves your mouth as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. Harry’s heart drops; he messed this up. How did he ever think you liked him? He knew you were way out of his league. Why did he even try—

“No, you know what—” the car door slams shut and Harry looks to his right to see you sitting next to him again. Your face is on scary mode and he is quite intimidated by it, to say the least. “You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to give me coffee, and touch me and kiss me and make me all confused, and— this! And why are you suddenly calling me by my name?! You can’t just— do that!”

The faintest hint of a smirk appears on Harry’s face. He can’t think of anything else but how beautiful you look right now. That pouty, confusion filled angry face you have on.

“You’d rather have me call you sunshine?”

“That— That’s not what I meant— You are so annoying, you know that?!”

“Then what do you mean, sunshine?” Harry asks, tilting his head a bit. He is being a bit cocky; he likes seeing you struggle with this, but trying to communicate anyway. He’s proud of you. He feels like he knows you better than you think and he is aware that this is not easy at all for you.

“You— you just barge into my life with those caramel macchiato’s and flip everything I know upside down. And giving me that… nagging feeling. All the time!” You keep ranting, unaware of how amused Harry is because of it.

“Sunshine… are you trying to tell me that you like me back?” He wonders carefully. It is hurting his lips trying to fight them from forming into a smile.

“What?” You ask breathily, as if he’s caught on to you. Harry bites the inside of his lip and leans forward. There it is again, that nagging feeling.

His eyes trace down to your body and he carefully placed on of his hands on your stomach, then he looks back at you. He is almost as close as how he was before you two kissed, and your body immediately feels like it’s on fire again.

“That nagging feeling, do you feel it there? In your belly?” He asks you softly, and you could melt from just his words. You say nothing, do nothing. You just clench your jaw, unwilling to give into him. The reason why you are defying this is becoming vaguer and vaguer by the second, though…

“Because I do. I feel it all the time. Whenever you’re close, whenever you enter my mind. I’ve never longed for a stomach ache so bad in my entire life.” He explains to you, and your mind feels so clouded. You know exactly what he means.

“I know you’re scared, and I know you don’t trust this. But please, let me in. I wouldn’t think of letting you down. Ever.” Harry pleads, and your eyes flutter shut.

All you can smell now is his perfume ans all you can feel is him even though he’s not touching you all around. You lean forward, forehead against his. You both stay like that for a second or two, but when you open your eyes and his lips are the first thing you see…

You break.

Within seconds, your lips are back on his and you just know it was the right thing to do. There is nothing you love more than being close to him right now, and you are really relishing in the fact that that seems to have overshadowed your fears.

Your hands finds its way to his neck while one of his cups your jaw, keeping the both of you steady. There is so much passion in the kiss, and it feels so satisfying. It is why it’s almost impossible to pull away from him, but you do anyway.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, out of breath. Harry’s mouth breaks into a wide smile as he nods.

“Yes, please.”

…

TO BE CONTINUED

#harry styles #fanfic #writing #blurb #fanfiction #harry #one direction #one shot #excerpt #fluff #confession #love #grumpy #sunshine #grumpy sunshine

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piracytheorist · 1 year ago

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Episode 32 notes!

Starting off right in the middle of action, right where we left off!

And some great animation there, too!

The thing about Anya is that her plans are so innocently silly that thanks to her young age, they actually work.

She's right there in front of Yor, acting like she doesn't recognize her, and Yor accepts that because a) it's easy and b) well Anya is a little kid, isn't she?

The fact that Anya is visibly sweating and has a very nervous expression shows that she's worried her plan won't work, and the entire family could come apart right there. She knows it's a risky plan... but because of the circumstances, it works perfectly not only to cover Yor but also to cover Anya's knowledge of Yor's secret.

I love her.

Also, a great way to take the fear of exposure away from Yor and help her focus on the fight! Worth waiting the entire week for!

I also love how excited the entire crowd was about seeing two people "play" with what seems to be lethal weapons. They'd do numbers as WWE fans.

The camera focuses on Yor as she's starting to question herself.

Yes you are! You're hesitating to get close because you fear you'll get hurt and you know that will make Anya and Loid sad! (And of course because you'll have no excuse to tell them but okay yeah)

Anyway. I just like how in comparison to the manga, we see her expression there during her inner monologue.

Yor comments about how professional the guy is with the chain, but then she has no problem using the chain's momentum to wrap it around his wrist and then his torso. Some excellent animation there showing the small details of her control of the chain!

~YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY-

YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY-

THE THOOOORN PRIIINCEEEEEEEESS~

She even used his immobilized body to make him bow. She's an absolute legend.

I've talked before that this isn't even a five-year-old roleplaying. She's actually getting involved with actual enemies of the state, helping their plans without them knowing, and having a blast. Her moral compass may be a little unhinged but by god is it steadfast XD

And then. The Grand RevealTM

WHITE ASS LEGS

I love him your honour. How did he even combine all that, I don't wanna know. The rainbow-tinted glasses is what ended me.

Anya Forger, professional heart-breaker.

Again. Talking with a guy who believes humans will never understand each other and who wants to wage another war, while Twilight has his own war trauma? No big deal. Anya calling him uncool? THE SHOCK AND DESPAIR OF HIS LIFE.

And off to the next chapter! Great transition in the anime - I can usually notice when they jump onto the next chapter, but this time I was surprised with how smoothly they took it from one to the next.

Turtleneck guy says he can't pick up Yor's scent? Even though he seems to have extraordinary smelling abilities?

Is that another reason why Yor is so good at sneaking up on people? She did sneak up on Twilight, after all...

"The bones" mentioned above... is that Loid talking about the skeleton keychain? There was, after all, a hidden bug in the store Loid and Anya were in...

Some things never change.

I can't wait for the moment he realizes how soundly she sleeps on his arms because she trusts him and he makes her feel safe, just like his mother did for him :)

Zeb! I finally get the name of the guy! I won't lie that calling him Furseal felt so weird, like, apologies if your name is Furseal but hey.

Anyway. His outburst felt so real. This man doesn't belong in crime.

And of course, Olka is way too desensitized to such violence, having grown up in the family, after all, and I kinda like how she goes like "Yo snap out of it". Endo really doesn't hold back from having women tell men off huh. I also love the baby talk she used with Gram. So cute.

This scene has the very same music used in the first episode where Twilight has his flashback and remembers what his reason to become a spy was. I feel kinda sad hearing it here because I'd thought that this melody would be used as [redacted]'s leitmotif, but its meaning seems to be connected with how people broken by war can find the hope in humanity needed for peace. Or something.

McMahon berates Yor for going near the door earlier even though she didn't hear their secret knock, but in reality it wouldn't matter - unless the assassin heard their voices from outside the door - because the assassin shot anyway. It would have been the same if she had protected Olka from the first moment and then tried to assess how to attack the guy. So maybe calm down, dude.

The moment Zeb was like "How are we supposed to sleep like that?" I was certain we'd see him sleeping and snoring deeply. I was not disappointed XD

Me when proper trigger discipline: 🥳💯👀🥳👌💯👀👌👌👀🎊👌🎊💯

First, good ol' focus on the ring on McMahon's finger. Second, I'm confused by the translation here in comparison to the manga. Here it says "as long as people continue to be people" while the manga says "as long as people are the way they are", and that can have a different meaning. The former sounds like conflict is in the nature of humans and that it's something we can never avoid, which doesn't seem to follow the story's ideal. It's what Donovan Desmond beliefs are based on, after all. The latter sounds like people are currently very focused on matters that cause conflict, and have a chance of reaching peace if taught differently.

I think, depending on the interpretation, it can tell a lot about McMahon's character. I will wait to see the rest of the arc to make up my mind.

And after he says that they're soldiers even in time of peace, the manga treats us to a panel of a pensive Yor, but the anime doesn't.

Stop robbing us, anime team!

Yor tells the others they should keep their shoes on - nice detail, btw - and Olka looks very familiar with such a concept, while it's Zeb who is a little surprised but accepts it. It's interesting what a character not reacting to something can tell about them!

As expected, Yor and Olka are vigilant, while Gram and Zeb sleep like babies. Let them rest XD

Some brand new music there! There's a lot of new music in general. And then THIS!

THIS IS THE FUTURE LIBERALS WANT ETC

The way Yor widens her eyes when she realizes what she just imagined! AAAAAAAAAHHHH!

And BOY we talk a lot about Loid's denial but the way Yor is still going like "No, no, no, priorities!" though. THE WAY SHE THINKS OF YURI BEING PROUD OF HER, THEN BEING AN INDEPENDENT MAN SHE MANAGED TO RAISE WITH A FEW ISSUES, AND THEN THE HAPPY FACES OF LOID AND ANYA EATING HER FOOD I WILL GO FERAL

Someone hug her omg she deserves the world 😭😭

Neither Twilight nor Yor are the only people neck-deep in denial though.

"The man decided to live for his job" yeah right. He sees one (1) pretty woman pay him some attention because of Bond and he's like "Well imma adopt a dog then". Bond's doubtful and rejecting reaction was priceless XD

This is so fucking funny to me for some reason aadshadfhsdgh. Look at him. Brought into despair by one (1) five-year-old.

I kinda love how he admits that he does fear the unknown, and has been simply trained to overcome it and try to deal with what he has in front of him.

And currently, his fear is for Anya's emotional state.

Having no idea that she's actually having the time of her life, even though she hasn't realized how deeply dangerous her situation is.

Anyway, I love that she brought Mr. Chimera with her on the trip <3

LOID HAVING HIS VERY OWN OH MAH GAH MOMENT I LAUGHED SO HARD

He is very seriously focusing on how he can make Anya happy. He thinks she asked to go for mini golf because she likes it, so he followed along, he saw her upset with how she lost, and believed she needed to experience winning in order to feel fulfilled, so he was determined to stay there until she won.

Anya takes him to the library and of course he's read everything. And even if he hadn't, he has photographic memory and can practically read through an entire tome in minutes.

But still, he's focused on her happiness, and he's satisfied that Anya is having fun reading comics. She goes for the puzzle (btw I love the idea of having a big puzzle available and leaving it to passersby to solve it. I once visited a school where they had one on a table in the halls and students would sit and try and solve it during recesses) and he analyzes it, thinks he can solve it quickly. Anya reacts in shock, and we hear a tiny hesitant "Oh" from him, because he noticed her sudden change in reaction.

Oh no. Twilight is rubbing off on her a little too much. You're five, darling. Enjoying yourself is your job!!

Just like with the bullet in butt date, Loid cannot understand why Anya looks so angry now after having spent an entire day having fun - and he cataloguing what she seems to be having fun with.

The way that he ends his internal monologue with his fear of the Forgers breaking apart and Operation Strix doesn't cross his mind once, tells a lot about how his priorities are starting to change enough to even silence his "For the Mission" talk. My mans falling hard.

Anya sees how worried Loid has gotten... and maybe she reads even deeper and realizes how genuine of a worry it is? That he's not worried for her as an asset of Operation Strix, but as a kid that deserves to have fun and be happy. And she steps up to reassure him.

And oh, how his face changes! T_T

And the way he alternates between "Loid voice" when he speaks and "Twilight voice" when he thinks. Have I congratulated Takuya Eguchi for this feat yet?

And by the way, he "justifies" Anya being so upset of missing her mama because she's still a "small child". Because of course only small children can miss their mothers, right? Twilight definitely doesn't miss his, right?

Forget neck-deep denial, this man is deep down the Mariana Trench of denial.

And the "Small Daily Life" track from the soundtrack plays, with the beautiful family leitmotif...

I love them. He can be so sweet with Anya, I can only imagine how he'll end up post-identity reveals and especially post-feelings realization.

The final few hours before Olka, Gram and Zeb get safely transferred! I think you can see the tension on their entire faces.

Also some intense, new soundtrack there! Interesting! The composers have done a lot of job this season, carefully mixing up tracks from the previous season with new ones to create the respective mood.

And that's it for this week! I foresee way more action on the next episode! :D

#Spy x Family #sxf reaction

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zyonsay · 1 year ago

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Wildfire, Chapter Two MV1

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: You almost scored a win, but Max wouldn't let that happen. The McLaren boys want to take your mind off of things!

Warnings: Swearing, Max is a bit of an asshole,Reader has anger issues, Slight Violence, Alcohol, Ki ki ki rah sweat sweat

Now playing: 'Monaco' by Bad Bunny

AN: This was a STRAIN! School is beating my ass recently and it's really difficult for me to get anything done BUT i really want to write this fic!

(Here is the previous chapter)

(Here is the next chapter)

The race season was in full swing, and you’d been doing well. Max had, as per usual, always taken the victory, but most of the time you were on the podium next to him. You were a great new asset to Red bull, and many of the fans seemed to like you. You started discovering more and more memes about you on Instagram and Twitter that would make you chuckle. (Or X? Man idk)

People saw you as a two-sided coin, since your charismatic, silly moments were accompanied by boiling, blood red rage when something messes up the race. Numerous fans compared you to Max when he first entered F1, calling you a “Smaller version of Mad Max.”

You guys’ interactions felt like witnessing two proud stags smash their antlers against each other. No full-on fights have ensued yet, but the tense feeling between you two can be felt by everyone from miles away. It was like the calm before a storm, electric energy surging through the air, waiting to strike when things get any more heated.

Your sassy, provocative nature could bring his blood to a boil easily, often causing him to glare at you from far away or leave some snarky remarks while passing by. This dynamic wasn’t optimal for Redbull, having two drivers who clash off the grid might also clash on the grid. As long as the situation wouldn’t get worse, they’d let you two entertain the fans bit more, but Christian kept a close eye on both you and Max.

Usually your bickering was harmless,

But today you could’ve strangled him right then and there in the paddock after the race. Luckily Horner got a hold of you and dragged you away, you felt like an angry dog being put on a chain outside the house by its owner.

What happened a few minutes before angered you deeply. Max profoundly refused to let you pass him, even if you had to brake to not crash into the rear end of his car. You could’ve had the first place if it weren’t for him blocking your way. Saying you were enraged was a pathetic understatement. You were steaming with rage and wanted to smash his head against a wall.

You, Lando and Oscar were strolling towards an Ice cream truck that Oscar had found on google maps. The race weekend was over but many of the drivers decided to stay a bit longer in the beautiful city. Tough it was extremely hot, which was the reason why Oscar and Lando wanted to go for Ice cream, what they didn’t tell you tough is that they wanted to distract you from your conflict with Max.

After paying for your Ice cream, you three made your way to a bench, sitting down and enjoying your refreshments. You chose pistachio ice cream, savoring the sweet, nutty taste. “Have y’all heard about the party tonight?” Lando glanced at the buildings nearby, enjoying the fancy exterior, thinking about snapping a pic for his .jpg account. “I mean, we all know that there will be one, but I didn’t catch any specifics.” Lando now looked at you and Oscar. “Danny told me about it, it’s in the grand Casino at eleven O’ Clock. I really want to go, but I wanted to drag you both with me. Are y’all coming?” He mustered up his best puppy eyes and began pouting. A hearty laugh escaped you, almost causing you to drop your ice cream. “Sure dude! I can’t wait to have some fun.” Oscar grinned, agreeing with what you said. You guys spent some more time shopping and checking out some must-see sights of the city. Lando bought Oscar a little Koala plushie with sunglasses calling it "Oscahs Doppelgänger.” You really liked hanging out with the two McLaren boys, spending time with them meant lots of joking and messing around.

“Hurry the fuck up Y/N, its almost eleven!” Landos voice rang over his obnoxious banging on the door. You rolled your eyes and checked your outfit one more time in the mirror before heading out. You were greeted with a friendly smile from Oscar and Lando who looks like he’ll bounce around the walls like a gummy ball. He could’ve well exploded on the spot with excitement. He and Piastri were both a tiny bit older than you, but Lando was still a kid at heart.

Lando, Oscar and you walked through the city, heading straight for the big, fancy Casino. Even from far away you spotted a familiar, smiley face. “Oi! Danny!” You waved at him, gaining his attention. He was smiling broadly as usual, walking up to your little group. “Hey guys! Looks like Lando managed to drag you along, eh?” He was obviously wearing one of his flash banging party shirts, it wouldn’t be Daniel Ricciardo if he wasn’t wearing something obnoxious, right?

The four of you chitchatted for a while, when Oscar asked: “Were you waiting for someone?” Daniel looked down at his wristwatch; it was already five past eleven. “I was actually. Me and Max wanted to meet up at eleven. Don’t know where he is, maybe he already went inside.” He shrugged, glancing you way as he noticed you tensing up at the sound of the Dutchman’s name. You definitely haven’t forgotten the race earlier that day. The guys stayed quiet for a few moments as the chilly night air blew around your legs, contrasting with the warm weather during the day. Lando was the first to break the silence. “Can we finally go in?”

Once you entered the gigantic building, colorful lights and the smell of overly expensive alcohol flooded your senses. A few familiar faces were dancing, drinking, and laughing, but there were also many you didn’t know. Daniel led the group towards the bar, buying you all a round of shots. “Gotta start the night the right way!”, he laughed before downing the burning liquid. The vodka fueled the sparks in your guts and turned them into a fire. You were going to have fun tonight.

Suddenly a loud voice appeared behind you. “Hey Danny!” You froze for a second before turning around and facing the man you’ve been wanting to murder since this morning. “Oi, Max! Thought I’d never see you!” Daniel abandoned the bar stool to pat Max on the back. Oscar, who was sitting next to you, turned in your direction and whispered. “We don’t have to hang around with him. Let’s just leave- “, you interrupted him, “No. Its ok.” You were too busy glaring at Max to notice Oscars worried expression, not that he thought you’d attack Verstappen out of nowhere, but he was concerned that a teasing comment from Max was enough for you to snap. As he later would find out, it was.

Max didn’t pay any attention to you, obviously not feeling as irritated as you were. The casino was warm from the sheer number of people inside, the loud music mixed with laughing and chatting. Daniel was going on about some experience he had the day before while exploring the city. You were halfheartedly listening to your friends rambling while you were observing your friends’ mimics. Your eyes landed on your fellow Redbull driver. He was listening carefully, asking a question every now and then. He then glanced at you quickly, catching you looking at him. Max then quickly looked away again.

After a while, Lando pulled you away from the bar and towards the dance floor. He was definitely drunk by now and was all giggly and happy. “C’monnnn, dance with me!”, Lando slurred.

It must’ve already been a few hours since you arrived at the Casino, but time flew by so fast. Oscar stated that he was getting tired and wanted to go home in the next hour or so, while Lando was as lively as ever and could go the whole night. You agreed with Oscar though, since you were tired and had an appointed Press conference for tomorrow. Daniel and Max wanted to stay a little longer but agreed to accompany you outside to say goodbye. Once outside, a cold shiver ran down your spine. The city was illuminated by bright lights and a howling wind was brushing through its streets. Daniel stopped, facing the rest of the group.

“We definitely gotta go out together more often!” Lando nodded enthusiastically, glancing your way as if inviting you to go out with him more often.

“Yeah, once Y/N doesn’t hold a grudge against me, I saw those glares.” Max laughed, but you couldn’t help but judgingly glance at him. His face was red and his posture a bit wobbly.

“You’re the one complaining about me during Interviews.” The venom in your voice was very apparent, you made no effort to hide your disdain. Max looked hesitant for a second before his expression hardened. Daniel seemed to feel awkward, not exactly knowing how to deal with you two firecrackers. Max focused his eyes on your face, not wincing under your glare. “And you were the one crying around about me winning this morning?”, he laughed again, seeking eye contact with the others as if to justify his words. The McLarens Aussie next to you looked deeply worried, as If he already suspected what happened next.

The blood in your veins began boiling, you could literally feel it. A heavy push from your side caused Max to stumble back. “Don’t fucking go there you dick. You just couldn’t handle me winning, right?” Your fellow Redbull driver was now shaken awake, glaring at you with a bitter look on his face. “Don’t get mad at me because you lost, fucking Dickhead.”

You were SO ready to ruin his stupid face with a good punch.

…but before you could actually get violent a certain Honey badger stepped in. “Lads, calm your tits! I think it’s best if we all go to our hotel rooms now.” Oscar was holding you back, worrying what would happen if he’d let go of the raging man in his arms. The other McLaren boy was standing next to you guys, unsure what to do. Daniel gave Max a heavy pat on the shoulder and gave him a serious look. “Let’s go get some sleep, buddy.” Max’s eyes never left yours, like a hunter stalking its prey.

But you won’t budge under him.

#male reader #gay #f1 x male reader #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #f1 fic #f1 x reader

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collinrobinsonsglasses · 11 months ago

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Too Soft to Be a Pirate

Izzy Hands X Reader (GN)

Chapter 12 of a series, but I think you could read a lot of these separately and understand what's happening.

Summary: You run into your ex and Izzy has feelings about it. <3 It's the moment you've been waiting for. The rest of this story hasn't been super smutty, so I didn't want to make this chapter over the top. It's definitely a little spicer though with a ton of fluff. This is not based off a specific episode of ofmd.

Warnings: The reader has an anxiety attack just in case that's triggering for people to read about.

Chapter 12: Ex Marks the Spot

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Your peaceful slumber in your hammock was interrupted by the subtle pressure of Izzy’s hand squeezing your knee, rousing you from the depths of sleep. An initial wave of annoyance washed over you at being woken so early.

“Five minutes, on the deck,” Izzy’s hushed voice reached your ears, carrying an air of authority.

“Why?” you groaned, your hand instinctively moving to rub the sleep from your eyes, while you attempted to avoid the man standing in front of you, by further cocooning yourself into your hammock.

“That’s an order. Stop fucking complaining,” Izzy responded with a gentle yet firm tone. Although you couldn’t see his face anymore, a vivid mental image of the eye roll he was likely indulging in manifested itself in your head. You knew that questioning his request any further was useless.

Emerging onto the deck, your arrival coincided with the rays of the rising sun, casting a warm glow over the ship. There, in the heart of the deck, Izzy waited holding two gleaming swords. With a fluid motion, he tossed one towards you, the metallic gleam reflecting the soft morning light.

As the sword landed in your grasp, a subtle disappointment gnawed at you. The realization dawned that this was the cause of your early awakening, and you couldn’t help but glance down at the weapon in your hands, disappointed that this was the reason for the lost moments of sleep. When you met Izzy’s eyes again, you give him a pleading look, a pair of puppy dog eyes silently questioning the rationale behind this unexpected training session.

“Don’t give me that fucking look,” Izzy retorted, his tone sounding exasperated, yet the swift response betrayed a vulnerability he tried to hide. Your pleading look had a way of working on him, and he struggled to conceal the impact.

“When was the last time you trained with a sword?” he inquired, regaining his composure.

“I don’t remember,” you admitted in a hushed tone, fully aware that the answer was sometime before your wrist was fractured. Since then, the blade had been a neglected companion, untouched during the months of recovery.

“Months,” Izzy scolded, his tone firm. “Stede’s got plans for a raid today, but you won’t be part of it unless you can convince me you still remember how to use a sword.”

“I do know how to use a sword,” you grumbled quietly, your nose scrunching in annoyance.

“Then prove it,” Izzy responded, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Why am I the only one up here? Where’s the rest of the crew?” you protested with a whine. “Why just me?”

Izzy shot you a look, a silent declaration that the debate was over. It was clear - this morning’s training was reserved just for you. In that moment, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the power of Izzy’s gaze; it held sway over you that mirrored the influence your own puppy dog eyes had on him.

The clash of steel echoed across the ship’s deck as you engaged in a spirited sword fight with Izzy. Despite the lack of recent practice, muscle memory kicked in, and your movements became a dance of controlled aggression. However, it didn’t escape your notice that Izzy was holding back. His strikes were deliberate but measured. He was gauging your abilities without fully unleashing his own. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead. The lesson persisted until Izzy, seemingly satisfied with his assessment, allowed you a moment of rest.

“You can fight today,” Izzy relented, his tone carrying a hint of concession, “but Fang will still be keeping an eye on you.” You shot him an annoyed glance, silently protesting the need for an extra set of eyes monitoring your every move.

“Oh, come on,” Izzy teased, a playful grin playing on his lips as he reached to gently lift your chin. “Let me make you a coffee. Stop being a twat.”

Despite your initial grumpiness, his teasing paired with his warm touch earned a genuine smile from you. You couldn’t help but appreciate Izzy’s concern and the lengths he went to ensure your safety. You followed him below deck towards the promise of coffee.

The next hour unfolded in the cozy embrace of the ship's galley, where you found yourself seated, leisurely sipping on a cup of coffee while engaged in easy banter with Izzy. The morning sunlight filtered through the small portholes, casting a gentle glow on the wooden interior, creating an intimate setting for the shared moments. Reluctantly, you admitted to yourself that the sacrifice of an early awakening was a small price to pay for these stolen moments with Izzy.

Both of you ascended back to the deck, and you immediately noticed Fang using a spyglass to scan the vast expanse of the open sea. As Izzy took charge, issuing orders to the crew, you gravitated toward Fang, greeting him with a nod.

“Morning,” Fang sang in his characteristic cheerful tone. “We’re closing in on a ship for the raid. Want to see?” he offered, extending the spyglass toward you.

With curiosity you took the slender glass, aligning it with the direction Fang had been facing. As the distant ship came into focus, an unexpected wave of unease swept over you. You knew that ship. A sudden drop in your stomach felt almost like a free fall, and for a brief moment, the edges of your vision seemed to be tinged with black. Concerned that you might faint, you hastily passed the spyglass back to Fang, gripping the side of the ship for support.

Fang, noticing the sudden shift, inquired softly, “Hey, what’s the matter?” His expression transformed from casual cheerfulness to genuine concern as he placed a reassuring hand on your back, ready to offer support.

A sharp intake of breath accompanied your swift revelation. “That’s my old ship,” you stated quickly, the words leaving your lips like a hurried confession. The realization hit you with a force you hadn’t anticipated. You bent down, letting your head rest against the edge of the wooden ship.

“I think I need to find somewhere to sit, Fang,” you uttered, your voice barely above a breath. Breathing deeply in an attempt to steady yourself, the taste of your morning coffee felt bitter on your tongue, and the ship beneath your feet felt like unsteady ground. The prospect of confronting the man who had tossed you into the ocean had triggered a visceral reaction.

“Oh, shit,” Fang murmured, as he comprehended the weight of your words. Without hesitation, he practically scooped you up in his arms. Fang, knew the ghosts of your past, understood the magnitude of the situation almost instantly.

“The captains will know what to do,” Fang reassured himself, his tone a mix of determination and worry. Swiftly, he whisked you away towards Stede’s cabin, his arms cradling you securely. Bursting into the cabin, Fang wasted no time sitting you down onto the couch that adorned Stede’s quarters.

“What’s all this then?” Stede huffed, rising from the breakfast table where he and Ed were seated, a look of curiosity etched across his features.

Fang stepped forward, taking on the responsibility of explaining the situation on your behalf. “The ship we were planning to raid is their old ship,” he revealed.

Edward reacted swiftly, pushing back his chair with a clatter and abandoning the table without uttering a word. His movements were purposeful as he headed towards Stede’s auxiliary closet, leaving everyone with a sense of anticipation.

Stede’s gaze shifted between the unfolding scene and the absent Edward. “Well?” he prompted, addressing Fang. “What does that mean?”

Fang shot you a nervous glance to see if you’d begin to speak but he recognized that you weren’t in the best headspace. “They got pushed off their last ship, by the man they loved, Timothy was his name I think,” Fang explained, then offered a detailed account of the story to Stede, who absorbed the information with a furrowed brow. Meanwhile, Edward remained absent.

Seated on the couch, you drew your legs up and wrapped your arms around them, trying to shrink. As Fang narrated the story to Stede a million thoughts raced through your head and you couldn’t grasp onto any single one.

Your gaze followed Edward as he emerged from Stede’s closet, he had shed the distinctive bag-like garment and kitty collar he was wearing before and reverted to his familiar leather attire. Stede’s immediate reaction was an exasperated sigh, “Ed! What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go kill that motherfucker,” Ed declared. “That’s what I’m doing.” “Edward, stand down,” Stede commanded firmly, a note of authority in his voice. “We need to ask them what they want. Look at them,” he urged, gesturing toward you.

Ed’s fierce anger melted into genuine worry as he observed the emotional turmoil reflected in your eyes. Bending down to your level, his tone softened, “Little mouse, what do you want us to do if he’s still on the ship?” The tenderness in his question surprised you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, uncertainty lacing your words. “What should I do?”

Stede joined Edward, offering his support as he whispered, “It might be good to talk it through.” Edward shot Stede with a look of concern. “Stede, last time they talked it through, they got pushed overboard. I’m not sure if that’s the best idea,” he replied with firm resolve.

Stede, eager to find a compromise, suggested, “Maybe we can lock him up in the brig, so they can talk. Would that work?” It was a practical solution, an attempt to create a controlled space for dialogue while minimizing the risk.

You nodded in agreement, torn between the fear of confronting the past and the apprehension of future regrets if you did nothing. The uncertainty weighed heavily, leaving you caught in the crossfire of conflicting emotions.

“It’s decided then.” Stede declared with authority. “I guess I need to go fill in the rest of the crew.” While Stede moved to leave his cabin, Edward stood up and pulled Fang aside, exchanging hushed words in a private conversation. Even at a whisper, his words carried to your ears, “Go update Izzy about this, Fang, before Stede announces it to the crew. He’s not going to fucking like this.” Just like Fang, the gravity of the situation was not lost on Edward.

Edward crouched down again, his hand gently finding its place on your arm, which was still tightly wrapped around your legs. “We’ll sort this,” he assured firmly, “Fang is talking to Iz…knowing him, he’ll be in here in a second, so I’m going to leave. I think I’m the last person he’ll want to see here with you.” Ed gave your arm a final reassuring pat before rising and heading towards the door leading onto the deck.

Alone for the first time, your body granted you the space to release the floodgate of emotions that had been tightly pent up. The idea of confronting the man who had inflicted such profound hurt twisted your stomach into knots, and tears welled up almost instantaneously. Slowly, the silent tears transformed into audible sobs. A profound sense of helplessness enveloped you. All the feelings you believed you had healed from came rushing back, as if you were reliving the initial agony again for the very first time.

The creaking of the cabin door signaled someone’s entrance, but you resisted the urge to look up. Instead, you kept your head buried in your thighs, legs still tightly curled up in a ball parallel to your chest. Displaying vulnerability was never your strong suit, a trait shared by many in the crew. You sensed someone taking a seat on the couch beside you. Although it wasn’t difficult to guess who it was, a wave of embarrassment kept your head firmly planted on your legs, hesitant to meet his eyes.

The gentle touch on your head confirmed what you suspected - Izzy had silently joined you in the cabin. His hand, warm and comforting, rested tenderly on your head, while his thumb traced soothing patterns up and down the back of your neck. The simple gesture worked, slowing the rapid pace of your breathing and providing a feeling of solid ground in the flood of emotions that had consumed you.

Izzy’s touch continued its calming dance until the tension in the air began to lift, and you felt secure enough to lift your head and meet his eyes. As your gaze connected with his, you couldn’t help but wonder what reflection stared back at him - a puffy, red-eyed version of yourself, no doubt. Unfazed, Izzy’s hands moved for your head to gently cup your face, his thumbs now taking on the tender role of wiping away the lingering tears that adorned your cheeks.

“What do you need?” Izzy whispered, his voice bearing a weight that echoed the pain coursing through you.

“I don’t know,” you responded, your voice quivering. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Stop talking like that,” Izzy retorted gently, but a simmering anger underscored his words. “You are not stupid. The fucking twat who made you feel this way is stupid… Stupid fucking twat.” During Izzy’s response, his hands left your face, curling into tight fists on his legs as if ready to confront the very source of your distress.

“Izzy, will you stay here with me?” you asked earnestly, a plea laced with vulnerability. “I think that’s what I need.” “Of course,” Izzy responded without hesitation.

Gently stretching your legs out on the couch, you rested your head on his thigh. His hand found you again - his fingers running through your hair in a soothing rhythm. In the quiet intimacy of the cabin, being with Izzy served as a reminder that things were different than before. The feelings still felt overwhelming, but with Izzy and the rest of the crew you were safe.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Once news arrived that the raid had concluded, Izzy guided you onto the deck, his hand resting firmly on your back until you both were in everyone’s sight. He couldn’t decide if his touches were more for your comfort or his own. The sight of you in pain stirred an anguish within Izzy, and his deepest desire was to mend the hurt in any way possible. Wiping the tears from your face and enveloping you in his arms provided him with a sense of purpose, an action in the face of the unavoidable pain you were experiencing. The burning desire to kill the man who had caused you such distress surged within Izzy, fueled by the possibility that he was likely among the crew of the ship that was just raided. Yet, for your sake, he planned to temper his own impulses.

The crew had gathered the prisoners from the raid on The Revenge, awaiting the identification of the man their captains had spoken about. Blackbeard separated you from Izzy, pulling you aside and whispering quietly in your ear. Izzy's gaze remained fixed, watching intently as you nervously pointed to one of the captured crew members. Izzy scrutinized the man you had pointed to trying to gauge his presence and assess him. A recollection surfaced in Izzy's mind: Timothy was the name Edward had used when recounting your story to him on The Queen Anne's Revenge. He was around your age, stood tall, his brunette hair seemingly catching the light. His stature, combined with a confident demeanor, grated on Izzy's nerves. Even in the midst of being restrained, Timothy’s presence managed to emit an air of self-assuredness, intensifying the rage that was simmering beneath the surface.

Blackbeard commanded Fang to apprehend the identified man and confine him to the brig. As Fang executed the order, dragging him away, Izzy observed the unfolding scene with a keen eye. Timothy, finally seeing you for the first time, had an expression on his face resembling that of someone who had seen a ghost. As the twat called out your name, Izzy's attention shifted to you. The nuances of your reaction didn't escape him. There was a fleeting wince, a subtle recoiling at the sound of Timothy’s voice calling your name, but you ignored him.

Fang delivered a swift punch to the man's stomach on the way to the brig, eliciting a yelp of pain. "Fang!" you reprimanded your friend, disapproving of the unnecessary aggression.

"Sorry, he just slipped into my fist," Fang replied with a smug grin. "I don't know what happened."

Izzy couldn't help but smirk at Fang's action, he was relieved the crew shared his protective instincts towards you.

"I knew it!" Roach declared triumphantly to Frenchie once the chaos had settled.

"Were you two betting on who Timothy was?" you questioned Roach with a curious tone.

As you spoke to your friends, Izzy, feigning disinterest, deliberately kept his focus on other matters around the ship. He positioned himself far enough away, cautious not to draw attention to his listening ears. The eavesdropping distance provided a subtle vantage point from which he could hear the unfolding conversation without making his investment too obvious.

"Yes. Frenchie thought it was that guy," Roach replied, pointing to an elderly sailor who appeared to be about 80 years old.

Izzy felt a pang of worry, concerned that any teasing directed at you in this moment might risk breaking your calm composure. However, his anxiety began to ease as he witnessed a genuine grin spread across your face – the most authentic expression he had seen since the news had broken that morning. The sight brought a welcomed relief, reassuring Izzy that your resilient spirit was still present despite everything you were feeling.

"What the fuck, Frenchie? He's ancient!" you exclaimed, playfully punching him in the arm.

"Ow," Frenchie responded, holding his arm in mock pain. "I thought you were into older guys." He teased, prompting a lighthearted exchange.

Izzy observed as a deep shade of red crept across your features in response to Frenchie's comment, and you briefly glanced around.

Swiftly, you hushed Frenchie, attempting to quell the potentially embarrassing situation. "Stop betting on my love life," you whispered back to the pair of men, your words carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement.

Curiosity filled Izzy, but he recognized that this wasn't the moment to delve into those thoughts. His immediate concern was ensuring that you made it through the day, and that took precedence over anything else.

Several of the captured crew members, along with their captain, recognized you. Izzy observed as you graciously greeted each of them, offering apologies for the inconvenience. He couldn't understand your kindness, wondering why you would show mercy to those who hadn’t protected you like they should have. The men who recognized you did appear relieved and grateful to see you alive and well. While it didn't come as a shock that you had forged connections with them during your time on their ship, Izzy marveled at your ability to connect with almost anyone.

"Iz," you called out, capturing his attention as you walked up to him, interrupting his thoughts about you. "You can say no, but… would you be there with me when I talk to him?"

Izzy replied with a small nod. A wave of relief washed over him, grateful that you had asked him to accompany you. The idea of leaving you alone with that twat might have been impossible for him. If he was being honest, a deep curiosity stirred within him about meeting someone you used to love, paired with an undeniable feeling of jealousy. No, Izzy thought to himself, you shouldn't be alone in there with him.

Izzy’s keen eyes followed your every move as you paced the length of the ship with an air of nervous energy. For what felt like an eternity, you traversed the deck. Every now and then, when it seemed you were on the verge of descending below deck, you abruptly changed direction, as if caught in a perpetual cycle.

As you began the cycle anew, Izzy quickly intervened, stepping in to halt your pacing, his grip on your shoulders gentle but firm, reminiscent of past moments. "You don't have to talk to him," Izzy whispered. If it were Izzy's decision, the confrontation would have started and ended with a swift thrust of his blade, but the idea of "talking it through," instilled by Stede Bonnet, wove itself deeply into the fabric of this crew. With the resurgence of the Kraken, Izzy found himself considering that perhaps, against his instincts, Stede might have been right all along.

Your gaze remained fixed on his chest, as if peering through him, likely pondering his remark. “I know,” you sighed, “but I feel like I’ll regret it if I don’t say anything.” Izzy observed the transformation on your face, shifting from distraction to determination, and your eyes met his. “I need this to finally be done.” With those words, you left Izzy’s grasp, making your way below deck. Swiftly, Izzy followed, aware you were likely headed to the prisoner.

“You’ve got this,” echoed Fang’s encouraging shout from the deck as the two of you descended below.

Izzy watched the final deep breath you took before entering the area that held the brig. There was a strength in your demeanor, a contrast from the morning, yet Izzy couldn’t shake the concern that lingered about how this conversation might affect you. It remained too unpredictable.

The brig was a dimly lit, confined space tucked away in the belly of the ship. A series of iron bars formed the cell structure, allowing a glimpse into the confined space. The flickering light of a lantern suspended from a hook on the wall cast uneven shadows. Sparse and functional, the brig had a simple wooden bench fixed to one side. Timothy, seated upon it with his head resting on his hands, looked up at the sound of approaching company. Swiftly rising, he moved towards the bars of his cell, as he uttered your name once again, this time in a mix of shock and recognition.

“Timothy,” you uttered flatly in response, a stark greeting that revealed little emotion. Despite your stoic demeanor, Izzy knew you well enough to tell that you were still scared. Yet, you persevered, putting on a brave face in front of this fucking twat.

“You’re alive,” he whispered back, Izzy visibly rolled his eyes at the statement but remained quietly standing further away, wanting to respect your space.

“I know. That must be a surprise for you,” you replied dryly, your tone devoid of any warmth.

“I’ve thought about you every day since you fell off the ship, hoping you were alive,” he responded, his words carrying a tone of pleading sincerity.

“Since I fell?” you asked, your cool composure giving way.

Izzy studied your face, discerning something he had never witnessed before. Muscles tensed beneath your skin, evident in the way your jaw clenched and your fist tightened at your sides. Your posture shifted, becoming more rigid, as if every muscle in your body was ready for a fight. Izzy, accustomed to your usual composure, couldn’t help but note the unfamiliar contours of your rage, a sight both alarming and mesmerizing.

“You pushed me,” you spat, each word drawn out with a venomous precision that cut through the air.

“Pushed you?” Timothy replied with feigned shock. “I was trying to catch you. I tried to get help, but it was too late.”

Izzy watched as this ponce addressed you with an air of condescension, as if attempting to portray you as clueless and naive, working to convince you that you were misremembering what happened. Izzy clenched his jaw. It took every ounce of self-control not to storm across the room and deliver a punch that would wipe the smugness off this man’s face.

You maintained silence in response to Timothy’s words, prompting him to continue. “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re alive. We can sail together again. You and I, just like the old days.”

“How long did it take for them to leave you? A month? A week?” you responded smugly, a sarcastic curl to your lips that hinted at your disdain. Izzy assumed you were referring to the person he left you for, the one he deemed worth throwing you overboard for. Izzy observed the man in the brig, and the cracks in his composed mask became visible at your comment, anger flashing in his eyes.

“I left them,” he muttered through clenched teeth, but quickly regained his composure, reverting to the role he was playing. “I missed you too much. It killed me.”

Izzy watched as your hands wrapped around the cold bars of his cell, leaning in closer to convey your unwavering resolve. “I will never go anywhere with you again,” you whispered, the words reverberating through the confined space.

“Oh come on,” he pleaded in a hushed tone, arrogance still echoing in every word. “You’re happy here? With a bunch of pirates?”

Your response was a smug smile and nod, a nonchalant retort that only fueled his growing anger. “I know you still love me,” he insisted, leaning even closer into the bars, narrowing the distance between you.

“No fucking way,” you responded firmly, the rage still evident in your eyes.

“Oh I see. You’ve met someone else” he sneered, his fingers snaking through the bars to grab your wrist. “You’ve found someone else to follow around. Who is it?”

Izzy snapped immediately, his gaze turning fierce as he watched this man lay hands on you. “You will get your fucking hand off them, twat, or I’ll happily cut it off.” Izzy growled, his protective instinct kicking into overdrive.

The man quickly released your wrist, and Izzy pulled you back from the cell with swift determination. Though it was only a matter of seconds, Izzy knew he’d never allow this fucker to get close to you again.

Timothy began to laugh, his eyes shifting between the two of you. “Him?” he chided, gesturing towards Izzy.

Izzy nervously glanced at your face, anticipating a hint of embarrassment or shame. However, to his surprise, you appeared certain, resolute in the face of the man’s taunts.

You didn’t retreat back to the cage; instead, you stood taller, asserting your presence next to Izzy. “Yes,” you proclaimed, your voice unwavering, “him.” Izzy observed Timothy glaring at both of you, but you didn’t falter. Instead, you continued speaking with a calm determination. “He is a hundred times better than the man you pretend to be. He’s strong, loyal, and one of the smartest sailors I’ve ever met. I’m safe when I’m with him.”

Izzy felt, for a second, like he was in a dream. A surreal moment where reality blurred with his deepest desires. For a fleeting moment, he tried to reason with himself, attempting to talk himself out of what he was hearing. You were admitting you still cared for him, and it didn’t seem like a mere performance for the man who had broken your heart, It seemed genuine. The words echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t dismiss the sincerity in your voice. The weight of the admission hung in the air, and for the first time, Timothy found himself without a response.

Timothy’s silence seemed to embolden you, and you continued your speech with a quiet yet firm resolve, as if the words had been rehearsed in your mind hundreds of times. “When my mother died, you were the only one I had left. You were my family. That’s why I’ve been so blind to what a complete and utter ass you are,” you said, your voice steady. “But I want to thank you because you pushing me off that ship is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I have a real family here now–not only Izzy, but everyone else on this crew.”

The weight of your gratitude for the new family you had found on The Revenge lingered in the air, and Izzy felt a profound understanding of your words.

You turned to leave, but Timothy spoke again, venom lacing his words. “You were always pathetic,” he hissed, the bitterness evident in his tone. “Always following me around like a puppy dog. The attention was fun at first, but then it just got boring.”

“Just give him back to his captain, Iz,” you said flatly, unfazed by his attempt to provoke you. “He’s not worth it,” With that, you left the brig, heading back on deck.

Now alone, Timothy redirected his comments toward Izzy with a sly tilt of his head. “You’ll get tired of them too one day. You’ll see. When you need your space you can always use my method… just a little push.”

Izzy, fueled by a surge of anger, grabbed Timothy through the bars, slamming his head against the hard metal of the door. Timothy yelped in pain, but Izzy continued holding him tightly, leaning menacingly toward him. “I’ve met some stupid fucking twats during my lifetime, but you are number fucking one. If it was up to me, you’d be tied to an anchor and dropped to the bottom of the ocean.” Izzy let go of the man with a forceful shove, causing him to fall onto the ground. “They,” Izzy spat, gesturing towards the spot where you had just stood, “are the only reason you’re still alive because every person on this crew would happily gut you otherwise. You lost something precious, and I’m never going to let myself make that mistake.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

After leaving the brig, you sought out Stede and informed him of your decision to send Timothy back to his ship. The conversation inside the cell probably wasn’t what Stede had imagined when he suggested you talk it through, yet you felt a sense of relief that it was finally over. Timothy’s true colors had been shown, revealing his manipulative nature that you were grateful to have escaped.

You made your way to the bow, leaning against the banister — the familiar spot where introspection came easier to you. You contemplated what Izzy might be feeling right now. While expressing your feelings for him hadn’t been part of the plan, you no longer regretted being honest. You were tired of concealing your emotions, but even still, you didn't anticipate a significant change in your dynamic with Izzy. It hadn’t changed anything before.

Lost in your thoughts, you eventually sensed another presence. Turning around, you found Izzy standing there. Approaching you, Izzy gently lifted the wrist that Timothy had grabbed earlier, the same wrist Izzy had carefully wrapped after your injury many weeks ago. His fingers traced soothing circles, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken pain you endured. Before uttering a word, Izzy scanned your face, his eyes searching for signs of distress.

“His captain will handle him,” Izzy spoke sternly, “They’ve sailed away.”

You acknowledged his words with a nod, unsure how to respond, the weight of recent events still lingering in the air. Sensing your unease, Izzy cupped your face with his hands, a gesture that was becoming more familiar but no less comforting.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, his concern evident in the warmth of his eyes.

“I feel calm now,” you whispered, a smile gracing your lips. “I needed closure, so thank you for being there for me” Izzy’s eyes softened as he listened.

Izzy’s hands lingered on the sides of your face as his eyes darted back and forth, signaling that he was lost in contemplation. “What’s on your mind, Israel?” you asked, attempting to pull him out of his head.

“You told him it was me,” Izzy responded uncertainly, referencing your earlier confession of feelings.

“Yes,” you responded matter-of-factly, looking into his eyes curiously.

“Why?” Izzy replied. He seemed uncertain in this moment, a stark contrast to the commanding presence he normally displayed on the deck.

“Because it is you, Izzy,” you replied sweetly, gazing at him with adoration. “It has been for a long time. Long before we ended up on this ship, with this crew.” In that moment, a shift appeared in Izzy’s expression, a trace of longing. It mirrored the same look you had witnessed on the first night you spent time together on the bow of the ship. His eyes lingered on your lips.

“Israel Hands,” you cooed, the soft utterance of his name drawing his gaze to meet yours once again. With a playful smirk, you continued, “If there’s even a small part of you that wants to kiss me right now, I’m begging you to do it.”

That was all Izzy needed to hear. His lips eagerly found yours in a passionate collision. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most important thing he had ever held. As the kiss deepened, his strong hands traveled down to your waist, pulling you closer to his body. Simultaneously, your hands found their way around his neck, fingers entwining in the tousled strands of his hair. The world around you seemed to fade as the intensity of the moment heightened, the connection between you and Izzy growing stronger with each passing second. Izzy’s lips departed from yours and embarked on a journey down your neck, prompting a gasp to escape your lips. You kept your eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of his lips caressing your skin. Each tender kiss sent shivers down your spine.

The resonance of Stede’s voice reverberated across the deck, jolting you both back to the awareness of your surroundings. As you exchanged glances, a giggle escaped your lips.

Izzy’s smile persisted as he spoke with authority, “My cabin. Five minutes.” He punctuated his words with another lingering kiss on your lips.

Breathless, you responded, “Yes, sir.” With a steadying moment on the bow, you collected yourself before making your way to the first mate’s cabin, anticipation building for what awaited in the privacy of Izzy’s quarters.

Fortunately for you both, the crew seemed absorbed in their own activities, paying little attention to your discreet entrance into Izzy’s cabin. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the atmosphere shifted. You stared silently at each other until Izzy pulled you into another passionate kiss.

The unspoken understanding between you and Izzy lingered in the air as you undressed each other, the layers of clothing falling away like a barrier that had kept your desires at bay. Standing there, exposed and vulnerable, a silent acknowledgement passed between you, the world outside the cabin fading into insignificance. Your fingers traced the contours of Izzy’s chest, your gaze meeting his in a moment of shared vulnerability.

His hands found their way to your bare arms, a gentle squeeze conveying a question that echoed in his words. “I want this,” he murmured, his touch conveying reassurance. “Is this what you want?”

In response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer, and his fingers traced down the length of your back. “Yes,” you whispered, the word carrying a weight of longing. “More than anything.”

{Next Chapter}

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy @this--is--music @raviolical @lxsm2 @emilynissangtr

#izzy hands x reader #ofmd #izzy hands #our flag means death #ofmd x reader #ofmd fanfic #too soft to be a pirate

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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 year ago

Text

A Duplicate of Earth

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 1

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

Warnings: minors DNI, swearing, implied depression, implied eating disorder (the reader is going to be in recovery in this fic, if it gets graphic I will absolutely warn y’all. This is mostly therapeutic for me lol).

a/n: This fic was so fun to write!! I love grumpy Frank with all of my heart and I think he deserves to have someone teach him how to feel joy again. So this is my attempt at that. It is loosely based on the poem "A Myth of Devotion" by Louise Gluck at the beginning of the chapter (which is SO Frank!Coded imo, like absolutely fits his fears and self-deprecation) and the myth of Hades/Persephone.

Lastly, a HUGE thank you to @saradika for the beautiful free divider I used in this fic!

w/c: 5.4k (poem not included, this is 17 pages y’all)

When Hades decided he loved this girl he built for her a duplicate of earth, everything the same, down to the meadow, but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight, because it would be hard on a young girl to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night, first as the shadows of fluttering leaves. Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.

Let Persephone get used to it slowly. In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting. A replica of earth except there was love here.

Doesn't everyone want love? He waited many years, building a world, watching Persephone in the meadow. Persephone, a smeller, a taster. If you have one appetite, he thought, you have them all.

Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night the beloved body, compass, polestar, to hear the quiet breathing that says I am alive, that means also you are alive, because you hear me, you are here with me. And when one turns, the other turns—

That's what he felt, the lord of darkness, looking at the world he had constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind that there'd be no more smelling here, certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love? These things he couldn't imagine; no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place. First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden. In the end, he decides to name it Persephone's Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow, behind the bed. He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you're dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.

Tracing his fingers along the page, Frank reread the stanzas. He was not quite sure what kept drawing him back to this piece. He’d never been a fan of modern poetry, more drawn to the subtlety of the Victorian era. Yet every night this week, when his sweat-soaked body bolted upright with a gasping breath, he read through this piece while his heart rate slowed.

He has a blurry memory of the story from his childhood. Studying the Greek gods in school, reading excerpts of the Iliad or whatever. He has always been drawn to this specific myth, for whatever reason. Hades and Persephone, darkness and light. But he doesn’t remember it feeling so…corrupt.

The story he had learned was one of great romance: two unlikely lovers fighting against the odds, reshaping the earth to remain together. But the way Glück illustrates the story illuminated a more sinister interpretation. One night, in an insomnia-induced haze, he’d read page after page about the two gods, trying to find a definitive answer to the question that bounced around his mind. Did Hades ruin poor Persephone? Was their love itself ruinous?

Glück sure seemed to think so. Maybe that was what sparked his interest in the piece. The idea that love could tarnish something so pure—Frank sure had a fair share of experience with that.

With a hefty sigh, he closed the book, glancing at the clock. 4:05 am. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he weighed his options.

“Up for a jog, Max?” Frank murmured, looking to the canine who was curled up in his crate. The dog just snored. “Suit yourself, bud.”

Slipping into a pair of athletic shoes and a light sweatshirt to accompany his sweats, he stepped out the door and towards the stairs, almost colliding with a young woman frantically darting down the hall.

“So sorry. Have a nice day!” The figure whisper yelled at him as she ran past.

He takes a second to regain his bearings, before plastering on a scowl and heading off on his run.

The outing was refreshing to a degree, but his mind was still plagued with thoughts of his wife and the darkness that had consumed her, just as it had Persephone.

Curtis let his eyes follow the pacing form in front of him as he let out a sigh. Having been a friend of Frank’s for some time now, he wasn’t a stranger to moodiness or the other man’s incredibly fiery temper, yet Frank had been worse than usual lately. It seemed like the drop of a pin could set him off these days, and Curtis could practically see a cartoon storm cloud following him around with the way he’d been glowering lately. Curtis had hoped David would be able to shed some light on the cause of the behavior, but the technician was as clueless as him.

They (they is a term very loosely used, given that David was overtly opposed to the idea,) decided to ask Frank about it the next time he visited Curtis. So, here they both were, watching Frank stomp across the floor and waiting for him to explain himself. Finally, Frank turned to them.

“You gonna keep starin’ at me like I’m a goddamn explosive or are ya gonna ask me your fuckin questions so we can move on?” Frank’s growl made David flinch.

“Hey, easy there, big guy. This isn’t an interrogation.” David pleaded, trying to wipe off the coffee he had inadvertently spilled on himself.

“We’re here to help you, Frank. Same as always. Something’s been eating you away recently and we wanted to check in.” Curtis reasoned, looking between David and the marine.

“M’ fine.” Frank grunted, draining the rest of his own coffee and stalking over to the machine for a fresh pour.

David rolled his eyes, gesturing to Frank pointedly. “Told you he wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

Apparently this was not the right thing to say, because Frank stilled with the pot of coffee in his hands. “You two are talkin’ ‘bout me now? Am I entertainin’ enough for ya? Jesus.” He slammed his cup down, grabbing his jacket from the seat next to Curtis and heading for the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have somewhere else to mope?” Curtis asked with a raised brow, almost amused by how childish Frank was being.

“Anywhere but here would be nice. That way I’m not interrupting your fuckin’ drama club.” Frank snapped, twisting around to face Curtis. “You wanna make me your pet project? Fine. Keep doing it when I’m not fuckin’ here.”

“Frank, we weren’t—we were just worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been really…down lately and—“ David struggled to reason with the furious man.

“Oh, have I? So sorry to be such a goddamn stick in the mud, Lieberman. We all know life has been real nice to me so I should be more grateful, ‘s that it?.” Glaring at the pair of men before him, Frank threw on his jacket and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Curtis sighed, sipping his coffee and turning to David. “I should’ve known better than to think he would talk this out. He says he’s fine, we treat him like he’s fine. He’s a grown ass man who can work up the balls to ask us for help if he needs it.”

David barked a laugh. “We both know he won’t though.”

“Yah…you’re probably right about that.”

Frank was still fuming as he trudged through the city streets at sunset. His mood had been worse than usual lately, but his friends’ inquiry just made him feel guilty and stupid for not knowing why. Things hadn’t been too bad recently. The past few missions he’d taken on had gone smoothly—to the point where it had been over a month since Curtis had to help stitch him up, and that had to be a record. Not to mention, he’d stopped an international arms dealer last week while on his own job, putting him on Madani’s good side for the first time in his miserable life.

His fist clenched around Max’s leash, but the dog seemed entirely unbothered by his irritation. Happily trotting next to him, gazing up with adoration every once in a while.

Frank sighed as they reached the entrance to his building, stopping his brisk pace for a moment to give the dog a scratch. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so much, bub. We’ll do this more, promise.”

Max simply spun away from him, sniffing the air. Frank gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head at the dog’s ambivalence. The pair started up the stairs towards their floor, Max pulling harder than usual. When they reached the landing, Max froze as Frank headed for his front door. Stumbling backwards briefly, Frank tried to start moving again, but Max held firm—letting the leash grow stiff between them.

“Max. C’mon, bud. Le’s go.” The pit bull simply gave Frank a piercing look, before abruptly jerking backwards, wriggling his head.

“Max, what the hell, stop that!” Desperately, Frank tried to grab his dog, but Max was too quick. Within moments, he’d slipped free of his collar and taken off.

Frank sprinted after him, heart sinking as he realized Max was beelining for an open apartment door. The last thing he needed was a goddamn dog-induced injury suit.

Reaching the doorway, Frank saw Max sniffing around a young woman happily—the same woman who had almost run into him this morning. To Frank’s disbelief, she laughed. The sound was surprised, but bright and it pulled at his heart in a way he did not have time to unpack.

“Hey, big guy!” You held your hand out for Max to sniff, which he did enthusiastically. “You lost?”

Max gave you a few exuberant licks before sticking his nose back to the ground and snuffling around your kitchen, clearly looking for something.

Eventually, Frank unfroze from his stupor and spoke. “I am so sorry, ma’am. He’s never gotten loose like that before. Max, c’mere.”

Seemingly through with his rebellious phase, the dog sauntered up to Frank, tail wagging, before turning to allow Frank to reattach his collar.

Standing in front of Frank, you gave another beautiful laugh, beaming up at Frank from where you were standing before him. “That’s quite alright. I’m never opposed to a new friend. Besides, my kitchen is quite literally filled with dog treats at the moment, so I can’t exactly blame him for his actions. Still smiling, you pulled a tray of dog biscuits from the counter next to you, giggling as Max sat down expectantly.

“Can he have one? They’re chicken flavored, if that’s an issue.” You looked at Frank, questioningly. Still mortified by his dog’s outburst and quite honestly shocked that this gorgeous woman was still talking to him, he stammered. “Uh—yah, that’s. That’s fine.”

Your smile widened as you grasped a few treats. “Here, bubba.” Max snatched the treats from your hand, greedily gulping them down before moving closer to you and holding up a paw.

Laughing again, you set down the tray and crouched to shake his outstretched paw. “Well aren’t you a talented pup. What’s his name?” You turned to Frank, one hand scratching behind the dog’s ears.

“This is Max…And I’m Frank.” His vocal chords seemingly operating on their own, Frank cursed himself for the honesty. Why on earth did he feel compelled to give this woman his life story?

“Nice to meet you, Max!” You ruffled the fur on the pit’s head, chuckling as he kissed your arm. “And you as well, Frank. My name is-“ and your name tumbled off your lips. You held out a hand to him. Frank gave a small grimace of a smile, grasping your hand and repeating your name back to you. It was beautiful and more than suited you.

“It’s very nice to meet you ma’am. I should, uh, we should go.” Frank said lamely, tugged on Max’s leash to exit your apartment.

Grinning at him still, you waved goodbye. “Have a nice night, Frank. Stop by anytime”

The next time he saw you, you were struggling to lug massive cardboard boxes into your apartment. It had been a few days since Max made your acquaintance and he’d been avoiding damn near everyone, which had only worsened his bad mood.

As he took a few steps towards his front door, trying incredibly hard to not stare at your beautiful figure in the low cut sundress you were wearing, a loud crash caught his attention.

“Shit!” You cursed, jumping back quickly to avoid smashing your foot underneath the box you’d dropped.

“You, uh, need a hand?” Frank grumbled, shuffling closer to you.

“Oh, hi Frank! Sorry I was so focused on this thing that I didn’t see you.” There was that beaming smile again. Frank shied away like it would burn him.

“Ain’t a problem. So…you want help?” He asked again, rubbing at his nape as he blushed. Why on earth would you want his help when he acted like he’d never met another human before?

“That would be amazing. This bed frame is way heavier than I was prepared for.” You kicked the box lightly, glaring at it.

Frank shifted it up into his arms with ease. “Where would you like it?”

“The room to your left please!” You chirped, pointing him in the room’s direction. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Frank set the heavy box down, turning back to you. “Looks like you needed it. You ain’t exactly dressed for lifting this.” Frank scoffed, before realizing in horror what he’d just said.

“You don’t like my dress?” Your voice was soft and you looked at him with round eyes. He cursed himself for being born. If the world was fair, no one would ever make you look like that. His darkness was all consuming.

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t thinking. I—“

You bit your lip, a sly grin spreading across your face. “I’m teasing you, Frank. I came right from work and didn’t have time to change. It’s a ridiculous outfit for building furniture. Please, sit! I have something for you.” You ushered him over to your couch.

Frank tilted his head ever so slightly, surprised that you weren’t immediately put off by his harsh demeanor and towering stature. After a moment of thought, he practically collapsed to the cushions, the exhaustion of the past few weeks crashing over him. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he hadn’t realized the ache that had settled in his bones until now.

You retreated to your kitchen, pulling a tin of cookies out of your pantry and offering them to Frank. “As a thank you for your assistance: my world-famous chocolate chip cookies.”

Gently lifting the tin from your hand, Frank felt the corner of his mouth quirk down at the thought of mooching off of you when you’d just met. “It wasn’t any trouble. I don’t want to take your food.” He grumbled, eyeing the tin for a moment before you groaned.

“You’re killing me here, Frank. Indulge me, please!” Your eyes flickered between the tin and his grumpy face pointedly. He rolled his eyes, pulling a cookie from the box.

The cookie was truly one of the best things Frank had ever eaten. Soft and buttery with a sprinkle of salt on top. He finished the treat in three bites, licking his fingers before your giggling reminded him that he was being observed.

“So…are they sufficient payment?” A shit-eating grin appeared across your face and Frank felt his mood lift even further despite his brief embarrassment.

Popping his thumb out of his mouth, he felt himself flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You waved a hand, brushing aside his embarrassment. “Oh please, I’m just glad you liked it! Half the reason I bake for other people is for the compliments.”

“You deserve them. That was…a damn good cookie.” Frank rubbed a hand over the back of his neck but you seemed completely unphased by his stiff social skills. “What’s in that box?” He nodded to the opened one in front of your couch, snatching another cookie from the tin.

“Well, I moved in a few weeks ago and didn’t have the foresight to order my furniture in advance. So,” you spread your arms, gesturing to the myriad of tools and wooden pieces on your floor. “Tonight is night one of furnishing my apartment.”

“That seems…like a real chore.”

“Oh it is. But I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on my floor for three weeks, so I sort of need a bed frame. Like ASAP.” You narrowed your eyes at the box in the other room like it had bested you in a fight.

“Did ya, um, did ya want some help with…” Frank trailed off, gesturing to your inanimate foe.

“Oh gosh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I wouldn’t wish IKEA furniture on my worst enemy.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Ain’t a problem, if you’re ok with me snackin’ on those miracle cookies while I work.”

“Ok, one:” You began, holding out a finger. Frank bit a lip to keep from laughing. Bossy little thing, aren’t ya? “You can eat all of those cookies if you help me build that motherfucking thing.” A boisterous laugh burst out of Frank at your pretty mouth cursing so openly. “And two: you will be snacking on them while we work because I would actually be the devil if I made a sweetheart like you build the hellscape that is the ‘Songesand’ all on your own.”

“Trust me, I’m no sweetheart.”

You grinned at him. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

Hours and an empty tin of cookies later, you were ready to call it quits.

“If this bolt doesn’t tighten all the way, I swear to God I am going to lose it.” You pouted dramatically, dropping the pieces you were attaching to the floor with a clatter.

Frank huffed a tiny laugh. “Lemme see.” Inspecting the piece, he unscrewed the bolt a tad and tightened it with ease. You groaned.

“I swear it was broken a second ago. Are you a witch or something?” You flopped to the ground with a sigh, looking up at him through thick lashes.

“Nah. Just good at building things, I s’pose.”

“Well, I really appreciate your help. Can I cook you dinner? As a thank you?”

“I don’t wanna overstay my welcome…” Busying himself with the furniture in front of him, he avoided your studious gaze.

“It’s not a big deal. And it would actually encourage me to eat today.”

Frank whirled to face you. “You haven’t eaten today?”

You shrugged, “Yah, I tend to get distracted.”

“That ain’t good for ya.” Frank sighed, trying to decide what the priority should be. “A’right. If it’ll make ya eat, ya can cook for me.”

You smiled, your eyes catching his with a soft gaze. “That’s so sweet of you.” And, with that, you bustled away to start dinner.

Throwing himself back into the task at hand, Frank had your bed frame assembled and was pulling your mattress onto it in no time. Brushing his hands together, he returned to the living room, tidying up the scraps of cardboard and styrofoam littering the ground.

“Frank, please sit down! You’ve just saved me hours of work, I can clean up.” You raised your voice so he could hear you from the kitchen.

“It’s no trouble.”

“Dinner’s ready anyway. Sit, please!” You encouraged, handing him a bowl of some delicious smelling pasta.

Eagerly digging in, Frank almost moaned at the first bite. “How are you so good at this?” He asked, stuffing another forkful into his mouth.

You giggled, “Culinary school, and years of practice.”

“Culinary school, huh?”

“Yah…” You laughed a little sadly, moving the pasta around in your bowl. “I’ve always liked cooking and I had this crazy dream of opening a bakery a while ago.”

Frank swallowed, forcing himself to continue the conversation even though he could feel himself blushing at his inability to talk like a normal fucking person. “You’re really good at it. What happened?”

Stiffening slightly next to him, you waved off the question. “Oh you know, killer capitalism and all that. But, I work in a cafe which means I get to bake to my heart's content without all the nitty gritty business stuff. Like taxes.” You made a face at the thought and Frank snorted.

Finishing his dinner, he noticed you studying him again. It had been a while since someone had shown such genuine interest and care towards him. His heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it struck a nerve. Minuscule grin falling from his face, he stood abruptly.

“I gotta go.”

“Oh, ok.” He didn’t dare look at your face and risk seeing it fall.

Pacing to your doorway, he turned towards you marginally. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thank you for giving me a platform to sleep on tonight. You’ve saved my hips a world of pain.” Your smile was small but genuine. You seemed almost…hesitant. As he was about to tread down the hallway to his own place, you wrapped him in a sudden embrace. “Have a goodnight, Frank.”

His heart tugged, insisting that he return the embrace, but he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he squeezed your shoulder and quickly headed home.

After another night of restless sleep, he woke up in an even fouler mood than before. Yanking the door open on his way to work, he almost stomped over a package sitting on his doorstep. Given that it was just past 5 in the morning, he was a little suspicious of the bag at his feet. Gingerly picking it up, he turned it around and, despite himself, broke into a small smile.

The brown paper bag had a handwritten note, “Don’t be a stranger, Sweetheart” with your signature and phone number underneath. Stapled to the present itself was a brochure for one “Rainy Day Bakery”, complete with pictures of your smiling face surrounded by other employees. Feeling his shitty mood melt away, just a little, he opened the bag and found a short stack of fresh chocolate chip cookies. He sank back against his door, closing his eyes.

Screw it.

Twirling around the kitchen, softly singing the lyrics to the song playing overhead, you placed your tray of bread into the oven.

“God. You’re worse than usual today.” Your coworker, Stacy, groused, hefting a giant sack of flour up onto your prep table. You laughed at her, nudging her shoulder.

“It’s a great day, Stace! It’s beautiful outside and we’ve had steady business all morning. Plus, Janet is letting me try out some new flavors this week and I am stoked!” You squealed.

“How did I ever become friends with morning people,” She fake gagged and you smacked her.

“You love our exuberance, don’t lie.”

“Yah, yah. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes.

“Did someone call for a morning person?” Your other primary coworker, Leo, entered the room with a dramatic spin.

“The only thing worse than one of you, is both of you. I’ll take the counter.” Stacy mumbled, stalking back out to the front of the store. You and Leo giggled after her, knowing she was hiding a smile.

“So, what’s on the docket for the rest of the day, princess?” Leo positioned themself at the stainless steel bench next to you, looking ready to take on whatever weird ideas you threw their way.

“I’m thinkin’ more classic cheesecakes, those did well last week. Then maybe lemon meringue bars or key lime minis? Something citrusy. Thoughts?” You tilted your head, awaiting their response.

“Let’s do the lemon pie shortbread bars. Those are always popular. You want to prep the dough, I’ll start juicing?”

“You read my mind.” Whipping out the ingredients, the two of you danced around each other in a practiced waltz. You’d been friends since culinary school and had pretty much been a package deal for every employer afterwards. You acted as a well oiled machine, and the cafe was booming because of it.

As you gently pressed large wads of shortbread into pans, Stacy poked her head back through the staff door, breaking your focus. “Someone’s here for you, princess.”

Scrunching your brow, you shouted over your shoulder. “I told her I didn’t have time to grab lunch this week.”

“It’s not your mom. It’s some guy. Says he’s your neighbor?”

Your hands stilled. “Yah, ok, I’m coming, Stace.” Scooting past Leo—and their eager, teasing grin—you gave them a pointed look. “Stop it.”

“He came to visit you. At work.” Leo singsonged.

“It might not even be him.”

Leo rolled their eyes back to the pot in front of them. “It’s him.”

Traipsing after Stacy into the customer portion of the cafe, your face broke out in a massive smile as you saw Frank at the register. His arms were crossed and he looked nervous, eyes shifting around, trying his best to avoid Stacy’s cold gaze.

“Hey, Frank! Welcome to Rainy Day! What can I get ya?” You placed your hands on your hips and looked at him with excited expectation.

“Coffee?” You giggled at his simple response which made his blush deepen. “I uh, shit, that sounded stupid. I don’t know…”

“It didn’t sound stupid, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how nice it is to not have to make a super complicated drink. Stace can you get me a large cup of the dark roast. I’m assuming hot and no cream or sugar?” You looked at Frank, waiting to see if your prediction was correct.

“Fuck, am I that obvious?” He groaned, his face beet red as he avoided your eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the simple things, Frank.”

Stacy passed over the drink. “2.50.” She stated with no emotion, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her giving Frank a subtle once-over.

Frank passed over a ten. “Keep the change.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet! Thank you,” your lopsided grin was a permanent fixture whenever he was present. It was going to be the death of him. He’d do anything to make you keep that smile.

“I—um, wanted to visit your cafe, since you asked me to, I mean—“

Your smile softened as his nervousness peaked. “I appreciate the visit, Frank. Come by anytime. Oh! Before you go, actually,” You fluttered off, daintily grabbing a pastry from the case to your left. You handed him a beautifully decorated confection, but your signature smile held a tinge of anxiety. You clearly cared about his opinion, he wasn’t really sure why.

“I, uh, didn’t order this.” Frank announced gruffly, holding the pastry in his hands as if it was trying to bite him.

Rolling your eyes, you laughed cheerfully, “I know, silly. You think I’m going to let you leave without breakfast?” Hands back on your hips, Frank felt a familiar warmth bloom as an almost imperceptible smirk flickered across his mouth. Bossy.

“Are you really chastising me for skipping a meal after what you said yesterday?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Do as I say, not as I do.” You shrugged, looking between him and the pastry. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging!”

“Are you always this demanding?” Frank scoffed with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes.” Stacy and Leo called in unison, making you gasp in false betrayal.

“Fine, I’ll eat it myself.” You held out your hand to retract the pastry, but Frank drew it closer to himself.

“Never said I wouldn’t try it, Sunshine.” Your exaggerated pout nearly disappeared at the nickname. “Pretty sure you’ll pop your lid if I don’t.”

He took a bite of the pastry, savoring the incredible combination of flavors. “‘S real good, what is it?”

“Baklava inspired croissant. It’s something new I am trying and you strike me as someone who wouldn’t be satisfied by my whimsical ideas alone. You’re…honest, it’s nice.”

Taken aback, Frank hesitated before swallowing his mouthful. “I…uh—thanks.” His voice was soft. He wasn’t quite used to receiving compliments about anything other than his ability to end a life.

“Sorry if I was too pushy, a lot of the people who come in here are more concerned with their hipster image than truth. It’s nice to have someone who gives their actual opinion on my work, is all.” You bit your lip, eyes trained on his.

“I was just teasin’, Sunshine. You can boss me around whenever you want.”

You grinned. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Frankie.” You winked, making him chuckle.

“Oh, you’re a handful, aren’t ya?”

“No turning back, Frank. You’re my friend now. Ask my coworkers, I’m not easy to get rid of.” You batted your eyelashes at him and he shook his head, looking to Stacy and Leo behind you.

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” Stacy gave a tremendous sigh and Leo shoved her.

“Well, thanks. For the…coffee and stuff.” Frank ended with, lamely.

“I’m glad you liked the pastry! If you ever want to be my guinea pig, let me know. I’m pretty sure my friends are tired of me asking.” You chuckled, looking sheepishly at Leo and Stacy who gave dramatic nods.

“I’d uh…I’d like that.”

You beamed. “You’re a lifesaver, truly. Just text me if you’re ever up for trying things. You have my number now.”

“I do. I…uh, gotta run but…thanks again” Frank gave a curt nod to the three of you.

“Have a good day, sweetheart.” You waved him goodbye.

You were definitely going to be the death of him.

Your phone buzzed, startling you out of your post-work tv-induced trance.

Unknown: Hey. This is Frank. In case you need my number or whatever.

You: Hey Frank! Haven’t talked to you in forever 😉

Frank: Sorry to bother you

You: Don’t be silly. You could never bother me.

You: Are you hungry?

Frank: I guess? Why?

You: There’s a cute little Persian place that just opened a few blocks from here. I’ve been dying to try it but was too embarrassed to go alone. They allow dogs on the patio, if you and Max are interested?

Frank: Sounds good. Be over in a sec.

Your heart spun around in your chest. Dashing to your bathroom, you fiddled with your outfit and hair, reapplying makeup and adjusting your floral patterned dress. Catching your own eyes in the mirror, you scolded yourself. Frank wasn’t fully a stranger anymore, but you didn’t know much about him. He didn’t wear a wedding band, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone. You were getting ahead of yourself. The knowledge that your efforts might be futile weren’t enough to make you wipe off your fresh coat of lipstick, though.

A knock at your door broke you out of your thoughts. Rushing to open it, you were spellbound. Frank had cleaned up, probably not for you personally, but your naive little heart couldn’t help but hope. His wavy hair was pushed away from his face and his beard had been trimmed. Wearing his signature dark jacket, he looked…marvelous.

Prying your jaw from the floor, you smiled at him. “You look really nice, Frank.”

“So do you, sunshine. Max was napping and refused to get up. Is it alright if it’s just us?”

“More than.” You grinned up at him sweetly.

“Lead the way, Sunshine.” His deep voice rumbled. You grabbed one of his large hands in both of yours (which definitely did not make him blush) dragging him to the stairs.

Frank knew he was treading a dangerous line. This was the 4th time in a week he’d seen you, but he couldn’t get enough. Your smile was intoxicating and your bubbly yet demanding personality was goddamn enchanting. For fuck’s sake, his hand that you had held still burned with warmth and he never wanted it to fade. He knew his darkness could ruin you, but he was defenseless to your lilting voice and endless optimism.

Which is how he found himself across from you in a quaint little spot a few blocks from your building. Strings of colorful lights spanned the perimeter. Apparently you knew one of the chefs because the kitchen had prepared a tasting menu of sorts for the two of you, and Frank was not above reaping the benefits of what you’d sown.

Dish after amazing dish was placed in front of the two of you and Frank was putting them away, you were eating less but seemed to be enjoying everything just the same. As you both moaned around a bite of a sort of lamb stew, your eyes twinkled.

“So, Frank, how was your day?” The question was eager and genuine. He was still taken aback by your desire to know him, to care about him.

“Fine. Yours?”

“My day was lovely! I made a couple of my favorite recipes and had a handsome visitor at the cafe. Now I’m having a fantastic meal. I’m a lucky gal.” Eyes still sparkling, they scrunched as you smiled.

“A handsome visitor, huh?”

“Oh you’d like him. He’s all tough and brooding, but I just know there’s a good man underneath all of that.”

“Ya just know, huh? What’s hiding underneath all that happiness of yours then, sunshine?”

“An overwhelming sense of curiosity.” You smirked at him. Your flirty tone traveled straight down in his being. Giving a breathy laugh, he deflected.

“How are you so…peppy all the time?” At his question, your seductive gaze faded to a much more solemn one.

“I don’t know, I guess it just became a habit… My, uh, my dad died. When I was young. My mom didn’t handle it well. So, it started as a defense mechanism? I suppose? But now…now it’s just who I am.” You averted your eyes, picking at the dish in front of you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.” You forced a small laugh.

“Hey,” Frank’s firm yet gentle tone forced you to look at him once again. “You’re not a downer. Anything ya wanna tell me, I’ll listen, yah?”

You nodded, smile coming back to the edges of your lips. “Thanks, Frankie.”

“Can I ask you another question?” When you nodded, he continued. “Do you put, like, crack in those cookies of yours? I swear you gave me an addiction, sunshine.”

A laugh escaped you and his heart soared. There’s my girl.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle angst #the punisher netflix #the punisher x reader #the punisher #the punisher imagine #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fc #my writing #gray skies

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ladylaviniya · 11 months ago

Text

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 1 ll Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Among the rain and misery at the bus stop you meet a stranger named August Walker, and he is 'awfully' concerned...

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Explicit, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Smut, P in V intercourse, No Contraception, Manipulation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Implied Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Drugging, Loss of Virginity.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader (No Description)

Word Count: 10.4k

Author Notes: This story has been published in the past on Tumblr on my old account @milknhonies-old-account since I have created a newer account and I am currently editing the entire story because it doesn't suit my vision as the author. If you'd like to be included in or removed from the Taglist, please comment below

Inspiring Song: ‘Daddy Issues.’ – The Neighbourhood

A rush of air sucked out from your lungs as your hands and knees collided with the gravel pavement. Your stupid kitten heel snapped and your handbag had flown a couple metres in front of you.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you poorly attempted to catch your anxious breath.

“Dumb. Very stupid. I perceived you to be smarter than this…” his voice dripped into your burning hot ears.

He was behind you, you knew that…with his hands in his suit pockets. His expensive leather shoes crunched on the rocky path the closer he neared you.

You hissed when the chilly night air whistled against your cut up palms. Blood rose up from your skin, shining in the light of the city lamp.

You flinched as his two fingers traced along your spine and pressed harshly down on the back of your neck.

‘Please no!’

With watery eyes, you watched him walk pass and collect your handbag. His lithe fingers dove inside and pulled out the phone. His lips pursed as he let it fall from his hand before crushing it under his foot.

The salty tears raced down your cheeks, gliding into your trembling mouth.

If only you could’ve screamed for help. If only there was someone in the alley way to see what had unfolded.

A hiccup escaped you and he softly cooed, “It’s alright now, I think it’s about time you received an education, my darling.”

You shook your head and felt the rise of bile in your throat.

“Please,” you begged with a raspy voice, “I won’t tell anyone. Let me go. I swear I won’t go to the police, just let me go!”

He tutted his tongue and wagged his finger. He crouched down, his soft hand combed into your sweat-soaked hair and tugged your head up. Your eyes met his icy gaze.

Hopelessness filled you. Begging had fallen on deaf ears.

“That’s right, you won’t tell anyone…but I’m not finished with you yet.”

As a gasp lifted from your lips he chuckled, “You’re precious if you think I’m letting you go after seeing that.”

His cold palm grabbed the sides of your throat and began to choke you. As the oxygen restricted, your little hands clawed desperately at his callous hand. Your feet flailed against the gravel. Tears raced down your face. It was impossible to scream out without any air to cry with. With every passing second, a dizzy blanket was clouding your mind and filling your eyes with black spots. His glare made your knees buckle. Exhaustion from fighting was taking over, your nails left his hands, your eyes were finding it difficult to stay open. Eventually your lashes shut, and you let your mind drown in the airless space of time....

2 Weeks Prior.…

05:12pm Monday 5th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane, Australia.

“Y/N you haven’t met your requirements…again…” Your job seeking agent sighed with heavy disappointment, “This is your second demerit…if you can’t meet the quota next fortnight your Centrelink government payments are going to be entirely cut off, do I make myself clear?”

Your fingers pinch at each other, the skin falling away and your nails short as can be. Nodding your head, you bashfully hummed, “I just thought, my circumstances might’ve been enough reason for me not to find a job at this current moment?”

The woman looked at you sharply through her thick rimmed glasses and huffed, “Ah yes that’s right…your friend died, right?” her nose lifted in a light sneer. Her chipped nails clacked at the keyboard, in the reasons for inadequate job search results.

“Family member…actually,” you said, sucking in a deep amount of air to push down the tears forming behind your eyes…just thinking about him made you want to sob your heart out…

“Unless you can supply their death certificate to me, it’s not a good enough excuse.”

You inhaled sharply and nodded in defeat, “…how many jobs do I have to seek out again?”

Her lips twisted, she must’ve thought you were some idiot or bludger of the system. You wanted a job. You just had a tough time finding one. No one wanted to hire the girl that had fuck all experience in anything…no one wanted to hire you even though you had references all proving you were a hard and honest worker. You didn’t have the same networking and nepotism as the kids you went to high school with. They were all in university or in their family businesses. Some even had kids of their own now....

You were nineteen...still so unsuccessful.

You resented those fuckers…and hated yourself more for it. You were a classic for self-loathing and as much as you loved to preach about your confidence, it was all in vain because you knew deep down that you weren’t as smart, you weren’t as pretty and you would never ever be as rich as those around you. You knew you had to work three times as hard to make it through the world…but when…he died…that flew out the window… you were tired. You didn’t want to have to live in such a lonely world. You just want to sleep and sleep until there was nothing of you left.

Depression, one of the many stages of grief.

“To meet your government requirements, you need to hand out at least twenty-five resumes….by the end of the fortnight.”

You swallowed hard and shoved your hands into your jumper pockets.

“I’ll try my best,” you offered with a sickly smile. You rose out of the foam chair, slinging your bag over your shoulder and shuffled to exit her office.

Her brows lifted as she glared you down, “Don’t try Y/N, just do it.”

05:30pm Monday 5th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane.

You were rushing to the bus stop shelter.

You wanted to cry. You were overstimulated and stressed. You could barely afford rent. The cost of living was in crisis, and you were finding it nearly impossible to find the courage to put forward your shitty resume.

You were frustrated. You didn’t understand the employment advocates role, they were meant to help you right? Help you write and hand in a decent resume to find a job; not make you feel like a failure.

Tears crawled up behind your eyes as you felt rain from the dark looming clouds fall. Starting to sprint there was a hope the rain wouldn’t drench; however, you still weren’t fast enough. The feeling of cold icy breeze mixed with your self-disappointment had you letting those pearly tears loose. You stumbled under the bus seat shelter and landed yourself onto the freezing metal bench.

You sobbed into your hands and asked yourself, “Why?”

‘Why did you leave your umbrella at home you stupid thing?! Why did the funeral have to cost so much? Why did rent have to cost so much? Why did the water bill have to be so fucking high? Why didn’t you talk to him sooner? Why was the milk that was clearly off not been thrown out? Why didn’t you see the signs? It was all your fault, right? Of course it was! You had to knit pick everything he did, you had to criticise and argue with him over things that truly didn’t matter...why, why, why?!’

‘Because you are a terrible person. An unlovable creature. No one gives a shit about you. Why would they love someone as ugly as you who resented everything in her life and didn’t take a chance to be grateful for anything. You were a mistake, and you shouldn’t be alive…you should run away…you should starve yourself or eat until you explode…you deserve nothing but punishment…you are evil…’

“Bad day, love?”

You jumped at the sound of a stranger’s voice. Peaking up from your warm snot covered fingers, you met man folding close his umbrella.

You frowned and wiped your mucus on your knees and embarrassingly whispered, “I’m alright.”

“Pardon?” He asked and sat down beside you. Your puffy eyes started to clear up and you noticed he was in fact holding a piece of fabric…a handkerchief to you.

He was handsome in a gentlemanly way, and he was ridiculously tall even while sitting beside you. His accent was pronounced and mannerly. British. You figured he was a tad bit older than you, be roughly at least ten years. Boys your age still had acne and didn’t dress in fine three-piece business suits.

He had a fuzzy moustache and a relaxing closed smile.

Your fingers tremble as you take the offering.

“Thankyou,” you said wiping your hands and blowing the last of the green sickly gloop from your noise. You felt embarrassed he could hear the grotesque noise come from your blocked nostrils.

With narrowed eyes you tried to hand back the disgusting handkerchiefs. He shook his head and winked, as if to gesture you keep it, which was fair…

“So…what’s his name?” He laughed lightly.

“Huh?” You weakly sniffled.

“Or her…I definitely don’t judge!” He held up his hands. When you looked at him dumbly, he leant his head down and whispered, “The moron that’s dumped you?”

A surprised giggle poured from your throat, “Oh, no, no one’s dumped me.”

“Ohhh, so you’re miss heartbreaker?” he drawled as he winked and nodded charmingly.

You quickly shook your head, “God no, never been in a relationship before.”

He tapped the side of his lip in thought remarked in dramatically put on surprise, “Then what’s a stunning girl like you sobbing for?”

You froze and shook your head. The lawyer said to keep it to yourself…you weren’t sure if you should’ve just lied to him. But it was his eyes, those sweet smiling lips that broke you down. You sucked your bottom lip and just let loose…

“My um…ugh... dad…he um…he….” You started to break into more tears as you felt forced to acknowledge what occurred, “d-died, he died, and I miss him.”

Your shoulders shook like leaves. The frigid air on your wet body was torturous.

His demeanour softened further, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He offered you a hand and held yours with a tight squeeze as you just lost it in your weeping. Your nose started to clog up.

Dear God, how many times had you already heard someone say that? ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ ‘It’ll get easier with time.’

Everyone you knew who knew about it would say it as if they knew the bastard…squeezing your eyes shut when you opened them you felt them roll and you noticed how he stared at you.

“Sorry,” you croaked. You wiped your face with the handkerchief again before you stuffed it back into your pocket.

He didn’t seem uncomfortable, his smile was soft, his eyes kind.

“You’re allowed to cry…” he suddenly said amongst the loud silence in the rain. He scooted closer to you and carefully placed his hand over your wrist. He tilted his head and murmured, “Did you know that?”

‘I know that, I just don’t deserve to. Not after what I did.’

You swallowed hard and looked away from him as you felt more tears come. You should’ve been disgusted by the way he was so informally getting to you, how his hot hand wrapped around your wrist and the other pinched your jaw, guiding your face back to look at him.

“I-” you choked and twisted your face as you started to wheeze, “I hate him so much…but I miss him and love him at the same time…I just want him back…why can’t I have him back, oh god.”

His eyes kept straight on you.

The bus was starting to pull up. When you noticed, you started to fumble to try and find your bus go-card pass. He let you go and watched you anxiously dive into your bag.

‘God where is it?!’

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” He touched your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy you an uber, how’s that sound?”

You uncontrollably blurted, “Sounds like you’re pitying me.”

You glanced back at him to the bus and tried to stand up. His fingers curled around your jumper and tugged you back a little.

You flinched when you expected anger. A slap. A yell. Anything but his jolly laughter.

“And you think you don’t deserve it? You’ve lost someone you care about. You’ll never see him again. And the least I can do is get a smile back on a pretty girls’ face.”

You smiled and wiped your face as he shooed away the bus driver who was waiting. The bus driver rolled his eyes and threw up his hands before pulling away. The bus took off leaving you both to bare the strength of the rain and wind beneath the shelter.

“Besides…you can’t tell me the bus would’ve gotten you home faster, eh? Assuming you’re going home?”

You nodded and shivered, “Now the uber is gonna be pissed off, I’m dripping wet.”

He smirked, “Believe me. If he’s pissed off, I’ll just have to kill him.”

Now that…that was weird. Perhaps he was trying to exaggerate his gentlemanly nature to you, you wondered. Maybe, because he said it so casually, so it must’ve been a joke.

He took out his phone…sleek…the newest on the tech shelves for sure.

“So, um…where’s your address? Or do you wanna punch it in yourself?”

You told him outright where you lived. He smiled and typed away. He didn’t look like he posed a threat to knowing that information.

He just was a kind soul that gave you a bit of comfort through the day. You weren’t total sure where you sat with spirituality and faith, but you liked to imagine maybe your dad had sent this stranger.

‘Maybe he's an angel in disguise?’ you mused to yourself.

He put his phone back in his pocket.

“Actually, now that I realise, forgive me but I never got your name…I’m Walker, August Walker.”

You couldn’t help it…it was so unexpected, you burst into giggles and replied in a deep manly voice resembling James Bonds classic line, “I’m Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N, a pleasure to meet you.” And you stuck out your hand to him. He shook it tightly enough to make you wince and whine a little “Ow.”

His smile widened, “You have a fantastic laugh Miss Y/L/N. So other than dealing with your current grief, what else have you been doing today? You look like you were in an interview?”

You shook your head, “Oh no, it’s a little embarrassing but…I was just at the employment agency group over there.”

He followed your line of sight and nodded thoughtfully, no shame or disgust in his face, “Seeking a job then, are we?”

You smiled, “Yea, but no one’s hiring…”

‘Because I never put in a single resume…not anymore...what’s the point? Not when I won’t be around soon with how my thoughts are headed...’

He looked out into the stormy street with thought written on his face. His lips pursed and his brows descended. Without looking a back at you he then asked, “What type of work are you looking to go into?”

You shrugged, “Anything I guess…I have a talent for social media and a bit of amateur photography. I don’t mind the thought of working in a warehouse and stacking shelves neatly either. If I had the money, I think I’d study journalism.”

Sitting up straighter he rubbed his fingers over his moustache in thought, “Ever thought about not working at all?”

You snickered, but he didn’t find it funny.

“You’re joking right?” You lifted your brows, “Listen, if I didn’t have to work life would be a lot easier. But I’m living off the government right now. If I don’t find a job soon, they’ll cut me off.”

He looked down at you and softly asked, “But honestly…if you didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry about rent or your next meal…would you be satisfied with not having to work a job? Some people use a job to escape their life, others use it to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Some love and others hate their jobs. I’m just trying to figure out where you would sit in the equation.”

You liked him. For the first time in weeks, you felt unjudged, you felt comfortable, you felt safe and like life would be okay…you felt heard.

You jokingly replied, “Listen man, if I found myself being some sugar baby overnight, I’d happily take it. No work. There’s nothing better than I can think of…I know it’s shallow to wish that, makes me sound like a gold digger honestly. I just would prefer to live in stability.”

He nodded and chuckled, “I agree!” There was something warm and refreshing being here with him…you felt tingly...down there. A small blush grew in your face.

You saw a fancy black car roll up beside the bus stop hut. It was definitely not your average uber. It was an elite vehicle; it was a tesla. You tilted your head when you saw your new friend rise from the bench and open the umbrella.

“Well come on now, don’t dawdle,” he playfully scolded.

Practically leaping from the bench, you scurried under the umbrella with him. He placed his hand dangerously low on your back guiding you to the back seat of the car. It was fancy enough that the windows were to tinted black outside and the handles were flat on the door…and pushed out so you could open it. Very futuristic, you noted. You wondered just how much it cost to higher an uber of this type and class.

“Hope you don’t mind if I join you for the ride? I’m headed home myself as well,” he said as you slid inside. The warm heated seat greeted your cold wet bum happily. The driver you barely got a look at except that he appeared very professional with his driving gloves, and a driving cap.

You didn’t mind that August was going to join you. It was something you found yourself enjoying…besides you didn’t like the silence of an uber alone.

“Thankyou, honestly,” you suddenly said, “I was having a really shitty day, and you just seem to be my knight in shining armour. Thankyou for your kindness August.”

He leaned forward and turned up the heater and pointed the fans in your direction. A subtle sign, he cared…he was trying to warm you up.

He smirked, “It’s the least I can do. You’re too sweet to leave alone on the street. Anyone could’ve plucked you up and do God knows what.”

You accepted his compliment the best you could. Something buzzed inside of you. You wanted to ask for his number, but reconsidered.

You shouldn’t be feeling that…arousal…‘you’re not thinking straight, your dad just died, you’re clearly just clingy cause you’re broken…now you’ve become someone else’s burden for the day… god you’re a terrible fucking person.’

The car drove on and hit a set of lights.

“Y/N?” You liked hearing your name come out of his mouth, it sounded…sexy. His blue eyes glanced back at you.

“Y-yea?” your throat tightened.

He smiled at the stutter, “Would you mind joining me for dinner tonight? I know it’s quite forward but, I want to keep an eye on you. And listen, I can help you find a job, I do have a lot of connections.”

Your throat constricted. These types of invitations had other motivations attached to them. You weren’t very experienced in that department.

‘Say yes, c’mon girl.’

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe I’m in the right head space for dating right now.”

‘For fuck sake do you want to die alone huh? Maybe you should follow your dads’ footsteps you cold shrew.’

You anxiously recounted, “um, ugh, um. Listen, want to um, come back to my place? I have frozen lasagna and I um…I…no wait…I really don’t want to go back home.”

You couldn’t believe you rejected him so quickly. You were scared he was going to shut you out or kick you out of the car. Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. You wanted to say yes so badly it hurt. Why did your eyes sting? You didn’t see how badly you were breaking down. You were flustered beyond belief. Tears sprinkling out of fear and your mouth wouldn’t stop blubbering until his large hot hands covered your mouth and the back of your head.

Your eyes widened. The driver was watching from the mirror. The hand wasn’t harshly pressed, it was very gentle, you were just unmotivated to move away. His hand on your mouth smelt incredible and his skin on your lips tasted like a sweet salt.

You whimpered and kept crying.

“I need you to breathe through your nose,” he stated sternly… his voice was deeper, more in control, “Deep breath darling.”

You blinked back your tears and nodded, trying to calm yourself down and you took a deep breath into your lungs and coughed into his hand, you tried again and managed to succeed. You grounded yourself for him.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, “Now. I’ll ask again in a different way. Would you like me to take you to dinner tonight? Or would you like to go home? I’m being honest, I don’t think you should be alone tonight with the state you’re in.”

‘Good girl…’ your chest ached. You’d give anything to hear him say it again.

You felt small…without thinking you lifted your feet onto the seat and hugged them to your chest. You buried your nose into your knees and started to sulk. You didn’t know. You didn’t want to say the wrong answer.

“Jude, pull over,” You heard him say and felt the car pull out to the side of the road.

‘Jude…it’s impressive August cares enough to learn the uber drivers name, and that the uber driver obeys his request.’

The rain was getting heavier on the roof of the car. It was calming. You however were shaking. Your mind was racing a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

He undid his seatbelt and rubbed your back, “What for?”

A stuttering ensued from you, “I- I don’t even know you- and-and you’re super nice and- you- I just- I’m sorry for wasting your time and letting you spend the money on the uber. I can’t even pay you back, I’m so sorry. I can leave. I-”

Jude glanced over his shoulder at August who held up a hand to stay silent, the driver turned back and smirked at you in the rearview mirror

“Y/N,” August softly said, “I don’t care about spending money, I didn’t waste it. You’ve clearly been through a lot recently. And it doesn’t sound like you have many friends that are supporting you if you’re behaving like this….”

Finally, he pressed his lips to your ear and whispered, “Do you need help deciding what you want to do?”

You nodded pitifully and tried to compose yourself. His breath was so hot on your face and yet when he pulled back the rush of cold air attacked that spot.

“In that case… Miss Y/L/N, you’re coming to my place tonight, I have a large spare bedroom and bathroom. I have a nice television with all the streaming services. I also have a pool. And you and I are going to do whatever you like. We can order in food. We can talk until the sun comes up or watch as many movies as you like. Tonight, I’m going to be like your best friend. Tonight is about you.”

It stunned you by how causally he tapped your nose.

Your bottom lip trembled.

He smiled softly as reminded, “You’re allowed to cry, would you like a hug?” he opened his arms and moved his leg up onto the seat behind you, laying himself back a little on the door.

The driver did not protest to his passengers’ lack of seatbelt. He switched off the seatbelt alarm.

“Oh god, please, yes,” you hiccupped as you crawled into his arms. You laid your head onto his chest and felt him rub his hand up your spine and down again over and over. His chin sat on your head. He was huge and he made you feel safe….

As you felt the car move away back onto the street you shut your eyes…he was so warm and covered you like a blanket, you felt ridiculously safe…

06:10pm Monday 5th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

You didn’t notice you drifted off until you heard the car door shut from the driver.

Your eyes fluttered open before you weakly rubbed the crust that had built on your eyelashes. You groaned and released soft displeased noises.

“Did you have a nice nap?”

In fact, you did. It was the best sleep for the first time in weeks. It had been too long where you had lost rest over the horrible memories and nightmares.

It had stopped raining, but the smell was still thick in the air. The sky was dark, night had set in.

‘How long was I asleep?’

The car was parked inside a round driveway. A large house…a fucking palace…a mansion you’d see the cartel owning in a movie was in your eyesight as you say up. It was pre-modernist, cream and white stone and marble. The lawns were green, and the courtyard was massive, surrounded by hedges, a true botanical garden and a tall black fence gate.

“Where are we?”

The car door opened, and August sat you up so he could slide out and offer his hand to you, “My place.”

You blurted, “Woah.” And heard him chuckle.

“I imagined an apartment inner city or a townhouse north side but not this…”

He said he didn’t live that far from you, but this felt like the middle of nowhere...in a neighbourhood on the Northside...but the area...the building aged style. It must’ve been the southside. You decided this had to be near Sunnybank.

You smiled at the smell of wet soil in the air. It filled your lungs as you stepped out of the car.

Your head hurt…you cupped your eyes as the lamp lights hit them. You hissed. A headache was coming on, “Do you have any ibuprofen or paracetamol I can use? I’ve got a headache is all.”

“Of course,” he said gently.

August took one of your hands and guided you across the white gravel driveway to his front French door that was twice as tall as him. The foyer had your jaw dropping.

To the left was a grand staircase. To the right were two more large doors. And in the centre was a decorative lounge set. The ceiling had a round banister and on the top ceiling was a crystal chandelier.

He took you to the left immediately and entered an enormous kitchen.

The house you noted would’ve had to been influence by ancient Grecians aesthetics with the pillars that held up the second floor.

It was gorgeous. The benches were white marble with gold inlay and the grout on the back splash inlayed with the same materials. He wandered over to the top of a big black matte fridge. There was a cupboard above it. He pulled down a basket filled with little boxes of necessities like Band-Aids and alcohol wipes. August handed you a box of Panadol and fetched a glass of water as you awed at his kitchen space. A big island with two sinks really impressed you.

“This is massive!” You praised before downing two of the white tablets.

This was a billion times nicer than the flat apartment you were living in.

He took the glass back from you and placed it in the sink. He waved his hand, “C’mon I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight!”

You toddled behind him aweing at the rest of the rooms you passed. He took you up the stairs to the second floor where you both passed the banister that looked down to the bottom floor.

He gently touched your back and guided you across the living room on the second floor. There was a more modernised setting. There was carpeted floors and a coffee table with a L-shaped white lounge. It was so pristine and clean. The television on the wall you swore was as big as a wall in your apartment. You floated to the glass French doors that held. Balcony and sitting area.

He came to a halt at a light wooden door and cracked it open. The room was amazing! The bed was a queen, and the bed was covered in a fresh made set of cream coloured covers. You liked the design and art. It had a European Victorian era feel, like you were walking into a royal bedroom…but in Australia.

‘Interesting design choices.’

You laid your tote bag on the duvet and sat on the edge. To your left was a bathroom and to your right was a big window that opened the view of the back yard. At the foot of the bed there was a spacious closet to hang coats and dresses. You couldn’t stop smiling until it really hit you….men are never nice….not for free.

“Um August?”

“Yes love?” he said as he opened the curtains wider and jiggled a lock to open the window. Cool air flowed into the room. The sound of frogs and cicadas filled your ears.

“…Are you um…expecting….” You breathed out a tight bundle of air and fluttered your eyes shut, your fingers started to fidget, “Um do you….are you wanting…ugh.”

He patiently stared at you from the window with his soft smile.

“Do you expect to have sex with me? Is that what this is? You ugh, pamper me? Play nice? And then guilt me into sex? I just don’t roll that wa-”

His hand held up to stop you from continuing. He laughed and shook his head.

“Y/N no, of course not, I don’t expect a thing from you tonight…I just hope to help you. You need help. And I think tonight.” He crouched down to your feet and held your hands, “…I can help you.”

You unleash the breath you were holding and grinned. It was too good to be true…maybe he was gay?

He stood back up, “You can leave your bag in here if you like, let me show you the rest of my- um actually.”

August rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip with a quick thought, “Did you want to change into something else? I can throw your wet clothes into a dryer. I don’t want you getting sick.”

You looked down at yourself and felt guilty for dripping down onto his nice carpet.

“It’s okay! I need to change too! You kinda got me all soaked when we cuddled in the car,” he tapped your shoulder.

You nodded slowly, “but what…would I wear? Do you have anything that would fit me? I mean no offence you’re just a really tall guy…”

The hairs on the back of your neck rose. Was this some ploy to get you nude? He just told you he didn’t want sex...

“Oh yes, just moment!” He said and he left the room. About five minutes of ringing his carpet in your wet state he returned. In one hand was a large white T-shirt and towel and in the other he was pinching light blue men’s boxers.

“I don’t have…ladies’ underwear on hand. The bottoms are new so it’s okay if you wear them. They’ll be covered by the shirt. Oh, and a towel.”

You nodded and skipped off to the shower that was beside the toilet in the next room.

You locked the bathroom door behind you and stood under a spray of total heavenly warmth unaware of the actions of a sick man just in the room beside you…

When you finished. You slid into his clothes easily. The clean scent of fresh linen invaded your nose.

You abandoned your clothes on the tiled floor along with your shoes you felt guilty for not taking off the moment you stood inside his beautiful home.

Coming out you tiptoed to the window and looked out at the view of the patio and what you suspected was a pool house or a car garage.

You felt your hands having to go to your hips and waist and pull up his boxers. Even for your size they were too big…how huge was he below the belt you suddenly wondered.

A soft knock on the door spun your head around. August was in the doorway. No longer in a suit but rather a pair of cotton shorts and a button up shirt which he left unbuttoned.

He lifted his brows at your hands clenching your hips.

“The bottoms keep falling down…sorry!” You tried to laugh it off.

He smiled and took your dirty clothes from off the bathroom floor. “Let me chuck these in the dryer and I’ll show you more around yea?” he skirted out the room after your confident grin.

You stood out in the living room area waiting for him to return. You heard him close and turn on his dryer, before seeing him steer around the corner, “Please, come right this way.”

Going downstairs and rounding the rooms you were exposed to an office, another bathroom, another, living room and a games room with walls lined with bookshelves and a billiard table in the centre.

You both stepped out onto the patio. There was chairs and tables and a cooking area and bar.

He held out his arm, gesturing you to walk down some stone steps. As you walked, beautiful warm lights glowed awake in the gardens. He held out his hand and flexed his fingers....he wanted to hold your hand.

And you wanted to be held again badly. You put your hand into his and walked beside him on the concrete path. You passed a beautiful fountain with angels pouring the water from vases.

“What do you do- work wise- to afford all of this or is it generational wealth or-” You recounted, “I swear I’m not trying to be rude. I just…you must be a millionaire...or even a billionaire...”

August smiled proudly and chuckled, “Please, I’m very grateful and happy to have all that I own. I’m just a very hard worker. I know how to talk to people. I started out as an actuary, but nowadays I’m crushing the market with my investment properties and stock exchanges.”

Your eyes widened, “You have more than one house!?”

A sting of annoyance hit you. Of course, he owned investment properties. That’s how all these rich scumbags survived off the working class during this cost-of-living crisis.

‘He’s definitely a billionaire in this economy. Ain’t no way he can afford a property like this and more as a standalone millionaire.’

He laughed and nodded and winked, “Yes, I do, but I make more money off my clubs. I run a few elite groups. Night clubs, boat clubs, a golf club and more unique clubs, a lot of them are overseas...Oh and a the little Asian restaurant in Sunnybank.”

‘Dad used to deliver there...’ you tried not to dwell on his memory. Quickly you wanted to change the subject in your own mind.

You lightly giggled, “Oh is that why…you ugh…said you could get me a job? Mr boss man?”

He bit his lip and shrugged, “Yes and no.”

He didn’t elaborate. You were waiting for him to offer a bartending or cleaning career. Instead, he showed you the pool inside his giant pool house across from a lengthy tennis court.

The pool was long and rectangular with inner pool lights that reflected the blue water. It had a heating system and off the side there was a spa jacuzzi.

He held open the glass door. You tiptoed ahead of him and slipped to the ground to stick only your feet into the small bubbly pool.

He joined you and turned the machine on. He pressed another button and the roof seemed to move away. You jaw dropped again, and a small laugh escaped you. The stars were starting to appear against the black night sky. You’d never seen something so advance and magical in technology.

The warm lights of the pool yard flickered on. Steam rose from the bubbling spa and your nose wrinkled as you smiled back at him.

“So….how do you suggest I become a billionaire, take a course in stock market patterns?” You joked which started a bark of laughter in him.

“I just don’t think you’re cut out for it. That stress.”

It might’ve offended you, his cutting brush off. ‘Why can’t men just be honest and say they don’t want women in power?’ however after the death of your father, it was easier for you to just agree and kick your feet in the water lazily. Your stomach growled lightly.

“Guess that’s the dinner bell?” August joked as you sheepishly smiled and embarrassingly turned your face away from him, “Chinese? Italian? Sushi? Pizza, name it and we’ll get some delivered.”

You chose Chinese. Honey chicken was your favourite. He was a sweet and sour pork kind of guy.

You both ate it out back at the house upstairs in the living room. He was finding it difficult to use the chopsticks until he gave up and chose to use the disposable fork.

“Here,” he said stabbing his food and drifting it to your mouth, “What do you think?”

You never felt so comfortable as this with someone since your dad passed. Not even your high school friends were so…casual and inviting?

You smiled and opened you mouth to accept his fork.

You gagged and shook your head, “Now that’s awful! I’d be getting a refund for that, I’m lucky my chicken doesn’t taste like that.”

You burst into giggles as he opened his mouth gesturing that you feed him some of your dish now. You shook your head with a smile and complied.

Why did this feel…romantic…he really was a good guy right?

He winced and gasped after swallowing, “Too sweet.”

After throwing the plastic containers away you and he flopped on the white couch.

“So, what’s your movie request?”

You lazily shrugged and leaned against his arm as he flicked through the thousands of on demand movies.

It’s when you felt it though….something clawing at the back of your mind and gut…You didn’t want to watch a movie at all…

“Hey, can…can you show me how to play poole on your table in the games room?”

His eyes brightened, “Sure! C’mon then.”

‘God, he’s gorgeous…’

07:06pm Monday 5th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

The games room was still as impressive the first time you stood inside. He rounded the opposite side and started laying out the balls.

“Have you ever played before?”

“Yea, but I’ve kinda forgotten the rules?”

He smiled, not annoyed by your lack of knowledge. He looked eager.

“Well, I’ll reach you the easiest game I know, Eight Ball,” he assured as he passed you a cue stick.

He rubbed the chalk on the tip and set the game up.

August guided you gentle by the elbow and lifted the triangle cage frame from the balls clenched together.

“To start the game, we hit the white ball to hit the other balls. There two teams. Solids verses stripes.” He pointed to the two different balls, “which team would you like to be?”

You bit your bottom lip gently, “Hmmmm stripes!”

He smiled, “Then I’m solids.”

He then explained that you had to get all your team balls into the holes by hitting the white ball into them, but you weren’t allowed to let the white ball fall in too or else you missed a go the next turn.

You watched him lean down and start the game. Leaning yourself down you hit your balls in with a streak of luck, beating him.

“Used to play huh? I reckon you were pulling my leg, now Miss Y/L/N…you are whipping me!”

You couldn’t help the giggles flying from your mouth.

Eventually it became head-to-head as your luck ran dry…. Now it was do or die. You and he both only had a single ball left.

You leant down and stuck out your tongue as you aimed your cue… you couldn’t get the right angle though. It was tricky. You were risking hitting his ball instead and that would lose you a go next turn.

As a pair of hot lips touched your ear you jumped, “Need some help?” He purred.

Nervously glancing you licked your lips and nodded. He got behind you. Fuck, he was huge…you felt so warm in the pit of your belly.

His arms bared you to the table practically. His large hands readjusted your hold on the cue and sneakily slid down between your thighs to part them.

“Widen your stance, get really close.”

But his fingers lingered along your inner thighs… your felt sweat bead on your forehead confident he could feel the warmth radiating from your pussy. The boxer shorts you borrowed were also slipping down. You felt the cold air tickle your butt crack.

You aimed the cue and hit the ball….but it missed…

He laughed as you cheekily claimed, “You cheated! You made me miss! Sabotage!”

“Well how about we make it fair then? Let’s make a bet,” he chuckled, he chalked his que tip was he spoke, “If you win, you can have whatever you want out of me, a car, a house, a job, whatever, but if I win?...I get to kiss you.”

Your massive grin fell, and you stood away from the green covered table. Your heart dropped…maybe he wasn’t a gentleman….

“You said I didn’t have to have sex with you.”

His eyes were wide, while his voice was softer with his hand lifted, “And you don’t! I just think it would be nice if I could kiss you…if I win…you won’t even need to kiss me back. Just a peck on the lips is all. Or the cheek if that’s more acceptable?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and moved closer back to the table, “Alrighty then…”

He bent over the table and aimed his cue…he missed the hole. The ball smacked hard and bounced from the wall.

It was now your turn. You leaned steadily and tried to mimic what he was guiding you to do before. You breathed in and as you slid the long stick across your thumb, you struck home…your last stripe ball fall into the hole and you won the game.

You shrieked with happy disbelief and twirled around giggling, “I win, I win, I win.”

He shook his head smiling. And sat on the edge of the table watching you enjoy your success.

“Girls rule and boys drool!” You snapped with you little victory dance. You spun on your heel girlishly and wagged the cue stick.

You were drunk off your own winnings you collided into him a little too hard. He grunted. His hands peaked out and gently tugged your sides between his leaning legs.

“Now miss Y/N you’ve won the prize, what are you claiming today?” He said it like a game host which tickled your insides. He was grinning wide.

“Tesla, house? How about a fancy little doggy? Or a brand-new iPad?”

Your cheeks grew hot. He said he’d offer you anything…but he must’ve been joking surely…you didn’t want to push your luck by saying something silly as “a million dollars”.

You wanted him to like you, honestly. Your toes scrapped against the carpet in brief thought...you thought about how maybe you really wanted to give him exactly what he wanted...why hide that?

You sighed and glanced up at him and purred, “What about…a kiss from August Walker the most patient, kindest and generous man I’ve ever met in a very long, long time.”

You coyly cocked your head as you leant against him. His broad chest was hard and muscled. You experimentally placed your hand over his chest sliding it up to his neck.

He smirked, “Well I think we can come to some form of agreement for that then, yes?” His face leaned down and he pressed his hot lips to your wet almost drooling mouth. His moustache was rough against your nose and chin. Now you know what they meant in romance novels when kissing men with facial hair tickled. You just wanted to keep giggling as those dark hairs poked your soft skin.

Your wrist fully came up behind his neck. ‘God, this is surreal’.

You felt like you were in a romance novel or soap opera. You melted perfectly. It wasn’t the first kiss you’ve ever had but it was the most comforting and intoxicating one.

“Fuck,” you whispered against him as he pulled back a little before licking your lips softly.

His hands on your waist became hands beneath the shirt. He was slow and steady. Hot palms traced your belly and breasts and back. You gasped lightly into his mouth and felt his light squeezes. He pushed his head back.

“And how was that prize Y/N?”

You nodded and sucked both your lips into your mouth. You felt warm and light, with a bucket of butterflies in your tummy. You felt brave....

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this good. ‘Lord knows it’s been months.’

Finding his large hands under the shirt you touched them and guided them to grope your naked breasts.

“Not enough, need more,” you huskily begged.

He obliged. He slid off the billiard table and picked you up like you weighed the size of a small dog.

‘God he is so strong…’

He carried you quickly to his room, it was upstairs and across from the guest room he had put you in. He barely had time to turn on his lights with how desperate you were clinging to him, kissing his neck and ear.

He laid you across the bed and bent down over you. He parted your legs and pressed himself against you.

He whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Do you want this? Because I can stop now but when my cock is inside you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

You felt your blood pumping and rushing…God, you wanted this so bad…you needed this distraction…there was only one thing stopping you…

“I…I…I’ve got no idea what I’m doing sorry.”

A wave of embarrassment caught you fast. Your hands pressed into your eyes trying to not cry.

You choked up, “Um I’ve never done this…”

You felt him move completely away and you weren’t sure if that was something you regretted saying. You felt so ashamed. You must’ve disappointed him.

He pulled your hands away from your face and with your blurry gaze you managed to see his softened face. His cheeks were pink. He laid a hand on your head and ran his thumb across your forehead.

You whimpered. The humiliation was consuming you.

“Listen to me…” he soothed, “Your kisses,” he lightly chuckled, “That told me straight away you’re not very experienced...I don’t mind. Are you a virgin? I don’t mind if you are or aren’t. I can show you, teach you what to do. I don’t want you to feel scared tonight, okay?”

It was a weight lifted from your chest. You slowly nodded and swallowed audibly.

The grin on his face grew the widest you had seen it, “Good girl.”

Your chest squeezed with warmth. He thumbed away the two sneaky tears that had escaped your eyes. His fingers then hooked the large shirt off your head. It was habit to be modest, your wrists rose up and covered your chest.

With the tick of his tongue, he playfully disapproved. His nose shoved down into your neck and you squealed with a laugh as you couldn’t hold back from his moustache rubbing against the sensitive flesh. You felt his lips smiling against you, his head shaking a little. Large hands rubbed along your back and arms, before carefully pulling your wrists away from your chest. His lips and wet tongue made your toes curl as they drifted across your collar bone and down to your chest. With small fuzzy kisses, he pecked along your breasts.

Your eyes sparkled. He was so nice…he was so safe…making sure to make this easy and fun.

His nose pressed into the underside of your tit, and he breathed in, “God you smell incredible.”

The buzz of praise rose in you.

His mouth leaned up and he looked you in the eyes as he watched his lips around your right nipple. His hand reached up and thumbed the left one.

A deep guttural moan escaped your mouth as you watched and felt his hot mouth play with your buds. When he sucked, you knew you were done for. Your hips jerked. There was no friction but the boxers and air. Your clit was making you want to cross your legs tightly. But the way you sat; your legs would not be able to close.

After what felt like hours, but you knew really were measly seconds, he detached his mouth with a loud pop and sucked at your skin down the line of your belly. He eventually got to the hem of his boxers on your hips.

He was rough and it shot electric energy through you as you felt his hands pull them down with lightning speed.

You shrieked and cupped yourself. Now this was scary…you were hairy, and you felt embarrassed for not being entirely clean.

You could smell yourself and that was humiliating. No matter how many times the doctor said nothing was wrong you or your ph levels, just weren’t entirely sure. You never smelt anyone else’s musk like that before.

His eyes widened. You almost broke into sobs then. Could he smell it too?

He didn’t wait. No, he forced your hands above your head as he pushed you completely back.

He grunted, “keep them back or I’ll tie them back.”

A voice in your head joked that you should test his theory but in the logic of your mind you accepted to obey his request.

You watched as he pushed your knees further away and his mouth pressed into your inner thigh. Your thighs trembled as you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from giggling from the tickling pricks of his face.

He groaned incredible loudly, “You’re already so wet for me? I’ve never met such a girl that could drench her thighs like this,” he lied.

His face was so close you felt his hot breath fan over your lips and clit. The sensation caused you to involuntary jerk back.

He darkly chuckled, “Now, now, we’ve barely begun.”

Without verbal warning, his mouth dove between your legs. His giant flat tongue licked you from your back entrance all the up to your slut. His hands clamped down in your rising hips. He forced your hips to stay still as he licked away at every crevice and nook.

Your eyes couldn’t stay open. Your mouth couldn’t stay quiet. You were his moaning mess.

Who would’ve thought? Your luck…crying at a bus stop became moaning in millionaire bedsheets.

He didn’t seem to care about the hair or unkept scent. You didn’t comment on your legs, or your armpits and he was eating you out like a starved man…wow…those were green flags.

You felt bold…. your hands came down and found his head of curls. Your fingers brushed and combed and lightly tugged him in.

When he looked up, he looked like he was glaring…

“S-sorry,” you whispered as you pulled back.

He shook his head and put your hand back on his head.

You smiled. God he was fucking perfect…what if this was all just a dream?

This was a happy dream. It was erasing the memory of grief. Your broken heart was mending under his care. A man you had only met today, and you were panting under him, yearning to please him for his generosity. It made you feel smaller…but you didn’t feel…guilt…. you enjoyed feeling like you were now protected, and safe…

You felt his nose press against your clit, and you choked as your lower body buzzed and shook out a small orgasm.

“f-fuck!” You whimpered.

He pulled back, his chin was glistening with your wetness.

He abruptly stood tall and gruffly commanded, “Move up a little and lay back, I’m gonna fuck you, okay?”

You nodded and felt your chest tighten with anxious excitement.

You scooted your butt back on his bed. Your knees you fought yourself to keep open as he just stared at you…he was just look at all of you, his eyes flashing around from your legs to your chest to your face.

He made you feel…worshiped. He made you feel beautiful with how unbashful he was as he stared. He pushed down his shorts and started to climb onto the mattress with you.

But what was between his legs surprisingly turned you off…

“Wait…wait Aug-August…I…I don’t think I can take that….you…ugh.”

He was prideful…he sat back on his ankle. His erection jutted to the sky. He tilted his head.

“I have fucked smaller things than you darling. I know my cock will fit.”

“B-but” you whined, “it’s – that’s gonna hurt me.”

He crawled up closer and grabbed your ankles dragging you down to him. You squeaked and looked up at him with flickers of fright… he wouldn’t hurt you, would he? He hasn’t all day. But this was a sticky situation to be in…

He rubbed his hands on your knees.

“Trust me…it won’t hurt.”

Your lips curled into your mouth. You slowly nodded…he was right, surely it won’t hurt. He did just give you lubricating oral sex…you trusted him.

He kissed you again and stole your breath away as he shifted himself forward and spat loudly into his hand. He pumped himself once, then twice and sat the silk soft tip on your clit. He dragged it down to the entrance of your pussy and pushed inside.

Your hands automatically grabbed his arms that were beside your head.

“Deep breath Y/N,” he shuddered, “c’mon be a good girl, relax your body.”

You tried your best to focus. Looking between you was a mistake; he was so huge and intimidating. You were confident he was tearing your opening.

You pressed your eyes into his wrist and tried to breath in and out.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you felt the walls of your inside expand.

He was widening you and making you full. Not a crevice within was not full of him.

You felt the brace of your cervix and huffed and tapped his arm. There wasn’t any way he could go further without killing you.

Your eyes started to tear up. He pulled back slightly and pushed back in, taking your breath from your chest in a light gasp. He did it again. This time he moaned now.

“You feel incredible Y/N.”

You nodded, it was hard for you to speak, you didn’t know what to even say.

He pushed in again and you lazily smiled, he was rubbing against your G-spot. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible for him to be so big?

You clenched uncontrollably and heard him hiss with pleasure.

He began to pick up the pace and rock faster inside of you.

“Yes,” you whispered, “god yes, yes, yes.”

When he chuckled, your insides shook with ultimate excitement. You gasped and let out a light moan.

His hand came between you and thumbed your clit. You had to bite your knuckle to stop from shrieking too loudly.

But he growled and tore your hand from you.

“If you scream, it better be for me,” he grunted and licked your neck before nibbling your earlobe.

Your eyes widened. His face was hard and hot with concentration and restrain. His hips rippled the bedding as he fucked you. You mewled loudly.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and moved your hips up. You thought he was hitting your cervix beforehand but surprisingly he now felt somehow deeper inside of you in a plain of pleasure. You threw your head back against the soft mattress and gutturally groaned.

You were confident you were going to cum soon. His brutal thumb kept flickering along your clit and the overstimulation of his mouth on your neck and his grunts and sighs above you finally set you into a blaze of heavenly flow.

You cummed with a silent scream. Your mouth was open and when your lungs found air, an exasperated cry escaped you. Tears fell and you moaned as you felt him continue to move until he himself froze up and sighed out his pleasure….it was when you now realised.

“Oh shit…you’re not wearing a condom.”

His eyes fluttered as he slowly pulled out and kissed your cheek.

“I’m gonna guess from the response you’re not on any pills or the shot? It’s okay I promise, I can get you some plan B. Let me clean you up first.”

It was so different to have met a man like him. He was like a unicorn in legend…he was perfect, handsome and kind.

You trusted in him.

He stood from the bed. You wouldn’t have bothered him to go grab a cloth, but your legs were lifeless. There was no way you were gonna walk on your own.

He waddled back from his master bathroom and kneeled to you. His hands spread your thighs further apart and kissed your skin. You giggled at his wiry moustache tickling your soft sweaty flesh. He took his time before cleaning you. He was staring at you. You didn’t understand why he was staring until a warm trickle poured out of your cunt…you sat up abruptly and tried to look down. You knew what it had to be…his cum…he had stuffed so much you were leaking out on his bed.

He was smirking…

He reached forward with the cloth towel. It was warm and wet on one half which he washed you with and then dried you in the other half. He stood up and said hushed, “I’ll be back.”

His lips pressed to your forehead, hot and wet.

It was maybe five minutes when he came waddling back, now totally flaccid, with a glass of water and a white tablet.

You felt bashful so nude and open on the bed. You thought about curling up in the blankets. You felt light and warm and needing a decent nap.

You looked up at him. He softly smiled.

“Open,” he whispered. Playfully you stuck out your tongue. He laid the pill flat on your pink tongue before pressing the lip of the glass to your lips. Greedily you drank down the pill. You took over the glass from him and gasped loudly when you finished it. You happily fluttered your eyes at him while he sat down on the bed beside you.

He was perfect. And yet…something didn’t sit right with you though.

“You keep…plan B in your home?”

Now that was disturbing…why couldn’t the man use a sheep skin condom? How many women does he sleep with? How old are the pills he’s keeping? How much of a playboy is he? It made you feel worthless.

All your happiness deflated. You were no longer special...you were just a number of his lays. And he took your first time…

He laughed and shook his head, “No, I don’t.”

That didn’t make sense because he just gave you a-

Your hands felt shaky. Your lips felt numb.

“Wh-what did you just give me?”

He took the glass from you before you dropped it. He put it in his side table.

“Aug-August…what was that?” You asked a little firmer, scared he didn’t hear you the first time.

“It’s plan B, right?” You started to beg.

When he didn’t answer you again, you knew something was truly wrong. It was dangerous. Your clothes were in his dryer, your bag down the hall. You were totally naked. You were totally vulnerable.

Your body was starting to experience drowsiness. Nausea was creeping in your belly. You hated this feeling.

You weakly moved down the bed. He didn’t try to stop you. He sat next to you and watched you lazily reach for and clench the borrowed t-shirt off the floor. You felt his hands pull it down your head, helping you dress. But you didn’t want his help, you wanted to know why that pill made you feel like the room was swaying even though you were sitting.

You pushed yourself on your feet and used the wall for support as you left this room. He was slowly behind you.

You knew now this was some sick game…he wasn’t watching over you to protect you, he was watching over you to toy with you.

“G-go away,” you whined as you tried to walk to the guest room to get to your bag and phone. You had been drugged and needed to call the police as soon as possible.

How could he have done this to you?!

You felt so exhausted. You heard his voice, but it was far away and you didn’t catch his words.

You finally got to the spare room but to get to the bed was a task impossible without a support wall. You slowly crouched to the floor and got to your knees. You were cold and naked and scared, but your heart was slow and relaxed by the drug. Your thoughts were racing. It was like your body wanted to be anxious but was too tired to match your thoughts.

Your fingers clenched the carpet as you crawled to the bed. Your bag felt so far away but you knew it was only two steps away.

As your hand reached for the mattress and your bag, August sat on the bed and took your phone from it. He waved it in front of your eyes and as you tried to grab it, he snatched it away.

“St-stop it,” you moaned. He laughed at you.

He shook his head and held the phone out to you, only to tear it back when you tried to grab it. He teased you. You started to cry. Frustrated and scared, you wept and felt your body giving out. Your arms fell forward, your face was pressed into the carpet.

The last thing you saw was his feet and his hand waving your phone in front of your face before your vision became black.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #august walker x female reader #august walker x f!reader #august walker #august walker fic #tnosp

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testingthewatersss · 10 months ago

Text

Withdraw Trigger warnings for implied non con drugs, PTSD, mentions of war, torture, withdrawals etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 2 5260 words Angst, More angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Bucky has been feeling sick for weeks, by the time he starts to look it Steve’s patience has run out and he forces him into the labs. Luckily figuring out the problem is much faster than getting him to acknowledge it. Unluckily, there isn’t much anyone can do about it

6 hours is more than awhile.

It’s miraculous.

It’s so miraculous that even though Y/N thinks this must be the calm before the storm, she can’t stop herself from drifting off, too.

She doesn’t move, she keeps her arms around his body, but, her eyes flutter shut and before she knows what’s happening, she’s unconscious too.

For Bucky, pain is familiar. It’s a constant that he can hold on to no matter what else is happening.

Especially when he’s the solider. The Solider only has pain, his entire universe is agony, aside from one, thing that he thinks might be a person, even if it would make more sense for it to just be a dream; but still- This new feeling is awful.

It’s hot, and, it’s… it’s red.

He uses colours, sometimes, because he can’t use words. Not when he’s masked and muzzled- Not when he doesn’t have permission to speak. No. No, words aren’t for him. Colours, though… Colours he can use.

Y/N, Y/N is blue. Blue is his favourite. It’s always been his favourite, so- so that’s what she is. Sometimes she’s a pale, blue, calm and gentle like the sky, and sometimes, when he’s done something right, then, then she’s deeper, like the ocean. There’s nothing the solider likes more than her.

So, she’s blue— and this, this pain he’s in is red. It’s bright, glaring, angry red—

He knows he shouldn’t move, that moving makes it worse, that it gives them a reason to hurt him more, but he can’t help it. It’s burning, it’s, it’s so hot—

His hips are shifting. They’re rocking back and forth and it’s only getting worse.

Punish me, he thinks desperately, Punish me, so that I can stop—

Punishments are white. Blinding white, and then red— Red when it hurts, but… but then it’s always back to white.

Blank slate. Order. Obedience. All of it is from pain, all of it is from them and he— he needs it, but-

Oh, god— nobodies coming— nobodies coming to make it stop and he can’t do it by himself.

He’s panicked now.

He’s panting and whining, and his whole body is tensing-

The sound Bucky makes is primal.

It wakes Y/N instantly. It sends a bolt of panic straight through her chest that makes her arms tighten around his shoulder protectively.

He is thrashing in place, trying to escape some imagined restraint, and even though the cry he’d let out is done, she can’t help but hush him, slipping her hands round to his cheeks so that she can guide his face up, up to where she can see, and—

Oh.

She can feel it. His skin is too hot, even for him.

A super-solider fever would usually intrigue her, under almost any other circumstances she'd be asking him questions already, but considering the fact that he's still struggling to breath, she decides to do the maths herself.

A fever is just an immune response, you need a fever to fight things off- no-

You need a fever to keep things balanced. Bodies need homeostasis, they need balance and right now, everything from his hormones to his pain receptors and inflammatory markers are five-hundred shades of wrong.

No wonder his cheeks are so red.

The serum helps, but it helps by boosting his immune system, and that means boosted fevers, too.

Y/N feels her attention snap back to Bucky as he wretches, unlocking his jaw as he gags into the sheets on his lap.

Sweat his beading by his temples, he looks muddled, but only for a second, and then, she reaches down, using the blanket to wipe his chin clean, and that's when she realises he looks horrified.

“It’s okay”

His head is shaking before she even gets the words out.

She can feel his entire body flooding with adrenaline. She can feel the way his chest is racing.

This is not okay at all.

Red. Everything is Red.

“Red” he pants, “Red”

Y/N nods. She knows what’s going on. That’s been their safe-word for as long as he’s been able to understand the concept of consent. From the moment The Solider had been aware enough to speak to her, to trust her as a friend.

“Bucky… Sweetheart” she murmurs, trying to coax his gaze back to her, “It’s okay, it’s alright-”

“I… I'm sorry” he chokes, “-I-It- god, it- it hurts...”

It’s too much. He’s shaking— his entire body still feels like it’s on fire and all he knows for sure is that he's thrown up in front of her, again.

He ruined everything, he woke up screaming, and he's made a mess of the bed, and she had to see it all because he isn't brave enough to be on his own—

Y/N is in front of him now, letting him clutch her against his chest in a way that is clearly involuntary. She's grateful that whatever instinct that is driving him to keep her so close also remembered to have him not crush her in the process.

She has wiggle room, more than enough to breathe. Just about enough for her to be able to pull back and look at his face.

His eyes are manic. They’re searching the dark room over Y/N’s shoulder.

It’s night time now, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn't want to close his eyes again. He doesn't want to see anymore red.

He's making his peace with the shadows until, the shadows start to move.

He sees them morphing into figures. Black, looming silhouettes creeping in towards him.

And he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry-

but he can’t speak. He’s screaming. He’s crying, and begging all at once but no words are coming out it’s just a noise.

It’s a terrible noise and he’s about to be dragged away from the woman he loves, to be tortured in ways he can barely comprehend and they’re coming and he can’t fight them off, because he’s broken and sick and—

Y/N is almost crying herself.

Bucky is way past weeping. It’s tragic, and unfair, and he can’t control it, and still, she thinks he’s only getting more and more worked up—

She wonders absentmindedly if he knows what he’s doing. If there is any part of him lucid enough to understand what's happening around him. The breaks in hysteria seem so random, and not nearly long enough.

“Love” she whispers, desperate to sooth him, “Love, it’s okay… you're safe, it’s just me here it’s all okay.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to hear her. His eyes are screwed shut. He’s hyperventalating, crying and retching against her throat.

His hands are holding onto her so tightly she knows she’s going to have bruises by morning, and she doesn’t care one bit. There isn’t anything in the world that would make her prise him away from her front.

Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red.

He’d do anything to make this stop. He can feel his body aching.

god, it— it hurts, and they’re— they’re coming— He’d seen them. But… why… Why aren’t they here, yet? They’d seemed so close.

He’d seen them.

“Shhhhh” Y/N’s soft voice purrs, “Shhhh now, baby— it’s okay.”

That’s not them. That's not an officer, or a shadow.

That’s, her. That’s Y/N, and… is… is she holding him?

It feels like she is. It… It feels like her.

Blue.

The colour overwhelms him for a minute, even though his eyes are closed.

A glaze of calm, sky blue coats him for a second. For just long enough for him to catch his breath.

“Good job” she says next, “Good job, Buck, can you do that again?”

Do what? he thinks, All I did was breathe.

He’d do anything for her, so he figures it’s worth a shot.

As his lungs expand, he feels her hands on his back, stroking a gentle circle across his ribs.

“Well done” she says, “Sweetheart”

The praise in her tone tugs at something nice, deep, deep down inside his chest.

He splutters out a cough on the next inhale and realises that all he wants is to see her- That he wouldn’t care about a hundred people coming to teach him a lesson as long as her face was the last thing he gets to see before they take him away.

If you want anything… anything at all, you just tell me, okay?

The ghost of her voice pricks at his mind. The gentle reminder urging him to speak, despite every fibre of his aching body begging him to stay quiet, to stay silent so that he might avoid some kind of correction—

“P-please I… I-I want to see y-you… p-please”

“Okay” Y/N says, like his fractured request hasn’t just broken her heart, “Okay, I’m right here, just— that’s it”

One of her hands is on his cheek, cupping the tear stained skin so that he can shift his face up to look at her, when his blood-shot eyes flicker open.

She greets him with a smile so lovely he thinks he might have died.

That he was right, all along and that he’s died and gone to…

Well, he didn’t think heaven would hurt this much, but if she’s there with him then it can’t be anywhere else—

“What’re you thinking?” she presses, thumb stroking his temple, “huh? what’s goin’ on in there?”

“Th-that I… I didn’t think heaven w-would let me in, doll, but— but if you’re here too t-then it c-can’t be hell”

She laughs at that. Soft and tempered.

“You’re not dead, Barnes” she says, with a half-hearted roll of her eyes, “You’re sick, and tired, but I told you before, you’re going to be just fine in a couple of days.”

He thinks that sounds right. He just about remembers.

Every inch of his body is sore.

He tries to scan through everything, in search of injuries, from his head, and his jumbled thoughts down, past the burning agony of his scar, and his straining ribs and cramping stomach until he remembers the soreness of his throat, and the echo of wetness on the covers between them.

It makes his urge to puke again nearly unbearable.

Y/N sees the way his cheeks are suddenly turning bright red, and pieces that together with the mortified expression he’s now sporting—

“I’m so sorry” he whispers, teeth starting to chatter together as the tremors in his muscles get more and more intense, “-fu-fuck I’m sorry”

And then, her lips are against his.

She’s kissing him, and he can’t breathe because he’d really thought she was going to hate him. To think he was disgusting, because he is. He is and he can’t help it, but she’s kissing him and he loves her and he tells her all the time but it doesn’t seem like enough and—

“It’s not your fault” she whispers, “baby boy, it’s all okay, I promise— but we should clean up, okay? We should get another shower.”

I can’t walk, he thinks, defeated- I can’t move… not yet.

“P-please” he whispers, averting his gaze, “Please d-don’t m-make me move, not… not yet, I— I can’t and I- I don’t want to fall…”

Y/N shakes her head, pressing her lips to brow.

“Would I ever let ya’ fall, Buck?”

He’s so humiliated that all he can do is sob as he forces himself to shake his head.

No, he thinks, No, you wouldn’t.

“No” she confirms softly, holding him close, “But we’ll wait anyway, yeah? you just keep breathing for me, love… you keep breathing and then, when you’re feelin’ a little more steady we’ll get you into the shower…”

An idea strikes her suddenly;

“Or” she says, “How about we take a bath?”

That seems to spark his interest. His brow furrows in consideration, and a cry catches in his throat.

He swallows it, trying earnestly to push back against the hollow ache of shame that’s trying to crush his chest.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N knows that he would, it’s written all over his face, “Me and you, sweetheart— We’ll clean up, it’s not a big deal”

“I… I m-made a mess…” he whispers shakily.

She thinks he sounds like a child.

Like a terrified little boy, who doesn’t want to get into trouble—

“It’s not your fault” she swears, stroking his cheek again, “You're burnin' up with a fever, comin' down from a cocktail of drugs that you didn't mean to take in the first place, you couldn’t help it”

Nervously, he looks back at her face. His eyes are so, so terrified, that she can barely take it.

“I love you” she murmurs, “It’s okay— I promise.”

Bucky believes her. For whatever reason, in that moment, he really believes that she loves him anyway, that she’s not angry with him, even though he thinks she should be, and he’s so overwhelmingly grateful that he breaks down crying all over again.

“I l-love you too” he stammers, burying his face in her chest, “I’m sorry— I- I really-am I— I- I couldn’t—I- I saw, I- I know it’s crazy but I— I saw someone…”

“Shhhhhh” she exhales, running her hand through his hair, “It’s not crazy, you’re going to see things, remember? it’s all part of the process”

He clings to her tighter, realising that if she’s right, that that means he’s going to keep being tortured by things that only he can see coming, that it’s only going to get worse—

“But” Y/N cuts in, feeling him tensing, “you can see me, too, right?”

He can, so he nods, trying to slow his cries;

“And would I let anybody take you away, or do anything to hurt you?”

No.

His head shakes. He sniffs bravely and nuzzles into the skin of her neck as he thinks about how lucky he is to have her in his life.

To still have her in his life, after everything he’s done.

“No” she agrees, “So you’ve got nothing to worry about, sweetheart”

“I… I c-can’t d-do this” he stammers lamely, “I- I can’t, t-there isn’t enough l-left of me to break this time”

Y/N just shakes her head, pressing a kiss against his brow.

“You’re going to be alright” she promises, “We’ll go one step at a time okay? for right now, we need to get cleaned up, love… So, we need to get to the bathroom. We can do that, can’t we?”

Can I walk? he thinks, flexing his legs-

It hurts, but, he’s good at pain.

“I… I can walk” he says, aiming for confident, “If I- If I f-fall I’ll… I’ll get back up”

The waver in his voice is heart wrenching.

Y/N brings her fingers down to his cheeks, wiping them clean-

“I’m not going to let you fall” she tells him again, “I promise”

He clings to her hand as she prises him away from her front, helping him stand on unstable legs.

She just presses a kiss against his shoulder, and loops an arm around his waist, helping him half stumble towards the bathroom.

It’s agony, but he manages; With her help, he makes it all the way too the toilet, where he finally collapses, sitting on the closed, plastic lid with a relieved whimper.

“There” she purrs, stroking his hair back, “You've got a fever so I can't make it too warm” Y/N soothes, "But to be honest, I don't think it'll make much of a difference once we're both in there..."

His eyes roll up at her, wet and embarrassed. She smiles, letting him press his whole cheek into her hand as she lowers it away from his brow.

“I’m going to start the water now, alright?”

It takes him a second to process her words, but when he does, he nods, shaking lamely as he watches her leave him, to head towards the tub.

The sound of the water splashing against the porcelain is nice.

He thinks it’s soothing, like white noise.

Y/N shoots him a look, and is somewhat satisfied when she sees him shivering where she’d left him.

She takes the opportunity to slip into the bedroom, to strip the dirty sheets and throw them into a far off pile in the corner and grab them both a fresh set of clothes.

When she re-enters the bathroom, he’s waiting, wide-eyes watching the doorway anxiously.

“I’m right here” she swears, discarding the bundle of fabric she’s brought on the marble countertop, “Just bringin’ some supplies”

He half nods. Teeth chattering.

The bath is steaming. She grabs a bottle from one of the shelves and pours a generous amount under the running faucet.

It smells nice.

Bucky can’t quite place exactly what it smells like, but he likes it all the same.

And then, she’s back, between his legs, letting him hide his face against her stomach.

It’s bare now. She’s naked, and he doesn’t remember her getting undressed and that scares him and everything— everything is way too much, again.

He’s crying into her skin. Sobbing, desperate, gasping sobs, as he fusses with hands in his lap.

Y/N’s hands are stroking his back, rubbing soft, calming circles across the straining outline of his ribs.

“C’mon, baby” she whispers, helping him look up at her, “Let’s get in”

It’s ready now. The tub is full—there’s thick layer of bubbles floating across the surface of the water and all he wants is to follow her into it.

So that’s what he does. Once she’s undressed him, he shuffles along behind her, almost slipping as he clambers over the side, and settles under the blanket of sweet smelling foam.

She’s behind him, he’s settled between her legs, leaning back against her front and letting out precious little noises that seem more like whimpers than out-right cries.

That’s a win, she thinks, I’ll take that.

It's luke warm at best, but he's so warm that her theory about it not mattering much is quickly proven.

“Good job” Bucky hears her praise, “Good job, baby— you’re doin’ so well”

He sags back into her, giving up completely. Letting himself retreat inwards, so that he might stand a chance at making through this whole thing in one piece.

She watches him blinking up at her from behind damp lashes, looking awfully muddled, and brings her hand round to his naval, so that they can tangle their fingers together.

He jumps at the chance, squeezing both of her palms in his, before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

He’s exhausted, and the water is cool, but for some reason, he’s not shivering like he was before and even though his body is still painful, it's much easier to ignore, even if it is a lot to process at once.

He’s breathing, he can feel Y/N behind him, he can feel her hands in his.

It’s a lot, but because of her it’s bearable.

He hears himself making a noise that sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He’s only sure that he’s the source of it, because of how she hushes him, pressing a kiss against the back of his head, and boxing him in with her thighs.

He’d have stifled it, if he’d had a choice, but that kind of self-control is long gone now.

Y/N’s efforts at quieting him seem to work though; the sound fades off, and leaves Bucky only the ringing in his ears as a distraction.

And after a few minutes, even that is vague.

Everything is… off. It’s hazy, and he feels like he’s floating, and grounded all at once.

Time isn’t right. It’s not linear, or rhythmic anymore.

He snaps back to himself when he feels things.

A sharp bolt of pain in his arm— A soft brush of fingers across his brow— The coolness of the water rolling up, over a part of his chest that had been dry, before.

The spaces between are abstract. They’re the chattering of his teeth, and the waves of sickness that he’s no longer trying to swallow down.

They’re the gentle kisses Y/N is pressing against the top of his head. They’re the words of endearment that she’s whispering against the slick skin of his uninjured shoulder.

He’s crying. He doesn’t know why, or when he started. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s not like he can change it, anyway.

His hair is soaked, it’s warm and heavy, and he’s… he’s gagging and spluttering— His chest is hammering, he’s— he’s spinning and falling and terrified—

“…You’re okay, baby… I’ve got you, you’re alright…”

The feeling of panic retreats at her voice.

He needs to keep her close. He’s so scared of being alone-

His fingers are furled. Fists tight.

He feels something. A soft, light brush of a thumb across his flesh knuckles.

Instantly, he lets go— Both of his hands releasing their grip because just like that he knows… He knows who he’s with. Who’s holding his hand, who’s hand he’s squeezing that hard.

He retches again.

He sobs, and splutters and shakes his head as hot, blazing cramps roll up across his core.

He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

Can feel bones breaking between his fingers. He can almost hear the crack—

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Bucky is back to hyperventilating.

Eyes screwed shut, red faced and choking on desperate, spluttering sobs.

Y/N’s heart is aching as she tries to piece together anything that might have lead to this seemingly reaction.

“Bucky” she whispers, bringing her thighs up to further box him in, “Everything’s alright”

He’s holding his own chest. Both arms wrapped around himself, in a primal attempt at self-comfort.

There’s a string of bile draped from his lips, across his chin.

He’s crying. He’s crying like he’s never going to stop.

“Shhhhhh” she exhales, “I’ve got you, I’m here-”

Suddenly- His eyes are wide.

It’s horrible. The sheer, frantic, pain-driven terror, behind them is horrible.

“My love” she purrs, “I’m here, I’m right here”

She brings her fingers up, cleaning his face with warm water.

Her touch seems to confuse him. His gaze is muddled, lips slightly parted.

“I-I’m sorry” he whispers, “I-I-I-I d-di-didn’t mean too-”

The chattering of his jaw stifles his words. He’s hurting. He’s visibly hurting so much that Y/N can’t help but shift to hold him tighter.

“I’ve got you” she tells him, “You’re safe, sweetheart— You’re so safe”

“Y-you” he stammers, desperate to know, to know if he’s harmed her by accident, “a-a-are y-you?”

“Am I?” Y/N deciphers, “Am I what, Buck?”

“S-sa-safe?”

Oh, god.

Her heart shatters. It breaks into a thousand pieces and stings behind her ribs.

“Am I safe?” she checks, “Baby boy, is that what you’re asking?”

She can barely believe it. It’s only because she knows him, that she can even begin to comprehend the fact that even in his current condition, that he’d be worrying about her.

He nods looking at her with the same piercing gaze as before.

“I’m safe” she swears, “I’m so, so safe.”

“I-I th-thought I-” he sobs, relief making him almost dizzy, “I- I th-thought I’d h-hurt you”

Tears sting behind Y/N’s eyes as she shakes her head.

“No, baby” she promises, “No, you could never, you could never hurt me.”

His chest rattles loosely, he sniffs and whimpers and cries even louder as he tries to make himself believe her.

“Sweetheart” she coos, “I promise you, I’m fine”

“I- I-I’m s-sorry I— I- m-my hands I— I, I can’t do this… I- I can’t, I— I’m too scared—”

“Hush now” Y/N soothes, trying to settle her own pulse, “Can you look at me?”

Can he?

He has no idea if opening his eyes is something he’s capable of anymore, but he wants to try.

So he does.

Everything is blurry, and it stings, but… Y/N is there, she’s real, and calm, and unharmed.

That settles him for just long enough for him to catch his breath.

There’s a horrible wheezing sound in the air. As a gentle thumb brushes across the damp, hot skin of his cheek, Bucky realises that it’s coming from him.

As it waivers, before cracking off to nothing, he realises that it’s his lame attempt at breathing.

“You’re alright” Y/N says, letting water trickle from her fingers, across his jaw, “Just relax for me”

He loves her. He loves her so much.

His lip quivers, pouting and chapped, and then, everything slips again.

She watches his eyes flutter shut as another bout of sobs rip up from his chest.

It’s horrible. He’s shivering, and heaving and clinging onto his own chest so hard she can see bruises forming, even though there’s a layer of foam on top of the water clouding her view.

“C’mere-”

She takes his hands in hers, prising them away from his ribs and helping him tangle their fingers together instead.

He can feel that. He can feel her palm against his flesh one, and the gentle strumming of her pulse through the sensors of his metal one.

It’s stable. It’s constant and everything is gone, again.

There’s a sharp jab of pain in his shoulder that makes him wince. There’s a tug of sickness in his throat that makes him lunge forwards a fraction, and then, there’s the sound of Y/N telling him he’s okay to let go, as he vomits down into the water.

He hears the splash, and feels the shame curdling in his veins, but, then a wave of… blackness over takes him again, and he finds himself collapsing back into her front.

“Bucky” Y/N whispers, pressing her lips against the top of his head, “Shall we go back to bed?”

It takes awhile for him to hear her, and even longer for him to realise that she’s asking him a question.

By that point she’s already drained the now cold water from the tub, and has started to try and manoeuvre herself out from under him, so that she can grab towels for them to share.

“B-b-bed?” he repeats, teeth chattering loudly, “I…I-I…”

“Come on baby, stand up for me, nice and slow”

It’s like he’s floating, but not in a nice, weightless kind of way.

It’s agony, it burns, and he’s terrified but before he can fall, there’s a gentle arm around his waist, helping him, even though he doesn’t understand how.

“I’ve got you” Y/N promises, steadying herself as she half carries him back towards the bed, “Good job, Buck… Just a little bit further.”

He collapses the moment she withdraws her support.

A scream erupts from his chest- It’s primal and loud and terrified.

He’s falling, he knows he’s falling- and he’s reaching out for something- anything but, he- he’s going to fall anyway—

He’s on the bed. Y/N wraps a blanket around his naked body, deciding that any attempt at dressing him would be almost cruel.

“I- I d-don’t— I- d-don’t w-want t-o fall” he sobs, muffling his own fractured voice with his palms, “I- I’m- I- I’m f-falling”

“Oh, baby” she soothes, slipping in beside him again, “Oh, baby, no, no you’re not falling”

Her palm is on his brow, his entire body is convulsing—

Panic flares, and his eyes snap open, wide and confused.

They land on her, on her gentle smile, and then he only looks more muddled.

“We took a bath” she murmurs, brushing his damp hair back slowly, “We cleaned you up, and got dry… and now, now you’re back in bed, tucked up with me…”

“I… I- I’m n-not stable” he tells her, voice barely audible, “I- I sh-should b-be wiped”

Y/N thinks that that is probably the saddest thing he could’ve said.

It’s obviously something he’s picked up from somewhere else. It’s not anything she’s heard him say before. She wonders briefly if he’s hallucinating again, if he doesn’t know where he is—

but no.

He’s looking directly at her now. Full blue eyes waiting earnestly for her to tell him that he’s right. That he needs to be dragged away and electrocuted within an inch of his life.

When she shakes her head, he blinks, and submissively drops his gaze to the sheets.

“S-s-sorry” he makes himself stammer, desperate to let her know that he only wants to help, “I— I- t-thought-”

“It’s alright” she promises, “You just need to breathe…keep breathing and get some rest for me… that’s all”

“For you?” he echos, almost dreamily, “Br-breathe?…f-for you?”

“Mhmm” she confirms, “that’s right, love, and then, rest”

He likes that. He’d do anything for her and there are worse things in the world than breathing.

and as for the resting, He doesn't think he knows how to do that, right now, but he’s about to try, he’s about to do anything that he remembers being vaguely linked to resting, when a sharp bolt of pain shoots up to his shoulder.

It hurts, and he can’t help but whimper, flesh hand reaching over to curl protectively over his scar.

He wants help.

He looks for Y/N again, because he trusts her, and he loves her and he’s in pain, and—

“Oh, baby” she murmurs, seeing the way he’s starring at her, “baby boy, I know-”

“It hurts” he whispers, “It… it… it really hurts, Doll”

She doesn’t think he’s ever sounded so young.

“I know” she replies, leaning in to kiss his brow, “I know it does, I’m sorry... It should get a little better when you've gotten some more sleep...”

“I can’t… I- I can’t fight, I can't protect you-I”

He can’t protect himself. He knows he can’t. That realisation is almost as bad as the pain. The pain that for once he knows he can't just push through.

“No” Y/N agrees softly, “I know, it's okay”

“I’m sorry” he whispers, defeated.

He’s not an asset anymore. He’s barely a man.

“Sweetheart” she coos, stroking his cheek, “you have nothing to be sorry for… You don’t have to fight, you don’t have to do anything right now...”

“Will…” he sniffs, “…W-will you stay here wi-with me… so- so that you can keep me safe?”

“Of course I will” she promises, “I’m staying right here, with you”

He focuses on that at he tries to breath through the pain in his arm. The sharpness of before is fading to an angry ache now, if he tries, he can convince himself that it's merging with the cramping of his muscles. He can definitely breath through that, he's been doing it for hours already.

"You want some water?" she offers softly, flattening her palm across his brow again, "You feel a little cooler for right now, so I'm not gonna push it..."

"No" he whispers, voice still weak, "I- I won't keep it down"

Y/N beams at him, nodding in understanding as she settles down with him, stroking his hair back as it starts to dry.

"You're doin' so well, Buck..." she praises, watching as his damp lashes flutter, "If your pain gets any worse I'll press Tony for something to take the edge off..."

"It..." he gulps, focusing on her face tiredly, "It'll stop, r-right?"

"The pain?" she asks, stroking his arm affectionately as she nods, "Yeah, baby... it might take a while to go away completely, but it'll stop."

"Promise?"

I can take it, he thinks nervously, if she promises me it's not forever, if she stays with me, I- I think I can take it...

"I promise, handsome" Y/N sighs, enjoying the moment of calm, "I know it's a lot, but we're gonna ride it out"

"Together" he murmurs, letting his body at least try and relax into the bed.

"Yeah, Buck. Together."

All parts Masterlist

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copperpaulie · 7 months ago

Text

"Take one step, and I will keep you forever." CHAPTER 1 Word count: 6.6k Abby x fem!reader SYNOPSIS:

Flawed, confused, scared. We're human after all. You, the character, and Abby share something that was lost a few years back, a friend and a father. You looked up to your mentor considering you were all alone, and the fireflies were kind enough to give you a place to stay. When he was gone, part of you shattered, and so did Abby. Although both of you haven't formally met before the incident at Jackson, you both share something: loss. But you had different ways to express it. Fast forward to now, you guys grew closer, knowing each other a little more deeper, and intimate-- and maybe, just maybe, the feeling of loss fades away. Heavily based on the game, all characters except y/n belong to Naughty Dog's The Last of Us 2 TRIGGER WARNING! : Violence, language, mentions of death P.S.

English is so not my best language, and this is actually my first time writing... so, bear with me ahahahahaha.................

☆-☆-☆-☆

SEATTLE - DAY 1

You wake up. Drenched. It's probably in sweat because of the humid air. But that was no excuse, you’re barely out of winter season. And as that thought drops, the cold finally hits you and you feel your body shiver. You can never guess the reason for the dampness whenever you're awake. Occasionally, it happens because of that darn dream that has invaded your thoughts ever since that incident. But whatever, let’s just pay it no mind. It already happened, and you're fully aware that you couldn't reverse it, even if you wanted to.

Now that you're wide awake, you can see the figure just opposite in your bed: Abby Anderson. Sitting.. no, sleeping on your couch in a painful hunched position that you even wince at the thought of the discomfort. As you move your way to lightly wake her up, A knock is heard at your room.

"'Ello, you guys in there?" That rough, foreign twang outside the door was not unfamiliar to you.

"Just a second..." You walk towards the door and get yourself greeted by someone who clearly just had the time of his life last night. You steal a sneaky glance at his neck and cringe.

"Dude, seriously?" You scoff with unbelief.

Manny raises a brow and scoffs back ... with more sass than you. "What?"

"Do you seriously have to show that thing as if it's a badge?" You glare at the reddish dot near his collar.

Manny scoffs and smugs, even more giddy than earlier. "Maybe you too, can get yourself this kind of treatment," Manny lightly bumps you on your right shoulder, before leaning his head deeper in the room to find something... or someone.

"Oh, there she is," Manny laughs, and you turn your head to look at the frozen figure. You look back at Manny to ask, "You here to pick her up?" Manny nods and walks past you, "Abby-"The brawny woman shocks herself up, knuckles clenched, almost as if she's ready to fight the man just before her. "Yo easy," Manny eased her, and Abby's raised hand just a moment ago reached her temple past her hair.

You knit your brows, worried. "Hey Abs, you good?" You walk to her and place your cold palm on her shoulder, causing her body to jolt and look in your direction, she sighs- a little painfully, and smiles, "Yeah.. just.." she brings herself up and winces at the new position she just did after a few hours of hunching in her sleep. She clears her throat, "What's up?"

Manny scans Abby's composure and replies "I've been searching everywhere for you. we're being called up, Isaac wants you at the front." Abby frowns and scowls "What... you serious?"

"'Afraid so, we should hustle." Manny shrugs and stifles a chuckle, observing the woman's expression that suggests she's on the verge of throwing a fit. Abby takes a glance at you and back to Manny. "We're leaving now?" She exclaims, almost as if she's whining. But, she won't allow you to see her do that. Not in a million years. "Yes, vamonos"

"Hey-" you cut in, "Am I also called?" Manny takes a while to comprehend what you meant and shakes his head. "Ah, sorry... Isaac only told me to give the word to Abby." With a disappointed yet still calm demeanor, you sigh and offer a smile.

Abby notices and places a soft grip on Manny's arm. "Hey, let her join." Manny shrugs nonchalantly, his tone casual as he responds, "Okay, fine by me."

Abby lifts herself from the embrace of the dusty leather couch and begins walking to the door. At the same time, you walk back to your unmade bed. She winces, her hand instinctively reaching for the area of discomfort at her neck. "Fuck, my neck." Manny hears that as a realization dawns on him, and turns around to face her. "Hey, thanks for giving me the room last night." Abby's lips form a smirk, releasing a chuckle, "Yeah, who was it this time? that... cook chick?""Nah- the weather chick." Manny replies, "She's down from the mountain."

"ohh... the scientist, nice." Abby laughs, her voice still showing a hint of drowsiness. "Eh, she's a little too excited about her job... talked my ear off about some storm and.. I dunno." Abby steals another glance at you, but this time she takes her time. You notice, but you got used to it, so it doesn't really bother you. You laugh at Manny and rest a hand on your hip. "Worth it, though?" And all Manny could reply to was hold an okay gesture on his hand and say, "Oh... absolutely. I can die happy now."

☆-☆-☆-☆

On your way to the cafeteria, Manny puts his palm on Abby's shoulder, telling both of you that he'll check up on his dad. "Grab us some food?" Abby nods, "Yeah. On it." Manny turns to us whilst walking backward, "Get me something... con picante." Abby let out a scoff, "You get what you get."

Now it was just the two of you, an awkwardness filling the cold air. Luckily, Abby gets to be the one to break that. "Hey, so about last night..." You turn your head towards Abby, emitting a soft hum. "I just... wanna thank you for letting me crash in your place." she scratches her neck awkwardly, "You know Manny can be ... very inviting sometimes." Of course, you don't mind her staying the night-- but you do feel guilty that you let her sleep on the couch. "It's okay, you should've told me earlier. I would have prepared a spot to sleep for you." She stops, and so you just follow her lead. Abby moves closer, her steps producing a faint sound, and her blinking falters momentarily, lips forming a smirk, "So, I can stay as many times as I want...?" And that once cool demeanor that you held broke down. "W-wait what?? I mean- You cough, sure- no problem." Abby smiles, and a playful glint in her eyes appears, flashing a mischievous... yet rather gorgeou--

"Nice to see you too, Abby." Abby stops in her steps and turns to the figure right beside the both of you. "Oh shit, Jordan. I didn't see you there." A...nd this was now your chance to have a moment for yourself, you tap on Abby's shoulder to excuse yourself. "I'll excuse myself." Abby smiles and mouths a "Find Manny", before continuing her conversation with Jordan.

You navigate through the crowd, leading yourself past the bustling crowd until you spot Manny and Mr. Alvarez engaged in conversation. Catching their attention, you let out a soft smile in their direction. You walk up to them not long after you feel soft fingers linger in your locks. You jolt, and turn to your left... and to your right, you feel a tingle inside you. "Abby? That was quick." Abby chuckles and drops the hand on your hair and shrugs, "It was a quick chat- Hey, sir." She leans her body beside Mr. Alvarez.

"Ah... Abby!... and...?"

"Good mornin', sir." You maintain a smile, though a little hurt at your pride as Mr. Alvarez fails to acknowledge you, despite meeting each other often.

"How are you feeling?" Abby interrupts, thank God. It was awkward. "Fantas-tic. Would you please tell him to get rid of this?" Mr. Alvarez frowns, pointing his hands to Manny's dreadful beard.

Abby groans, "I've tried." Manny lights up in disbelief, both his hands in the air, "I look good" He says, convincing the people that it is. Truth is, it's not. "Te ves horrible." Mr. Alvarez grunts. Manny looks at his father and then at the both of you. "Bueno. We have to head out.""Keep him safe!" The aged man lets out a soft cry. Abby places her palm on Mr. Alvarez's shoulder, "For you, I will."

Abby, you and Manny walk your way to the queue, and you ask someone, "Hey, what are they serving today?"

"Burritos. Again."

"Okay..." You whisper, before following the line. Manny shouts your name, catching your attention. You look at his direction and see him cut in, first in line. "Hey, what are you doing?" He turns, to the worker to ask for four burritos. His behavior stoked anger in the queue, with some even openly expressing their frustration, and hurling insults at him. Feeling embarrassed, you approach him with your head hung low, unsure of how to deal with the awkwardness that hangs between your friend and the crowd. Abby, too, had a hard time dealing with both.

"Why do you have four? Put one back." Abby's voice cuts through the tension, her tone firm. "Now... Don't freak out, Mel's coming with us." You observe Abby's reaction. She lets out a huge sigh and frowns. You knew the relationship between Mel and her, and all you can describe it is. 'complex'. You can sense unspoken things between both of them, even from afar. But maybe getting the chance of seeing it up close, might help you understand... or even understand more of what you think of Abby. Even with her visible frustration, she keeps her thoughts guarded, leaving you to wonder what she thinks.

☆-☆

After a quick walk to Abby's room, Manny suggests he grab Mel, Leaving just the two of you... again. Huh, you can never get Abby alone with you, not since what happened in Jackson. She was always occupied with either her assignments, mission, or Owen. But now, it's like you can get to know her deeper, with her hands completely... maybe not so completely, but she's free. You walk into the room, and Abby follows you as she closes the door. You let your eyes wander to the view before her room... and to that flashy bra just hanging by the rail. Abby also notices, walking towards the lingerie. "Scientist, huh?" She looks at you, with a playful smirk, before throwing it to her farthest left. "You know, I never seemed to notice you often... y'know, before you helped me out in Jackson." Her smile stutters, but she maintains her composure, although instead of a heartfelt smile, you see something that's a little forced. "Thanks, for that by the way."

You mirror her smile, "Yeah. I don't notice you that much either, glad we met. I enjoy your company."

Liar. You always notice her. 2 years ago, you creepily checked her schedule just to 'coincidentally' see her work. But of course, like you always tell yourself, 'I'm over that'. In all honesty, you never knew what made Abby so... intriguing. You can think of a lot of things that made her charming, but you're still stumped on how you got yourself fixated on her.

Abby beams a little after you spoke, she even hums a little as she descends the short stairs, her footsteps almost making a tune against the floor, as she makes her way to retrieve her backpack. "Hey-"

"Knock knock", Manny gets in the room, with Mel following behind him. "Ready to roll?"

"Yeah, just about." Abby glances at them before she goes back to looking at you, and returns from stuffing her stuff in her pack. Manny and Mel go down the stairs and approach Abby and you, the woman on your side offers a slight smile, not too welcoming, but not too hostile either. "Hi", She says to Mel. "Hey. And you, what's up?" Mel smiles, making a tired wave with her hand.

You shrug, "Nothing special."

"They actually cleared you for active duty." Abby picks herself up as she puts on her backpack.

"Barely", Mel chuckles, holding her protruded belly with a barely loose blouse. "You can probably get a stay if you ask," Abby says with a nonchalant tone.

"I'd rather not sit around if I don't have to." Manny and you, observe the scene unfold from the sidelines, your arms crossed in silence as you take in the awkward interactions before you.

"And Owen's okay with this?""Why would it be up to Owen?... Mel's brows furrow, We need to grab Alice on our way."

Mel's step pivots, walking towards the other door on the right.

What um... What a conversation. Abby had so much to say about Mel on our way to her room, but now it felt like she was a different person.

You and Manny approach Abby, clearly dumbfounded. "Hey," Manny leans in, and so do you, "Do better.".

Abby lets out a scoff and pushes both of you with barely enough strength. Manny and you laugh as you both follow Mel outside.

☆-☆

"Alice takes shotgun!" Manny claims, "Mel's pregnant!" Abby retorts.

"She could use the fresh air! give you two a chance to talk."

an exasperated sigh escapes Abby's lips, as she reaches out a hand to you to support you from getting in the truck.

"Real subtle, Manny," she remarks with a hint of sarcasm, her frustration evident in her tone. You sense that you stay out of this, so you stop yourself from getting in the truck any deeper. "Maybe I can go with you guys next time." You smile, and Abby isn't very happy with that. Her brows furrowed with concern, silently urging you to stay. Gripping your hand a little tightly, she mouths, "Don't leave me". A very sorry sight you think to yourself... so, you sigh.

"But if... you guys don't mind..."

"Not at all." Mel swiftly responds, perhaps she's sensing the tension between her and Abby and just simply does not prefer to engage in any conversation with her at the moment. Abby pulls you up to the back of the truck, your steps almost wavering from the sudden force, But you managed to get on the cargo bed with no sign of embarrassment, Abby took part in making sure that didn't happen. ☆-☆

A few minutes pass, and Mel and Abby share conversations, you are sitting beside Abby, and Mel is just in front of you. Talking about Abby's difficulty getting herself to sleep soundly, you look at her out of worry, and she notices. She clears her thoughts and dismisses the topic by telling her she'll wear herself out by extra assignments, Mel murmurs something, and the both of you ask about it out of curiosity. Mel didn't light up the topic and simply resumed the few minutes of silence.

"What did you mean about me and Owen?"

"Um... Mel fidgets around before continuing, Haven't seen him in like two weeks." She clicks her tongue and leans a bit more towards the both of us. "He keeps picking up open assignments. Has he talked to you, did he say anything?"

It feels as if Mel's pride was hurt for having to ask the 'ex-girlfriend' how her partner could be doing well. You notice, but it's not like you can do anything to help. "No, we're still not-- I mean, I've seen him in the mess hall but... we walk around each other."

"Jackson shook him, you know, I wouldn't read too much into it."

And just after that, a gunshot fires below the cargo bed, its echo chilling the air. Instinctively, everyone from the back ducked, and Abby's palm landed on your head. "Kill the wolves!" One of the seraphites screamed, "They were waiting for us!" You cried, swiftly grabbing your weapon at your side. You manage to fire a shot, though with difficulty as you struggle against the jolting of the truck. Still, you managed to take out two. Abby took out the last one. But unknowingly, Manny drove straight to seraphite territory, greeting another batch of enemies. One of them from the top of a rustic vehicle, managed to throw out a Molotov cocktail straight to Manny's viewpoint. "I can't see!" He cries, steering the wheel rapidly in an unknown movement.

"Manny!" Abby screams, as Manny manages to avert the disaster... with even more disaster, by steering the wheel to the woods. With effort, you all disembark from the vehicle, surrounded by challenging terrain. Mel winces as she adjusts herself, her strain evident as she carefully dismounts the truck. "You okay?" You look at Mel,

"Yeah! Yeah." Mel attempts to soothe you, tone gentle and reassuring, but the panic just earlier drowns out that effort.

"Fuckin' Scars," Manny spits out.

"How far are we from the FOB?""It's a hike," Mel replies, her breathing stuttering.

A seraphite's whistle can be heard from a distance. So you walk towards and into the mossy building. "we're too exposed, let's get inside.""Let's make sure this place is secure."

Now, after an almost terrifying experience, with Abby almost squished to death, though that wouldn't have been possible, the four of you managed to enter a somewhat... oasis, compared to the claustrophobic and did I mention dark area? "Manny," Abby calls, doing the best of her efforts to push the rustic gate blocked by a heavy object inside. Manny chips in and with much effort, they manage to open it. "Ladies first."

Mel gets into the narrow space, struggling. "Another month and I wouldn't fit through here."

"Go ahead, Abs."

Abby scoffs, "You said ladies first."

Manny laughs and proceeds to get in, "I like you, Abs."

Abby takes a look at you and smiles, you smile back and follow Manny along. Abby follows after you. "Abby, Mel says, roaming around the area, This reminds me of your dad's greenhouse." "Shouldn't, all these plants are alive."

Mel stifles an almost audible laugh, "Good point."

"You know what, Manny annoyingly cuts in, This is good... you two needed a bonding moment."In perfect unison, Abby and Mel tell Manny to "Shut up."

You glare and pinch Manny just slightly in the arm. He cries, "Ow!, it's working already!"Abby works her way up to an unstable pallet, and the rest of you follow suit, each step cautious.

"FOB's dead ahead", Abby looks at the remaining distance and Manny scans the area, "No Scars in sight."

"They're out there." Abby retaliates. "Yeah, you chip in. Let's keep moving."

You feel nostalgic, walking around the area, "Remember when we could pass through this area without getting jumped by Scars?"

Abby smiles, "Getting nostalgic about the truce? Easier days, huh?"

Manny interjects, "Too easy, we let our guard down... And they strung up an entire squad."

You scoff, "That was in retaliation to us shooting those kids..."

Manny raises both his hands, unapologetically, "Well, those 'kids' attacked our guys... what would you do?"

"I don't know, not riddle them with bullets?" Mel retorts, her words laced with defiance.

"I'd rather save our people."

You furrow your brows, "Manny, they're kids." and Mel continues, "It's not their fault."

"Not our fault either." You look at Abby, puzzled. You understand her behavior and her nature towards violence, but this? it felt overkill. "Those deaths are on them." Abby looks at you, confused-- as if she's not expecting you to react this way. "Okay." You scoff, simply avoiding a possible argument.

After a few minutes of purely roaming, Abby finds a possible way out. She holds the crank, and with difficulty, turns it around. The metal gate slowly pulls up, although the right moves. She stops.

"I'll hold it here, go!" Alice, Manny, and Mel swiftly get to the other side,

Manny hurries, "I'll brace it with something," But before you could make your way in, the crank that Abby held, breaks, causing you to bang your head. But luckily, you swiftly moved backward but... the pain already hit your head.

"Fuck!""Shit, sorry..." Abby approaches you

“You two okay?” Manny blurts out of concern. “Yeah. Crank broke.” Abby raises the detached crank and groans as she approaches you.

You spot something from above and call Abby’s attention, “Look… a hatch.”

Abby looks from where you’re pointing, and she looks at the gate where Manny is behind. “Manny, just hang tight, we’re gonna find a way up to the roof.”

“Okay.”

Abby looks around to find a way up before she starts, “So, glad you hitched a ride with us?”

“Right, remind me to thank you for that one.” your voice lulls with sarcasm. Abby chuckles softly as she moves closer beside you, offering a subtle reassurance amidst the tension just earlier. But you continue, “I’m glad I’m here with you guys. I’d hate to hear you got in trouble and I couldn’t help.”

“I’m glad too… you, being here with us.”

“Why? Because you don’t wanna talk to Mel?” You tease playfully, making Abby scoff and playfully deny the implication, “No, not that. I enjoy your company. Much better than Manny, but– don’t tell him I said that.” your demeanor falters, replaced with an awkward composure as you avert her gaze. Abby stops on one of the crates, “Hey __, Lemme boost you up here. See if there’s something in that room.” You turn to her but not your eyes,

“Hey, why have you been avoiding me?”

“What? I wasn’t avoiding you.” You feel taken aback by the sudden question. “Yeah but– before Jackson, you’ve barely said anything to me.”

You hung your head low, your composure gloomy than usual. “I guess, I just didn’t have that much courage that…” You dismiss yourself from explaining any further. You take a sympathetic look at her and take a deep breath. “I’m… sorry, for avoiding all of you. Wish I had the chance to get to know you guys better.”

“Do you think Joel deserved what he got?”

You take in the expression she’s making. Her brows tense, eyes like she’s about to lure you in, and let her do anything she wants you to do. You click your tongue and stifle a confused chuckle, “I think he deserved worse, but… I regret taking part in it.” Abby takes a deep breath, and smiles bitterly, “I get it, what kind of person could do that, right?”

“I’m not saying that–”

“Let’s see a way to the hatch.” It seems as if it's now Abby’s turn to avoid your gaze. But something about her seemed so different, much different to when she was in Jackson. Anyway, she boosts you up and tries to find a way to the other side.

☆-☆

You and Abby make your way to the rooftop, a scary journey for Abby.

“There they are. Abby points, Manny! Be right down.”

You point out the tall building from the distance, “Look! FOB sweet FOB. Almost there.”“Bet we can cut through that railyard.”

“You wanna get off the roof first?” You tease. Abby takes a moment to look down and her breathing falters, “Please.”

You laugh, as you take in the unexpected sight of Abby being… vulnerable, especially up close. A rare moment that surprises and amuses you. You and Abby make your way towards the ladder.

“Kind of hard to imagine you being afraid of anything.”

“I’m not as fearless as you think” She replies, her voice a little unsteady. “Like, I could never do the surgery stuff you and Mel do… I’d be too freaked out about fucking it up.”

You chuckle, “You think I don’t feel the same way?”

“Well, for what it’s worth, my dad always said both of you were his best students.”

Your steps stutter, yet you continue. “He… did? …Don’t get my hopes up. ” You laugh, and she follows along.

“About time you two caught up!” Manny cries, his tone still playful.

Abby smiles, “Been quiet out here?”

“Yeah… I don’t like it.” “Well, we’re almost to the FOB,” Mel says, before leading the way towards the railway.

“Man… When we get back home, Manny chimes, I’m gonna find a couch, watch a movie… And drink until I pass out.” Abby and Mel raise a brow. “Oh yeah? Which drink?”

“Which movie?”

Manny chuckles, “Strong questions. Movie’s the one with… eh, como se llama… The girl who rides the wolf.”

“Oh, I love that one,” Mel exclaims.

“Oh, and the drink… My mezcal from the party last week.”

“Excuse me, Abby lets out a judgy tone, You mean, our mezcal?”

“Si, si… I’ll save some for you.”

“Okay, we’ll follow the tracks. That’ll get us back on the main road to the FOB.” You cut in, slowly leading your way deeper into its territory.

Manny slowly takes his track as he follows you. “I don’t like this.”

“I know. Keep your eyes open.”

Just as you were about to get past the first cargo crate, you hear Seraphites having a conversation… and coincidentally, it's about the four of you. Your group resorted to having your faces drop down the mud, and hide in the blades of the tall grass, all so the group of Seraphites don’t notice you.

Landing in the gas station, there wasn’t much grass or obstacle to hide yourselves from the enemy. Abby lands the first shot to a Seraphite, and the rest of the group resorts to using their ammos to pave their way to their destination. Lucky for you, a group of W.L.F trucks were patrolling around the area, and managed to spot you.

“Wait… I see Abby and the rest down there! Help them!” One of the people in the truck shouted. The four of you run your way to the vehicle all with a grunted effort to reach up to them. After the violence had died down, the three of you jumped on the back of the truck, swiftly driving away from the scene.

One W.L.F member curses his way through the pain, his hand all bleeding.

“Hey, you okay?” Abby reaches out to him.

“Let me see your hand.” Mel follows, immediately aiding the injured member.

As expected of Mel. You barely have any right to be jealous, as expected of the top medic of the W.L.F., she’s quick to put action whenever one gets injured. Back then when both of you were under Dr. Anderson's care, you always wondered when you could catch up to her, her skills in a scalpel are as swift as Abby’s hand in a knife. As you stare at her in awe, your eyes land on the bleeding behind that’s covered by her backpack.

“Mel, You spot, your back.”

Mel, with an effort, tries to look at the bleeding spot in her back, and you take the backpack off from her to check. Mel winces and you silently coo her. “Shit…”

“I didn't even feel it,” Mel says, her tone making her words barely make any sense. You gently place your palm on Mel’s wounded back, applying pressure to prevent any further bleeding. Abby takes a glance at the two of you and the wounded man and looks at the men on the FOB gate tower.

“Hey! We got two.”

Your hands land on Mel’s shoulder, your movements careful and steady as you assist her in getting out of the truck. Abby takes Mel’s backpack and hands it to her.

“Hey, you did alright back there.”

Mel looks almost as if she’s shocked, and chuckles, “That was almost a compliment.”

Abby looks at you, taking a deep breath.

“...Thanks, for helping me out there.” You click your tongue and playfully wink toward Abby, “No problem.” You waved your hand to Abby and Manny before getting into the building beside the gate. Alice almost attempts to jump out of the truck, but before she can do that, Mel stops her. “Stay, Alice.”

☆-☆

Just a few hours after staying in the FOB, Nora appears by your side. “Hey, you sleeping okay?” Surprisingly, Nora’s the only one you could talk to about your problem. She possesses a loyalty that I have never seen amongst other wolves, and whenever you express to her some… personal things, she’s open-minded and leaves no room for hesitation just to give you a harsh opinion. So, you tell her matters like this. “Still struggling, but I can sleep more soundly than usual.” You reply, your eyes glued to your patient. Nora draws closer to you, offering assistance in your procedure, “How have you been?”

“ … still sleepy.”

Nora stifles a soft laugh before clearing her throat. “You’re talking to her.”

“Who?”

“Abby.”

Your lips form a faint laugh, “Why, does that seem like a bad thing?”

“No, Abby’s just… not usually the type of person you’d approach. Especially after… that.”

You scoff and roll your eyes in response, “Thanks. You make it sound as if I’m avoiding her.” With the patient now stitched up, you make your way to the closest disposal bin.

“Everyone is just conflicted by what happened, and we didn’t know the situation could change. And yet … Abby is… still Abby,” Nora replies, her tone tensed up.

You take a deep breath and give yourself one look at Nora before you utter, “Abby’s adjusting, in fact– we all are. That shit that we pulled back in Jackson?--”

“Abby’s shit.” Nora cuts you off. Her stare as if it's almost like a glare,

“It was something I had never seen before. And I know, I dealt with scars before but not like we did to Joel. And we took part in that. I took part in that.” with deep breaths, your blinking stutters. “Sorry, I lashed out at you.”

“Hey–”

“I’m getting more antibiotics.” You crash out of the scene, your steps almost echoing the area. Just when you’re about to get in, a wolf approaches you.

“Hey, medic. Mel there with you?” You pivot towards the direction, a single brow arched as if you challenge the man before you.

“We need manpower, some of our people got ambushed in the woods. Just nearby.”“If they’re ‘just nearby’ why not just… pick them up?”

“... It’s a new assignment.”

Your hand rests firmly on your hip, you feel odd by how the man fidgets, but you dismiss it. “Mel’s injured, but I can take that assignment.”The man looks at you with skepticism, before simply accepting your offer, “We leave in a few minutes. Grab your pack.”

You walk back to the tent, where Nora waits for you, her presence so sudden… it’s almost funny that it feels like an ambush.

“Let’s get ourselves a drink, after this.” She smiles, almost bitterly. You wince, and sighs, “I’m… I got an assignment. I’ll hurry, so… choose a good liquor for me.”Nora feels puzzled about the sentence, and she tries to call on it. “I don’t think anything is happening right now.”

“I dunno, they say it’s a fresh assignment.”

Tapping Nora’s shoulder, you smile before grabbing your backpack and moving your way out.

–

“So, how much further?” By now, you can see the sun setting. One of them fidgets, and the other takes a good look at the person before him.

“Almost there.”Groaning, you reply, “We’ve been ‘almost there’ three times now.” Just after a few minutes, you can hear a cry in pain in the distance.

“They’re here.” You get out of the vehicle and follow the pair. In an auspicious terrain, the three of you enter a mossy sewer. There, you get yourself greeted with the element of surprise.

A Scar, someone aged. You see the person beside you with a clean buzz cut walk up to the old man and crouch down. “We brought help.”

Fuck. That’s all you could react to. Fuck.

Sure, you can help the man but only if it were in a different situation, You’re under Isaac. And one thing you know about Isaac is that he is never sympathetic towards Scars. An even bigger bomb drops your train of thought that this was no mission, with Isaac and the rest completely unaware.

The gravity of the situation sinks in, and you realize this situation is not as straightforward as it seems, Under Isaac’s command, you’re not allowed, and never allowed to pull this stunt: getting yourself involved with a Scar. Your morals weigh over your survival, but the one thing that you know about yourself is that your morals are more important than the rest of your priorities.

“Fuck, maybe you could have told me sooner that it was not ‘our people’ but after all, a Scar that is injured?”

“You wouldn’t listen.”

You almost retaliate, but you don’t continue. “What makes you think I won't report this to Isaac?”“We’ll kill you by then.”

Well, fuck.

You groan and utter inaudible curses before walking towards the elder scar. “What’s wrong with him?” you examine his features, his complexion rather torn. “A gunshot hit him in the right in his stomach.”

Your eyes notice the cloth stained with blood, the source of which seems to have originated from just below the man’s stomach. His breathing hitches,

“Can’t you just tell the other Scar’s to get him?”

“We tried, but they didn’t even look at him, and just started attacking us.”

“Why are you helping him?”

“...”

You press down firmly with your palm, halting the continuous loss of blood. What’s more, a sinking feeling washes over your stomach as you realize you don’t have enough medical supplies to help the aging man’s situation. With urgency, you grab a clean bandage and begin to push it through the open wound. The old man attempts to cry out in pain, but his state restricts him from letting out a scream. You stand up and look at both of the wolves.

“We need to give him proper medical help, I can’t help him with just a bunch of bandages and painkillers.”

The tattooed wolf pinches his nose, “Can’t you just do whatever you can?”

“His organs will shut down if I delay any more.”

The man with a buzz cut inhales deeply and pats his pal’s shoulder.

“We’ll go back to FOB and steal some things.”

“Then you better fucking hurry if you want him alive.”

You quickly instruct the two boys on the specific materials needed for a proper procedure.

They both nod and walk their way out of the sewer. “We’ll be back.”

–

You sit on the ground, your gaze changing between the injured man and the exit to the sewer. The air feels like it's weighted, with guilt about listening to yourself and disobeying Isaac.

“Wh…ats your… na-me?”

“___.”

The old man chuckles with great difficulty, his hitched coughs causing you to flinch and instinctively check up on him.

Your palm lands on his forehead and the bandage. “... you’re cold.”

“I’ll… b-e fi.ne.”

“What happened to you?”

The old man stares at the air, before telling. “Some man… helped me, from o-ne of your people.” Your brows furrow, head hung low. “He was… a..attacking the chi-ldren from our areas.. And stealing… our supplies.”

With a stuttered blinking, you blurt. “What happened to the man? That helped you.” He looks at you and you take in his current composure. So pale, cold sweats stem on his forehead, and his lips look as if it was about to rot. “Just as… the runt was about to shoot me… He shot him… And ran away.”

“How did you meet the two of them?”

Both of you engulfed yourself in a conversation, in his words, despite the outward differences and opposing ideologies of both the Scars and the W.L.F., at their core, they are driven by the same desire for survival. Even more so, as you delve deeper into these conversations, you let yourself sink in, as if the person who was long gone, is the one you’re engaging with.

“I’ll do my best to take care of you, You hold his hand, You have my word.”

You take a moment to ponder before a rustling is heard outside. “We’re here.”

Your eyes light up and immediately run up to them. Snatching the supplies from the men’s hands, you begin the necessary procedure without hesitation.

“You’re strong, sir.” You say you smile almost bitterly, “You’re doing a great job steadying yourself. You’ll be in my care now.”

He weakly smiles back at you, and it feels as if the world is in slow motion, your composure almost in a panic, yet you remain calm.

Click.

“What was that?” The man scans the area. He lets out an inaudible curse before he runs back inside. “Some of the infected fuckers walked into this area.”

Your brows furrow, eyes still landing on the man while you’re under process, “Take care of it, I’ll be fine.”

Both of the wolves wet their way to deal with the situation outside, your heart beating so loud as if it’s about to burst in a second. The man groans with his eyes shut, and you coo at him. Assessing the further damage to his tissues, you feel as if your heart is about to drop. Delayed treatment, severe bleeding, and such an environment like this cannot help you with the old man's now even worse injury.

“You almost done there??” One of them shouts. “We need to move him somewhere else!”

…

Now it seems so quiet.

Click.

You give yourself a quick look outside the area, and you’re met with fear.

“Get out of here, now.” The man with a clean cut warns, holding his hand with the bite mark now stretched across his arm.

Fuck. It’s either you carry the old man with you, or you leave the place alone.

‘You’ve gotta be shitting me.’ With faltering steps, you lift the unconscious man into your arms, a weight being such a burden, that your legs buckle and struggle to stay put.

‘I should exercise often…’ But when would that happen if you’re about to get yourself infected by cordyceps? You make your way out, slowly and steadily- minimizing any sound that might betray your survival of getting out of here alive. Murmuring soft apologies, you lay the man on your back before without any hesitation, breaking into a sprint, feet pounding with no sense of rhythm. A trail of the infected follows you, panic grips your heart as you glance behind: a hunger-driven pursuit of cordyceps, and the scent of blood lingering in the air. Suddenly, your foot catches on an unseen obstacle, causing you to tumble down into the depths of the forest. You slide uncontrollably, your arms now gripping the cold body.

Is this how you meet your end? A question that flashes in your mind.

A few seconds pass, and you hear nothing but distant clicks in your surroundings. Your vision lands on the frozen body lying on your arm. He looks peaceful, but you certainly aren't. As if hope still hasn’t died down, you repeatedly pat his cheeks, each touch colder and colder. You hear your heart pounding once more. Leaning close to the old man’s chest, hoping to hear any sign of life against the deafening silence. But nothing– no faint whisper of breathing, no reassuring rhythm of a heartbeat. Tears well up in your eyes as you repeat your actions, seeking relief.

Reality sinks in— he’s gone. Deep down, you knew the odds were slim, but you clung to that fragile spark of hope, unwilling to accept what seemed to be impossible to avoid. Now, the harsh truth washes over you, coming down to disappointment towards yourself. Sobs become faint, each weight of grief making each breath a struggle. Clinging desperately to the clothes of what seemed to be a stone, gripping the fabric as if the body, will also fade away.

What a fool to even think you could change the old man’s fate.

After calming yourself down, you put him down, and slowly blanket the man with the wet earth, your fingertips seeking one last sign of solace. You slowly pick yourself up, and draw in the cool, damp air of the forest, allowing its soothing embrace to calm the turmoil within you.

“...my backpack.”

You curse, and make your way in an attempt to retrieve it. Intrigued by the distant voices, you take cautious steps toward the source. From there, you find yourself tangled in yet another difficult situation.

“Abby..???”

☆-☆-☆-☆

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