#WAIT I FORGOT THE GLOVES LOLL

[rimiaquatic]

porl

[jomiddlemarch]

A letter always seemed to me like immortality

Everyone Diana wanted to write to was dead.

Walter, what seemed like a dozen lifetimes ago, at Courcelette if his last letter to Rilla was to be believed; Diana had often wondered whether he had already considered himself a dead man walking before the day of the last battle, the boy he’d been destroyed beyond repair or rebirth.

Aunt Leslie, whom she’d found it easier to talk to than her own mother, perhaps because she’d also had a brother she adored. Perhaps because she’d left Glen St. Mary and never missed it. 

Perhaps because Leslie liked whiskey better than tea, newspapers better than poetry. 

Una, who’d been too pale since she barely survived nursing her father and stepmother through the Spanish flu, who’d been someone everyone underestimated or decided to treat as a martyr, who would not have judged Di the way her own sisters would. 

Rosalind Foyle, whom she’d had to ask about as discreetly as she could, counting on her general reception as a cheerful and polite Canadian, not much like a bossy Yank, to yield her the few details she’d squirreled away. An artist, a mother. A beauty. Better-bred than her husband, well-liked, she’d had elegant hands and never forgot to wear gloves.

Diana only wore gloves to operate and if an actual gale was blowing in a blizzard.

Who had thought all she wanted was to go to France, to make something of her life that would last her the rest of it. That might make the rest of it of a duration she could bear, an end her family could cope with or justify why she’d never return to PEI.

Dear Una, You’re the best one to write to, I think. The one who’d mind the least, like it the most. The least awkward for me to imagine reading this, the least likely to tell me something I don’t want to know. I leave for France in a few weeks and now I don’t want to go. Or rather, I do and then I don’t. There’s something holding me in England now, something to do with Walter, a mystery. Men, who’ve died. A man who’s alive, very much so.

A man I want to know. His name is Foyle. Christopher. He knew Walter, said Walter knew him as Kit. Everyone calls him Foyle or sir or Superintendent. Christopher. Oh Una, I thought this was behind me. That it was something I’d never have to deal with, some sort of consolation of being a woman in a world missing a generation of men. I thought I wouldn’t know this and that was a relief, watching you and Rilla and Nan. Faith. Mary. I thought it was fair, that I’d never know heartbreak like this. And now there’s Christopher. A half-dozen dead men. Walter’s poem. And France, waiting for me. I have to go, I know that, but how do I go wanting to stay here, a place I can’t call home. Wanting to come back.

Christopher. I like writing his name because I oughtn’t say it often. That’s what a young girl does, lovesick, dull, embarrassing herself, making everyone around her smile behind their hands unless it’s Miss Cornelia, scolding you for making a fool of yourself and for what, a man? What’s a man worth, I ask you—can’t you hear her say it, tart, ready to wash her hands of us— I don’t care what a man’s worth, Una. Just Christopher. And I can’t answer the question, not to satisfy Miss Cornelia or you or myself.

You’d write me back something comforting, if you could. If you hadn’t died before your time, twice over, after the telegram, after the epidemic. I should have insisted you leave before me or with me. I should have told your father you were worth more than all the rest of them put together or made Dad send you away to convalesce, somewhere warm, where you might have lolled about, turning brown in the sun. I’ve said I’ll go to France and sew up the men who need sewing up. Cut off the parts that need cutting off. I’ve said that’s my life, my vocation, as important as Mother’s poetry, as Walter’s, as the babies Jem delivers and the columns Ken Ford writes, and it must be but now there’s murder and Christopher to contend with, a dozen mysteries at the heart of me. For it seems I’ve a heart after all, Una. It beats and beats and leaps when it oughtn’t. It will break, I know it shall.

Christopher. I’ll take a dream in lieu of a letter. A flower, out of place, in lieu of a word. Answer me if you can, Una. You can’t and I know that, but I’ll still hope, silly Di Blythe.

She put the letter in an envelope but left it unsealed and unaddressed.

Left the envelope in an otherwise empty drawer of the desk in her flat. If she didn’t return from France, well, that didn’t bear thinking about too closely. If her papers were sent back to Canada, her father would likely burn the letter rather than let her mother see it unless if gave it to Nan, thinking her twin would derive some comfort and, happily married to Jerry, the bonny wife and mother Di had not made of herself, could weather any pang it gave her.

If somehow it ended up with Christopher, he’d know how she’d once felt.

She could make that happen, writing his name across the white field of the envelope, but that was too much like a dare, and for all she was her father’s daughter, she still had her mother’s wise fear of the fey.

She’d written his name enough. She’d hope she’d come back to say it.

[hankwritten]

Hofstadter’s Law

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for MinnesotaMedic821, Drunk

“You sure this best way in, Jane?” Demo muttered quietly as he gazed up at the looming concrete spires of BLU base.

“I am very sure!” Soldier said, not quietly at all. Practically yelling actually. Right in Demo’s ear too, what with his arm slung around the RED’s shoulders as the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shhh!” Demo hushed him. “You want me to go half-deaf as well as half-blind? ‘Sides, the last thing we need right now is the other BLUs hearing us.”

Soldier’s head, lolling like a pad of butter sliding around a hot pan, took a long and winding trip from one side to the other. “…Why?”

“…Because I’m a RED in the middle of a nest o’ BLU corn snakes?” Demo raised a brow. “Ach, you really did have a number done, didn’t you? Remind me not to let you near the Everclear again.”

“Okay! I will definitely remind you!”

Demo eyed him dubiously. “Remind me what, Jane?”

The grey shell of the helmet stared at him for several seconds. “…What?”

“Let’s just get you in, aye? We can do all sorts of filling in each other’s memories when your toesies are tucked safe under your covers.”

But in order get the Soldier safely in bed, they’d need to first traverse the minefield of potential termination that was the center of BLU operations. No problem at all really. It was late—even if some of the mercs had hit the town like Demo and Soldier had, they’d certainly be back by now, fast asleep, no chance at all of waking up and discovering a very difficult to explain situation in the form of an enemy merc carrying around their Soldier. As long as they were quiet, they’d be perfectly safe.

Demo guided Soldier towards the back doors, at which point they promptly ran into the enemy Demoman.

The BLU, spread out on a fabric lawn chair surrounded by dust, desert, and least a half-dozen bottles, blinked wide-eyed at the pair who’d just come around with the low-speed but high-inertia gait of a drunk couple. He shook his head slightly, as though to dispel the ‘ole three am fog and ascertain that yes, that truly was his teammate being helped along by the RED demolition’s man. Demo, for his part, froze like he’d been staked to the ground.

Soldier, as heavy things are want to do, kept going at his expected velocity. It nearly took them both over—Demo had to abandon the arm under his shoulders, lunging to haul Soldier up the waist and folding him in half like a Panini.

“Well,” the BLU in the lawn chair said, “you two look like you had fun.”

His face was a mish-mash of raised brow and, perplexingly enough, a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he bore witness to the two truants. Most shockingly of all, there wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face now, just those shades of smug amusement you put on when watching a particularly entertaining drunkard. The fact that Demo was used to having that expression leveled at him was neither here nor there.

“Er…” he said eloquently.

The flash of dread that’d shot through him when he’d caught sight of the BLU was the worse case scenario of course: reported on, fired, dead in a gravel pit somewhere, all rendered in gory detail by his mind’s eye. (His overactive imagination a bloody menace sometimes.) But as the BLU continued to sit there, not sounding the alarm, not even looking particularly worried, Demo’s fear for his own neck slowly morphed into confusion.

“I was just er-”

“Oh, hello Demoman!” Soldier chimed in. “We have been out. Drinking alcohol!”

“I’ve heard that’s a fun pastime,” his teammate commented mildly.

“Don’t tell him that,” Demo complained, hauling Soldier to an upright position. “Jesus, this er, isn’t what it looks like, honestly.”

“Sure it isn’t,” the BLU said, wearing what could now be identified unmistakably as a smirk. He gestured with his bottle. “Back entrance ‘s that-a-way.”

A little ball of defensiveness, not matter how unjustified, rolled around in Demo’s gut to the point he wanted to stop and give the other Demoman a piece of his mind. Which would probably involve lying. And then consequences to lying since Soldier had already given away this wasn’t a one time thing. He shut his gob and took the out.

Until the hum of the BLU’s resumed tune was far behind them, until the curving architecture of the base would keep them from being overheard, he didn’t dare start asking questions. Only when he was sure that the corner they’d rounded was at a significant distance away did he accusatorily hiss, “what was that about?”

“Hm?” Soldier asked pleasantly. He fixed a dopey smile on his friend, a second ago which had been the responsibility of a beetle crawling a tuft of bullheadidly tenacious grass.

“Your Demo, why’d you tell him where we were? And why didn’t he flip out?”

“You’re my Demo,” Soldier hummed unhelpfully.

“Ach,” Demo said, realizing he’d get nowhere with the security lights and a whole herd of horseflies bearing down on them. “Fine, lets get you inside first. But I’ve still got some bloody questions.”

They’d arrived at the unassuming little door cut into the base’s thick concrete, welded metal gushing haphazardly from its size as though its very addition had been an afterthought. Demo motioned at Soldier.

“Pass me your keycard, lad.”

“M’what?”

“Keycard.” Demo’s heart sank. “You keep it in your wallet or something, right?”

Soldier stared at the card reader. He stared at long and hard, so long and hard that Demo was starting to wonder if the question had made it through his ear canals at all when he concluded, “I forgot it.”

“You for- Oh for the love of Pete.” Demo took the hand that wasn’t supporting his mate and rubbed it long suffering across his face. “Well that’s great. Bloody great, risk my arse hauling a drunken fart back to his base cause he can’t hold his bloody liquor, and we can’t even get in to the fecking-”

The door hissed, layers of dust shaking loose like with a sci-fi swish as the vacuum seal was opened to the desert night. Demo gawked, watching it shake away grit like it was built into the surface of Mars instead of a dead-end town in the middle of New Mexico, and letting out a wash of air-conditioned oxygen.

When it was partially ajar, it unveiled the BLU Sniper, arms folded and leaning on the inner wall.

“How…what?” Demo asked. Soldier was too busy looking at the beetle again to be perplexed.

“Heard you guys arguing from the roof.” Sniper jerked his thumb upwards. “If you were sneaking ‘round, might want to think about keeping your voice down in the future. Probably could’ve heard you all the way at RED.”

“I wasn’t- We weren’t-”

Sniper waited. When no adequate explanation was forthcoming he said, “you comin’? Cold air’s getting out.”

Demo grimaced, and began the arduous processes of lugging the Soldier inside.

Chill ran up where his t-shirt had sweated to his neck, Soldier fairing no better since they’d spent the past half hour (every moment since Demo had realized Soldier would be going nowhere on his own) with their sides pressed together. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the cold ai) brought the slightest suggestion of relief to his (admittedly also not terribly sober) body.

“If this is going to be a running thing for you two, maybe don’t get so munted next time, yeah?” Sniper offered. It was neither reprimanding nor conversational, like this was a totally normal exchange happening here with a RED in a BLU hallway.

“Who said anything about a ‘running thing’?” Demo demanded. “You didn’t overhear that!”

Sniper raised a brow. “Soldier said you were his new best mate. I assumed that meant you’d both be out and about more than once.”

Demo grit his teeth, the pieces clicking into place. “Did he now.” He leveled his best attempt at a glare from his blindspot at the disoriented Soldier who, unsurprisingly, was more interested in resting his head on Demo’s shoulder than being reprimanded. “Well that’s good to know. Any chance you can point me to his room?”

Sniper took one gloved hand and shoved a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks. Cheers.”

“Goodbye Sniper,” Soldier said belatedly, a good three minutes after he’d disappeared around a corner. “Oh hey! My room!”

“Jane, is there anyone you didn’t tell about us?” Demo demanded.

Soldier thought for a moment. “…I didn’t tell any REDs.”

“Jane,” Demo groaned. “This is supposed to be a secret. What if one of them tells the Administrator? You want that? Going to be hard ever meeting up again if we’re both six feet under.”

For the first time, a bit of shame managed to reach the Soldier through the woolen mesh of his inebriated state, and he looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just got really excited. Wanted everyone to know I was hanging out with you.”

Demo sighed heavily, not up bullying his friend when he was in such a pathetic sate already. “I know you were. Ach, it’s fine. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”

Later being sometime after he’d managed to deposit Soldier onto a four-poster, though with the way the night was going it seemed like that moment would never arrive. His outlook wasn’t improved when he opened the door of Soldier’s room and found that not only was it Soldier’s room, but the occupancy of the entire Offense division.

“Whzzat?” Scout said, rolling to his elbow just in time to be bombarded by the hall light. “Ahg, dammit Sol. What the hell man?”

Demo didn’t bother freezing this time, successfully desensitized to literally every BLU on the planet stumbling across his ill-advised trip through the enemy base. Instead, he walked over, dropped Soldier on the bed, and began helping him unlace his boots.

“What the-?” Scout said when he finally lowered his arm. “Oh right. You. Jesus, how ‘bout a little consideration for the sleeping guy?”

“Mmrrhaunna,” came from the bundle in the corner.

“Yeah, what they said.”

“You don’t got the right to be begging consideration from anyone, jackrabbit,” Demo said hotly as he frees the military-grade combat boots from Soldier’s feet. He threw a blanket over the man’s form, who sighed appreciatively and said something about how this would earn Demo a medal. “‘Sides, don’t need to worry about me no more. I just came to drop of your sergeant and get out of here.”

To prove it, he backed out of the room with hands raised. Mission complete. Time to get out of here and bring this mortifying night to an end.

He might have gotten away with it too, if Pyro hadn’t shot straight up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Mrrhaha! Hudda hah ha hoo.”

Demo reared back slightly from the Pyro who was still very much in their rubber suit, now with added nightcap. Whatever the hell they were saying, they were very impassioned about it. He looked to the Scout for help.

“They want you to tuck them in too,” he said, and the light flooding in from the single open door was good enough to see that he was smirking as he did so.

“Wha- I’m not bloody tucking anyone in,” Demo said hotly.

“Hudda ha. Mrra haa hur ha.”

“You tucked Soldier in,” Scout translated. “Only fair.”

“Gurrhaha.”

“…Otherwise they’ll tattle.”

“I cannae bloody believe this,” Demo groaned, rubbing his face.

Grudgingly, he made his way over the giggling pyrotechnician, absolutely giddy to have gotten their way. Thankfully boots weren’t part of the pajama equation, and Demo had only to tuck in the blanket’s edges ‘round a pair of socked feet and a squirming, suit-clad body. When he tried to leave it at that, a keening noise stopped him, and he was forced to repeat the process for Mayor Balloonicorn. All the while, he could feel the Scout staring smugly at the back of his head.

“D’awww, ain’t that adorable. Going to be hard to be scared of you now, though. Y’know, after you swung by to give us goodnight kisses and all that crap.”

“Just for that, I’m going to have a sticky trap with your name on it, boyo,” Demo pointed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction. He just shrugged.

“But uh,” Scout added, just as Demo was finally about to make his escape. “Glad you turned out to be cool though. He was really gung ho about tonight. Its nice he has good friends besides us.”

Demo cast his gaze to Soldier, who’d fallen fitfully in the short while it’d taken to get Pyro off his back.

“…That’s good. It was a fun time.”

“Oh yeah?” Scout wiggled his eyebrows. “How fun?”

Demo took one of the pillows he’d used to burry Pyro in and flung it at Scout’s face.

“Sticky trap. Your name.”

He could still hear Scout snickering all the way out into the hall.

[effieduan]

Ain’t Nothing But A Hound Dog || Kaden & Effie

TIMING: Shortly after Effie got Loker, her Basset Hound.

PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @effieduan

SUMMARY: Effie thinks the dog is going to eat her. Kaden thinks the dog is a monster. Truth is, he ain’t nothing but a hound dog

CONTENT: No Triggers!

“Nice doggy!” The hound bared his fangs at her, tail thumping against the ground with a hungry look on his face. It was like the tree situation, except she had managed to cram herself up onto her kitchen counter, staring warily down at the old basset hound. He was looking at her, every once in a while he would bark loudly at her. He wanted to eat her. She knew he wanted to eat her. The look in his eyes said all he wanted to eat for dinner that night was fox despite the multiple bags of kibble laying next to her island. Dog toys and multiple dog beds were strewn around the otherwise neat apartment -- Effie wasn’t planning on keeping the dog, really. She just didn’t want him to be uncomfortable during his stay. The dog barked as she gingerly tried swinging a leg over the counter, and she let out a shriek. Thank god she had the foresight to unplug everything in the apartment. “Nice! Doggy!”

Kaden came prepared, armed to the teeth. He had no idea what sort of canine creature would be waiting on the other side, but he was ready for anything. Hellhound, hedgehound, bonedoggle, aufhocker, barghest, cu-sith, dip, he had weapons for all of them. Could be anything. Probably not a raiju, squonk, or god forbid, a pricolici, but he was ready for any one of those all the same. Kaden knocked on the door. “Hello? Animal Control.” No response. Just a bark. And some yelling. He considered pounding on the door, but there was no time; there was no telling what was just beyond the threshold. She shrieked and he figured she’d forgive his intrusion later and Kaden threw himself into the door, shoulder first, ripping it off the hinges. His knife in hand, he sprinted to the source of the sound. “Hold on, I’m almost there! Stay calm!” shouted out as he ran towards the monster, ready to attack the second he saw whatever was waiting for him.

Animal Control. The dog was barking now, running in circles below her, absolutely bellowing his head off hearing someone at the door, and Effie shrieked again. What was that? Its call to arms?! Everything she ever knew about animals was rapidly leaving her head as pure terror replaced it, and she clung to her refrigerator, hardly even registering her door being kicked in. The dog lurched towards the intruder, and Effie yelled. “Wait! No!!” She wasn’t sure if it was to the dog or the man that came charging into her apartment, knife at the ready. The dog was jumping up onto the man’s knees, all stubby legs, floppy ears, tongue lolling out his mouth with loud deep barks coming from him. The familiar growl Effie had been hearing all morning -- or, well, since the dog had taken up residence in her home -- was coming from the back of his throat in between growls, his front paws tapping up onto the man’s legs as he jumped once, twice, three times…. But he wasn’t trying to rip the man’s kneecaps off. Or eat him. Or… well, do anything other than slobber on him. Effie froze, confusion flooding her face as she leaned forward to get a better look. “Wha -” She slipped, flailing down to the tile of her kitchen with a sharp smack. The dog barked, hopping down from the man, and immediately ran towards Effie -- Fear came back. That dog definitely has lunch on the mind! Her thoughts told her and she shrieked again, immediately driving back up for her safe spot on the counter, the dog nipping playfully at her heels.

Rounding the corner, Kaden scanned the area, looking for the monster in question. Which was it? What was he facing? Was the knife or the gun a better op--

Kaden stopped dead in his tracks, standing there, blinking in the kitchen as he saw a dog. Just a dog. “Putain de merde,” he started, letting loose a few more strings of curse words in French before letting out a deep sigh. The dog barked again at Effie before trotting over to him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” It was a hound dog. Nothing but a fucking hound dog. And it was howling. Kaden raised his hand out of the way as fast as he could, trying to keep the knife from getting near the animal. This was absolutely not what he expected to see. He was about to give him a pat when there was a crash to the floor. “Putain, are you alright?” With a sigh, Kaden sheathed the knife. “This what you called me about?” He walked over and crouched by the dog and held out his hand for him to sniff. “He looks pretty friendly to me. How’d he get here?” For a split second, he wondered if this was an illusion. If this was a kelpie or a hellhound that had been glamoured. His brow furrowed and he tried to listen to his hunter senses, see if anything pinged. A small chill ran down his spine. Merde.

“He was going to eat me!!” Effie insisted, pointing at the dog. The dog, however, just ran back to sit under the counter where she took refuge, sitting his butt down happily as his tail thumped against the floor, tongue lolling out his mouth. Effie pressed her lips together, staring down at the dog in exasperation. “At least… I thought… he was going to eat me,” Effie muttered, feeling heat rush to her face as she realized once again how silly she was being. Still, though, she didn’t get down off the counter. Instead, she pulled her legs up, crossing them. “I - Look. I’m not really a dog person -- I mean, I had one growing up --” Effie pointed at the single family photo she had. Five little girls, one separated from the rest wearing rubber gloves, and a big yellow golden retriever. “But Noodle was different and he’s…” Effie looked down at the dog again, and as if in response, he cocked his head at her. “... Not going to eat me,” she resigned. He barked as if he was agreeing with her.  “I’m sorry. He -- well, he chased me up a tree in the common, and some lady helped me down. And then I thought he just went away, but I got back to my car and I swear I only left the driver’s side door open for a second, so I could put my bag in the trunk and there he was in the passenger seat! And everytime I tried to get him down he just…. Did the growly thing at me. So I drove home and then he got out once we got home, and I parked and I figured that was the end of it… until I unlocked the door to my shop and he ran in. He’s not chipped, and no one responded to the LOST posters I posted in town and online, and I don’t want him to go to the pound or a shelter because he’s old. Old dogs don’t -- well, you know.” The dog barked again, and Effie jumped, looking away from Kaden and down at the dog. “What?! You are old!” More barking.

All Kaden could do was furrow his brow and blink, eyes darting between the dog and her. Then back again. Something wasn’t adding up. Scratch that, a lot of things weren’t adding up. And the more she talked, the less sense it made. “So. You’re scared of the dog. And brought it home anyway. And decided now was the time to call animal control?” Kaden wiped his face and sighed. It was so tempting to let his guard down. But the ping was there. That little sneaking sense of danger nearby. A monster. But this dog seemed completely normal. Then again, looks could be deceiving. Werewolves looked like humans most of the time, after all. “What made you think he was going to eat you? Did he ever look different? Or just like this?” The dog grumbled like it was tired of being told it was vicious when he just wanted some love. Kaden held his hand out again and the dog sniffed and snuffed before waddling over for pets, leaning into the hunter’s leg as he rubbed the critter’s side. There was no more ping, no more danger when touching the potential monster. Not like with Wrinkles way back when. This dog was… just a dog. Kaden went to stand up and the dog howled a little. “What?” Kaden asked, a smile breaking out on his face as he looked down. “What do you want?” The dog leapt up onto his knee, clearly not done with pets. Goofy grin plastered all over his face, Kaden reached down and scooped up the dog and started giving him more scritches and scratches, cooing a little at the old guy. “Look at you, you’re just a good boy. You are. Anyone would be lucky to have you, right? Yes.” Kaden nearly forgot that he wasn’t alone, that Effie was curled up, away from the dog. He coughed, cleared his throat, tried to find whatever professional dignity he might have left to find. “You want to pet him? He’s not going to eat you.” He finally noticed the gloves she was wearing. “Maybe without those. I mean, if you want. Up to you.”

“I told you I thought he was going to eat me,” Effie mumbled, still embarrassed by this whole situation. She looked up at him, about to ask why the dog would ever look different before she remembered that the poor animal control workers in this town probably saw more bullshit than anyone else. She deflated slightly. Maybe this would give him an actual break. “No, he always looked like that. I just -- I’m scared of hound dogs. I’m sorry.” She watched as the grumpy french man’s facade melted away and he scooped up all 65 pounds of basset hound off the ground, cooing and cuddling him. The surprise hit her first, and then the amusement. Under that lay something ugly. She was envious of his freedom to play with her dog. She could never do that, not without fear of frying his skin or worse. Effie sat on her counter watching with envious amusement until he seemed to realize that she was watching him. “Without the --” Effie looked down at her gloved hands, before looking at the dog apprehensively. “I’m having a bad hand day,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a lie, of course, she couldn’t tell them. It was just that every day was a bad hand day. Effie quietly pushed herself off the counter, this time landing on her feet as she cautiously approached. Slowly, very slowly, she reached out and patted the dog on the head.

Kaden shook his head and supposed he had to accept that this was just an over reaction. Unless… This was White Crest, after all. Maybe she had seen something real. Or maybe a phobid had enhanced her fear. Who knew. He could hear her heartbeat slowing ever slightly. It was still pounding pretty hard, she was clearly very nervous. Not that her words told him any different. “It’s alright. He’s not going to try and eat you. Pro--” Kaden shut his mouth so fast he nearly bit his tongue. How that word still crept into his vocabulary even now, he didn’t know. “Just trust me, he just wants some love. And I’ve got him so if anything happens, you’ll be okay. Alright?” Kaden wasn’t a very patient man at times, but something about working with animals made it all so much easier to just wait, breathe a moment, and take things a little slower. And it was clear she was trying. If she was going to keep this dog, she was going to have to get used to basic things. Like petting him. So patience it was. “Alright then, suit yourself,” he said and gave her a nod to come closer. Her hand reached out and touched the pup and immediately he tried to wriggle out of Kaden’s grasp, likely to lick Effie’s face. The hunter held tight and kept the dog from getting loose. “Easy there,” he said, keeping the canine steady. “Both of you need to take it slow, got it?” He gave the dog a stern look and in response, the hound looked up and licked Kaden’s nose instead. “Wonderful.” And his hands were full. Oh well. Guess dog slobber it was.

Embarrassment clung to her as Effie watched Kaden coax her to pet the dog. It was so… ridiculous. Was this what her life was? Being terrified of every living thing that came into her house? She pat the dog anyway, though, and he seemed not to mind how strange her hands felt with her gloves on. “Oh!” Effie pulled her hand back in surprise just as the dog licked Kaden’s nose. She froze, feeling the laugh building in her before she could stop it, and a second later she was covering her mouth to conceal the snickering. “Sorry, sorry.” The dog wiggled in his arms and looked down at him, a small smile spreading across her face. “I’m sorry I thought you were going to eat me,” she said to the dog, gently reaching out to pat the dog on the head again if only so he would stop licking Kaden’s face. He went to licking her gloves and rubbing his floppy eared head against her hand instead. She glanced up at Kaden too, her smile turning sheepish. “And for, um, making you kick my door in.”

[plush-rabbit]

Rosemary

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Discord request! Continuation to previous Overhaul things that I’ll link later (hopefully)

His hand is outstretched towards you, white and pristine gloves that protect him from the filth that surrounds the place, grace his hands. Your stomach churns uneasily, the blood creeps closer, slow and heavy like molasses and the filth surrounds you, marking your skin in something that cannot be washed and you turn to Atsuhiro who lays on the floor, his own blood on his body and Overhaul’s words are rich as they reach your ears, clear and sweet like honey, and you look at him with glistening eyes, taking small steps towards him, and your dirtied hand is placed delicately above his lily-white glove and he takes you back.

You keep your gaze down, your hand squeezing tighter around his and he speaks out loud, a tinge of pride laced into his voice. “I wouldn’t fret over their choice for too long. They were always going to come back to me.” You can feel the stares on you, the gazes that turn from disbelief to anger and the pungent smell of copper rises in the air. Your free hand comes up to cover your nose and tears well in your eyes. He pulls on you and you stumble towards him, nose pressed into his jacket and jasmine and bergamot override the bitter scent of metal. “Let’s go. It reeks here.” He keeps you close to him, his hand guiding you as he takes you away from the crumpled warehouse.

-

The room is quiet, Mimic stands by the door, quiet and still and if you were anyone else, if you had forgotten who he was and who he’s loyal to, you might have believed that he had drifted off or let his mind wander elsewhere but you know better. You know that he’s awake, aware and ready to fight, standing still until someone is threatened, until someone walks through the door, until orders are given out and he’s sent out like an attack dog. He’s a weapon for the Shie Hassaikai- for Kai Chisaki. 

You sit curled up on the couch, your hands, adorned in matching white gloves, run over your exposed skin on your arms that perk with goose bumps. You forgot how cold it was here, the sterile air is almost too much, making your eyes water and nose upturned at the overuse of cleaning products. It was much warmer with the League of Villains. It wasn’t as clean, but it wasn’t as cold either. It wasn’t as quiet.

“What are you thinking about?” He sounds almost bored with you, bored with the whole ordeal making you muse on the idea that he regrets bringing you along, to offer you the second chance. 

You turn to look at him, your legs slowly creeping off the couch and they plant themselves on the floor, a soft tap sounding in the room for a moment. “I’m just cold is all,” you murmur, tongue heavy and mouth dry. “I should have worn a jacket, huh?” You smile at him, your arms still wrapped around your frame. 

He sighs and leans against the plum colored couch. His mask points towards the ceiling, his eyes closed and slowly the beak is pointed towards you, honey colored eyes meeting yours and your smile falls. 

“Mimic,” he calls, and in the corner of your eye, you see the slightest movement, a back being straightened and you keep your eyes on Kai. “Go get them my jacket. And make it quick.”

Your eyes widen and you look between Kurono and Kai. “You don’t-” 

“You’re cold aren’t you?” You nod. “I’m merely making sure your return here is comfortable. It’s no issue for me.” You nod and the soft click of the door closing lingers in the room. It’s quiet for a moment that is soon broken by his words. “Do you know who’s coming over today?” You shake your head and play with your hands with fingertips running over the edge of the wrist. “Tomura Shigaraki.” Your eyes widen and you turn your head sharply towards him. “I thought you might have had that reaction.”

“Kai-”

“It’s a simple meeting. It won’t end in bloodshed. I won’t sully you with dirty blood.” You narrow your eyes at him and he leans forward on his knees, his tie dangling over and swayling lightly. “We’re just here to discuss something.”

Your eyes dart around and you look at the door that stays still and unbothered. You look back at the honey golden eyes and shift your body to turn towards him. “And you-” you lick your lips and inch closer to him- “want me here? I won’t take offense if you want me to leave.” Your legs bounce and your hands pat against your knees.

“Stay,” his voice is stern and the hand closest towards you flutters, almost as if to reach out to stop you from leaving him. The door behind you creaks open and in your peripheral a green blur sways. “Ah, Mimic-” a pale arm clad in black reaches past you, hand outstretched and waiting- “hand it here.” He grabs at the jacket, hand fisted around the purple fur and gestures towards you. “Come here, I’ll put it on for you.”

You scoot closer to him and turn your back to him, hands splayed onto the soft couch and you feel the warmth of his jacket around your shoulders, the sleeves of it hanging off and his hands come to wrap around your forearms, pulling gently on your arms and guiding it through the sleeves. The jacket fits around you snuggly, warmth and faint cologne spreading throughout you and you nuzzle into the collar, the purple fur spreading and tickling at your nose. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, shoulders relaxing as you turn back to him.

His eyes crinkle and you give him a soft smile in appreciation. “Of course.” His hand reaches up and brushes against your cheek, curling over and cupping your face. “I need you to enjoy yourself-” his fingertips press into the softness of your face and your brows furrow- “now that you’re back.”

You feel a churn in your stomach and force a smile. “I’m not leaving again Kai.” You press your face close to him and turn your face into the palm. “I promise.” His hand pulls away and you smile, turning back to lean against the cushions.

His phone vibrates and you give him a raise of a brow as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He looks back at you and spreads his legs, hands patting on his thigh as he looks at you expectantly. He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Sit on my lap.” It’s not a request, but a command, something loud and clear in his voice and you pull the jacket closer around you. You move to sit on him, legs coming over and pressing yourself closer to his chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, I don’t have my mask.” Your arm curls behind his neck and your digits curl around the hair that curls at the bottom. His auburn hair is soft and he smells of mint and gardenia. “I can get off,” you murmur, brushing your nose against the side of his head, ruffling at his hair.

His arm comes around and comes underneath the clothing and places itself on the small of your back, the other on your knee. “I don’t mind.” 

You open your mouth and before you have the chance to speak, the door swings open and in walks Tomura, hands fisted at his side and his falters in his step as your eyes meet his. It’s a quick second of hesitation, noticeable but no one comments on it, his steps resuming as he complains about being led around like an ant. Your mouth pulls into a frown and you hand tugs lightly at the soft hair.

The conversation continues, and you let your eyes close, furrowing them and tensing above when a small altercation occurs. A harsh breath sucked in and you hear Kurogiri, Toga and Bubaigawara’s names. You perk your head up and look at Tomura who sneers down at you.

“You already took one of my subordinates and now you want another?” Tomura hisses, rising to his full height as Kai remains seated with you on his lap. “What- they weren’t enough?” You lower your gaze and shift in his lap.

“Are you still not over that?” He sighs and his head lolls to the side, his eyes crinkling for a second before being masked by a tired expression. “Are you going to revert back to acting like a child when something is taken from you? They made their choice. They had their fun running around and now they’re back.” His hand slides away from your back and clasps around your neck. “Now they’re back where they belong.” His head tilts to the side and you can hear the smugness in his voice, high and gleeful, “They’re back with me.” He turns to you and his mask presses against your collarbone. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

A nervous smile appears on your face and your lips part. You sneak a glance at Tomura who stands with fisted hands and you can feel the vexation ooze off of him in waves as he stares at you. You straighten your back and nod mutely, swallowing thickly when he squeezes your knee. “I’m back with you Kai,” you whisper, keeping your gaze on the soft curve of the mask. 

His eyes crinkle and you know he’s smiling underneath the mask, lips curled and teeth exposed in a pompous smile. His hand leaves your neck and he pats at your head, ruffling your hair slightly. “That’s right,” he tells you in a low voice, his hand sliding to the back of your head and pulling through the strands, sends shivers running down your back. He returns his gaze to Tomura who stands stiff as he watches the interaction. “Are we done here? I have a date planned.” A gloved hand travels down and wraps itself around yours, interlocking with yours, the matching gloves bright and a stark contrast to the black that he wears. “Oh don’t give me that look.” You turn to Shigaraki whose visible eye is narrowed and you turn away, looking down at the clean floor. “Stop throwing a fit because they grew tired of you.” Your eyes narrow and you give a side glance to Kai who continues to speak with a domineering tone, hands moving and brushing along your body until they wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, the hand on your knee and moving to your mid-thigh and hooking his hand under it, his fingers digging into the plush skin. “Now,” he leans forward and mint wafts gently around you, the fur pressed against his face and you gently brush it away, your attention solely focused on him, “if you’ll excuse us- we have a date to prepare for.”

“Kai,” you murmur, squeezing his hand, hoping for the tense air to simmer down a bit, “if you still want to continue your meeting, I don’t mind waiting.” You curl around him, your thighs shifting and his hand coming to rest above you. You turn your head and your hand raises to wrap around his neck, face aflame and heart beating rapidly as you press yourself close to him, your free hand coming to rest above his chest, curving around his breast.

He hums softly, almost unheard if you weren’t sitting so close to him. “So attentive to my needs,” he voices, the tip of his mask moving to tickle at the curve of your neck and you sigh, exposing your neck towards him in an attempt to protect yourself from getting pierced by it. “I will admit,” he turns his golden eyes towards Tomura, “I am glad you kept them safe.” He returns his gaze towards you, ceasing the mock preening and coming to a still. “I am glad you came back to me,” he says almost lovingly, words dripping sweet and curling over you, sweet like honey and bitter like rosemary.

[nachohypno]

Nate and Dave Ch. 12

I feel like weekends are particularly exciting ever since Dave started hanging out with me, like a week or two ago. Is it bad that I already forgot how life was without a werewolf soulmate looking out for me? I feel like I’ve known him for my entire life, and he just moved to the town like two years ago.

Back to what I was saying. My ‘dates’ with Dave consisted of going to the forest and just having a good laugh, or staying at his/my room and cuddling a lot. At school, it was a bit more difficult, due to reasons you may already know.

But, we’re coming to terms with our relationship and veeeeery slowly, we’re opening up for the public.

That’s also what I had planned for today’s date. A good sunny Saturday noon, perfect for spending the day with the guy I love in a public place like the shopping street.

Besides, I’d like to resume my little investigation project. I already know about Dave’s behavior at school, he acts like he owns the place and he pretty much does. At the forest, he apparently feels at ‘his element’ with his inner wolf. In the bedroom, or more specifically, in the bed, he’s a king.

Out in the real world… He’s still good. Surprisingly, the guy was apparently born to be the best.

I didn’t put much effort on my looks. A plain purple shirt and some jeans would do the trick. When the time to leave had come, Dave waited for me in his car in front of my house. The jock ditched his varsity jacket in favor of a black tank top and sunglasses. He looked pumped up, so I wondered if he just left the gym or something.

“Ready to hit the forest? Pretty ready to fetch the stick today” He said, as I entered the car and sat down. He pulled me in for a kiss, before finishing with a swift “Or I could fetch your stick, bruh… If ya catch my drift.”

“Well, while that sounds interesting” I could see his smile growing a little. “… I thought about having a change of plans. Wanna go to the shopping street we got your collar at?”

“Uh… yeah… but I thought we were trying to avoid being together out in public?” The jock asked, confusion was pretty clear in his voice. “I mean, not that I care, just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“And I’m not! If anything, I don’t think I’ve been pretty fair with you by asking to keep our thing a secret. And we’re both adults so… there shouldn’t be a problem with us just… hanging out and doing goofy boyfriend stuff?” I replied. I wasn’t lying, I did feel bad sometimes when I thought about how I would feel if my boyfriend asked me to act like I didn't know him.

And luckily, Dave wasn’t going to complain. He took off the sunglasses and looked at me with his beautiful blue puppy eyes.

“I love doing goofy boyfriend stuff with you,” He said, the flirty tone returning. “and if anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll protect you. Nothing to worry ‘bout, it’ll be a perfect date!” Dave put on his glasses once again, before grabbing the wheel and starting to drive away from my house.

‘Okay, too late to go back now. I’m doing this for him!’ I thought, reassuring myself that it was the right thing to do. Of course, we could wait until high school is over in a few couple months, but I felt like Dave would love to have me around during his ‘king of the school’ years. Kinda sure he’ll take back that role at college, but maybe it’ll ease the ‘blow’ for everyone when we go to the prom together?

…Not like anyone will say anything though, the big guy has the whole place on his paw!

Geez, being the soulmate of the alpha jock in school is the best thing ever. I just love him so much!

------

We got around the shopping street quite fast. Dave is a good driver, and focuses on the driveway to avoid causing an incident. Every time we stop at a light, he likes to take a few moments to check on how I’m doing or to make some nice chit chat.

The jock parked once we arrived, and reached over to grab his stuff at the glove compartment (Taking the chance to steal a quick kiss from me before hopping out of the car).  I smiled, and followed him out of the car.

As any other normal Saturday, the shopping street was pretty crowded. Different girls and guys going around in couples or groups, some people handing out pamphlets or performing in the middle of the street. You could even see people dressed as famous cartoon characters and taking pictures with the children.

Dave intertwined his hand with mine. It gave me a bit of the chills, causing me to pull back and leave his hand there.

I couldn’t see Dave’s eyes due to the sunglasses, but he seemed to be sad and confused at my sudden change of mind. “I-I’m… sorry…” I said, before grabbing Dave’s hand again, and holding on to it.

“Everythin’ okay?” The werewolf asked, looking at me with concern. I nodded, slowly. “Yeah, just a reflex. Still haven’t gotten used to this, huh.”

We both sighed in relief, starting to walk towards the shops past the parking lot.

I wished I could see his eyes through the sunglasses though. Not gonna lie, his attire was pretty hot (Kind of inappropriate due to the incoming winter, but I assumed he wasn’t cold at all). And I feel like I could have done better myself…

“What’re we doing today, bruh?” He asked, as we walked away from the car.

I haven’t thought about that. Shit.

I looked around, quickly. I couldn’t come up with anything good, and just threw the first thing that clung to my mind. “I thought we could… buy some new clothes…?” It was lame and I wanted the earth to eat me.

But, Dave agreed with me. “Sure. Sounds like good fun.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but the jockboy just stared at me and waited for my reaction.

“Wait, you’re okay with it?”

He nodded, his smile growing bigger. “I mean, Lee used to drag me with her and make me hold her bags. I won’t mind if my soulmate wants to do the same, and I love spending time with you so… I think it’ll be fun, babe.”

Okay, I’m not a big ‘fashion fan’ or whoever it’s called. As you may have seen, I don’t pay much attention to my appearance besides the normal stuff to being seen as a respectable townie.

You’ll usually see me wearing nerdy tees with cartoons or jokes printed on them, paired with some jeans or shorts depending on the time of the year. I don’t have a body to show off, being pretty average with my not-really-big belly but not thin either.

Dave, on the other hand, looked good with anything. He does have the body to show off, and I assume that was helping his confidence quite a bit (Maybe besides the point that he can crack anyone’s skull if he gets mad enough at them).

We entered a men clothing store. The place was pumping some background music, but it wasn’t loud enough to be annoying and make me not hear my own thoughts.

The people behind the counter barely noticed us, until a woman that seemed to be in her thirties waved and said something like “Hey guys, looking for something in particular?”

“Not really, just gonna check around with my bruh” Dave answered, giving me a good smile before taking off his sunglasses and placing them at the tank top’s neck. Maybe he didn’t want to seem like an asshole who wears sunglasses at interiors? Who knows.

He stared at me for a bit longer, before moving to a few racks of tees and pants. I didn’t know what he was looking for, I was mildly paralyzed because I haven’t thought so far ahead. I took a long deep breath, before regaining my cool and walking over to Dave. “Saw something cool?”

The werewolf jock nodded, taking a green tee that seemed a bit fitted for my taste, and some leggings. “Wanna try these out? Bet ya look great on these.” Man, he seemed to be enjoying this shopping stuff more than I. Not gonna pop his bubble though.

“Uhm… sure, I’ll give them a try.” I answered, grabbing what he had picked for me and walking over to a few dressing stalls at another room, next to the bathrooms.

I felt a bit ridiculous, honestly. I undressed and left my regular clothes on a little bench, before putting on what Dave picked for me. ‘If he picked something for me, then I get to pick something for him, right?’ I thought to myself.

“Hey, Dave?” I called for him, but got no answer. Huh, maybe he’s a bit far? That doesn’t make sense though, he has heightened senses!

A minute or so later, the guy entered the dressing stall and looked at me. “Hey, lookin’ pretty good.” He said, almost whispering. I don’t know if they allow two people to be in the same stall, but we can just pass as two bros helping each other out, right?

“Huh, y’think so? Never used fitted tees before.” It didn’t look half as good as it would look on Dave. Never been too athletic, so I had nothing to show off, as mentioned before.

“I mean, you look great with everything, even better when you wear nothing, babe” That was a bit of a lame flirting attempt, but still, highly appreciated. I looked at myself in the mirror, and he took advantage of the moment to wrap his arms around me. “Should I leave or—”

“No, it’s cool. I like it here…” I tried to move my head to face him, but he surprised me with a mouth invasion. I loved everything about it. The taste, his smell, his movements, everything was great. “…I like you” I changed my words at the last second after the kiss was over.

“I love you, my soulmate. And hey, you look really good in those clothes.” A quick smooch on my cheek before letting go of me. “Mind if you pick something for me? Be fun about it if ya want, I’ll take whatever you choose.” Great! Just as I expected!

And he gave me an idea. One that would activate my dom vein. “Really? Huh… Wanna be a good puppy boy and zone out for me, then?”

It didn’t take any effort from my part.

Dave zoned out like he usually did, tongue lolling out and blankly looking forward. “Let’s see… drop the shirt and give me a good smile” I ordered, hoping that there wouldn’t be people at the other stalls or an employee next to us.

Of course, Dave did as told, revealing his sculpted body with short fuz (He likes to keep himself smooth, but being a werewolf can make that hard, apparently) as his tongue went back in. His face now showed a perfect dumb smile.

“What size of clothing do you wear, puppy boy?” I whispered.

“I wear L, bruh…” He mumbled his answer before his face became stiff once again. Walking out of the stall but making sure the curtain was well closed so no one would wander in and find the dazed werewolf, I went towards the clothing racks.

I wasn’t planning on playing the fashionista nor anything but… A red speedo was the first thing I grabbed. I don’t know if they’re good for using them as a normal underwear but Dave would look hot on them.

A bright yellow long sleeved shirt that seemed pretty fit, combined with some black jean shorts. He would look funny, probably. It was his request!

After grabbing the clothes, I walked back to the dressing stalls and entered Dave’s. Luckily, the shop’s employees seemed to be busy drinking coffee and gossiping at the counter.

Dave still looked perfect. And seeing him in his zoned out state always made my cock twitch for a bit. I smiled at the perfect view, and gave him a quick kiss.

“Now, strip naked, big guy” I ordered, still in whispers. He didn’t answer, but did as I said. Soon, he was showing off his body in all his naked glory. His cock was rock hard, of course. My puppy boy was always ready for action!

“Put this on” I handed him the red speedo, and he moved almost robotically, with lazy movements, as he got the speedo to cover his big junk.

…It was still completely visible though, so it wouldn’t do a good job without something on top of it. “Wait… let me pose you, got it?” Dave nodded. I grabbed his arms and made him flex, like some kind of statue or mannequin. He still had his dumb smile and blank stare, so he looked like some kind of beach boy.

“Good puppy boy,” I praised him, scratching the back of his ear. He didn’t react to it, but I guess he would appreciate the praise. “Now, these ones…” I handed him the shorts and shirt.

Okay, I have an awful fashion sense, but he still managed to look really hot. The shirt clung tightly to his body muscles, and the jeans managed to hide the big erection that escaped the speedo.

I grabbed his arms again, and made him pose like the “I had to do it to ‘em” meme, just for a good laugh.

“You can wake up now, puppy boy” I mumbled, and stared as he regained his senses.

“Whut… How’d it go?” Dave tried to ask, before looking at himself in the mirror. “Damn… Do I look hot?”

“You always do, big guy.”

“I know, but do I look hot to you? You’re the one that matters here.” Aww. I felt myself blushing a bit, before nodding.

“You look stunningly hot.” I replied. He leaned in for another long kiss, before we changed off the clothes. We still had to pay for them!

“Huh, never thought about a speedo,” He mumbled, before looking at me. “Now I wanna do a pool party or something like that, bruh.”

I chuckled, then finished changing into my old clothes. Dave grabbed my new clothes and quickly walked towards the counter. “I’ll pay for everything, don’t ya worry.” The jock said, before I could reject his offer.

He was already offering his card to the employees, so it was too late to stop him, right?

A few minutes later, he waited for me at the entrance with some bags. “Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, walking away from the store, a few bags on his hands.

 ---------

 The jock sat in front of me, taking off his sunglasses and leaving them hanging from the tank top’s neck again. His plate had two big burgers, each one with three meats. “Werewolves are hungry all the time, or do you just love food?” Uh, that’s a horrible thing to ask anyone. “Not judging, just curious…” Saved it!

He gave me a smile. “Huh, never thought about it. I do love food, and my wolf metabolism lets me eat whatever I want with barely any consequence on my good physique. Bang!” He finished his explanation flexing both arms.

I chuckled, making a mental note. Dave reached out for his burger before adding a quick “Don’t get surprised if I eat too much, most of my family works like that, bruh.” And giving a bite to the burger.

I looked at my own burger, and started eating too.

Honestly, so far, being a werewolf sounds like a good thing. I don’t know if Dave’s hotheaded personality is tied to his alpha/werewolf status or it’s just who he is, though.

We barely spoke, due to our mouths being filled with delicious meat. I could tell that Dave enjoyed his meal, but he also looked very intently at me and tried to make funny faces every time our eyes crossed paths.

It made me laugh, not going to lie. I was having a good time, overall!

Well… until…

A young girl approached us, probably around our age? She looked like a student, but I don’t recall seeing her at the hallways. Maybe a sophomore or junior?

She was nervous, that was clear. “Heeeey, how’s the meal going?” The girl was cute. She had braided black hair and olive skin. Her accent made me think she was Latina, but I wasn’t sure.

Dave was the first one to answer, due to swallowing his burger faster than I. “Uh, pretty good”

I don’t want to be the jealous weirdo, but I was mildly afraid he may be checking her out. ‘You’re his soulmate’ I reassured myself. The girl was, of course, not interested in me at all, which added more salt to the wound.

“So, umm… This is awkward buuuut… may I get your number? My friends over there” She pointed to a table meters away from ours, a group of three girls staring at us “made a bet and… geez, I fucked up, right?”

‘Kinda, yeah.’ I thought, looking over at Dave and hoping he would take care of the situation.

Before giving out an answer, the big guy looked at me and his smile went down for a bit. “Look, I wouldn’t really mind but… I’m pretty much taken and we’re in the middle of something here.” I was screaming inside, feeling so proud of the puppy boy!

The girl’s face turned red, and quickly started to apologize as she slowly backed away. Dave didn’t stop looking at her until she was far enough. Then, he spoke.

“Your face is so easy to read, babe.” He threw at me, mockingly, after the girl was gone. “Don’t worry, not gonna ruin our special day, my love.”

“I know, I know. Couldn’t help but feel a bit… annoyed?” I shook my head “Anyway, not important. Where would you like to go now?”

“Babe, you’re important, the most important thing in my life,” Dave answered, reaching out to touch my hand and softly caress it. “And honestly? Kinda glad to see you worried about me. Makes me way more glad to have gotten you this!”

He reached down to his pocket and took a little package. “Bought this when you were trying out stuff. Thought it would be a neat detail, after you gifted me a puppy boy collar!”

I grabbed the little package and carefully opened it. Inside, two necklaces lied. A locket with a keyhole on the middle, and a key, both necklaces being held with each their own chains. “I tried to look for something with meaning, and which better thing than something that… uh…” The jockboy tried to explain a bit more, but I could tell that he was out of ‘smartsy words’ already.

“I own the key to your heart?” I asked, grabbing both pieces and handing him the locket part.

“Yeah! Oh, wait. Open it first, bruh.” He handed it back to me, and I proceeded to open the small locket.

Inside of the locket, a little note could be read. ‘My heart, body and mind belongs to my lovely soulmate Nate Hall —David Walker’. “The store’s clerk looked weirded out when I wrote that. Also, sorry for not being there when you called for me.” He finished, as I closed the locket again. Huh, so that’s where he was.

Needless to say, my face was red. Like, completely red. I’ve been hearing Dave the mean jock saying cheesy lines for the past few weeks, but he surpassed himself this time. He was the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for, no need to struggle against that now.

I’ve never been one to express many emotions, especially when around a crush or romantic interest. Never got the confidence to actually express them.

It was different now.

“I… I really like it. You’re the best!” I handed him his locket and placed the key necklace around my neck.

“Nah, your collar was a better gift, I think. I have a hard time picking gifts, but that one seemed like a good one.” He shrugged, probably trying to take importance from the fact that my lovely puppy boy seemed a softie. I loved when he acted like that, though. Dave is really sweet when he wants to be.

Dave placed the locket necklace around his neck. I don’t know if it would interfere with the bowser collar when we play in private, but I didn’t care. Dave always tried to do nice stuff for me, his soulmate, and I think I should start to reciprocate a bit more often.

“So, you get to pick where we go next,” I told him, trying to change the subject. I was out of words already, and I didn’t want to get too cheesy in the middle of the street. I was really thankful, though. “Any ideas?”

“While going out and shopping with you has been way better than what I thought…” I noticed he still had to get through his second burger. He gave it a huge bite before swallowing and finishing his sentence. “I think I’d prefer to head home now. My home, with you, and a pair of beers, by the pool. Sounds like a plan? I could even make good use of that amazing speedo you got me.”

The idea of an almost naked Dave wearing a speedo made me giggle a bit. I stole a fry from his plate and nodded. “Sounds like a plan” I don’t drink, but I could use some relaxation time with the best jock in the world.

-------

Chapter 13 is already available in my Patreon!  And by pledging you also get access to other stories before they go public!

[hellhoundsprey]

Here is the second one: In the "sequel/future!ficlet" for "50", I would love to see Smith and Wesson's interactions after Dean fully embraced his submissive side. Again, full on Explicit "actions"! :P You are awesome!!! :D

continued: Oh!!! Thirsty anon here!!! I forgot to say, that I would LOVE if Smith would have his nipples pierced and have a Prince Albert with a ring representing his marriage to Wesson. Tons of feminization and Dean being able to take Sam's fist in him. Thank you!!! :D

 Okay look I love you. Know that you have my heart.

Also, those are some amazing headcanons, fuck. Some of them don’t exactly line up with my understanding of these specific idiots BUT let’s see how they work this out.

warnings: sexual coercion, bad bdsm etiquette, non-consensual body modification, abusive relationship (since this belongs into the canon of 50 it’s all in all 100% bad news bears tbh)

includes: sub!dean, dom!sam, swesson, orgasm control, cock cages, bondage, married couple

~

It hasn’t stopped raining these past few days. Hammers against all windows, every surface—unrelenting, like a constant headache. Nothing is safe.

The rain ruined at least one of Smith’s silk ties, so far.

“Looks good.”

The antiseptic stings. Doesn’t burn anymore, no. (Not like he’d admit to that.)

“I think we can swap out the ring any day now.”

Dean comments, flatly, “Yay,” eyes bored and pointed to the bedroom ceiling. “You done yet? I’m getting cold.”

His husband argues how, “I let you keep the shirt on,” and Smith rolls his eyes.

Dean lolls his head to his left to face the window. The ocean’s in an uproar just outside, licks at the shore like it’s about to climb it. Devour the world; them. Everything.

Sam puts his supplies back where they belong—containers and boxes, clear acrylic; stainless steel. The sounds are so familiar, calming. Like someone prepping their daily cup of tea. Always the same order—antiseptic, tweezers, more antiseptic, cotton into trash, tissues into trash, gloves.

Except that the gloves don’t come off, this time.

Dean warns, “Stop it,” and earns the complementary, “I can’t help it. Looking so good right now, pet.”

Latex on the inside of his thigh, slapping him like you’d do it with a horse; the other hand cups his balls in not-so-subtle threat.

Dean grumbles, “They said four weeks. Four, Sam,” but does spread his legs further apart.

Sam climbs between them, blindly, scoffing. “It’s not like I was gonna touch it. Calm down.”

Dean rumbles his disbelief but turns so Sam can kiss him on the mouth. Can slip their tongues together, and Smith gets his feet on the mattress so he can let his knees fall outwards more comfortably.

Sam’s hand keeps busying itself with Dean’s balls and Dean reminds, “I’m not supposed to.”

“You’ve got the cage on. Don’t worry.”

Sam deepens their kiss. Eats at Dean’s mouth and Dean’s eyes slip shut. Fucking storms at night fuck his sleep up. He’s always exhausted, these days, Riley and the dogs or not.

Hands into Sam’s hair. He holds on. Feels his breath hitching upon Sam popping a button or two of his shirt, worm his hand in-between.

Finds one of the other rings, here, and tugs.

Dean pleads, “Sir,” and gets his balls pulled at.

Dean holds still. Doesn’t speak again. Let’s the heat roam and shoot, sharp like pain, lets Sam lick into his mouth as much as he wants.

Sam rolls his pierced nipple between forefinger and thumb.

Says, quietly, “You will kneel on the floor and wait,” and Smith bites, “Yes, sir.”

Sam lifts and disappears just as quick as he had climbed the bed, climbed Dean.

Pulls off the gloves now, audibly, snips his now-bare fingers while he’s already on the move.

“Today, pet.”

Dean doesn’t complain. Doesn’t argue. It’s not one of those days.

His dick fucking hurts.

He leaves his shirt on the bed, just to make any sort of point. Folds his legs underneath himself, knees pointing outwards, arms behind his back. He’s done this too many times to be anything but flawless about it.

Eyes closed, he already begins to swim, to float. The rain lulls him in. The ocean calls.

His fingers stop dancing over his own forearm as soon as the familiar rhythm of Sam’s footsteps reaches his ears.

He grips it, hard, instead.

Sam snaps his finger again, points to the ground by his feet.

Dean sighs. Probably deserves that one, for the shirt.

He shuffles over, settles back into the pose.

Sam backhands him.

For the sigh, obviously. (Worth it.)

“Does it hurt?” all casual, as Sam bends down to secure the blindfold around Dean’s head.

“Which one, sir?”

“Any of them?”

Dean lies, “No, sir,” and hears Sam squatting down in front of him. Feels that breath, close, before Sam reaches for his chest again.

Asks, “You sure?” as he twists, and Smith keeps his mouth under control; doesn’t grind his teeth and breathes through his nose.

“Yes, sir.”

The other side, now. “Even when I do this?”

“Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t know why he lies. Sam will pick up on him sweating his ass off once he ties him up, anyway.

An illusion of control—Sam lets him have this one. As a treat.

(The man’s gotten soft ever since Smith had agreed to the goddamn piercings. Looks at Dean like a love-sick puppy when he thinks nobody notices (not even Dean, not really). Even got a babysitter for the whole week. A deal is a deal.

The goddamn negotiations though had nearly been enough to crack Dean’s head open for good. Thank god their next big anniversary is another decade away.)

“I think you’re gonna take my arm today.”

“Okay. Sir.”

“Only ‘okay’?” Smith can hear that frown. “You want your tits clamped so bad, you could’ve just said so.”

Dean grits, “Yes, sir,” and, yeah, his pits are drenched.

Fuck. He’s too tired for this shit.

Sam secures his arms for him, makes another trip to the playroom for the clamps. Clips those over the week-old piercings and Dean nearly breaks. Nearly folds forward, inward.

Doesn’t. “Hurts?”

“No, sir.”

“And you know why?”

“’Cause I’m fucking perfect,” snarls Smith, and his laughing husband pats his cheek all gentle, all play. True love.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

[kny-secret-santa2019]

From: @gardenofdreams-fanwriter

To: @just-another-kny-writing-blog

Brace yourself, Rengoku isn’t taking the game lightly.

~

The fireplace was beaming with light and warmth but in the loving arms of Kyojurou it’s where you actually felt cozy. In the bed you were dozing off on his chest for sometime till now, you’ve awaked from the best nap ever and feeling his hand petting your head gently. Smiling at you, ‘Hey’ very airy he said then kissing your forehead, you briefly close your eyes to relish the feeling of his love. Is it evening or late night, it’s really not clear what time is it, it feels like heaven resting your body on him and to hold on his shirt with your lolled fingers. The dimness of this room couldn’t hide how charming he is, the shadow glide over his face as he continues on whatever he’s busy with in his hands. His right arms around you were constantly yet carefully moving and working on, he’s been sewing (It’s something he picked up few months ago, he’s always finding new things exciting). You look at his hands below your head twists the woollen thread, he’s making something but you can’t tell what it is.

“It snowed a lot while you were sleeping” he said, prompting you to go out with him outside.

“Really!?” you said pushing yourself off him then linger above him, pinned your arms on the pillow behind his back. Excited, you grin at him drawing out a smile on his face too, then he asked “Wait a sec-”

Unaware of what’s to wait up for, he sits up then you sit on his legs to watch him continuing on the thing he’s been sewing between his hands, swiftly he twist the thread. He seemed to be finished with it, he looked very excited till you asked elated “Oh are you done with that too? Show me!” Tying the end of it, he cuts the thread between his teeth then placing the woolly piece on your head. H—… It’s a hat?! He’s been sewing a hat! A hat for you!!

“Now you’re snow ready” excitedly he commented when you only could focus on this heart-warming gift he just gave you, radiant smile from your heart to your face have compelled you to hug his neck “Thank you, thank you, thank you” you said “You were making a hat for me!? I’m so happy I could burst like fireworks”. He pulls down on the hat on your head to cover your ears, then you look at his eyes while he continues to say “It’s near the end of the year, I wanted to gift you something you can keep with you as a reminder of our times together. Before it’s late to or whatever may happen in the future…” “Besides, you needed a hat”. With an ambivalent smile and inner brows lifted, you understood his worries but he’s the light that of which diminish your worries and so you wanted to be that same thing to him “Don’t you worry my sunshine” reassured him, moving your fingers through his hair and tucking it behind his ear “We’ll stay together, always”

“Let’s go!” with happy wide-open eyes you said, reminding him of the enthusiasm he had a moment ago to go out in the snow.

Outside was cold but it wasn’t windy or snowing, the snow was glittering on the ground under a dark navy sky. Your thick shoes were sinking through it making crunchy noises, Kyojurou was looking at the serene scenery beside you, meander a little near the house. “COOL ACOUSTICS!” he speaks up, playing around and making noises in his shoes repeating “so cool, so cool” he’s been waiting all year to do that again. He looks so cute with a scarf around his head and a long coat along with the gloves that makes his fingers look big, you giggle and go next to him as you think that as he notice you left a button open. He tries to button up your jacket with those gloves; you can’t stop staring at his wide pretty golden eyes but it’s a nice opening to launch your attack. You’ve hidden a snowball behind your back before approaching him and now it’s time to surprise him, you smash it on his face then you dart a little to prepare another snowball. Gathering some snow between your hands as he was grinning and wiping the snow off his face, which was getting a little red from the cold, he notice what’s already in your hands and say “If you throw that snowball you’re declaring war!”

Thud— right on his shoulder, you threw the snowball and kept giggling for a while, you had to crouch to laugh some more.

Thump— Kyojurou threw an even bigger snowball on you that push and knock you on the snowy ground. “OH SHIT!!” though with a joyous tone he screams shocked that you dropped in the snow; he forgot he’s strong for a second there. Several paces to reach you, he went and extend his arm to pull you “I shouldn’t get excited—” his arms was pulled by you and dropping him in the snow with you, you laugh and roll on your stomach to push yourself up but he hurry to grab on your torso and pulls you back down. Both of you were laughing like kids on the snow but then Kyojurou went on top of you, looking like the happiest man alive before leaning to give you the softest kiss ever. Coyly smiled beneath him, his gloved hand brush on your cheek, this moment seemed too important to him just from the way he’s serious now, sweetly confessing “I love you” which made your heart flutter in your chest. He pulls the hat down onto your ears again like he did back at home, then smear a little snowball suddenly on your face “Back at you!” very happy he said.

You could careless about that snowball war after what he just said, you rub off the snow still feeling fluffy inside as you look up at his lovely smile. He can play like a kid but through that playful side of his, he still remain the same protective, caring and loving Kyojurou, your Kyojurou.

This night isn’t done till you get him flustered then get him in the face the same way he did to you. Whenever that is, now you could only pick some snow in the palm of your hand and push it onto his face.

[tendertenebrosity]

TJ and Danny, Part 4

The conclusion of my series set in @wildfaewhump‘s Path Verse! Thanks Vic, I hope you liked this fanfiction! Previous parts 1 2, and 3

Danny walked through the halls of the Agency, jacket slung casually over his shoulder. He raised a hand in greeting to people as he passed them, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile for the scant handful of them that he actually liked.

He’d been at his desk for the last couple of days, doing paperwork. As much as it bored the hell out of him, he had been glad of it, because if he was at his desk it meant that his Path was being allowed some downtime for the first time in weeks. Back to business as usual today, though.

They hadn’t listened. Danny’s hand curled into a fist at his side, and his mouth tightened in the anger that was starting to colour most of his interactions in this building. Why did none of his superiors ever listen to a thing anybody else said? Did they think Danny had gotten his degree out of a cereal box? Did they think their staff just liked to hear themselves talk?

Danny had warned them, and they hadn’t listened.

 The previous week

“She… she went up the stairs to get the, the gun,” TJ said, standing with his fingers resting on the arm of the accused.

The courtroom was hushed, hardly a murmur as the assembled people listened intently to TJ’s quiet, detached voice. The accused was holding herself rigidly, jaw clenched, eyes closed, the muscles of her arm tense under TJ’s fingers.

“She thought, she was thinking about, she was afraid. He keeps the gun in the spare room. Her hands were, were shaking, she couldn’t get the doorknob to turn, he was yelling… downstairs… she…”

TJ shivered, twitched, hunched over forward, and his narration faltered.

Danny stepped closer. “Still there, kid?” he asked under his breath. His Path was pale, had been all morning, and twitching at every sound. When it had been time for the reading, though, he’d held his hand out for Danny to guide it to the subject. Unhesitating, trusting.

“…Kid?”

The thin shoulders rose and fell. “Yes,” TJ choked. Danny could see his head turning, fitfully, jerkily moving around like he could see things happening in the corners of the room even though Danny knew full well he couldn’t see anything. Not good. This reading was too much.

TJ lurched upright, started speaking again in fits and starts.  “He – he hit her, he hit her, in the room w-with the kettle and the l-little blue and white plates, he said – I’ll kill you – plates breaking, have to call John – he said – ”

That was familiar. They’d already had that fight related to them. He’d jumped back a few weeks.

“No, TJ, you said that bit,” Danny said, frowning. Despite his misgivings, he pressed onwards. This needed to be quick - get in, get the information and get out. The less time in other people’s heads, the better. “You went back. She was going upstairs to get the gun, remember? What happened after that?”

TJ turned his head towards Danny’s voice. Danny saw, with a twinge of alarm, the blood that was starting to ooze down TJ’s lip from his nostril. He suddenly reconsidered. Maybe he ought to call an end to this reading, to hell with his instructions. Deal with the bureaucratic whining later.

TJ blotted the blood against the back of his left hand, smearing it away.

“O-oh. Yes. Yes, the gun. Upstairs. Tripping, falling over the stuff in the spare room cupboards. She picked it up – ammunition, she doesn’t – she doesn’t know – ow… oh, no…. h-h-h-h….”

TJ stood stock still, shaking violently, his breath coming in gasps and heaves.

No. Enough was enough. Danny realised, sickly, that he’d let this go too far. He stepped forward and reached out to knock TJ’s spasming hand away from the accused, and time was moving slowly as treacle, but he was much too late anyway.

The Path fell like a puppet that had had its strings cut. No attempt to soften the fall or go in any particular direction. A heap of long thin limbs in Agency scrubs, lying on the courtroom floor twitching and shuddering violently.

Danny swore, a bolt of fear and guilt going through his chest. He dropped to his knees beside the Path, hands going to the thin shoulders, rolling him over and pulling him up. “Kid?”

Danny could hear surprised gasps and murmurs, and the accused was backing away, but Danny had no time for them. TJ was seizing, shoulders jerking against Danny’s grip. Blood was smeared across his face, hands tremoring - and then the Path suddenly went limp in Danny’s arms. The face that had been twisted in distress under the blindfold went lax, and the head fell back against Danny’s shoulder.

Cursing himself for a callous bastard, Danny checked the pale, exposed throat with gloved fingers. Pulse rapid and weak, the skin hot. He didn’t respond at all to the touch.  

Danny spared a glance around at the courtroom. Shocked, confused faces.

“He’s overloaded,” Danny found himself explaining in a flat voice. “He needs to go back to the Agency right away. If you’ll excuse me.”

He managed to gather TJ up, one arm under his knees, the other around his shoulders, head lolling against Danny’s chest.

He spared a moment to make sure that none of the Path’s exposed skin was going to touch Danny’s before pushing himself to his feet, cradling the Path awkwardly in his arms, and heading for the door.

 Of course, then they’d had to postphone the hearing, and all the rest that TJ and Danny had been scheduled to work that afternoon, and the woman had made a serious complaint about being forced to go through the trauma of a second reading. That, Danny thought sourly, is probably the only reason they fucking did anything.

Danny had reached his destination, turning corner after corner in the hallways of little grey-painted cubbies that housed the Paths.

He’d told them the Path would break under the strain eventually. They were only flesh and blood. Maybe the higher-ups who didn’t have to actually handle any Paths anymore forgot that.

Deep down, Danny knew he might rail at his superiors, but he was just as angry at himself. Hadn’t he been trained to recognise overload? Why had he ignored his instincts? Just because some suit had told him he fucking should? Since when did Danny abdicate his responsibility like that?

Danny unlocked the cubby with his keys. Regardless of Danny’s frustration, TJ should be much improved today, after his treatment.

When the door swung open, TJ was standing in the middle of the little padded space, waiting for him.

Danny stood in the doorway and looked the Path up and down. His colour was better, no more trembling, not clutching at his opposite elbow with one hand like a broken thing. His head was held upright, blindfold secure over his eyes. His scrubs were neat and clean, and his thin hands were clasped nervously in front of him.

“Morning. How are you feeling?” Danny asked.

The Path’s chest moved, up and down, a rapid breath. “M-morning?” he said timidly. “Okay. I mean, I’m… I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Feeling up to some work today?”

“Oh, yes.”

Danny watched the Path, uneasily. He certainly looks better. But.

Something about the way he had responded was… off.

He didn’t smile. Normally, when he first heard Danny’s voice in the morning, the tiniest tremulous smile would touch the Path’s lips under the blindfold, and he would turn his blind head towards where Danny was. Today… nothing. Polite readiness, but no smile.

“Hey, Path,” Danny said slowly, suspicion creeping over him. “Do you… know who I am?”

The Path licked his lips nervously before he spoke. “My… my new handler?”

Danny pushed back the outrage that swelled in his chest for a moment. Idiot. Idiot. You knew he was going to the Class A, what did you expect? Didn’t you fucking warn them he wasn’t going to be functional much longer? 

Are they going to do this every fucking time? Wipe the last few months clean and start over? They think that means you can drive them as hard as you want?  It - it offended Danny’s sense of good practice, that was it.

TJ was fidgeting in the middle of the cubby. He cocked his head nervously. “Is that – not right?”

“Nah,” he said gruffly. “That’s me. I’m your handler.” He stepped into the room to take TJ by the arm, noting the way TJ ducked his head and tensed with an odd ache.

Danny was being a sentimental idiot. It didn’t matter if the Path remembered him, as long as it did what it was told. Soft-hearted goddamn moron that you are, you ought to be happy. Isn’t this for the best? Like he fucking wants to remember the last three months?

“Buckle up, sunshine, let’s go,” he said. “There’s work to do.”

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch1

Summary: You were an ordinary nurse, working your way towards balance when the Qlipoth appeared. That all changed when a dark-haired stranger intervened and saved your ass. He and his outlandish companions sparked your curiosity and as the days passed you formed an unbreakable bond with them all. But what happens when your newfound family faces their fate?

(My first fic, a shameless rewrite of the events of DMC5 featuring V x Reader. Angst, fluff, romance and a passable attempt at slow burn. Multiple endings and sequel in progress. I am currently rewriting it chapter by chapter, but the total word count should hover around 150k. Enjoy!)

Ch1: An Introduction to Demons

---Reader---

May 16th, 8:13 pm

Your gloved hands desperately pressed against your patient’s split flesh, his blood oozing between your fingers as your colleagues prepared the surgery room. The poor man was awake, terrified tears streaking his face as he stared into your eyes, praying you’d save him.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” you told him, forcing your agonized mind to project calmness and reassurance in your tone. It seemed to work; his eyes blinked and the fearful furrow of his brows eased slightly.

 Come on, is that room ready yet? He doesn’t have much time left after losing this much blood.

The linoleum floor beneath your feet, normally stark white and freshly bleached, was covered in blood. Your feet were only able to stay stable due to your mandatory anti-slip shoes. The red puddle had been growing for ten minutes as you urgently held this man’s life in your trembling hands. Most nights weren’t like this, most nights the worst you had to deal with was an idiot who hadn’t been paying attention and had touched a hot stove, or maybe if things got really crazy someone would come in with a broken bone.

Rarely did you hold someone’s life in your hands. It never got easier, or less stressful.

The man’s eyes fluttered closed; his head lolled back on the gurney and your heart jumped, knowing how important it was to stay conscious at that point.

“Sir, no, you have to stay awake! Come on, wake up!” your petrified voice uttered, the sound almost foreign to your ears. He didn’t stir, and your panicked thoughts dropped into cold realization as the steady drip of his blood on the floor slowed.

 He’s not going to make it. Goddamnit!

“Someone get me some O negative, now!” you screamed desperately. One of your fellow nurses dashed over with a bag, the fluid red and angry looking as she rushed to get an IV prepared. She checked the man’s pulse, searching for a vein to tap. Her eyes met yours in a shared moment of sadness as the look on her face told you everything you needed to know.

The man beneath your hands was dead.

You pulled your shaking hands away from the gash in his chest, caused by a car crash on the nearby interstate, a chunk of metal having sliced deep into his right pectoral. Your eyes filled with tears at your failure as you unsteadily walked to a nearby hazardous waste bin to strip your bloody gloves off.

There was no other urgent need for you so you stepped away to take a moment to breathe, coming to terms with your inability to save the man you had assured would be alright. You sat on the curb outside as your tears fell, chest heaving in a silent sob.

 It’s never enough, I’m never good enough… I need to get better, get faster, stronger… Have to save the next one like him.

After a long moment whose length you couldn’t tell, you heard a siren approaching. Another ambulance, racing in with another person who needed help. You stood, shoving your pain away to focus on the now, on the next patient whom you might actually have been able to help.

__________________________________

The rest of your shift passed with little incident; blessedly no other patients died that night. You stripped off your soiled scrubs in the locker room, ruminating once more on all your failures. The faces of every single patient you’d been unable to save passed through your mind and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to never forget a single one. Your heart clenched as the man from mere hours before passed in your mind’s eye, his face frozen in a look of strange peace. Reassured by your words that had turned out to be a lie.

“Y/N, you okay?” a voice beside you asked gently. You turned to face the speaker, another nurse coming off shift. You couldn’t recall her name, never having bothered to learn it. Her perky blond ponytail swung as she tilted her head to look at you, blue eyes showing her concern as you clenched your jaw angrily.

“I’m fine,” you ground out finally, and she frowned more deeply at your not fine tone.

“You did everything you could for him, you know. You can’t save everyone and you can’t blame yourself or it’ll destroy you,” she murmured quietly.

Her words triggered your mind to remind you painfully of the very first person you had failed, the image of her corpse still so clear in your memory. You gulped nervously, trying to subdue the dark thoughts as you responded to your colleague.

“I know… but I should’ve been able to save him,” you whispered brokenly. The young woman bit her lip as you struggled to hold back your tears, but as the first sniffles broke through she wrapped you in a hug.

 Caitlyn, that’s her name… Caitlyn.

You hesitantly returned her comforting hug, accepting it for the slim reassurance it could provide. Your breath came out in gasps as you withheld the worst of your pain, not knowing enough about Caitlyn to trust her with your past. Even as the thought formed in your mind, you caught a whiff of her shampoo as her ponytail swung past your dripping nose.

 Cinnamon. Just like Lara.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, frozen like a deer in the headlights as the painful memories rushed through you. Over the years, you’d gotten skilled at subduing them whenever something brought it back to the surface, and you used all your will power to shove it back down into the hole you kept it buried in. Even so, your heart ached at the reminder, making sure you never forgot that day. You pulled away from Caitlyn, arranging your features to show her a teary smile.

“You gonna get home okay?” she asked you kindly. “I can give you a ride if you need it.”

You nodded your head, a rueful glint entering your eyes as you looked at her.

“I live two blocks away. I’ll be all right. Thank you, Caitlyn,” you answered, wiping away the last remnants of your tears. You couldn’t help but hope she’d leave you alone now, and to your relief she turned away to leave with a final worried glance.

The walk home was usually a time of quiet reflection for you, a chance to review all you’d done in the hours at the ER and to tally the lives saved against the lives lost, the scales never tipping to the side of life enough for your satisfaction. That night, you couldn’t remember a single person you helped over the last few hours, the guilt over the single death too heavy to bear.

 If only I’d gotten him a transfusion from the start. If only the surgery room had been ready. If only, if only, if only…

You sighed to yourself as you looked forward to the bottle of whiskey waiting for you in your tiny apartment; knowing you had the next day off, you planned to drink until you couldn’t think anymore. A tradition whenever someone died in your arms, something to indulge in to avoid the solitude of your lonely apartment, where not even a goldfish waited for your return.

The familiar wooden sign greeted you from over the doorway as you reached home, its cheerful yellow paint welcoming friends inside. You liked to pretend you’d someday actually invite someone over, but in the five years you’d lived in Red Grave City, you hadn’t allowed a single person to enter your heart, let alone your home.

 Too easy to get hurt or to hurt someone. Better to be alone.

The cheap door creaked open and you quickly closed it behind you, alone at last. The keys went in the small bowl on the side table in the entrance, coat on the hook. Shoes kicked off to the corner. With a soft click, you turned on the lights of your small retreat.

You shuffled your way into the living room, the whiskey waiting for you on the coffee table as you plopped into the cushions of your hideous orange couch. You didn’t bother with a glass, taking a sip straight from the glass bottle as you flicked on the television. You took another long gulp as you looked for something to watch, eventually settling on an over the top romantic comedy.

You kept drinking and the terrible movie became funnier with each tingly swallow. By the time the film was over, you were buzzed enough to be satisfied. Another movie began and you pulled your throw blanket over you as you settled in to watch, letting the fantasy take you away from your own problems.

__________________________________

 “…live from downtown, still unclear what exactly I’m looking at but it appears to be some kind of structure, Lisa.”

 Deet deet deet deedle! Deet deet deet deedle!

The standard ringtone of your cell phone felt alarmingly loud as you slowly cleared the fog from your mind. You barely glanced at the TV screen as you groggily fumbled for the small device, hitting the green “accept” button and holding it up to your drool-covered cheek.

“Hello…?” you mumbled.

 “Oh, thank god! Honey, where are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

You sat up with a grimace at the panic in your mother’s voice, her shrill tone a far cry from her normally calm demeanor.

“Mom? What’re you talking about?” you replied quizzically.

 “The tower! It’s all over the news!!”

The confusion swirling in your mind shifted to fear as you saw the screen at last, the reporter standing before a massive grey structure in an area you easily recognized as only a few blocks away.

 “…started only a few shorts hours ago. Officials are urging residents to stay indoors until they can assess the threat, but many locals have come to see the tower for themselves. Some religious groups are already flooding the area, claiming this to be a sign from God. All I can say for sure, Lisa, is that this thing is now the tallest point within three miles…”

The reporter continued talking, but you weren’t paying any attention anymore as you took in what he was talking about – the enormous grey tower that stood behind him in the shot, dominating the screen and dwarfing the mass of people crowded by its base.

 What… the… fuck…?

Chaos erupted on the screen a moment later as something punched a hole through the tower, what looked like a man and a huge beast jumping down from the new opening milliseconds later. They were too far from the camera for you to see them clearly, only dim outlines in the background of the crappy TV you’d had since college.

 “Did you see that?! What is going on? Honey, you need to leave before the roads get too crowded! It isn’t safe there!”

The reporter on the screen was clearly as baffled as you were, his mouth dropping open and eyes widening comically as he struggled to find words to describe the scenario. He kept glancing back to the structure as he tried to do his job, but before he had the chance to speak again, everything changed.

Something had clearly gone wrong with the camera person; the view shifted to one from the ground as if the camera had been dropped. You could hear screams and watched in bewilderment as a tendril burst from the ground, its tip a gleaming point of sharp thorns. The image of that cruel spike streaking forward to embed itself in the reporter’s stomach dissolved the last of your remaining buzz, sobriety hitting you like a brick wall as his wails of terror echoed from your TV.

 “Oh, god… Y/N, get out of there now! RUN!”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call you when it’s safe. I love you mom!” you answered hurriedly, already rushing toward the door. You stuffed your feet back into your work shoes, slung your jacket over your shoulders and grabbed your keys. Out of habit, you took a moment to lock the door behind you before sprinting down the hallway.

Outside, you got your first look at the structure for yourself.

Its massive form rose from downtown, black and imposing. You followed its outline with your stunned eyes, looking for the top but unable to find it; it was far too tall. The structure wasn’t here when you had gotten home from work, and construction couldn’t possibly have erected such an imposing thing in the scant time since then. Its origin couldn’t possibly be natural.

 So… where did it come from then?

A low rumble broke your confused thoughts as you watched a tentacle burst through the asphalt ahead. Your baffled mind struggled to process the sight as the cruelly sharp tip darted down to embed itself in the stomach of another pedestrian, a scream of pain following its sickening squelch as it struck home.

Bile rose in your throat as you instinctively moved, rushing forward even as your mind screamed at you to run away. The hideous tentacle pulled back, the impaled woman falling to the ground bonelessly as it rose again to search for its next target. A surge of adrenaline gushed through you, and you somehow managed to dodge the spike as you reached forward to pull the woman out of its range. Her blood left a streak of crimson on the sidewalk behind as you dragged her to safety.

Only then did you look down, taking stock of the damage.

Her face was already frozen in death, a look of utter terror and bewilderment marring her plain features forever. You shuddered, adding her face to the ever-growing ledger of death in your mind. You stood slowly, wiping her blood on your jeans and turning away. The street was crowded by then, more and more people coming outside to see what all the noise was from.

 This is bad. They’re all going to die if they stay here.

“Hey! Everybody! You can’t stand around and watch, you’ll die! Come on, let’s go!” you shouted, a scant few heads turning to listen but far too many people ignoring your warning. You marched up to a young woman tugging a child along by the hand, their faces more curious than scared. You reached out to tap her shoulder and she glanced back at you as you spoke.

“Lady, you’re gonna get yourself and your kid killed! Look, see those tentacles? I just saw one stab someone to death with just one stroke. You have to leave, now!”

She paused, her eyes shifting to see the tentacle you indicated. Her curiosity turned to fear as she took in its sharp point, giving you a grateful nod as she turned away to drag her child somewhere safe.

You repeated your dire warning to over a dozen more bystanders, but only a third of them took you seriously and ran away. You shoved your tiredness down, your long workday making your steps drag slightly as you pressed on, determined to save as many people as you could.

You watched in horror as another few tentacles sprouted from the ground, impaling a few unlucky souls and raising their bodies like trophies to the sky. More bile rose in your throat as you heard their wails of pain and confusion. You kept moving forward, still shouting warnings to anyone who’d listen. Another tentacle rumbled out of the pavement a mere three feet from where you stood, its cruel tip gleaming in the streetlights. You stumbled slightly, leaning against the brickwork of an apartment building to keep yourself from falling to the ground.

Your exhaustion tugged at you fiercely and your eyes fluttered closed against your will as the tentacle took aim at you. All thought ceased in your mind as your death approached.

With your eyes closed, you didn't see the dark-haired man sprinting at you. You didn’t see him drop a hand-carved silver cane and slide on his hip towards you as if he was stealing third base for the Yankees. You didn’t hear his low grunt as he pushed his arm out, rising to his feet just in front of you. You didn’t see the intricate pattern on his arm lighten, or the panther explode into existence mere feet in front of you, killing the tentacle with a single swipe of its lethally sharp claws almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Instead, what you next perceived was a warm hand on your side, pushing you to the right. You opened your fear-dilated eyes, shocked that you’re still alive, and immediately caught your breath.

The man who stood before you wore a look of concern on his ridiculously, unfairly handsome features. His intense gaze caught your attention first, irises the shade of muted emeralds, glinting with every flash of light. Dark eyelashes framed his long stare, thick eyebrows only adding to the expressiveness of his piercing gaze. A prominent nose flowed from his brow line above his full, pink lips, parted as he breathed heavily before you. Beautifully intricate tattoos covered his body, partially concealed by his clothing but clearly visible on his long, toned arms. The black of the ink on his skin only served to contrast his alabaster skin tone. His hair was as dark and shiny as obsidian, barely brushing the collar of his black leather vest.

"You must move, you cannot stay here!" the beautiful stranger declared urgently with a voice like velvet.

Goddamnit, could he be any more attractive?

You tried to take a step but discovered you couldn’t find the strength, your exhaustion overwhelming you at last. He paused, seeming to study your expression and huffed in irritation.

"Fine, I'll help you then," he announced, and suddenly you were against him. You blushed scarlet as he picked you up, carrying you in his lean arms towards a nearby van. The motion shook you out of your worn-out stupor enough to be embarrassed by your helplessness.

"I - I'm sorry, I think I can walk now," you told him shakily.

He gently placed your legs on solid ground with a nod. He turned to survey the area, presumably to check for more tentacles. You took a moment to search for nearby people you could warn and found a pair, shouting the now familiar warning as you saw the panther fighting. Its form shape-shifted periodically into new shapes full of sharp edges and harsh points and your mind struggled to comprehend how this was possible, trying fruitlessly to make sense of all the outlandish sights you’d seen in the last ten minutes.

 What the fuck is going on?

The stranger grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the van once more, and you tried to focus on the vehicle to avoid thinking about how many of your neighbors were now dead. It was an odd contraption, clearly customized with a neon sign on the side which read “Devil May Cry” and a laughably false phone number listed beneath it. Its grey and white paint was coated in dust and what looked like blood, not all of it dry. On his way to the van, the stranger only paused to lean over and pick up an ornate silver cane, flicking it to his side in a clearly practiced motion. You found yourself once again unable to comprehend what happened next as a cloud of black shards left his tattooed arm, drifting to the air nearby and forming a magnificent blue bird, the strangest you’d ever seen with a three-pronged beak and purple legs that seemed far too large for its body.

The bird laughed and dove at the nearest tentacle, slashing it with its talons. You heard the outlandish creature curse as the tentacle tried to stab it as it attacked.

The back door of the van suddenly crashed open, drawing your attention as a white-haired man leaned out. He was young, around your age if you had to guess. An absolutely huge sword was strapped to his back, and he waved you forward with an oversized pistol in hand.

"Hurry, we gotta go NOW, V!" he hollered. He hurriedly stowed the pistol and reached out to help you inside, the dark-haired man not far behind you. To your surprise, the panther also jumped into the van. The second you were all inside, the van took off at a speed that was nearly as terrifying as almost being impaled by mysterious tentacles, accelerating faster than you imagined a vehicle of its size could manage. Outside the van, you caught a glimpse of the strange bird you saw moments ago, flapping hard to keep up with the racing vehicle.

"Hold on, folks!" a feminine voice with a southern drawl yelled from the driver’s seat. You grabbed onto the nearest solid object, an odd countertop hidden in the corner and held on for dear life as the van dashed through the city, to somewhere (you hoped) very, VERY far away.

---V---

V looked over at the young woman he'd just rescued, wondering how long it would be before you were calm enough to think clearly. Your hands were shaking, eyes wide and dilated. As he watched, your jaw clenched and your hands steadied as you inhaled deeply. You closed your eyes, let out the breath in a reassuring sigh and turned to face him as the van sped past the crowds of terrified residents, various pieces of kitchen equipment and power tools clanging at every pothole Nico drove over.

"Thank you for saving me. I... I think I would be dead if not for you," you whispered softly. Your eyes were still fearful, but you seemed coherent enough. He took a moment to gaze at you, taking in your appearance. You had gentle features; a kind face. He felt an odd sensation in his stomach as he recalled your words.

"And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Are you alright? Perhaps you ought to sit down," he responded gently and gestured at the worn couch under the window.

You nodded and cautiously made your way to it, keeping your knees bent to compensate for Nico’s wild movements. As you moved, V studied you more closely. He was curious - most civilians didn’t exhibit this level of stoic acceptance after first encountering the demonic roots, not to mention the fact that you had been actively trying to warn others and urging them to run. Your quick calmness was... intriguing. He couldn't tell if you had any demonic blood, but you obviously weren't unfamiliar with fear. No one who could calm themselves that quickly was new to the feeling, he knew.

"My name is V, that's Nero, and Nico is driving. Griffon is outside and her name is Shadow. What shall we call you?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the van wall casually. He gestured to each named being as he introduced them, Griffon and Shadow returning to him as the vehicle got farther away from danger. Your eyes widened as the black shards sank into his skin.

You glanced away, quick to look elsewhere as your cheeks flush slightly, he noticed. Perhaps she’s embarrassed about needing to be saved?

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you all,” you responded finally. “Um, do you know what those... tentacle things were? Where did they come from?"

V smirked. This might take a while to explain.

---Reader---

 Demons.

 Demons are real.

 Demons are real and attacking my home.

"Holy shit," you exclaimed, eyes wide, looking back and forth between the two men. "So, wait, how do you kill them? Why are they here? How can we stop them from killing people?"

Nero laughed, but not unkindly. He seemed genuinely amused as he sat down on your right, leaning back against the couch cushion nonchalantly.

"Slow down, Y/N! They aren't too hard to kill, at least the lower powered ones. Pretty much anything that would kill a human can kill a demon; guns, swords, punches, you get the idea. Don't really know why they're here, but V might."

V smirked, his full lips twisting in a way that made your eyes flick to them for a heartbeat too long. You scolded yourself; this isn't the time for that!

"They are here because of Urizen. The Demon King, as he calls himself. For now, we should find somewhere to rest, gather resources. As for you, Y/N, forgive me but you don't seem like you're quite up to fighting demons. We can take you to the edge of the city, but from there you must make your own way to safety."

You paused, considering his words. He wasn't wrong; you had no combat experience and didn’t know how to be helpful in a fight. Not to mention you were completely terrified, as well as you tried to conceal it.

 This is insanity. These people are mad, fighting those things. We should all just run, go somewhere else and leave this city as far behind as possible.

Yet even the thought of abandoning the people still in the city felt... wrong. You didn't want to run from this, especially not with this feeling, like you were magnetized to this group. You couldn’t just walk away when so many people were dying; you had to balance the scales!

 I’m going to get myself killed. What am I thinking, I can’t help people if I’m dead! But.. there are so many people here. They’re all going to die too.

You took a deep breath before speaking, brutally shoving your fear to the farthest corner of your mind and focusing on what little you could do to help the small group.

"It's true, I'm not really a fighter. I’m a nurse, and I've been studying surgical procedures to prepare for medical school. I can help you if anyone gets injured. As much as I'd like to not have to face those things ever again, it wouldn't be right if I left. I wouldn't feel right," you explained uneasily, hoping the group didn't judge you too harshly for your previous terror.

V raised an eyebrow at that, then glanced at Nero. “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest,” he recited simply. Nero shrugged, and for the first time you got a good look at his right arm. You gasped as you saw the haphazard bandages covering a stump, blood stains showing in a deep rust shade, a recent amputation that clearly hadn’t been taken care of properly.

"At the very least let me dress that! You'll get an infection or sepsis; it could kill you!"

V snorted, to your surprise. "You mean he would be... dead weight?" he commented, obviously amused. His intense emerald eyes flicked to yours as if sharing an intimate joke, and you smiled at him hesitantly.

Nero turned red, muttering to himself for a moment about someone named Dante, then nodded at you sullenly. Clearly V’s words had hit a sore spot.

"Fine, when we stop you can take a look," he grumbled. He shot a glare at V, then shuffled off to sit in the front with Nico, leaving you alone with the obsidian haired man. You could hear them talking for a while but couldn't tell what they were saying. You turned back to V, mind still whirling with questions.

His long fingers pulled a thin book from within his leather vest, clearly preparing to read. You swallowed your questions for the time being, not wanting to interrupt the strange man’s reading.

 I need to rest; I can barely keep my eyes open. The adrenaline must be fading.

You leaned back into the couch, reassured that with this group you could sleep in safety, closed your eyes and drifted off into oblivion.

__________________________________

You dreamt of the past. Your mind never blessed you with pleasant dreams anymore, always seeking to understand, to learn more from memories that your waking mind knew would bring only pain. Memory is the enemy of peace, after all.

The familiar sounds were there, as always. The crack of glass breaking and the high-pitched screams of your friend, the unmistakable sound of her gasping breaths.

Then the visuals. Shadows dancing like a sick ballet on the wall of the shed. Dead eyes staring up at you as a warning. The flash of light on gleaming steel as ---

__________________________________

You awakened with a jolt as Nico slammed the brakes, causing you to slide unceremoniously into V. He had sat down at some point next to you. With lightning reflexes, his arm shot out and held you close as the rattling van mercifully slid to a full stop, keeping you from falling to the floor. You could feel him breathing under you, smell his scent of leather and lavender. The combined sensory input was... intoxicating. You tried to pull away, but he held you for a split second before letting go. You blushed furiously, sure that he was teasing you. You couldn’t bear to look at him so you missed the look of regret he gave you and didn’t see him lick his lips before speaking.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he inquired softly, his tone almost a growl.

You internally cursed his voice for having such a pleasant sound before responding.

"Yeah, thanks for the help... again."

V chuckled under his breath, then returned to his reading. Sitting so close to him, you caught a glimpse inside the pages to see a flowing script and beautifully colored illustrations. Forgetting your embarrassment and the lingering fear from the nightmare, you asked what he was reading.

"Poetry. Would you like to hear some?" he responded, his voice like warm honey.

The thought of his voice reciting poetry sent your mind spinning. Nope, no way, nuh uh, you’ve already made enough of an ass out of yourself, so you just hold your horses there, girl. There’re bigger things to be worried about anyway, like DEMONS!

"Sure,” your rebellious mouth stated.

 Goddamit. Stupid mouth.

He smiled, gaze returning to the pages as he chose a piece to read.

“I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem, In England’s green and pleasant land,” he recited, his voice melodious and perfectly timed.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, the words rolling in your mind as you digested them, finding meaning in the short excerpt as a low hum of recognition passed through you. “Is that… William Blake?”

V nodded, seemingly taken aback.

“You enjoy poetry?” he asked you.

You felt your cheeks tinting as he studied you intently as you replied, “I guess you could say I’m a bit of a bookworm. Literature is a gift.”

The outer corners of his lips twitched, smiling for a fraction of an instant. If you had blinked you would have missed it. He seemed pleased by your response and you smiled at him shyly, shifting your weight awkwardly.

“I couldn’t agree more, much to our companions dismay. They are of a different mindset,” he replied thoughtfully.

“What’s your favorite poem, V?” you probed him, enjoying the chance to talk with someone who shared your enjoyment of words.

“I’ve come to enjoy The Book of Thel a great deal, are you familiar?”

It rang a bell but you couldn’t remember any details of the work.

“I read it many years ago, though I can’t remember any of it now,” you responded.

“Allow me, then; Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find; ah Thel is like to thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.”

You sat in silence, letting the words sink in. V’s soothing voice added a layer of complexity to them, sounding quite sad and mournful as he recited.

Luckily for you, Nero chose that exact moment to trudge over to you with a small red box labeled "first aid". He sighed, seeming to have resigned himself to your treatment.

As if it isn't in his best interest anyway.

"Let's get this over with, Y/N," he grunted. V stood and gave you a nod as he walked away a few feet to continue his reading. You focused your mind on the task at hand, pushing the memory of his voice away.

---V---

V watched you gently remove the bandages from Nero's arm, trying to figure out his reaction to your words. None of the others he had become familiar with enjoyed poetry, several rolling their eyes the first few times he quoted a line in conversation until they became accustomed and ignored it entirely. He felt his heart warm slightly by the shared enjoyment, a distraction from his mission. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. He must remain focused - he didn't have time for any fellowships or pleasant conversations.

Yet still, he found himself watching you redress Nero's arm, wondering what your touch felt like. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps he simply wanted to be touched, to feel connected? That would explain most of his reactions to you so far.

 Enough of this. Focus. Too much is at stake.

He mentally shook himself and returned his gaze to the words on the painted pages before him, forcing himself to pay attention and read the now familiar text.

  I am in you, and you in me. Mutual in divine love.

V sighed and rolled his eyes.

 How unhelpful.

He glanced back at you and Nero, seeing you smile at something the white haired warrior had said. Laughing. He wondered what that felt like as well, to share mirth in such a way with another person.

A memory played in his mind, of many years ago. It was a simple one, a trifle really. He was playing with Dante in the backyard, not long before... before. The two of them were laughing together over a fort they had built out of sticks, the structure haphazard and childish. Their mother was nearby, keeping a careful eye on them as they played.

He smiled softly at the thought, wondering if Dante had any fond memories of them as children. Somehow, he doubted it.

Again with the distractions. Enough is enough.

V looked out the window, easily spotting the already massive tree in the center of town. The sight helped him focus, helped him remember his priorities.

---Reader---

After removing the old bandages, you took a moment to examine the wound. It was in bad shape, looking as if Nero had initially seen a doctor but later popped the stitches in at least three places, leaving open wounds to fester and bleed freely. There was already a slight infection, but nothing too serious if he let you take care of it and didn’t do anything stupid.

“How long ago did this happen, Nero?” you asked.

“It was April 30th, so sixteen days ago,” he informed you as he watched you examine him.

“Ah, alright then. It should heal fully in about two to six more weeks, until then you need to change the bandage at least once a day, if not more,” you explained to the willful young man.

You dug through the poorly organized first aid kit, finding an unopened bottle of antiseptic and several rolls of bandages. Some gauze patches lied on the bottom.

 Perfect, now all I need is a towel or a bowl.

You looked to your left and right, eventually finding a small cup that would work well enough. You carefully angled Nero’s arm over the cup and got the antiseptic ready.

“This will hurt a bit, Nero,” you warned him. He nodded, ready, and you slowly poured the fluid over his injury and let it drip into the waiting cup below. He grunted but didn’t pull away. Once the drips had slowed enough, you laid a gauze patch over his half-healed stitches, using one hand to hold it in place as your other reached to grasp the bandage roll. You used your teeth to get the first portion open, proceeding to gently but firmly wrap up Nero’s arm. You used the scissors from the kit to cut the end and secured it with a satisfied smile.

“All set,” you told him.

Nero carefully moved his arm, testing the bandage's flexibility. You knew he would, he seemed the type to never hold still if he could help it. You’d seen many people like him come through the emergency room, struggling to hold still as you treated whatever they came in for even as their lack of stillness worsened their condition.

"Feels good, Y/N! Thanks! You are handy!" He jumped up, throwing a few experimental punches, bobbing and weaving like he was in a boxing match with Muhammad Ali himself. You laughed as he feigned dodging a blow; his antics allowed you to forget the horrors of what you’d witnessed for an all-too-brief moment.

"Hey hey hey, not in the van! Take it outside, jerkwad!" Nico exclaimed hurriedly, coming out from her perch in the drivers seat. She pushed Nero towards the door, forced him outside and slammed the door behind him.

“Sheesh, what an ass…” she muttered under her breath, but you could tell she meant it with affection. She looked like she’d be happiest on a construction site or in a garage. A multitude of tools were strapped to her shorts and you could see oil on her arms, along with tattoos that seemed to revolve around guns and skulls. She pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as she leaned over to you.

“Hi, I’m Nico. Welcome to the Devil May Cry-mobile, I’m your resident genius gunsmith and artist extraordinaire. You joinin’ the team? Would be nice to have another lady along for the ride!”

Your eyes flicked to V as your thoughts debated your options again.

 What about my life? What about going back to school, learning to be a trauma surgeon? Can I really justify putting that on hold, maybe even abandoning it entirely to help these people?

 …How can I not?

V smirked knowingly but nodded before following Nero outside, waving his hand through a cloud of Nico’s expelled cigarette smoke as he passed.

“I guess I am,” you replied, smiling and doing your best to ignore the panic in your mind at the thought of staying in an area full of... demons. The thought of their existence brought a surreal feeling to your mind and you wondered if this entire day had been a dream. A new nightmare shaped to ensure you paid it the attention it demanded.

“Awesome! You wouldn’t happen to know how to cook, would’ja? Nero’s hopeless and V’s somehow worse, and my cooking skills don’t extend beyond cereal and mac and cheese,” she asked with a smile on her face.

You found her smile infectious, and you felt your own lips stretching into a grin as well as you responded, “I’m no master chef, but I get by all right.”

She clapped your back in a friendly manner, taking a pull from her cigarette. The tang of nicotine filled the air as she exhaled, the enclosed space holding the smoke captive. You ignored the scent, used to it after years of exposure.

“All right! Well, we’re probably gonna stay here for the night, kitchen’s in that corner if you’re hungry. The guys generally sleep outside but I think you could squeeze in here with me for now. Sound good?”

You nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance of you even as your mind still struggled to control your overwhelming fear. You found yourself warming to her quickly, despite a history of not getting along well with other women. Glancing at the kitchen, you spotted the cereal she mentioned sitting atop a stovetop. There were a few cupboards but not much else. You hoped you could gather some basic food staples in the morning, but for now the call of hunger was weaker than the call of rest. You yawned, almost cracking your jaw in the process.

“Here, I’ll get ya a pillow and another blanket, bout ready to crash myself!” Nico commented. She opened another cupboard, pulling out a small but fluffy looking pillow and a fleece blanket. She handed them to you, put out her cigarette in an ashtray nearby and gave you a salute before climbing a tiny ladder to what you assumed was a hidden bed.

“Goodnight, Nico. Thanks,” you said through another yawn. You heard a soft click and the van went dark.

“No problem, new girl. Night!”

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[vertigoambrosia]

wttf day 1

i think i’ve been spoilered a bit

oh we starting off with some oberhausen history?

jk it’s all for a clumsy metaphor

LMAO they didn’t even do a VO for dominic garrini and his partner

i forgot how cursed the lineup became

norman harris and david starr is...a thing? i guess they didn’t have a ton of choices tho

karsten ilu but you should at least get new accessories for tag festival’s color scheme

alan just smiling at the camera cause he doesn’t have a mic

lol bless jay skillet

ah yes, basically the match we saw last week. you’d think the cancellations would be an excuse to make the 1st round matches a little better?

i guess that would mean tweaking the entire tournament tho...

jay trying to get a little orange cassidy look going on there?

wait why is ahura wearing pants? and a shirt? this is very weird

wtf he didn’t even take off his shirt

AH ok here we go

note to ahura: do the striptease before the match

lotta slaps going on here?

AHURA JUST DO IT OMG

boi

BOI

goddammit you stupid hot boy

hahahaha absolute shurrle

its funny that ahura is so into himself cause maggot is definitly the prettier one

pls have ahura save the day for once

let my dumb boy do good

i know he’s good at selling but still

also rico needs to stop calling pretty bastards ‘kids’ it’s very fucking annoying

yaaaay the team with working brain cells won!

awwwww

oh here’s these dramaticv edgelords again

“ANARCHY”, they say VERY SERIOUSLY

man i want purge club to make a shirt i actually want to wear

oh god pete’s committed to the napkin shirt thing isn’t he

the only thing about purge club in wxw is that they should be booed cause they are bad people but that’s just nbot really going to happen

pls boo heels

hahahaha people booing schadenfreude

probablhy cause they’‘ve been so mean to lucky

oh nevermind i forgot schadenfreude could literally shoot a puppy and people would love them

so is ivan’s turn not going to be a plot point? because....it shoudl be and commenbtary don’t seem to want to mention it

i wish they had recorded a promo with lucky before this but i guess they didn’t have time since he wasn’t even supposed to be in this match

rico: “pete bouncer looks amazing. i look...great”

now complimenting andy jackson’s physique

rico also likes purge club’s gloves

andy jackson loves ivan even commentary is having some feelings here

pete over there being SERIOUSLY SINISTER

lmao andy said ivan is probably the best wrester in germany and rico’s like ‘and his partner is the best looking wrestler in germany’

i would ask them to Calm Down but that would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

‘i just hope lucky has found a family that is not going to betray him’ me too, andy

lucky and kyle are getting a lot more offense that i was expecting

i cant tell if i feel the pacing is off or if i’m just feeling off

i guess pacing is the wrong word...i guess sometimes it’s feeling like more of a series of spots than a coherent match with beginning, middle, adn end?

but also i think it’s that lucky and kyle have never really looked in peril

umm rico lilac is a shade of purple

also in english we pronounce it ‘lie-lack’

i would have liked to see purge club look a little more dangerous than they have been here

i mean, i’m not pissy about them winning by weapons, because that’ what they do, but they don’t seem particularly more brutal otherwise

not even much sadism

i don’t know anything about flamita

i like jonathan gresham

i’ve honestly been not horrible excited about tag league and i’m kind of out of it rn anyway so forgive me if i don’t get particularly engagved

loll did flamita hit someone

i do not approve of gresham’s extra muscle

he looks real top heavy

that’s not how octopuses are built!

*gresham voice* oh i know you are not thinking of chopping me....how fucking dare you

plot!

oh i thought robert was gonna get attacked in the bathroom

oh fuck inner circle had important plot points?

avalanche’s new jacket looks like it has crushed glass glued to it or something

yeahhhhhh workhorsemen!

i would have liked to see anti-fun police go up against jay AA or pretty bastards

oh btw this is the first time i’m actually watching these dudes

i will say that the workhorsemen ccan be pretty fun straight men though - i laughed pretty hard in new york when the crowd started chanting ‘he’s a heavyweight’ at kyle fletcher and jd drake was like “????????????”

hahaha i didn’t know santos carried heat

wait i thought british cops didn’t ahve guns????

wow alan’s bringing up fucking evolve storylines

FUCK he’s even bringing up stuff from when i was watching evolve

btw jd drake is actually james drake but changed his name once british james drake got signed to nxt uk

i still have to remind myself not to call him james sometimes

[he’ll always be james to me]

sorry chenny my southern boys > your cop boys

so i saw something on twitter that may be a spoiler for this match? or one of the crown’s matches? anyway we’ll find out

norman harris is a child

aj is stretching out a child

rela talk tho norman needs a character real bad cause rn he’s just toll young boy

also rico and andy need to like, chat a lil less about jurn’s physique

i know that’s like, most of his character now but he aint that special

i would say what ass holes are booing david starr but it’s probably mike kilby

oh fuck is aj ok i feel like he’s taking some nasty shit here

oh he just tried to murder norman he ok

i have no idea who is legal now

god i love how much of a fucking shit aj is

~ooo i’m gonna kiss him before i kill him ~

AH THAT APRON SPOT

HAHAHAHAHA

YESSS

FUCK THE CROWN

lmaoooo aj’s face

why is rico so gung ho for the crown can’t we just have them be heel

oh jurn has his SERIOUS FACE

that hug means nothing!

he kissed david and then kicked him in the dick!

HAHAHAH AMAZING

i did get spoiled about AJ turning on jurn and i love it

ew i guess jurn will be face now though? gross

but i am so here for AJ being 1000% garbage

omg lavaniel’s robe

bless this boy

too pure to have brain cells

oh my god he really thinks he lives in the sky

ok wait no bb you are not being cool rn leave my girl faye alone

i love the idea of amale having levaniel as her pet but i am kinda also cringey about how they could fuck it up so easily?

like, whaddya mean by ‘this problem’ starchild?

‘you can take your love and shove it’ BLESS U MIKE

oh god rico shut the fuck up

alan please tag in i can’t take this

also friendly reminder that i hate the concept of mixed tag matches

guys why did i think mike schwarz was tall?

was toby blunt just super fucking tiny?

levaniel has bo dallas level all confidence no brains, doesn’t he?

the dimples

what a contrast -  i could hear andy and rico talk about levaniel forever

LMAOOO did he just fake tag faye by hitting her in the face with mike’s hand

also lol @ amale not actually wanting to do any work

kill the ‘i’m a woman and i’m gonna just flail my hands at my opponent and shreik’ spot

oh man wxw is so fucking clumsy with women’s storylines; or at least summarizing them

you see, amale doesn’t think a ‘woman like faye’ deserves to be champion, but faye jackson ‘represents the real women’

wait so we can’t actually have men hit women in the match but levaniel straight up punches faye aRIGHT IN FRONT OF TAS and nothing happens?

this is what drives me nuts about these

wxw pls actually make faye womens champ i would much appreciate it

also i would not have thought of faye and mike beign friends but i dig it

oh hey arrows!

wait the arrows debuted in wxw in 2015? or did i mishear icarus? cause i’m like 100% sure they first showed up here last year

this is a good promo but this music is wayyy too dramatic

i know dominic garrini a bit from evolve but honestly cannot tell you anything about kevin ku or violence is forever

apparently they team in the south tho and i don’t know that scene at all so

garrini is legit ju jitsu boy

what the crowd singing

oh wtf thta suplex/blind tag/suplex combo fucking owned

dover artfully draping his opponents over the turnbuckle

violence is forever’s combos are super cool

boys where are you going

UM ICARUS

BOY

BOY

btw i should note that alan and rico are really on fire on commentary here

man imagine flying to germany on like, less than a week’s notice, going to wrestle the same day you land, and your crazy ass opponent is like ‘ok so you will be down there with my partner, and i will go on the balcony and then jump off on you guys’

omg these crowd anticipation shots are great

YEAHHHHHH SPEEDBALL’S GONNA BE AT CARAT

chris ridgeway is cool too i guess but i’ve only seen him wrestling like twice and know nothing about him so whatever

oney’s twitter owns bones

IT TIM

veit back to singlets and idk how i feel about that

this one isn’t nipple bearing tho

oh npe we got a slip

god he’s so fuckign beefy

AWWWW TIM’S IN THE TOURNAMENT CAUSE HE THINKS VEIT DESERVES TO BE A CHAMP

that’s so cute

tim is such a good dad

oney has taken a while to grown on me but i love the ‘perpetually angry’ thing

sadly i’m not 100% paying attention to this match because i have so many more shows to watch and also need to go outside soon today

timo’s slap is such fucking murder

holding hands spot

OH FUCK THAT UPPERCUT

lol i could be talking about like, anything in this match

but i was talking about the double team toss/uppercut combo

tim uppercutting people out of the air is always amazing

rico really into burch’s bod

WHAT

WHAT?

w

h

a

t

i am shook

veit :(

[vexy-sins]

Kinktober 2018: BONUS #1 (Day Twenty Continuation)

Pairing: UT!Papyrus x UT!Sans (Classic fontcest)

Featured Kinks: Dominance, Begging

Additional Warnings: Fontcest, Light Bondage, Object Insertion, Facial

Read Day Twenty: On Tumblr | On AO3

Papyrus trained extensively with Blackberry and his brother Mutt for weeks. He perfected each domination technique with ease, eager to try them out on his own brother. Now he stood in front of the door to the home that he and his brother Sans shared in Snowdin taking deep, even breaths and steeling himself for their first impromptu session.

Papyrus would finally establish himself as the dominant partner, and Sans would learn his place whether he liked it or not. Thanks to his special training, Papyrus would make sure that he liked it, craved it, begged for it. Tightening his grip on the handle of the kit that he and Blackberry had painstakingly assembled, Papyrus opened the door.

(under the cut due to length)

Predictably, Sans sprawled across the sofa, one slipper sliding off of one foot, clothes unwashed, and a trail of ketchup stains and chip crumbs forming a wayward trail from his chest to the couch cushions to the floor. The sight strengthened Papyrus’ resolve. He set down the case holding the tools of domination, rested his hands on his hips, and waited for Sans to notice and acknowledge his arrival.

“hey, baby bro,” said Sans, flopping over onto his stomach, sending the slipper plummeting to the floor and food detritus flying. Papyrus hated being called baby bro, and Sans knew it. “what’s poppin’?” Sans somehow managed to pop every single joint in his body with minimum effort or movement, throwing his brother a sideways glance and a shit-eating grin to gauge his reaction, but Papyrus’ sockets were already trained elsewhere.

Sans had one job, one single task that Papyrus had asked him to do for the entire day. It wasn’t difficult; it wasn’t time-consuming. Papyrus just wanted Sans to pick up the damn sock on the floor and put it in the laundry basket, mere feet away. The sock’s continued presence in its crumpled heap on the floor incensed him. He unlatched the case, and the lid flipped open, blocking the contents from Sans’ nonchalant but somehow still observant eyelights.

“I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCK SANS.” Papyrus spoke in a low, serious voice, hands trailing over various implements that he could use on his brother.

“i did,” Sans responded cheekily. His left eyelight flashed with magic, and a blue haze surrounded the sock. It lifted slightly off of the floor before falling back to its original place. Sans laughed.

Infuriating, thought Papyrus. Unacceptable. His gloved hand closed around a riding crop, the perfect tool for the job.

Tucking the riding crop close to his body to keep it hidden, Papyrus stepped forward. “LET’S GET YOU OUT OF THOSE FILTHY CLOTHES, SANS,” he purred dangerously, grabbing one leg of Sans’ shorts and roughly yanking them off, knocking the other slipper off of his brother’s foot. It hit the floor with a thump, followed a moment later by the softer sound of basketball shorts pooling on carpet.

Sans’ hands quickly covered his bare pelvis, but they couldn’t completely hide the excited rush of magic beginning to gather there, casting a faint blue glow on his pale white bones. “whoa, what the heck, Paps? this isn’t like you!”

Without missing a beat, Papyrus tugged Sans’ hoodie up over his head, using the momentum of the motion to pull Sans’ small frame flush with his own. Tossing the hoodie aside, Papyrus finished stripping his brother by pulling the front hem of his shirt over his head and twisting it expertly around his wrists, effectively securing Sans’ arms behind his back. The smaller skeleton still refused to take the situation seriously.

“geez, bro, if i didn’t know better, i’d think you had a bone to pick with me.”

Papyrus responded with a sigh and a shake of his head. He shoved Sans hard into the back of the couch, prying his femurs apart and putting a luscious blue pussy on prominent display. Interesting. Sans had formed a pussy without any instructions from Papyrus. That saved some time... something Papyrus wasn’t entirely sure he approved of.

The riding crop slid between Sans’ plump pussy lips, parting them enough for Papyrus to see his inner folds glistening with arousal. Sans panted softly as the stiff handle of the riding crop rubbed his dribbling slit. The smaller skeleton relaxed his guard, always willing to do absolutely nothing while someone else did all of the work for him. Perfect.

“I THINK IT’S ABOUT TIME WE ESTABLISH WHO’S IN CHARGE AROUND HERE, BROTHER.” Sans attempted to interrupt, probably with a pun or quip, but Papyrus talked over him. “YOU CAN START BY CALLING ME MASTER.”

On the final word, Papyrus flicked the riding crop, snapping the leather end of it against Sans’ clit sharply. The sudden assault to his sensitive nub made Sans screech and arch his back. Finally he understood that Papyrus meant business; finally he was paying attention.

Papyrus stepped back, ready to begin an exercise designed to teach Sans to address him properly. Sans wiggled, missing the attention of the riding crop, desire sending aching jolts through his bones.

“don’t stop,” whimpered Sans. The plea was a promising start, but his brother had forgotten one important thing.

Papyrus lifted one foot and nudged his brother’s fluttering opening with the toe of his boot. Fresh arousal streaked the polished red leather, and Sans gritted his teeth at the tortuous teasing. “YOU FORGOT SOMETHING,” prompted the taller skeleton, twisting his boot to dig into his brother’s tender ectoflesh.

“master,” Sans cried obediently, too desperate to be obnoxious.

Papyrus withdrew his boot. “SAY IT PROPERLY.”

Indecision played across Sans’ features. His desire to give his younger brother a hard time warred with the maddening, consuming lust that would be satiated if he just uttered a few placating, deferential words.

The comedian in Sans did not allow him to pass up a golden opportunity, regardless of the consequences.

“y’know, i’m a master too,” Sans said slyly, hurrying to deliver his joke before Papyrus could silence him, “a master baiter!” The stocky skeleton cackled as his brother’s eyes bulged.

The pun was impressive, but Papyrus refused to admit it. Instead, he twirled the riding crop in one gloved hand before unceremoniously shoving it, handle first, into Sans’ waiting pussy. The action wiped the ever-present smile off of Sans’ face in an instant, replacing it with an open mouth and lolling tongue. Sans’ eyelights rolled back, and he moaned beautifully- music to Papyrus’ nonexistent ears.

The walls of Sans’ greedy pussy clamped down on the slim handle of the riding crop. The initial penetration set off an explosion of pleasure deep inside of him, but it quickly faded. Papyrus didn’t work the crop in and out of him or move it at all in fact. He just left it there. Despite the tightness of Sans’ cunt, the handle didn’t fill him like he needed it to in order to relieve the ache between his femurs. Without the delicious stretch of a larger object or the friction of motion, the insertion only heightened Sans’ sensitivity.

Sans whimpered and writhed. Everything within him screamed for stimulation- something, anything- and soon he screamed aloud as well, surrendering to his brother’s will in hopes of garnering even the slightest erotic touch to tame the burning hunger in his pussy.

“please bro- i mean, Master. please, Master, i’m sorry. please just touch me,” Sans begged, huge tears gathering in his sockets before overflowing onto his cheekbones and running down his face.

The sight of Sans, desperate and begging- crying even- awoke Papyrus’ erection with near painful efficiency. His magic gathered fast into a huge, hard shaft, but Sans had not earned the sweet release that Papyrus’ cock could afford him. Patience would prove to be an effective weapon in dominating his brother.

Papyrus hooked the waistband of his hotpants with a thumb and tugged them down, exposing himself to Sans in all of his thick, glowing, pre-cum dripping glory, and the smaller skeleton actually salivated at the sight, opening his mouth wider and extending his tongue invitingly.

“I DON’T THINK YOU REALLY DESERVE THIS.” Papyrus stroked his cock slowly, spreading the precum all along the length until his cock glistened with it, throbbing as yet another bubble of orange-tinted fluid gathered at the tip. Sans strained to catch it with the tip of his tongue.

Papyrus knelt on the couch, straddling his brother. His cock hovered just above Sans’ face, tantalizingly close. Sans babbled a litany of pleas for his brother to close that final distance and face fuck him, socket fuck him, just fuck him!

Sensing his brother’s frenzied thoughts, Papyrus remained calm, stoic, stone still and completely in control of the entire situation. “ASK ME FOR IT PROPERLY,” he instructed Sans coolly, continuing to stroke himself right above Sans’ uplifted face. He could imagine thrusting his full length down his brother’s warm, wet throat and the way it would feel as Sans choked and gagged around his cock. Not that Papyrus would give him what he wanted; he needed to put Sans in his place, after all.

“please Master,” wailed Sans, squirming and striving to capture the heat of Papyrus’ throbbing cock with his mouth. “please let me suck your cock, Master. face fuck me, Master. use me, destroy me, make me your little cum slut. please, Master, i’ll do anything!”

Growing nearly delirious with the strength of his need, the sound of Sans’ voice drove Papyrus as he jerked his cock fast and hard. Each supplication made his shaft swell with his rapidly approaching orgasm. Papyrus could feel the tension gathering as his hand moved- up down, up down- with increasing speed. He concentrated on the rare treat of Sans’ sobbing, gasping, no-longer-smiling face and came.

Thick strands of bright orange cum shot from Papyrus’ cock to spatter  haphazardly across his brother’s face, coating his cheeks and dripping into one eye socket. Grabbing his brother’s skull in both gloved hands, Papyrus crammed his cock into Sans’ mouth, emptying the rest of his load deep in his brother’s throat. The smaller skeleton’s tongue pressed the underside of his pulsating cock, milking every last drop of cum from him.

“SWALLOW,” Papyrus commanded, feeling the sensation of his brother’s throat tightening around him seconds later. “GOOD BOY.” Papyrus released Sans’ skull, letting his still rock-hard cock bob free of his mouth.

Orange cum covered Sans’ face. Papyrus admired his handiwork; it was a good look on his brother. Humming thoughtfully, the tall skeleton considered giving Sans a real reward and himself the satisfaction of sinking his length into his brother’s tight, soaking pussy.

One matter required his attention first though.

Papyrus stepped back off of the couch and pulled the handle of the riding crop out of Sans’ pussy. The smaller skeleton’s juices coated it thickly, and Papyrus raised it to his nasal cavity, inhaling deeply and taking in the heady scent of his brother’s arousal. Sans cried out at the sudden emptiness inside of him, but his hopeful eyelights never left the glowing orange ecto-flesh standing at attention right in front of his face.

Reaching behind his brother, Papyrus untwisted the fabric holding his wrists together. Honestly, Sans could have easily freed his own hands and used his fingers to pleasure his pussy and relieve himself. Curiosity and laziness in equal measures prevented Sans from acting. He wanted to see what Papyrus would do, how far he would go, and whether or not he would enjoy it.

The tall skeleton tipped his brother forward onto his hands and knees on the floor. “YOUR SOCK,” Papyrus intoned icily, “IF YOU WANT YOUR REWARD, GO PICK IT UP.” Papyrus’ cock twitched when he said reward, making it clear exactly what the reward entailed.

Sans crawled towards the delinquent garment. He grabbed it and turned towards the laundry hamper, lifting it up to drop it inside with the rest of the dirty clothing that he and his brother generated… then he paused.

Blue-tinted arousal stained his femurs as it dribbled out of him. His pussy quivered and ached for a thorough fucking, but something about this new domineering side of Papyrus really turned him on. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready for a reward yet.

Maybe he’d get some more punishment first.

Sans let the sock fall from his hand back onto the floor.

INDEX | READ ON AO3

[morgansmornings]

ship meme Jayden and Beth

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor:

It was hard to tell who’s clothes belonged to who. Red, greens, and blues clashed with pastel and paisley. Skirts and jeans tossed about being left where they landed. Fabrics of all sorts scattered and making a collage of colour across the dark brown floor that was standard within the dorms of the campus. 

“Beth…. Have you seen my green shirt?” 

Wha kine?

“The green spaghetti strap. I want to wear it for my date tonight.”

A pause, the shift of an over sized sweater being pulled around tawny slender shoulders. 

Nooo…

“Are you lying?” 

Nooo…

“Are you lying about lying.”

Mebbe…

A sigh.

“Blue one it is then.” 

forgets to run the dish washer:Neat freak. Organized. Dishwasher always running both us stairs and down stairs to keep up with the health standards. 

At least that was how it usually was. 

But there were times that the Janissary couldn’t be assed to use Forces or Correspondence to poke one stupid button. It was usually after covert missions where she had the hardest time having the will to do much of anything but breathe. During those times she had given Beth permission to make sure that the mountains of leftovers found homes in the bellies of those that needed it most. 

On this night however, Jay was not as bad off as she usually was. No, this night she was just tired. Prue was off digging into a rumor to see if it was something that she could deal with at a later date or not. So she had the brownstone to herself. Finally a moment to unwind. To come down from the soul crushing pain that was both inflicted to her prey and that she received herself. 

She pulled the dishwasher open, taking a cup from the top rack and poured herself a healthy amount of cold coffee. She reached up and scratched the back of her feeling the grime clinging to her skin. Taking a long pull she immediately turned and spit the mouthful out. 

“God… Damnit.” She held back the sudden urge to gag as the taste of dish soap. 

“I love her… I love her so much Andy…” Jay whipped the back of her hand across her lips. “One of these days, I might strangle her.”

Though it wasn’t Beth’s fault. She did wash the dishes. She just forgot that the dishwasher was there to make things easier. pumps gas for the car:“Onna d’ese days, I’m gonna do it.” Beth said curling her legs under herself to rearrange the knitting supplies she had brought with her. 

“I’ll let you pump gas into the Caddy the day you can see over the wheel kid.” A ball of yarn bounced off the door. Jay couldn’t help but chuckle. With all the powers Beth had it was a miracle she was still the same sweet tiny and innocent soul in the world. Jay was certain that Beth could achieve peace among the others and bring the Wyrm to heel and purify whatever had driven it off the deep end. 

There was some mumbling that Jay chose not to make out because they wee already behind their, her, schedule. It was going to be a long drive to the east coast. Sure Jay could have gotten tickets, but there was not enough tranquilizers to put Beth to sleep long enough to fly that distance. Which is why there was a cruise bound for Hawai’i waiting for them in California. drives when they’re going somewhere:

“And then when we get there… Beth are you even listening to me?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm-hmm.” That was the moment Jayden pulled over into a parking lot. She knew Beth wasn’t paying attention. That much was obvious by how she was leaned against the passenger door with her chin propped on a delicate palm. Green-hazel eyes were glazed over not yet realizing that they had stopped. Jay reached over and took Beth’s hand in hers, tugging gently.

“Hey Tiny Dancer?” 

“Huh?” The Hawaiian turned to look at her best friend over many lifetimes. “Did we stop?”

“Figured we could stretch our legs. And after…” Jay shrugged a shoulder and pulled her hand away leaving the keys in Beth’s hand. 

“But ya alw-”

“I’m tired.” She wasn’t. “Not safe for me to be behind the wheel Tiny Dancer.” 

A light began burning that settled whatever worry had come over the Janissary.

“Copy d’at Rubba Ducky.” 

rearranges the furniture:It was mapped out clearly in her mind. To the point that she could walk around with her eyes closed and not once drop, trip, kick, or stumble over anything. Every item had a place and every item was kept just so. Even when she cleaned. Some called it obsession. Other called it a well maintained lifestyle. 

So when Jayden opened the door and dropped her keys to the floor she knew something was wrong. Looking around her living room, pool table, and most of the bedding from her guest and master bedroom was strewn about. Cushions and fabrics lay draped up over each other and her staircase leading up to the master bedroom floor had been turned into a keep of sorts. 

“Beth?” 

“D’e no be a Beth. Bu’ Lady WiggleWag an’ her fai’ful sworn hound Bitestwice.” 

“Don’‘t forget me!” 

“An’ Lord Noah of da far off lands to the South.” 

“Beth.” 

“Have ya tribute ta lay before mah noble feet?” 

“Beth!” 

“Wha?!” 

“Next time, just text me when you plan on babysitting.” Jay shook her head shrugging out of the leather coat she was wearing. Next came the heeled boot. “But if the Lady, Noble Knight, and High guard dog would allow, the council hath sent me, a humble peasant to bring tribute of cake and cocoa.” 

There was a moment of muttering, hushed giggles, and the soft bouf of Prue before she was answered. 

“Da lord bide ya welcome, stranger. As long as d’ere be ice cream.” 

“But of course.”

falls asleep with the TV on:Beth had always had a hard time sleeping. The Sandman kept away from her and when he did come, so did the Night terrors. Which is why Beth was always working strange hours at the hospital. Or going on late night ride alongs with Luc.  But on occasion there was a movie night. 

And this time, the soft sounds of Beth’s little voice spoke along with Inigo Montoya as he advanced upon the six fingered man. She mimicked his elegant moves with her own hands. Thrust. Parry. Block, slash, parry. Her slender form twisting on the recliner only once nudging the familiar once.

She turned to take Jay’s hand to find the younger woman asleep on the other recliner. one foot thrown over the arm, her head lolled off to the side and one hand still in the mixing bowl of Popcorn and M&Ms. 

“Good Night Jay. I mos’ likely kill you in da mornin’.” gets to use the bathroom first:Pulling herself up and out of the chair every joint she had creaked and popped as protest. Shuffling more in the style of a zombie rather then a human being she headed upstairs for the master bathroom. One hand ran through her hair  to push it from her face. She could already smell the coffee which meant Prue had set it up before the sleep over ended.

Rounding over the last step she could hear her shower going. A raised brow, a deep frown, and one arm crossing over her chest to scratch the back of her shoulder. The Janissary pushed the door open with a yawn. Sitting on the counter, a toothbrush moving with far more vigor than was humanly possible at this early time of the morning. “Dude, did you even sleep?”

“MMM!!” 

“Sorry. Knock first I know. But you’re dressed and a nurse. This isn’t the first time another woman has walked in on you.” “Mmm!” A finger waved way too close to Jay’s face for comfort. 

“Alright downstairs it is. But I’ll remember that the next time you have to piss.” Jay moved just fast enough to dodge the tube of toothpaste. But not the bar of soap that came right after. decides the temperature for the ac/heater:“Beth… it is 89 degrees. How can you be cold?” 

“Please?” 

“Oh.. My Gods okay! Fine!” Jayden flipped the switch for the seats heating coils built into the Cadillac. “Now flip the vents on your side so I can run the AC.” 

“But d’at doesn’t..” 

“Ah! Tch!” A hand puppet came up from the steering wheel. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m hot. Driver gets control that was the deal.” 

“Okay, but ya have any kine blanket?”

A pause. A sigh. 

“For the last time… NO!” sets up holiday decorations:When Christmas comes to town

The lights were strung over all the windows. Garland hung from the banister and the pegs for the stair case. Gingerbread wafted through the air. The Polar Express was playing just loud enough that the girls could sing along.

And all the dreams of the children

Flour coated the front of Jay’s apron, while steady hand folded the shortbread batter together. Small feet galumphed around chasing the clicking of sharp nails. The youngest chuckled at the panicked look in betrayed dark eyes. 

“Don’t look at me, you promised.”  

Once lost will all be found

“Traitor!” A pathetic whine came as the Hawaiian grabbed Prue from behind, with the over sized sweater. 

“Gotcha!”

It took several moments for Beth to bend in ways that would have been painful to others to get the familiar into the human made sweater. It was just this side of Ugly Christmas sweater. The soft fabric all hand woven from well kept and happy Angora Rabbits. 

That’s all I want when Christmas comes to town

leaves the lights on:Prue panted hard and heavy. She was struggling to stay up right but it was hard to do with a gaping hole that the burglar left as a parting gift. The storm raged outside and had knocked the power out a few minutes before hand. Limping across the wooden floor she collapsed not but three feet from the entrance. 

“Jay!” Beth’s voice echoed down the hall from the stairwell. At least that is what Prue assumed as she let out a whine. 

“Beth! Hurry! She’s been shot!” Jay all but sobbed as she dropped to her knees and began petting the dog’s head. 

“I..” 

“Beth please!” 

“Get da flashlights!” Jay nodded and turned on her phone’s light. She was speaking in half words and muted cries of heartbreak. Soon she started getting the mag lights to help illuminate the apartment. Soft but firm hands covered in some kind of gloves started prodding at the wound. Prue whimpered and yowled, but was not willing to snap out. 

“Jay, ya need for get me some candles.” Beth’s voice was a salve to adrenaline fried nerves. 

Minutes, hours it was hard to tell but the power came back on and Both Beth and Jay were sitting on the floor near the couch. Jay’s eyes were bloodshot while Beth’s were sympathetic. Even though all the lights were on, neither moved to turn off the flashlights or put out the candles. 

uses the bathroom with the door open:Beth always had the door closed when she went to the bathroom. It was habit. In through the door, turn, close, lock. When she was done it was unlock, open, and leave. Between the Admiral and her brother it was just a habit that had been instilled into her at a young age.

So imagine the heart attach she had the first time that she came back from class to find their shared bathroom wide open. And a nude Jayden backside pointed towards her. One strong leg propped on the bathroom ledge with razor in hand. 

“I’m sorry!: 

“Oh hey kid. Was wondering where you ran off too. Can you do me a favor and grab me my underwear. I left them on the dresser.” 

“I…” Beth learned and then made Jayden promise to never again, leave the bathroom door open after that. fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber):

Beth reached as far as she could while keeping Jayden pinned onto the couch. It would be the best, fastest, and the least amount of explaining needed. Jay however was of the opinion that He was a last resort call. Plus it wasn’t like he wasn’t already there. Watching and waiting for the right moment to interrupt the squabbling. 

“I said no.” 

“But he’s good.” 

“No. I am not letting that happen.” 

“But d’ats my phone.” Jay put her hand in Beth’s face to try and push her away.

“Ow! Stop with the biting!” 

“Den gimme da phone.” 

“No! I’m not calling Clint!” 

“Good thing I’m standing right here then. Things would get a little awkward if the pipe keeps leaking and you both fall on the floor. Might give the next person the wrong impression.” 

“HOW?!” 

“I texted him before ya took my phone.” Beth said with a victorious tone as she gave a sun-bright smile. 

This Meme: Accepting.Honorable Mention: @brooklynislandgirl and @multi-mused

[trashpandaorigins]

Groot Steve Rocket Bucky Scenes from a Life: First, Do No Harm

From the team that brought you The Shrapnel in Your Heart, who really should have had their Tumblr messenger apps taken away by now, comes an intimate portrayal of a retired life of leisure, except for when it’s not. Based on the ridiculous head-canon that Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky all live together in a New York City apartment after Infinity War. From misadventures, pranks, and drinking shenanigans to harrowing reckonings of their past, Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky will eventually carve out an odd little family for themselves. That is, if they don’t kill each other first. A series of incorrect quotes, flash fics and funny scenes/dialogues. Lots of humor and fluff, some angst….okay, moderate amounts of angst.

Read the entire GSRB Scenes from a Life Series on A03

Check out the work of my partner in crime at Skarabrae_stone on A03 and follow them here @captaintoomanybattles

Note: This fic is based off an actual dream I had. As soon as I woke up I told captaintoomanybattles/skarabrae_stone and began debating if I should write it out as a fic. That debate lasted less than two hours. Some gaps had to be filled in but most of it is exactly how it appeared in my unsuspecting subconscious, including the dialogue. I still left some things in ambiguity (ignore the fact that they found a fully functioning yet abandoned hydra lab) because well, it’s based on a dream. Note to self: I REALLY need to stop drinking that herbal tea before bed…

*Warning: This fic contains EXPLICIT discussions of torture, animal abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and ptsd.*

I. 

Cold

Restraints

Can’t. Breathe.

Bucky bit his tongue, the gag in his mouth threatening to make him heave. Not like that would do much good. He’d only end up spilling the contents of his stomach all over himself. His sides still throbbing from where the Hydra agent ran that sharp electric staff through his ribs. This couldn’t be happening, no. I got away...Steve, he got me free. We---

“We are sorry to interrupt your little life,” the doctor before him sneered. “But you were so, malleable. We needed to observe your programming.”

Bucky tried to struggle against the chilling restraints that wrapped around his shoulders and secured his torso. Arms locked to his sides.

The pale man’s voice spoke with a succulent satisfaction gleaming behind thick rimmed glasses. “You were quite the protagonist, very entertaining.”

“Oh good,” Bucky grated through his gag, “wouldn’t want to bore you.”

The doctor’s lips twitched, leaning forward. Chemicals flooded Bucky’s nose, tables, tinctures, pincers, knives, bright lights.

“Your time playing house is over, soldat.” He smiled, yellow teeth gleaming in the flickering fluorescent light.

Bucky stared at him, trying to calm his panicking mind.  He flung himself against the restraints with what little mobility he could, a burning sensation pricking his body. He shifted his remaining arm at the heat, the arm that hadn’t been lost in the failed struggle to get away. Bucky tensed his fist, throwing his weight against the metal contraption and sucked in a breath as he fell forward, wincing with the impact of the floor.

The doctor stumbled back and Bucky looked up just in time to see a rain of gunfire explode from above. He twisted, scrambling to get up, watching as Rocket fired his gun, perched on top of the restraint chair, it’s metal bars now smoking at the edges. Bucky got to his feet, shaking with nausea. Fight! His mind screamed over the raccoonoid’s weaponry. He made to charge forward at the agents but halted, exhaustion seeped in his bones. No! Promised Steve….promised Steve, no more fighting.

“Barnes, I’m out of ammo, let’s go!”

Bucky didn’t miss the tremor in Rocket’s voice and whipped around to see the hydra doctor running forward, scalpel in hand. Threat identified, priority disarm, kill. Bucky’s mind instantaneously ready to spring. He sucked in a breath, hissing through the stabbing in his side, limbs heavy. Don’t fight, not like that. Not anymore. Once I start, I won’t stop. He’d learned that the hard way. Too many times having seen the look in Steve’s wide blue eyes after a euphoric spout of unintended violence. Never again.

A hissing screech tore through his ears and Bucky pivoted to see Rocket leap from his prefered perching position on the restraining chair, to land on the hydra agent’s head. Gun fire cracked in Bucky’s ears as more armed guards rushed in, firing. Metal table, shield. This time his previous conditioning was productive, Bucky nodded in agreement to himself, just like Steve, he reminded himself, picturing his boyfriend using his shield expertly for offense or defence. Bucky scrambled low to pick up the overturned table and swung it towards the guards, standing between the bullets and where Rocket clawed madly at the hydra agent’s face. Bullet’s riqueshed off the metal, Bucky holding it fast against the pressure.

Something hit his back and he twisted to catch himself, the bullets stopped. Bucky’s stomach dropped, head spinning even as the guards grabbed him. Lead filled his limbs, vision swimming. Hissing, chattering. Footsteps. Snarling. He twisted over his shoulder as four more guards came clambering in, two of them taking up their stations on either side of him. He swayed where he stood, colors blurring together.

“Get it on, get it on! Watch for the teeth!” Voices snarled.

“Barnes!” Rocket barked.

Bucky shook his head, trying to dispel the fevered dizziness from his wretched mind.

The raccoonoid twisted his neck with such force Bucky worried it would snap clean off. The doctor held the small animal by the scruff of his fur, dangling, vulnerable. Bucky had learned quickly that despite his size, Rocket was a forced to be reckoned with; his endless supply of firearms and bombs alone were enough to make a foe of any size cower. Let alone the animal’s genius abilities to improvise lethal machines with the scarcest of resources on a moment’s notice. Yet stripped of all weaponry and nothing to improvise with, Rocket was still a 4 foot tall, 20 pound creature. Rocket snapped his teeth as gloved hands attempted to lift a muzzle to his jaws. For all his scrappiness, Bucky knew what Rocket knew: it was over.

“B..Barnes what the ..f..flark are you waiting for?! Get your ass outta here!”

He could have laughed, all this time living with Steve has really rubbed off on him. Bucky attempted to muscle forward, held fast by the hydra agents.

“S...stop!” He coughed, watching as Rocket’s mouth began to foam, tail thrashing madly as the scientist let him dangle. Helpless, hopeless, loathing. Feelings Bucky  knew all too well rose up like black waves inside of him. Consuming and drowning. “Stop...it!” He winced as the guards yanked him back. “Rocket!” The raccoonoid’s ears now pinned back to his skull, claws ferociously swiping at the muzzle the agents forced around his head.

“Barnes,” foam flew from the raccoonoid’s jaws. “GET OU..ARRRGGHHMMM”

Bucky’s insides twisted, watching them secure the cruel contraption over Rocket’s head, clamping his jaws shut though he continued to fume.

“Let him go,” Bucky whispered, all fight gone from him. “Please, let him go.”

The doctor turned, grinning. “I can’t let it go Soldat,” he said. “We need the parts.”

Parts? Bucky’s mind raced to try and comprehend but his consciousness drifted sluggishly. The scientist turned, one of the guards plucked some odd claw device from the table and fitted it to the doctors free hand. “The hardware is old, but some of it can be salvaged, no doubt.”

Bucky shifted arduously, hitching a breath as a balled fist gutted his middle. He pitched forward, gasping only to be hauled to his knees. Bucky squinted through his bruised face across the grey concrete room where the scientist held Rocket. What….what is he….

Bucky startled as the man plunged the three pronged claw into the raccoonoid’s bristling back. Razor sharp blades punctured the flesh on either side of Rocket’s upper spine and yanked. Rocket’s eyes went wide, an agonizing animalistic shriek making the man’s skin prickle. The raccoonoid arched back, then buckled. Thick blood spattered the floor, nausea hit Bucky again jerking at the snapping of bones. The claw retracted, gripping something imbedded in raw flesh. Rocket’s body spasmed, eyes larger than Bucky had ever seen them. The doctor frowned, ceasing his motion and pulled again, met with resistance. Thin veins and tissue stuck taunt like the strings of a puppet from the raccoonoid’s open back.

Bucky swallowed, any hope he had of containing the contents of his stomach lost as he doubled over, vomiting at the sight.

“I forgot how deep these were inserted.” He was mildly aware of the doctor’s observation.

He coughed, heaving at the sight of the device pulling free. The odd claw twisted, provoking another spasm from Rocket. A dreadful gurgle came from the raccoonoid as blood now seeped from clamped jaws, dripping from the muzzle.

“One more try,” the doctor hissed and yanked mercilessly. With a final series of snaps and crunches the device came free. Arms around Bucky tightened as he was pulled to his feet. A thick metal panel clutched in the hand of the doctor, attached to it were four tangled, bloody wires with bolts attached to each end. Rocket’s head lolled, eyes rolling backward.

“No,” Bucky wheezed.

The doctor set down the cybernetics, flipping Rocket over unceremoniously and pulled at the two remaining implants just below the raccoonoid’s collarbones. Bucky held his breath, waiting for Rocket to squirm or cry out, but the creature only lay immobile. A sickening crack indicated a broken clavicle and the two pieces were ripped out with what appeared to be less effort.  

The doctor smiled. “There, that’s better.” He dropped Rocket, who landed with a thud, limbs and tail flailing.

Bucky stared at the growing pool of blood seeping from the creature. Stirring his own fury. Swore I wouldn’t fight. Bucky trembled as the doctor stomped over to him, still holding Rocket’s implants. Breathe, just breathe, he reprimanded himself in Steve’s own voice. Firm fingers gripped Bucky’s chin, twisting him to stare into those malicious eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpered, longing for home. What would Steve do...Steve... that name was a prayer and that prayer ignited his heart. Bucky peered over the man’s shoulder to where Rocket lay. Bucky met the eyes of the doctor.

“We have you now soldat, and this time we will not let you get away. You will be the perfect, obedient…”  

Bucky grabbed at his throat, his fingers wrapping easily around the flabby flesh and squeezing. The guards moved to shock him but he spun, disable, disarm, destroy. He kicked outward, grunted and grabbed the electric staff, swinging madly. Blue lightning fizzed and bubbled, reckless adrenaline fueled him, spiking at the sound the first agent made as he fell to the ground clutching his stomach. Bucky thrust the staff downward, into the man’s face. Behind, his senses screamed, the man leaned down grabbed the guards gun, spun and shot bullet echoing. The guard behind him fell. Two down, four more to go.

With conditioned effectiveness, Bucky charged the fourth agent, who was fumbling with his gun.

“St...stand down!” His monotone order went through one ear and out the other as Bucky seized  his wrist, snapping it and thrusting his head forward, hitting the man’s skull with his own.

The man’s head drooped; Bucky shot him in the chin. He grasped the heavy weight before the man collapsed and turned him around, shielding himself from the fire of the remaining guards with the body of this one. A tried and true motion. Shameful, no. Necessary. Bucky rushed upon them, pushing the two guards against the concrete wall.

They swung, something sharp rattled his arm, and Bucky momentarily blinked away the white pain.

“Fuck!” he thought, hitting the ground only to roll, kicking up at the guard who made a grab for the staff.

Bucky’s own instincts were quicker; years of being a super soldier would do that to a person, he supposed with grim amusement. The prod ran through the man’s chest. Bucky pulled himself upward, letting four more rounds fire on the second guard. The man let out a shocked noise of pain, but died before he hit the ground. Bucky’s entire body trembled, facing the last guard. He smiled. His heart screamed at what he was doing; his mind, however, reveled in it.

“I...I have your arm!” The soldier held the appendage, shaking.

Bucky let down the electric staff, stomping over to the sweating man and wrenched the limb from the man’s weak hold. It slid rather neatly into the socket, and he smirked with satisfaction.

“Thanks,” he muttered, flexing the limb.

Before the guard could reach for his weapon Bucky slammed his metal fist into the man’s throat. He coughed, taking a tentative step backward. Now! Bucky reached out again, this time with both hands and quickly snapped the man’s neck. The same blood curdling crack as Rocket’s bones. The guard crumbled and Bucky turned. The patient will see you now, doctor.

Bucky approached the cowering man, who cowered in the corner. “The parts, where are they?”

Bucky crouched to the man’s level, holding the gun to the pulsing veins of the man’s forehead.

The doctor shook his head, teeth biting his own lip so it drew blood. Ammonia and fear wafted off of his pathetic form, burgeoning Bucky’s violent euphoria.

“Fine,” he growled. Crossing over to Rocket, Bucky stooped, gently removing the creatures muzzle and crossed over to the doctor once more. “Where.Are.The.Parts?”

“Soldat…”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the man’s head in his hands, easily thwarting the flailing limbs and weak kicked as he buckled the straps around his head. The man garbled, blood flecking his lips and tongue as he moaned.

“The parts?” Bucky ordered, still holding the man fast.

The doctor cringed, gagging, body heaving.  

The device. Bucky picked it up from the floor, fixing the claw to his own metal arm.

“You may think what you’ve done to me is a miracle. You thought you created the perfect weapon for your games,” he hissed, “but you were wrong.” He crossed behind the doctor, yanking him upward to his feet. “I was never, and will never be one of you.”

With that, Bucky drove the claw into the man’s back. He let loose a savage sound as the razors sliced through flesh and tissue. With a few swift pulls Bucky fell back, the bone releasing. Blood whipped across him, metalic in his mouth. It sent his heart hammering with need, kill. Bucky yanked a final time and the doctor deflated, Bucky dropped him. The noise shattered the frenzy. W...what….Steve…? Where...what have I done? He let go of the clump of bone and flesh and cloth he held balled in his fists and stepped over the doctor’s form, taking the muzzle off.

“N….no..s...solda...soldat,” the doctor rasped, “you…..a….are...one...one of ...us…”

Bucky’s breath hitched, watching the smile curl on the man’s lips, the moment the life left his eyes. Bucky stood, surveying the area. Dead guards….blood...weapons...the doctor...I...I did this..? His stomach rolled, and he felt his knees give out from under him. Steve! Bucky looked up, trying to determine any evidence of his soulmate’s presence, though he realized with a flood of relief, there was none. You didn’t hurt him.

Shaking, Bucky got to his feet. The door’s wide open? Get out! He made his way toward the exit and stopped, foot catching on something. It moaned.

“Rocket!” Bucky cried, the memories coming back as he woke from his red-stained fog. Bucky knelt once more to the hard stone floor.

Rocket lay still, sides barely moving. His eyes pinched closed. “I said I was...g…” Blood bubbled from Rocket’s mouth, staining his teeth. He swallowed painfully. “Get your arm. D….didn’t really mean…...it like..t...this.”

Bucky slid his hand under Rocket’s head gently, trying to scoop him up. “Hey, I gave you the arm remember?” Rocket tried to muster a laugh. It came out a rattle and his head went heavy in Bucky’s hold.

“...I’m gonna get you out of here,” Bucky breathed, precariously lifting the raccoonoid off the floor. Rocket hissed in pain, buckling and slumped back down. “Hang on,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

“If you’d just,” Rocket  gagged, “r...run they would’ve...k...k...killed me quicker.”

Tumultuous guilt sunk in the man’s heart. He’s right. Clear wetness pricked at the edges of Bucky’s eyes, first one then the other.  Bucky settled Rocket into the crook of his arm, stepping carefully. The raccoonoid stiffened, letting out a choking strangled breath.

“Rocket just, just hold on.” Bucky pleaded, biting his lip.

Rocket shuddered, eyes rolling back, going still. Bucky’s stomach dropped, running over to the blood stained counter. Stitches, scissors. He rummaged for them through the drawers and began to sew Rocket’s back. Being in the army, even as far back as WWII, had made his impromptu surgical skills hard to forget.  

“Rocket, shhh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here, just….” He bit off the extra string and looked down at his crude job. Better this then nothing. “Raccoon, I swear if you die on me!”

A sudden inflate of the raccoonoid’s chest made Bucky grin. Nice to know that tactic works, he mused. It wasn’t much but it was a response. He tucked Rocket in his arms once more and, lifting a spare gun off one of the guards, Bucky ran through the tunnels, gun first, guilt later.

At last fresh air filled Bucky’s lungs with hope, stumbling out into the forest. “STEVE!” He ran, as far away from the base as he could. “Steve!”

“BUCK!”

Bucky’s tears returned again as Steve emerged from the trees, skin ashen, eyes wide. Bucky flung himself into the other man’s arms, breathing in that scent of sweat and good intentions. Steve, I’m so sorry….Steve. Steve’s hands gripped Bucky’s shoulder’s tightly. It was a nightmare...it was just a nightmare.

“Bucky, shhh. It’s alright. I’m here, you’re alright.”

“No, no,” Bucky found his voice for the first time since the ordeal. “Hydra...they...they captured us...they let you rescue me, Steve!” He breathed, slowly retracting his embrace. “They just watched the whole time….for...r..research! They…”

Large footsteps made both men break away as Groot came barreling towards them. “I am Groot!”

Bucky revealed Rocket from his protective hold, offering the raccoonoid to him as though he were a peace treaty.

Groot faltered before him, glanced down at Rocket and ever so tenderly took the raccoonoid in his arms. “I am Groot,” he cooed, having eyes only for the small creature. “I am…”

Bucky gasped as brittle wood wrapped around his body, lifted him up off the ground, and slammed him against a tree.

“Groot!” Steve protested, horrified.

“I AM GROOT!”

Bucky clawed for breath, staring into those large eyes. For as long as he’d known the tree-like giant, Groot had been nothing but sweet, patient, and doting. What Groot lacked in understandable words he made up for in hugs and flower crowns. So many flower crowns. Bucky had never seen the flora ever provoked to anger, not even at Rocket’s drunken debauchery, not even at his own slow learning when it came to ASL--a method Steve recommended they utilize to communicate with Groot in Rocket’s absence. But this-- Bucky tried to gather air, even as tight branches constricted against him. He kicked feebly. He’d never seen such savagery from Groot. He didn’t think it possible.

“I am Groot?!” Groot roared, Bucky’s hair ruffling with the force of it.

“No, he’s not dead!” Steve guessed, looking to Bucky for confirmation.

“I am Groot!” You….you let this happen!?

Disappointment. Bucky needed no translation for it. He forced himself to relax, even as thorns began to grow from Groot’s branches and upon the flora’s shoulders.

“I am Groot?” How could you?

“Groot, listen to me,” Steve begged. “Let Bucky go. I know you're scared, but this won’t help Rocket.” Groot paid no mind, his sap stained eyes boring into Bucky.  

He trusted me, the man realized; the flora’s hold on him did not lighten but he set Bucky’s feet down to the earth again. Trusted me to take care of Rocket. Bucky’s gaze shifted to Steve, if it’d been reversed...if I’d entrusted Groot to go with Steve…

“Groot, I’m sorry,” he swallowed. “I...I failed you.” He looked where Rocket lay and felt his heart twist. “I failed both of you.” Failed Steve.

Groot’s eyes did not waver for a moment. Hard and cold, unnerving from a creature usually so warm. “I am Groot,” What will you do about it? Thorns pricked Bucky’s sides and stomach, stinging.

“Groot!” Steve beseeched, “Let. Him. Go!”

Bucky looked to Rocket once more. An image of himself freshly captured by Hydra. Groot stared at him unblinking, as if into Bucky’s tattered soul, but slowly unwound his vines, taking his arm back to hold Rocket closely to his chest. He leaned down, nuzzling his head against the dull-looking fur.

“Buck.” Steve turned to him. “We have to do something.”

Bucky nodded, turning to Groot, solemn.

The affection dropping from the flora’s eyes once more replaced by murderous intent born from love and ….betrayal .

“I have an idea,” Bucky admitted, “but none of you are going to like it….” He looked down at his quivering, bloody hands. Me least of all.

II. 

“Will this work?” Steve’s skeptical gaze landed on the leaking pipe overhead.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Bucky commented, scanning the abandoned lab. That gurney, his breath caught beholding the human-sized contraption he had been locked into. He winced, focusing on Rocket. Somehow the sight of his mutilated little friend was, in some repulsive way, not as terrible as that fucking gurney. Though he hated to admit it to himself.

He rummaged through the grey cabinets and examined the tools scattered about the counter. It’ll do. “Steve?”

Bucky looked up at the blonde-haired man wheeling the gurney out of the room roughly. He tossed his love an understanding look, and Bucky nodded, thankful.

“So,” Steve planted his hands on his hips and addressed them in a way Bucky could have laughed at for all its natural expertise. “He’s stable for now, relatively.” Bucky could almost see the gears turning in his mind. “Our main prerogative is to...”

“I have to do to him, what they did to me.” Bucky looked down at where Rocket lay in Groot’s defensive hold, the uneven movements of his side the only indication of life.

Steve’s hand touched his arm. Bucky twinged.  After all this time? Why do I still flinch? Potent self-loathing coursed through him but he stifled it, instead meeting Steve with a grim face. “They tore out his main control unit,” he explained. “If his cybernetics are anything like mine, it’s not going to be pretty. But it can be done.”

Steve nodded, one finger subtly stroking his shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”

This time a real smile came from Bucky, for the first time since their capture. The ever helpful Steve Rogers, always wanting to be of service.

True to his nature, Steve gathered all manner of equipment needed, arranging it beside on the steel table.

“That should be good enough,” Bucky inspected the scalpels, slicing pain, skin opening, blood, no. Don’t think of that. Cutting, ripping, pulling, gutting, no! He tightened his grip on the lithe blade and set it down, tearing his gaze from the array of brutal instruments.

“I found this,” Steve commented. Bucky turned to where the man wheeled in a smaller gurney, this one outfitted with four metal clamps and an extra one besides... For a tail, Bucky realized, and gestured for Steve to bring it closer. I’m putting him in this….trapping him. The way they trapped me… “you are one of us soldat.” He gulped, steeling himself, and scrounged what little assurance he could muster.

“Groot,” he breathed, “I need to take Rocket.”

The flora colossus scowled and stepped back, shaking his head.

“Groot,” Steve placed a delicate hand on the brittle wood. “You need to let Bucky see, he’s going to help him.”

The flora looked to him, bewildered.

“ You can hold onto him, and he'll die in your arms. Or, you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call. ” Bucky clenched his teeth against his impatience. Despite his limited vocabulary, the flora colossus was not dumb.

Groot only glared, but Bucky pressed on. “I seem to remember that sort of thing already happened to you, hasn’t it? I doubt you’d want to go through something like that again.”

“I am Groot,” the flora spat, searing eyes boring into him. He signed severely.

“He says…” Steve began, “He says that you have suffered enough to know there are things worse than death.”

Bucky glanced at the knives on the table, taunting him in their reflecting light. “Your call, but you better make it fast.”

Groot looked at Bucky, helpless rage threatening to shatter his bark. He looked down at Rocket for a moment, and Steve wordlessly patted his arm. Groot leaned down, tentatively touching his brow to that of the raccoonoid. Finally he relinquished his hold, and Bucky reached out, transferring the wounded creature with surprising grace.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, turning to place Rocket in the gurney. Several stitches on his back had already torn; dark dried blood crusted around those that remained intact. With the tightening of each strap and check of anaesthesia Bucky repressed images of pinched skin, of constricting pain, and mounting fear.

“I am Groot!” Groot made to shove Bucky aside but halted, Steve’s large arms hooking around him, pulling him back.

“Trust me Groot you do not want to see this,” Steve urged straining with all his might to drag the large flora out through the double doors.

Bucky glanced at him, those eyes he knew so well.  I’ll be alright, Bucky tried to convey.  I’ll be alright. Trust me.

His soulmate did not answer but nodded in affirmation and led Groot out, double doors swinging behind them.

Good. Relief temporarily lightened him as the footsteps faded down the hall. Steve should not see this either. Bucky plucked the scalpel from the table once more, holding it above Rocket’s torn back. He poised it with accuracy, the faces of the scientists behind his eyes.  Don’t want him to see...how easy it is… Bucky bit his tongue, lowering the little instrument and setting it against the mess of flesh and stitches and fur.

“Forgive me,” he placated aloud, to Rocket? To Groot? To Steve? Whose forgiveness was he seeking? Doesn’t matter, I don’t deserve any of it no matter who it comes from. He let himself exhale as he drew the scalpel down opening Rocket’s back once more.  Looks remarkably like my own, he recalled the first time he’d been opened. A canvas, that’s what the hydra agents called his body, a perfect blueprint for weapons capacity.

Buck set down the scalpel and looked, trying to recall those procedures he’d worked so hard to repress. If his cybernetics are anything like mine, then all of it is connected through the spine, he squinted in the flickering light at the thousands of tiny vien like silver wires.

“Soldat’s spine must be reinforced to support weight of artificial limb,” the grating voices in his head spoke. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter. “You are one of us soldat.”

No….no. I am not! He forced his eyes open once more, holding his breath as he squinted down at Rocket again. That was one arm, he thought. But Rocket was a raccoon turned weapon, made bipedal through multiple surgeries and changes to his skeletal structure. All four limbs would have had to be reinforced, Bucky’s reason spoke to him in the language of the hydra scientist. With two prongs he gently lifted the pink viscus muscle tissue. Tiny wires, he assumed of the razor thin silver fibers that wound through the soft tissue. They must have all been supported and gather together by that main control unit. Like the fuse box of a building. Bucky pried gently, startling backward, dropping the prongs as Rocket’s left foot kicked.

“Rocket?” He held his breath glancing with dreaded apprehension at the raccoonoid’s sides. Finally, they moved. Bucky picked up the tool slowly.

“You must be careful there,” the doctor’s words echoed, “the spinal cord is of the most complex components to the human body.” Excruciating pain, screaming at the peeling of flesh, the dribble of blood. cold metal. “A single prick could compromise the entire operation and we need him functional.”

Bucky tried again, looking down at the open back, what was fat and muscle and bone and hardware amalgamation of parts. They didn’t need a large panel with my enhancements, Bucky recalled glancing at the note pads he could see from the table where they tortured him. After the procedures became routine and mind and body learned to deal with the initial shock of them, he could sometimes, on a good day, retain consciousness long enough to make out their handwriting. Desperately trying to figure out what and why they were using him. Faces leering, smiling, fingers and pincers poking at his flesh, jabbing into who knows what. A twitch of the face there, a tweak of his natural arm there, laughter as they stuck him with their tools. Bucky grimaced against it, willing himself back to the task at hand.

If they could connect the metal and hardware directly to each other, or to his spine, there would be no need for an extra plating. He loomed close, the bright light illuminating Rocket’s insides. Hues of pinks, reds, a sack of something pink and quivering,  a kidney? He held the pincers tight, two in each hand trying to connect a small wire frayed on one end to another, please let this work, he prayed to a god he had stopped believing in long ago. With scrupulous care, Bucky connected the wires, watching Rocket’s ears or limbs or tail for any reaction. Once again, nothing.

“That’s it,” he whispered, looking for the next series of wires he could connect. Each tiny thread disappeared into his body, though Bucky tried to trace each one as far as he could. “I’m going to try and repair these.”

He found another set of wires, each of these coming from the raccoonoid’s left leg. “ Stop it! What are you doing?” he would scream, but their vacant eyes never looked at him, never considered or spoke to him. It was only after the surgeries, when the psychological tests began that they addressed him.

“I’m not going to treat you like that,” he whispered. You already are, by doing this, you are one of them. The shame making him pull his bloody gloves from the mush of Rocket’s bloody back after repairing more of the wiring.  

“This is for your own good, ” the raccoonoid grinned, his mind hallucinating. Bucky tried to get free from the table, restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles. No….no!

“You of all people know there are things worse than death.” Groot’s words roared in his mind.

Bucky sprang backward, slamming into the concrete wincing as the white pain flashed through the back of his head. He looked down, fingers shaking, stained with blood.  “You are one of us, soldat.” Bucky closed his eyes, beating back the harrowing memories while he slid down the wall, drawing his knees to his body. They were right, Groot was right. I can’t...I can’t do this. He looked through fevered eyes at where Rocket lay, passive. At his mercy.

Steve’s words stirred in Bucky’s heart, “we aren’t asking for forgiveness, and I’m way past asking for permission.” The fate of the universe had been at stake then. How is Rocket any different than that? How are any of us? He is Groot’s universe. And he was, inexplicably, part of Bucky’s too. Never worthy of anything, nothing more than a weapon. A means to someone else’s ends. Each of them had believed it. Each of them created because they were meaningless. Having died, having been born a rodent. Bucky drew himself up, trying not to look at his stained gloves. I’ve already asked for forgiveness, but he had yet to give himself permission to do this thing. Hell, Groot hadn’t really permitted it either and if he knew Rocket at all, the raccoonoid probably would’ve refused too.

If he makes out of this I’ll argue about it with him later.   Bucky tried to make himself imagine it while he got back to work.

“We are creating something beautiful here,” the doctor encouraged while Bucky grit his teeth and wept.

“I am creating something beautiful here,” Bucky whispered, hovering the scalpel over Rocket again. “I’ll do you better than what they did to us.” His voice hitched at the lump in his throat.  “As much as I can, I promise.” It was a thin promise, one he was pretty sure he couldn’t keep, but between the bouts of flashbacks and the spouting of blood and the fear he swallowed Bucky managed to repair four more cybernetic connectors and sow together a severed tendon. The man swayed on his feet several hours later, wiping sweat from his face, a trail of dark blood streaking down in its wake.

Knock. knock. Bucky tore his eyes from the vertebrae he was fixing and looked up through his haze of fatigue.

“How’s he…?” Steve stopped, taking in the scene before him.

Bucky could only guess at what he was seeing: The ex-assassin standing in a grim stone lab, tools and gauze, wires from damaged cybernetics hanging out with bloody cables from the back of a small  hapless victim while he, Bucky Barnes, stood over it all, eyes glossy and arms painted in hues of agony.

“Bucky?”

Bucky  looked up. Threat. Captain America. Kill. No! Steve….no. Not one of them. No!  Bucky let go of the scissors he held, letting them rest against the wall of Rocket’s back.

“Steve,” he whispered. Take me away from this place.

As always, Steve seemed to read his mind. “It’s been over 12 hours Buck, you need to rest.”

“I….c..can’t...I have to…” Steve laid his hand on top of Bucky’s and closed around it.

The warmth traveling up his arm to his heart instantly slowed his breath.

“He’ll be alright for a few hours. Let his body heal on its own for now.”

Bucky nodded. “I just have to--” but Steve intercepted, slipping on gloves and gently wrapping gauze around the open wound.

He checked that Rocket’s heart rate and breathing were stable, and gently led Bucky away towards the door. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, seeing himself in that gurney. So many times they left him lying there. Exposed to the elements. Blood running down his back, burning flesh and the ghostly presence of the electric tools still inside of him for the night. Lost and alone in this same place.

Steve pushed open the doors and Bucky held his breath as Groot stood up, instantly looming over him with an expectant gaze.

Exhausted, Bucky  explained, “He’ll live.”

“I am Groot?” He signed something, to quick for Bucky to follow.

Bucky’s raw fingers ached to answer but thankfully, Steve beat him to it.

“He wants to know if he can see him.”

“You won’t like it, but you can if you want, just...don’t touch him or anything else in there.”

Groot nodded but did not make to go through the lab doors just yet.

Steve said something to the flora colossus that Bucky could not hear, and Bucky resigned himself to passively following his boyfriend down to where he’d found an adequate bathroom and sleeping place.

“Do you want to shower?” Steve wondered, gesturing to the towels he’d found.

Bucky shook his head, only stripping off his filthy clothes down to the boxers.

Steve nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist and took him to sit in the small room. Bucky’s knees buckled the moment he got to the uncomfortable bed. He closed his eyes, visions of Rocket lying torn apart etched into his lids. His own mechanical arm, holding Steve and tearing into his own back as he howled in agony. Him leaning over Steve as he struggled in restraints, scissors cutting into his flesh. A grin full of teeth, soldat, soldat, soldat. Bucky put his hands to his head and stopped, dark blood embedded under his nails. Filling in the lines of his skin. The blood of his friend, the blood of the only creature who had gone through something similar to him, arguably because of him.

Steve knelt down in front of him, bearing a wet cloth. In the sliver of moonlight from the narrow window, the water gleamed as Steve silently wrung it over Bucky’s hands. Absolved. For a moment. The water dribbled over his flesh, washing away the blood, the guilt, the embarrassment. Steve’s warm hands took his and rubbed them dry, lulling Bucky’s mind into quiet contemplation.

“I’m one of them,” Bucky  rasped, tears pressing against his eyes.

Steve shook his head, hands coming up to cradle either side of his face as he moved to sit beside him. “No, you aren’t, Buck.”

Bucky looked at him, those eyes so blue and so full of promise, of carefully cultivated hope despite all they’d been through. But equally tinged with hurt, with anger. With the messiness of emotions unbecoming of The Captain America.

“If you were anything like them, you would have let Rocket to die in that lab.”

Bucky nodded, the doctor’s words about “spare parts,” grating across his brain.

In the darkness, the outlines of Steve’s body leaned towards him and Bucky sucked in the breath of his kiss. How he longed to drink in all of that which was Steve Rogers. Selfish, maybe. Unwanted, probably not. Bucky kissed him back before drawing away for a moment.

“I couldn’t fight, Steve, I….I promised I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to kill again.” He looked away, towards the depthless dark of the floor. “I didn’t want to remember how good I was at it. How there’s a part of me…” He shivered despite Steve’s arms winding around him. “...that enjoys it.”

“James, look at me.” Steve’s fingers gently touched his face, turning him to look. “I would have done the same thing. Without a second thought.” He smiled sadly, eyes searching for Bucky to tell the truth.

Bucky sucked in a deep breath, the smell of his soulmate mixed with the damp of the concrete walls. He felt his spine seem to melt, leaning into Steve and laying his head on his lap, letting his feet tangle off the edge of the utilitarian bed. Steve cradled him, barricading him from the terrors both inside and out.

“You really are a shield you know,” Bucky smirked, letting his fingers run over Steve’s arms.

Steve laughed against him, and he closed his eyes to savor it.

“Haha. You’re hysterical, Buck.”

“I mean it!”

Steve planted a kiss on his head. “I know.”

They lay in the dark together, letting the sounds of their silence speaking for them. Bucky breathed to the tune of the dripping pipes and felt Steve’s hold on him, grounding him to whatever sanity he still had.

“I’m torturing him, Steve….I….I stand there working, and…”

“You went through it yourself, it’s the only reason you are able to save him.”

“No,” Bucky whispered, “it’s not that...I...I enjoy seeing it split open. It’s like it’s every Hydra agent, doctor and scientist who ever hurt me. Like  I’m somehow getting revenge on them by what I’m doing to it.”

Steve’s arms did not retract their hold, but he looked down at Bucky. “ Him , Buck,” he reminded gently. “Rocket. What you’re doing to him .Which is saving his life.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, looking at Steve.

“ I….I forgot.” His voice broke, “Oh god, Steve,” the warmth drained from him. “I forgot,” he let out a choked sob.

Steve only kissed him again, stroking his cheek. “You remembered, that’s what matters. That is why you aren’t one of them. You never will be. The only person you belong to is yourself.” Steve grinned, eyes like the water under the moon. “...and to me.”

That infectious love burrowed it’s way into Bucky’s most ineffable fears, by some miracle making him believe the man.

“That’s right,” he whispered, kissing Steve back.

Steve pulled him close to his chest and lay down. They held each other close in that night, and for a moment, Bucky forgave himself. For everything.

Bucky didn’t want him to enter.

Bucky said he wouldn’t like what he saw.

Bucky said not to touch him.

Bucky said he’d keep him safe.

“You can hold him and he’ll die in your arms, or you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call.”

Your call. That was what seperated Bucky from the people who tortured him. Groot pushed open the doors to the lab and saw what it was that Bucky had done. Bloody tools lay on a tray. Each one had been used. Sharp smells of ammonia and anesthesia and rubbing alcohol. Rocket lay on his stomach, strapped into some odd metal contraption. Groot leaned down, looking at his friend’s face. Eyes closed, mouth muzzled with something that kept him so deeply asleep the flora colossus was worried for a moment that he was in fact dead. But no, one careful touch to his side and Groot sighed with relief. Somehow still alive. Like Bucky.

Bucky was the only one in this whole galaxy who could truly understand what they had done to Rocket. More so than even Groot himself. The knowledge of it a rot in his proverbial heart. Not jealousy; Groot would never envy another living thing having to go through such harrowing torture. It was something else, a vacant indisputable fact, like the leaves dying in autumn.  

The flora gently undid the straps, holding the gauze that had been carefully placed around Rocket’s back. He lifted the little raccoonoid down as he sat cross legged on the hard floor with nothing to root down into, keeping the gas mask on despite everything within him that screamed to remove it. He held Rocket to him, feeling the soft fur against his wooden arms. He stroked the top of the raccoonoid’s head between the ears in the usual rhythmic motion. If only he could save him the way he’d saved the rest of the rest of the Guardians so long ago. He’d save them all if he could. Steve….Bucky. Groot let out tiny spores, dancing around Rocket’s little form and creating an air of tranquility.

Bucky didn’t want me to hold you. If only he knew, that holding you was all I could do. It was not enough. Not this time. Groot despaired, watching Rocket’s sides move in and out, in and out. Sap stuck to his face from where it leaked from his eyes.

He knew Bucky wanted to do the right thing. Knew that Bucky believed what he was doing was right. The only way, and maybe it was, yet Groot held onto the little ball of fur in his embrace and saw there the same thing he saw when he looked at the human with the mechanized arm. Someone who had been burnt and beaten, broken and bereft of anything they had been before. Someone whose eyes held a delicate happiness, trying to conceal their anguish. Someone who used their metal and weapons to keep from breaking down. Groot knew Bucky was smart, but what Bucky didn’t knew was how easily Groot could see through his stoic facade. Past that fragile exterior into the fear they harbor inside. A fear that they will turn and become the things they were meant to be. Terror that they must hold it together lest they snap and hurt the very person dearest to them.

It happened with Rocket, once, though Groot’s regenerative abilities easily healed the damage. He suspected it either hadn’t happened with Bucky yet, hence the man’s fear, or it had happened and he or Steve never spoke of it. As far as Groot knew. But Groot didn’t know anything, did he? He was a gentle, simple giant. How could he know the depths of anyone’s soul?

Some untold time later, Groot forced himself to place the raccoonoid back in the disturbing restraints, cursing himself with every snap and click.

“I am Groot,” I love you Little Rocket, I will be right outside. I love you. He let himself stroke Rocket’s tail one final time, sap leaking from his eyes before he turned and departed.

He walked down the hall, no sunlight in this place of misery. No earth. No...he stopped looking into the small bathroom. Clothes, lying in a heap. Groot sniffed, Blood. Rocket’s blood. Metal, chemicals, sweat. Bucky’s distress. He carefully plucked up the garments and filled the sink with water. Though brown at first it eventually became clear, and Groot worked through each piece. Shirt, pants, jacket, vest, socks, gloves. He rang out the vile odors of butchery, watching the blood and excretions and other forms of bodily fluids run down the fabric, down his own absorbent bark, into the cleansing water and eventually down the drain.

Groot shook with the smell and the feeling of his own vines taking in those substances, draining them from Bucky’s clothes. But he washed diligently, until each article of clothing was at last clean. Then set them out to dry, unleashing the small yellow spores to create tiny balls of warmth and light. Eventually satisfied, Groot folded them, leaving them outside the closed bedroom door but looked down once more, frowning.

Bucky is from New York….oak trees in the park, he recalled from the time Star Lord made them visit. Nodding, Groot grew several oak branches from his arm, letting the garments rest there until they smelled of sweet earthy oak. He set the clothes down once more by the door  and resumed his post outside the doors of the lab. He sat down against the wall, knowing that if he entered again he would not leave.

III.

It was not hard to rise out of the rough bed the next morning. Steve was already up when Bucky opened his eyes, sitting up and stretching out the kinks in his back from the tough metal springs.

“I found coffee,” Steve appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed to Bucky’s dismay, but the coffee was good as any consolation.

He accepted, standing up and taking the military issued metal mug from Steve’s smooth hands. “This tastes like shit.”

“It’s been down here for who knows how long.” Steve laughed, beaming smile on his face as he finished the rest of his. Golden light through the small window illuminating his already radiant hair.

Bucky smoothed it gently and forced himself to drink the rest of the tar tasting liquid.

“Will you be okay? To work on him?”

Bucky nodded.

“You know if you need me to take over, just let me know.”

Bucky smiled but shook his head. “No I….I started this, I have to finish it.”

With that, he kissed Steve’s cheek and opened the door, staring down at the folded, cleaned clothes on the ground. “Did you wash these last night?”

Steve came up behind him. “Nope.”

Bucky shrugged, picking them up and changing, and started down the hall to the lab.

Groot sat outside, roots growing outward from his body to secure him to the wall as he slept. Bucky tip toed over the long legs, edging the doors of the lab open.

Just a few more days. The hardest part is over. You can take breaks. Reassuring himself with whatever wanton logic he could fathom was another area of expertise for Bucky. Just one more test for today, then you can sleep. Just three more drills, then they’ll cut. He distracted himself, making his way over to where Rocket, as immobile as ever lay strapped in the gurney.

“I’m sorry Rocket, just a few more days. Just hang in there a little longer.” he whispered and despite his better judgement Bucky reached out his fingers brushing one soft ear, half-expecting the raccoonoid to leap up and attack him. Almost wish he would, he thought stroking the soft ear. He allowed a small tenderness to fill his heart. They were all soft underneath weren’t they? Despite it all.

“Now I know why Groot likes to pet you so often,” he mused, the warm fur running smoothly under his hand. A tranquility slowly wrapped around him as he continued to pet the soft fur.

“I wanted to go to war, you know?” Bucky found himself saying. “Wanted to help in any way I could. Thought I was invincible. Like I could single-handedly save everything that was good in this world.” He smoothed Rocket’s fur. “Didn’t realize how wrong I was until I got to this place.”

He moved his hand in tune with the raccoonoid’s breathing, the mask of the muzzle fogging up and releasing. He let himself enjoy this odd serenity a moment longer, finally letting his hand slip into his glove, the velvet texture still a presence on his hand. It vanished the moment he unwound the wrapping, smell of meat and metallic fluids and sourness. Bucky covered his nose and mouth, reaching for the water to clean out the wound. Once done he took up the pinchers once more, searching for more cybernetic wires needing repair and connected them each with dexterity.

What if I save him but he...isn’t the same?

The words of caution from the hydra scientists flooded his ears: He must remain  himself insofar that he is human, but not too human.. Capable of having emotions that support killing. Destroy all notions or impulses related to compassion or sensitivity.

Little did they know, Bucky mulled over as he worked, that out of all the torture hydra put him through, out of all they sought to do to him to establish their control, it was that very area that came the closest to being irreversible. Only Steve has been able to stir up his old self from where it has retreated so deep into his mind even he could not find it.

Bucky squinted as he attempted to reconnect another set of cables, these even thinner and coming down from Rocket’s brainstem.  If he wakes but he isn’t sentient...if I just reverted him back to a normal raccoon... He’d never be able to face Groot again. He finished connecting the two and moved on to another set right underneath it, holding back the tight muscular tissue with clamps. And if it’s the opposite? If I snipped whatever it was preventing him from turning into the little monster they wanted? He tried to bury the thought under a mound of diligent work, keep focused. Worry about it later. Bucky worked his way up the spinal column, fixing and connecting, trimming and knotting and folding where he could, the voices of the Hydra scientists guiding him along the way.

It took five days and immeasurable hours. Bucky waned between embracing the demons that whispered to him and blocking them out as best as he could manage. Each day, Steve would come in with offers of reprieve, but never lingered long, knowing Bucky did not wish him to see. On the times Steve did linger long enough to drag Bucky from his surgery, he gave into a break and the two of them would leave the lab to find Groot sitting guard outside.

The flora too, bore the mark of the long hours. Bucky noticed the bark of his wood flaking, growing pale. The leaves and vines, usually a lucious green were dull and brown, and by the third day, they were gone all together. On the fourth day, Bucky finished closing Rocket up for the night, gave him a small stroke on the head and left the operating room to find Groot sitting as usual, only this time with fungus beginning to grow from his head and torso.

“Groot,” Steve began, looking up with worry at the flora colossus.

“I’m going to be done tomorrow,” Bucky judged. “When I’m done on his back I’ll wind him down from the anesthetic, just a little. You can go in then.”

“I’ll stand watch,” Steve offered. “But you have to go outside and get some sun.” The man had taken a hobby to researching everything he could about Groot’s rare species after the war. Bucky always knew Steve had compulsive tendencies and enjoyed learning about things. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man knew more about flora colossus then Groot did. “I’ll stand right here, and alert you if anything happens.”

“I know you were the one who kept him safe through all that’s happened to the two of you,” Bucky tried. “But, you’re not alone anymore. You’re not the only one who cares about Rocket. You don’t have to bear that burden alone.”

“I am Groot!” It’s not a burden! No more than Steve looking after you. Would he see that as a hardship? Groot shook his head, looking at the lab doors.

Bucky sighed. “Fine. With any luck you will be able to see him tomorrow.”

In answer, Groot only scowled incredulously and sunk down to the floor again. The next morning, however, Bucky noticed his clothing had been washed of gore again, and smelled of the trees that reminded him so much of Central Park.

On the last day, Bucky let Steve help him. He did not have enough hands to keep the fragile skin open while he repaired the cybernetics closest to Rocket’s brainstem.

“You’re a natural at this,” Steve observed watching as Bucky tried to hold a string-thin wire still.

“Yeah,” he quipped, “that’s why I hate it.”

“You could be a doctor,” he offered. “You could help people, Buck.”

Bucky cursed as the wire fell into the mess of blood and liquid below. “I don’t know, Steve, I,” he stopped, frowning.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky peeled back a thin viscous layer of soft tissue. He carefully reached for the scalpel and touched it gently. Metal. Raised…. He motioned for Steve to pull back harder, revealing a circular piece. PROPERTY OF H.Y.D.R.A BIOWEAPONRY DIVISION 89P13

Bucky drew his lips tight, brow creasing. “ Forget everything you knew soldat, you belong to us now.” Steaming flesh, smoke, white hot burning, searing skin. Bubbled blisters. The branding: H.Y.D.R.A

“Buck,” Steve called him back from the nightmare. “You alright?”

Bucky looked up at him. “No, this is coming out.”

“It’s close to his brainstem Buck, if something got caught or nicked--”

“I’d rather die my own person than live as someone's property, Steve!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

For a moment Steve’s face went hard, then softened, as if deciding something for himself. What it was, Bucky would ask later. “Alright. Then let’s do it.”

Bucky reached for the small drill, heeding his aim. It hit true, loosening the circular bolt. Ever so carefully he pushed and prodded the thing, trying to ignore the phantom pain at the base of his own neck.  

“There!” Steve exclaimed and Bucky let himself breathe again, dropping the bolt into a bowl.

Bucky smiled, surveying internal structures of Rocket’s back. Panel gone, brand gone, all wires and cables either connected, repaired or for some of them, removed. He checked once, twice, three, four times before Steve persuaded him to step away.

“Trust yourself,” he pointed out, knowing how hard that was.

If I don’t close it up now I never will. I’ll just do more harm than good, he finally decided, and prompted Steve as they closed the wound, taking every care to minimize the potential for scarring. We both have more than enough of those to spare.

“Ready?” Steve asked, as Bucky carefully began to measure down the anesthetic.

Not enough to fully wake him yet. He knew firsthand what it meant to wake to early from the procedures and while he was pretty sure Rocket did too, there was no reason to make it happen again.

He turned to Steve. “You can go. I’ll meet you soon. I want to be here in case, in case anything happens.”

Steve looked troubled for a moment, but eventually gave in. With a kiss he took his leave and left Bucky standing alone in the lab. The man stood over the patient for a while, cleaning the dried blood around the stitches and suddenly something moved. He reached for the knife at his leg.

Hydra operatives? Should’ve known they’d find us by now! Prepare, get to Steve, watch your six, watch..

“Mmmm,....G….Groo…?” Rocket moaned listlessly, tail flicking back and forth once before resting again.

“Rocket?” Bucky glanced at the anesthetic. I checked! I made sure it was enough! But several breaths more and the raccoonoid didn’t appear to fully awaken. Bucky carefully watched him over his shoulder as he moved to the doors.

“He’s asking for you.” He motioned for the flora to enter.

Groot approached, taking Rocket’s tiny paw in his large hand. Little claws tightened around one long wooden finger and Bucky felt his heart expand. Adorable enough to make Steve squeal, Bucky imagined, laughing to himself.

“He’ll be alright,” he whispered. “You can stay with him tonight,” Bucky explained. “Wake me if anything happens.”

The flora nodded, but only looked at Rocket’s muzzled face. For his part Bucky gratefully left, his body and mind and heart waiting for the welcome of Steve’s embrace.

The next morning, after Groot willingly left the lab, Bucky rotated Rocket over onto his back, the gurney conveniently shaped to expose his back underneath while supporting from the shoulders and hips so that it did not have to bear any weight.

The raccoonoid’s head lolled as he moved, and Bucky jumped at the sight of the muzzle. That terror, anguish, humiliation, I did this…. He trained his eyes downward at  the right side of Rocket’s stitches under his clavicle. I had to, he couldn’t be awake for this. No one should be. Agony...dizziness, seeing his own ruined stub of a shoulder open, raw. A socket with the ball missing.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, revealing the totality of Rocket’s right shoulder. Raccoons don’t have shoulders….they broke his bones, to reposition them. The two bolts having served to keep his chest expanded, permanently, giving him a more bipedal stance.

Bucky grimaced at the sagging bone. Without the bolts, Bucky mulled it over morbidly. His shoulders will sink, collapsing into his chest. It’ll press on his heart and lungs. The voices of the doctors echoed, counseling him. If he was going to have to listen to them, he was going to keep the new hardware internal and not metal. Too heavy, biting, no relief, the long rod that had connected his metal arm into the socket pulsed with irritation. Instead he found a durable plastic, used for prosthetics and inserted it just below the collar Bucky repaired the torn blood vessels and stabilized the broken bone. Bucky repeated the process on the left side the next day, this one easier.

“Alright,” he cinched the last thread of stitching. “You’re done, we’re done.”

He took off his gloves finally, cursing at the blood that stained them and gently removed the anesthetic mask. Rocket’s jaws jung open, pointed white teeth sharp. Bucky waited, watching the little black nostrils expanding and huffing for breath.

“I’ll go get Groot,” he whispered and stood, making for the door and feeling a great weight lift from his….stinging claws ripped into the clothes on his back, tearing furiously, a wily hiss making him panic, reaching up to try and pry the snarling biting creature off of him.

“Rocket! Rocket!”

The ringed tail hit against him, batting his face, and Bucky cringed at the claws that drove into his skin. Rivulets of blood dripped down his back.

“Rocket!” He grabbed fistfulls of fur in his hands and pulled, yanking his own flesh as he did so. “Rocket, easy!”

The racconnoid writhed, teeth biting at Bucky’s arms as he tried to force Rocket off of him. With a final rip and skin splitting pain Bucky wrenched him off, holding him at arms length. The wild dark eyes fierce and foreign. The man’s heart skipped a beat, I failed...he’s...he’s just an animal. Rocket’s claws dug into his arms drawing more blood as he squirmed from Bucky’s hold.

“Groot! Get in here!”

Within moments, the flora colossus barged in, large eyes taking in the scene. For a moment he looked at Bucky, crushed. The pain of Rocket’s teeth dulled in comparison.

“I’m...I’m so sorry, I…”

Vines lashed out and the man made to throw himself to the ground out of their way, but stumbled back. The vines lifted Rocket from his hold and grew around the animal’s torso, binding his tail, legs and arms. The raccoonoid screeched as Bucky lunged for the vials on the counter.

“Hold him down!” he shouted.

Groot pressed Rocket to the ground, tears of sap ebbing from his eyes. “I...I am Groot,” he pleaded with the crazed creature.

“What’s going on?!” Steve demanded.

Bucky bit the cover of the syringe off with his teeth. “Sorry Rocket,” he growled, jamming the needle into his furry arm. He panted, rolling backward on the ground, staring at Rocket, whose movements eventually became lethargic and he slipped into subdusion again.

“I am Groot?” What did you do?!

Steve helped Bucky to his feet as the man examined his scratches.

“Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable.” Steve immediately began to try and solve the problem.

Bucky agreed, walking hurriedly through the hall down to the bed he and Steve had been utilizing, the only one in the place.

Groot laid Rocket down. “I am Groot?”

“Now we wait,” Bucky sighed, going over and leaning against the far wall. Steve pulled him into a hug and he rested his head on his shoulder, letting Steve hold him and descended into a peaceful darkness.

“Wh….what...the...”

Hours later, Bucky rose at the sound of a weak rasping voice.

“What the fuck...h….OW! GROOT!”

The man smiled, watching Groot throw his arms around the little raccoonoid, picking him up off the bed and holding him tight to his chest.

Bucky rushed over to the two of them. “Careful of his stitches!”

Rocket cocked his head in confusion, surly but made no attempt to get free of Groot’s hold. “What stitches? Barnes, what the flark happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Bucky admitted, grinning like an idiot.

“My back hurts,” Rocket whined.

“I am Groot,” Groot explained gently, nuzzling Rocket who endured the affection with the least resistance Bucky had ever witnessed. He held his breath at Groot’s words, but the raccoonoid only shrugged at whatever the flora colossus had said.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Steve smiled, ushering Bucky out of the room before his guilt could spill every detail of what had happened.

“You did it, Buck,” Steve exclaimed once they shut the door.

A small flickering pride was bubbling in his chest. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he put in.

Steve wound his arms around his waist, pulling him in close. “I’m glad it was.”

“Why?”

Steve reached up, moving Bucky’s hair out of his eyes with such reverence Bucky could have wept. “You never would have reconciled with yourself  if it hadn’t.”

Bucky smiled wryly. “Reconciled? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Steve shrugged, swaying playfully. “You used what was done to you to save a life, you should be proud of yourself.” Steve beamed, wetness coming to his eyes.

“That’s all I’ll ever need.” Bucky kissed him deliciously.

Bucky forced himself to return to the room sometime later. Though he paused in the doorway. Rocket sat in the bed, Groot beside him, one large hand in the raccoonoid’s lap. Rocket thoughtfully traced the cracks of the bark of Groot’s hand. Lush vines adorned with pink flowers bolstered Rocket up from the pillow and Bucky muffled a laugh; he’d never seen such quiet tenderness from the raccoonoid.

The flora looked up, smiling at Bucky for the first time in a long time. Bucky nodded to him as he stood.

“I am Groot.” The tree creature declined to sign whatever it was he’d said but only left the room without explanation, leaving Bucky facing Rocket who had instantly replaced his gentle face with a jaded frown.

“How you feeling?” The man came and sat on the edge of the bed.

Rocket turned away, tail flicking, ears lowered. He drew a deep breath but did not meet Bucky’s eyes. “Like shit.”

“At least you're alive, right?” Bucky forced himself to ask.

To his relief, the raccoonoid nodded.

“Get some rest, we’ll head home tomorrow if you’re up for it.” He raised an arm to pet the raccoonoid’s head, but stopped himself and made to leave.

“Bucky?”

He halted. “Yeah?”

“Groot told me I passed out for a few days after….after the hydra agent.”

Bucky nodded, but did not turn to face him.

“That ain’t exactly true, is it?”

“No,” he whispered, “it’s not.” Silence hung between them, and Bucky opened the door a crack.

“Thanks,” Rocket’s small voice wavered and he did not need to see the tears to know they were there.

He sniffed at the same liquid beginning to leak from his eyes. “Of course. Now get some rest,” he whispered softly, and left the raccoonoid to sleep.

-

“Barnes!” Rocket’s harsh tone traveled across their apartment several days later.

Bucky cursed, getting up from where he and Steve cuddled on their bed and went to the door. Something soft grazed his foot. Bucky looked down. A beautiful ornate flower crown lay outside, made of oak leaves and acorns interspersed with simple white flowers like baby’s breath. It was Groot, Bucky realized. He smiled, a tear of gratitude coming to his eyes as he picked it up.

“BARNES!”

Bucky cursed again, setting the crown down on his dresser and following Rocket’s demanding voice. “What?”

“You want to tell me why I don’t got no metal in my back or shoulders anymore?” Rocket stood before the mirror on the bathroom door, dressed in black pants.

Bucky looked him over, quite impressed with his own work. The flesh was healing nicely, and fur had already begun to grow over the spot where the shoulder implants had been.

“I know you and Groot are in a platonic life partnership,” Bucky began, “but if you ever wanted to branch out I figured I’d spare you the awkward first date conversation and get that metal out of your skin.”

Rocket considered for a moment. “First off, Groot and I aren’t in ‘a life’ anything! I told yah, I keep him around cuz he’s useful in a fight.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Right, that’s why his name was the first thing you said after you nearly died.”

“EXACTLY! Now….wait what’s platonic mean?”

Bucky smiled. “Oh ask Steve, he’ll be happy to answer all your relationship questions.”

Rocket just blinked at him. “And as for branching out, romance, all that, just ain’t my thing.”

Bucky raised a brow, glad to steer the conversation somewhere away from the procedure. “No?”

Rocket shook his head. “It’s fine for you and Steve, but that stuff ain’t for me. Never has been.”

Bucky nodded. “Well, I thought you’d be better off without all that metal getting infected.”

Rocket nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. He raised a claw to where the bolts on his collarbone had been, and Bucky watched for a split second as a heartfelt smile broke the raccoonoid’s face. Self worth, love. In that moment, that look on Rocket’s face made it all worth it.

I did this, Bucky thought, and for once it was in admiration.

“Besides,” Bucky joked, “I don’t like seeing any creatures in pain. I only use shampoo that’s cruelty free. That’s why my hair so luscious and shiny.” He tossed his hair over his shoulder with bravado.

Rocket pulled a shirt over himself, glaring at Bucky with impatience. “1-800 why the flark should I care?” He shook his head in indignation and pushed past Bucky, who only watched him stalk off.  

Same old Rocket after all, he jested to himself. Steve was right, as always. “You should be proud of yourself,” a new voice sounded in his heart, this one welcome.

“I am.” Bucky whispered, his heart unfolding just a little, his own wounds a little more healed.

[silverfootstepswrites]

title Devoted summary It’s the unspoken promises that matter most. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii (here) | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

“I’m going to get breakfast.”

Sakura only stirred when she felt a kiss press to the back of her neck. And then her shoulder blade. The bed shifted. She listened to Itachi’s belt buckle clink. The shift of fabric as he dressed. She cracked open one eye. Her phone sat on the nightstand where she had left it. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Itachi said. 

When Itachi returned, she was sitting on the bed. Gold Desert Eagle aimed at him as soon as he walked into the studio apartment. When she saw that it was just him, she lowered the firearm. Tossed it back on the mattress. She had thrown on a robe hanging in the wardrobe. The light purple fabric was dotted with flowers at the ends of the sleeves. 

“Good morning to you too,” he greeted her, wholly unperturbed. He set the bag down on the counter as he added, “I’m not wearing kevlar at the moment. So it would ruin my day if you shot me.” Sakura huffed, trying not to laugh. Running her hand through her hair, she slipped into the bathroom. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. And when she emerged, he was leaning against the counter, reading the back label on a carton of milk tea.

“I’m afraid it’s convenience store food,” Itachi said as he unpacked the bag. 

“Reminds me of my twenties,” Sakura remarked. She pulled herself up on the counter. He unwrapped and dropped one of the onigiri into her waiting hand. Salty cod roe filling in the middle. 

Itachi leaned his elbow on the counter as he bit into his own onigiri. It looked like his had a stewed seaweed filling. They ate in silence. Even when Sakura found a grain of rice on his face, she flicked it off without a word before she resumed eating. 

It was only while Sakura gulped down her milk tea that Itachi spoke. 

“You seem...annoyed? Worried? It’s hard to tell, honestly.” 

Sakura took her time finishing her drink. She set the empty carton down on the counter. Licking the backs of her teeth before she spoke. 

“Both.”

“Both?” repeated Itachi.

“Annoyed because I’m sore,” she began. And Itachi looked a little chagrined. “But worried too. For... business purposes.”

Itachi’s hand rested on her forearm. Thumb stroking over her skin. “Is there anything I can do to ease your burdens?” he offered. 

Sakura sighed as she eased her body into the hot water. She wasn’t particularly picky about the apartments she bought. But a soaking tub was always a must. She stretched her neck this way and that. Listening to her bones crack as she moved. Her head drooped to rest against Itachi’s shoulder. Back nestled against his chest.

“You know,” he said, lifting her left hand out of the water to inspect it, “You’re surprisingly easy to please.” His thumbs trailed over the two circular scars on her knuckles. Cigarette burns. Faded by the years. 

“What are these?” he asked. Rubbing the strange circles. Sakura opened one eye. Closed it again.

“Ah, that? From when I used to be a karaoke hostess. A customer got mad at me,” she answered. Itachi said nothing. 

“He was actually going for my face, but I-” Sakura clapped her hand over her eyes. And Itachi could imagine the sizzle against her skin. The blisters that would have formed over the hurts. He took her hand again. Pressed it to his temple. She traced her pointer finger over the back of the dragon twisting up his right arm. It had taken hours and hours of painstaking work to get each scale right. To shade it crimson and gold. Like the undulating body was really reflecting light.

“I’m meeting with Madara tonight,” she told him. 

His voice was sharp. Like she had expected.

“What?”

She was glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was sure that her smile wouldn’t help his irritation. 

Grasping his wrists, she pulled his arms over her shoulders. He begrudgingly folded them across her chest. Hands resting against her collarbones. 

“I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t go alone. I’ll have Tenten with me,” Sakura assured him. He grunted. Only sounding fractionally less unhappy. 

“And normally, I wouldn’t invite you along. But I feel like this might be a meeting you want to sit in on,” she then added. His fingers twitched. 

“Does this have anything to do with why I’ve suddenly noticed the Sarutobi’s and the Inuzuka’s getting along?” he queried.

“Probably,” she sighed. 

“Yamanaka Inoichi is dead, by the way,” he told her. 

“Oh?” she replied, genuinely surprised. She hadn’t heard anything about that.

“He was going behind my back and dealing drugs to the Inuzuka’s to make extra money on the side. And I hear he was trying to get into my uncle’s good graces so that he would exchange sake with him,” explained Itachi. 

“Ah. I always forget. You yakuza are so strict with all of that stuff,” she muttered. She rolled her shoulders a little. And Itachi released her so that he could knead his fingers into the tense muscles there instead. She let out a sigh, head lolling forward so that he could reach her neck better. 

“Is it different for you?” asked Itachi. 

“Hm...it is. For example, the 24K doesn’t really get along with the Huang Group right now. Which, by the way, should be ‘Wong’ if they’re trying to fit in in Hong Kong,” she went off on a tangent. Itachi’s fingers slowed. And she could tell that she had lost him. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I speak Cantonese, right? Well, they mostly speak Mandarin on the mainland. So the same last name might be pronounced differently depending on whichever you’re speaking,” she explained. “So ‘Huang’ should have become ‘Wong’. ‘Zhao’ becomes ‘Chiu’. By not changing their names, they’re basically advertising that they’re outsiders.”

“Do they not get along because the Huang’s are from the mainland?” Itachi asked. 

“Initially, I suppose. But the Huang’s are vicious and they made a lot of enemies along the way. I’ve got a good relationship with their Dragon Head at the moment, but who knows when he’ll turn on me,” Sakura mused. Because while Fatboy Huang did like her, she never forgot that he was the same kind of animal she was. Wild.

“At any rate, Hashirama despises Fatboy Huang. But I can do business with the Huang’s as long as I make money. Our biggest rival is currently the Suns. I can’t fucking stand them, but I’ve made a few deals with some of their less idiotic Red Poles,” she stated. 

“Sounds like there’s a lot of flexibility within the ranks,” observed Itachi.  Sakura nodded. “As long as you don’t piss off the Dragon Head, you’re fine, in theory.” She winced when he dug into a particularly stubborn knot . He rubbed his thumbs into it.

"The only thing is that since it’s sort of a free-for-all, you sometimes get in-fighting from people squabbling over territory or dealers. So we establish a  pecking order,” she added. 

Itachi’s hands slid off her shoulders. While it wasn’t perfect, a lot of the pain that had twisted up in there was gone. Her hand rested on his knee as she stretched. 

“Where are you in this pecking order, Jing-Mei?” Itachi queried. 

“Well, leng zai, let’s just say that the people who peck at me often lose their beaks.”

After the bath, Sakura saw Itachi to the door. His hair still just a little damp, even after she had dried it for him. He wrapped his scarf around his throat. Caught her staring at him. His gloved hand touched her cheek. 

“When you look at me like that, it makes it hard to leave,” he told her. 

“Like what?” she retorted, frowning. 

“Ah. There she is. Although, I wonder what everyone would say if they knew how cute Haruno Sakura can be in private,” he teased. Just a bit. But her expression darkened. She grabbed the front of his coat. Yanking him down to meet her eyes.

“If you do, I’ll kill you.” No laughter there. Her gaze glacial.

Itachi kissed her forehead. “Relax. Because if everyone else knew, I’d have to kill them. And that seems like too much work.”

While she was unguarded, he pressed a kiss to her lips too. The touch soft and brief before he pulled out of her grasp. 

“I’ll be by the club tonight. Around 10, you said?” 

Sakura nodded. And Itachi slipped into the hallway without another word. She bolted and chained the door after him. 

That night, Sakura sat at the bar. Sai had flown in from Hong Kong on a red-eye flight. And with some espresso and eye drops, he worked behind the bar. Flipping bottles of vodka and chatting up the hostesses with that easy smile. Tenten stood at the opposite end of the bar organizing the beers in the refrigerated drawer under the counter. 

Sai reached for Sakura’s empty glass but she pulled it away. 

“You’ve been in a good mood lately, Mama. Something nice happen?” he asked. One of the waiters dropped off an order, passing the paper slip to Sai before he hurried off. 

Sakura ran her fingers through her hair. The ruby ring on her pointer finger glittering, just like the snake necklace wrapped around the base of her throat. And then she adjusted the black blazer over her shoulders. Although it was cold outside, the inside of Twilight Dreams was toasty. The blazer was more to cover her tattoos. Although everyone knew that Twilight Dreams received some unusual guests, rumors were much different from the mama running around with tattoos bared for the world to see.

“Have I, Sai? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Sakura. A half-smile lingering on her lips. 

The bell attached to the front door jingled. With the cold air came Charlie Lau. The tip of his nose bright red. He was freezing as he paused to greet her. 

“Good evening, Mama. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he huffed, rubbing his hands together. His glasses fogged up as the warm air clashed with the frozen glass. Sakura laughed as he pulled his glasses off. Shoving them into his pocket.

“It really has been a while, Chojuro-kun. How have things been?” she asked. 

“Ah. Same old. It’s been so quiet without you, you know,” he responded. Slipped between the lines of their banter, Sakura received the message. Nothing unusual to report. She nodded. And he went off, searching for his favorite hostess.

Not long after, Tommy arrived. His teeth and hair both gleaming. He paused to press a cool kiss to Sakura’s cheek but said nothing. He didn’t have to. The tight line his jaw made said everything. He squeezed her hand, slipping something inside as he moved past.

“Deidara-kun!” Moegi exclaimed when she spotted him.

“Moegi-chan! I brought daifuku!” he matched her tone, holding up the box in his hand.

Sakura turned her hand just enough to peer through her fingers. It was a tiny plastic bag. Inside were a few powdery white pellets. Sodium cyanide, just like she had asked. But that’s what she liked about Tommy. He always delivered. She pretended to adjust the front of her dress, dropping the bag into her cleavage. 

A few more customers trickled in. Their suits wrinkled after a long day of work. Some of them came in groups with their coworkers. They dipped their heads to her as they walked past. The cool air whisking over her until the door shut again.

Sakura closed her eyes. She liked listening to the hum of conversation. The women’s voices rising and falling, dissolving into giggles. The men laughing too. The occasional swell of guffaws as someone told a particularly good joke. The pop of a cork squeezing from the mouth of a champagne bottle.

The bell above the door tinkled. 

“Ah. Mama, your special guest,” Ayu called. 

Sakura opened her eyes. 

“Should we set up your table in the back?” Ayu went on.

“No need, Ayu,” Sakura replied, waving the hostess off. And before Ayu could ask why, the door opened again and one of her regular customers walked in. 

Itachi took off his hat. Plastic crinkled. He placed a bouquet of carnations onto the bar. The petals were pale pink, almost white. But the edges were dark purple. A striking combination. She touched one of the soft petals with her pointer finger. He leaned against the bar. 

“Good evening, Mama,” he greeted her. 

And only then did she tilt her head to look at him. 

“Good evening,” she replied. 

“Am I too early?” asked Itachi, glancing down at his gold watch. Sakura shook her head. 

“He’s always late,” she corrected. Itachi pulled his card out of his wallet. Handed it to Tenten. 

“Dom Peri for Mama. And a vodka tonic for me,” he said. Tenten paused, arching an eyebrow. Sakura’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze flickered to him. Uchiha Itachi wasn’t known for his love of hard liquor. 

“Rough night?” Tenten asked. She reached to pull out two clean cups- a skinny flute and a highball glass. Itachi leaned his forearm against the bar.

“It’s about to be. I can’t stand my uncle,” he sighed.

“Hm. That makes two of us,” Sakura mused. 

They said nothing else. Only clinking glasses together when Tenten pushed the drinks to them. 

When Madara finally arrived, it was through the front door. Thankfully. 

One of the newer girls went to go greet him, but Sakura grabbed her hand. Stopping her. She shook her head, not looking up from her drink. 

“Go see if Moegi needs any help,” Sakura directed. Her voice calm, but firm. The girl blinked a few times and then she went off. It was rare for Mama to give absolute orders like that. 

Sakura set her glass down on the bar. In the center of the coaster. Watching the little bubbles fizz to the top of the drink. She heard Itachi let out a sigh. 

And she she felt Madara’s arm slip around her shoulder. Something nudged against her lower back. From the shape of it, it felt like maybe a revolver. 

“Where’s my brother?” he hissed into her ear. 

Sakura knocked him away with an impatient noise. She drained the rest of the champagne. 

“He’s upstairs. Which is where we’re going,” she replied.

Tommy had ordered a champagne tower the moment Madara walked in. Amid all the cheering and the staff carting out bottles and glasses, it was easy to slip away unnoticed. Further into the club. Up the wooden stairs. Tenten following a few moments later. 

In the middle of Sakura’s office sat Obito. Zip-tied to a chair. Madara eyed his brother’s fine clothing. He chuckled.

“Did you dress him up?” he asked. Sakura sat on the edge of her desk, shedding her blazer. Underneath, she wore a cream-colored dress. The fabric glittering when she moved.

“I also paid for the surgery to fix the hole in his gut. So pay up,” she retorted. 

Itachi took off his coat, hung it neatly by the door, along with his hat. He stared Obito in the eyes as he walked past but said nothing. And then he sat in one of the black sofas by the window. His face glowing pink from the neon signs blinking outside. 

Madara walked over to Obito. Rubbing a rough hand through his hair.

“Looking pretty good,” he chuckled. Obito glared up at him. 

“I also fed him. So you have absolutely no reason to bitch at me tonight, Madara,” Sakura then added. She gestured to Tenten who pulled a box of cigarettes out of her pocket. She offered one to Sakura, who placed it in her mouth. Sakura’s thumb flicked over the wheel of the lighter a few times before the flame caught. The paper sizzling quietly as smoke curled around her lips. 

Their eyes met. Tenten’s upper lip curling. Sakura almost snorted.

Madara pointed at Itachi, his smile as insincere as could be.

“Well, one reason to bitch,” he corrected her.

Sakura’s gaze flickered to Itachi, then back to Madara.

“None. He’s here because he needs to be,” she stated. Enunciating each syllable. Precise. Crisp.

She blew a ring of smoke out. Watching it drift up toward the ceiling.

Sakura slid off the desk, heels tapping. She settled into the leather armchair facing away from the window. One leg crossing over the other. Her eyes gleaming. 

“Have a seat, Madara. Let’s have a nice chat.”

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii (here) | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

[mothmanismyuncle]

The Devil in my Bloodstream

I love this fic. 

Part One

Part Two

Link to the series on AO3 and the chapter.

Tagging @bitchniz

           That afternoon, Keith waited for Lance by his locker, expecting to bring him down to his bike so they could ride home together.

           “Oh, hey,” Lance called. “What’s up?”

           “Need a ride home?” Keith asked, holding out Shiro’s helmet.

           “Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell you. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I have a club meeting to go to, so you can go on home without me.” Keith nodded.

           “Okay. Well, take this home with you, then. So when I come to get you in the morning, you have it.” Lance took it, smiling. “If you still want me to come get you, anyway,” Keith stammered.

           “Oh, no. That’d be… That’d be amazing. Are you going to come to Hunk’s moms’ place tomorrow night? They own the Starlite Dinor, and we always meet up for dinner after we… Well, around 8?” Lance squeaked.

           “Okay. I’ll ask Shiro and let you know. Text you tonight?” Keith asked. Lance grinned.

           “Text you tonight.”

           “Is it tonight?” Lance wheezed.

           “Lance, it’s 3:54 in the afternoon.” Pidge sniffed. “When he texts you, he’ll text you. Now would you make less with the heart eyes and more with the helping me?”

           “What, Keith said he’d text you?” Coran asked from next to Hunk.

           “Yeah, I invited him to the Starlite tomorrow,” Lance admitted.

           “Great! That’ll be a great time, I’m sure.” Coran replied, sliding Hunk a few bottles. They clanked and Hunk squawked at the rough treatment of his ingredients. “Apologies, Hunk,”

           “No harm done,” Hunk said, once he was assured it was so. “Why don’t you text him first?”

           “What, do I look desperate?” Lance scoffed. Pidge hit him with a circuit board as the rest of the team said in unison:

           “Yes!”

lance: So, did you ask Shiro?

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: uh, yeah. he said i can go, but he has to drop me off and pick me up. not allowed to take the bike out after dark.

lance: That’s cool! He can probably come too if he wants. Allura and Coran are gonna be there.

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: lemme ask him

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: he says he’ll stay! thanks for asking.

          “Keith, you look fine.” Shiro chuckled.

           “Fine like fine, or fine like ‘You’re my little brother and I’m supposed to tell you that you look fine,’?” Keith asked, eyes wild beneath his bangs. His hair gave him pause. “Do I have a mullet?” Shiro burst into laughter.

           “A little,” He admitted. Keith gasped and tore into the bathroom. “No, no. We can figure out a hairdresser tomorrow if you want, but we’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.” Keith let out a sigh that sounded like steam escaping a kettle.

           “Okay. Let’s go.”

           They pulled up to the diner and Keith had managed to let some of the tension out of his shoulders. Shiro leaned over and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

           “Everything’s gonna be just fine. They’re nice kids, you’re a good kid. Just be yourself.” Shiro said soothingly. Keith let his head tip forward onto his brother’s shoulder.

           “But myself is an asshole!” He groaned and Shiro cackled at him.

           “Well, myself is really hungry and wants to check out these milkshakes.” Shiro laughed. “Come on, they’ve been nice to you all week.”

           “But this is Saturday! We’re not at school anymore,” Keith wheezed a bit and Shiro let him curl up in the passenger seat. Keith’s hands felt clammy under his gloves and the car felt too small.

           “If you feel uncomfortable, we can come back out to the car and we will go right home,” Shiro said, becoming serious. “I’ll tell them that I have an appointment early tomorrow morning and you have to come home with me.” Keith blinked at him.

           “Really?” Shiro nodded.

           “Yep. Remember when Mom always used to play the bad guy when you needed to come home?” Shiro brushed the hair out of Keith’s eyes after he nodded. “Well, that’s my job, now. I’ll be Big Bad Brother who makes you come home if you’re uncomfortable. Text me and I’ll call you anytime, okay? You’re safe.” Keith nodded. “You ready to go get some hamburgers?” Keith cracked a grin and popped his door open.

           “Ready.”

           “Now, see here,” Keith growled. He was standing, and everyone around the table watched he and Lance with a degree of amusement. “I’m telling you that I saw a jackalope in the desert when I was a kid and I won’t take no for an answer!”

           “And I’m tellin’ you that jackalopes aren’t real, never have been, never will be!” Lance snarled. “You’re full of shit up to here!” Lance stuck a hand out at the level of Keith’s head. “Right to the mullet.”

           “It’s not a mullet!” Keith groaned. Hunk’s mom, Lisa, set down another cherry and cookies n’ cream milkshake for Keith and a peanut butter and banana for Shiro. Shiro and Lisa shared a fond look at the two fighting boys.

           “Is too! Longer in the back than it is in the front. Mullet.” Lance said, slurping down the last of his chocolate strawberry milkshake as he flopped back down into the booth. Keith exclaimed wordlessly and slumped into his seat, taking a deep drink of his milkshake. He knew his face was flushed, but from just realizing he’d been in Lance’s face for ten minutes or from the act of being in Lance’s face for the past ten minutes. Shiro watched him amusedly from across the booth and gave him a look. He knew the one well. Are you okay? He grinned back at Shiro. Doin’ fine.

           “So, jackalopes aside,” Hunk drawled, grinning between Lance and Keith. “What’s your favourite animal?”

           They lingered for an hour after the restaurant closed. Hunk’s parents had tossed him the keys and asked that he lock up before he had Pidge drop him off at home. Shiro ended up hitting it off pretty well with Allura and Coran and seemed pretty chuffed to make a few work friends. Pidge ended up finding out that Keith played all the same video games that they did and tried to beg Shiro to let him go home with them. One frantic look from Keith made Shiro chuckle.

           “Sorry, Pidge, but Keith turns into a pumpkin in about an hour. Next weekend, if he wants to come over he can come over.” Pidge whined but ended up knuckle touching Shiro in grim agreement.

           “Next weekend, Keith, your ass is grass,” Pidge promised. Keith grinned and give them a knuckle touch as well. The group went their separate ways and Keith melted into the passenger seat.

           “Reaching your capacity, bro?” Shiro chuckled. Keith’s eyes flicked to the clock.

           “So’s my chest,” Keith wheezed. “It’s been like eighteen hours, plus gym.” Shiro started the car and glared at Keith.

           “Plus gym? Keith, you’re gonna snap a rib,” Shiro admonished. Keith waved a hand in the air, dismissing him without summoning the words. Shiro wouldn’t take that for an answer, however, and waited for Keith to catch his breath.

           “Lance, Hunk and Pidge are all in that class with me. I have to.” He said quietly. Shiro nodded for a few moments before speaking again.

           “What about a sports bra, or tape?” Keith bared his teeth. “I know. The dysphoria’s really bad. Just take it easy in gym, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

           “I’m sorry,” Keith finally muttered. They were nearly home.

           “Sorry for what?” Shiro asked.

           “I’m always freakin’ you out,” Keith replied. They got out of the car quietly and Shiro let Keith take his binder off before hovering in his doorway.

           “You do freak me out, but that’s only because you’re my little brother. You could be the safest, most careful little brother on the face of the planet and I’d still be afraid for you.” Shiro wrapped his arm around his middle and looked to the side. “Since Mom and Dad… I always feel like I could do more, you know?”

           “Shiro, you do everything,” Keith said, voice breaking. “Literally everything, you’re the best. And you were hurt,” Shiro screwed his face up. “I’m just happy you’re still here.” There was a long pause where Keith tugged on his shirt and Shiro stared a hole in Keith’s bedding. “Wanna watch X-Files with me?” Keith broke the silence. Shiro chuckled and nodded. “C’mon.” They hunkered down on Keith’s bed. Keith’s TV was sitting on a box in the corner of his room, and his DVDs were stacked up all around it.

           “Are you ever going to unpack?” Shiro asked from underneath one of Keith’s nine thousand throw blankets.

           “Yeah. Maybe five minutes before I move out for college.” Keith said, grinning. “I’m gonna get some tea. You want?” Shiro smiled and nodded. “Great. Be right back.” He started the episode of X-Files and left Shiro under the blankets in the semi-darkness of his room. While he was waiting for the water to boil, his phone buzzed.

lance: Do you want to work on the English homework tomorrow?

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: the play thing?

lance: Yeah! Did you already read the play?

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: yeah. so we just have to fill out that packet?

lance: Yeah! Wanna do it together?

Mysterious Motorcycle Mullet Man: sure! your place or mine?

lance: Definitely yours. I like you too much to subject you to my house.

           The whistling of the kettle tore Keith’s attention away from the last text. He mechanically made the tea. “I like you too much”?! He wheezed, but he wasn’t sure where the wheezing from the binder stopped and where the wheezing from the text began. He carried the mugs of tea into the bedroom, where Shiro looked like he had become one with the blanket fort.

           “This episode always gets me.” Shiro began. “What kind of therapist just leaves a kid in a room with a doll and calls it ‘therapy’?” Keith chuckled.

           “I dunno man, but she later psychically blows up a fish tank, and her therapy is the thing you’re gonna question?” Shiro took a drag of his tea.

           “It’s the X-Files, man. There’s a modicum of crazy you deal with.” Keith built his own blanket fort and hunkered down.

           They sipped their tea and watched a few episodes in relative silence until Keith’s head lolled onto Shiro’s shoulder. Luckily for Shiro, Keith sat on his right side so he could finish off his own tea and set Keith’s on another box by his headboard. Shiro let the DVD play out before attempting to extricate himself from the blanket fort.

           “Hey, Keith.” Keith stirred but buried his face deeper in the blankets wrapped around Shiro. “Keith, buddy, I gotta get up.”

           “Stay. Like we did when we were kids.” Keith said after a beat. “I could tell you a scary story and you could tell me you’re not scared but ask to sleep with the lights on.” Shiro chuckled.

           “I have PT tomorrow morning at eight. You’re not gonna want me in here, waking you up.” Keith groaned.

           “I’ll go with you,” Keith promised.

           “Okay,” Shiro said, frowning at his brother. “Are you alright?” Shiro slid down the headboard and the brothers laid shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Keith made Shiro help him stick up there two days previous.

           “What do you think Mom and Dad would’ve thought about Lance?” Keith asked. Shiro sighed, and when Keith looked over, Shiro’s face was pinched in thought.

           “Dad would probably get this face on,” Shiro rolled half onto his side and made their dad’s ‘Serious Face Number Two’. Keith scrunched his nose with a snort. “And ask you the question. ‘When I was a boy, my father would tell me that you could judge a man’s character by the company he keeps. Now, my son. What does Lance say about you?’” Shiro barely kept his impersonation together long enough to finish the sentence before the two were laughing.

           “God, you sound just like him!” Keith said between peals of laughter.

           “Mom always said they just cloned Dad to get me.” Shiro wiggled his fingers and raised his eyebrows and Keith snorted again. “After I hit my growth spurt, I'd scare Mom in the hallway all the time. I guess we walk exactly the same. Used to be able to write exactly like him, too.” Keith grinned.

           “I remember. How do you think I went on all those field trips?” Shiro gave him a sad smile and he glanced down at the open palm of his hand. Keith felt a fishhook latch behind his sternum and tug.

           “I was right-handed,” Shiro said quietly. There was a long silence. Keith burrowed deeper into the blankets and got comfortable. Shiro didn’t move.

           “I’m so sorry, Takashi,” Keith said quietly. “If I would’ve—“

           “No,” Shiro said quietly. “We’ve been through this over and over.”

           “And we’ll go through it again.” Keith insisted. “If I would have been in that car to begin with, if you guys didn’t have to turn around and come get me, everything would’ve been different.”

           “And it’s not. It’s not different. We can’t make it different. All we can do is make the best of what’s going on.” Shiro said hollowly.

           “Right.” Keith spat and looked back up at the stars. He’d tried to get the constellations right, but they were so much farther south now. His constellation maps were somewhere in a box, and he didn’t trust the internet. “You can’t tell me you aren’t mad.”

           “Of course I’m mad,” Shiro said, in a tone of voice that belied the way he clutched at the blanket across his stomach. “I’m livid. Never been angrier in my life.” Keith, shocked to his toes, looked over at Shiro. His eyebrows were knit together and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “I’m pissed at the guy driving the truck. I’m pissed at the bartender who kept giving him drinks. I’m pissed at every red light between where we wrecked and where he was parked for not giving us more time… I’m pissed at God, for not giving us more time.” Shiro’s hand ghosted over his nose. where one of the deepest marks of that night sat. He stared up at the stars, taking over Keith’s place at the vigil. A few heartbeats passed before Shiro’s face took on a mask of dark humour. “I’d give my right arm for some more time.”

           “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Keith huffed, but they were both smiling the same wry grin. “That was horrible.”

           “It’s funny,” Shiro whispered. He was beginning to feel the pull of sleep. “You got an alarm set?”

           “You gotta be there at eight?” Keith asked muzzily. Shiro nodded. “Ok. Seven thirty good?” Shiro nodded again. “Got it. ‘Night, bro.”

           “Night, Keith.”

           “He wants to come here?” Shiro said, parking the car. Keith nodded and handed Shiro his phone. Shiro, realizing it was far too early for his little brother to be any kind of verbal. “He likes you,” Shiro cooed and Keith glared darkly. “No, that’s totally fine. I’ll stay upstairs, and you two will stay downstairs.” Shiro emphasized. Keith’s eyes widened and he turned pink. “Are you going to pick him up?” Keith nodded. “He still has my helmet?” Another nod. “Okay. Wake up a little bit more and go get him.” Keith zoned out in the passenger seat for a few more minutes as Shiro played on his phone in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to leave Keith in the car by himself this early in the morning. Last time he’d made that mistake, Keith missed his therapy appointment by two hours and was peacefully curled up for a nap like a cat in the sun. Keith got moving after five minutes. “Good to go?”

           “Yeah,” Keith croaked.

           “Alright. I’m gonna go in and shower, then I’ll just be grading papers in my room. Text me if you need me.” Keith nodded at him and clambered out of the car. “Please, please text me when you get there.”

           “Okay.” Keith shot him a thumbs up and Shiro shook his head.

           Keith pulled into Lance’s driveway and immediately texted his brother. There were the three blinking dots seconds after Shiro viewed the message, and Keith slid the phone back into his pocket as Lance bounded out the door.

           “Hey!” He sang. “Good morning, mullet head!” Keith glared blearily at him.

           “Please don’t tell me you’re a morning person,” He said stiffly.

           “I’m going to go ahead and assume you aren’t.” Lance laughed, Shiro’s black helmet tucked under his arm. “Ready to go?” Keith pulled his phone back out of his pocket and texted Shiro right back that he was leaving.

           “Yep. Hop on.”

           “Okay wait,” Keith held up a hand. “So he fucks his own mom.”

           “Yep.” Lance said, popping the ‘p’ and taking a sip of soda.

           “But he doesn’t know? I feel like I’d know.” Keith said, staring down at his book.

           “I mean, you might not. He never met his mom.” Lance offered, shrugging. “I dunno if I’d be able to pick my mom out of a crowd had she not raised me.”

           “I don’t know my mom either,” Keith offered quietly.

           “Oh,” Lance said, blinking. “Wait, you and Shiro…?”

           “He’s my adopted brother.” Keith supplied. “Our parents were technically his.” Lance nodded a few times.

           “Were?” He asked quietly. Keith nodded once and Lance’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to snoop,”

           “No, it’s okay.” Keith swiped his nose on his arm and blinked a few times. “It’s just touchy.”

           “Well, duh,” Lance said gently. He took a napkin out of the holder in the middle of the table and passed it to Keith. “I’m gonna get some more soda. Want some?” Keith nodded, not able to talk past the lump in his throat. Lance, sensing the oncoming storm, hopped up and went into the kitchen to give Keith some privacy. “After we get done with this packet, we can check out some videos I found on the internet…” Lance chattered on for the few minutes it took Keith to have his Breakdown Lite and pull himself back together. He came back into the dining room after Keith had blown his nose a few times. “Tah-dah. Refreshments.”

           “Refreshments.” Keith echoed. “Thanks, Lance.” The tone of his voice told Lance he was thanking him for more than the drink.

           “No problem. Now, you said you read this, but for some reason, I don’t believe you.”