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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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starlessea · 3 years ago

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𝐅𝐨𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 - Part 1

A/N This is part 1/2 of a collab with the amazing @whitexwingedxdoves! The first part is in Daryl’s POV, and the second will be in the reader’s. Part 2 is here.

Summary: Daryl Dixon was a good hunter, but there were still some things that he struggled to find. Such as the patience to deal with you.

You wore a rabbit’s foot keyring, but Daryl thought you were the furthest thing from lucky. After all, you ended up stuck with him, too.

Words: 3974

Daryl never really expected Judith to take an interest in hunting; she was far too sweet.

But then again, so were you - and Daryl had never met anyone who could make a better twitch-up snare. Though, he preferred using bow traps, himself, when he had the arrows to spare for them.

Takes more skill, he’d argue, and watch you shake your head vehemently at him - as though you couldn’t disagree more.

You hadn’t changed since then; you were just as stubborn, if not worse. But Daryl definitely had, even if he didn’t want to admit it. You had changed him. He wasn’t the same man who’d first stumbled through the gates of Alexandria all those years back, scowling at your traps which got in his way and stole his game; nor was he the same person who insisted on butting heads with you until he got a migraine.

Daryl Dixon had grown since then.

And that was probably the reason why he was stuck crawling through the forest on all fours, teaching Judith Grimes how to set a twitch-up snare (and not a bow trap).

“Now what?” she asked him, adjusting that sheriff’s hat which was still a little too big for her.

Daryl could remember the first time he’d placed it on her head, and tipped it up to get a glimpse of her gummy smile. She’d been so small back then; she still was.

He held out his rope in front of him, weaving it slowly so that she could follow the steps. It felt natural to Daryl’s hands, like he’d done it a thousand times over. He probably had, but he could remember a time where he’d been the student - and you were his teacher.

“Make the ears an’ weave the end through ‘em,” he instructed.

Just like a rabbit, you’d told him, and laughed.

He felt his lips twitch a little, but Daryl bit back his smile. Instead, he watched as Judith made a mistake - and he let her. That was the best way to learn, after all.

The young girl pulled a face at the tangled rope in her fists, wondering where she’d gone wrong. Then, she looked up at her uncle Daryl for the answers.

“It doesn’t look right,” she noted, showing it to him.

It didn’t. It definitely looked more like a dog with stubby ears than a rabbit.

Daryl shook his head gently, confirming her suspicions. “Give it here,” he mumbled, and carefully took the half-formed knot into his lap.

Judith shuffled over to get a closer look, and Daryl took his time in showing her how to correct it. He remembered when his father and brother would try and ‘teach’ him something new - which usually involved berating him until he was too anxious to ever mess it up again.

He hoped he was a better teacher than that.

“Ya folded it wrong,” he explained, pointing to that part of the fraying rope. He unwove it, and tucked it back into the right place. “See, ya fold the loop over itself to make the ears.”

Judith watched intently, holding her breath as she tried to memorise the steps. Then, Daryl undid the rope, and she let out a yell in protest. But Daryl just shrugged, and smiled a little to himself. She’d need to figure it out on her own if she was going to learn - as much as he wished he’d always be there to help her.

Daryl handed the rope back, and watched as she fumbled with it again; but this time, she didn’t make the same mistake.

“Who taught you how to do this?” she asked, eyes still trained in her lap as she spoke.

Daryl was silent for a few seconds, as if debating whether to tell her. He could already picture the triumphant look on your face.

He sighed. “This knot? Your aunt did.”

His words came out muffled, but Judith was still able to decipher them. In response, she smiled a smile that looked much too familiar - reminding him of another Grimes kid when he was up to no good.

“I thought you knew how to hunt before that,” she chirped, purposefully not meeting Daryl’s eyes as he narrowed them at her.

Damn girl’s gettin’ cheeky, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t pull her up on her mistake. Maybe she deserved to do the knot over once more.

“Mhm. I did,” Daryl answered naturally, as though her teasing tone didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Jus’ hunted in a different way is all.”

Judith looked up at him, and cocked her head to the side.

Yeah, he thought, she’s growin’ up jus’ like Carl.

“Which way’s better?” she asked curiously, as though forgetting the messy knot in her lap.

Daryl sat back on his hands, feeling his palms meet the damp leaves of the thick, forest overgrowth. That question had been the one that started it all. The sky was beginning to darken, and he knew that he should be getting back home soon. You always did give him one hell of an ear-full whenever he was late.

He smiled at the girl, before nodding in the direction of the abandoned knot - prompting her to try again.

“Depends on who ya ask.”

Daryl let loose his arrow and listened to it whirr through the air, and strike that possum straight down from its tree. Carol grimaced as he collected it, picking the animal up by its tail and slinging it over his shoulder as they walked. He would have made some remark back at her - but he just didn’t have the energy.

None of them did, really.

That’s why he’d shot the possum. He still wasn’t convinced by the promised land that Aaron had tried to sell to them - a place called Alexandria - so at least they’d have something to eat if it fell through.

It usually always did.

Every time Daryl felt like he had a solid footing on the ground beneath him, it somehow always managed to find a way to cave. First there was the farm, then the prison, and finally Terminas. These days, he just couldn’t catch a break.

But he could catch possum, he thought, and trudged on along the road.

The gates to Alexandria reminded him of the prison - those wire lattice fences and the metal bars that stretched up to the sky. It was like a damn cage, but Daryl had somehow gotten used to living in those.

What he could never get used to was the sight of those faces, looking down on him as though he was something they’d stepped in whilst navigating the side-walk. He was familiar with those looks by now - he’d gotten plenty of them back in Georgia even before the world had ended - but they never failed to make him feel a certain shame he didn’t like to admit to.

This time, though, he may have deserved them.

It took him a while to realise that their eyes weren’t actually on him, but rather lingering on that dead possum - still hanging by its tail. Then a woman stepped forward, with an air about her that made Daryl think that she was the leader. Although, it definitely wasn’t the same air he felt when he was around Rick.

“We’ll need to interview you, so that we can assign you all jobs,” she said warmly.

And Daryl laughed a bitter laugh he didn’t realise he’d been holding back - but once he let it out, he felt much better. From the moment he’d stepped foot into Alexandria, Daryl Dixon already had a job.

It was to try and keep the rest of these idiots alive.

Deanna’s office was stuffy; with too many dusty books and not enough fresh air, it nearly made Daryl forget how to breathe. He’d almost knocked that camera straight from its tripod, too - until Rick shot him a warning look against it.

“He’s a hunter and a damn good one,” the man quickly interjected, his hands falling into place on his hips.

Daryl lifted his chin with pride at the sheriff’s words. Hunting was the one thing he could confidently offer to the group; it was second nature to him. He could also tell that Deanna held Rick in high regard, so to hear him praise Daryl like that only proved his worth.

But she remained skeptical. “I can see that, but we already have one of those.”

The woman was assertive, that’s for sure.

She crossed her arms at her chest and examined the limp possum that swung proudly from Daryl’s shoulder. Though, she didn’t seem to share that same enthusiasm for his skill. Daryl shuffled on his feet, and repositioned the possum on his shoulder as if trying to shake off her judgemental looks.

“Just the one?” Carol piped up, from the doorway.

She had a good point; only one hunter for the whole of Alexandria?

It didn’t seem to add up quite right in Daryl’s head - and from the look on his face, it didn’t convince Rick, either.

“We’ve never needed more than that.” Deanna replied curtly, her lips pursing into a tight line. Daryl couldn’t help but scowl at the pride in her voice.

Bullshit, he thought.

“Well if you ask me, you’d be making a mistake not giving him that title,” Rick cautioned, but again his words seemed to be lost on the woman standing before them.

Deanna shook her head. “No, that’s not all he has to offer,” she said quietly.

Daryl felt a chill wrack up his spine as she stared right through him - as if trying to figure him out.

“I’ll find a job for you, but in the meantime feel free to join our hunter,” she continued, decisively.

Daryl tried his best not to scowl. Perhaps he would do just that, and show Alexandria what they were missing without having him hunt for them.

Maybe he’d even bring back a feast.

The interviews took up a hefty while, but Daryl promised Rick he would accompany him on a perimeter check whilst it was still light out - before the rest of the group settled down for the night. Even with those tall fences, he wanted to make sure there were no cracks - inside or out - for walkers to slip through.

The interior of Alexandria seemed secure, but beyond those sturdy gates was a world they hadn’t accounted for. Daryl toed each steel beam with his boot, as Rick started to dispatch the undead stragglers that lingered a little too close.

A regular culling, he called it.

They’d tried to implement that at the prison, too, but their defences had been only a tenth as sturdy as Alexandria’s. So, Daryl helped the officer, aiming his crossbow at the walkers nearby - even the ones that were caught on car doors, trapped.

He even went out of his way to follow the footsteps he came across, left so blatantly that they disturbed the mud and leaves - allowing him to track them clear as day. Rick accompanied him, knife in hand and pistol still holstered on his belt.

Then, a twig snapped.

“Son of a-” the officer cursed, and Daryl whipped his head back.

There was rope caught around his boot, and it only tightened the more he tried to twitch his foot free.

“The hell is that?” Rick cursed, looking over at him for an answer.

Tha’s a damn snare, Daryl realised, and pulled out his pocket knife to cut the other man loose.

He narrowed his eyes; it was constructed well. The knots were tight and the trigger reacted as it should have. But it still wasn’t as efficient as the types of traps Daryl used.

“Damn twitch-up, nothin’ but trouble,” he replied, crouching down to free Rick’s boot, “don’t catch nothin’.”

But a voice retorted just as quick.

“Caught your friend just fine!”

Daryl flinched, and dropped the knife in favour of the crossbow slung over his back. He hadn’t even heard her. He trained his weapon on the woman, but soon lowered it at the sight of her - unarmed.

“Would appreciate if you removed your dumb foot from my trap,” she yelled, pointing to Rick’s combat boot - still floundering in the rope like a fish on a line.

Daryl sighed. So this was Alexandria’s hunter.

She carried a big leather satchel, and had a string of woven rope circled over her shoulder. Daryl also noticed the charm hanging from her bag - a tattered rabbit’s foot. It was appropriate, that’s for sure. But he wondered how she’d even been able to catch one with such temperamental traps.

Daryl bent down near the twitch-up again. He knew how to disable it, but Rick had already damaged some parts with his heavy steps as he struggled to get it loose. So, he just glanced back at the woman over his shoulder, and made a show of cutting through the rope with his pocket blade.

“Ain’t worth the hassle,” he muttered, once he was done.

He could tell from her face that she wasn’t impressed. She stalked over to him and shot them both a look so fierce that Daryl thought her eyes might roll back into her head.

“And who the hell are you?” she asked - but it was more of a demand.

Daryl had heard enough of that tone today. He was already sick of the false authority Alexandria had exuded over them. So, he ignored her question.

He pointed at the ruined trap, instead. “If officer clumsy over ‘ere broke yer trap in two seconds, then walkers could spring it in one,” Daryl remarked.

The woman scoffed, crouching down to retrieve the rope.

“Maybe that’s the point,” she snapped back, “keeps them away from the fences.”

You’re lying, Daryl thought. It seemed like everyone around here had too much damn pride.

“Nah it aint,” he argued, shaking his head. “Tha’s what them car doors were for.”

He’d noticed it earlier - the way the vehicles were all parked along the perimeter of Alexandria, doors wide open and windows down to bait the walkers and snag them there. They weren’t perfect, though, since a few had still slipped through.

The woman went silent, and Daryl felt a small smile tug at his lips as he watched for her reaction.

“Yer tryna catch rabbits with these,” he concluded.

He’d expected her to admit defeat - maybe even ask for his help since it was clear he knew what he was talking about.

But, she didn’t.

The hunter shook her head straight back at him, and flipped open that worn leather satchel - pulling out a rabbit by its foot.

“Not just trying,” she corrected, with a smirk much more full than the one Daryl had dared to wear.

Rick let out a sound under his breath, but he still heard it. Daryl scowled in return. There were still plenty of traps better than that old-fashion twitch-up.

“Ya coulda caught more with-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Just who’d you think you are, again?”

This took Daryl aback, and he was stunned into silence. Already, he couldn’t stand the arrogance of these people. His jaw clenched, and Rick seemed to pick up on the unsettling quietness. So, the man cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“This is Daryl,” he announced, clapping his hand down onto his shoulder. “Best hunter I know.”

The woman wordlessly stuffed the rabbit back into her bag, leaving its ears to flop out over the side. Then, she looked between him and the officer, with an expression that got completely under Daryl’s skin.

“Well then I guess you only know one,” she laughed.

Daryl couldn’t quite remember how the rest of the story went. Over time, the details became as hazed in his mind as the sight of freshly fallen snow - obscuring any tracks he might try to follow. The only thing he could briefly recall was the different animals they had hunted during their time at Alexandria.

Yes, he could remember it now.

After that first rabbit, there had been a fox - caught right in the dead of winter.

“Should have guessed you were a bowman!”

Daryl sighed and stopped in his tracks. For someone so bothersome, that woman was remarkably quiet.

He picked up the red fox, which looked more of a gingerish colour against the snow, and twisted his arrow until it became dislodged from its side. A few blood spatters trickled out onto the ground, landing in perfect circles - like red wax seals against white paper.

“Gets the job done quick and easy,” Daryl grumbled, slinging the fox over his shoulder by its bushy tail.

The woman watched him, leant up against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh now you’re starting to sound like my dad!” she laughed, and padded along after Daryl as he turned to leave.

Recently, the two hunters would sometimes run into each other like this - and Daryl had started to expect the company.

“Ya ol’ man teach you those god awful traps?” he rasped, his voice coming out as puffs of smoke in the cool air.

The woman jabbed him in his side, and Daryl scowled.

“No, actually that was my uncle,” she corrected, looking down at her feet as they made imprints in the snow.

Daryl glanced over at the woman, and narrowed his eyes. He just couldn’t figure her out yet.

“Ya whole damn family hunters?” he questioned, and she laughed again.

For someone so stuck up, her laugh was shy. - as though she were scared of it.

She nodded. “Some girls got Barbies for Christmas. I got a boning knife.”

And some kids got nothin’, Daryl thought.

They walked together back to Alexandria, mostly in silence - save from the crunching of their boots as they stepped heavily through the snow. Daryl kept catching that rabbit foot charm in his peripheral, swinging from the woman’s satchel as she stepped. He also noticed just how red her nose had gotten, and how it occasionally twitched from the cold.

“What ya doin’ out ‘ere?” Daryl eventually asked. “Too cold for rabbits,” he remarked.

They reached the gates, and the woman stopped as she waited for the guard to open them.

“Was tracking a fox,” she replied, eyes settling on the reddish fur bunched up between Daryl’s fingers. “But it looks like you beat me to it.”

After that, once the snow thawed and spring had come around, the next hunt had been for a deer - and Daryl was called upon to help her carry it back.

Thought they only needed one hunter, Daryl cursed, as he readjusted the deer’s hooves in his grip.

He could have easily carried the animal himself, but she was stubborn and insisted she share the weight. He watched as she struggled to hold the back end of the deer, propping it up every so often to relieve the strain on her arms - that damn rabbit’s foot flailing about from her satchel.

“Why the rabbit’s foot?” Daryl finally spoke, breaking the silence between her exaggerated grunts.

“It’s lucky” she managed to huff, before admitting defeat and letting her end drop to the floor.

Daryl took that as his cue to pick the deer up himself, and sling it around the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk at her disappointed stance - but he knew better than to say anything.

“Didn’t you keep the brush?”

Daryl cocked his brow at her question, taking slow steps back towards Alexandria.

“You know the fox’s tail?” she finally cleared up, matching his speed.

“Why? They lucky too?” he quipped back.

He didn’t intend for it to sound so sarcastic.

“I don’t think so,” she sighed, “but they’re pretty!” A small giggle passed her lips, which only made Daryl roll his eyes

This was Alexandria’s big scary hunter.

“Could swap it out for that damn rag you take everywhere,” she teased, nodding her head towards his back pocket.

Daryl watched the way her lips pressed together in a thin line, as if holding back the urge to let out yet another laugh. He scoffed.

Rags were practical; rabbit’s feet and fox’s tails were not.

During the rest of the trip back home, she would go on to tell him the story of how she’d caught that particular rabbit’s foot; it was a story he had since misplaced - but he still remembered the way her eyes lit up as she told it.

Looking back, that deer had been the last thing they’d caught - in Alexandria, at least. Though, Daryl could remember what they had been hunting for when it happened.

Damn rabbits.

The grass was thick and overgrown. Neither of them had explored the area yet - a little ways out from Alexandria. She’d told Daryl about it the night before, claiming to have stumbled upon it in the daytime. The woman swore that she could barely take a step without tripping over one of the dozens of burrows she’d found there.

Daryl wasn’t quite convinced, but he followed her nonetheless.

“You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed, looking over at Daryl much too expressively. “Fox meat? Over rabbit?”

It’s too early for this, Daryl thought, catching sight of her lopsided grin.

“Tastes better,” he mumbled back, navigating through the long foxtail grass and thickets that were up to his waist.

The woman looked over her shoulder and shook her head at him. Daryl reminded her to keep on walking, or let him lead if all she was going to do was trip him up.

She ignored him. “No! Foxes taste like pennies,” she argued, waving her hands around like she had a point to prove. “You know, that weird metallic-”

The woman stopped, and cocked her head at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she remarked, and Daryl felt as though he couldn’t even keep up with the conversation.

“I ain’t even lookin’ at ya,” he bit back - frustrated.

Daryl could barely recall how the hunter had gone from being so reserved back when they had first met, to whatever the hell was standing before him now.

Bark worse than ‘er bite, tha’s for damn sure.

She ran on ahead, and Daryl followed her tracks in the long grass until they reached that deserted area - so quiet that it almost unsettled him. There wasn’t even a breeze; it was as though the world was completely still.

Unnaturally so.

“See!” the hunter exclaimed, triumphantly. “I told you, it’s completely untouched.”

She had that same, smug look on her face as she did when he first met her - entirely proud of herself. But for once, it didn’t bother Daryl in the slightest.

He shook his head, but it was more out of habit than anything else. “Won’t be for long,” he chided, “best keep quiet or yer gonna scare ‘way the game.”

The woman laughed at him, less timidly than how she used to.

“I know how-” she started, but Daryl never did find out what she was going to say.

A loud metallic sound rang through the open air, and the hunter disappeared from his sight, as though sucked into the ground beneath her. In a matter of seconds, she’d gone from laughing so carefree to becoming lost in the tall grass - leaving Daryl behind to only listen to her scream.

Daryl knew that sound; he couldn’t mistake the clang of those metal jaws as they clamped shut.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Bear trap, he realised, and ran through the foxtails to find her.

Also, if you enjoy my writing, you might want to buy me a coffee or commission me - tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N I really hope you enjoyed reading this. It is one of my favourites so far. And it has truly been a joy working with @whitexwingedxdoves. Make sure you stay tuned for part 2!

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags!

Tag List:

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heliads · 4 years ago

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Too Cold

Based on this request: “imagine with Bucky where you're on a mission in the mountains but due to the weather you need to stay in a little cabin for the night but it's terribly cold. He lights a fire but then he offers you his sweater. You're both getting closer (you have a crush as well on each other), so you kinda forget about the mission and just enjoy the time together as you also share a meaningful kiss?”

masterlist

“It’s going to be cold. Siberia, midwinter, ski resort? It’ll be freezing.” Bucky fixes you with an expecting gaze. You return the stare. “Buck, I’ve been on missions for years. I’ve trained and fought and killed in some of the worst places on the planet. I think I can handle a little snow.” Bucky shrugs. “I hope that’s true, because I’d like to focus on the mission, and being able to laugh at you for being wrong would distract me.”

You toss a glare his way. “You are a horrible friend.” Bucky just grins. “Maybe so.” You roll your eyes, then turn your attention back to the guidebooks and manila file folders strewn across the table in front of you. In less than 24 hours, you and Bucky will embark on a mission to ice-cold Siberia, posing as a pair of newlyweds at a ski resort. Such an elaborate scheme would usually never be a part of the Avengers’ repertoire, but the couple you’re investigating is so wily and tricky that you have no other choice.

The targets in question are a man and a woman, Sara and Henri Antonovich. They were noted members of HYDRA before the organization’s collapse, and their names are frequently listed among the visitors of certain Siberian military bases, especially ones containing Winter Soldiers. There have been rumored sightings of them around the area, and now you have proof that they’ll be staying at this particular resort in the hopes of meeting someone and making a deal. So, you and Bucky must go there as well, to catch them in the act.

The plane ride is uneventful, and you touch down in Siberia without too many worries. Bucky, already prepared to act the part of the dutiful husband, links your hand through his, leaning close as if to whisper a declaration of love. Instead, he tells you that a car is waiting, driven by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who will give you fake IDs and deliver you to your assigned rental cabin. Such is the romantic life of an undercover agent.

By the time you get there, you’re shivering. The car was cold, the journey up the icy walkway was cold, the time spent standing in the freezing winter air whilst you try to find your key was cold, and this cabin, unfortunately, is also cold. You walk through the door, hoping to find some last remnants of heating, but you are sorely disappointed. You walk briskly over to the thermostat, cranking it up and muttering something under your breath about stingy S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who wouldn’t even let you be warm in your own undercover house.

Bucky, noticing your arms wrapped tightly around you, grins. “What happened to your years of experience? Are they not helping you against the cold?” You make a face at his back, but Bucky does not see it and continues checking out some data file disguised as a paperback that he brought with him.

You purse your lips together. It’s strange- you’ve known Bucky for a while now, long enough to consider him a friend. The two of you have these moments like companionship, just like now, with jokes being exchanged and laughter bubbling out. But then Bucky seems to remember something, and it’s like a switch is flipped. He stays quiet and doesn’t open his mouth for a long time after that. You’re not sure what he’s thinking about, or why he only seems to want to talk to you in small doses, but it still feels like an ever-growing thorn in your side.

Especially since you have the unfortunate habit of crushing on him. Of course you had to fall in love with the one guy who doesn’t feel the need to talk that much with you, but it wasn’t like you had that much of a choice. He just appeared in your life, with his slight smile and broken mind, and he made you feel like you were more than just a gun and a badge, a placard on a S.H.I.E.L.D. desk. He made you feel like a person, and you love him for it.

You walk over to the neat stone fireplace to light some tinder and heat this place up. You’ve never been the best with fires, and Bucky knows this, so he crouches beside you to arrange the kindling and begin the blaze. After what seems like only a couple of seconds, the spark catches and a pleasantly crackling fire appears in the fireplace. Bucky stands back, satisfied, while you hold up your hands to the warm glow, desperately trying to ward away the winter chill.

Bucky glances over at you one last time, then turns and silently disappears from the room. You bite your cheek, pretending it doesn’t hurt you that he already feels the need to leave. If he’s already sick of you after only a couple of minutes, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to come off as a loving couple. Maybe it’ll be easy for you, because you’re not entirely sure that you’ll be faking it, but you don’t know whether or not Bucky could ever look like he was in love with you.

Then he comes out of the room again, holding in his hands a thick wool sweater. He tosses it towards you, and you pick it up, slightly confused. “You look freezing. Might as well try to stay warm, right?” You beam at him, already slipping it on. “You’re the best. None of my sweaters are anywhere near this warm.” You run your hands over the thick weaving, already feeling better.

“Well, don’t thank me quite yet,” he says with a light smile, “because I’m making you go back outside again.” You stare at him, mouth hanging slightly open in outrage. “No, you’re not. I know you’re not.” Bucky grins. “Afraid so. I’ve received word that one of our supplies came in late, so they’ve dropped it off, pretending it’s just the postal service.”

You sigh dramatically, turning to grab your winter coat once again. “You are the meanest friend ever.” Bucky walks over next to you, taking his coat off the rack as well. “Husband. We’re supposed to be undercover, remember?” How could you not? You give him a sideways glance. “If we’re undercover, I feel like you shouldn’t keep bringing it up all the time.” Bucky, hiding his metal hand underneath a pair of thick winter gloves, just grins.

It is still freezing cold outside. Maybe even worse, if that’s possible. Yet you still walk down the snow-encrusted path to the brown-wrapped package waiting for the two of you, just because you and Bucky are loyal Avengers who have to get your stupid gear even though it’s going to give you both frostbite. On the walk back, though, you’re treated to something you didn’t expect at all. The neighbours are coming out of their cabin. What’s more, they just happen to be Sara and Henri Antonovich. The couple you two were sent here to investigate.

You can feel Bucky tensing just slightly beside you at the sight of them. So he’s noticed them too. They have also seen you by now, and you wait, heart pounding in your chest, to see if there’s some chance they’ll recognize you and know that they’ve been found out. Sara turns, sees you, starts walking over. This is it.

She smiles and holds out a hand. “My name is Sara, and this is my husband, Henri. Are you two also here for the skiing?” You plaster on a smile, shaking her hand. “Yes, we’d heard about all the good snow and wanted to see it for ourselves. I’m Y/N, and this is my husband, James.” Bucky smiles at her, and shakes hands with Henri. He’s careful not to use his metal arm lest he give everything away.

You stumble slightly in the snow, but Bucky’s already reached out and steadied you, arm wrapping around your waist. You glance up at him, mouthing a silent thank-you. Sara grins. “Well, aren’t you two the sweetest! Did you get married recently?” You turn back to her, ready to let out every last detail of the lie S.H.I.E.L.D. cooked up for you. “Yes, we did. I met James at work. I know you’re not supposed to date your coworkers and everything, but he was so kind that I just couldn’t help it. I never wanted to leave his side, and we’ve been together ever since. This was supposed to be our anniversary vacation.”

Sara beams. “That’s so wonderful! Well, it was nice to meet you. See you later at the mountains.” She waves goodbye, and the two of them head off to an awaiting car. You and Bucky traipse back inside your cabin, and the second the door closes behind you, you fix Bucky with a disbelieving stare. “Did that really just happen?” Bucky nods, jaw clenched. “That was definitely the Antonovichs. I think we’ve got our guys. It’s time to call in the reinforcements.”

Bucky can’t believe it. How is this mission almost over- it barely started! All he and Y/N were supposed to do was track down Sara and Henri. He had assumed that it would take several days, yet somehow S.H.I.E.L.D. had a stroke of luck and managed to book them a cabin right next door to the very pair they were searching for. Sara and Henri are surprisingly good at staying hidden, too- if Bucky hadn’t recognized their faces from the countless data sets and case files, he would have assumed that they were nothing but well-intentioned neighbours.

His eyes flicker towards Y/N, who’s currently standing in front of the fire to keep warm. He smiles in spite of himself when he sees that she’s still wearing his sweater. He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he suggested that the two of them go on this mission together- he can barely handle himself. He doesn’t know why he had to fall in love with the one girl who makes his mind freeze up and all his thoughts scatter to the wind, but it’s not like he had much of a choice. She’s just so amazing, so perfect- he can hardly think straight around her.

She, on the other hand, appears to be perfectly fine. His mind flashes back to that conversation with the Antonovichs, when she had told Sara all about their little ‘love story’. It almost hurt, in a way, to see how she was so believable when she said she loved him. If Bucky didn’t know better, he would almost think it was true. But it isn’t, of course. She’s just exceptionally good at pretending, and that’s all he’ll ever be to her, just another prop in a story. It would be better if he could remember that, but his heart still skips a beat when she turns back to him with a smile and an outstretched hand, gesturing for him to join her at the fire.

Once the appropriate calls to S.H.I.E.L.D. are placed and you know that the reinforcements are beginning their journey here, you allow yourself to relax and drift over to the fire once more. Bucky, like always, is hesitating on the fringes of the room, but you notice something different in his gaze this time. Maybe it’s just your hopeless heart deluding itself once again, but you almost think that he’s not avoiding you because he doesn’t like you, but for an altogether different reason. Maybe it’s because he likes you too much, and he’s just too afraid to lose you.

So you hold out a hand to him, and after a heartbeat, he joins you. He wraps his arm loosely around you, tilting his head to lean against yours and soak up the warm light of the fire. He speaks softly, his voice muffled as he presses his face gently against the top of your head. “Can’t believe our ski vacation is already over. It feels like we just got here.”

You nod in agreement. “Just when this cabin was starting to feel like home. Well, I guess there will always be more missions in the future. I suppose we just need to plan them out and make sure we get the best ones. You know, the ones where our targets are living next door so all we have to do is have a good time in the mountains.” Bucky chuckles softly. “If it’s all the same to you I wouldn’t mind doing something like this again.”

You look up at him, frowning slightly. “Another mission?” He shakes his head. “Another time alone. Like this, just the two of us.” When you don’t reply immediately, his gaze starts to close off, like he’s panicked that he opened up too far. What he doesn’t know is that your mind is spinning, trying to figure out what he means and if he loves you and how much you would love to spend another weekend or even a day with him. Then you beam up at him, and he relaxes again. “I would love that, Buck.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you used his nickname, or the warmth of the fire making everything seem far more comforting than usual, but Bucky finds the courage to lean down and kiss her. She smiles against his lips, and his hand creeps up to the back of her neck. When he finally breaks away, she looks positively radiant, so he kisses her again. The mission may be ending soon, and they may have to return to ordinary life, but at least in his moment, he has her at last.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #winter soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagines

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genevievemd · 4 years ago

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head scratches e and g

Confessions

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1399 Rating: G Category: fluff, hurt/comfort Trope(s): and they were in the office

Summary: MC has been feeling unsteady, and Ethan has finally noticed.

No Warnings

A/N: this turned into a post ch 4 (bk 3) fic. Because I’m a little disappointed that PB didn’t let us talk to Ethan about the weird shit he was doing with Harper. Also look at me, once again using a one word title, because I suck at titles and its 3 am and I’m too tired to try to come up with something better.

The sun sets outside the floor to ceiling windows, casting the diagnostics office a dance of shadows and lights. Ethan gets up from the desk, walking over to shut off the fluorescent lights leaving the room in growing darkness. He rolls his neck as he returns to the desk, turning on the lamp on the wooden surface.

He’s felt a migraine forming all afternoon, since Leland’s bombshell that Ethan’s rival would now be joining his team. The sense that all control is steadily slipping through his fingers, growing by the day, by the hour it seems.

What was promised to be a democracy was now nothing but a dictatorship disguised in new equipment and pay raises.

Ethan closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair, desperately trying to cling onto the thoughts of the one good and stable thing he has left.

Genevieve.

“How are you feeling?”

A soft voice breaks through the silence, Ethan opening his eyes to see the very thing he was thinking of standing in the doorway. A pleasant warmth runs through him, he’s not a man that believes in fate, but there is something utterly divine in the way she appears at the very moment he needs her.

Genevieve walks to the desk, every step that brings her closer settling the anxiety and rage boiling inside him. She smiles sweetly at him, perching herself on his desk.

“Like I’m slowly losing control.” Ethan sits up, a hand coming to rest on her knee, thumb tracing circles on her skin. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with Bloom, but now I have to contend with Tobias as his lapdog, as well.”

“You have me, though,” Her green eyes fill with warmth as she leans forward, holding his cheek delicately in her hand. “And I’ll always be on your side.”

“I know. I’m incredibly thankful for that, believe me.”

They share a smile, that four letter word swirling around his head for the umpteenth time as they get lost in each other. Gen breaks the spell, hopping off the desk and settling in his lap. His arms come around her without a second thought, pulling her impossibly closer.

“How can I help?” Her words are nothing more than a whisper as her fingers trace his jawline.

“There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately.”

“I can at least try and alleviate some stress. It’s what girlfriends are for, after all.”

The word girlfriend sparks something inside him, setting his heart into a rapid beat. They haven’t discussed terms, which is mostly his fault. In the moments when he has Gen alone, he spends the time doing everything but talking. The need to make up for the months he had spent pushing her away taking precedence over defining what they are to each other. But he knows they need to have that talk soon, he can see her growing impatient and hesitant with each passing day.

Gen takes off his glasses, tossing them onto the desk. She threads her fingers in his hair, scratching lightly as she goes. He closes his eyes again, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder as her fingers continue to weave through his hair.

“I meant what I said at lunch, G. Just having you in the room makes me feel more at peace.”

“Should I stop then?”

“Absolutely not.” He kisses the side of her neck, nuzzling sweetly. “I will take any and all forms of affection from you.”

“Quite the difference from last year, Doctor ‘We Need a Reset’.”

“We all have a lapse in judgment from time to time.”

“Mhm.” He can feel her giggle, his arms tightening around her.

They settle into an easy quiet, drawing comfort from a shared space.

As much as he wants to get lost in her touch, he can’t help but fall back to the thoughts of Gen’s newfound uncertainty. Ethan’s half sure it has something to do with him, but he hopes more than anything that it’s not. Praying instead that it all falls to the new easy comradery of the team and the ever growing changes their employer makes.

He wants nothing more than for Genevieve to confide in him, lean on him in the same way he leans on her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you lately?”

“It’s not important anymore.”

“I beg to differ, Gen.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. “You’ve been tossing and turning every night for a week. Something is wrong.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment or make you feel more stressed.”

“So it’s me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” His brows furrow at her lack of honesty, she’s never been this closed off before. Its unnerving and so unlike her. Fear settles deep in his bones as their eyes meet, the need to find a solution growing with every second that passes. “I can’t fix it if you aren’t forthcoming.”

“It’s already fixed, kind of.” She sighs, adverting her eyes from him again. “Harper more or less set things straight.”

“Harper?” Ethan tilts his head, face scrunched in confusion.

“I was... feeling unsteady, about my place on the team and with you.”

“With me? The team I can understand, but I thought things were fine between us.”

Her face drops, taking a breath. “You really have no idea?”

Gen gets up from his lap, moving back to her previous spot on the desk. The distance she places between them is small, but enough to make his heart ache fiercely.

“Let’s put it this way, if my ex joined the team and I spent more time reminiscing about our history - weddings and flamenco lessons and dates at some intimate bistro named after a freaking Disney character - and you had to sit here, constantly interrupted, looked over and forced to listen to every second of it, how would you feel?”

“I was doing that to you.” The pain he feels is instant, regret following quickly after. “I didn’t realize.”

“Which, if I’m being honest, Ethan, makes it hurt ten times more. Because that says that you didn’t think of me or my feelings at all.”

He wants to jump up and dispute her claims. She’s the only thing he thinks of on most days and it kills him that he’s somehow made her feel the opposite.

“I don’t care that you’re friends with your ex, Harper is wonderful. But when you sit here and talk about dates you went on and veer off topic to bring up some inside joke, it makes me feel like you don’t respect me or our relationship. Like this is a casual fling you could quickly let go off and not a committed relationship. Like I’m an afterthought and that isn’t fair to me.”

Ethan stands from his chair, unable to cope with the distance between them any longer. He steps in front of her, holding her face in his hands. “This isn’t causal, Gen. Far from it. And you’re not an afterthought, you never have been.”

“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words and half of your actions lately say otherwise.”

“You’re right. I was being inconsiderate and tactless” He can see by the way she pulls away that his words aren’t enough. If he’s going to really set things back into place, Gen is going to need a real apology.

Ethan lets out a breath, holding her gaze for a long moment. “It was wrong of me to do that to you, even worse that I did it without realizing. Your thoughts and feelings are important to me, they take precedence. I’m sorry, Genevieve. Truly. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Not that there’ll be a next time, but should I do something this imbecilic again, feel free to call me out on it sooner rather than later.”

“Trust me, I will.”

Her smile returns, brighter than it was when she’d walked in ten minutes ago. Ethan leans forward, pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. He gets bolder when she sighs, as she opens up to him and threads her fingers through his hair.

“This is teetering towards a pg-13 rating.” Gen mutters against his lips, their foreheads pressed together as they catch their breaths. “Take me home.”

“Whatever you want, Rookie.”

a/n: it took me all week to get this to a point where I liked it enough to post it. But we did it and I like it enough.

Tag Lists:

Perma: @terrm9 @potionsprefect @iemcpbchoices @archxxronrookie @coffeeheartaddict @queencarb @lucy-268 @custaroonie @maurine07 @gryffindordaughterofathena @ohchoices @choicesaddict5 @fireycookie @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @oldminniemcg @sizzlingcashherohumanoid @taniasethi @mrs-ramsey @shanzay44 @aussieez @stygianflood @uneravine @openheartfan @fayeswiftie @stateofgracious @sophxwithers @estellaelysian @mm2305 @withbeautyandrage @udishaman @mercury84choices @silma-words @headoverheelsforramsey @iloveethanramsey

Fic: @overwhelminglyaquarius @me-and-my-choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @drakewalkerfantasy @adrex04 @drariellevalentine @openheartthot @caseyvalentineramsey @aworldoffandoms @dulceghernandez @elwetritsche75 @emotionalswift2 @thegreentwin @starrystarrytrouble @utterlyinevitable @angela8754 @jooous @3riche @open-heart-ramseyy @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @alexabeta @smilex1104 @arnikki-2406 @jamespotterthefirst @openheartfanfics

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Anonymous #asked and answered #ethan x gen #intimacy prompts

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pynkhues · 3 years ago

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.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

#hbo succession #succession fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama #kendall x stewy #gerri x roman

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC | Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him. He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim. An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond. Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds. But it doesn’t mean he has to like it. A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love. Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life. A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them. Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter: Loki will do whatever it takes to find out what is wrong with Alexis.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

Alexis groaned as the medics lifted her onto the gurney, but she didn’t wake.

“Take care with her!” Loki snapped at them, rushing to Alexis’s side, grabbing her limp hand. “She is pregnant.”

The medics shared a glare fully prepared to inform him they knew how to do their job when Tony caught their eye and waved them off. Best not to make Loki any more angry than he was. At least not until they sorted Alexis.

“Of course, sir.” The taller of the two nodded at Loki. “We are heading down Dr. Cho. I assume you are riding down with us?”

Loki nodded and followed them to the elevator. The eyes of every Avengers followed the three of them along with the gurney and willed the elevator doors to ding close. The moment the doors closed, Tony spun around to face the room.

“Okay, everyone has exactly three seconds to explain WHAT THE HELL is going on?”

The room exploded into conversation as people pointed fingers and yelled accusations and theories. Steve, Tony and Bruce cornered Thor to pump him for the “full story.” Nat sat quietly off to the side, worried about Alexis. A loud whistle cut through the din. Everyone turned to face Clint.

“They’re in a relationship.” He stated with no facial expression.

Tony blinked at him. “Well, yeah, a weird baby daddy, cohabitating thing. We all—”

“No, I mean they are in a romantic relationship. They are sleeping together. If you ask me, they’re in love with each other.” Clint huffed. He stepped forward to come toe to toe with Tony. “They know about you and Banner’s bet.”

Bruce blushed and flailed. “There’s no bet. I don’t know what you are talki—”

“When are you going to learn? I hear everything that goes on around here?!” Clint slammed his hand against the sofa. “I was in the vent when you made the bet. We decided to teach the two of you a lesson.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Loki, and Alexis. They pretended like they were on the outs, breaking up to get even with you two meddling.” Clint crossed his arms.

“So is this fainting spell just part of an elaborate prank to get back at Tony and Bruce?” Steve piped up. “I should have done Loki would pull some sort of shit like that.”

“It’s no joke.” Thor finally joined the conversation. “I know my brother better than any of you. That was genuine fear in Loki’s eyes. Whatever is ailing Lady Alexis is no prank.”

Everyone stared at Thor in shock, confusion, and anxiety. Nat snapped out of her daze.

“I’m going down there.” She stomped off towards the elevator. Clint caught her elbow.

“Nat. Give them space. Give him space.”

Her mouth fell open. “But I can…” she protested.

“No, you can’t. There is nothing you can do down there but be in the way.” Clint continued.

“JARVIS!” Tony yelled into the air. “Send hourly updates on Dr. Randall to all the Avengers.”

“Yes, sir.” The clipped British accent responded.

“Thanks, Tony.” Nat gave the group a small smile.

Tony’s own brain was running fast, but he kept his worries to himself. He clapped his hands together.

“Alright with that sorted, they get on with the day. The world isn’t going to save itself.”

With hesitant motions, the rest of the team moved along. Clint disappeared to wherever he disappeared to. Bruce headed with Tony to the labs while Nat and Steve headed to the training facilities to work off some excess energy. Thor headed off to his quarters, too concerned over his brother and Alexis to get much else done.

Dr. Cho relegated Loki to a hard plastic chair off to the side as she examined Alexis. Loki paced instead. He could see everything that was happening through the clear glass panels separating the examination room. Things did not appear to be going well by the expression on Dr. Cho’s face. Three hours later, Dr. Cho came out to update Loki.

“There is nothing physically wrong I can find with her, Loki.” Cho sighed.

“And the baby?” Loki wrung his hands.

“Strong heartbeat, moving around. Do you want to know the sex? I did an ultrasound.”

Loki’s brows rose. He hadn’t thought about knowing the sex of the baby. His eyes darted to Alexis’s lying on the hospital bed. Hooked up to tubes and machines, eyes closed. It was a punch to his gut.

“We haven’t discussed it. I will wait until she wakes up to decide, if that is alright with you.”

Helen nodded. “Of course, Loki. I am still waiting on a few lab results to come back, and then I am sending them off to a few specialists. I would suggest going back to your apartment where you can be more comfortable. I will make sure JARVIS alerts you of any changes in her condition.”

“If it is all the same, I will just stay here.” Loki widened his stance as if Dr. Cho would attempt to forcibly remove him from the medbay. If it were any other circumstances, she would point out the 180 turn of events since the last time Loki was here with Alexis.

“I can only offer you a hard plastic chair.” She gestured at the standard issue chairs throughout the rooms. “And strong coffee.”

Loki gave her a sad smile. “I have been in worse situations. With far less pleasant company.”

Dr. Cho smiled back and then nodded before walking away to analyze all of Alexis’s results. Loki pulled a chair close enough to Alexis’s bed to hold her hand and sat down as his fingers weaved in with hers.

“Please wake up, darling.” Loki pleaded. The only answer he got was the steady beep of the machines monitoring all of Alexis’s vitals.

“Brother…” Thor rocked Loki by the shoulder. Loki’s long frame crunched up on two hard plastic chairs. His arm tucked under his head to act as a pillow. Nothing about his posture looked comfortable. After several hours of no changes in Alexis’s condition, Loki dozed off.

“Brother… wake up.” Thor shook him more forcefully this time. Which rewarded him with Loki snatching his wrist with his quick reflexes.

“Must you continue to wake me, Brother? Leave me in peace.” Loki groaned as he unfolded himself, joints cracking and popping. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s almost midnight, Loki. You never came back. I came to check on you.”

Loki glanced out to the window to confirm that it was indeed the middle of the night. He gave Thor a wry smile. “Well, as you can see,” Loki gestured up and down his body. “I am alive and well, so leave me be.” He waved Thor away.

Thor sighed and spun a chair backwards to sit near Loki. “While you may be alive, you are clearly not well, Loki.” He spied his brother’s hand intertwined with Alexis’s. “Barton told us.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t lose her, Brother. I love her.” His voice hoarse and cracking. “And our child…” Loki’s head dropped to the bed.

Thor reached over to comfort Loki, not knowing exactly what to say. “Lady Alexis is strong. How else could she have endured all these weeks living with you?”

The two gods chuckled at Thor’s joke. “Very true. I have not been on my best behavior.” Loki added.

“And now?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“I have definitely not been on my best behavior.” Loki smirked.

“You were always one for mischief when it came to your lovers.”

Loki’s mood darkened, thinking back to Sigrun and his father. And the events leading him here. Alexis and his unborn child. He wondered where he would have ended up if he had agreed to the arranged marriage and Odin’s meddling. Loki imagined miserable in a completely different way than he was now.

“You were right, Brother.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Loki gave another thin smile. “About love being worth the trouble.”

Thor chuckled and smiled. “I have not always been the best at telling you, but I have only wanted the best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I am. I was. I am?” Loki questioned. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Thor stood and offered his hand. “Go upstairs, Loki. Eat and sleep in your bed. I will stay with Lady Alexis for the rest of the night.”

Loki’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Thor.”

The two embraced and Loki wearily rose and left the medbay to sleep and eat before the next day. Once he left, Thor settled his oversized body into one of the undersized chairs. He stared at Alexis’s still body, her breathing shallow and even. The only sound was the constant beeping of the machines.

“I imagine you to be some kind of witch.” Thor spoke to Alexis. “Because it would take powerful magic to tame the beast that is Loki’s heart.”

Three Weeks Later

Alexis was still in a coma, and Loki was no closer to any answers why.

“What do you mean there is nothing physically wrong with her?!” He bellowed at Dr. Cho. “She is in a coma!” Loki jabbed a finger at Alexis’s room.

Tony arranged to move her to a more private area of the medbay and set up a second small bed in the corner since Loki refused to leave. Meals appeared from thin air. Although he suspected Nat was to blame. Even Steve came down to offer what little comfort he could. Loki now stalked the floor. Tony moved all non-essential personnel to another part of the Tower after getting several HR complaints.

“I don’t know what else to tell you. Her vital signs are stable, as are the baby’s. She is just asleep. By all accounts, she should be awake.” Dr. Cho explained.

Loki flipped a table, sending his dinner flying around the room. Helen took several steps back.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Loki screamed.

Alexis’s machines rang an alarm, and the screens flashed. Helen rushed to the machines while Loki grabbed Alexis’s hand.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” Cho piped up while she checked some printouts.

“Apologies.” He said with an eye roll. “What happened?”

“Her vitals spiked and then dropped. Triggering the alarms.” Helen glanced over at him with a grim expression. “They are stabilizing.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

Dr. Cho sighed. “They are stabilizing at lower levels. Whatever is keeping her unconscious seems to be for lack of a better word… draining her.”

Loki stormed out the medbay without another word.

Thor was just getting ready to relax for a meal in his apartment when Loki burst through the door without bothering to knock.

“Do you mind, Loki?” Thor rose to face his brother. “I am about to eat.”

“I need to go to Asgard.”

Thor stared at Loki. “I don’t think that is a…” Thor then realized what happened. “What is going on with Lady Alexis?”

Loki collapsed onto the back of the couch. “In simple terms, she is dying. And no one can help her here. She needs our healers. I need to go to Asgard.”

“You realize Father is in Asgard.”

Loki gazed up at him, his eyes rimmed with red and sunken in surrounded by dark circles.

“I am well aware of the implications of my return. But if you were in my place, if your love was slowly dying from the inside out, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save her?”

Thor sighed. “We can leave within the hour. I will inform the rest of the team of our departure while you make arrangements for Alexis to travel.”

Loki nodded and Thor headed for the door. Loki grabbed his arm. “Thank you, Thor.”

Thor covered Loki’s hand with this own and squeezed. “I am sure the healers will be able to help.”

“I hope so.” Loki replied glumly. “Because I am out of options.”

They were greeted by not only Heimdall but Frigga as well when they stepped back onto Asgard.

“Loki!” Frigga rushed to his side. Alexis’s body slumped against his chest while Loki cradled her in his arms. She noticed the roundness of Alexis’s belly. “I see what the fuss is about now. Let us get her to the healers. We can catch up later. Thor, the Allfather requested your audience.”

Thor nodded and took off towards the palace as Loki and Frigga whisked Alexis to the healers.

Loki paced outside the doors of the healing chambers while Frigga sat with him, reading a book.

“You will wear the floor out.” she commented with a smirk.

“Just another thing for Odin to blame me for. The replacement of the palace floors.” Loki sneered.

Frigga ignored Loki and pressed on with other things. “She’s pretty. How did you meet?”

Loki spun around to face her. “Do you care? Does it matter?”

Frigga set her book down on the chair as she stood to face Loki. “It matters when she is carrying my grandchild.” Frigga reached up to cup Loki’s cheek. “It matters when she has also is carrying my son’s heart.”

Loki gazed at his mother with wet eyes. “I—”

The doors opened and Loki’s mask fell back into place.

“You can come in now.” The attendant announced. Loki pushed past her.

Alexis laid out on the stone slab. Three attendants hovered over her. One operated the Soul Forge while another took notes. A third injected something into Alexis’s arm.

“What are you giving her!? She is—”

“We are well aware of her condition.” The head healer spoke. “I must admit it stumped us at first. But once we calibrated the Soul Forge for Vanir physiology, it was clear what was going on.”

“Which is exactly what?” Loki blinked as his brain processed the rest of what was said. “Wait, Vanir?!”

Frigga’s eyes darted between her son and the healer, ready to step in if necessary. The healer, oblivious to what was going on, continued explaining.

“In the second trimester, Vanir babies’ magical abilities manifest, feeding off the mother’s energy. The injection masks the magic until birth. She will need to continue taking it once a week until she delivers.”

Loki stumbled backwards. “Will she—”

“Recover? There should be no lasting effects to her or the baby. Except maybe a wicked headache and increased appetite.”

Loki allowed a few tears to fall onto his cheeks. Frigga grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you.”

Frigga cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could have the room for a few moments?”

The attendants nodded. “Of course, my Queen.” Everyone shuffled out of the room with a rustle of fabric. Loki made no move until the heavy doors closed behind him with a thud. Loki collapsed against Frigga.

“I take from your response, you were unaware of Alexis’s lineage.”

Loki gulped. “She never mentioned it.” He kneeled besides Alexis, the color returned to her cheeks. “You are going to be fine, my love. We have much to discuss when you wake.” Alexis groaned. Loki kissed her cheek. “It’s time to wake up.”

Frigga smiled at the sight of her son so fully devoted to someone. And the prospect of a grandchild. Her first grandchild. She would be lying if she said Loki was her first guess of the son to give her a grandchild first.

Alexis’s eyes fluttered open. “Loki… where am I?”

Loki’s tears wetted her skin as he sobbed. “Home. My home.” He smiled at her. “I thought I had lost you.”

She blinked a few times to adjust to the light. “Home? The Tower?” She noticed they were in a massive room with stone walls. “Where are we?”

Loki helped her sit up. “On—”

The doors slammed open and Odin strolled in, followed closely by Thor. “—Asgard and you will be leaving presently.”

Loki stepped in front of Alexis. “She will do no such thing. She is sick.”

“She does not belong here, Loki. And neither do you.” Odin responded cooly.

Loki nodded. “Still as inflexible as always, Father.”

“Loki, this is your Father?” Alexis peeked from around him.

Odin’s eyes caught Alexis, and he froze, the blood draining from his face for a moment before the mask of indifference fell back into place. But Loki and Frigga caught it.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Father, what have you done?”

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki angst #loki fluff #loki smut #loki xofc #destiny has other plans

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hihellogoodbyebruh · 4 years ago

Text

No Letting Go

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Reader, Coco Cruz x Black!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Coco has been your best friend and rock since childhood. You’re having a problem learning to share him with the club, specifically a certain club member who happens to be your ex who you may or may not still be in love with.

Warning(s): 18+ only, smut (the sex!), foul language

Word count: 3,493

Author’s Note: This is for my fellow girls who’s love language is talking shit LOL. Also I’ve made this fic pre-season 1. EZ is in jail. This was two parts before I just decided to make it one fic. So it might be a little disjointed BUT just go with it okay? I’ve missed y’all and I hope you like this. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome. My inbox is open. Enjoy!

Your childhood wasn’t the most stable, drive by shootings and cracked out parents didn’t exactly leave room for normalcy, but there was always one constant for you and that was Coco. His mother was also an absolute train wreck. You guys kind of grew up taking care of each other. You remember Leticia being born while he was in jail and trying to talk some sense into Celia about giving the baby a better life. You remember when he got out of jail and joined the Marines. Just as you got him back, he was gone again. It was extremely hard not having him around, but it forced you to really take care of yourself. No more Coco to lean on. You only had yourself.

So after high school, you went to cosmetology school and got yourself a beauty license. You’d taken care of your hair for years and it’s important to you to teach others how to take care of theirs. Natural hair, wigs, weaves, braids, or whatever. You helped your clients with it all and showed them how to keep up with their hair. You got a job at a local shop and you were taking care of yourself. Things were good but you missed your best friend.

Then he was back. Coco was discharged from the military and you thought you’d have him all to yourself, but then he was telling you about joining the Mayans and you barely heard from him for months. Well, you weren’t just about to accept that shit.

You banged on the front door, “Coco open the fuck up! You know who it is! Open this damn door, Johnny!” You yelled, as you pounded your fist against the door.

The door whipped open and Coco stood there with an irritated look on his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Don’t bang on my door like that. You know better.” The look on his face as well as the growl in his voice would have terrified anyone.

You just stared at him before breaking out into a smile. “I missed you.”

Some of the irritation left his face and he actually sighed at you. It was the closest to a pout he’d ever get. “Yeah, yeah. Get your ass inside.”

“I hear you grumbling, but this is what happens when you keep ignoring me. Imma stay on yo head boy!” You told him, walking into his living room before sucking your teeth when you saw who was there.

Angel. Reyes.

It was bad enough that Coco joined that damn club and was busy being their prospect. It’s been even worse since he’s basically become best friends with Angel, who happened to be your ex boyfriend. Well, maybe ex fuck buddy was better. He started to push for more and as someone who hated being cornered (and someone with serious reservations about his lifestyle) you broke things off with him. It was infuriating. You finally got Coco back, but he was taken away from you again and with the one person who you wanted to avoid. Feelings were still there, but you hid them by egging him on. Were you acting like a kindergartener pulling someone’s hair they had a crush on? Maybe. Using sass to hide your emotions? You’re a pro at that. Coco had no idea about y’alls past.

“Don’t you have your own place to live? Why the fuck you always over here?” You questioned, setting your purse down in one of the empty chairs.

“Hey! Don’t start Y/N.” Coco interjected, already knowing where this was going. It was equal parts exhausting and entertaining watching those two go back and forth.

“I do. I just like being over here. It’s more opportunities to run into you.” Angel replied from where he was sprawled out on the couch. He had a cap sitting backwards on his head, a gray sleeveless shirt on, jeans, and his legs spread wide.

“You giving off real scrub vibes right now.” You rolled your eyes at him before directing your attention back to Coco. “So where you been? See when you don’t return my calls you make me have to pop up on your ass. So wassup?”

“Nothing is up. You gotta chill. You know I’m prospecting with the club now. I got a job at the scrap yard and everything. I’m just busy living.”

“Mmmhmm...so you’re too busy for me now?” You asked, letting the spoiled brat come out of you a little before deciding it was safer to just change the subject. “ANYWAY, Leticia texted me.”

That caught Coco’s attention. “Why? What’s wrong? Is she okay? What the fuck did my mom do now?” He asked, worry clear in his tone.

You waved your hand to dismiss his concerns. “She’s fine. She has a school dance coming up and she wants me to do her hair. I think perhaps you should drop by and check on her, maybe have a small discussion about the birds and bees…” You implored, and he immediately began shaking his head.

“Nah. You should do it.”

“I’m not family.”

“Yes, you are. Plus you’re a woman. Y’all can talk about shit I don’t get.”

“It would still be good for her to have a male’s perspective. One to tell her how a respectable gentleman acts and better yet, shows her.” She has always pushed for Coco to spend more time with Letty. She knew it was hard from him, but she knew the girl truly loved her older brother.

“Who the fuck is Leticia?” Angel asked, clearly confused.

“His sister.” “My sister.” You and Coco answer at the same time. You both maintained eye contact as you basically glared him into submission. Your eyes conveyed the words you’d never let slip from your lips. ‘Spend some time with your fucking kid, Co’ was the thought written clearly on your face.

“Fine, I will stop by and check in.” He conceded and you smiled widely again. You loved it when you won.

“Y’all are so cute.” Angel teased, a small smirk on his face because he knew it would get under your skin.

The small smile on your face was quickly wiped away at his words. “Shut up. That’s my brother. Period.”

“I still have a chance then.” His smirk turned into a grin. He loved getting a rise out of you.

“Psh.” You scoffed, the retort leaving your lips quick and snappy. “A chance in hell.”

“Then I’ll meet you there, sweetheart.” He always loved that fire in you. He missed not having it around as much. He felt bad about keeping the relationship from Coco, but he figured he’d bide his time for now. He still wanted you. He could remember the nights spent laid up in your bed as he watched you braid your hair or helped you lotion your body. His favorite thing to do was lather you up because it always led to him knocking your walls down.

You stood up from your chair and walked to where he was seated so you could stand over him. Your hands were on your hip and you just stared at him for a moment. He was so blasé about everything. You wanted to make him stumble just once. “Eat shit, Angel.”

“Only if it’s yours.”

You wanted to laugh so bad. He had such a quick wit and y’alls banter was something you have yet to experience with anyone else. Still, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so you turned away from him to keep your smile in check. “You goofy as hell. I don’t have time for this shit. I have appointments. Just needed to make Coco promise me to my face.”

“All that whining about me not returning calls or having time for you and you can’t even stay and hang? You’re so fucking fake.” Coco chuckled and you laughed as well.

“Don’t hate. I do what I gotta do. Walk me out bestie.” You grinned, walking toward the exit and grabbing your purse on your way out.

“Bye mamí.” Angel yelled at you and you merely lifted your hand to give him the finger. His answering laughter warms you up and you can’t help throwing him a look over your shoulder.

Coco walked you out the front door and closed it behind him.

“If you think that ‘tough bitch’ act is putting him off you’re so wrong.”

You stare at Coco with your eyebrows raised giving him that ‘you should know better’ look before going, “Who is acting?”

“Alright, Y/N.” He just shook his head and decided to let y’all figure it out. No way was he gonna jump in the middle of that. He knew it would resolve itself eventually.

xxxxxxx

The next time you got to see Coco things were an absolute mess. You don’t know exactly what happened but the gang got into a shootout. Coco was injured and your heart was beating against your chest so hard as you raced toward the scrap yard. This was out of your comfortable zone completely, but you needed to see that he was okay.

Even though on the inside you were freaking out, you tried your best to keep a calm outer appearance as you came face to face with the gang. You went through the basic introductions and then you found yourself crouching in front of a passed out Coco.

“He always said he didn’t really have family so we didn’t know who to contact until Angel told us about you.” The president explained, as you studied the bandages on Coco’s chest.

You tore your attention from Coco to look at Angel and saw him already looking at you. It was like he was studying you. You gave him a small smile, trying to convey your gratefulness that he contacted you. He just nodded back at you.

“Thank you all for everything you do and did for him.” You looked back at the president, Bishop, and all the other guys.

“He’s our brother.”

“He’s my brother too.” Your gaze went back to Coco, a soft look on your face that made Angel want to just wrap you up in his arms.

Luckily the bullets just grazed Co and nothing vital was hit. You could only sit still for so long before your anxiety got the better of you and you stood up, striding out of the door. You inhaled deeply once you felt the fresh air.

You would have been so heartbroken if Coco had died. Just the thought made your hands start shaking. You curled them into tight fists and closed your eyes as you focused on slowing your breathing. Your eyes only shot open when you felt someone touch your elbow.

“Hey, you okay?” Angel asked, his eyes soft as he gazed at you so you diverted your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You replied, the sigh you let out in the end betraying your words.

“You want a drink?” He offered and you perked up a little.

“So badly.” You admitted.

“Come on.”

He led you to the little trailer that was parked on one side of the scrap yard. You wanted to say something smart, but you’d been to his home and knew he didn’t stay here. Plus your heart just wasn’t in it at the moment. He grabbed two beers out of the fridge and opened them before handing you one. You immediately took a big gulp of it.

Angel went to lean back against the fridge and you saw him wince. It dawned on you that he was also in the shootout with Coco. You were so focused on your brother because they said only he was shot, but Angel looked hurt too.

“What happened to you? Don’t tell me you got shot too.” You set the beer down and invaded his personal space. You lifted up his shirt and noticed some bruising there and your head lifted back up quickly to look at him.

“I didn’t get shot. Just got the shit kicked out of me.” Angel explained, staring at you as you fussed over him.

You let out a loud sigh. “Well you need to be icing it and resting. I can’t have both of y’all fucked up at once.” You murmured, eyes dropping back to his bruises for a moment.

“Are you admitting to actually giving a shit about me now?” Angel inquired and you immediately dropped your grip on his shirt and took a step away from him.

“Don’t start this right now.” You pleaded. It was easy when you two were bantering back and forth, but his face was so serious. You knew the conversation was going to get heavy.

“Don’t start what? So you still want to pretend we don’t know each other? That we didn’t spend nights wrapped around each other for months?” He stepped closer and closer to you as he spoke. “That you didn’t become mi corazón before you took it all away? I’m tired of pretending.”

As he stood directly in front of you, you felt your heart racing. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You knew if you looked him in the eyes you would fold. He knew as well so his hands caressed your cheeks before bringing your face back up so you would look at him.

“I know you love me and I love you. We should be together right now.” He was beyond frustrated. This game has gone on for too long. He wanted you back.

“Why? For what huh? So in five to ten years you can get yourself killed and leave me a widow? So I can have another person I love ripped away from me? So all I’m left with is bittersweet memories? Nah. Coco is laying on a couch with bullet wounds at this very moment. Fuck that.”

“I never would have taken you for a coward.”

“I’m a coward for wanting to live my life with as little pain as possible? Fuck you, Angel.” Your eyes blazed at his words.

“No you're a coward because you’re scared to face the fact that you love me and want to be with me. I can’t promise nothing bad will ever happen, shit something could happen to you and it would absolutely break me. But I’m willing to take that risk. I promise to make you more than just comfortable. You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Tears filled your eyes and you closed them as some spilled over.

You weren’t ready to have that conversation with him. Not right now. You wanted to feel good. Your eyes met Angel’s briefly before you were surging up and connecting your lips to his.

His arms slid down your back to attach themselves to your ass, pulling your body against him. You felt every part of him. He wasn’t too muscular, but he was solid. It felt good to be back in his arms. The kiss got more passionate as your tongues tangled with each other. He was a fantastic kisser.

He turned you around and propped you up on the one table in the trailer. Your hands worked his kutte off and you let your fingers run under his shirt and feel his chest again. His kisses ran down your neck and you moaned as he sucked on that spot on your neck. You began unbuckling his belt ready to feel him inside you.

“Eager huh?” He teased, his lips at your ear. You pulled back to look him in the face and stopped what you were doing.

“Oh I’m sorry. Would you like to sit down and talk about our feelings more or would you prefer to feel this pussy wrapped tightly around you?” You asked cockily, one eyebrow raised.

Angel looked at you and smirked. “Continue.” Shit, who was he to turn you down? He never really could. You got his jeans undone and your hand was in his underwear and stroking his dick while kissing his shoulder before he could say anything.

“Ah, shit.” He moaned, as you stroked his dick and felt it harden under your hand. You squeezed it a little just to see if his breath still caught in his throat and you smirked against his neck when you heard the sound.

“Don’t get cocky.” He whispered, rubbing your pussy through your jean shorts. Your hips jumped a little at the contact and you felt your panties getting more wet than they were before. He kept rubbing; the friction of your jeans and panties rubbing perfectly between your pussy lips had you squeezing your thighs closed.

You leaned your head back to look at him. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, stop it.”

It was his turn to smirk as he took a small step back, your hand falling off him. “Then let’s take them off.” He peeled your shorts and panties down, spreading your legs so far apart that your right foot slid out of your pants. Your shorts and panties dangled around your left ankle.

“Oh baby, that pussy is still as pretty as ever.” He popped two of his fingers in your mouth, slipping them a little down your throat so he could hear the always beautiful sound of you choking before he stuck those fingers inside of you.

“Fuck..” You groaned, your hand squeezing his arm.

“And you still feel like Heaven. I gotta feel you around my dick again. That’s what you want right? You want me to fuck that attitude right out of you.” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He was just talking. “I know what you need, mami. Always have and always will.” He let his pants fall and in a quick and smooth move he removed his fingers and replaced them with his dick inside of you.

He had both hands squeezing your thighs as he kept your legs apart. He had you open wide for him. Your nails were digging into his arm and your other hand was bracing yourself on the table. There was so much in those thrusts. It was all his feelings in one. He was conveying how mad he was, how much he missed you, and how much he loved you.

“Angel,” you moaned, head thrown back as you got lost in the feel of him. You couldn’t focus on anything, but him. He still knew exactly how to fuck you and drive you over the edge. Your stomach was in knots as you felt your orgasm building. He could feel it too and he slowed his strokes down to more shallow ones.

“Look at me.” He demanded, and you tilted your head down until you made eye contact with him. “Look at me fucking you. Look at me giving you what you need. I’ll always give you everything. All you have to do is ask. Tell me, mi dulce. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I-I wanna cum Angel please.” You begged, barely able to get the words out. You knew that he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He kissed your lips and sped back up his thrusts as the pressure built back up in your stomach. He kept kissing you, his tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he fucked you. With a shaky hand, you reached down and rubbed your clit to push yourself over the edge.

You moaned into his mouth as he fucked you through your orgasm. As you clenched around him, the tightening of your walls around him helped to trigger his own release.

Angel tucked his head in your neck and placed kisses there and along your shoulder as you both came down from the high. “Will you let me take you to dinner, mi dulce? Por favor.” He pulled his face from your neck so he could look in your eyes.

You didn’t shy away from his eyes this time. You held his face in your hands as you gazed at each other. His words echoed over and over in your head.

“You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Mind blowing sex and one beautiful love declaration does not fix everything. You still had your reservations about the relationship. You were still scared. You were still worried. You were still unsure. But when you looked into his eyes you saw nothing but his love for you and his certainty. He was so sure it was you for him. You could picture a wedding and children in your future. Maybe even growing old together. Suddenly, you knew you wanted to try.

Don’t you want that?

With all that in mind, the answer was simple:

“Yes.”

#angel reyes #angel reyes x black!reader #hhgbyebruh fics #no letting go #black!reader

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highqueenofelfhame · 4 years ago

Text

far away from sane - one

i’m going to preface this by saying that nobody has read this over so i don’t know if it’s good or if i just think it’s alright, who knows. only time will tell. I looked over this twice for grammar and editing and stuff but i’m sorry if i missed anything. Thank you @starborn-faerie-queen for your genius prayer to anneith. I owe you one. Not sure what the ‘one’ is but like certainly something let me know when you’d like to collect lmao.

TW: blood mostly. // 2435 words

Celaena had said it before, and she would likely say it again: the lying in wait before a job was the worst. Some people relished in it, seeing it as something religious almost. In fact, she knew a handful of assassins that worshipped their chosen deity in the moments before pouncing on their prey. Celaena wasn’t particularly religious herself. Too much had happened to her in her twenty four years to really believe that anyone up in the sky was looking out for anyone but themselves. Sometimes she felt like the sun was shining on her a little brighter than it did on other people. When she was a child, her mother had told her she was Mala blessed. She was not inclined to agree.

Still, when she slipped up the alley by the temple, she paused. A quick glance to her watch told her she still had an hour before she needed to be at the warehouse. An entire hour to kill, and what better way to spend her time than giving some old religious bastard a heart attack? She couldn’t think of anything, so she silently slipped through the front door of the small temple, splashed some holy water at the tapestry of the gods, and made her way toward the small confessional booth.

Celaena settled inside on the uncomfortable, hideously upholstered bench and waited quietly. After seventy-two seconds, and just as she was about to leave and give up on spooking a foolish old man, the divider on the priest’s side of the partition slid open with a heinous screech that sent a shiver sprinting down her spine. Dim, warm light peppered over her lap through the grated holes of the window. Never too careful, Celaena adjusted her hood to be sure that ever defining feature about her was swallowed up in darkness.

“Anneith, goddess of wisdom, we beseech you. Hear our prayer,” she recited, eyes looking to the little holes that separated her from the priest on the other side of the booth. A low, humming voice accompanied hers as she spoke and Celaena found herself slightly annoyed that he didn’t sound as ancient as she had hoped. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been… gods. If I’m being honest, like sixteen years since my last confession. I… I don’t know where to start, actually.”

Celaena tapped her finger against her watch and made a mental note of the time while she contemplated what she should confess, exactly. It wasn’t like she had a shortage of sins, but if she came on too strong straight out the gate, it would be hard to slip out of the church and into the night unnoticed. She sighed heavily and looked back up at the partition as she twisted her mouth in thought. The holes in this particular confessional were too small to see even a hint of the man that sat on the other side of the booth. Good. That meant he couldn’t see her, either.

“I haven’t been in one of these things since I was a kid. My mother and father would take me to temple and I would fall asleep leaning against my father and wake up when he lifted me into his arms after it was all over. Church happens so early in the morning for young minds, you know. You should consider pushing back the time.” When the priest said nothing, she huffed an impatient sigh. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure the last time that I was in here it was for shoving my cousin down the four steps that lead up to our front door because he’d taken my ice cream. If you ask me, he should have been the one repenting. He stole -- and from a little girl no less. But I was the one in trouble.” She snorted, giving him a moment to say anything at all but the man was made of stone and said nothing. “I’m here now because I have a long, long list of sins, father. Longer than anyone else that has been in this crumbling building. Well, that isn’t true. There is one man, I think, that would top me. But I doubt he’s ever stepped a single toe into a church, much less tried to atone for the things he’s done.”

Celaena glanced down at her watch again, then settled back against the chair and dropped the bomb to end all bombs: “I’ve been killing for as long as I can remember. Well,” she shrugged to herself, “since I was eight.”

“Killing?” The priest finally asked, a trace amount of surprise laced in his tone.

“Animals. People. Animals first, because that’s how they train you. The people come second once your technique isn’t so shoddy. And if I say so myself, and I do, my technique has been flawless for the last ten years. There’s a learning curve, but, well, that isn’t why I’m here. I’m not here to brag about my perfect skill or about the secrets that I’ve heard whispered in the dark. I bet you’ve heard your fair share of secrets, haven’t you, father?” Celaena glanced down one more time, already working the door open slow enough that it wouldn’t make any noise. The man didn’t say anything, likely at a loss. Or maybe he was already calling the police on his cell phone. “Anyway, what do you think my penance would be?”

“For killing people?” He finally answered. Celaena smiled to herself as she opened the door enough to slip through.

“Yes,” she said, and then disappeared through the small opening she’d made and disappeared into the shadows of the church, then the shadows of the street. She wasn’t a complete maniac, she didn’t begin cackling as soon as she was out the door. Though she did wish more than anything that she had been able to see the look on the man’s face when she revealed such dark truths. Wished he had been able to see the smile pulling at her lips while she spilled her secrets to him in the dark.

Instead she weaved up and down the streets and alleys, climbed onto roofs and hopped from building to building when they were close enough. She didn’t stop moving until she reached the warehouse that she knew the stupid fucks were hiding in. She could see all three of them sitting around a shitty metal table, taking turns throwing down cards. Celaena was too far to hear anything that they said beyond a low murmur of voices, not that it mattered. They had all signed their deaths away to her when they’d had whatever part in killing Sam. It was made worse by the fact that they sat around a table now, playing games mere days afterward. She had hardly been able to eat since his blood had been splattered across her face, and they were playing stupid card games? They could beg and plead all they wanted under her knife, but it didn’t matter. Every single one of them would cease to breathe in the next eight minutes or less.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out which of the safe houses they would be at that week. The men of the Assassins Guild had never been smart. Smart enough to get away with murder, yes, but not smart enough to beat Celaena. They could call her a bitch all they wanted, but growing up with the lot of them she was always Arobynn’s favorite, always the most skilled assassin of them all. Arobynn had crowned himself the king of assassins, but Celaena had earned her title as the assassin queen, had fought for it in violent shades of red over the years. The student had become the teacher, and tonight she would school all of these idiots for thinking they could take Sam from her and get away with it.

After waiting another two minutes, Tern and Harding both stood from the table and began their laps around the property. Mullin stayed seated, idly shuffling his cards while Celaena snuck inside and up behind him. With a simple flick of her wrist, her favorite daggers had extended into her hands, and moments later a blade was at his throat. The assassin queen didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t inconvenience herself by trying to go easy on the rat beneath her fingertips. She pressed the blade into his skin and fought off a grin when a bead of blood dripped down his flesh.

“Which one of you did it?” Her other hand twisted into his oily hair as she pressed the blade harder against his neck. “Normally I wouldn’t give you any credit, Mullin, because you could never out run me. But since I was in a little bit of shock, whichever one of you did it had a few minutes time to get away. You can tell me who it was and I’ll consider letting you live, or I can slit your throat right now and let you bleed out before your friends get back.”

“They were your friends once, too,” Mullin grit out, to which Celaena snorted.

“None of you were ever my friends. I could counter your shitty argument with the same one, he was your friend, too. He still lived with you, for gods’ sake. And you or one of your nitwit friends shot him in the head like he didn’t matter. So, I will give you one more chance, Mullin. Which one of you stupid fucks ki—”

She was violently cut off by someone yanking her head back by her ponytail. While part of her wasn’t surprised that someone had found her, she also knew they had found her a little too soon. Their fifteen minute patrol hadn’t been nearly long enough. Neither of the men should have been back yet, but here she was with one at her back and two at her front. Mullin now held her dagger in his hand, the one she’d had at his neck but dropped from the surprise attack. Harding stood beside him, which left Tern keeping her hands in a vice-like grip behind her back, his knife pressing into the throbbing pulse in her neck.

Stupid. She had been so rutting stupid.

Her eyes slid to Harding, who was kneeling to open and rifle through a wooden crate beside the table. When he stood he was unravelling an iron-tipped cat-o-nine tails. She refused to give any of these bastards the satisfaction of being afraid, so she kept her jaw locked and her eyes clear. Mullin approached her, pulling two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket that he used to lock her arms behind her back. Just as she poised herself to bring her knees up into his groin, her feet were knocked out from beneath her and she was helpless to catch her fall. Instead, she ate the concrete, teeth singing as her chin knocked into the ground and blood pooling in her mouth because she bit her tongue on contact. Celaena spit in the direction of Mullin and Tern, her blood splattering across the ground. It didn’t take long for her to feel the warm stickiness of blood dribbling down her chin while one of them unzipped her suit from neck down to her waist.

And then they began whipping her. And whipping her. And whipping her.

Until black seeped into her vision and threatened to pull her under. A set up. It had been a set up. Killing Sam had likely been part of that set up. Arobynn had been mad at her for leaving the guild and had killed Sam to make her angry. He knew she would be reckless and a little stupid after losing the one person that meant absolutely everything to her and he had been right. And now she was going to die face down on the floor of a dirty warehouse in the slums of Rifthold, in a pool of her own blood. Poetic.

“Just leave her,” she registered someone saying, but she couldn’t tell which voice it was. Everything sounded the same with the loud ringing in her ears. Someone was kneeling down beside her, looking at her face but she was seeing double and couldn’t figure out who was who.

The man’s head snapped up as she heard a second set of ringing that sounded an awful lot like sirens.

“What the fuck? The cops?” Vaguely, she registered blue and red lights flashing in the windows, clearly getting closer as the vibrancy became hard to look at in her state of distress. Footsteps ran away from her followed by a lot of shouting. Gods, she wished they would shut up. Her head was hurting, her tongue hurt from biting it when she’d been kicked to the ground earlier. As footsteps ran toward her this time, she tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the mind-numbing pain.

Tried and failed, until someone was crouching beside here and a set of bright, livid green eyes was in her line of vision.

“I’ve got her! We need a medic!” The man yelled over his shoulder, leaning down a little closer to her. Celeana’s eyes moved down to where his pinky finger had dipped into the edge of her blood pool. A hard shiver made her body begin to tremor and she realized just how cold this room had become since she’d first entered it. The man rose up a bit, ripping his coat off and draping it over her body. She wanted to scream at the pain, at the raw sensation the jacket rubbed into her mangled skin, but she didn’t. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked once for yes, unsure if he would understand her code until he said, “Yes? One blink for yes?” She blinked again in silent confirmation. Once, she had known this man’s name. The man with the silver hair and bright green eyes that had been tracking her like a hawk. He had always been close, but too far. Celaena had always been a few steps ahead. Now, bleeding out onto the cement she couldn’t even remember what letter his name started with. “Stay with me, Celaena. Stay with me.”

She tried. She really did.

But the darkness encroaching the edges of her vision was a lullaby and with one final blink at the man, it dragged her down and sang her to sleep.

@starseternalnighttriumphant @highladyofthesith @scarznstars @court-of-glass @tintinnabulary @musicmaam @awkward-avocado-s @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @clockworkgraystairs @shyvioletcat @westofmoon @the-regal-warrior @ame233 @empire-of-wildfire @thewayshedreamed @singme-t0sleep @royalsqueeze @stupendousslimepeanutcroissant @katelynchang @damebadwolf @wingsway @i-love-all-books @musicdreamer003 @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @mu-si-ca-l @3am-reading @stardustsroses @booknerdproblems @prettygalsread @angelofmusic81 @sleeping-and-books @cool-ish-nerd @noodlecatposts @meltalgel-ig @fancysludgeshoelamp @greenbriaars @wifeofchrishemsworth @ccrtana @cityofsuns @rowaelin-fireheart @sunsummoner @spyofthenightcourt @joyceortiz13 @brokenbutnotquiting @emilyrose111294 @feyresarrow @tangledraysofsunshine @silvermindwarrior @superspiritfestival @maastrash @ashleyfroberg @cursebreaker29 @moondancer-204 @jesstargaryenqueen @januarystears @vasudharaghavan @city-of-fae @firedoorcinemaclub @rowaelin-cressworth @annejulianneh111 @blackjacks-donuts @crackedship @runawayrowan @that-other-pineapple @mynewdreamwasyou @highlordswhores @abookishfreak @tottenhamboys20 @empress-ofbloodshed @morganofthewildfire @starborn-faerie-queen @b00kworm @musicdreamer003 @bamchickawowow @ireallyshouldsleeprn @booksofthemoon @ashlynn231 @mariamuses @sanakapoor @harrymoncheri @ladywitchling @smalltddygothgf @booksbqueen

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thereluctantinquisitor · 4 years ago

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WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @captainsaku! At the moment, I’m still limping through the opening chapters of Stonebreaker, trying to get a feel for the story and work on strengthening my atrophied writing muscles. Anyway, I figured I’d share what I have so far of Adiran’s introductory chapter. It’s basically just an awkward, descriptive mess, but at least it’s something. At this point, I’ll count that as a win!

I also put a short glossary at the end in case some terms were confusing. <3

Chapter 3 - A Scene

Be present. Do not cause a scene.

They were simple enough requests, Adiran supposed, as he braced himself and drained his third flute of wine. He knew it was poor form to cringe after swallowing, but the dry white was about as pleasant as a mouthful of sand and only went down half as well. If he was the paranoid type, he’d think the servers were offering him the worst vintages on purpose.

Then again, the celebration had stretched into its ninth day, now. Even the royal cellars had a limit.

Despite overstaying its welcome, the event remained at a predictably lofty height of splendour. In the ballroom - Vetrose’s famed Silver Font - delicate rivulets of water, no wider than the span of a hand, curled their way across the marble floor, draining into a shallow pool at the base of the royal thrones. Above their heads, weavelight strings were draped elegantly between pillars and across wide arches, their glowing pinpricks joining the blazing chandelier to bathe the room a honey-gold.

Beneath that radiant light, the Talveran nobility moved like swans, jewellery glittering, ankle-length gowns and embroidered jackets flashing enough to catch the attention of nesting crows. Hundreds packed the Font that night - an entirely different crowd to the evening prior, and likely the one prior to that. Attending Talveran court, with its litany of demands and expectations, was an exhausting and expensive affair. Every evening demanded a new outfit. A new glittering showpiece. A new plan for navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction, careful not to show too much interest in any one person. One night was difficult enough to survive. Very few could afford to be present for an entire turn’s worth of celebration.

Unfortunately, Adiran had no choice in the matter. It just had to be his brother returning from the northern border. As if no one else had ever come back from that waste of a campaign.

Another mouthful. Another weary swallow of something half as strong as it needed to be. Honestly, he’d almost rather be swallowing sand. At least that meant he’d be in the arena, getting his ass kicked practicing for something that mattered, instead of wasting his time decorating the wall. Divider’s Own, Lorvain was meant to have arrived by the third day! Adiran might have been able to slip away if he had been around to soak up the attentions of the lords and ladies. But no. The beloved Crown Prince had probably stopped to fawn over milkmaids and shepherds at every town between here and Morgate. Really, they should have accounted for that before throwing such a ridiculous event...

A prince should want to know his people, Adiran. I thought you understood that?

Threading paths expertly between the nobility were almost three dozen servers dressed in vibrant Volise green. Silver trays were held aloft on the pads of their gloved fingers as they moved in rehearsed patterns around the room, making sure every hand that sought a glass found a delicate stem. It was a different sort of dance; the kind that typically went unnoticed, the same way a clock’s hands are appreciated more than the mechanism behind the face. They knew the position of every crack in the stone; every rivulet.

None of them ever looked down.

Speaking of timing, the only reason Adiran paid the servers any heed was to make sure he got his right. On cue, he finished his wine with a grimace and thrust it towards a well-groomed young woman, her dark hair braided and pinned neatly around her head. Without so much as an errant blink, she bobbed carefully at the knees, accepted the glass, and replaced it with a new one from her tray.

“Careful not to drop that,” Adiran said, taking the drink and giving it an experimental sniff. Sweeter. Thank the Divider for that.

The server hesitated. They always did. Every night. “Your Highness?” she asked, and her lilt was perfection. Just the right amount of simpering, blended with polite curiosity. Someone had taken her training seriously.

“Am I slurring already? What I’m saying is that if the Crown Prince finally shows up and you’re in the middle of mopping a puddle, the King will have your hide for saddle leather. So...” He extended one bored finger towards the tray, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Tread lightly.”

The server’s mouth opened, and for a moment no sound followed. For just one blissful, fleeting second, Adiran thought he’d finally done it. He’d finally won.

Then, like underappreciated clockwork, her lips shaped themselves into a beatific smile, and she dipped into a curtsy. The tray never even wobbled. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. On my word, I will remain diligent. I would not dare bring shame on our King’s house.”

Damn it. The smile Adiran flashed back - half a sneer - could cut glass. But the server had already completed her parting bob and returned to her dance, weaving and gliding among the gaggle of silver-bloods with her tray of weak wine. Expression turning brittle, Adiran huffed and leaned back against one of the massive marble pillars - just one of fifteen lining the room. He’d claimed it on the first evening, like a hound staking its territory. Most people knew better than to bother him once he’d found his haunt, but the serving staff simply didn’t have that luxury. He supposed it was probably unkind, to force them to speak to him. But Divider, he was just so bored...

Scowling, he took a long swallow of his new drink, the chilled, sweet liquid a welcome enough sensation as it ran down the back of his throat.

So he was unkind. So what?

“Are you finished losing to the servers for tonight, or should I come back later?”

A familiar voice, and right on time. Adiran gave no indication of surprise, barely even turning to acknowledge the man. After all, this was just another ritual for them; a way to take a knife to long hours of affluent, barely drunk loitering. “Yeah, I’m done. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” His gaze finally cut across, delivering what he hoped was a scathing look as Riin settled against the pillar beside him. “Took you long enough. Get distracted by all the pretty gowns and pouting lips?”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Riin chuckled softly, utterly immune to Adiran’s glare. “Could you blame me if I was? Everyone looks appealing under this light.”

“That’s generous of you.” Sniffing, Adiran glanced up. Even with the smoke-glass covers encasing each glowing orb, he still had to squint against the brightness of the weavelights. “Guess it could be worse. We looked more like corpses before the covers were put on.”

“Really? I’m glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. Being dead inside is more than enough.”

Riin laughed, and a faint smile curved Adiran’s lips. He quickly hid it behind his glass. Truthfully, the entire ‘weavelight saga’ had been ridiculous. The King and Queen had commissioned hundreds of them from Tel Shival, purely because no one else had ever done it. Even the wealthiest families only ever had a few per household, usually kept in a lantern or a sconce in the most frequented rooms. After two seasons of painstaking arrangement that nearly killed two of their staff, the Silver Font soon found itself bathed in a thematically violent silver light. It had been an exciting novelty, at first; nobility flooded in from all over Talvera just to bask in the glow of thousands of wasted sicets. But then they quickly realised that colours didn’t behave the same way. Their favourite jewellery didn’t catch the eye. Their skin didn’t appear as youthful and rosy. Instead, every flaw - every stray hair or unpolished button - was placed on stark display for the vultures to pick at.

The weavelights were as bleak and clinical as a physicker’s ward. They sucked the warmth out of everything they touched.

In Adiran’s mind, the wash of corpse-light over each soiree was a perfectly fitting thing. But, as was typical, no one else agreed. So, they decided to encase each of the weavelights in honey-tinted glass and returned the room to almost exactly how it looked before. Back when it was lit by oil and flame.

That was how things were in Talvera. Decisions were made, sicets were spent, and then everyone just wanted to go back to how things used to be. Like nothing had ever happened.

GLOSSARY

Weavelight - spheres of crystal or glass, with a light-bearing glyphstring engraved by a thaumist specialising in Weaving. Maintains a bright, steady silver light. Cannot be dimmed or turned off at will. Thaumist - a well-trained practitioner of the thaumic arts, capable of manipulating thaumic essence. Turn - ten days. Tel Shival - An independent, famously insular city dedicated to the training and cultivation of thaumists and thaumaturgical study. Sicet - Currency used in the Allied Kingdoms.

---

Tagging: @frenchy-and-the-sea, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug, @rufinagertrude, @arduyn, @anarchyduck, and anyone else who has a WIP they’d like to share!

#wip whenever #(because i always miss wednesday lol)#reluctant memes #stonebreaker series #adiran #riin #the more i read it the more i dont really like it but #just... gotta... MOVE ON....#hURGH #reluctant writes

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years ago

Text

Himmeløyne [9/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Odin being a God-King...which is code for ��dick’.

A/N: Hi, this probably my most IMPORTANT LOKI RELATED NOTE: The very talented and delightfully risque writer @lokilickedme has just released a book. I love her work (especially Sanguine)! Refer to this post for all details about her book.

Now, onto triffles.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“—I do not think I can keep this from her any longer,” you heard Heimdall say mid-conversation. He sounded like a man desperate to shout but too afraid to do so.

You swallowed, feeling guilty for impeding upon something so personal.

Just as you had made up your mind to leave, you heard Odin warn: “You remember what the Oracle said, old friend.”

Oracle? You wondered. And that was all it took to get you to plant your feet before the throne room’s doors and listen like a mouse in the night.

“Her vision already came to pass,” Heimdall said, defeated. “I’ve lost one. I cannot lose another. Not when she is safe within our walls. Safe here.”

“No place is impregnable to violence,” Odin let out a sigh. “I already took a risk in allowing my son to train her. If he knew what she was…”

You shifted, a soft noise coming from your hand that braced the door to steady your stance. Was there more about your powers that you didn’t know? Why did Odin speak with such animosity towards you? Did he fear you?

Heimdall’s works quaked with emotion: “Please, Allfather. I cannot keep this lie any longer. I cannot pretend as though my heart doesn’t ache when I see her. And ache all the more when I must remove myself from her presence. She is my daughter. What would you give to have your daugh—”

And that was the moment. The moment everything snapped into place. Heimdall and Odin kept speaking in secret and your mind struggled to make sense of things that were right in front of you the entire time: the bloodkin spell leading you to Heimdall’s post by the bi-frost; the gold in your eyes reflected in his; the mark that shielded your power from his gaze; Loki’s coy words during their Game of Fates; the disapproving glower Heimdall had flashed Loki when the dark prince had placed a finger on your knee; Your mothers mantra: “The universe rests in your eyes.”

Magic screeched inside you. Angry and betrayed. How many people knew Heimdall was your father? How many lies had you been subjected to?

“Hnnnfff,” the magic grew painful; piercing. You clutched your body. Everywhere ached.

Odin and Heimdall’s voices grew sharper.

“…Odin,” Heimdall’s voice shook. “I beg of you. When you ordered me to never look for Sigrid, I did it to protect her. To keep the prophecy from coming to pass. And she died all the same. Without ever knowing how I truly felt for her.”

“I am sorry,” Odin sounded regretful. “But if it came to it, I would take her from you as Sigrid had been. Such is the weight I bear. The weight of King. To protect my son, I would destroy your daughter. It is for this very reason that I cannot allow you to tell her the truth—to love her as only a father could. It is the smallest mercy I can give. And the only mercy I will allow.”

You wanted to escape, go somewhere far. Away from gods and magic and kings. You didn’t cry, there were no tears left to shed. Niflheim had broken you. Asgard had reset you wrong. Frayed, like the ice wound that scarred your chest.

You thought of the ocean, the one back home. And with gut-punching intensity, you were swallowed by a portal of your own making.

Home. You were home. And it was gone. The longhouse that belonged to the chief was nothing more than snow extinguished timber. The fabulous fabrics and furs that decorated his walls left no traces. The polished silver tankards you’d always wanted to drink from were black. The rest of the village suffered a worse fate. Huts leaving nothing behind but black shapes in the snow. There were no bodies to identify. No history to reclaim.

Slowly, you made your way back to your house. The air was colder than you remembered. Wind biting at your skin till you turned pale and stiff. The dress you wore provided little protection from the weather.

Your house barely stood. A state of decrepitude would be too generous a description. Stone walls struck down; no door to walk through; the eight pronged symbol visible on the stone floor beneath the foundations. With a heavy sigh, you tried to rebuild. Placing each stone block back where it had been. Reanimating wooden doors and burned furs from the ash. When you opened your eyes again, you were surprised by how faithful your iteration of home was.

The house stood again, walls shivering with magic. If it was an illusion, you weren't interested in breaking it.

When you walked in, you were disappointed to learn it smelled of fire. No herbs or mead or tanned leather scents to bring comfort. Just fire.

Your mother wasn’t sitting in her chair with her lit pipe. The only trace of her resided in the seer bones cast on the floor; untouched—predicting the future for no-one.

Without a plan, you walked to the small space with a mead stain on the furs. It was where you used to fall asleep to the warmth of the fires as a child. Then, with a wave of your fingers, you conjured a real fire in the fireplace. Sitting back to stare blankly into the flames. You drifted. Too tired to remember to blink from the dry air. Too tired to remember to be present.

Heavy boots broke your stupor. A man, shed of armour and wearing mortal weaves, sat beside you.

“Everyone was worried,” Heimdall’s voice found its way to your ears. He sighed. “I was worried.”

“How did you find me?” You asked, voice raspy.

He opened his palm to reveal a cut, “How you tried to find me, I suspect.”

“Bloodkin spells,” you intoned.

"Of sorts," he chose to sit close enough to seem familiar, but far away enough to let distance be a kindness. “I had to use older magic, more…dangerous magic, to find you.”

“And so you did.”

“Your powers are impressive,” he said. “To conjure a portal on your own and actually end up where you wanted to go is…impressive.”

Your heart beat sluggishly, neck straining from barely being moved for so long. “Is it true?”

Heimdall’s chest sunk, a deep exhale disrupting the flames in the fireplace. “Yes.”

“How?”

“It is...” Heimdall stopped himself. His open palm balling into a tight fist that shook. Something shifted in him. The next time he spoke, he sounded different: “Before you were born, the prince—Loki—fell ill. It wasn’t a sickness of the body, but…something else. Odin was secretive then. More than he is now. Frigga didn’t eat for days. Thor had been sent away so he wouldn’t cause a scene…

“There had been an attack, you see. Jotuns. Somehow, they managed to slip past me and into the castle. A portal I couldn’t sense. There had been a battle. Some died. Not many. But enough. In the fray, Loki had been injured. Odin had shut him in his quarters. I remember hearing Loki scream with fever for days. Spouting heinous accusations at his father.”

You shut your eyes tight. The thought of Loki suffering made you feel uneasy. Heimdall noticed this and quieted his words even more. He probably thought that by making his voice softer the words would hurt less.

He continued: “Odin called for a witch with strange abilities. Her name was Dagna, she was known to her people as—”

“Minnevever…” You turned to look at Heimdall. “She was my great-grandmother.”

Memory Weaver

He smiled humbly, the lines on his face showing the age that his immortal body hid so well. “I had been sent to a village near Lake Mälaren. That is where I first saw your mother. She told me I’d fall in in love with her the first day we met.” Heimdall’s cheeks pulled taut as his teeth peeked through his smile. “I had brought Dagna to Asgard to cure the prince. His treatment took days. For a few hours, during those days, I’d find myself slipping away—going back to the village. Again and again and again.”

Heimdall reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock of hair. You gasped. His smile fell. “On the last day, she gave me this. I didn’t know it was to be our last day. If I had—” He cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly.

You felt the urge to ease his pain; or maybe you wanted to mourn with him as the only other person alive who remembered Sigrid. Either way, the strangeness was too thick, your hand never managed to make its way to his side.

“She saw her death too,” you added. There was anger there. Between the octaves. “She saw and yet she didn’t tell me either. Such is the elusive ways of those with godly gifts.”

Heimdall wiped a tear from his cheek, “When I opened the portal to return Dagna to her home, she told me something. A prophecy. She said that I would only know pain if I let my heart know love. I was destined to be the Watcher—and one cannot watch the stars from above if their heart belongs below.”

His fingers played with the ridges of the braided lock of hair. “She warned that if I ever returned to the village, death would follow me. So I never returned.” Heimdall turned to look upon your face in the glow of the fire. Eyes moving over every spot and hair and sculpted angle. It was then that you noticed you shared more than the gold in your eyes. You shared the same chin and more of his lips than your mother’s. Two dark spots mirroring his beneath your left eyebrow.

In a strangled voice, he said: “And I never knew you existed until you were brought through the bi-frost…half dead.”

His choked up, finally giving in to his tears. Heimdall wept then. In the rawness of the moment, your hand finally found the strength to cross over and comfort him. Soon, you were both crying; mourning; celebrating; letting go. As you did, the house proved itself to be an illusion. It fell back into disrepair as you held your father's hand for the first time.

#loki #loki marvel #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #himmeløyne #tom hiddelston imagine #loki imagine #loki imagines #tom #hiddleston

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bluesfortheredj · 4 years ago

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Beautiful eyes, beautiful... Part 2.

You wake up warmer than you’d ever felt before and it takes a few seconds to realise that it was due to Grigor having stayed the night with you; his broad naked torso pressed against your side with his arm draped over your stomach as his breath weaves between your strands of hair as he breathes lightly in his sleep. Happiness washes over your body at the feel of him cuddling you and you smile without even realising it as you gently place your hand on his strong forearm. A slight worry overcomes you at the thought of Georgina waking alone in their shared bed for the first time, but it soon fades as Grigor begins to stir with a sleepy smile to match yours as he opens his tired eyes to see you next to him.

“I was hoping I didn’t dream it,” he sighs happily as he tightens his grip around your body and snuggles further into your side.

“This is certainly quite real,” you grin as you turn your head towards him.

“May we stay like this all day?”

“What a beautiful day that would be!”

“We could eat whatever we wanted, make love throughout the day and night, and never let another soul past that door. Oh, (Y/N), can we?”

“Grigor,” you exhale sadly, “I wish we could, I really do… but you have somewhere else to be, and that somewhere is with your wife. My bones ache to be near you always yet I know you must always return to her, and each time you do my heart breaks a little more, but I cannot be selfish, I must let you go.”

He frowns as he leans up on his free arm and looks down at you with a stern expression as if he’s about to tell you off, “I need you to promise me you will never let me go, for my heart would shatter into a million pieces if you did, and life would simply not be worth living any more.”

“Grigor!” you gasp, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“Then I beg you, do not let me go.”

“I will not let you go, I promise,” you whisper quietly.

He breaks into a smile before leaning down and kissing your lips softly before deepening the kiss as he moves his body over yours beneath the covers. You surprise him by switching places quickly so that you’re now on top, then you leave a trail of kisses as you move down his body and disappear underneath the covers. Your lips press against his body teasingly, first over his nipples, then the middle of his torso and over his navel before he rips the covers off of you both so he can see exactly what you’re doing just as you kiss around his hips, moving from side to side as you leave small licks on his warm skin.

“Grigor!” a female voice calls through the door, “Grigor, I’m coming in!”

The door flies open just as you manage to grab the corner of the sheet and bring it up to cover both your naked bodies, and Georgina stands with her arms folded at the other side of the room, not even daring to come any nearer to you both.

“You need to come back to the apartment. We have things to discuss about the trip home and we must pack for this afternoon. I doubt we’ll be coming back here for a while, so you’d better hurry up and say your goodbyes,” she states flatly before turning on her heels and slamming the door on the way out.

“You’re leaving?!” you gasp, holding the sheet up against your body as you back away from him, “you’ve just made me promise to never let you go and yet you’re leaving me?!”

“(Y/N), please, let me explain, I...”

“No! There is no need for explanation Grigor, please just dress and leave.”

You shuffle to the side of the bed and let your legs hang over the edge as you feel the weight of his body leave the opposite side then you wrap the sheet around yourself as you try not to audibly cry at him leaving you after being fooled by all of the sweet words he had been lavishing upon you. Grigor moves around behind you as gets dressed and you hear his footsteps retreat to the door where they stop for a moment as he turns to look at your vulnerable frame covered by the sheet.

“Please (Y/N), it’s not what you think. Do not hate me, I beg you,” he says feebly.

“You have done too much begging today already,” you sob, “just go!”

Grigor inhales sharply in an attempt to keep himself from crying at the sight of you, then he quickly exits the room, shutting the door gently behind him and leaning against it for a few moments as he wills himself to walk away instead of running back inside to take you in his arms. He hears your sobs and then the sound of a glass breaking as you throw it against the wall in anger, and he knows that if he were to try and talk to you again it would only heighten your emotions instead of calming them, so he reluctantly peels himself from your door and trudges to his apartment.

“(Y/N)? What’s going on in there?!” Catherine asks after stopping at your room once she heard something break.

You answer the door in an awful mess and bow your head as soon as you see her worried face; you were closer to her than the other women here, and she had said how you were one of her only friends in the court as well, so you knew you could trust her.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, “I’m in such a mess Catherine.”

“What is it?!” she gasps as she walks into your room and shuts the door behind her.

“It’s Grigor… he spent the night… everything was perfect…” you sniffle in between your words until a sob shakes your entire body, “and then Georgina came in… and they’re leaving! He begged me not to let him go… and he didn’t even tell me he was leaving!”

“Oh, (Y/N),” Catherine sighs as she places her arm around your quivering frame, “shh, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m such a fool. Such a damn fool!”

“You’re not a fool. You’re a woman in love,” she whispers, “and women in love are stronger than they were before, don’t ever forget that.”

“Thank you,” you sniff, leaning into her embrace for a moment before standing to wipe your tears away, “I think I’m going to go for a walk. I need some air.”

“Would you like me to join you?”

“No, no, I’ve taken up enough of your time, I’ll be fine on my own. Thank you Catherine, you really are such a dear friend.”

“As you are to me,” she nods.

You watch her leave the room before changing into one of your finest dresses and striding confidently out of the palace to roam the gardens alone as you tried to gather your thoughts. You’d had a taste of what love could be like for you and you’d always be grateful for that, especially being as it was with Grigor who was such a good man at heart which was such a rare find, and you certainly couldn’t complain about the hours of pleasure he’d given you during your time as his lover; it was just a shame that it had to end, but all things must, and hopefully something better was coming your way instead. A bench lay ahead of you in between two perfectly manicured hedges and you head towards it for a birds eye view of the grand driveway that seemed to stretch on forever, then as you take a seat you spot a carriage, the carriage, that’s taking your love away with the oh so familiar sight of the woman in the red dress watching out of the window as the palace gets increasingly smaller the further they go.

“Goodbye Grigor,” you sigh, smoothing down the skirt of your dress idly.

The carriage eventually disappears from sight and you take a deep breath in before standing up and making your way back inside to a very different palace it seemed. There was no Georgina strolling about waiting for Peter to fuck her and there was certainly no Grigor to catch your eye and lead you away from the crowds of drunks.

“There she is!” General Velementov announces as you try to walk past quietly, “have you thought any more about my offer?”

“It is very tempting General, but I must decline.”

“That is such a shame, I’ve been dreaming of your wet lips every night this week,” he sighs sadly, “you need a man to satisfy you.”

“I’m sure I will find one eventually, but for now I must get back to my room and satisfy myself.”

“Do not put images in my head like that! Oh, it’s torture,” he whines.

“I apologise, I will not mention my nightly pleasures to you again.”

He groans as you scuttle away stifling a laugh, then begin to wonder if he would be better or worse than Peter in the fucking department. You laugh aloud at your own thought as you open the door to your room then gasp as your eyes land on a figure sitting on the edge of your bed, and you fall back against the wooden panelling with your hand clutched to your chest in shock.

“Grigor!” you breathe, “what are you doing here?!”

You were half relieved and half angry at him still, but you stay where you are while he rises slowly from the bed and makes his way towards you cautiously.

“I was never going to leave you,” he says softly as he stops at the arm chairs by the fire, stroking the top of one of them nervously as he wonders whether to continue approaching you, “this is what I was trying to explain earlier. Georgina purposely said that in front of you in a desperate attempt to make me change my mind and leave with her, as she knew it would upset you.”

You step quietly to meet him by the fire, your lips staying shut as you wait for him to speak again.

“I love you. With every part of my body and soul, if I have one, I love you. I feel as though I cannot breathe when we are apart and I meant every word I said earlier.”

He stays standing while you take a seat in one of the arm chairs then you gesture for him to sit in the one next to you and he moves around it slowly as if you were a frightened animal that could bolt at any moment. You reach out for his hand, his arm extending your way without any hesitation, and he grips your fingers tightly like he was never going to let go ever again.

“Do you believe me?” he asks with pleading eyes.

“I believe you,” you nod.

“She’s gone for good. We can live our lives together without worry.”

You stand up with your hand still clutched in his then move to sit on his lap as you allow a smile to finally tug at your lips, and when you lean in slowly for a kiss it feels as though you had been waiting your entire life for this moment.

Yay! I was going to request something similar to the smut you did but can you do a part 2 where they end up together? Because fuck georgina lol

#grigor dymov #grigor dymov x reader #grigor dymov imagine #the great imagine #the great hulu #gwilym lee

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janetbrown711 · 4 years ago

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❝ the world is less scary when i am with you. ❞ Louie

Louie was practically pacing up and down the hallway inside the building that was next to the wedding venue. Louie and Webby had decided to do an outdoor wedding nearby (but not on) a beach, and the sky was just the perfect amount of cloudy that you didn’t have to squint to see anything, which would most definitely helpful so the guests could see Webby in her white dress. There was a light breeze that sent the smell of the sea into the air and everything felt utterly perfect. Hell, even Glomgold and Goldie had been civil during everything, even mingling with others (though there was a noticeable distance between Goldie and Scrooge, despite the fact that they constantly made eye contact before quickly breaking it up).

However, none of that seemed to matter as Louie was still feeling like something was going to go terribly wrong. He pulled on his tie like it was his favorite hoodie’s strings, despite his eldest brother’s heeding to do otherwise. Huey and Dewey were trying to talk him down, but Louie wasn’t really saying anything, his mind holding his tongue hostage.

His mind had been stirring since the previous night. The moment Webby left to go to bed in their suite and left him to go bunk with his brothers for the night, he thought about how he had actually invited someone who once tied her up and left her in a closet when they were 10 behind her back and she still wanted to marry him. He then began to spiral out of control, though he forced himself to take a sedative and fell asleep before too late.

However, those thoughts returned as he awoke, and thus, the duck brothers found themselves in the situation that they are now in.

“Louie, you need to stop pacing and take some breaths, everything’s gonna be fine,” Huey sighed and got up from sitting on the stairs. “Just relax.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re wearing a perfectly fine tie. My tie is disgusting,” Louie scowled, holding up his tie.

“It was perfect five minutes ago, what’s wrong with it now?” Dewey raised an eyebrow.

“Well- it’s just- I don’t know- it’s-” Louie sighed. “I don’t know. It just... sucks.”

“That’s not a very helpful statement,” Dewey said, and Huey shot him a look.

“It isn’t good enough, okay?! The pattern is weird and boring and lazy and she deserves a better tie!!!” Louie shouted before realizing what he had said and going silent; all of the brothers did.

“This isn’t about a tie, is it?” Huey asked quietly.

Louie sighed.

“We’ve been together for so long and I still don’t feel... worthy...” Louie turned away from his brothers. Huey and Dewey shared a look, both struggling to find just the right words.

“Louie-”

“Look, whatever you’re about to say, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried telling myself everything and nothing has changed my mind,” Louie cut Huey off before he could even try. That made the brothers feel even worse and both of them pondered if they should get someone more experienced (Donald) involved. Eventually, Dewey stood and put a hand on Huey’s shoulder, telling him he’d give it a shot and Huey backed down and sat on the stairs again.

“Maybe you aren’t worthy,” Dewey simply said. Huey looked at Dewey like he was crazy, but Dewey shot him a look that translated to ‘let me do this- I swear I’m going somewhere- I just started. Damn’. Louie exhaled as he slumped his shoulders and looked down at his green tie.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that Webby loves you, man. She chose you for a reason, bro. You may not feel worthy, or may not even be worthy, but she loves you and nothing is going to change that,” Dewey said. Louie paused a second to digest what he had said.

“B-but...” Louie tried.

“There’s no way around it Louie. She loves you, and she loves you a lot. Plus, if you break her heart, I know there’s at least one very powerful witch who would kick your ass,” Dewey joked to lighten his spirits, which worked a little as Louie managed a chuckle.

“Yeah... you might have a point,” Louie rubbed the back of his neck.

“I do have a point,” Dewey punched his arm. That made Louie laughed.

“Alright, alright, you have a point,” He admitted. “I love Webby, and she loves me, whether I’m worthy or not, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt her.” The brothers nodded.

“You feeling ready to get married now?” Huey asked, standing once again. Louie nodded.

“Good, because it’s time.”

.o0o.

The first people to go down the aisle were the groomsmen, best men, and the bridesmaids, who paired down as they went down the aisle (Violet with Huey, Lena with Dewey, and Amber with Boyd. Then came Louie, then Scrooge, who was officiating, then shadow demon formed Duckworth was the flower girl, and lil’ bulb was the ring bearer. Finally, everyone stood and watched as Beakley who was handing off Webby.

When Louie saw Webby, all of his previous worries vanished into thin air. She looked absolutely heavenly. There simply weren’t any words outside of that to describe her.

When she finally stood across from him at the aisle, he was smiling like a dork and managed a simple “Hi” to which Webby blushed and said the same.

Scrooge then began to do the usual speech with “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today blah blah blah,” but Louie and Webby were too distracted by each other to pay too much attention, even when Scrooge included a little joke about Louie’s laziness and Webby’s rambunctious attitude. However, they were forced to pay attention when it was time to say their vows.

Louie went first. He took in a deep breath, unfolding a piece of paper that had been poorly folded in his pocket and rewritten several times, and began.

“Webby, Webby, Webby... where to begin? I could start with how the first day we met I tried to teach you how to lie and failed, or how you tried to instruct me on how to properly die in the pyramid of Toth-Ra, or any of our other countless tales, but you and I already remember those and while I can weave quite the tale, I’d rather not waste anyone’s time.” That line got a small chuckle from the guests.

“Webby, you are everything I’m not and then some; you’re inquisitive, excitable, a knowledge seeker, a hard worker, you’re far more determined than I’ll ever be, and you are very, very selfless and kind. Simply put: the world is a lot less scary when I'm with you. I love your humor, your optimism, how you don’t care what others think of you not even for a second, and in many ways, I aspire to be you. Nobody is perfect, not by a longshot, but I think I can safely say without a doubt that I am marrying the most perfect woman for me.”

“I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of my days, and to be a better person, which I know is possible because simply being around you makes me want to be that. I love you, Webby, and I’ll do anything for you.”

With that, Louie was pretty sure he could hear Donald already trying to stifle tears of his own, and failing quite a bit. Webby looked as though she might cry, but she held it back (probably because her makeup was hella expensive).

Webby took in a deep breath, and it was her turn.

“Louie, I am the luckiest girl in the whole world today, and I know it’s terribly cliche, but it’s true. I’m lucky to have met you, I’m lucky to have dated you, and I’m lucky to be marrying you,” Webby sniffled, proving Louie’s theory.

“I feel incredibly grateful to have met you. You’ve taught me so many things over the years. Were most of them related to lying and scheming? Yes, absolutely, but each and every one of those lessons helped me become who I am today. You’ve lifted me up more than I could ever know and you helped me learn what it was like to just be a kid who did kid things.”

“Louie, you are far greater than you will ever know. You are kind, you are emotional, you are empathetic, you’re hilarious, and I simply cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise to love you and to care for you for the rest of our lives. I love you, Louie, to the moon and back. I really, really do,” She looked up from her paper and saw Louie was crying almost more than Donald. his heart swelled with emotion and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but they had to go through with the rest of the ceremony before that.

Finally, they exchanged rings, and said their “I do’s” and Louie was finally allowed to kiss the bride (though it was Webby who grabbed him and dipped him into one of those cheesy kisses you see in movies). Everyone cheered and threw confetti as Louie and Webby held each other’s hands and ran down the aisle, smiles as wide as the day is long.

Finally, when they went inside the building again the couple kissed again.

“That was really sappy Webs,” Louie said with a smile after he wiped his face.

“Sue me, I love you,” Webby shrugged and kissed him again.

“We have to sign-”

“Shut up, it’s our wedding. What’re they gonna do? The reception is scheduled for later,” Webby smirked.

“I love you so much Webs,” Louie said, kissing her again.

“I know. And I love you too, Lou.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

#my fics #loubby #louie duck #webby vanderquack #dewey duck #huey duck #loubby wedding #hdl #donald duck

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

Text

The marriage pact - A little madness

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 8 | Part 9 A little madness | Part 10 >

Disclaimer: some strong language, mention of heavy drinking, bachelorette

Author’s note: Ever sent a drunk text? I did, and girl was it interpreted the wrong way...*woops*

Word count: 1.912

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

I am glad to inform you that my on-going attempts at becoming a published novella writer are finally starting to pay off. I cannot blab just yet, but oh my dear I AM SO EXCITED! Everything is so exciting! Life is exciting!

After years of hardship, toil and pure struggle as I crawled through the thick mud of adult life, I can finally see the well defined sparkle of hope on the horizon. Dramatic much? Maybe a little. But also; perhaps, just maybe, I can make one of my dreams come true. And for the hell of it, maybe even more!

Now you may wonder why I am so particularly enthusiastic today. Is it the London air? The existence of chocolate cake? Or perhaps the knowledge that I can make things happen in my life, if I set my mind to it? I think it might just be all of the aforementioned.

My cake baking nan had a simple saying: “Nothing just happens, until I make it so.”

So, dear reader, here I am, making it so.

I hope you have a most wonderful weekend my fellow dream-catching souls.

Ali

‘Ali!! Over here!’ Maddie waved at me from across the busy lunch room, the Jersey seaside casting a warm, salty morning glow through the high paned windows. I waved back at her and weaved my way through the room until I could sink down on one of the chairs with a relieved sigh, my face turning to receive her enthused greeting kisses.

‘Hi Mads.’ I grinned at her teethy smile. ‘You are.. glowing!’ She pointed out, her pearly whites so very straight and shiny that she could probably star in one of those toothpaste commercials.

‘Oh, it’s probably because I went for a run this morning.’ I brushed my hand over my cheek, to check if I was feeling hot - nope.

’Naa...’ She shook her head. ‘It’s definitely not that.’ She reached for her cup of tea as a waiter appeared at our table, my order quick and simple: tea, no milk, no sugar.

Turning back towards Maddie I was welcomed with a knowing raised eyebrow. I sighed. ‘Fine..yes..I’m kind of dating Henry.’ ‘I KNEW IT! Ha! YES for all that is holy!’ She exclaimed, making some people turn around in their chairs, curious glances directed our way as they felt the sudden burst of energy coming from the rather chic looking middle class lady that was Maddie Smith.

‘Madss…’ I warned from between clenched teeth.

‘Haha. Oh sorry. I’m just happy, truly. Besides..I am SO winning this bet.’ She wiggled her eyebrows as mine furrowed with worry. ‘..Bet?’ I gulped.

‘Oh, no worries. I didn’t share my thoughts with our friends yet. Just Frank. And you know me and Frank..’ She shrugged, laughing heartily. ‘Yea..’ I murmured, looking up again as my cup of tea was placed before me. ‘Thank you, sir.’ I smiled at the waiter, then turned back to Maddie, studying her with a curious gaze.

‘So..what’s the bet about?’

‘Oh I can’t say that!’

‘Ugh..Mads! You are the worst. Anyways, we’ll see where it goes. You know how it went the other times, so..’ I shrugged, wishing to not get her hopes up.

I, for one, didn’t want to get my hopes up. This was all just too good to be true, right? An old lover returns to his home town and sweeps me right of my feet. It was too perfect. There had to be a catch. I mean, this was pure madness.

—

‘Yihaaa!!’ Stella walked in with another tray of fluorescent shots, my intoxicated girlfriends either exclaiming full-lunged odes-to-joy or swallowing back a silent protest. It was Loïs’ wedding in a week’s time and as the tradition went, there was to be had a bachelorette.

Fully emerged in litres of strong liquor, dancing sweat and penis-related jokes, the night was running late and we had ended up in a sleazy shots bar, the theme most probably being radioactive drinks, as every new glass seemed to carry an even more chemical looking liquid than the previous one.

Bright pinks, blues and yellows were tipped back in our burning throats, relieved female sighs wavering through the noisy air as loud dance music bounced with a fat bass through the small bar.

‘Ooh oooh Ali Ali. Don’t look, not yet. Behind you, 11 o-clock. Hot HOT guy.’ Ginny nodded excitedly, her eyes wide as she looked over my shoulder. ‘Gin, girl. I’m not really..’ I was already starting to protest, but without further ado Ginny twirled me around by my shoulders, a tall blond man approaching me.

‘Hello angel. Havin’ a good time?’ He bit the lip of his bearded chin and I quite instantly felt appalled by him. Not that he was hideous to look at, or that he smelled bad. He was rather sexually attractive actually..and well..clearly into me.

In this case, I think it was just me. I simply wasn’t in the mood for this.

I swallowed back the remains of the bitter liquor in my throat and smiled at him, not wishing to seem rude. ‘Sure.’

He raised an eyebrow and eyed the rest of the girls, the whole group now quick to step back and form a new circle, excluding me. ‘Looks like I have you all to myself.’ He grinned wolfishly.

Then I felt Maddie’s hand on my shoulder, her sassy tilt of the head catching the attention of the handsome blond stranger. ‘Sorry mate. Looks like she’s taken.’ She said simply, and with a tug on my arm I was dragged back into the group, leaving a confused blond hottie behind. I sighed a quiet thanks to Maddie, but received a firing squad of confused and disdained looks from the other women.

‘Wait..MADS! Come on, you can’t just..-’ One exclaimed.

I quickly interfered. ‘No no! Please. Eh..I AM dating someone actually.’

‘YOU ARE?! ALI?! Why didn’t you say so? You’re like the whole reason we are..’ Stella pointed at the neon lit bar behind her. ‘..here.’

‘Really now?’ I raised an eyebrow, then started to giggle, the alcohol buzzing happily through my hot veins, my usually well contained happy personality bursting out at the seams. I had forgotten for the slightest moment that I really was the last “single” woman left in this group, and as Stella gave me a most exasperated look it became clear that nobody - literally nobody - in the group wanted to be here.

They had thought it would help..me. Me!

‘Who is it? Do we know him? Do we? Tell US!’ Ginny squealed, stepping closer, not wishing to miss a single word escaping my lips.

‘I ..eh…’ I glanced at Maddie and she shrugged, her mouth sipping on yet another alcohol beverage - oh dear we were going to be so hungover tomorrow.

‘It’s Henry.’ I gulped.

‘WHAAAATTTTT?! REallyy?! Oh my word! OH MY!’ - ‘GIRLLLLL YES! Oh that is just..’ The whole group erupted in loud squeals, the excitement further fuelled as yet another round of drinks was delivered to the squad of 30-something-moms-on-a-cheeky-night-out.

Except for me of course. I wasn’t a mom. The odd ball.

‘Ohh..’ Loïs, the bride-to-be, pulled me in for a tight hug, her well coiffed chestnut brown hair smelling of fresh shampoo, the scent mixing with the heavy drop of hard liquor coasting through the air as new shots were being downed.

‘Bring him.’ She said, keeping me in the lock of her arms until finally she leaned back a bit. ‘I mean it, Ali. You gotta bring him to the wedding.’ Her finger brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear - she was so very motherly, even when drunk.

I bit my lip, my alcohol hazed mind not keeping up with the turn of events. It was then that I noticed my phone in Maddie’s hand, the device easily recognisable by its bright blue casing.

‘Anndddd sent!’ She exclaimed, returning my phone to me, my mouth falling down in a quiet gasp. Did she just..did she..? I opened my Whatsapp and saw she had sent Henry a message, my blurry eyes no longer managing to fully focus on the words on the brightly lit screen.

Oh..oh..crap.

—

* Thuthumb..thuthumb *

In the history of headaches, this one was certainly about to set a whole new standard. It was..bad.

With a soft groan I rolled over in my queen sized bed, looking at the alarm clock. 10.30 AM - okay, it could be worse. I grumbled a little as I reached for the glass of water on my night stand, then, after a few large gulps of the cool drink, picked up my phone.

> 15 Unread messages.

Mmmkkkey...

Frowning slightly I pushed myself up against the headboard, blinking the last remains of drunken sleep from my eyes as I scrolled through the flurry of words. I had nearly forgotten about the fact that Maddie had confiscated my phone to send Henry a message. And, well, apparently it had not been just any message.

Me: “Hey sexy beast. How about you, me, and a wedding? Keep the 16th free.” Followed by a wild mix of totally inappropriate emoticons.

I felt my heart rate speed up as I started to read Henry’s messages.

Henry bear: “Hey you. Having a fun night I presume?” - “Ali?” - “Just for inquiry’s sake..is this OUR wedding?” - “Alright I think you’re probably not reading this.” - …

* Knock knock *

Quickly I put down my phone, expecting to see my mom’s head pop around the door of my room. But it wasn’t.

Seeing who it was, made me wish I could just disappear and let myself be swallowed by my pillows. But I couldn’t. And here he was. Henry’s head poking around the corner of my door, his lips curling in an amused smile.

‘Hello party girl.’ He smirked, stepping inside and apparently carrying a tray with some fresh juice, tea and a bowl of fruit with him. I felt my heart stumble, tumble and roll at the sight of this bear of a man carefully carrying my mom’s dainty tray in his hands, his well rounded bum pushing the door closed behind him.

I sighed, laying there like a sickly patient in a mountain of propped up pillows. ‘Morning.’ I grumbled.

His smile grew as he placed the tray on my little writing desk, then sat down next to my hip on the edge of the mattress. ‘Had fun?’ - ‘Mmm..a little too much I’m afraid.’ I sat up a little more, my head immediately starting to protest with loud, dizzying thumps. I groaned. ‘I’m sorry by the way about the text message, I eh…’ I frowned, looking at my phone as it lay there half-hidden between the soft blankets.

I didn’t even read all his messages.

Henry tweaked up an eyebrow and moved up a hand to brush some of my bed hair out of my face, his finger tips riding over my smooth skin with utmost care and gentleness. ‘Mhm.’ He simply nodded, eyebrow still raised in silent question.

‘We had a bachelorette yesterday, you knew that. But eh.. Loïs, the bride caught air of you and I eh..dating.’ Our eyes met and his blues started to shimmer with happiness, making my heart flutter and fly again. ‘So eh..yea..she..invited you, too? I guess? And then Maddie took my phone and sent that message.’

Henry let out a hearty chuckle. ‘Yea right.’ He winked, then smoothed his face back into a warm smile. ‘I won’t judge you for some cute drunk texting, baby.’ He said.

’Noo..Hen. Really. It was Mads.’

‘Mhm.’ He hummed again, not believing a word of it, his face leaning closer to brush his lips against mine. ‘Ah. Whisky morning breath, my favourite.’ He chuckled.

I blushed fiercely, wishing to roll away from him and hide, but, of course I was too slow and my small frame was instantly caught in the cage of Henry’s large arms. ‘No getting away from me now, bridey.’ He whispered huskily, his mouth eager to lay its claim on me.

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wherevermyway · 4 years ago

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step out! do what you want (chapter ten)

pairings: reader/bang chan/han jisung, bang chan/han jisung side pairing: seo changbin/lee minho (referenced) rating: explicit | 18+ warnings (read please!): big fat warning for ambiguous HINTS of suicidal ideation, character deaths, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, profanity, use of firearms, graphic depictions of violence (fist fight, gunfight), blood, lots of smoking this chapter, mentions of sex, mentions of drug use, angst, drug dealer!au/organized crime!au. also, don’t drive this fast on the highway. word count: about 9,300 also on my ao3 here chapter/series navigation

chapter ten: je vois la fin avant le début | i see the end before it starts

recommended tracks: black swan by bts, can’t you see me? by tomorrow x together we go by stray kids, 777 by joji, the end/undead by hollywood undead and zero 9:36, simon says by nct 127, turn back time by wayv, begin by bts, tôt ou tard by eli rose, ew by joji, another day by stray kids. playlist can be found here.

note: I can’t believe this is almost done (thank god). I’m gonna warn you one more time: this story is dark as fuck and, if you thought chapter nine was bad, ten is also bad, and eleven is worse. eleven is going to have really triggering content (very explicitly labelled in several places) in it so please don’t hate me. I’m also turning off taglists for these last two chapters because I’m not comfortable tagging people due to the content.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

It would seem that, even though you’re back in the real world, returning to reality is proving to be difficult. Since returning to Christopher’s apartment, you’ve had a couple of panic attacks that you felt made both Christopher and Jisung questioned their relationship with you. Most of the time, things were fine, but there were moments and entire days where they treated you like you were a fragile piece of pottery with a big, neon warning label slapped on it that said “Danger! Will shatter if mishandled!” in fat, ugly, blocky, black characters.

After screaming and crying at your therapist for an hour and a half, you decided that you wanted to be alone and would take an alternative route home, sneaking out the back door so that Christopher didn’t see you as he waited out front in his car. You peeked through the glass front doors, seeing his car parked there, right on time. It was hard to make out details from so far away, but it looked like he was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling along.

Perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you turned away from the front door. The last time you were here, you recognized a service entrance towards the back of the building that appeared to be unlocked. Timidly, you make your way towards it and jiggle the handle. The door popped open with ease, and you walked through, quickly bolting through the alleyway and make your way towards the Mojeon bridge in Cheonggyecheon.

The walk to the bridge wasn’t very long, so you took the long way, weaving in and out of various backroads and alleyways. You loved taking in the environment of small shopping stalls and the scurrying of busy folk. What you had enjoyed the most was the ambient noises of the city life around you. It was night and day in comparison to the past five or so months had been like, trapped in the hospital, then trapped in Christopher’s apartment, leaving only to go to your thrice-weekly therapy appointments.

It made sense why you felt so lonely. Christopher had been keeping himself busy, constantly coming to bed not long before the sun came up. You knew he wasn’t purposefully avoiding you or Jisung, but something about it didn’t sit well with you, likely because it felt like he was just avoiding handling the loss of Changbin, now stuck with all of the stress of dealing with the family.

Jisung had to have been feeling it, too. Neither of them were going out on collection runs or handling deals; they had left it to Seungmin and Jeongin, as well as just sending jobs back to the hyung-nim. Jisung would occasionally spend a few late nights in the studio with Christopher, and he would always come back to bed more frustrated than he was before he went to go assist his superior.

There was one night a few weeks ago where you went to lay down early, settling into a book that you weren’t really committed to reading, but what the fuck else did you have to do, cramped up in this apartment? All three of you were tense from being cooped up inside, save for your therapy appointments. Jisung and Christopher were arguing about something, their voices travelling through the open studio door, bouncing around the open living room and kitchen, finally making its way in through the bedroom door.

It was impossible to completely make out what they were arguing about, but you really didn’t care at this point. Everything was all about hierarchy and other bureaucratic nonsense that had been completely upended with Changbin’s death. Jisung came angrily padding into the bedroom, a scowl on his face as he grumbled and flopped down on to the bed face-first. He let out a long, drawn out, frustrated groan into the blanket.

“You gonna be okay, Sungie?” You put your book on the nightstand, adjusting your position so that you’re able to run a calming hand through the younger man’s hair. “Sounded like you two were disagreeing about something again.”

Jisung huffs, then rolls over onto his back. “I'm never gonna be cut out to be a leader, am I?” He turns his head slightly to look up at you. “Chan-hyung has a hard enough time, and I never wanted to do this, but now I don’t have a choice.”

You roll your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and smile at him. “You would be a good leader if you wanted be, but I think this entire situation has been stressful on everyone.”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips as he turns to face you full-on. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“Go figure,” you sarcastically grumble as you roll your eyes.

“You’d be good at it,” Christopher’s voice travels through the doorway, startling both you and Jisung. He walks into the room and worms his way around both of you on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighs out, “I’ve been so stressed this week with all of the exchanges of power and sheer amount of work that needs to be done. Jisung,” he sits up on his heels, draping his face over his junior. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I was mad at you. There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour and I’m sorry.”

Jisung softly smiles, grabbing Christopher’s face with both of his hands. “You can be a real jerk sometimes,” he croons softly, “but I know you don’t mean it, that you’re not taking it out on me, y’know? It’s been a long, chaotic few months. We’ve all had our moments of panic, and you’re unfairly shouldered with handling the family almost completely by yourself. “

Christopher sighs, turning his head to look at you before he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into an embrace, both of you unceremoniously flopping onto your sides. “How about I ignore all of the stuff with the family tomorrow,” he says, pulling you up against him tightly with one arm, reaching out to Jisung with the other. “We can have a day with just the three of us. Get some bad takeout, watch horrible movies, just kind of have a lazy day around the house?”

“I like that idea,” Jisung excitedly nods, then turns to look at you. “What do you think, bunny?”

You were happy with the idea, but you couldn’t find yourself to share the same level of enthusiasm that Jisung did, like you would in the Before Time, as your therapist coined it. Before, you would have jumped at the thought, with both you and Jisung likely driving Christopher somewhat mad. But now, things were just muted and toned down. Mellowed down, like food you would eat when you had the stomach flu. Everything now just emotionally felt like lukewarm, runny juk, when you were used to explosions of flavour and texture on your emotional palette.

“You okay, baby?” Christopher sits up, turning to look down at you. The expressions on his face and Jisung’s face fall flat with concern and nervousness. “Are you going to that headspace again?”

Suddenly, you come back to your senses. You couldn’t have them worry about you, after all. There was already enough, much more important stuff for them to worry about. Honestly, you were just some woman who got strung along for a wild ride, and now had to deal with something a bit more difficult than a modelling shoot being cancelled. You could handle this.

“I’m fine,” you say with a fake smile plastered on your face. That was one good thing that came naturally to you because of modelling: faking emotions well enough, for a short period of time, faking it so well that anyone would believe you. “I just got distracted with thinking about what we could do.”

Jisung flushes, clearly misinterpreting your intention. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s been a while since the three of us…” his voice trails off as he alternates looking at you and Christopher, the blush on his face deepening as he awkwardly shifts around.

The blond-haired man rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, but,” he sighs, “that’s okay. It’ll happen naturally when we’re ready for it to happen, right?”

Luckily for you that night, the three of you were able to share an intimate moment together for the first time in literal months. It was fine and was fun, albeit muted like everything else lately, nowhere near how chaotic it was at the beginning of your relationship. At least you could get them off of your back for a little while longer.

As you reached the touristy area of Cheonggyecheon (when did you get here?), your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and pulled you from your hazy daydream. Nervously, you pull the phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick glance. Nearly all of the texts on your phone are from Christopher, unsurprisingly. There was nobody else, only Christopher and Jisung. Those were the only people you had now; everyone else either abandoned you, hated you, were outside of Korea, or had died.

16:47 | Running late? Figured you’d be done by now. 16:58 | Where are you? it's been a half hour 17:05 | seriously baby where are you?

His texts start to seem more panicked, his texting habits clearly more frantic.

It’s been over an hour since your appointment ended, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. You jam it back into your hoodie’s pocket and continue to ignore the barrage of calls from Christopher. He clearly got a hold of Jisung, because you’ve also started receiving texts and phone calls from him. A smirk creeps up on your face as you reach the Mojeon bridge. You quietly pace up to the middle of the bridge and poke your head over the railing.

It happens without even thinking. Almost mechanically, you take your phone out of your pocket and drop it down into the stream below you. It was almost ironic, honestly, that this was right above the spot where you got shot during Changbin’s funeral. It was a good area for your phone to die alongside where your sanity did.

You can’t help but cackle at yourself, earning some choice stares from passersby. There was no rhyme or reason to why you were doing this, but it felt good. The rushing water beneath the bridge was oddly calming as you stared at it over the railing. There was always something about the water that helped you feel grounded and calm. With all of this chaos around you, you needed something to stay constant.

As crazy as it sounded, the thought of jumping into the stream and letting it carry you out to the Han river did pass through your brain, but you managed to talk yourself out of it. “No,” you say aloud to yourself, “I couldn’t do that.”

The screeching of tires from the street adjacent to the walkway pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn your head towards the noise and see Christopher jump out of his car, haphazardly parked halfway on the sidewalk. He runs to you, yelling your name a couple of times, a horror-stricken expression on his face.

Your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you see him running at you. Part of your brain is telling you to run, but it would appear that your muscles have forgotten how to operate themselves.

Christopher slams into you, causing you to take a couple of steps back as you narrowly avoid being knocked down on to the concrete. His arms wrap around you so tightly, you’re afraid he’s going to pop your lungs. “Oh my god,” he cries out, “oh my god, where the hell have you been?” He puts a hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, lifting his head to kiss yours with several small pecks, and you can feel his body twitch as he starts to cry.

“A walk,” you manage to quietly squeak out, “I wanted to go for a walk.”

Christopher pulls back, releasing you from his embrace and taking a step backwards. “A walk?” His bloodshot, glossy eyes open wide, his face red as tears streak down his face, and he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have -“

“I’m smothered,” you flatly say, not really able to allow yourself to process any emotions. “You and Jisung both have both been treating me like I’m just going to fall apart if you even look at me.” Christopher stares at you in disbelief as the pedestrians around you pointedly avoid getting close.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A hushed whisper travels on the wind.

“Youth always out here with their petty drama,” another whisper follows.

You and Christopher stand there, staring at each other for a while. He eventually runs his hands through his hair, turning to look down the stream as he wipes the tears off of his face. “A walk,” he whispers, repeating back to himself. “Smothered.” He sighs heavily and turns back to you, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I thought you had been kidnapped, or that you ended up dead somewhere. Do you not understand that there are people out there that want us to suffer or, god forbid, kill us? You were shot right here the last time we were here, for fuck’s sake.” The tears continue to fall down his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. I don’t know how to help you with that, but,” he pauses, dropping his hands from his hips as he takes a step closer to you, “if I could take away all of your pain, I would do it in an instant, even if I had to take it all on myself.” He pulls you into his chest by your hips and wraps his arms around your waist, a bit more gently this time.

“I can’t do this without you. You, me, Jisung: we’ve all gone through so much shit in the past six months and we need each other.” His phone starts ringing, but both of you deliberately ignore it. “Once we’ve dealt with Minho and Hyunjin, Jisung and I are gonna leave the family. I’ve got some connections in Australia that would make it easy for us to move there. Nobody would know us. We can get out of all of this and leave this behind. How does that sound?”

A hint of a smile creeps up on the corner of your face. “It's a good idea, Christopher, but,” you say, staring at a confused police officer standing over Christopher’s car, “you’re about to get a ticket and you might wanna deal with that first.”

“What?” Christopher gasps, pulling away from your embrace as he grabs your wrist and turns to look at the scene unfolding. “Oh, goddammit,” he whines, pulling you along as he walks towards his car. “C’mon, let’s deal with this and go home.”

The encounter with the police officer is uneventful. Christopher uses his charming charisma to talk his way out of it, even name-dropping some high-level official that he knows. Once the two of you are back in the car, he makes his way to an open parking spot and parks, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a couple of times, and Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers of the car.

“Did you find her?” Jisung panics over the speaker, sounding as if he was nearly crying. “She isn’t answering my calls or my texts and I’m worried and I haven’t seen anything out here and I -“

“Sungie,” Christopher says, calmly, interrupting Jisung’s panicked word-vomiting, “I’ve got her, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say, not really sure if he can even hear you.

“Oh my god, bunny,” he exhales, “are you okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, but Christopher interjects. “She’ll be alright. Go back home, and we can talk about it when we get back. We’ve got some things we all need to discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says with a deep sigh. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too,” Christopher smiles as he says it. He presses a button on the steering wheel, hanging up the call, then turns to you. He embraces your hand with one hand and grabs your chin with the other. “Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, but if that changes,” he pulls you closer to him, and he rests his forehead against yours, “I need you to tell me. I can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise,” you speak with feigned confidence. Liar.

“Good,” he tilts your head up with his hand, then gently kisses you on the lips. A repetitive chime comes from the centre console of the car, startling both of you, and Christopher rolls his eyes, letting go of your jaw and reaching out to press another button on his steering wheel. “Jisung, I swear, we’re -“

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice comes through the car’s speakers, cutting Christopher off. “Minho-hyung knows where we are. I don’t know if he’s coming here, but he knows where we are and I know he’s found out about Hyunjin and he is beyond furious.”

“Shit.” Christopher’s expression instantaneously sours and his brows furrow. “Did you call the hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hyung. He’s the one that told me. Can’t spare any extra bodies to protect us, though.”

“Alright,” Christopher tightly grabs his face and runs his thumb against his jawline. “You’ve got enough gear there? I’ll pick up Jisung and bring Seungmin and Jeongin with. We’ll be there in a little over three hours.” He lets go of your hand to grasp the gear shift, shifting out of park and into drive, merging his way into traffic.

“I do.”

“Understood. Call me if he shows up before we get there. I know there’s another group connected to the family that’s somewhere in Daegu that can probably help you out, but it’ll be the nuclear option and I don’t want to do it unless we absolutely have to.” Christopher deeply sighs, looking into the rear view mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Hyung-nim’s already mad enough at us as is, but I’m not losing another brother today.”

“Will do,” Felix says with confidence, then cuts the line.

Christopher has a serious look on his face as he focuses on the traffic. He pushes yet another button on the steering wheel and tells the AI of his car to call Jisung. The trilling of the connecting line fills the car and everything feels tense.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers.

“We’ve got a problem with Felix and Hyunjin,” Christopher says calmly, but clearly concerned. “Minho knows they’re in Daegu and I’m assuming he’s on the way there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Christopher grits his teeth and exhales with force. “I’m on the way to pick you up. Call Seungmin or Jeongin. Have them both meet us at the apartment, alright?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t want her to come with, but,” you hear Jisung whispering to Christopher in the studio as Jeongin and Seungmin grab a few things from the studio and bring them out to the kitchen counter.

“She ran off, Jisung,” Christopher quietly bites back, “I can’t spare any of us to stay out of this just to watch her. You know that Minho is -“

Jeongin interrupts your eavesdropping as he sits down next to you on the couch. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Part of you is upset that you’re socially obligated to socialize now instead of eavesdropping, but at the same time, you didn’t want to know how much you were inconveniencing Jisung and Christopher.

“Yeah,” you honestly agree, turning your head to look out the window. “I’m not sure how Christopher managed to get a property out here, but it’s impressive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve chatted with each other.” Jeongin turns to look at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Hyung had mentioned you were having a hard time coming to terms with everything. I know we don’t really know each other well, but you can always reach out to either me or Seungmin if you need to talk to someone different for once.”

“It’s true,” Seungmin perks up from the kitchen, walking into the living room and popping a couple of grapes into his mouth before he sits on the chair opposite from you. “We’re more fun than them, anyways.”

You smile at their words, continuing to stare out at the skyline. How was it that they had gone through all of this and came out seemingly alright? Why was it just you that had difficulties coping with everything? Why did you have problems with every little thing lately, but everyone else was doing so much better than you?

Christopher and Jisung come out of the studio, both of them visibly frustrated, but Jisung at least tried to hide it as he walked into the living room. Christopher grumbles something under his breath, darting off through the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jisung awkwardly says as the door slams, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. “Are you all ready to go? We’re running a bit behind, so Chan-hyung is a little frustrated.” You knew that was a lie, that Jisung was just trying to keep the peace.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head towards Jisung. He smirks, almost like he wants to make some sort of comment, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.” He turns to look at both you and Jeongin, then looks back to Jisung. “Hyung gonna be alright, or…?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, you know how he gets. He’s just,” his eyes subconsciously dart to you, then to the floor as he stumbles over his words, “he’s got a lot to deal with right now. You know?”

Jeongin turns to look at you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “Are you ready?” You take a second to catch your breath, then timidly nod your head and he stands up. “Alright. I think we can get out of here.”

A loud clattering comes from Christopher’s room. The four of you exchange panicked glances with each other, and Jisung takes a step toward the bedroom, stopping as the door flies open. Christopher steps out of the room, now wearing a button up shirt and a thin tie, both in black. You notice he has black gloves on as he adjusts his necktie. There’s also an unlit cigarette in between his teeth, which you knew was a bad sign. He doesn’t bother looking at anyone before he grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen and making his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of black loafers. “Grab the shit and let’s go.”

Christopher chain-smokes for nearly the entire way to Daegu. He specifically asked you to sit in the passenger seat next to him, and you believe it’s so he could anxiously hold your hand. For the first forty or so minutes, until you get past Icheon-si, the air is so tense, nobody says anything. The bright LED of the dashboard reflects on Christopher’s face, illuminating the panic he’s trying to suppress as he takes another drag off of his third cigarette.

152km/h. That’s what you see when you turn to look at the big, bold digital letters reflected on the console. It felt much faster than you anticipated, and now you knew why, since the speed limit was 100. “You’re speeding,” you quietly say without thinking.

“Felix needs us,” Christopher says, his voice terse. “I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. Nobody’s on the road right now.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung perks up from the back seat, pulling himself up with your seat to be in between you and Christopher, “you should probably slow down a little, at least. 150 is really fast.”

“Not happening.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin chimes in, “I don’t mean to overstep, but Jisung is right. We’re going to be no help if we -“

“Would all of you shut up?” Christopher shouts, letting go of your hand, flicking the end of his cigarette out of his window as he grabs another one from the open pack and the lighter in the cupholder. The speedometer slowly ticks up to 160 km/h, and the numbers change from blueish-white to yellow. “Nobody else is dying today, not if I can help it. We’ve lost too many people already. One person was enough. Changbin was enough.”

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and his hands tremble as he flicks the black lighter a couple of times before the flame comes to life. The cigarette smoke always smelled terrible at first, until you got used to it about a minute in, but it wasn’t something you were overly fond of. Maybe once all of this was over, you could convince Christopher to stop smoking for good.

His left hand takes the cigarette from his mouth and he leans his elbow against the door, nervously rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. There’s another awkward silence as you feel Jisung let go of your seat, relaxing back into his spot. Jeongin whispers something that you can’t quite make out, and Christopher holds down a button on his steering wheel. “Call Lee Felix,” he says as the AI chirps at him.

“Calling, please wait.” the AI responds.

175 km/h. The numbers are now orange.

Christopher grips the steering wheel harder and harder the longer it takes for the call to go through. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes nervously darting between the centre console display and the road. “Fucking pick up, Felix.”

180 km/h.

“Yes, hyung?” Felix’s voice fills the car and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, you picked up,” Christopher loosens his grip on the steering wheel just a bit, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag from it. “Any word yet?”

“Not yet, hyung.”

“Good,” he exhales, and a cloud of smoke leaves his lips and is violently pulled out of the car through the window. “We’re on the way there, just drove past Icheon-si.”

“Icheon-si? Hyung, that’s…” Felix starts to say with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been going a bit over the speed limit,” Christopher scoffs, “as it was kindly brought to my attention. Should be in Daegu in about two hours at this pace. Call me immediately if anything changes, understood?”

“Yes, hyung, but -“

“If you’re about to scold me, I highly advise against it.”

190 km/h.

There’s a momentary pause over the line. “Understood, hyung. My apologies for stepping out of line.” Felix’s voice sounds slightly dejected, but it’s barely noticeable.

“See you soon.” Christopher curtly ends the phone call by pressing the button on the steering wheel again.

200 km/h.

The display is bright red and there is a soft ding that brings Christopher’s attention to the dashboard. “Fucking shit,” he says, and the car slows back down as he moves his foot off the gas pedal. “I’ve never gone that fast before. Holy shit.”

You look at him, reaching a hand over to his hair, brushing it back behind his ear. It had gotten shaggier and curlier over the past few months, his dark roots starting to show more and more obviously as time went on, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, part of you was curious to see what his natural hair colour looked like.

“It’s going to be alright,” you softly whisper, rubbing your thumb against Christopher’s temple. He grabs your hand with his right hand and smiles.

“Thanks, baby,” he doesn’t look at you, but you know he genuinely appreciates the little ways you remind him that you care. He pulls your hand down from his face and gives it a quick kiss before he returns it to your lap, only letting go so he can hold the steering wheel when he ashes his cigarette.

145 km/h. That was tolerable.

It takes maybe an hour and a half to reach the safehouse in Daegu. The building is old, like it had been abandoned a while ago. Siding had started to peel off of the side of the building, making it look dilapidated.

“I recognize that vehicle,” Seungmin says with concern as Christopher parks the car.

“I do, too,” Jisung chimes in, and reaches for his phone. “Nothing. Have you heard from Felix?”

Christopher pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen as he turns the car off. “Shit,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “Minho just got here. Let’s go.” The five of you get out of the car, Christopher and Jisung out in front of you, hands on their pistols as Seungmin and Jeongin are on either side of you.

“Stay behind us,” Jeongin whispers as you go up the stairs of the building. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Minho gets violent very quickly. He’s unpredictable; not to mention, he’s got to be exceptionally angry, given the severity of the situation. Both he and Hyunjin are good shots, so try to stay out of the way.”

You approach the top of the stairs, the sounds of shouting coming through the slightly ajar front door. Christopher throws his hand behind him, and everyone stops moving. He cranes his head around the doorframe, then walks in.

“Minho,” he says, as Jisung follows him inside. “You need to step back.” Seungmin and Jeongin follow their superiors inside, and you can’t help but poke your head into the doorway.

“Oh, of course,” Minho turns around at the sound of Christopher’s voice, laughing sarcastically. “Channie has to show up and save the day. What a hero, right? Or is it that maybe you wanted to have a little revenge on Hyunjin for taking away our Changbin?”

The way that Minho spoke made your stomach turn. Something about it made you feel like you were watching a dark psychological thriller film, like you needed to take a shower.

“We decide together,” Christopher calmly says. “Trust me, I understand how angry you are at him, I really do.” Minho takes a couple of steps towards Christopher and his eyes widen, almost like he’s ready to throw a punch at his superior. The three men around Christopher take their pistols and aim them directly at Minho as Christopher tucks his pistol back into its holster and lifts his hands up. “Changbin was my best friend. I’ve known him for almost half my life at this point. Trust me, I get it.”

Christopher turns his head, looking at Hyunjin, who wavers a bit where he stands. “I’d want to make him suffer, too,” he turns back to Minho, “but you know that Changbin wouldn’t want that.”

Minho scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, tilting it down. “Yeah, I know. Changbin was always the level-headed one out of all of us when it came to the family.” He lifts his head back up and a dark expression covers his face. “Changbin isn’t here anymore, though. So, if you and the boys don’t mind,” he turns his head back towards Hyunjin, “I’m gonna get revenge with my fists.” He lifts one of his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot me, though, I’m just gonna beat some sense into him, mano a mano.”

Christopher sighs, turning his head a bit back towards the men behind him, waving his hand dismissively to indicate that the guys should holster their pistols. “Let him,” he simply says, then moves to adjust his necktie. “If it gets bad, we’ll step in.” A part of you didn’t believe that Christopher was being sincere. With how much he cared about Changbin, it was likely he wanted to see Hyunjin suffer, but didn’t want to be the one to deal with it.

“No the fuck you won’t,” Minho snaps as he walks towards Hyunjin. “Pretty boy is mine to deal with.” He grabs the collar of the younger man and shoves him up against the wall. Felix takes a couple of steps around the men, walking over to Christopher and whispering something unintelligible from this far away.

“You know this is your fault,” Hyunjin says with a cocky look on his face. “If you never fell for Changbin after Shanghai, you know we’d be at the top now.”

Minho takes one of his fists and brings it to Hyunjin’s cheek, it slamming against his cheekbone with a thump. “If you hadn’t gotten so goddamn cocky,” he grips the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt again, shoving him into the wall a little firmer, “we wouldn’t have fucked up that deal. The Triads were fucking pissed at you and that’s on you. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if it wasn’t for your shitty fucking bravado.”

Hyunjin scoffs, drawing his head back a bit and colliding it with Minho’s with a heavy thud. Minho lets go of Hyunjin’s collar and grabs his head, moaning out in pain. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles with a slight slur.

“You were such a coward. Still are,” Hyunjin says, grabbing his forehead as he knees Minho in the stomach. “Temporarily left the fucking family because your precious Binnie was so worried about you. You really thought you were just gonna leave, go somewhere and start a happy family?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if. No one makes it out of here sane or alive.”

Minho growls as he reorients himself upright. He draws his arm back and literally leaps at Hyunjin, his fist colliding against his face again. This time, however, they land on the floor and throw fists back and forth until their faces and knuckles are bloodied. “If you never got involved with that fucking Triad girl,” Minho spits blood down onto Hyunjin’s face in anger, “we would never be here. Changbin would still be alive, the two of us would be out, then you could have had it all. But you went and flew too close to the goddamn sun, you fucking traitor.” Minho pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his pistol.

A chill runs through the air as Hyunjin calmly stands up, drawing his pistol in response. “It’s not my fault,” he says coolly, then turns to glare at you. “If it wasn’t for her,” he nods in your direction, then turns back to Minho, “Changbin wouldn’t have died. All I wanted to do was to give him a little warning shot so Minji and I could get out of there. But, you know your precious Changbin. Always had to be the brave, strong hero.” He squints his eyes and cockily smirks. “You loved that about him and you know that.”

Christopher tenses, sensing the shift in tone, and he grabs his pistol, motioning for you to get back, but it’s clearly too late to intervene.

It happens in an instant, time slowing down like the time that Christopher got shot in front of you. You see Minho’s arms raise up, aiming his pistol at Hyunjin, who responds in kind by aiming his pistol at Minho. However, he’s a bit too slow.

Minho fires his gun once, square into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The younger man shrieks and recoils, but manages to fire a shot into Minho’s stomach before he collides into the ground. The older man falls forward, crashing into the floor like a rag doll. Blood flies everywhere, painting the room and the men in splatters of deep crimson.

Hyunjin weakly coughs a couple of times. “Idiot,” he groggily whispers before his head rolls away from you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Minho coughs out, thick blood coming up from his throat. Felix immediately moves towards Minho, but the older man shakes his head once. “Let me fucking die.” The younger man stops in his tracks, nods, then moves to Hyunjin. He pores over the long-haired man, reaching up to his throat, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Minho lazily rolls onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “I know you never would have wanted me to get revenge,” he scoffs, more blood coming up and spilling down his cheek, “but you knew me better than that. You were always the, ah,” he coughs a couple of times, “always the wiser one out of the two of us. I might have been older, but you were smarter.” He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. “I love you so much. You made me so much better. Sorry, baby. Hope you’re there on the other side. Heh. Hope there’s an other…”

A creaky groan comes from Minho, and that’s the last noise he makes. The room falls silent and nobody moves for a while. A few tears fall down your face. Minho may have been flighty and impossible to understand sometimes, but he showed you nothing but compassion and kindness when he first met you.

“Hi, I’m Lee Minho,” the memory of his introduction replays in your head. “Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” You remember the way he softly smiled as he offered a slight bow to you. The way he looked at Changbin while he was half-drunk and high off of ecstasy, the way he whined at Changbin and pulled him into an embrace when he was half-asleep the next day. “Cuddle me and make it better.” There was no way he was truly a bad person, not by all of his interactions with you. He just loved Changbin and didn’t know how to appropriately act about it at times.

Your knees painfully collided into the ground and you just started sobbing. Sure, Minho had moments where he was absolutely insane, but the memories you had with him physically hurt as they passed through your head.

Daegu. You were in Daegu. You probably weren’t far away from where he and Changbin were for the Colourful Daegu Festival a long time ago. How happy they must have been when they were tripping on acid and listening to music. God, how much they must have loved each other. All of the happy memories they had, only to end in pain and misery and literal fucking death.

“Don’t let Channie intimidate you,” you remember him telling you the day that Christopher came home from the hospital, not long before Changbin brought him home. You were both on the couch, aimlessly talking about life as Jisung took a nap in the bedroom.

“What do you mean?” You had asked, turning to look at Minho.

“He’s a little intense sometimes,” he continued, folding his hands together and bringing them to the back of his head. “but he cares. Once he gets close to someone, he gets protective and it’s endearing. It’s usually just a bit intense at the beginning. I mean, you saw how he got when he found out you and Sungie had been together, but he cares. and just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”

You cocked your head to the side and mumbled in agreement.

“I remember when he found out that Changbin and I were dating. Wow,” Minho sighed as he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. “Man, was he pissed. He yelled and yelled and totally reamed me. ‘First, you get shot for him,’ he said to me, ‘now you’re in love with him? With my best friend?’” Minho smiled at the memory. “That’s how I knew he really cared about Binnie. He wasn’t mad at me, he was just protective of his best friend.”

“Huh,” you mumbled out, then leaned back up against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with Minho.

“He gave me his blessing eventually,” Minho continued, “but he told me that if I ever broke Binnie’s heart, he’d break my kneecaps in two and make sure nobody found me at the bottom of the ocean.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at Minho in terror.

Minho tilted his head towards you and smiled. “Real charmer, ain’t he? Very endearing type. He falls fast. Probably loves you already, just doesn’t know how to say it. Be ready for it to come completely out of the blue.”

You run your hands through your hair, rocking back and forth as you sob so hard that your throat started to ache. Someone takes a few steps towards you, then bends down, pulling you into their arms. “It’s okay,” Jisung’s voice whispers in your ear, “it’s gonna be okay, bunny, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was a fucking liar.

“I’ll take care of this,” Felix quietly says to Christopher as you and Jisung sit on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t worry about it, hyung.”

“You sure?” Christopher flatly questions, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can call the hyung-nim and -“

“Hyung,” Felix presses. “Do you know how many bodies I’ve dealt with over the years? All the time in nursing school? It’s fine. It’s just another part of the job. Besides, the hyung-nim is still pretty miffed at us. Can’t imagine how happy he’s gonna be to hear that two more of us are gone.”

Christopher sighs, and you hear them slap each other on the back. “Thanks, Felix.”

“Not by blood,” Felix starts.

“By the code.” Christopher finishes their pact with a deep sigh. “I want you to come back up to Seoul when you’re, ah,” his breath hitches as he speaks, “when you’re done. Alright?”

“Understood, hyung.” Felix says. “You’re buying the drinks, though.”

Christopher lets out a strained chuckle as he comes down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah.” He slowly approaches you, sitting down on the stairs behind you and Jisung. “I’m sorry you both had to see this. I’m sorry this went so badly so fast.”

“Chan,” Jisung turns his head over his shoulder, looking up to Christopher. “Are you going to be alright driving back to Seoul tonight? There’s the other safehouse, or I can drive down to Busan; it’s only an hour or so from here.”

“No,” Christopher says, probably shaking his head like he did when he pretended he wasn’t bothered by something. “I don’t mind. Just gotta stop somewhere, get an energy drink and another pack of cigarettes and we’ll be fine.”

You lift your head up from your hands, staring off into the horizon as the sun starts to come up. It felt like you had been here for an eternity. A burning, gnawing sensation burned in your stomach as you mentally pictured Minho laying on the floor, blood spilling down his face. A cold sweat broke out over your skin and your body started to tingle everywhere.

Oh, shit.

You were going to be sick. You bolt up to your feet, running down the last couple stairs and prop yourself up against the railing as you spill the contents of your stomach on the pavement, painting the ground in a disgusting shade of green.

“Ah, baby,” Christopher whines, coming up behind you as he rubs his hand on your back, pulling your hair back in a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was fucking lying again.

Footsteps trail up the staircase, disappearing into the building as you hear Jisung say something to Felix. Your stomach retches again and searing acid comes up and splatters onto the ground, causing you to cough in a panic as it felt like your throat was closing. The cycle repeats itself a couple of times, and by the time you’re almost sure you’re done being sick, Jisung is on the other side of you, rubbing your lower back and handing you a cold bottle of water.

“It’s okay,” he lies, because everyone’s lying. Nothing was going to be fine. Nothing would ever be fine ever again. “When you can, take a drink of this. We can take as much time as you need.”

You snatch the bottle out of his hand with disgust, standing upright and breaking the seal of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents. The pH of stomach acid fluctuated between 1.5 and 3.5, you randomly remember from your university days. Water was neutral at 7. The way the water burned going down your throat made it feel like it was at a pH of 1.

Everything felt like battery acid. The way the stomach acid burned as it came up, the way the water felt as it went down, the way that everyone was lying to you, the way that life seemed to absolutely abhor your guts - literally and metaphorically. Even though you knew that Christopher and Jisung were doing their best at just trying to console you, their hands felt like battery acid burning into your back.

You sighed as you tilted your head up to look at the sky. The sun was coming up, but there was still a deep shade of violet far off in the distance, white spots spattered against the technicolour backdrop. A single red spot in the distance caught your eye. Huh. Wasn’t that supposed to be Mars if you saw a red star?

A red star. A red spot.

Wait a second.

Oh shit.

“Don’t we need to go to a convenience store?” You say, turning to Christopher, trying to sound as calm as possible as you do some mental calculations.

“Yeah, how come?” He responds, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’ll grab the stuff for you. I wanna grab a snack and some things to drink for the ride home.” You lie, a fake smile plastered on your face. “It’ll let you and the guys talk about family stuff for a minute without me, you know? Not like I can run away if you’re right in front of the store, right?”

Christopher’s face falls into a frown and he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fine. Jisung’s going with you, though.”

Shit.

“Chan,” Jisung says with a scoff, “I’ll just wait outside. She’ll be fine.”

Christopher glares at Jisung, then turns away, rolling his hands in the air. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, walking towards the car, “if she runs, you’re going after her.”

Jeongin gets off from the trunk of the car, shoving Seungmin’s shoulder and startling the poor man. Must’ve been nodding off. “C’mon, Seungmin,” he quietly says, “looks like we’re getting ready to go.”

“Is something wrong?” Jisung says as he steps in front of you, calculatedly avoiding your artistic addiction to the pavement. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s just a lot to process,” it’s a half-truth, really, “figured you guys could use a minute to yourselves and I could use a minute to myself.

“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Jisung sounds concerned as he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not, I promise.” For once today, you were telling the entire truth.

Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to you as you wander around inside the convenience store. You grab a couple of snack foods off the shelf, not really thinking or caring about what you grabbed, too busy focusing on the real reason you were there. You walk around the store until you reach the more household-like items. Nervously, you roll your eyes up, checking to see if Jisung was still staring off into space.

Luckily, he still wasn’t paying attention. You eye a box, snatching it off of the shelf, then spin on your heel and grab a few drinks from the cooler behind you. As you walk up to the counter, you ask the clerk for whatever stupid brand of cigarettes that Christopher smoked, trying to hide the box from Jisung’s line of vision.

The clerk eyes you with judgement and shakes her head. She rings up all of the items, saving the box for last, but you grab it from her before she can place it in the bag and you shove it in the pocket of your hoodie. She cocks her head in confusion, then decides it must be too early to really question anything. “₩21,050.” You pull out a few bills from your pocket and slip them to her. She hands you some change then asks, “need the washroom?”

You turn to look at Jisung, who’s staring at you now. “Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “lemme just give this stuff to my boyfriend real quick.”

“First door in the back, to your left. Good luck.” The clerk scoffs, then goes back to her coffee.

You take a couple steps to the door, opening it and passing the bag off to Jisung. “Gonna use the washroom, be back in a second.” He opens his mouth to say something, but follows you into the store.

“I trust you,” he lies, otherwise he wouldn’t be following you, “but you know that Chan would kill me if I didn’t follow you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tuck one of your hands into your front pocket and open the door. “I get it, just give me a minute.” You slip through the door as Jisung stares at you in confusion.

06:32. You make a mental note of the digital display as you get back into the car and slide your seatbelt on.

“You look a little pale, baby,” Christopher says as he rubs his finger on your face. “I know today has been a lot, but are you alright? You sure you wanna go back to Seoul today?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swallowing down some of your panic. Subconsciously, your eyes dart to the clock again. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long year.”

Jisung sighs from the back seat. “You can say that again.”

Christopher leans in to kiss your cheek, then unwraps the plastic from the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He pulls one out of the package, lifting it to his lips as he rolls down the window. “Everyone ready?”

Nobody really says anything, so Christopher shrugs his shoulders, lighting his cigarette before shifting the car into drive and making his way through the streets of Daegu. He takes in a long drag from his cigarette and lets out a sigh.

06:34.

“What a fucking year,” he says, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if something else happens to us. I just wanna get out of the family, you know?”

Jeongin chimes in, “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it quits, too. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in something. Be a productive member of society instead of whatever this is.”

Seungmin laughs. “I feel you on that. Kkangpae isn’t really a marketable skill on a resume, is it? Imagine how that interview would go. Yeah, I have some good business skills, sir, but you don’t wanna know how I learned them. I can tell you how much a single dose of molly will go for on the street, though. Did I get the job? When do I start?”

The guys laugh, but you offer a polite smirk as your keep your eyes trained on the clock. 06:36. Why was it that when you wanted time to pass faster, it always seemed to go slower? Why was life so paradoxically cruel sometimes?

“Chan-hyung and I are pretty good at music,” Jisung perks up, “maybe we could become some idols or something? I’ve got the face for it.”

Christopher snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. I don’t want that kind of life, sounds too busy. Besides,” he looks over at you, then back to the road, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the fact that I’m already dating not only one, but two, people. Really wouldn’t like the fact that one of them is another dude.”

06:38.

“Good point,” Jisung says, probably rolling his eyes. “Life is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t get it,” Seungmin says, “like, why is it anyone else’s business what people do in the space of their own homes? If it doesn’t hurt anyone, who cares?”

Jeongin scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want people to find out about your collection of -“

“Shut up!” Seungmin pleads with a whine, cutting off the younger man. “Why the hell do we live with each other again?”

06:40. Good enough.

You tilt your head to the side, pulling out the piece of plastic, pretending you’re looking at a piece of string. Your face falls when you eyes see a bright pink cross staring back at you, as if it were another way for life to slap you in the face.

“You alright?” Jisung’s voice startles you as you jam your hand back into your pocket.

“Y-yeah,” you sputter, “just thinking about how life really is cruel sometimes, you know?”

You were pregnant and you were definitely not okay with the idea of that.

“It’ll be okay, though,” you say as you stare out the window.

Everyone’s fucking lying.

a/n: surprise! i literally cried writing this chapter too. chapter eleven is probably about halfway done as i post this, so hopefully you won’t need to wait too long for it. just a heads up, there will be triggering content in the last chapter, and it will be clearly labelled. the epilogue, step out! see you in the next life will briefly cover part of the ending of chapter eleven if you’re curious but don’t want to read it. thanks for sticking around for this wild ride. can’t wait to see you next chapter.

edit: mano a mano means hand to hand, not man to man btw. just found that out lol.

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: death #tw: mental instability #tw: mental health #tw: ptsd #tw: firearms #tw: violence #tw: blood #step out do what you want

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