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theladyofdeath · 4 years ago

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The Ranch {8}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty x @tacmc

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: We love that you guys have been loving this so much! Please continue to let us know what you’re thinking. We loved writing this fic, and your love means the world to us.

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian didn’t see or hear from Nesta for the rest of the day. He saw her in the main house around dinner time, but decided he would let her cook in peace. He didn’t know what kind of demons had reared their ugly heads at her today, but whatever had happened between Nesta and Tomas Motherfucking Mandray had screwed with her so badly that he barely recognized the woman he found in the paint department today.

He remembered Nesta from high school, had known that she had dated Tomas then. But, he didn’t know much. At least, not about Nesta. As for Tomas, however, he and Cassian went way back, and none of their interactions had ever been pleasant. Tomas had always been a self-absorbed little bitch. He hated Tomas.

And he had hated him even more when he walked into the paint aisle and saw how fucking terrified Nesta had been.

Yet, he wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. She would come to him when she was ready. Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, Cassian had convinced himself that it was none of his business.

Even if he really, really wanted it to be his business.

As night approached, Cassian made sure all the horses were ready for bed, and all the cattle were where they were meant to be. He whistled for Beau to follow him into the cabin and, the good pup he was, Beau obeyed. Once inside, he slumped into the recliner and checked his phone.

There was a text from Rhys that read, Being engaged is fucking awesome. It ended with three flame emojis. Cassian found the text as a whole repulsive and unnecessary.

There was a text from Azriel, too, that read, Drinks on Friday? Elain is working all night.

Cassian dismissed it, making a mental note to reply in the morning.

Then, he had one last text.

From Nesta.

Thanks for today. Sorry I spaced out.

He read the text once, twice, three times before finding the nerve to reply. Anytime, he wrote. He wanted to write something else, anything else, wanted to add a fucking speech at the end of the one-worded text, but he decided against it.

He pressed send.

It wasn’t two minutes later that he got a reply. You should be sleeping. You’ll have to wake up early to get on the stables, won’t you?

Cassian chuckled to himself. Maybe. But you have to be up early to do your makeup before you finish the landscaping, he replied.

Her reply wasn’t as quick this time, the dancing dots disappearing every so often. But when his phone finally vibrated while he was brushing his teeth, he laughed out loud.

Don’t act like it takes me more time to do my hair than it takes you to do yours. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those man buns are a little TOO perfect sometimes.

He replied with no hesitation. Glad to know you’re looking at my man buns.

He swore that he could feel her eyes roll from across the property. Goodnight, Sexy Ranch Hand.

Goodnight, beautiful.

He sent the text, hoping it would bring her a little bit of joy, a little bit of comfort, but then, when she didn’t reply, he grew nervous.

He felt he was walking a fine line with Nesta, ever since she scolded him for being his boss.

His hesitation didn’t last too long, though, because his phone vibrated the minute he climbed into his bed. The text was short, but it gave him comfort.

A smiley face emoji greeted him as Beau climbed up on the bed beside him.

He slept good that night, smiling stupidly to himself as he snuggled up next to Beau. And when morning came, he felt completely refreshed.

He was up and getting dressed with a cup of coffee at four, and as sunrise approached, Cassian grabbed a bag by the door and he and Beau were walking out into the cool, muggy summer morning. It wouldn’t be long until the sun was beating down, drenching him in sweat.

Instead of heading toward the stables, Cassian went across the grass and the gravel driveway, and up the steps of the tiny, modern house that sat there.

He pounded on the door and Beau stayed in the yard, chasing his tail.

No answer.

He pounded his fist on the wood once more.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Cassian kept knocking, and didn’t stop. He pounded repeatedly on the door for at least thirty seconds when the door was thrown open, and Nesta stood there, looking like she wanted to set him on fire.

“What the hell?” She asked, voice raspy, hair a mess, body wrapped in a crocheted blanket.

“Rise and shine,” Cassian grinned. “Go on. Get dressed.”

Her eyes narrowed as she flipped on the porch light. Cassian lit up as she groaned from the brightness of it.

“You wanted to learn how things are done around here,” Cassian laughed. “Well, I start at sunrise, ever day.”

Nesta rubbed her eyes and snorted. “Unless you’re hungover.”

Cassian grinned. “Fair enough. Alright, go on, get dressed, I’ll wait.”

Nesta sighed but didn’t protest as she took a step back.

“Oh,” Cassian said, before she could close the door on him. “Here.”

He held out the bag.

She blinked. “What is that?”

“I kept telling you,” he said, shaking the bag until she took it. “You own a ranch. You need a pair of boots.”

“You...bought me boots?”

Cassian shrugged as she took the bag and shoved his hands into his pockets. “With your sisters’ help. Consider it your welcome home gift.”

Nesta was speechless as she slowly went back into her little house.

She didn’t bother closing the door, so Cassian stepped inside as she went back into her bedroom.

He looked around, although there wasn’t much inside. He noticed Elain’s old furniture, that he had helped move in upon Nesta’s arrival.

“Hopefully they fit,” Cassian said as he went to the little fridge in the kitchen and looked at the pictures that covered it. “I may have snuck a glance at your sneakers the other day when you weren’t looking to check for size.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter flooded through the hall. “Creep.”

Cassian grinned to himself as he studied a picture of the girls when they were young, smiling with their mother. Cassian had never met her. She died years before Isaac had hired him.

Nesta came out a minute later, and even in the dim lamplight, Cassian was breathless.

Her hair was pulled back in a high point tail. She wore jeans, a tank top, and an old flannel shirt, which remained open.

And her boots, which fit nicely.

“Okay, stop staring,” Nesta muttered. “I realize you’ve never seen me in boots and it’s shocking.”

Cassian cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded. “They look nice.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and her boots thumped toward the front door. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, let’s do this.”

Cassian allowed himself to watch her walk out the door and down the steps before he followed her out.

————

“Harder.”

Cassian grunted.

“Harder.”

He groaned, but did as he was told.

“Harder!”

Cassian was out of breath, but he said, “This is as hard as it gets, I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, but still managed to roll her eyes. “I want you to try harder.”

He grunted and said, “Okay, okay, put it down. Stop pushing.”

They both moved away from the enormous roll of hay they’d been trying to roll through the south pasture. It had rained overnight, nearly doubling the weight of the hay and Cassian had suspected he needed a little more muscle than what Nesta had to offer.

“I’ll have to call Rhys,” Cassian said, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. Nesta was folded at the waist, her hands braced on her knees.

“No, we can-.” She stopped to breathe. “We can do it. We got this”

He chuckled, “Nes, that hay weighs over 5 times your weight. We absolutely do not got this.”

Her lips tightened as she sized up the roll of hay. “We-.”

“Nesta,” Cassian breathed, laughing quietly. “It’s not a big deal. Your ability to move a roll of hay doesn’t dictate your ability to run a ranch. Well, own it, I run it.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

“I know,” he grinned, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, once more. Nesta’s eyes lingered a little bit too long on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his jeans, which were hanging loosely on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Rhys. “Rhys will be over soon, I’m sure, he has the day off. Unless your sister kept him up all night.”

Nesta scrunched her nose. “No need to reference my sister’s sex life.”

Cassian’s grin widened as he put his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Nesta stilled, and her hesitation made him howl.

“I meant on a horse, Nesta,” he said, unable to control his laughter. “Calm down.”

“Asshole,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were red, both from the sun they’d been in all day and the blush now tipping her ears as well. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t have a horse. I’m okay.”

Cassian had an eyebrow raised. “You actually have eight.”

“I have-.” Nesta paused. “Oh. You’re right.”

But not Phoenix.

“Hey.” Cassian’s voice was soft and she looked up, not expecting him to be so close. His hazel eyes were the color of the forest floor. As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “You’ll never be able to replace him, Nes. You’ll never get back that bond with him. But that doesn’t mean you can’t build another bond with another horse.”

He was right, of course, but she hadn’t been on a horse in nearly a decade. The thought alone terrified her. Yes, she was beginning not to mind being back in Velaris, had even started enjoying herself while working on the B&B, but to ride again? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a huge step.

And it was.

A massive step.

Yet, Cassian’s eyes were so full of hope, and the way they watched her, so softly, Nesta couldn’t say no.

Didn’t want to say no.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Fine.”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “I need to hear you say it with a little more enthusiasm.”

Nesta pursed her lips and shoved him in the shoulder, which only made his cocky ass grin return.

“Come on,” she said, heading in the direction of the dilapidated stalls the horses stayed in. She walked about twenty feet before she realized he wasn’t walking with her. “What?”

Cassian chuckled. “You really were tired this morning, weren’t you?”

Nesta blinked. “You banged on my door at, like, three in the morning. Of course I was tired.”

“Okay, first of all, it was four thirty,” he said, laughing. “Second, follow me.”

Nesta wasn’t sure exactly how she’d missed it. He was right, she must have been half asleep to miss the framework nestled back into the trees between their two houses.

But this was not the basic stable and tack room she’d described to him.

No, this building was going to be massive.

“There are going to be sixteen stalls,” Cassian said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “The tack room is going to be on that side,” he indicated to the right. “And the lodge, will be to the left.”

“The lodge?” Nesta asked, turning to look at him. “Figured it might be nice to have a little getaway out here. If you don’t like it, I can scrap it from the plans, make this a second tack room or storage area.”

But Nesta wasn’t listening, she’d turned back to the massive framework of beams in front of her.

She breathed, “Cassian, it’s perfect.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s going to take me a while to finish-.”

“Tell me what you need and it’s yours.” There was no hesitation to her words. “We can even hire someone to help, if you want.”

Cassian chuckled, softly. “That’s okay. I got it. If I need help, I’ll ask Rhys and Az. They’ll be more than happy to help when they can.”

“I can’t believe you…” Nesta shook her head, and looked at him. “Put so much thought into it.”

He shrugged. “You asked for updated stables. I just did what I’m told.”

“You really do love this place, don’t you?” Nesta asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, meeting her gaze. “I had a bad reputation, from a lot of stupid shit I did when I was younger. Your dad really took a chance on hiring me, but I’m grateful every day that he did. He gave me a sense of purpose, when I thought I didn’t have one.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, and did not back down from his gaze as she said, “I’m grateful, too. That you’re here. I’d be completely lost without you.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, and she thought he was going to say something sweet, but then he said, “Yeah...all the other ranchers in this town aren’t as sexy as me, so, you really did luck out.”

“Oh, cauldron boil me,” Nesta groaned and Cassian put his arm around her shoulder and steered her towards the house, towards the shed where the saddles and other tack was kept.

“Ahhh, I didn’t want it to get too sappy.” He said, grinning down at her. “But now, we’re gonna see if you’re really worth your salt on this ranch.” He stopped in front of the shed and unlocked the padlock.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Nesta asked, not so subtly watching the way his back muscles moved under the blue t-shirt he wore.

He turned and Nesta cleared her throat and looked at him. He had a lead rope in his hand.

“Time to go catch you a horse, Nesta Archeron.”

——————

As the sun was setting, Nesta and Cassian walked back from the pasture, laughing.

“I had no idea that you were the one that released the dissection frogs!” Nesta said, locking the gate behind them. “Was it in protest of animal cruelty or something?”

Cassian thought for a second. “No, but if I had gotten caught, that probably would have been a better excuse than the one I would have gone with.”

Nesta chuckled. “Which was?”

He smirked and said, “Because I got bored.”

Nesta froze and watched him walk the rest of the way to the shed. “You let over four hundred frogs loose because you were bored?”

He put the ropes back in their place and locked the shed up. “Yup.” The grin on his face told her he, indeed, was proud of himself. And she was grinning, too.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you want to come have dinner with me?”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised. “Tonight?”

“Tonight, tomorrow night, whenever.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as a casual offer, and not that asking had filled her stomach with butterflies as strongly as it had when she had her first kiss. “We can meet for dinner in the main house every night. There’s no need for us to both cook.”

His smile returned, but it was softer. “I’d like that.”

They headed back around the front of the house, Cassian rattling off his favorite foods, most of which consisted of red meat and starches. When they came around the corner, Nesta froze.

Cassian’s words trailed off as he stopped beside her. A little black truck had pulled up, old and rusty. But the girl that came out of that little, rusty truck was stunning.

Nesta looked over at Cassian, to see if he recognized the young woman.

And, oh, he definitely did.

“Emerie,” he said, uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come by to say hello,” she crooned, grin wide. Then, she seemed to notice Nesta for the first time. “Oh. Who are you?”

Nesta blinked, then realized she was being spoken to. “I own this property.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes growing wide with recognition. “Your Isaac’s oldest? Wow.” She looked Nesta up and down, and the gesture had Nesta seeing red. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Emerie.”

“I’ve heard,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian was fiddling with the hem of his shirt when he said, “You know, we’re a little busy, Em, why don’t you come back later?”

“Later works,” she said, sliding her hands in her back pockets. “I was going to see if you wanted to have dinner, too, but it seems like you’re...taken care of.”

Cassian cleared his throat and said, “Nesta and I were just-.”

“Just finishing up for the day,” Nesta interrupted. She turned to Cassian and the warm, playful nature he’d seen emerging earlier had gone cold. “Thanks for showing me the ropes. I really appreciate it.” She began up the porch steps and Cassian reached for her hand. He gently gripped her fingers.

“Nesta, wait, let me explain. It’s-,” he dragged his hand down his face, the callouses catching on his stubble. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“I fell for that once before,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in his. “I won’t fall for it again.”

A look of confusion crossed Cassian's face, but his hand dropped. Emerie had gotten the hint, had gotten back up into her truck and was backing out.

“Are you jealous?” He asked, and it was almost anger that replaced the spark in his hazel eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not jealous,” Nesta snapped. “But it’s really inappropriate-“

“If you say that word one more time, Nesta, I swear on the fucking cauldron-.” Cassian’s words faded away and he raked his fingers through his long, tangled hair. “Must I remind you that you didn’t want me?”

There it was.

The words hung between them as complete silence consumed them, Emerie’s old truck driving away the only thing to be heard.

Nesta stared down at him, hurt written plainly across her face.

Hurt.

He had expected her to be jealous of Emerie, but he didn’t expect to see pain roiling in the depths of her eyes.

“Nesta, I-.”

She cut him off. “Did you lie to me?”

He blinked up at her, the sunset making her hair glow. “What?”

“That night, I asked you point blank if you had a girlfriend,” Nesta said, voice wavering. “You said no.”

“No,” Cassian said, eyes growing hard. “I have never lied to you, Nesta, I’m not a fucking liar. Emerie’s just a friend. She comes by every now and then. I haven’t seen her in months. She only comes by when she wants something.”

“Sex?” Nesta asked, before she could stop the word from tumbling out of her mouth.

Cassian shook his head, ignoring the short question altogether. “It doesn’t fucking matter. But, I’ve never lied to you. And, if you think I would lie to you….fuck.”

She could see the anger brewing inside of him, could see the frustration, but Nesta didn’t care, because she was pissed. And yet, she had no reason to be. He was right. She had turned him down. She had no right to care.

She was hurt, though.

And that hurt grew when she saw the hurt, saw the anguish, in his own eyes.

“I didn’t lie,” he repeated, looking away from her, out toward the pastures. “I’m a lot of things, Nesta, but I’m not a liar.”

She knew he wasn’t, knew it in every fiber of her being.

She hadn’t even been back in Velaris for a month, had just started to open up to the complicated man in front of her. Day and night, he always found a way to creep into her thoughts, into her dreams. But she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, couldn’t afford to get tangled up with the man she couldn’t get off of her mind, no matter what she may want.

Not when her father's dream was on the line.

So Nesta closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that has silently started slipping down her cheeks.

She turned her back to him, and hurried up the stairs of the main house.

Cassian was calling her name, but she forced herself to keep walking, to open the door, enter the house, shut herself inside.

She leaned against the slab of wood, stayed their as her eyes filled with tears, even as Cassian knocked on the other side.

“Nesta,” he said, voice calm, quiet, broken. “Hey, open up, come on.” He knocked again.

Nesta didn’t move.

She stayed there, leaning against the door, listening to him knock, listening to him beg.

But no matter what he said, Nesta didn’t open the door.

#theranchnessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fanfic #au #nessian #shara collab #sharacollab

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yconic · 4 years ago

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"Divorce is a special kind of pain. It's like death without a body, " is what they say when two halves of a whole heart separate.

Tony never understood when he was younger, never extended the notion of two people who gifted each other to eternity in union splitting up beyond 'Just not talking for a bit.'

He looked at it from a small perspective belonging to a small person, as if the people in question were just two good friends who couldn't decide on what game to play, hurt each other, and needed space.

His parents had done it more times than he cared to count. The frigid silences and artificial prompt politeness between the socialite power couple Howard and Maria Stark could last for two days, or two months, depending on how deep the issue picked out that time ran.

Tony sat straight as he watched the clock tick away, dutifully counting the hours that would bring Maria closer to home from whichever elicit travel affair she filled her time with while Howard closes himself into his workshop, stewing in anger and bitterness that leak out from the door he's not permitted to trespass.

He learns to measure the gravity of their squabbles, - If it's a small argument, Maria picks Germany, France, or Spain. She sends a letter stating the duration of her stay. She sends Tony well wishes, with a touch of formality for a mother, and her name is elegantly plastered on the bottom in cursive.

When Howard fucks up, she picked China, Britain, or Italy, and she disappeared from the earth until she emerged at her like. Howard is Howard, - the relationship between him and his son was too cold for Tony to tell how his father was like without the disdain gleaming in his eyes, but the liquor cabinet always needed at least a daily refill after a spectacular drama.

He looks back at those moments and realizes, with a shade of pity coated in something more sour, mellow but active, that divorce was never an option for them, the cycle of co-dependency and maintaining legacy had to be kept no matter how demanding that task was.

He can't bring himself to be angry when he feels so bad for them. All that money, and they couldn't buy a second of peace.

It doesn't take long for him to realize his parents don't love each other.

Tony was young, but he was never a child. He was naive, gullible, innocent, - but he was awake. While he didn't clearly understand what love was, he looked at the unhappy frowns on the miserable faces of the pair and thought: 'If that's how love looks like I want no part in it.'

He doesn't love people for more than one night, - A full week if their company was good enough to distract him from the rich golden color of his whiskey that gradually tastes bitter, and more bitter every time. It's not love, he knows, - He keeps that special for his family. But the kind of feeling he has with strangers, with nobody's with a name, resembles what he knows of love too much for him to change meaning.

He won't know how "love" feels like. He refuses to be the caged bird his mother was, to take form in the monster Howard let himself become.

Then, life gives him Steve.

He nests into Tony's life like a storm with skin, hair kissed by sunshine and eyes filled with an ocean that the brunette longs to sink into. He has a boyish charm to him, an old soul that swoops Tony off his feet. It makes him want to slow down, even if he belongs to the future, to activity, to progress. He wants to sit and listen to the stories Steve has, told in a Brooklyn swird that gives character to every word.

Steve looks at him like Rhodey told him all people should look at him. 'Like they can't see the status, or the money, or the power. Like they just see Tony, and nothing more. Because Tony will always be enough. ' Steve looks at him like he hangs the moon for him.

Tony never stood a chance. He looked at Steve, and thinks: "Oh, shit. He's It for me."

He just knows that this one, this Captain, decorated to the teeth, hiding in awkwardness at this petty mingling, social climbing Gala, lowering himself at the bar because he didn't know anybody, was made for him. And if Steve clings to Tony the whole night, he agrees with the parallel drawing out on his part.

He doesn't leave Tony's side, arm snug and comfortable around his middle like they've known each other for longer than time itself, and Tony loves it more than he has the courage to say.

Steve looks at him when the epilogue of the night strikes, too soon for either of their likings. He's tall, broad-shouldered, strong but has the softest eyes in the world. It hurts Tony to arch his neck to stare, but he doesn't want to miss a thing. "I've... I didn't laugh like that since I was in tour. You made my night, Tony."

"It's nothing, -" Because it really is. Considering the sins to his name, the least he can do to atone some mistakes is make as much people as happy as he can. And Happy is a great look on Steve.

He does learn one thing: When Steve says something, it stays how Steve says it. "No, its everything, Tony. I didn't smile once since coming home, " he croaks, like the confession pains him, and Tony aches alongside him. "Everyone is worried about me, saying that, that I seem upset, or sad, or just, never happy anymore, but how else am I supposed to feel?"

"You can't let others tell you how you feel, " Tony soothes, without thinking, a hand softly brushing against Steve's cheek. A frisson zaps through him at the feeling of the soldier's stubble spiking his skin. Steve leans into his touch like it's the most normal thing in the world. Tony's heart grows. "It's not even in your control, so why should it be in theirs? " He understands how Steve feels. More than the world would care to listen.

"Exactly. So, if it's not too much trouble, " his shyness compliments Tony's smitten. "Would you mind making me smile again?"

Tony is, utterly, indubitably, irrevocably, without a shade of doubt, fucked.

He smiles anyway. "You know, soldier, I think I could pull some strings."

---

Their love is like rain in June. It's mellow and distractingly peaceful, makes their worry and everything that ever went wrong scarce away. They can breathe around each other even when they feel like drowning. For once, Tony feels like it'll be okay.

But Life decides to do what it always does when Tony finds something good. It takes, and it takes, until there's nothing.

Steve tells him about Bucky. About the fallen brother that vanished in the mission that stole everything for Steve. "Only one soldier fell off that train, but two died that day, " God, Tony is so worried when Steve talks like that. "It should've been me. I wanted it to be me."

Tony listens and he pictures Rhodey falling. Steve loved Bucky in ways he couldn't even hope to understand.

It turns out, Death is not something so permanent after all.

It's a lovely night for them when Steve gets that call. He's wrapped around Tony and holds him in his arms as if he'd rather go to war again than let him go and Tony's heart never beat so loud for anyone. He would have never let Steve answer if he knew that phone call was the beginning of their end.

Bucky's alive again, is reborn from snow and war and ashes. Broken, but alive. Held captive by terrorists and is unmade, undid, but still alive. Everything around Steve is lost after that.

Tong gives him space and resources, help, support, he gives everything to Steve like on their wedding day. He gives him his care and gentle hands and soft words and love with a heartbeat. And Steve is just... Too preoccupied looking at Bucky to notice. Tony feels like a selfish bastard for wanting his soldier to look at HIM instead of coddling his friend at every moment notice.

He wants Steve to stop suffocating Bucky when he already looks like he's just inhaling instead of breathing.

He wants his husband back.

That's why he deserves what's coming to him. That's his punishment.

They drift apart slowly, as most terrible pains start.

Steve starts spending more and more time around the mental help facility Bucky asked to be enlisted into after his hasty return that had everyone clutching at their pearls. He wants to do it alone, Tony figures easily, starves for a journey he wants to walk himself, for the kind of autonomy only a man who lost it for too long craves.

His bitterness aside, Tony marvels at how similar they are. Maybe In another life, he and Barnes would've made a handsome pair of kindred souls.

Steve doesn't agree. He looks sickened, struck even, at Tony for having the Gall to suggest maybe Barnes would be more responsive if he talked with someone who had mirroring experiences. "God, Tony, you don't... You're not a soldier. You're just a man. You've been through pain, sure, but not like Bucky. No one went through what he did. I'm honestly speechless you ever thought you could compare."

Steve says that, it's why it hurts so bad. The man who swore he'd walk back into the hellfire of war just to find the people who hurt Tony and tear them apart.

The man who couldn't be moved by anything. No nightmare, no night terror, no panic attack, no argument. Nothing convinced Steve to leave. He stayed through it all.

The man who cried relentlessly when Rhodey walked Tony down the alter because 'He couldn't believe how lucky he was to marry someone so beautiful.'

The man who hasn't written Tony a love letter every morning like he used to do in over a year.

The man who spent more time sleeping in hospital rooms than in their bed.

The man who used to not go even one day without saying "I love you". Tony can't even remember the last time this sentence was spoken between them unless he said it first.

The man who agreed to couple therapy, then acted like it rained the next day.

Tony would will himself to shove this under the rug. To put a blind eye to it, to make it work, to ignore Rhodey's disapproval and Pepper's warm worry, to push away the pain blossoming in his chest, threatening to overspill.

But this man adopted a child with him.

---

"That one" Steve points to a small boy, thin but sturdy-looking even in the hand me downs from the orphanage, short limbs supporting a mess of brown hair that looks impossibly soft. His eyes are big and kind. Tony wants to take him home and feed him. "That one's ours."

His name is Peter, and he got into a fight with older kids when they wanted to stomp on ladybugs. He pushes back, but not unkindly. He's no bully. Instead, he takes the time to teach them why disrespecting and hurting nature is wrong, then takes their hands into his own, playing with the tiny creatures for hours.

Tony falls in love immediately. "Let's bring him home, Cap."

---

He can't do it. Tony can't look into Peter's adoring eyes, wide and brown that feel more like a mirror than anything, and see the fear he had for Howard, or the sadness for Maria. Tony can't handle looking at the love of his life and see another him.

Steve is Peter's role model. His knight in shining armor, his protector, everywhere he goes he sings praise to anyone who cares to listen. About his fearless father, his heroic antics that seem so tall for him. "My daddy's a superhero!" Tony doesn't have the heart to take that away.

And Tony loves Steve too much to see him become Howard.

So when Steve misses their son's 5th birthday party because he had more pressing business in D.C, Tony realizes bitterly, there's no saving this. People labeled him as a mechanic, a futurist, but he feels unworthy of both when he couldn't fix or foresee this.

There's no coming back from this.

Natasha doesn't voice it, but she doesn't need to. She tucks her phone away after a third failed attempt to coax, threaten, and guilt Steve into joining them, with muted movements, and Tony can tell she agrees.

Tony's grin is too wide when he looks down at Peter when he drags him off to paint his face, unaware of his father's turmoil. He laughs. He smiles. He celebrates. He has a nice day with his family.

He pulls Pepper aside and asks her to prepare his lawyers in the same breath.

This is why Tony knew love wasn't made for him.

---

Tony's always been good at hurting himself. The more pain he inflicts on himself, the less it'll hurt when someone else does it. So he unpacks the stash of letters he kept locked away in a seif, because they're prized to him, more than any sleek car or company, and reads them before he burns the bridge.

They feel like warm kisses and goodbyes.

'Left for a grocery jog, ran out of coffee. It's supposed to be cold, so don't you even think about leaving the house without a jacket! I'll know. Take care of yourself, even when I'm not there. '

' I love waking up next to you every morning. I love how you hide from the sun in my chest. I love how grumpy you are when Pepper calls for updates and all you do is cuddle me and whine. I love your messy bed hair and how you fall asleep in the shower.

'I never cared for jewelry before but seeing my ring around your finger never gets old. I still can't believe you said yes, but I'm glad you did. You deserve more, but you settled for someone like me. I can't believe it when you say no one would want you forever, I hate that someone made you think like that, that they let you go, but their biggest mistake is my biggest win. Jokes on them.'

'I can't imagine my life without you. Its all radio silence and broken static. Like an artist with a blank canvas and grey paint. You're the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and the fact that I have you means there really is someone up there looking our for me. I'm never letting you go. I love you, I love you, I love you, '

Tony stains the paper with tears as he listens to the song of heartbreak in his chest.

---

"Nat, " Tony pleads, choosing not to look at the tremor in his hands as he neats the papers he wants to see burn. "There's no need for that, come on. You know I love you, but I'm a big boy. I don't need you to hold my hand for this."

Natasha shrugs. "Indulge me."

"He wouldn't do anything to me."

"I thought there were lots of things he wouldn't do. Like stop loving you, for one, " she doesn't mean to be a jab, but Tony strokes his right arm and lets the hurt wash off. He sometimes forgets how blunt and terrifying Pepper's wife is capable of being. "Being paranoid is worth being safe."

They find Steve in the kitchen, sitting stiff and unfamiliar as if he didn't design the place himself. Tony swallows down the pressure in his throat and forces his eyes to stay dry. He wants to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders and pepper the lines of laughter on his flushed face with kisses.

But they're behind that now.

Steve raises his eyes to look at him. He's tired, run-down, missing the spark Tony marked as one of his favorite traits of the blonde. The life wasted from them, telling Tony that he's surviving, but not living.

Tony looks at him back and his eyes say, 'Me too.'

Steve's mouth twists into an imitation of a smile, tries his luck at mimicking something of the reassurance and ease variety, to hide his emotions with a mask of cracked peace Tony undressed a million times, just as Steve undressed his. He's always been good at reading the man. Or, was.

Steve's eyes fall on the documents Tony's holding with his naked hands, no ring in sight, and Tony watches something die in him.

The room drowns in silence for a while.

Natasha stands as a loyal shadow at his side, silent but sharp, hands folded in front of her crotch like a guard dog waiting to pounce. There's a forced calm into her breathing that puts him even more on edge.

Papers brush smoothly above the marble surface, ear piercing to him. Red hot blazing into white noise. It's the most terrible sound he's ever heard. He prefers his breathless, agonized screams in Afghanistan to this.

Steve recoils away, standing up suddenly and shakily, as if the documents are bombs about to kill him anytime now.

He turns his head, refusing to look at them. Refuses to accept they're real.

"Throw those away, Tony, " he says, voice edged with the kind of suffering that would bring Tony to his knees on other circumstances."Get them the hell away from me and never bring them up again, you hear me? I'm serious.''

Carefully, Natasha chimes in, tone mild and neutral. " Steve. Tony would like to speak with you about something, alright? Let's sit down, and talk like grown-ups, -"

"Where's your ring!?" Steve shouts, tiptoeing at the border of desperate and hysteric. Tony wants back into the cave, wants the water to take him away from all of this. It's hard to kill something that's already dead. "What did you do with it!? Why aren't you wearing it!? You PROMISED me, you promised you'd never take it off you JERK, you lying -"

"And you promised to love me until the day we die, but by the looks of it we both could use a lesson in honesty, " Tony cuts icily, colder than colder. His words are resigned, hollow, at the brim of mechanical. He thinks all the people who say Starks are more machine than men had a point. "I'm the fuck up in this relationship. What's your excuse?"

He thought he'd feel vindication watching Steve taste a fraction of his sorrow, that his destroyed look would make something in Tony retaliate. It does nothing. Tony loves him stronger, fiercer, and there's no win here for anyone.

His mouth tastes like ashes.

He just wants to stop, to sink in his bed and swim in ratty hoodies drenched in cheap but sweet cologne, smudged with paint of all shades, and feel Steve's arms shield him from the world.

He wonders if it'll keep Steve up at night, how it never occurred to him that the danger he wanted to defend Tony from might have his face.

"I'll do better. Tony please," Steve begs him, and Tony wonders if the situation is so low a man with his nature would resort to that. He's shaken by big hands engulfing his own for exactly a moment before Natasha intervenes, pushing the blonde away with a hint of regret. Steve recovers, looks right through her at Tony who wants to wipe his tears away. "I'll do better, I'll- I'll spend less time with Bucky if you want, -"

"Bucky isn't the problem. It's not about HIM, it was never about him, this is US, Steve. We, our marriage, our family, its been here longer than Bucky. I never wanted you to - to erase him from your life, I just wanted my husband. Peter wanted his daddy. Bucky could've been apart of that, but you just, you just pushed us aside,-"

"I won't do that anymore. I, - Do you want me to be at home more often? I can, sweetheart, I can do that no problem. I can be at home, I can make time for dates and-and for activities, I can take Peter to the park and play ball, - Do you remember that? How we used to play until he fell asleep? I don't mind, its no problem, -"

Something in Tony snaps.

"WE'RE NOT YOUR FUCKING CHORES," His voice is more roar than man, ragged, tight, pushed to the last limit. The garden of silent pain, fury, rage, and fear he's been harboring finally blossomed into something that seemed to shake the world. His body shudders. "We're not some,- some pestering tasks that you have to save your precious time to complete! Some fucking pets other people have to force you to care of, or some dirty laundry you decide to wear whenever you feel like washing! We're your damn FAMILY,- " A sob hitches his anger, and by the broken look on Steve's face, it's worse than any rage.

He narrows his eyes in disbelief, as if Steve was some stranger and not someone he gave years of his life to. A laugh is pushed out of his chest, choked, long, and terrible. "I would've ended this sooner if, - God, if I knew how much of a burden we became for you."

"Tony, Tony don't say that, " Steve's face is blotched red, painted in punishing torment. "I love you and Peter more than anything in this life. You're mine, both of you, how can you think I don't love you? I, -"

"Just love Bucky more, " Tony finishes, note flat, accepting, rehearsed. His voice feels as hollow as his chest when Steve flinches. "I'm just... I'm so tired. Steve,I'm tired, and- I can't do it anymore. My son, my baby is not going to be a burden on anybody. I can put up with a lot of shit, but Peter is my limit. I can't and I won't put anyone above him. Not even you."

Horror shines bright and clear on the blue eyes Tony loves so much. He spots Steve's finger tremble at his sides, notices the hesitant movement of his Addams apple.

Natasha was wrong. It's a rare occurrence, but it happened.

Steve never stopped loving him.

It makes signing the papers so much harder.

---

Steve lost Bucky to ice, snow, and time. Tony loses Steve to fire, anger, and distance.

---

Pepper is surprised when she hears Steve ended up signing willingly.

She doesn't want to ruin the calm air that finally settled over the emotion packed atmosphere surrounding the living room, currently stashed with carton boxes filled with Steve's stuff, ready to be delivered tomorrow as Tony wanted, but it's a needed talk.

"What did you say to convince him?" She asks, not demanding an answer but clearly expecting one. "I'd just assume Nat had him in an arm lock until he agreed, but, in all honesty, Steve would probably lose an arm than do what people tell him to. Seriously, I've seen anarchists with more respect for authority than this guy."

Tony laughs, too loving and too fond for this predicament. "I said you'd drag his ass through every courtroom in America and drain him of everything he's worth?"

"Mmm. Try again. I mean, that's a Sunday for me, but he's already heard that talk before." Giggles are shared between the pair on the couch, snuggled under fuzzy blankets with wine glasses that clink slightly. Pepper's face relaxes into something sympathetic, earnest. "Was it something Peter related?"

"No, " he shakes his head. It never crossed his mind once, no matter how hurt he was. It felt too much like what his father would do. " Peter is his son, too. No matter what happens between us. There's no changing that. "

"No one would blame you if it came down to that, you know that, right?"

He hums. Pepper waits.

"I asked him to let me say goodbye to my husband instead of forcing me to stay with Howard."

A sharp intake of breath settles something cold beneath Tony's skin. He closes his eyes, and accepts the wine Pepper pours in his cup, neither commenting on how it spills over the rim.

---

Talking to Peter is the hardest part.

He doesn't understand why suddenly there's only two people there instead of three, why he isn't woken up by two pairs of arms tickling him and kissing his sleepy eyelids every morning, why Tony's laughter isn't echoing through the house as Steve spins and twists him around in the living room dance session they had at least once a week.

Why, apparently, Steve now has a permanent residence in DC and can only see him twice a week as their legal agreement states.

Why he has to live in two different places and split his playtime.

Why Tony bought a new apartment and they had to move away, stretching the distance between them and Steve.

"Is Papa comin' home today?" A hand squeezes Tony's heart painfully tight at the small question. He looks down at his son, smaller than usual and playing with his fingers at his feet. His frail shoulder raise, housing an anxious breath as he awaits an answer.

Tony takes his tiny hand in his own, leaning down to press kisses on the back of his son's palm, apology on his lips. "Yeah, baby. He has to come and pick up his stuff. Maybe you can play a little when he arrives! I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. "

Steve sends Sam to pick up his things and Tony feels guilt bite at him for hissing 'coward' in his mind.

Peter is excited to see his uncle Sam but the disappointment when he hears a truck coming instead of the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine doesn't wash off. He soldiers on, smiles for Sam because as little as he is, he's careful with people and their emotions. His goodness is organic. He takes after Steve like that.

Sam's always been frustratingly talented at deciphering his thoughts, even when his face is emotionless. It's one of the many reasons why Tony thinks him and Rhodey match so well. "He said he's really sorry he couldn't come, but... Okay, his excuse is just sad, because I doubt you'd believe he'd rather attend a Zoomba class than see you and Peter. Truth is, he's scared."

"Of facing me?"

"Of hurting you."

"Yeah, well, he's already got that job done on the to do list, " Tony huffs, petty and aware. He tosses Peter his baseball that lands in the backyard, gently nudging him away from the conversation. They watch the ball of energy squeal in delight as he runs to fetch it, tension momentarily on hold. "Sorry. You don't need my shit. Let's just load this and be done with it."

Sam huffs. "Man, I've been involved with your shit for a while. Appreciate the feeling but it's a bit late for that. Trust me, me and Rhodey have in length discussions about it. I'm neck-deep in white boy drama, but well, sacrifices of the job. Not much you can do."

He's playful, Tony knows this, in the corner of his brain that isn't raided by anxiety, yet fear claws at him, sharp and cruel and unexpected. Coldness spreads inside him like wildfire, almost matching the thoughts racing in his mind. Sam and Rhodey were talking? Were they arguing? Had Tony harmed Rhodey's relationship as if he didn't wreck his own enough?

"Talk?" Tony rasps, pushes the words out of his constricted throat that seems to close more and more, synchronizing with his lungs. Sam's wide, concerned eyes tells him the surface looked as bad as the inside."You... You and Rhodey, you guys- Bad talk? You, you fought about it?"

His mind torments him by showcasing Rhodey yelling in Sam's face and Sam yelling back, both standing their ground like two soldiers on a mission and defending their friends like avenging angels. Rhodey is more brother than friend, he'd take his side, like the devoted friend he always proved himself to be, but he watches with a cut breath as Rhodey locks himself in his room and weeps.

Rhodey sharing his fate is Tony's own horror movie.

"...ony! Tony, deep breaths, come on, " gentle hands guide him away from the void his own psyche trapped him into, speaking in a low voice that plucks him back up little by little. "Come on, in and out. Focus on my voice, that's good. Listen to me, Rhodey and I did not and will not fight about this. We're fine, Tony, promise! We agreed, no side pickers. This isn't war, and we won't get into some life or death fight for your and/or Steve's honor, " he tries for a little grin. ''I mean, I'm not supposed to tell you, but we don't like you guys that much."

Tony laughs, at once, a pathetically small sound, but he's grounded enough to laugh. He basks in the lack of sound around them, like the silence of an after battle, suffocating, but free.

The quiet hangs in the air as they load the truck, too, not oppressing, but welcomed, with a touch of comfort that burns just right. When the last box is secured and road-ready, him and Sam stay just a bit on the porch to stare at the house. Because that's what it is, isn't?

'Is papa comin' home?'

There is no home. Not if Steve's missing.

"Steve said you can keep those, if you want," that sentence made Tony hunch his shoulders, releasing that bitter aftertaste in his mouth again, blending with something sweet, and igniting the warmth that pierced as deep as his very marrow. "Nothing he loves or wants back is in those boxes."

Yes, Tony wants to scream. I want to keep the sketchbooks he has for me. I want to keep the photo albums. I want to keep the paint, the charcoal, the brushes. I want to keep the stuffed animals he won me at the fairs. I want to keep his clothes. I want to keep the dances in the living room. I want to keep his love, attention, care, worry, sadness, anger, grief. I want to keep my husband.

Instead, Tony reaches for his back pocket, and squeezes his ring. It burns in his palm, almost begging him to put it back in it's place, or on his finger, where it fitted like it always belonged. His being feels it, as if connected, and he decides to even the odds in the cowardice department.

Sam holds his breath as Tony hands him the ring, with hesitance, with no indication he wants to. "You sure about this?" It's a careful question, painfully gentle, far softer than Tony deserves.

No. Not by a long shot. "Yeah, " he mutters, almost lost in the air. "It's not mine anymore."

Sam curls his hand around the ring, pockets it, and Tony wrestles with the urge to ask for it back. His eyes are trained to the floor, on his shoes, the fine leather ones Steve bought for him on their anniversary, he realizes.

He watches droplets of water splash and dissolve into the concrete. It's raining, he figures, he should take Peter inside or he'll catch a cold. He looks up to watch the dark clouds, and the senine blue above mocks him.

"It's okay, " Rhodey picked a good one, Tony thinks, as Sam covers his crying form away from Peter's eyes. "It's okay, Tony. Just... Let it out. You earned this."

"I tried, " he sobs in Sam's neck, sobs his demise his failure, his bottled cocktail of emotions that waited to implode. "I tried, Sam, I tried so hard, I swear I did."

"We know you did, Tony. We all know."

---

Peter wants to meet Bucky one day.

"Papa used to talk about him all the time, " He says, oblivious to how vexed Tony is hearing that. He apprehends himself, reproaching that he should be over it already. "He sounds pretty cool! I want to see his Terminator arm!"

"It's a Tin Man or Robocop arm, at best, " He smirks at the pout Peter throws his way, smoothing it out with his thumb. "And he's in a hospital. You and I hate hospitals, remember?"

Peter whines and makes his eyes larger, pitifully glassy and sad, just the way to wrap Tony around his little finger. "Daddyyyy, pleeeease!" He hooks his fingers around his arm, hugging it close to his chest and his lower lip trembles.

He imagines Steve behind him, smothering a laugh in his shoulder, egging Peter on like two conspirational buddies. He melts, pushing the rush of yearning back, and knows it's a battle lost. Peter is too lovable, too determined, too bright eyed.

He's morbidly curious, in a way, to see what was so special about Bucky that it made Steve want to trade that.

---

Bucky and Peter hit it off in a heartbeat.

The facility hosting Bucky is uncomfortably pristine, from door corner to ceiling. Everything is tailored and arranged with ridiculous precision, clinical, professional, boring, and detached, as most medical spaces are. His workshop dances circles around it in the personality field, and he tells Bucky as such.

He laughs at him. "That's an interesting way to say you're a chronic untidy mess."

'Chronic untidy hot mess, " Tony corrects, hating how easily he falls into conversation with him. He tells himself it's merely a distraction from the stomach twisting smell of medicine, stingy and sharp smothering the air. "How offensive. I demand a trial by combat. Peter, make him pay in blood!"

Peter turns to Bucky, unblinking. "Your hair's greasy."

A theatrical gasps spreads in the room from the blue eyed brunette. Tony beams, kissing Peter's cheek. "That's my boy. I'm sure Bucky's bleeding a lot on the inside."

"Yeah. You know, where blood usually is, " Bucky snarks, heatless, propping Peter off from the spot on his leg and putting him on the ground . "Why don't you go ask nurse Joy to give you some magnets for the arm? Your father and I gotta talk adult business."

"Uncle Clint says adult business is just gossip for grown ups. " Peter retorts, smirk on his lips, half raising on the edges of his mouth. He got the smugness from him, that much Tony will admit. Bucky huffs a laugh that mirror Tony's own and waits for Peter to be out of the hearing range to say his next words.

"I owe you an apology."

Tony blinks, hastily, and speaks before he can even register what he's saying. "No, you don't. Drop it." It comes off razor sharp, yet Bucky must be used to worse, because he doesn't falter.

"I ruined your marriage. There's no forgiving that, but I DO regret it and you'll damn well listen to what I have to say."

"Look, I appreciate it. I do. I'm not... Mad at you. You're just in the crossfire of this clusterfuck. There's no forgiving because there's nothing to forgive, " he murmurs under his breath, words quiet, but sincere, he realizes. "My failure is my own to carry. "

"Stark, relationships need more than one person. Stevie ain't exactly blameless in this whole thing, - Far from it, trust me, I let him know. He got the scolding of the damn lifetime, because he threw away a damn good thing. He made a home for himself and then demolished it. You didn't hand him the sledgehammer, he picked it up on his own dumb self."

"You know, your philosophy lesson would impact me better with wizard lingo. Throw in a riddle or a prophecy and I might bite. " Receiving a blank stare to his quip, Tony sighed, eyes downcast.

"Look. I called it off, alright? I lit up the matches, I burned down the bridge, and I watched it turn to ash. But it was meant to happen, one way or another. We were just too different. Guys like me break the world apart. Men like Steve put it back together. He'll move forward. Like he always does."

Bucky's reply is instant. "No, no he won't, " it's said with such conviction, with such a finality, that it has Tony freezing. "He'll never move on. Not from this. I've never seen him like that for anybody, hell, never seen ANYONE like that. You and him? That's a forever kind of deal. You don't need a ring and name change for that to last. You don't have a choice."

Tony swallows, slowly, unsure. "So what? We just keep path crossing like fate has us tied together, in each other 's range but standing on parallel lines, never meant to cross? This isn't a fairytale, Barnes. It's real life. And even if it wasn't, that's still far from fair."

"It is real life. Which means it ain't fair, Stark. "

Tony takes Peter home, cuddles him closely as if he might disappear, and eyes the empty area around the right side of the bed with a lonely glint that burns in the darkness.

---

The first time Tony meets Steve after the divorce, it's for Natasha's birthday party.

Time jumps from slow to fast, alters between stagnation and overwhelming in the first 6 months that pass after the finalization of their parting. Some days are agonizingly slow. As if the world wants him to stomach every second, consume every minute, where Steve is not with him, isn't his anymore, and choke on the pain that tastes just as sharply as the first time.

And in some, time goes by in blink record, not keen on giving Tony the courtesy of healing, of moving on, of according him the patience or kindness in adapting his feelings to his pace, to accommodate to the arrangement it dragged him in.

Concern crawls inside him regardless of how many times he buries it, makes a tangly nest right in his chest, and makes no effort to move. He doesn't blame Steve for not wanting to meet him, to look at him, to give him the chance of staring into the bright, baby blue eyes that hold everything beautiful in the world.

Tony's seen the wonders of the world, all 8 them, and they all pale put next to Steve.

He feels seething, scalding guilt showering him for thinking that. Because Steve is not his to worry over, not his to call wonderful, not his to care for. Not anymore. He repeats that like a mantra against his eardrum when Natasha asks him if it's fine if she invites him to her party, too.

It's the perfect excuse to see how he's doing, but Tony elects to ignore that and remind Natasha grown-ass people don't ask other grown-ass people for permission on what to do. "Do I look like Pepper to you? No? Then why would I order you around?"

A discreet smile reaches Natasha's features, exhibiting confidence but betraying relief. She loves them both, Tony knows, and wants her friends first, not the fallen lovers. "Just wanted to know if I should hide the sharp knives or prepare some spare sheets."

His face heats ferociously, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and all the embarrassment in the world is worth listening to Natasha laugh. Something sharp-edged inside of him brittles at the prospect of seeing Steve, thought, and he holds his tongue from saying something of that nature won't happen.

In the company of his solitude and shame, Tony wonders later, is he afraid of seeing Steve again because he fears the blonde is not doing okay, or because he is?

Later on, he sees Steve stand in flash before him, chatting with some faceless figures, hair longer than last time and flattened slightly at the nape, sporting a beard that framed his gorgeous face perfectly. The impeccable balance between scruffy and well-groomed. Tony itched to run his fingers against it.

"It's the divorce beard, " Clint muses, elbow jolting Tony in the side to show the humor. "Give him a few more weeks, and you'll see him shopping from the Hobo shop. All wrinkled shirts and ketchup stained clothes or something. Men are useless without their wives.'' He winks in Tony's way, but Tony is too entranced by Steve to acknowledge it.

His fists are bruised, Tony notes with a wince as he gets drunk on Steve's form with a studious gaze, creamy skin battered and laced in a cluster of dark purple, crimson, and small patches of yellow shaping his knucklebones.

A trail of question rests blistering on his tongue. 'What happened? Who did that? Who were you fighting? Why? Are you okay? Did you win?' But he closes his eyes and bites his tongue, knowing these questions don't belong to him anymore.

He gave up his rights to that.

But then, Tony spots them.

His breath is knocked out of his lungs in a silent punch, eardrums pushing out all the sound attempting to penetrate his ears. His fingers loosen so much they almost drop his water, feeling tingly numb. Tony's eyes, large and surprised, trace the circle of gold curled around Steve's fourth finger, gleaming softly against the artificial light around the dining room.

Steve is still wearing his ring.

But then, his chest burns and booms, heart roars fiercely behind his ribcage as he notices the thin string of black leather circling around Steve's neck, loose as a necklace, hanging low enough for Tony to eye the shape of metal halo looped right in the middle of the material.

Steve was wearing Tony's ring, too.

The realization left him petrified in place, more statue than man, in stunned shock as he bore into his former lover who only then noticed the brown eyes looking at him, transparent astonishment clear as crystal in his features.

It's like a spell breaks.

Tony's limbs move mechanically, on autopilot, running to the nearest room, getting himself away from what his body detects as danger. Urgency is packed on his step, taking him to the bathroom in record time, but Steve's always been the runner, more athletic between them, and his sprinting lands him a spot in the sleat Tony wass about to slam.

He's pinned to a wall effective immediately, feels cold tiles plant clammy kisses on the back of his head and neck. Tony almost hisses at the force of the slam, but before he can make a peep, his lips are stolen in a savage, fierce kiss.

It's pure desperation conveyed in the most unconventional way. Steve pounces on him, lips wild against Tony's own, pouring every emotion he went through in the past few months,- Longing, yearning, craving, hunger, desire, - his being, his love, his soul into that kiss, barely giving Tony the chance to breathe.

"St-Steve, " He gasps, head tilting slightly to the side to escape the ministrations, to gulp air, moving to avoid the chase at reconnection Steve is playing at by trying to capture his lips again. "Wait, wait a minute, -"

"Missed you, " Steve's voice is thick with want, hitching in the small puffs of air that came off raggedy and breathless, words melting over Tony's mouth. Steve's face glows with a blush he wants to kiss with inhuman greed. "I missed you, I missed you,Tony I missed you" Tony's fucked.

169 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

------------------------------------------------------

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

------------------------------------------

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

----------------------------------------------

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

---------------------------------------------------

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

----------------------------------------

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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charlieism · 5 years ago

Text

Only My Ashes Will See The Sea

Description:

Ethan, Lex and Hannah reunite in death.

Read on ao3!

Ethan was surrounded by darkness. Infinite, endless blackness; he’d say it stretched on as far as he could see, but as it was, it was so dark he didn’t even know if he was seeing, if his eyes were even truly open.

He couldn’t say how long he floated there for, searching for any glimpse of light. He didn’t know where he was, or where everyone else was, or what was happening. The last thing he remembered was Hannah, terrified and teary-eyed; he’d told her to run, his last coherent memory was just the panicked desperation with which he tried to get her to safety. He wondered if she was okay, if she’d gotten away from those psychos who—Jesus. Did they stab him? He remembered being punched in the face by the feral-looking man, and then a blinding pain in his stomach, sharper than anything he’d ever felt before. He told Hannah to run, then he was thrown to the floor and then it was a blur of pain and thuds and kicks, and then… then… then what?

It was hard to think about. It made his head hurt. He stopped thinking about the moments leading up to now, and focused instead on the chilling situation he was currently in.

The Blackness encompassed him, smothering him, drowning him, its emptiness beginning to drive any rational thoughts from his mind. There was just nothing here, this place felt like the total absence of everything. His mind began to fall into a spiral, panic and fear eating away at what felt like his very sanity. Ethan began to question if he was even alive, and the thought made him freak out even harder than before, despite a hidden part of him instinctively knowing the truth: he was dead. Ethan felt like he was hyperventilating, but there was no air in this empty space, and though he thrashed around he had no way of knowing if he was even actually moving. He couldn’t even see his hands. A scream built up in his chest, clawing its way up through his throat and swelling in his mouth. He could barely keep the shriek in; pure terror, anxiety and panic were working their way through his veins to make his voice louder, but a split second before he snapped and let it out a wisp of a voice floated through his mind.

Calm, it said.

The shock of it, of hearing sound after what felt like eons trapped in nothingness made Ethan swallow compulsively and blink hard. The darkness that came from squeezing his eyelids shut was indiscernible from the Black surrounding him.

“What?” he rasped, alert, ears practically pricked like a dog’s while he searched for another break in the maddening monotony of the void. There was no reply, no strange, other-worldly voice, but a memory pushed its way into the front of his mind. It was a happy memory, one of his happiest, really, and it was so recent it was a crystal clear picture in his mind.

Hannah, putting on his old cap, her big brown eyes full of trust and awe when he swore to her it’d protect her from anything. He’d been so elated and amazed when she’d listened to him. Then Lex, posing on the steps out the back of Toy Zone, belting her dreams of being an actor in California while he pretended to roll a camera on her. She’d looked so happy up there, so hopeful that it had infected Ethan, made him believe they’d really make it out. The way Lex had smiled into their kiss afterwards, bubbling over with the sheer joy he so rarely saw from her, had made his heart skip a beat. Then there was Hannah, acting like a doofus and copying his smoking dance afterwards; it’d made him laugh on the inside, though he didn’t dare show it in front of Lex. God, he loved them. He loved them more than anybody else in the world; Lex made his heart feel warm and full and whole like nobody else he’d ever met. Ethan was completely and utterly devoted to her. And he loved Hannah, too. He had the urge to protect her like he was her own brother, or her dad, or whatever the hell that kid needed him to be. He’d do anything for her. He just wanted to look after them, his girls, so that Lex wouldn’t have to cry so much anymore and Hannah wouldn’t have to be scared all the time. California was going to fix all of that. They were all so excited to get there. They’d all been so hopeful.

The happy memories felt tinged with bittersweetness now, but they were still effective. The lingering excitement, joy and love he’d felt no-so-long ago (was it hours? Or days? The amount of time he felt he’d been kept in the Black seemed to be shrinking now that his mind wasn’t running on animalistic terror), was beating back the overwhelming anxiety he’d been feeling a minute ago. He focused on the memory of Lex’s laugh, of Hannah’s shy smile, of the happy glimmer in both of their eyes, and his panic retreated, shoved back by the memory of their joy. He’d done that. He’d made them hopeful, made them happy, promised them that things would get better until they believed it. Ethan thought he could feel tears building in his eyes, his sinuses burning, but he wasn’t sure. He thought about the way Lex laughed at him when he did something dumb, exactly the reaction he was always trying to provoke from her, and let out a small, wet laugh himself.

Black and White, the voice whispered eerily, and Ethan startled. Were his eyes closed now? He realised they were, and he cracked them open slowly. At first he could barely tell the difference between his eyes being open and shut, the Black around him as absolute as it had a few hysteric minutes ago. But then, as his eyes flickered around the infinite darkness, it began to lighten.

The change was hardly noticeable at first, the pitch-black void only lightening by a few degrees to a deep, dark grey, but it was enough. He gasped, shakily, and tears filled his eyes again, this time with relief. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew that the penetrating darkness was becoming lighter and that was good enough for him. He focused on the memory of how tightly Lex had clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and laughing into his neck when he told them how much money they were going to make, when she realised they were really going to make it California, and the dim grey lightened even further. He thought of Hannah on a good day, how she smiled when he called her Banana and talked back to him in her own stilted way, and the world got brighter. He let himself feel how much he loved his girls, his family, the sheer force of his emotion overwhelming him even as tinged with worry, concern and grief as it was, and soon the Black turned completely to White.

He was still floating, it was still infinite and all-encompassing and terrifying, but it was… safer, than the Black. It wasn’t driving him insane, it wasn’t smothering him, it wasn’t trapping him, it was just holding him in place. He was kind of... resting there, clinging to the thoughts of his family. At least here he could see, though the bright White of it all threatened to hurt his eyes with how it shone. His dark, worn leather jacket contrasted sharply with the colourless background, and he took comfort in its familiarity, hugging his arms around himself. Ethan simply stood and breathed for God-knows how long, readjusting to his setting. Well, standing didn’t seem entirely accurate (nothing felt solid here, not even the space beneath his feet), but nevertheless, it was an improvement to the Black.

It still wasn’t great, though

It was silent again, that strange, ethereal voice having disappeared. And he was still alone, lingering isolated in a boundless void. He tried to focus on the memories of Lex and Hannah again, and they came surprisingly easy in this place. Far easier than they had in the Black, at least. He was beginning to feel sane again, his mind less tortured.

And then, after an indeterminate amount of time, there was the faintest boom-crash noise that shook him from his stupor. He looked up, glancing around for the source of the noise, but the White remained as unfathomably blank as it had always been. And then, from behind him moments later, there was a voice. It was trembling and wavering, choked-up and terrified. It was heart-wrenchingly, achingly familiar.

“Ethan?” Lex’s voice warbled.

Ethan spun around so fast he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash, his plaid shirt twisting about his legs. Lex and Hannah stood a way away from him, holding each other, staring at him in shock. Their very presence made the White seem more solid, more like a real place, and the relief at seeing their figures there made him slump in on himself, a sharp exhale tearing its way out of him. Tears rose in his eyes, but this time he knew for sure he was almost crying because Lex and Hannah blurred and doubled in his vision.

“Lex! Hannah!” he yelled, and bolted towards them, feet hitting the White ground solidly and taking him swiftly towards his girls.

They stood in place, looking shocked until he got close enough to see the tears glimmering in their eyes. He stopped jarringly once he got that close, suddenly afraid they’d disappear like mist in the wind if he touched them.

“Are you guys really here?” he asked, voice shaking. The girls stared at him, Lex’s eyes roving up and down his body in panic while Hannah stared directly at his face, eyes wide and shiny. Then, all of a sudden Lex broke down, her face crumpling with gut-wrenching tears. Ethan inadvertently let out a wounded noise, reaching out for her.

“Ethan, you fucking died?” she sobbed.

“What?” he asked stupidly, then blinked and shook his head slightly, his worry about Lex overtaking his fear and current existential crisis. “I mean, yeah, I guess so, I think I got stabbed a while ago. But does that mean the two of you are dead?! Oh my God, are you two okay? How did you die?!” he asked rapid-fire, frantic. He finally got the guts to rest his hand on Lex’s arm and, to his staggering relief, she remained solid under his palm. Lex sobbed again, and released Hannah in order to wrap her arms tightly around Ethan’s waist and mash him into her, her face pressing into his chest and her tears soaking through his shirt.

“I don’t know, dude, I think we got fucking nuked? Or hit by a meteor? I don’t know,” she cried. Ethan didn’t really know how to process the idea of fucking Hatchetfield getting nuked, so he shoved it to the back of his mind and focused instead on comforting his girlfriend. Hannah took a step back from them when Ethan curled around Lex, but neither of them noticed. Ethan wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s back and brushed one hand gently through her hair, making soft, helpless noises at her.

“Hey, hey, babe, it’s okay!” he soothed, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. Her grip tightened around him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m alright. We’re all alright, okay? We’re all here together now. It’s alright,” he rambled, ducking his face down next to hers until she blinked her eyes open and sniffled, bringing her arm up to wipe away her tears with her sleeve. Unfortunately, Ethan had experience dealing with a crying Lex, though every time it occurred he fervently wished he’d never have to see her cry again, that she’d never be so sad again.

“You okay?” he murmured, rubbing his palms soothingly up and down her back, and she nodded shakily, taking a tiny step back and clinging onto his hand.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Good as I can be considering I’m dead, I ‘spose. What about you?”

“I’m, well… I’m a lot better now that you two are here,” he admitted, before turning to the other girl.

Ethan tried to summon up a brave smile for Hannah, not wanting to alarm her any more than what had already been done.

“What about you, then?” he inquired, grasping for some sense of familiarity. “What’s shakin’, Banana?” He stepped forward slightly and raised his arms for a hug.

Hannah took a step back.

Ethan froze.

“Hannah?” he asked quietly, surprised.

“Bad,” Hannah whispered after a beat, watching him warily, though she sounded confused. Ethan’s arms lowered, hurt. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Lex, who looked startled.

“What do you mean, Banana?” he asked, going for a cheerful tone, though it sounded shaky even to his own ears.

“Saw you, on the balcony. Wanted Wiggly. Bad double,” Hannah said, arms wrapping around herself. Ethan frowned.

“What? I haven’t seen you since, uh, the Cineplex, bud,” he replied, frowning slightly. “Are you sure it was me?” Hannah paused at that, assessing him, her eyes flickering up and down him and a crease furrowing her brow.

“...No?” she said stiltedly, sounding more confused than ever. Then she tilted her head as though she was listening to someone, and refocused on Ethan. “Not you, not Ethan... a double? You are... the real Ethan?” she asked. Ethan cocked his head, frowning in concern, but slowly nodded;

“Yeah, Banana,” he assured. “I’m the real Ethan, you know me.” He hesitantly made to step forward, but when Hannah leaned away he immediately stopped and retreated. Lex was staring at them both, but Ethan kept his gaze on Hannah. “It’s alright, Hannah. You’re safe,” he soothed.

He didn’t know what she’d seen after he died, but it had obviously scared her and it obviously had something to do with him. Maybe she’d seen his body or something? He didn’t know, maybe he’d ask later, but right now he just wanted to reassure her. He hated seeing that scared look in her eyes. He waited patiently for a minute, tense silence falling over the three of them. Then very, very slowly, Hannah reached out and snagged his leather jacket between his fingers. She rubbed the material for a moment then looked him directly in the eyes, something she rarely did. Her brown eyes searched his blue ones intently, looking for something like a lie or a hint of mania, but when she found nothing her expression crumpled, much like Lex’s had minutes before.

“Ethan,” she cried, and barreled into him with a fierce hug. He froze, stunned, but his shock barely lasted a moment and he wrapped his arms around her in return, squeezing her softly.

““Hey, Banana,” he smiled. “Good to see you.”

“Missed you,” she sniffed.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, kiddo. I missed you too,” he sighed. Lex made an aw sound next to them, then wormed her way into the embrace. Ethan lifted an arm to box her in and pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. They stayed like that for a while, swaying together in their little group, and even though he was still surrounded by the vast White Ethan almost felt alive again.

“I love you guys,” he said softly, and they all separated slightly. It was an easy thing to say, in the face of death itself. He did love them, why bother hiding it? They already knew he loved them, of course, but he wanted to reiterate it. Lex smiled at him and leaned in for a soft kiss.

“We love you too, babe,” she said. He wrapped her in a side-hug and entwined his fingers with hers, while Hannah clung to Lex’s other hand, and they all stood in sombre, companionable silence for a bit.

“What now?” Lex eventually asked. . “I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “I don’t even know where we are. When I pictured death, I never really imagined this.”

“We’re in the White,” Hannah informed them. When Ethan focused on her he noticed she looked remarkably well-adjusted for a 10-year old girl who’d just died and found herself in some kind of alternate dimension.

“Yeah?” Lex encouraged, and Ethan realised she didn’t seem to be questioning it all that much either.

God, he was so fucking confused.

“I wish we were in California,” he sighed mournfully. Lex squeezed his hand, and when he looked at her she mustered a small, forlorn smile.

“It was a good dream,” she said. He nodded, but didn’t know how to reply.

“California has beaches,” Hannah said. Ethan raised an eyebrow at her.

“It sure does,” Lex agreed. Hannah frowned.

“Webby says…” she paused, frowning, and then looked up at them, big eyes bright. “California,” she said, and her eyelids fluttered shut. Lex and Ethan shared a bewildered look, but after a moment of silent conversation something else caught Ethan’s eye.

A way in front of them, the White was steadily turning blue. A picturesque, postcard perfect blue. And it was moving, swelling, gently rising and falling. And then the ground directly beneath them began to shift and crunch under their feet, turning golden and grainy. The space above them turned periwinkle blue and fluffy, cottony clouds appeared out of thin air to dot the sky, perfectly shaped as though they were born straight from a child’s imagination. Far, far above them the sun slipped out from behind one of those clouds, yellow and warm in the most delicious way.

Lex tilted her face upwards and closed her eyes, letting the light play upon her skin, a delighted smile lifting her the corners of her mouth. Ethan admired his girlfriend for a moment, taking in how peaceful she looked before following her lead and tilting his face to the sky, letting his eyes slide shut.

A cool, gentle wind began to ruffle its way through his dark curls, bringing with it the tang of salt and the joyous cry of seabirds. The crash of waves gently pounding against the sand had him open his eyes again, and he looked out at the paradise that had just been created. The ocean stretched for miles, as far as his eye could see, before disappearing into the horizon where its cool blue blended seamlessly with the sky. He’d never seen the ocean in real life before. He shifted, looking down, and watched soft golden sand spill over the toes of his black boots. He blinked against the sea breeze and watched the sunlight glitter off the crystalline water, and without truly intending to, he smiled.

Ethan looked down at Hannah, who was only just reopening her eyes, and watched the astonishment and delight fill her features as she took in the view.

“It’s heaven,” Lex breathed to his left.

“California,” Hannah agreed, and Ethan laughed, tipping his head back.

“No,” he said sincerely, “It’s something even better.” He squeezed their hands happily, and they squeezed back. The three of them stood in a line, holding hands on the paradisaical beach made just for them, and watched the ocean sparkle cheerily for the first time in their lives. And, Ethan realised, it finally felt like a happy ending.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are very appreciated <3

#black friday spoilers #black friday #black friday musical #starkid #ethan green #lex foster #hannah foster #webby #lex/ethan #the black and white #robert manion #angela giarratana #kendall nicole yakshe #jay rambles #jay writes #fanfiction #fanfic #god its so late im gonna be so tired tomrrow. i wrote this in a night sorry for any errors #black friday starkid

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jeranasblog · 4 years ago

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Pretty little Christmas elf

An early Christmas present for @venomondenim <3 Marry Christmas, Ash <3

Pairing: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Rating & Tags: E, Smut, A/B/O, Alpha Harley, Omega Peter, Top Harley, Bottom Peter, Anal Sex, Claiming, Mating Bites, True Mates, something happens in public xD

Summary: In the middle of a crowded shopping mall, surrounded by Christmas decor and stressed out people, Harley laid eyes on his true mate for the first time. Suddenly, it didn’t matter anymore that they were in public. His inner alpha screamed at him to claim his mate.

As soon as Harley took a step into the crowded mall, he regretted not buying his family’s presents earlier. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to wait until the 23rd because apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had deferred the shopping trip as often as possible. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were running through the mall, bumping into each other and apologizing hectically, only to squeeze back into the crowd again.

For a second, Harley pondered to turn around. He could just buy a box of chocolate for his foster mom and sister and a bottle of mulled wine for his foster dad, but he had already chosen impersonal gifts last year, and it had left him feeling guilty afterward.

It was the third foster family Harley had been with. Shortly after his parent’s death, he had stayed with an elderly married couple, and it had been fine, but the husband had died after a few years and the wife couldn’t take care of Harley alone, so she had sent him back to the orphanage. Harley wasn’t even mad. They had been nice people, but a foster child was a lot to handle.

The second family had been a nightmare. It was a constant fight between all of them, the mother was always screaming, the father was close to a mental breakdown, and the two daughters had been the most spoiled brats Harley had ever met. He had been glad when the mother had told him that, unfortunately, he had to leave again. Even the orphanage was better than that.

Harley hadn’t thought he would ever find a family again that actually felt like a family, but shortly after he turned thirteen, he had met the Keeners. They had immediately clicked. Mr. and Mrs. Keener were amazing people, and his sister Becky became Harley’s partner in crime. Together, they beat high school and started college. For the first time since his parent’s death, Harley felt like he belonged somewhere, and even now, ten years later, he wanted to give something back. So no cheap chocolates and mull wine again. He owed the Keeners something better.

The present for Becky was easy to find. She had talked about her new favorite author for months now, indirectly trying to tell Harley she wanted him to buy her the new book. The only reason why it took half an hour to get her present was the long line and the maddeningly slow pace of the stressed-out cashier.

Unfortunately, Harley had no clue what he could give his parents, and he had only three hours left to find out. He spent an hour walking around and looking at random shop windows until he finally saw a velvety blue tie that his dad would like and a tea set for his mom.

There was no way Harley could have ever imagined how the day would turn out. He was already on his way out of the mall, relieved that he could leave the Christmas stress behind when he saw him for the first time.

In the middle of the crowded hallway stood an old wooden chair and a middle-aged man, dressed as Santa, was talking to children and handing them candy canes. A long line of parents with their kids had formed in front of the man, waiting patiently to take a picture with Santa, but it wasn’t the man who captured Harley’s attention.

Next to Santa stood three Christmas elves, two girls and one boy. They were posing next to Santa for pictures, scooting up little children, and handing Santa the candy canes. The elves wore ridiculous costumes and Harley might have pitied them for their job, but he couldn’t think straight anymore when he laid eyes on the male elf.

The boy was the most beautiful Omega Harley had ever seen. His face was flawless, soft brown curls framing his porcelain skin, and hazel-brown eyes sparkled behind sinfully long lashes. Harley could even see cute little freckles on his nose, and the boy’s lips looked so soft that he couldn’t stop imagining what they would feel like wrapped around Harley’s cock. His inner alpha roared.

To make it even worse, the boy was dressed almost obscenely. He wore an ugly green sweater, green shorts that were so tight that Harley got an obscene few of his plump little ass, and green tights underneath. To complete the look, he wore pointy ears and Harley had to suppress the urge to peel the boy out of the ridiculous outfit to get access to the pale skin.

Harley had just wanted to get closer, maybe wink at the cute little elf and ask for his number, but when they were only a few feet apart, Harley made the mistake to breathe through his nose. The most perfect scent he had ever smelled slammed into him. Sweet, like Christmas cookies and gingerbread, but with a hint of coffee underneath. It was intense, almost sinful, and it made Harley lose control.

Mate mate mate.

Claim breed fuck.

Nothing could have held him back anymore. Harley jumped at the omega, burying his nose in the soft curls and breathing in the intoxicating scent. Everyone was looking at him, the busy mall suddenly frozen and quiet, but Harley didn’t care. He found his mate. His omega. He didn’t care if everyone was watching.

The omega wasn’t better off. He was trembling in Harley’s arms, the sweet scent of slick mixing together with the gingerbread, driving Harley even more crazy.

“A-Alpha.” God, the boy’s voice was adorable, high-pitched and needy. Harley wanted to make him sing with pleasure.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you, little omega,” Harley promised, his voice rough and almost feral. “I’m gonna peel you out of your obscene little clothes and fill you up with my pups until you’re round and sated. Would you like that, sweetheart? Want me to claim you?”

People around them were clearing their throats. It wasn’t every day that one could witness true mates seeing themselves for the first time, but if it happened, it usually ended in public claimings. Still, the mall was filled with children, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for Harley to claim his omega right here. Unfortunately, the alpha was too far gone to give a fuck about decency.

“Please, claim me. Alpha.”

The little elf was already begging and Harley grabbed his ass tightly when he pulled the omega into a kiss. His entire body was buzzing with electricity as he licked into the boy’s mouth, tasting every inch of his mate and marking him up with his scent. Harley’s hands wandered into the tight green shorty, deeper and deeper until he could feel the wetness drenching his finger-

“Peter!” It was Santa who interrupted him, using his alpha voice to get the omega’s -Peter’s?- attention. “Take your mate and go. Run.”

Harley shook his head in annoyance. Run? His omega wasn’t supposed to run. He was supposed to get fucked and bred. But the boy, no Peter, seemed to listen to Santa and darted out of the mall.

NO! Mate. Chase.

Faster than he had ever run, Harley started to chase his mate. He was growling the whole time, shoving people out of his way to get to his omega. Peter dodged the other customers deftly, never out of Harley’s sight but always a few feet ahead. Harley was getting impatient. He had to get to his omega, he had to catch him. His instincts drove him to run faster.

Peter led him to the entrance of the mall, out to the parking space, and towards a small building at the end. Harley was catching up, coming closer and closer, only inches away from his mate.

He finally caught Peter when they had already reached the building, pressing the omega against the door next to the ‘only for staff’ sign and mouthing at his neck. He would knot the pretty elf, would bite and claim him. The chase had only made him more feral.

“Mine,” Harley snarled while he sucked a bruise onto the perfect pale skin. “My omega, mine.”

Peter trembled in arousal, slick already dampening the awful tights and his obscene pants. How could anyone think the tight little shorts were appropriate to wear in front of children? He was almost as gone as Harley, high with the need to be claimed.

“Just let me open the door, Alpha. I swear you can breed me after.”

Harley growled, clearly displeased by the request to wait, but he gathered the last control he possessed so Peter could open the door and let them in. His omega’s hands trembled, struggling to get the key into the lock, but after a few horrible seconds, the door finally opened with a click. Harley’s patience crumbled.

The alpha barely noticed that Peter closed the door again, he barely even looked at the room. He jumped at his omega, pushing him to the floor and pulling down the horrible green pants. The smell of slick was overwhelming, making Harley’s cock twitch and leak as he finally drew a deep breath. Peter smelled like temptation.

“This is your last chance to leave. I can barely hold back.” Harley had to make sure the omega was fine with the claiming. “I won’t be able to stop myself from biting you.”

“Please, I want it, please fuck me, Alpha. Claim me.”

It was everything Harley had waited for. He was too far gone for slow and sweet. Spreading Peter’s perfect little cheeks, Harley merely checked if the omega was wet enough before he pressed the tip of his cock against the hole and sunk in without any resistance. It felt like coming home, like family and mate and love, and Harley preened because his omega was moaning in pleasure.

There was no drawing this out, no taking it slow or making love. Harley claimed the omega. He rammed himself inside of Peter, each thrust deeper and harder, directed exactly at the sweet spot. He was driving them both closer to the edge in rapid speed, sex with the only intention to claim each other. They hadn’t even taken off their clothes.

Just a second before they would tumble over the edge, Peter’s noises turned into something more coherent. “Ngh, Alpha, I- What’s y-your name? I w-wanna know who’s claiming me.”

Harley pulled Peter closer against his chest, his thrusts accelerating even more while he brought his lips to the omega’s ears.

“My name’s Harley. Scream it for me. Show me what I’m doing to you.”

And just like this Peter came. His wet hole was milking Harley, squeezing him tightly and pulling him over the edge as well. Harley emptied himself in the boy, pumping his seed into his omega while Peter was screaming his name over and over again. The alpha could feel his knot swelling, could feel how he tied them together to breed Peter properly.

Endorphines rushed through his body, the alpha inside of him taking over, and Harley sunk his teeth into his omega’s neck. He had never felt anything that intense before.

As soon as Harley tasted blood on his lips, he sealed the bond. It was like Peter became a part of him, their emotions mingling until Harley felt everything twice as intense. His cock spurted another surge of come, driven by Peter’s own arousal, and Harley closed his eyes.

They took their time to gather their breaths, to get used to sharing what they were. Harley had never thought he would meet a true mate, would claim him like this, but now that he had met Peter, he couldn’t imagine being without his omega anymore. It was biology, but it was also right.

As long as they were tied together, Harley and Peter stayed silent, scenting and feeling each other, and getting used to their bond. It took them a while to come down again. When Harley finally slipped out, he gave Peter his shirt to clean himself up. Harley would just wear his jacket.

“Uhm, I’m Harley Keener by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Peter grinned at him, an adorable expression on his face and Harley felt the strong urge to wrap his arms around the omega.

“Nice to meet you, Harley. I’m Peter Parker. ”

Harley didn’t hold back anymore and pulled his omega on his lap, just where Peter was supposed to be. The boy looked cute, still half-dressed in the elf costume with pointy ears and Harley’s mark on his neck. Who would have known that he would find his mate in a shopping mall, dressed like a sinful Christmas dream?

“My pretty little Christmas elf.” Who would have known that this Christmas would bring a surprise like Peter?

#parkner #christmas fanfiction #a/b/o dynamics #true mates #harley keener #peter parker

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orionwhispers · 5 years ago

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Beware Of The Dogs - Part IV

(A/N - Here she is. The final chapter of BOTD. Its been a wild ride and Ive loved every minute of it. This b!tch is almost 17k words... yeah, i know. its probably got hella errors and whatnot but i really want to get it up for everyone who has been invested in the story. thank u from the bottom of my heart. until next time!)

Part I

Part II

Part III

The drive back to Birmingham was as painful as pulling teeth.

The air was thick with unspoken tension and your eyes were stinging with tears; your throat red and raw. Tommy occasionally glanced over to you, probably to check that you hadn’t choked on your sobs, but for the most part you both sat in silence, the low hum of the car ringing in your ears.

You didn’t go back to Watery Lane. You didn’t know why that surprised you, it had been almost two years and yet you thought that perhaps nothing had changed, but you were wrong. You knew the house was Tommy’s as soon as you saw it perched atop of rolling hills, a gloomy Georgian manor surrounded by sprawling acres, intricately designed with large windows and a wrap around veranda. Royal and mighty, just like him.

He opened the car door for you, waiting patiently as you stepped onto the gravel. The numbness you were feeling was fogging your brain and every moment was slow and hesitant. He locked your fingers, pulling you along like you were one of his frightened mares visiting the blacksmith for the first time, you almost expected him to tempt you with a sugar cube. Part of you wanted to dig in your heels and resist, knowing that as soon as you crossed over the threshold that you would be admitting defeat and once again falling under lock and key, but the stronger, more forceful side was far too exhausted to put up a fight.

The inside of his house was just as beautiful. Lavish paintings were hung on the walls, the decor was a mixture of blood red and expensive gold, and every room was furnished with items probably worth more than your yearly salary. You couldn’t appreciate any of it though, and the colours faded into blotches in your eyes. Every time you blinked all you saw was the utter betrayal on Alfie’s face, the pure anger that flickered inside of him at you, and your heart broke all over again.

“Mr Shelby! You’re back early.”

An unfamiliar voice momentarily snapped you from your trance, and you looked up to see an older woman in a black dress waiting at the foot of the stairs.

“Yes, Mary.” Tommy slid your coat from your arms like he used to when you were a child, hanging it from the rack by the front door whilst you stood as still as the marble statues above his fireplace. “This is my sister, (Y/N). Make up one of the guest rooms for her.”

The woman nodded and practically flew up the stairs like a dog eager to please its master. Tommy had a maid. You wanted to laugh out loud and mock your brother for his snobbery but the ache in your gut kept your jaw locked. He busied himself in the way that Tommy did, every move calculated and strong, not even allowing himself the luxury of relaxing in the comfort of his own home. He shrugged off his own jacket, and then you felt his hand touch the small of your back, gently coaxing you to walk.

He cleared his throat as he led you through the hall, each of his footsteps purposeful and sharp.“You hungry?”

“How did you find me?”

You both faltered. You were shocked that you had managed to form a sentence and despite the shakes in your pitch you remained firm, needing to know the answer. He rubbed his upper lip with his finger, the same way he did before smoking a cigarette, a habit that you didn’t even realise you missed. You expected him to ignore you, divert the conversation to something that he deemed appropriate, but instead he looked you in the eye.

“I’ve known for a while.”

“Billy?” You asked, the name tasting sour on your tongue. All you could picture was the redhead with blood pooling around his crown and Alfie holding the gun with it’s smoking barrel.

He nodded, “I had an inkling before then, but Kitchen confirmed it.”

“What about Arthur?” You demanded.

“Johns sorting it.” He looked hesitant, keeping his thoughts private like he had always done, drip feeding you information. “Let’s get you upstairs, eh? You look exhausted.”

“I’m not some broken toy that needs to be fixed, Tommy.” You snapped, a lot harder than you meant to. You saw his sapphire eyes flicker with humour, but also impatience, the way they always did when the two of you would argue. He held up his hands in submission, the charcoal colour of his suit looking darker under the low lights as he stepped backwards. He looked at you, eyes running across the redness of your face and the tear stains that streaked onto your throat, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“I know. Just go and get some rest alright?”

You sat in the tub with your back resting across the taps, numb to the way the metal dug into your flesh. The water had long gone cold, your skin still red from the boiling water you had filled it with, but now the icy chill was chewing onto your flesh. Your fingers were pruned and goosebumps trailed along your spine, but you remained still, watching the flame of a candle flicker. Mary had brought you up some dinner, but it was left untouched on the table. The sky was fully dark now, a long stretch of black that seemed to go on for miles. You weren’t sure what time it was, probably well past midnight and despite the ache of exhaustion and the soft, clean bed that was made up for you, sleep was the last thing on your mind.

You eventually got out, changing back into your dress that still lingered with the smell of Alfie, ignoring the fresh clothes hanging in the wardrobe, probably left from one of Tommy’s many lovers. The warm duvet looked comforting but your thoughts were far from relaxing and so you left the bedroom, feeling trapped despite the high walls and open space. You tried to be as quiet as possible, careful not to let the stairs creak under your weight as you made your way downstairs. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, you weren’t hungry or thirsty, you just longed for a distraction.

There were so many rooms in the house you needed a fucking map, but you couldn’t expect anything less from Tommy. You’d wandered like a spectre around the mansion, nosing at the few personal items your brother had displayed. You couldn’t stop the twist in your heart when you saw a photo of the two of you was pride of place on his living room table. You stood for a while in the library, looking out at the miles of fields surrounding his house, the wilderness and back woods a tribute to your gypsy roots.

Muffled sounds caught your attention, and you followed them towards the furtherest door in the hallway. The light was dim, and you could hear the faint flicker of a fire, along with the smell of oak and ash that moulded Alfie’s face in your mind. You bit your lip hard, willing yourself not to cry despite the tears already blurring your eyesight. You edged closer to the fireplace, inhaling the bittersweet scent, until you heard Tommy clear his throat behind you.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jolted, turning to face your brother. He was hunched behind his desk and scrawling on notes, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “Sorry, I...” You said, wanting to apologise for disturbing him.

“It’s alright.”

You noticed he was nursing a murky glass of whisky, and he followed your eye line, smiling softly and walking towards his bar cart.

“What do you fancy?”

Despite your current state of mind you snorted, raising a brow as Tommy shot you a look. “You’re offering me a drink? Of alcohol? Who are you and what did you do with my brother?” You sat on one of the plush sofas, curling your legs under yourself.

He filled a glass with the same liquor lacing his, sliding it across the table and towards you.

“Sorry,” he said, looking you dead in the eye,“I don’t have any rum.”

“That’s not funny.”

A moment passed, and maybe it was the overwhelming sadness and shock of what had happened or maybe it was the blow of being reunited with your brother but you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Tommy immediately smiled at your reaction, a sight so rare that it made you laugh even louder, but just as quickly as they came the chuckles died in your throat, and once again the misery rose to the surface.

“I’ve really, really fucked things up, Tom. With everyone.”

He walked around the table, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other fondling his glass. He sat next to you, close enough that you could smell his distinct aroma of expensive cologne and sweet mint but also far away enough that you didn’t feel trapped.

“Ay. I think that’s called being a Shelby.”

You didn’t reply, downing your drink like it was water, loving the burn at the back of your throat. Tommy observed you, that overprotective big brother feeling clawing inside of him, but your sad eyes and obvious heartache made him swallow the reprimands inside of him. Instead he pulled you close to him in a rare moment of weakness, letting you cry into his shirt once again, his hand running through your hair. There would be time to find out what exactly had happened in the years you had been gone, to scold you for leaving the way you did but right now he just held you, the fire roaring behind you both, drowning out the muffled sound of your sobs.

When you awoke the sun was beaming onto your skin, and you were no longer curled up on the sofa, instead under the thick down duvet in the guest room. You were still dressed, but your clothes were creased and covered with mascara stains, so after you took a warm bath and scrubbed yourself clean you reluctantly put on a spare dress from the wardrobe, already missing the comforting smell.

The house was just as confusing in daylight, but you managed to find your way downstairs eventually. You were looking for the kitchen, hoping to brew a cup of coffee and make it Irish before Tommy could see and scold you for drinking so early. You stepped around the long, glossy dining room table, shining so brightly you could almost see your reflection, but you paused as you heard the hum of rivalling voices below you.

“I don’t fucking like this, Tom.”

“Look, I don’t like this anymore than you but..

“She’s a grown woman, she can make her own choices.” A feminine voice interjected, the sincerity in her tone so familiar that you could tell it was Ada without even seeing her face.

“How do we know that she isn’t being used as some sort of fucking puppet? Solomon’s is fucked in the head, do you really think he hasn’t hurt her? Isn’t using her?”

“All I’m saying is that maybe she has an insight to how he thinks.”

“So you want her to be a fucking spy? You think that she’ll be safe?”

“That’s not what I said, John. I don’t trust him anymore than you do.”

“Boys, she hasn’t been back twenty four fucking hours, can’t this wait?”

By the time you reached the bottom step the room was so thick with tension it felt like a scalding summer day. Nerves pooled in your gut, knowing that around the corner was the family you loved and loathed and ultimately abandoned. You didn’t want to talk to them about Alfie, the year you had shared together had been so intimate and personal, and you knew that they would never truly understand what had transpired between the two of you.

Regardless, as you stepped into the kitchen, your body frigid with anxiety, one look at the familiar faces gathered around the table was enough to thaw the stress in your veins.

“Hi.” You wrung your hands together, pulling the sleeve of your jumper over your fingers. Your voice was small and quiet, almost drowned out by the kettle boiling on the stove, steam billowing into the air.

“You’re back.” It was Finn. He looked taller and his hair was much neater, shaved at the sides and slicked on top. He was wearing a suit, a blue tie around his throat and cuff links on his sleeves and an expensive looking watch on his wrist.

He looked like a Blinder.

Despite being surrounded by the older men he wished to impress, neither of you could resist the urge to clamber into one another’s arms. You pulled him against you, his head now higher than yours, his hands bigger and his torso stronger but he still smelt the same as he had always done; sweet liquorice and fresh hay.

“Hiya, Finnegan.” You said, breathing into his shoulder. You could feel your eyes brimming with tears once again and willed them to stay put, not wanting him to see you cry. “I missed you, kid.”

“Missed you too.”

You held him in your palms, taking in his warm brown eyes and the softness of his skin, evidence of his youth against his harsh bravado. There were a million things you wanted to say, a hundred different apologies at the tip of your tongue, but none of them felt right.

“C’mere you.”

It was John. He was still so playful and irreverent and boyish, the way he slung his arm around your shoulder and kissed the bottom of your ear. The way his actions seemed casual and nonchalant but his hands clasped around the bone in your wrist, as if checking you had been properly fed. You relaxed into his touch, his body was always like a furnace, and you let his warmth engulf you.

“John.”

“Not been the same without you around,” He said, his voice murmured by your hair. “Every time Esme yelled at me for something it reminded me of you, never stop bloody nagging.”

You elbowed him in the ribs, smirking at his sharp exhale before he chuckled and kissed the heat of your temple, and you gave in to the softness of his touch. You could feel eyes on you, and you stepped away from the embrace of your brothers. Tommy was sat at the head of the table in what you assumed to be his pantry, he held a lit cigarette and wisps of smoke danced around his face as he moved. His eyes softened ever so slightly at the sight of you, but you still felt increasingly on edge, especially as you could imagine what they had been talking about.

The click of heels on stone made you turn, wafts of rich jasmine and soft vanilla hitting your face and you instantly knew who was behind you. Ada smiled, her lips the colour of blood red jam and her eyes sparkling like diamonds. You felt a bubble in your throat, your body aching with sadness but relief at the sight of your sister, still so young and beautiful. She pulled you into her arms and the silk of her blouse felt like running water against your skin, she squeezed you tight, her smell bringing back memories that you had pushed far away.

“God.” She held you at arms length, her pupils darting across you, determined to take all of you in. “Look at you! You’re a real fucking woman, you’re...!” She stumbled over her words and playfully dragged you back into her arms, anchoring you down as if you would run at any moment.

“Course she is. She’s a fucking Shelby.” The thick voice like sharp liquor and expensive cigarettes cut right through you, and you felt a hand clasp around your shoulder. Nausea pooled in the pit of your stomach, the woman you feared and admired and loved still managing to make you anxious after all these years.

You met Polly’s line of sight, her makeup was perfect and she somehow looked younger than she had when you left, her skin luminous and her clothes lavish. Her fingers were covered in jewels and a fox was wrapped around her throat, it’s tail bushy and thick. Without hesitation she covered your face with her palms, the coolness of her rings making you pull away slightly, but she held you firm. Her eyes met yours and her stare was intense, you could feel the magic practically running through her veins, the whimsical gypsy queen wanting to look right through you.

She opened her mouth to say something, her gaze unwavering yet filled with emotion but the door swung open and heavy footsteps echoed around you.

“Well that was a fucking waste of time, I swear these - Oh, shit, you’re awake!”

“Hi Michael.” You said, secretly grateful for the intrusion, you didn’t want to know what Polly had seen inside of you, and facing your family was making your blood run cold. All you wanted was Alfie. All you wanted was to feel him beside you, his hands so much larger than your own, his touch so comforting and safe. You missed him completely and wholeheartedly, you knew that he could never be next to you, the lines drawn between him and your family felt so much stronger now you were reunited with them, the difference between those you loved unbelievable.

You let your cousin pull you into his arms, feeling the fabric of his expensive tailored suit rubbing against your neck. He smelt like his mother but with a tang of rich spice, and his smile was contained as he looked down at you, able to mask his emotions better than Finn. Whilst you, squeezed his torso, you could feel him above you, mouthing something to your family across the room. You spun around in his grasp to catch the end of the conversation, but as soon as you did, the whispering faltered.

“Is this how it’s going to be then?” You grumbled, sucking on your tongue.

“How what’s going to be?” John replied, sipping on a mug of steaming coffee.

“This. Everything. It’s all going to go back to normal?” You said, unable to stop the fire building in the pit of your stomach. “I’m going to be left out of fucking everything.”

John snickered at your cursing and Tommy rolled his eyes, making a spectacle of pouring himself a cup of tea, adding milk and sugar and stirring it three times before answering,

“You’re not being ‘left out’ of anything. Talks about the business don’t concern you.”

“If they involve me or -,” You stopped yourself from saying his name, hating the way it prickled in your mouth like you were swallowing razor blades. “If they involve me then it is my concern.” You paused, thinking back to the snippet of conversation you had heard. “I’m not going to tell you anything, if that’s what you think.” You said, “I didn’t tell him anything about your business and I owe it to him the same.”

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but your sister got there before he could.

“Look, (Y/N). You just got back.” Ada stroked your arm gently, shooting her brothers a look that could calm even the roughest storm. “Take some time out, you look exhausted.” You wanted to protest but she cut you off before you could, “Come and sit with me and Karl, he misses his Auntie. Let the boys deal with this for now, OK?”

You let her intertwine her fingers with yours, tugging you along softly, knowing that promises of seeing your nephew after so long would melt away any objections you had. She directed you towards the door, nodding silent agreements with Tommy, communicating with him in the way that only she could as she walked you away from the impending argument you could tell was about to start.

The living room was dark, the sky was clouded and gentle rain splattered along the windows as you sat on the floor with your knees tucked under yourself. You played checkers with Karl, the game a mundane distraction and you lost every round, your mind occupied with greater things. Ada watched from the sofa, nursing a glass of port and picking gently at her manicure, her eyes never leaving you.

“You know, if you want to ask me something, you can.” You said, feeling your sisters gaze burning holes in your back.

She clucked her tongue in thought and then called out for her son, “Karl? Can you go and ask Mary to make us some tea and bring some biscuits? The strawberry ones we like, yeah?”

You ruffled his hair as he passed you, your heart lurching with love for the small child that you had missed so much. You both waited to speak until his footsteps faded to gentle thuds down the hallway and the clock ticked softly above the mantle.

“Why didn’t you come and see me? Why didn’t you tell me you were in London?”

You sighed, “It didn’t seem as easy as that.”

“But it is as easy as that (Y/N)! You’re my sister, you should have come to see me, we were worried sick about you.”

You shifted so you were facing her, your knees stiff and you inhaled sharply in preparation for what you were about to say. “Would you have told Tommy where I was?”

She hesitated, but her silence told you more than words.

“It’s Ok, Ada. Really. I don’t blame you.” You chewed on the flesh of your lower lip, getting onto your aching legs and settling beside her, clasping your hand over hers in comfort. “I’m sorry I hurt all of you, but I had to leave or I was going to go crazy.”

Her eyes softened, and her brows furrowed. “I know the boys can be... difficult but - ”

“No buts, Ada. They were controlling my life, some weeks I never left the bloody house.”

She didn’t reply. All though you were standing firm on your reasoning, you didn’t want to see your sister upset. The truth was, Ada could have done more to protect you and she had felt guilt gnawing inside of her since the day she had discovered you were missing. You were her little sister, so close when you were both kids and then she had let the business pull you both apart, and she never regretted anything more than leaving you in Birmingham to face the lions alone.

You could tell she wanted to explain but you both knew that words couldn’t mend the blood that had spilled. You wanted to express yourself, you so badly wanted to tell her everything about Alfie, how meeting him had turned your tiny world completely on its axis, but you didn’t know how. Instead you levelled with her on the one thing you could both relate to, Tommy and his over controlling meddling.

“Do you remember how it was when you were dating Freddie?” You said, “How Tommy went ballistic when he found out? Remember how much you hated that? That was how Tommy treated me for years. I didn’t ever get a chance to grow up, he never saw me as anything but a child.”

“That’s because he loves you.”

“And I love him. But I’m not a child anymore, I haven’t been for a long time.”

You felt her squeeze your fingers, her wedding ring cold against your skin. You leant into her touch, the soft rumble of rain echoing around the two of you. She stroked your crown gently, the both of you settling into silence whilst you battled thoughts of the person you missed the most.

“Does Alfie make you happy?” She said, her voice so soft you almost missed it.

“Yes.”

He did. He made you happier than you had ever been and that terrified you. You felt as if you had stepped off a cliff when you told him you loved him, but he caught you effortlessly and held you close to his chest. But now you had ruined everything. You loathed the idea of him hating you, wishing more than anything that you could speak to him one last time, but his last words rang around in your head. He couldn’t bare to look at you, he didn’t deserve the pain of seeing you again, and you had to face up to your actions.

“I’m glad.” Ada murmured, not noticing you lost in your own head. “You deserve it.”

You buried your face into the crook of her shoulder, feeling her drag you closer and tut softly. Tears prickled painfully in your eyes and your throat was thick and swollen, but you managed to gasp out a hoarse sentence.

“No, Ada. I really don’t.”

——————————————————————-

There was blood staining Alfie’s boots.

He could see it out of the corner of his eye, a rich crimson, dripping slowly onto the floor. He didn’t know whose it was or where it had come from, only the ache in his knuckles and the knowledge that it wasn’t his was just enough to ease his aching mind.

His brain was fogged, his insides coated in liquor and his lungs thick with smoke. He was in his office but he had no idea how he had got there, and any memories of the past few days let alone few hours were clouded.

He glanced at the spot his phone was usually sat, exposed wires dangerously staring back at him and the headset completely shattered on the ground. He had lost his temper, that much was certain, the carnage around him a reminder of when he thought about calling Tommy and demanding to know where you were, but not even getting to the second ring before tearing the console from the wall and ripping it to pieces.

He could feel the bags under his eyes, but sleep was the last thing he wanted. How could he return home, get into the bed he shared with you - the woman he loved, and fall asleep? After he had told you to leave, his mouth salivating with anger, he regretted it. In that moment, as much as he was disgusted with you, as much as he felt like throwing his fist through the wall and finding out every last dirty little lie you had spun him, watching your face pale and your eyes water he knew he was still completely and hopelessly in love with you.

It took him a few minutes to get his breath back, he wasn’t that young anymore, he wasn’t as quick and as nimble as you. He made himself calm down, forced himself to inhale and exhale the rage out of him, clenching his fingers until his hands turned the colour of snow. He was going to chase after you in the street and bring you back, he was going to command the truth out of you, no matter how monumental the outcome would be. He needed you off the streets, he needed you safe, and he needed to know how you could be next to him, under him, kissing him, and still deceive him. He needed you with him, his brain rattling in his skull as he reached for his coat, ready to find you and take you home. He had barely took two steps forward, his hand just twisting the brass doorknob when the shrill sound of his phone ringing cut through the night.

Any other day and Alfie would have ignored it, but something inside of him told him to pick it up. The only people that had access to his home number were his closest confidants, the men that he employed to watch over everything and tell him if anything or anyone slipped out of line. His heart was beating like a steel drum underneath his still stained shirt, his skin tingling from the ghost of your fingerprints. He knew what the call would be before he even held the receiver to his ear, but the words still made him throw a kitchen chair at the wall, the wood splintering into a thousand pieces.

“It’s Rosie, boss. She, er... she got in a car with that Shelby bloke.”

———��——————————————————-

You spent the rest of the day feeling as if glass was under your feet, shattering loudly with every step you took. You could read the anticipation on everyone’s faces, the way they would glance at you, brows furrowed, desperate to ask you a million questions. Something was awry, you could tell by the murmurs and intense looks shared between your family, but you were far too exhausted to bother prying.

You sat curled up on the window seat, watching the rain drip down into puddles. The rest of your family had scattered around the house, occasionally the door would open and Mary would bring you tea, but other than that you were left alone. You were desperate for a distraction, all you could think about was Alfie and it was driving you mad. You wanted to sneak into Tom’s office and call the bakery, you wanted to cry and scream and explain yourself until your voice gave out, but all you could think of was the pain of Alfie putting the phone down on you.

Over the rolling hills you could see a horse. Despite the rain it was grazing, a big black smear moving against the picturesque surroundings. It felt like it was taunting you, so beautiful and so free, whilst you had ended up back where you started. You didn’t have long to stay in your pity party, because you heard the squelch of boots behind you, and three long exasperated breaths.

“Fuck me. This house is massive.”

You looked back and saw Finn, looking tall and handsome as he stood holding a plate of assorted desserts with wobbling hands.

“Tommy will kill you if you fuck up his nice floors.” You said.

Finn sniffed and looked down, mud caking his patent leather shoes and grass sticking to his ankles. He shrugged playfully and hopped over the rug in the middle of the room, landing messily on the other side before squashing down beside you. He inhaled a jam roly-poly, sucking crumbs off of his thumb before replying.

“Eh. He has a maid, he won’t care.”

You watched him, noticing how his freckles had faded and the colour of his hair had deepened.“You look older.” You muttered, tilting your head to the side at your observation, the light dancing off his newly sharpened jaw and nose.

Your youngest brother wrinkled his nose, scoffing slightly. “So do you. You need a new night cream or something.”

You elbowed him, grabbing a treacle covered cake and taking a bite, feeling the velvet softness on your tongue. “Tommy got a sweet tooth?” You asked, gesturing towards the array of puddings in your brothers hands, the plate piled high with sugar.

Finn shook his head sheepishly, his gaze flittering away from yours, watching the same horse trot along the meadow. “No. I asked Mary to make some, cause’ I knew they were your favourites.”

Your body flicked like a furnace and you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, knocking into him gently to show your appreciation. Silence settled over the both of you like a wave but it wasn’t long before Finn spoke up.

“I missed you, you know. Wasn’t the same without you.”

You inhaled, clasping his now larger fingers in yours, anchoring him to you. “Finn.” You said, regret and sadness washing over you, you so badly wanted to apologise and right the so many wrongs you had caused, but you didn’t know how.

“I’m not looking for an apology.” He spoke, his voice deeper than you remembered. “I get why you left.”

“I had to.”

“I know.”

You chewed on your upper lip, still tasting sugar on your tongue. The horse had gone by now, probably to seek refuge from the rain in his stable, and the fields suddenly looked awfully big and empty.

“What’s London like? I’ve never been.”

You paused, not knowing what to say. Finn had always been in an awkward purgatory, forced to grow up too fast in a family that was constantly rife with danger, yet never fully respected as a full fledged blinder, always regarded as the youngest boy. You dug your head into the crook of his neck, squeezing his fingers and holding him close.

“It’s big, and loud, but it’s... beautiful.” You thought back to the towering buildings and the street markets and the expensive cars, all of the things that shone like diamonds, but none of it compared to the man you were picturing in your head. “I’ll take you one day. Not just London.” You said sincerely, wanting to show Finn the world he deserved to see. “Anywhere you wanna go, London, Paris, Rome. Tokyo?”

He smiled softly, such a kind contrast to the frown that graced his face far too often. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, but soon the silence was shattered by ripples of voices on the other side of the house, voices raised and words curt. You sat up suddenly, your spine going rigid. You shared a glance with Finn as the arguing continued, and you both winced as something loud and metal clattered onto the floor.

“Oh shit. I think they got Arthur out.”

—————————————————————————

You could smell the sour, coppery, tang of blood as you both ran into the hallway. You heard him before you saw him, his accent and deep, throaty voice so distinctive that it gave you goosebumps. The paintings on the wall were practically vibrating from the disruption and Tommy was trying his best to wrangle his brother who was bucking around the room like a feral stallion.

“I get my fucking hands on him - if I even see him in the fucking street, I swear to God, Tom. I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in his fucking skull.”

“Arthur.”

“They were gonna make me fucking hang, Tom!”

“Look...”

You gasped as you rounded a corner, the state of your brother sending shock waves through your flesh.

“Oh, Arthur.” You murmured. His face was bruised and swollen, deep purple patches dotted across his skin. His hair was matted and thick with blood, and his fingers were torn and scraped raw. His hard eyes softened at the sight of you, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding and grabbing you intensely, enveloping you in his arms and holding you close. You started to cry, completely overwhelmed with seeing your brother in pain, and the knowledge that it was the man you loved who had caused him to almost have a noose around his throat.

He smelt of sweat and tobacco and he was so much skinner than your remembered, but his arms still felt the same way they always had, as if he could cradle you through the roughest storm. Sobs escaped your mouth and you dug your head into his shoulder as his hands clung to your hair, you could feel your family gathering around you both but you ignored them, focusing on nothing but the man holding you. The reunion didn’t last long because before you knew it Arthur was holding your face between his palms, his eyes boring into yours.

“John told me everything in the car. Everything that that fucking cunt has done. I swear when I get my hands on him (Y/N) I will fucking tear him apart. He won’t get away with what he’s done to you.”

You faltered, your knees buckling and you struggled against his grip. “Everything he’s done to me? What are you talking about?” Your eyes darted around at the faces circled around you but no one met your line of sight, more focused on calming Arthur who was cursing like a sailor.

“Fuckin’ hell! The way he’s manipulated you, the way that he’s fucking used you!”

“Used me?” You said, shaking your head adamantly “He never used me.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, blood sticking to his forehead and beads of sweat pooling at his crown.“You really think that fucking Jew feels anything for you? Look at what he did to me!”

You inhaled sharply, pushing Arthur off of you. He was broken and battered and bruised but you would not have him speak about Alfie as if he was the devil, not when you knew the side of him that was gentle and loving and kind, the side that baked bread and laughed loudly and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe.

“That’s bloody rich coming from you! How many men have you killed, how many men have you left for dead?”

“(Y/N).” Tommy’s voice was stern, it was meant to make you submit, and a few years ago you would have, but not anymore.

“No, Tommy! Alfie isn’t like that! Yes, he’s... he’s done wrong and I’m disgusted by it, but I won’t let you paint him as the villain!”

“Don’t be so naive! The mans a fucking psychopath! You hardly know him!” John stepped forward, riled up with anger and ready to join Arthur on his rampage. He was determined to make you see the way they all saw Alfie, so certain that you had been manipulated beyond control, but they knew nothing.

“I love him!”

Three words were all it took to silence your family. You saw the way that they stepped back, faces filled with sympathy and disgust. Tommy stood centre, standing tall and dignified as John scoffed and Polly frowned and Arthur clenched his knuckles till they turned white. Ada took a step forward, your brilliant, beautiful sister ready to fight alongside you like she should have done all those years ago, but you wanted to be alone.

You took a step backwards,“I know that you’ll never understand it, and you’ll probably never accept it, but I love him.” Your voice was wobbly but you willed it to settle, not wanting to sound like a child. “And you don’t have to worry about ‘protecting’ me from him, I already fucked up enough that he’ll never want to see me again, so.” You awkwardly wrung your hands together, moving towards the grand staircase. “And now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed and pretend that none of this ever happened. Good night.”

Finn reached for your hand as you darted up the first step, and you squeezed in response. His eyes met yours and you nodded slowly, letting him know that you were okay, or rather, you weren’t, but you would be. You avoided the prying eyes and the heated stares keeping your head down as you ran up the steps, holding in your tears until you had locked the door and slid down onto the carpet, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort.

A few hours later and the voices had stilled. You had watched the cars disappear one by one down the driveway, expensive black tyres crackling along the gravel. Finn, Ada and Polly had both come to say goodnight, pulling you close and saying they’d see you tomorrow and that the boys would cool off eventually. Your cheek was crimson from where your Aunt had kissed you and your body was moulded to the shape of Finns gangly frame, but you felt hollow.

You knew that Tommy was still home, you could feel him in the house, his presence as obvious as the thunderstorm that still lingered in the air. By now it had well passed midnight, the moon full and round, a beacon of light against the darkness. You huffed, getting to your feet after hours of doing nothing, trying to find a way to occupy your racing mind. You had been putting off what you needed to do for too long, but you couldn’t wait any longer, and so you shrugged on a house coat and made your way downstairs.

You could hear the rhythmic tap of the typewriter, and the air was thick with tobacco as you walked down the hallway. You pushed open the study door softly, watching Tommy’s face illuminate in the moonlight, and you smirked at the unfamiliar round glasses perched on his nose.

“I thought you had an assistant? Shouldn’t she be the one staying up all hours working?” Your words were teasing and entirely untrue, you knew that Tommy would never fully hand the reins over to someone else, control ran through his veins.

“No rest for the wicked.” He said simply, rifling through papers on his desk. He glanced up at you momentarily, a gesture for you to speak.

“I need to borrow some money.” You said, clearing your throat. “I don’t have any on me, but I’ll pay you back as soon as I have my purse.”

He pushed away from the typewriter, flexing his fingers and his cobalt eyes watched you carefully. “You don’t need to pay me back.”

“Yes I do, Tom.”

He sighed like an old dog, and you wondered when he had last slept. “Alright, what are you buying?”

“A train ticket. Tomorrow morning I’m going to ring work and apologise for missing a few days, and then I’ll take the train back to London. Well, after I’ve said goodbye to everyone, properly this time.”

The room stilled. Tommy rose to his feet, his hands massaging his temple, his clipped fingernails stroking the crease above his brow.

“London isn’t safe.”

“Neither is Birmingham.” You countered.

He took a few cautious steps. You watched as he moved to his bar cart, running a finger over the ridges of a whiskey glass, pulling gently on a cork. He glanced back at you, moving one hand from his pocket, gesturing towards his lavish armchair.

“Sit.”

You bristled, stiffening ever so slightly. “No.”

His eyes flickered with annoyance and you resisted rolling yours. The room had suddenly become unbearably warm and you shuffled on your feet, like a deer sensing danger. “What have you done Tommy?”

He lowered himself into a chair and crossed a leg over his knee. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and holding it between his lips before you could even blink. You paused, growing increasingly agitated as you waited for him to speak.

“I’ve already rang your boss.”

You hurtled forward, your blood running red hot and ice cold at the same time. “Tommy!”

His face remained impassive, but he held up his hands, signalling for you to calm down. But you didn’t want to and instead paced up and down the length of the oak flooring, muttering under your breath.

“I’ve already spoke to him. Told him that you were having some time off.”

“Told him? Tommy he’s my boss! You can’t just tell him things!”

He cleared his throat, “He didn’t have a problem with it, sends his love.” He looked down at you over the rim of his glasses with a hint of amusement and you resisted the urge to throw a satin pillow right onto his skull.

“Right, well, that’s awfully kind of him but I don’t need anymore time off, I want to go back in tomorrow.”

Whatever playfulness that the two of you had shared was long gone, and you watched the all too familiar look of authority wash over your brother.

“No.”

“No?”

“London is not safe.” He repeated, as if echoing his earlier statement would somehow make you agree. “You can’t go back there, not for a while at least.”

“That’s bullshit!” Your voice was getting increasingly higher, and you swore you could see flames flickering behind your pupils. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Tommy.”

He huffed, getting to his feet and walking behind his desk. He rummaged around the drawers before pulling out a thick folder and dropping it down, the pages fluttering open.

“I don’t want to fight, (Y/N).”

You opened your mouth to snarl something back but his stern look made you falter, and instead your gaze dropped to the files beneath you.

“I’ve got you another job, with a publishing company just outside of Birmingham. The pay is good and I’ve found a house for you, all you need to do is sign a few papers and it’s yours.” He flicked through the documents, stopping to pull out a small black and white photo and thrusting it towards you. It wasn’t a brilliant picture, but you could tell that the cottage was beautiful. It looked almost exactly like the fairytale ones you used to dream of, and you could tell that Tommy knew that, but the problem was that your dreams had changed.

“Tommy. No. Thank you for everything, but I cant.” You moved towards him, your features softening from his actions and from the hazy glow of the moon. “I have to go back to London, it’s my home.” The words tore like a knife slicing your gut, because it wasn’t true. London had never truly been your home, not when you lived in a tiny flat and not even when you were sprawled next to Alfie in bed in his big house, the summer sun dancing in your skin and Cyril snoring at your feet.

Home had never been a place to you, it had always been a person. Home was Alfie. You knew that he hated you, but you couldn’t go another day without seeing him, without attempting to mend the hurt you had caused. You were tired of running, you were tired of lying, you just wanted to be with him, and even if he refused your apology, at least you wouldn’t spend the rest of your days wondering what could have been.

“You’re not going back to London. It’s not safe.”

“You can’t stop me, you can’t...”

“Damn it, (Y/N)! Listen to me!” His hand slammed against his desk, the noise making your body jolt from shock. “It’s not safe for you. Sabini knows where you are, he knows that you had been hiding in London. He knows that you were with Alfie.”

His words burnt you like gin at the back of your throat, but you weren’t backing down without a fight.“Why would he hurt me now? He has no reason to!”

“Just.... stay.” He said, clenching his knuckles in sync with his voice, trying to control the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “At least until we finish with the races, then Sabini will be off our backs.”

“That’s how it starts, Tom. I stay for a few weeks and then suddenly I’m moving back. I can’t stay.”

“You aren’t leaving.”

You inhaled sharply, unable to stop the anger rising in you.“What the hell is wrong with you, Tommy?”

“What about Solomon’s?” He said, standing straighter, noticing the way his name made every muscle in your body tense.

“What about him?”

“You can’t really think that things will be the same? That he won’t be angry with you?”

There was a certain venom to his tone, and it made every hair on your body stand on end. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“I’ve done business with him, (Y/N). I know that he’s impulsive and violent. I know that he’s a fucking murderer.”

“You know nothing. He would never lay a hand on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“He loves me!” You could hear the crack in your voice like a dam ready to burst at the seams. Any second you could expect tears to flood from your eyes and your whole body to drown in sorrow.

“He loved the woman you were pretending to be.” You felt like you were going to vomit. Not only from Tommy’s harsh words but more so that you were terrified that they might be true. You had barely slept, hardly ate, because your mind was rife with worry, that Alfie would never love the woman you truly were. It’s true that you never faked your personality around Alfie, you and Rosie were just as fun, as kind and as playful, but the truth was now everything you had said was stained with lies, and you could no longer hide your family. “This isn’t a game, (Y/N). Take the job down here. I’m done for tonight,” He said, silencing you like a child, “Go back to bed.”

The hurt was surely evident on your face, and you guessed that was one of the reasons Tommy’s eyes drifted back to his work, he always had a soft spot for your sweet, sad, eyes. You blinked back tears, sucking on your tongue as if it would help ease the pain of the words you wanted to spit back. You turned, sick of looking at your brother, and moved towards the door.

“You know,” You started, glancing back over your shoulder. “Whenever Alfie came back from a meeting with you, he always spoke so highly of you. Sure he thought you were a bit of a prick, but he also thought you were so clever, and so brilliant, I could tell. I wanted more than anything to say that you were my brother, to tell him about all the amazing things you had done. I used to always look up to you, but not anymore, all you are is a controlling coward.”

You saw a flicker of emotion in Tommy’s expression, but you didn’t stick around for him to say anything, darting out of the study and slamming the door behind you, as fast and as powerful as a gust of wind. By the time you reached your room, hot tears were sliding down your face and onto your collar. You crawled into bed and hid under the covers, moaning at the unfamiliar clinical smell, your entire being aching with the want for Alfie. Your sobs were muffled by the goose feather pillows, but the tear stains that remained would forever be a mark of the heartbreak you endured, a sight of your sadness.

You wanted to hide away until morning, until the gentle sunrise would warm your shaking skin. You wanted to cry and wail but you also wanted to sleep, recover some energy so you could properly fight Tommy’s decision. You sat up with your back pressed against the headboard, trying to regulate your breathing, when the night breeze rumbled against the large window to your left. You looked through the glass, at the crescent moon outside and the long stretch of black, so reminiscent of the night you left Birmingham, so long ago. A tree branch swung and scraped across the window, leaves rustling in the wind, and you got an idea.

——————————————————————-

The thing that broke Alfie, was a photo of the two of you.

He had returned home, off his face from rum that tasted like petrol and his stomach filled with sadness that hung like an anchor in his gut. Ollie had snapped and demanded that Alfie leave the office, the older man had roared back, telling Ollie to fuck off and that he was fired, but they both knew they would see each other again on Monday.

The house smelt like you and he hated it. His kitchen was filled with the blush coloured tulips he always bought home from the market for you, and he swore he could hear your squeal of happiness ringing in his ears, feel the weight of you in his arms, taste the honey on your lips.

The bedroom was the worst. He could see the indent your body had moulded onto the mattress, and he imagined long soft hair sprawled across the pillow, your strawberry shampoo filling his senses as he pulled you into his body, feeling like he was the one place he was meant to be.

He couldn’t sleep there, not with the memories of you haunting the room like a spectre determined to make him weak. He rummaged through his drawers, looking for his long pyjama bottoms because he knew the spare room was cold, and he would no doubt long for the furnace of your skin against his. He mumbled under his breath, rifling through the lace and silk that had somehow made its way into his drawers. He refused to look at the pastel colours and the sundresses that were always so dizzyingly short, he refused to think of you, barefoot and loose haired in a skirt that made you look like an angel, made him ache with the uncontrollable need to touch you and make sure you were real. He didn’t want to think of you with your hair tied back with a satin scarf, showing off every inch of the most beautiful face he had ever seen and would repeatedly tell you so, even when you would turn red and disagree, pointing out the flaws that he would never, ever see.

He snapped his hands out far too quickly and angrily, the chest of drawers heaving and wobbling, and he swore as he tried to keep it from shattering on the ground. Shirts and vests and trousers spilled onto the floor and he rolled his eyes in frustration, sending a sharp kick against the edge of the wood, undoubtedly breaking his toe if he wasn’t wearing his steel capped boots. He was so fucking angry. So fucking irate that he almost missed the small square in the ground, the corner barely peeking out from under a pile of grey. He hesitated, guessing what it was and knowing that the pain would slash against this throat like a blade, but he was a masochist and before he knew it he had picked it up and turned it over.

It was from Margate, when the two of you had been walking along the pier before you had spotted a man talking photos. Alfie had flat out refused, but he was a goner when you battered your eyelashes and tugged on his hands. He stood next to you, so much larger and broader and rougher but you pulled him close, pressing your lips to his cheek as the flash went off. The result was a rare genuine smile you had managed to coax out of him, the twinkle in his eye evident even in black and white, the tug on his lips so endearing. You looked so beautiful next to him, your hair filled with sand and smelling like ocean water and the wax of your lipstick no doubt leaving a mark on his face, but he swore it was the happiest he had ever been.

He fell to his knees, his body giving out from exhaustion and heartache, his massive hands swallowing the photo whole. He was still so angry, he could feel it coursing through him like red hot blood, but he still loved you, he loved you so much that it made his brain fog over. He was furious with you and he felt betrayed, but all of that was eclipsed by the overwhelming knowing that you were the love of his life. His soulmate. Something he used to roll his eyes and scoff over, but it was true, you and him were meant to be together.

He didn’t give a fuck who your family were, couldn’t give a shit if they didn’t want the two of you together. He needed you back beside him, and he didn’t care who got in his way.

——————————————————————

You hardly slept, and by the time the sun rose at six, you were awake to watch the sky light up. You dressed quickly, running your fingers through the knots in your hair and across your aching limbs. You were perched by the window, waiting to catch Tommy leaving for his morning ride, a habit he didn’t break no matter whether he was in a manor or in the shit filled streets of small heath. No matter how rich or busy Tommy got, you knew that he loved his horses more than almost anything, and the thoroughbreds in his stables were a physical reminder of his climb to the top.

It didn’t take long for you to hear the creak of the front door, and the gravel crunching under his heavy footsteps. You saw him exhale the chilly morning air, watched as it whipped around his face and saw the peaked cap on his head bounce with his movements. You stood still as you watched him disappear around the side of the house, towards the stables perched atop of the rolling fields behind his mansion. You counted to thirty, and when you didn’t see a three piece suit strolling back to the house, you jumped to your feet and thundered down the stairs.

In a marble bowl by the front door, next to a brass horse figurine and a vase with Chinese letters adorning the side, were an array of car keys. You’d spotted them the very first day you came back, the silver and gold twinkling under the low lights, probably a million pounds worth of cars parked outside, and Tommy just left his keys scattered in a bowl.You fished out the biggest one, checking your left and rights in case Mary was waiting in the shadows, but the sound of clattering dishes and running water was an indication that you weren’t going to get caught; not yet at least.

The front door was heavy, but your body was pumping with adrenaline and as you heaved it open, you felt sixteen again. Memories blurred your vision, sneaking out of your bedroom window, climbing down the guttering and scratching your arm raw on Polly’s thorn bushes, walking down the street barefoot, clutching your heels in your hands. None of that mattered anymore, not as y reached the first car and twisted the key in the lock, and then the second and then the third, and then finally felt the satisfying click from the fourth, and clambered onto the leather seats. You didn’t have a license, your only driving experiences had been when John given you a lesson in Johnnys field, and you had smashed the wind mirror on his caravan, and when Michael let you drive for a few miles when you were both on your way to the races, but hey, you were a quick learner.

You started it up, the engine humming and purring and you swore you could feel Alfie underneath you, your back pressed against the steering wheel, his hands in your hair and his teeth biting your open lip. You ignored everything though, focusing on the gear stick and the pedals at your feet, and squealing as you messily spun the car around, smacking into another one and then jetting down the driveway.

You weren’t going to London in the car, you would most definitely end up overturned in a ditch or on a stretcher for a months stay in hospital, and there was only one place you could think of. You and Isabella had kept in contact over your year apart, ringing each other whenever something significant happened in either of your lives, like when she met her boyfriend, or when you first kissed Alfie. She was the only person you trusted with such sacred information, she had held her own amongst your brothers since she was a teen and you knew she would hold up in an interrogation, one that she told you that they had given her the very first night you left.

You followed the signs to Birmingham, the journey taking much longer than it should, and giving yourself whiplash multiple times when a bird flew too close to the wheels. The plan was to visit your friend, borrow some money and then take the first train back to London. You needed to see Alfie, your desperation was reaching critical levels, and you longed to see his face, even if it was plastered in hurt. You needed to see him.

Isabelle lived in the back streets, near the cut, and you parked along a road just far away enough from the public eye. The sky was a muted, milky blue and the soft darkness of night still blurred at the edges. Your heart was thumping like a freight train and your blood was rushing in your ears, the noise almost deafening.

Which was why you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you, not until a hand was clasped over your mouth and your head slammed into the concrete, blood dripping from your crown.

——————————————————————-

Alfie swore he was driving into a cloud of smoke, he swore that the sky was tinted with blood as he drove further north. He’d been driving through the early hours of the morning, and his eyes were blurry from his lack of sleep, but the adrenaline inside of him was stronger than any expensive coffee he could buy. He knew where Tommy lived, he had sent over a barrel of rum after their first meeting, as much a taunt as it was a token of their partnership.

Of course Tommy Shelby had flown from the narrow streets of central Birmingham, and Alfie was forced to resort to his old and faded map as he attempted to navigate his way. He thought of you, as brambles scraped over his windshield and he passed a small stream, he had no idea what he was going to say, what he was going to do, but he knew that he had to get you home.

He had no doubt that your brothers wouldn’t let you go without a fight, and his gun shrugged against his stomach as he moved, a reminder of just what he was willing to do to have you back in his arms. He had no intention of killing your brothers, but he was certain that they would be more than happy to put a bullet between his eyes. Ollie had called and told him that Arthur had been released, and he knew that the oldest Shelby would be on him like a rabid dog if he didn’t keep his guard up.

He saw a large manor and scoffed. The chimneys looked like they were in the clouds, and the house was reflecting gold under the low sun. His fingers were twitching with anticipation, his body was still filled with uncertainty and deception, but the knowledge that you were only a few yards from his was enough to make his blood bubble and his toes curl.

The car skidded across the gravel as he pulled it to a hasty stop, so small under the massive house looming above. He hesitated, only momentarily, collecting his thoughts and clasping his cane with his hand, stroking the brass lion to ground himself. His fingers toyed with the handle, ready to pull open the doors, but before he could, the front door swung open.

—————————————————————-

You blinked. Once, twice, three times. You were surrounded by darkness, black seeping into your eyes and blurring your vision. You were cold. There was no breeze and the air was steady and stagnant, and you could feel the goosebumps rising on your flesh. You went to run your hands over through your hair and inspect the wound that you could feel, but your wrists were bound.The ache in your skull was intense, a rhythmic thumping that made your eyes water and your fingers wobble. You glanced around, letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings. You were too exhausted to feel panicked, and your wrist was throbbing as you moved it. You winced as you flexed, barely able to stretch out without yelping in pain.

The floor was heavy concrete, and you were sitting on some kind of tarp, thin enough that you could feel the indents beneath you. You strained your eyes for some kind of clue as to where you were, everything smelt stale and empty and the chill around you made you think that the place had been vacant for a long time.

You had no suspicions as to who had taken you, the unfamiliar Italian words still ringing in your ears. You felt nauseous, not just from your head wound but from the feeling of their hands on you, fingers bruising into your skin, grasping at the root of your hair and slamming you into a wall. You remembered trying to fight back, biting down on a palm and kicking with all you could muster, but you were shouted at, and punished with a sharp slap across the face.

There were no windows and you couldn’t tell how long you had been out for, but all you knew was that you were desperate to fall back asleep. You thought of the nights when Arthur came home from the ring, battered and bruised and bloody. Ada holding a damp cloth to his head as you cleaned his knuckles, your sister reminding you that he had to stay awake, he couldn’t fall asleep.

You were too tired though, to tired to try and fight the fatigue that was taking over your body. You felt so tender that sleep was the only thing you wanted, the pain in your skull overtaking everything else in your body. You groaned, the rope cutting into your wrist and burning your skin as you moved, so you tried to stay as still as possible. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy, and the room was spinning around you.

All you thought of as you gave in to the overwhelming exhaustion, was that Tommy had been right all along. You choked out something between a cough and a sob, the pain so intense that you were begging for sleep to take over. You thought of your family, happy memories playing like a lullaby in your head. The last thing you saw before you drifted off was Alfie, the two of you laughing and dancing in the surf at Margate, pure unadulterated bliss.

————————————————————-

The room was thick with palpable tension, and usually Alfie would be the one to fill the silence with some kind of joke or sarcastic remark, but right now all he saw was red. Tommy was on the other side of the room, and for once he looked... disheveled. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the top, and his hair was slightly askew. He might go as far as saying that Tommy looked upset, and his concern for you was the only thing stopping Alfie from throttling your brother.

“How could you have fucking lost her?” Alfie said, chewing on the words and spitting them out.

Tommy sucked on his lip, stepping forward with intensity in his eyes. “I didn’t lose her. She stole a car.”

Part of Alfie wanted to smirk at your escape attempt, but worry was taking over all of his emotions. He ran a hand over his face and shifted his weight, thinking back to the way you ran when he had his first meeting with Tommy, suddenly all of the pieces falling into place. He felt unbelievably haggard, his body begging for you wrapped around him and the sweet embrace of sleep. He swore that when he found you he was going to drag you back to his house and keep you in his bed for at least a week.

“How could you be so fucking stupid? Not keeping an eye on your own fucking sister?”

Tommy’s face flashed red. He was always civil around Alfie, and the two of them had even become somewhat dysfunctional friends, but he wasn’t fond of this sudden ambush. Tommy thrived on his family’s safety, and he was splitting hairs the second Mary had quivered and told him that you were missing.

“Well she was in a bit of a state, wasn’t she?”

Alfie choose to ignore the comment, for both of their sakes.“Right well, where do you think she’s gone? She doesn’t even have a bloody license.” Alfie said, trying not to picture your beautiful body sprawled on the road, glass and blood sparkling all around you.

Tommy ran a hand over his eyes, feeling exhausted, you always had a way of making him feel a hundred years older than he was. “London.” His voice was muffled by the cigarette he had put in his mouth, desperate for the relief of nicotine if he wanted to get through this little chat with Alfie.

Alfie put a finger to his ear, pulling it mockingly. “Eh?”

“London. She asked me for money for a train ticket before she ran off.”

“Well that’s fucking good then isn’t it, at least she’ll be out of this shit hole.” Alfie’s heart was thumping in his chest. You wanted to go back to London, you must have wanted to see him, and his stomach twisted into knots at the thought. He grasped his cane firmly, getting ready to walk to the front door. “What the fuck are we doing standing here then?”

“I didn’t give her the money.” Tommy said, facing the large windows behind his desk, the ones that showed the magnificent grounds all around his house.

Alfie hesitated mid step. “What?”

“This is her home.”

“Ha. Not anymore.”

Tommy exhaled through his teeth, turning to face the taller man, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Tommy’s arrogance and haughtiness about the situation made Alfie’s fingers twitch over the top of his gun, but he waited for him to speak.“And what? You think her home is with you?”

Alfie almost bit through his tongue. “Listen mate, its not a good time to fucking piss me off, right.”

“She was heartbroken when she came home. Because of you. Although I’m sure this isn’t the first time.”

“Well she always seemed fine sleeping next to me.” Alfie said, hoping the idea of you and him tangled under his cotton sheets would be enough to make Tommy fume. He smiled at the flicker of emotion in your brothers eyes, loving that he had gotten a rise out of him.

“You don’t expect me to believe that this was anything more than a “fling”. She’s my fucking sister and I won’t let you treat her like dirt. I know you, Alfie.”

Alfie felt his stomach bubble, he felt physically sick at what Tommy was insinuating. The idea of hurting you in anyway was unthinkable and he was filled with rage at Tommy’s insult. “I wouldn’t lay a fucking hand on her.”

Tommy looked him up and down, “You’re a good business partner Solomon’s, but that’s all.”

“Fuck this and fuck you.” Alfie spat, “I’ll find her and take her home, with me, where she belongs. Why the fuck do you think she left, eh Tom? Maybe because you and your family are fucking poisonous.”

“You think that you can protect her? That you won’t hurt her again?”

“I’m not some stupid fucking gyp. I know how to take care of family.”

“We’re her family.”

“Right. You just let her fuck off to London and get in bed with a gangster. You may not think I’m much, Tom, but I would never hurt her.”

“She’s not going back with you.”

“Who the fuck are you? Her fucking dad? I just think you’re pissed that she doesn’t think the sun shines out of your ass anymore Tommy boy, I think you’re upset that she’s being looked after by someone who isn't you.”

“Solomon’s, I swear to God - ”

The shouting was cut off by a flurry of footsteps and gasps for air. Both men turned to face the door, where a pale faced Finn hurtled across the threshold. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows at his youngest sibling, his blood cooling at the sight of his grey skin and wide eyes. Before either of them could speak, they noticed the crimson stained fabric in his hands, and the wobble in his voice.

“It’s (Y/N!)”

————————————————

The stains marking the material were deep and black like spilt gasoline and that was enough to send both men into overdrive. The bickering stopped, instead the room was filled with mutual wrath and worry, the men rattling around like wasps trapped inside of a beer bottle.

“Regards, Sabini.” Were written crudely on a label attached to the seam, the simplicity of the message just as effective as if he had written a long ransom note. Finns face was devoid of all colour, and yet he seemed to appear translucent as Alfie held his cane to the teens neck, the wood pressed harshly against his jugular.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

Finn scrambled to breathe, loud choked gasps escaping his throat. He tried to push Alfie off of him, but it was impossible, the older man filled with such rage that it had boiled his blood, his need to find you stronger than it had ever been, possessing him like a beast.

Tommy’s hand wrapped around Alfie’s shoulder, hoisting him back and snapping at him to calm down. The room was spinning and red hot, and Alfie had to clench his fingers so tightly that he thought they might snap in half to resist slamming Tommy’s head through his desk, watching his brains splatter across his fucking expensive floral curtains.

“Calm down? Calm fucking down? Your fucking sister has been taken by the wops!”

“Sabini won’t hurt her!” Tommy roared, not able to control the anger in his pitch. Alfie wasn’t listening to him, and he hated when people didn’t listen to him. “Not unless he wants to die. He’s smarter than that, this is just a threat.”

He watched the baker pace back and forth with such vigour that he was surprised the wood didn’t spark and catch alight. Tommy liked to keep his emotions private, he liked to analyse things in his own time and Alfie’s obvious rage was making his skin crawl. He was going to find you, there was no doubt in his mind that he would bring you home, even if it meant burning through the streets, striking every man who stood in his path. He was worried about you, he loved you and wanted you safe, but the thing that was making him feel ever so slightly uncomfortable was that he could see the same emotions flickering on Alfie’s face.

“She’s going to be alright, Alfie.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and in another scenario Alfie would have teased him relentlessly about it; made a joke about him going soft. But Tommy knew what you were like, he knew that you had a way of worming you way into someone’s head and blurring the rest of their thoughts. Everyone who knew you felt the same way, entranced and infuriated and enamoured by you, a desire to protect you and keep you safe, no matter how irritating you could be.

Alfie didn’t appreciate the sentiment though, holding his cane to Tommy’s face like it was a cocked rifle. “You better fucking hope so. If there’s one hair out of place on her fucking head right, I’ll kill you myself.”

—————————-——————————————

They found the warehouse an hour later.

Tommy had sent Blinders round the streets, threats on their life if they came up empty handed or without the blood of their rivals staining their skin. Sabini only had a few lock ups in Birmingham. Tommy had made note of them the first time the two of them had crossed paths, he liked to keep his eye on his opponents. He knew Sabini was no fool, despite his disdain for the Italian he was sure that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to lay a finger on you.

The largest one was a few streets away from one of the factories that the Blinders owned, Sabini was using it as storage for “livestock and agricultural goods” but Tommy knew that was a front for stolen guns and illegal gambling. He’d been on the phone to John and Michael before Alfie had arrived, and they were tearing through the streets on a rampant search for you, their mission was to put the fear of God into any of the Italians, send a warning about what happened when you messed with a Shelby.

The car lulled to a stop as Tommy steered round an alley. His eyes flickered to the rear view window and spotted Alfie mirroring his actions, their cars parked side by side. Tommy had wanted to find you alone, but even suggesting that to Alfie was sure to get him a knife in his gut. He could feel the apprehension steaming from Alfie’s skin like boiling water as they silently made their way to the side door, both of their hands hovering over their weapons.

Right as Tommy reached for the metal handle, their eyes met, a silent consensus taking place. Despite their disagreements, their business rivalry and current hostility for one another, there was one thing they had in common: They would both do anything to keep you safe.

There was a man watching you. You couldn’t recall when he had arrived, but you could feel his eyes on you in the dark, two orbs of emerald green as striking as a cats’. You had been asleep, but suddenly awoken to the clang of metal and the tangy smell of stale bread. You chewed softly, the dough turning to crumbs in your throat, and you drank as much water as you could muster, sipping from the jug you had been handed greedily. Your wrist was throbbing and so was your head, and with the ache of hunger subsiding a little, you closed your eyes once again.

You drifted in and out of sleep for a while, and jolted awake due to the pain in your skull, you winced as you felt hot, wet, blood seeping from your wound, and that was when you noticed the man. You tried calling out for him, asking for some bandage or a cloth to use as a tourniquet but he simply scolded you under his breath and looked away. You swore, giving him the middle finger despite the darkness around you both and your bound hands. You reached for the end of your skirt, trying to tear the hem, but your hands were so wound so tightly that you could hardly move and wriggled desperately in protest.

You searched for any kind of friction to loosen the rope, running your hands along the cement in hopes that it would fray the knots a little, but it was an almost impossible task with your snapped wrist. Your struggled grunts and pained whimpers alerted the man on the other side of the room, and he stood up from his chair, his eyes darkening when he realised what you were doing.

“Piccola cagna.” He spat, his footprints strong and heavy. You looked him in the eye as he approached, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you scared.The veins on his forehead were strained and you could see the nastiness residing in him as he came closer, no longer hidden in the shadows. He reached out for you, his hands grazing against yours but a loud bang stopped him in his tracks.

“Take one more fucking step, right, and I’ll blow your fucking brains back to Rome.”

You froze. That voice. You know that voice. You’d heard that voice in your ear, rich like dark chocolate, you’d heard it breathless and filled with bliss, you’d heard it mixed with laughter that made your whole body tingle.

“Alfie?” You called, your own voice so raspy and weak.

“Pet?”

Your heart stopped.

There was a sliver of light down the end of the room, but not enough so that you could see anything more than the Italian about to throttle you, but you clung to that voice like it was a life raft. The man before you held up his palms, wrinkling his noise in distaste as he backed away from you ever so slowly.

“Alfie, grab him.” Another voice added, so cool and calm and collected. “Let me go to her.”

Tommy? You almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation.

“Yeah, not gonna happen, mate.”

You heard the scuffle of feet against the floor, figures moving in the dark. You tried to crawl forward slightly and locate the noise, but you were stopped by the silhouette in front of you. It only took a second for him to move his hand slightly into the waistband of his trousers, before you heard the unmistakable bang of a gun. Something hot and wet splashed onto your face, droplets spraying across your skin. You gulped on air, watching as the man sunk to his knees a few feet from you, a hole in his chest.

You fell backwards, off balanced by your tied wrists and momentum. You could hear shouting in the distance, outside of the room, the gunshot obviously drawing a crowd.

“Ah, fuck. There’s more of them.” It was Tommy, but his voice sounded as though it was underwater, your ears were still ringing from the sound of the bullet slicing through flesh. You heard footsteps, muffled voices, all fading to static in the background. You wanted to call out to Tommy, tell him not to leave you, that it wouldn’t be safe and you didn’t want him to get hurt, but all your words died in your throat.

You let out some kind of noise, sitting up as much as you could, pulling at your restraints. You huffed at the welts marking your skin, and you tried to scramble forward, but a figure emerging from the darkness made time stand still.

He looked so familiar. He looked like home. He also looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, and bruising on his skin, but he still was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. His beard was longer, salt and pepper hair sprouting under his lips, you fingers missing the feeling of running through it. His eyes were wide, frantic and desperate, but they steadied like a calm ocean when they locked on you, relief evident on his features. You were hesitant, wondering if this was some kind of mirage, some kind of final punishment before you died, the man you loved dangled in front of you before you were taken away.

He sunk to his knees like the man he had shot, but this time he had been taken out by the sight of you, not a bullet.

His eyes ran across your face, drinking you in like water. His face hardened at the sight of your face, battered and bruised, and his whole body caught alight. You could see the clench of his jaw, the pure unbridled fury in his eyes, the way that he inhaled sharply, the darkness not even showing the worst of your injuries.

Your eyes met, and everything that transpired was forgotten, he was still upset, still felt betrayed, but none of that compared to seeing you before him. He had to grab you, had to feel you under him and hold you so close, he couldn’t go another day without you. He bent down and wrapped a gentle hand behind your neck and stepped closer, resting his forehead against yours. He breathed you in, needing the closeness of your bodies to calm the fury that was rushing through him, the pure anger he wants to take out on those who hurt you. He’s careful but forceful, pulling you close. You can’t wrap your hands around him like you want to, and there’s a bitter tang of blood and sweat between your bodies, but you have never felt safer.

“You came.” You murmured, voice muffled by his body.

“Of course I did.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and to him it was, he would follow you to the end of the earth.

He was so close to you, his lips brushing against yours, his large hands cradling you into him. He was desperate to get you home and get you safe, but the tantalising distance of your bodies was making him drunk, and you’ve missed him so much you feel like a hopeless addict. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone and his eyes darkened quickly, his teeth clenched.

“Did somebody fucking hit you?”

“I’m fine, Alfie, I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

He doesn’t want to drop it, he’s furious and fired up and tempted to unload his gun into the body lying still next to you both, but the urgency in your voice keeps him calm. He touched the top of your head softly, frowning as you winced and his fingers felt damp and sticky. He’s thinking that you’ve lost a lot of blood, but he doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t want to scare you and also doesn’t want to scare himself. He worked on loosening the rope around your wrist, trying first with his fingers before using his knife,terrified of accidentally nicking you in the dark. Outside you heard a crash, and your heart hammered wildly. You tried to stand to get a better view but Alfie held you down firmly.

“Tommy.” You gasped, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother.

“He’ll be fine.” Alfie said, his voice like warm honey. “Your brother might be a class A dickhead, but he’s a fucking pit bull.”

You smiled faintly, a wave of nausea crashing over you. Alfie noticed your grimace and his pace quickened, moving onto the tightest knot. He huffed, as his fingers refused to prise it open and reluctantly reached into his pocket for his knife.

The action took barely ten seconds but it’s enough time for a door to open behind you. The light illuminated the dark, and you could see a flash of horror across Alfie’s face.

“Fucking hell. Get back.”

Alfie reached out for you, but someone grabbed the rough of your collar, dragging you to your feet. You yelped, kicking out your legs as hands grasped the root of your hair, the pain instant and making your wound throb harshly.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” You could see Alfie scramble to his feet, any softness he had for you replaced by pure fury, his hand dragging out his pistol effortlessly. You felt a hand clasp around your throat and tighten, the feeling so awful and foreign as you tried to gasp for air.

Alfie wanted nothing more than to shoot the bastard, but you were too dangerously close to him, and he couldn’t risk the bullet accidentally hitting you, it would kill him. He tried to think as fast as he could, his eyes flittering from the mans knees to his elbows to his throat, determined to find an open target.

You struggled in the mans grip, the pain shooting through all of your nerves, and you did the only thing you could think of. You lifted your heel, striking him in the groin with as much strength as you could muster. He howled in pain, his hand digging into your throat, slamming you into the ground.

“Don’t look.” Was all you heard as your head hit the floor and you closed your eyes. Alfie wasted no time, firing a bullet through his skull, the sound making the walls vibrate around you. You were splattered with more blood, but you kept still, trying to stop the pounding in your head.

You felt hands all over you, cradling you close, whispers and murmurs of comfort in your ear followed by strangled cries to someone else. You tried to stay awake but you couldn’t. He smelt like home. Like warm bread and sweet mint and overripe peaches. He felt like home, like kisses at midnight and watching the stars and dancing in the kitchen to the lull of the radio. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want to leave your family and you didn’t want to leave Alfie. But if you did, wrapped in his arms with your head in his neck, at least you would die feeling him one last time.

————————————————————-

The sunlight was soft on your skin when you woke up. There was a needle in your arm, tight and prickly in your flesh, and you felt as though you had been scrubbed raw. Your throat was dry and your lips were so chapped that you could taste blood, but at least the pain in your skull had subsided a little. There was a jug of water by your bed, and you gulped greedily, loving the feeling in your throat.

You swung your bare feet onto the carpet and tried to leave the bed you were trapped in. You were in one of Tommy’s guest rooms, judging by the excessive decor and thick duvet practically suffocating you. The room was empty, save for an abundance of flower arrangements and chairs facing the bed, evidence that you hadn’t been alone. You called out, your voice thick with sleep but there was no answer, the house eerily quiet.

Despite your arm wrapped in a sling and the aches of protest every time you moved, you were desperate to find someone, anyone. There was a chill in the air, or maybe it was just the stiffness of your bruised bones, and you shivered as you tiptoed down the stairs. You could hear the soft chime of the grandfather clock and the gentle hush of running water and you wondered sadly if you were truly alone, until you heard a low rumbling roar.

“Oh, fuck that!”

You smiled, recognising the voice instantly. You followed it down the thin hallway like a lighthouse luring you to shore, not even flinching when you heard another rivalling shout.

“Don’t fucking start with me.” Arthur.

“I’m not. I’m finishing it.” You pursued the noise, following it down the corridor into the kitchen like you had only a few nights prior.

“You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“Is that the best you’ve got? Fucking pathetic, mate.” A hearty laugh.

“She’s not leaving.”

“She’s coming home. With me.”

You pushed open the door to the kitchen, listening to it whine on its hinges. “Does she get a say in any of this?” You asked.

Eight pairs of eyes snapped towards you. All of your siblings were crowded around the table, as well as your cousin and Aunt, but stood at the head, looking entirely out of place and burly and beautiful, was Alfie. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his eyes burning holes in your skin as you made your way further into the room. His hand tightened ever so slightly over his cane and his jaw was clenched, but there was a certain softness to him, an ease of calm washing over him at the sight of you.

“What the bloody hell are you doing up?” John asked, putting down his tea and storming towards you. You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, slightly embarrassed by his overprotective fussing.

“All the bloody shouting woke me up.” You teased.

“Ah. Right. Sorry.” Arthur sounded awkward, his eyes not meeting yours. You could see the faint bruising on his skin and your heart tore. He had been through so much.You could tell he was avoiding you, so you moved by his side and squeezed his shoulder, wanting to bury the hatchet. He smiled at you, softly and kindly, and you leant into his touch.

“You should be in bed.” Finn strode over to you, a cautious grin on his face as he looked you up and down. “You look like shit.”

You scoffed, holding him under your good arm. “Aw, thanks. I love you too.”

The room was quiet and awkward, the conversation you had interrupted still hung in the air like a bad smell and the silence you were receiving from Tommy was unnerving. You felt a hand on your shoulder, and a waft vanilla perfume drifted around you as you leant into Ada’s touch, grateful for her stepping in.

“We were all worried about you, (Y/N), but you’ve always been a fighter.” She said, running a gentle hand over the sling cradling your arm. She looked around at her family, her eyes darkening slightly at the obvious tension. “Shall we go and sit down?”

You smiled and shook your head, your eyes drifting to the man anchoring you on the other side of the room. “I’m alright, really. Can I... Can I be alone for a moment? With Alfie.”

“No.”

“Shut up, John.” Ada snapped, as your older brother huffed in annoyance. “C’mon, let’s all go upstairs and have some lunch.” She prompted, trying to corral your reluctant family members out of the room. Her voice deepening when they all stayed rooted to the spot. “Now.”

One by one they shuffled out, giving you tender hugs and empathetic glances, and you didn’t miss the death stare that Alfie was receiving, even though it merely made him smirk. Last to get up was Tommy. He had a faint scratch on his throat, but he shook his head when you went to question him. He stood before you, holding you at arms length as he looked you over. “C’mere you.” He said, pulling you close. You melted into his arms like butter, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and sweet gin. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to the tender spot on your scalp.

You hugged your brother tightly. The warm comfort of his body and the affection he was showing you in front of Alfie was more than just a hug. It was an apology. You had been taken when he should have been looking after you, and even though you adamantly disagreed that he was to blame, Tommy craved control and order, and almost losing you had upset the balance that he had painstakingly created.

He still didn’t trust Alfie as anything more than a business partner, but he had seen the way that Alfie had torn through the streets looking for you, he had seen the pure carnal fire that flickered in him when he realised you were gone. He knew that Alfie had sat by your bedside for the entire two days you had been unconscious, not leaving the room as you had an emergency blood transfusion or when the Polly ordered him to rest. He watched the way he didn’t even pick a fight with Arthur, didn’t tease John or mock Finn, instead spending all of his time and energy on you, his hand in yours as you slept.

He’d ordered a family meeting that morning, and that was the only time Alfie had moved from the chair he was practically moulded into. It was also the first time Arthur and him had been in the same room, and Tommy had to hold his brother back by the scruff of his neck as though he was a rabid dog. Arthur and John were adamant that you were to staying in Birmingham, and Alfie had laughed for the first time in a week, telling them that as soon as you woke up, he was taking you home. Tommy had been watching him like a hawk as the argument unfolded around him, controlled and calculated, and for the first time in years, he wondered if maybe he had made a mistake.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, a thumb stroking your hand before he turned and left the room. His eyes flickered to Alfie’s, the two of them connecting like they had before they stormed the warehouse, and after a moment, he walked out of the door.

The silence was deafening. Alfie watched you, his stare as intense as a blazing fire. You were on opposite sides of the room but it felt like miles, and a tight ball of nerves knotted in your stomach.

“Hi.” Your voice was weak, and yet it almost bowled him over.

He grabbed a chair, sliding it out from the mahogany table and glancing up at you. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit.”

You sat. You kicked out the chair next to you, beckoning him to join you and he rolled his eyes, settling down beside you. There were a million things you wanted to say, but the words were trapped in your throat like cotton balls, so you settled for the only thing that seemed right.

“I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth but you wouldn’t let him speak. “No. I need to say this. I...I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I wanted to tell you, more than anything.”

“You should have told me.” He said, after a moment of silence. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you Alfie. But losing you would have killed me.”

“You wouldn’t have lost me.” His voice was smaller than you had ever heard, and it broke your heart in two.

“But I didn’t want to take that risk.” You sighed, “After you told me you had a meeting with Tommy, I just - I just couldn’t cope. That’s why I stopped speaking to you. You’re too good for me. I thought if I told you, then you would push me away or make me leave, and I was more afraid of losing you than I ever was of my family.”

You tentatively moved from your chair, your brain on autopilot. You stood in between his legs, a homage to the very first time the two of you had kissed in his office.“I was an idiot and I was a coward. I’ve never had someone that I was scared of losing. I’ve never fallen in love before.” You moved your hands so that they brushed his, and his arms snaked around your waist, tightening and pulling you into him. You rested on his lap, and he ran his eyes across the bruising on your skin, taking sharp, rapid breaths.

“I understand if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” He touched the purple swelling below your eye, wanted to kiss the scars and the dried blood that stained your beautiful face, touching you as if you were made of glass. “I was fucking fuming, but I almost lost you, and that was a hell of a lot scarier than my fucking bruised ego.” His lips ghosted over yours, he was drunk on the feeling despite not even having a hit, you were so fucking intoxicating to him.“You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since the day we met, right. And call me a fucking fool but I don’t think there’s a better place to be.”

You pulled him into you. He wanted to be gentle, not hurt you and your wounds, but you were insatiable. The kiss was clashing teeth and biting lips and your bodies reacting to every single touch. It was overwhelming, both of you needed to feel each other, needed to know that the other was there and that they weren’t leaving.

After a moment he pulled away, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, claiming you as his. He rested his forehead onto yours, a swirl of protection and love coursing through his veins. “Come home. Can’t fucking do any of this shit without you.”

“No.” You felt him stiffen under you, and you bent down, grasping his chin and tilting his head. “Not yet. I need to be with my family,” You looked into his eyes. “I need all of my family around me. I can’t leave them the way I did, not again. We’ll go back to London in a few days, but right now, I want to be with everyone I love.”

“Ok.” He breathed.You kissed him again, feeling him smile into you, his beard scratching the softness of your face.

“You know your family will never fucking trust me right?” He murmured. You adjusted your sling, manoeuvring your body so that you could wrap an arm around his neck.

“They just need to get to know you like I do. You’ll fit in just fine.”

“I’m not sleeping in a fucking caravan.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, dragging a finger down his open lip. “Don’t be a dick.” He laughed, his eyes filled with love. He dragged you in for another bruising kiss, so passionate you moaned into his mouth.

“Yeah, thats not going to give off the best impression.” You giggled, pulling away from him as he pouted like a child.

“Fuck it, they wont mind, we’re family now.” He wiggled his eyebrows and bent down, moulding your bodies together in the way that they should be, tied with an invisible rope, never apart.

You knew that eventually you would have to leave your bubble. You didn’t doubt that the rest of the day would be filled with vicious arguments and hostility, but you were reunited with your family and the man you loved, and you couldn’t be happier. The two of you were a train wreck waiting to happen, especially given your differing families and business’, but you knew that you didn’t want it any other way. You were the soft in his world of sharp, and he was the bright white light in the darkness that followed you. He would do anything or you, even if that meant faking a smile around your brothers or buttoning his lip when he really wanted to start an argument.

You had found one another, and you weren’t letting go.

You were sat with the windows open in the guest room. The sun was setting and the fields below sparkled an emerald green. Your legs were intertwined with Alfie’s, your feet playfully touching his and making him squirm. You both drank strawberry wine, and picked at the cheese board you had stolen from downstairs, sharing a makeshift picnic inside the mansion. Alfie’s hand was wrapped around your waist, the scent of your hair and skin keeping him grounded, the feel of your body next to his almost biblical. Your pulses were synced, and every time your skin brushed against one another it sparked like a match. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the magpies and the crickets and the steady thump of his heart. You jumped however, as Alfie started wheezing uncontrollably.

“This bread is fucking shit. Way too much flour. Fucks sake.”

You laughed, “Take it up with Mary!”

“Oh I fucking will.”

“What should I call you?” He pondered after a moment of quiet, breathing in your smell like it was the finest perfume.

You blinked at him, confused.

“Can’t fucking call your Rosie now can I? That’s not your fucking name.”

A wave of heat rose to your cheeks and you stiffened, all of your past lies making you cringe. Alfie sensed your discomfort and squeezed you playfully, pinching your inner thigh.

“(Y/N)”

He looked at you, wrapped in his arms, with your big eyes and gentle smile and his heart skipped a beat. He leant down, his lips claiming yours and he tasted the berries on your tongue and the sweetness on your soul, feeling as though he was in heaven.

“Well. It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N)”

Tag List : @itsfatherjoy @fire-treasure-iii @biba3434 @ladynightmaredressedasadaydream @solicitedtax-blog @beautymark21 @minetticatinwonderland @shadowsinafadedlights @omgbethanyy

#alfie solomons oneshot #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #Alfie Solomons #Peaky Blinders #writing

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bird--egg · 4 years ago

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LOOMING SHADOWS Chapter One

So here’s the first chapter of my story, Looming Shadows! It’s full of different clan culture, cat-nationalism, friends, terrible leaders and typical warrior cat violence. think the only warnings for this chapter are some mentions of fire and adults being mean to children.

Link to my AO3 account with the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30351717/chapters/74822310

A voice broke through the crackling cacophony of trees breaking and branches snapping in the fire to screech. Cedarkit cried into her paws, pressed against the mud as her mother shoved her through the pond near Windclan territory. Water filled her mouth and she spat it back up, eyes wide as she watched her mother’s grey pelt disappear from sight, the smoke erasing her fleeing form.

A branch nearby fell, exploding into the water with violence. Cedarkit dove underneath the surface of the pond, legs kicking out weakly to keep her from breaching the surface. All Shadowclan kits were taught a bit of swimming for when the marshes flooded, but her form was weak from shock and fear.

She thrust her head back up, swallowing precious gulps of air before sinking back down again. The fire outside her pond raged fiercely, screaming into the night with heat and colour. She had to hide underwater, just until her mother came back to get her. Keep from getting burned just long enough to be rescued. Her mother was going to come back for her.

Her mother was going to come back for her.

Her mother was going to-

Cedarkit woke with a start, heart pounding in her chest as she blinked emptily at the ground beside her paws. Though her white paws were clean of soot and the air smelled like pollen, smoke clung in the back of her throat and there was black ash behind her eyelids. The young cat squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shaking her head and standing abruptly.

Willowkit raised his head from nearby, mumbling something sleepily before closing his eyes and curling up. Cedarkit held her breath until she was sure the other kit was asleep, before creeping around him to exit the nursery. The sky was still dark this early in the morning, with only a touch of blue at the edges of the mountains. It was still painfully dry, but the lack of sun made the weather bearable, or almost pleasant.

Windclan was quiet with slumbering cats, except for the guards who barely cast her a look before turning back to their posts. Cedarkit supposed Windclan had to have good guards if their camp was so vulnerable, especially compared to Shadowclan. Signing, she looked towards her old clan, only able to see the stretch of Windclan’s moors.

“Missing your pine trees?” A voice asked as Cedarkit jumped, whirling around to face the speaker. The toms pelt was white and ragged with scars, but he had sharply amused yellow eyes. She recognized him as one of the Windclan elders, but embarrassingly couldn’t put a name to his face.

“Yes.” She replied after a silence, and then immediately worried that was too blunt. “Not that it’s bad here…” she hedged out awkwardly, just as the elder began to laugh.

“I understand.” He purred out kindly “I was born in Riverclan, I missed water for awhile one I came here.” There was probably a story there, but Cedarkit didn’t want to be rude and ask after the elder’s private business. Still, it was nice to see that there were other cats who felt as out of place as she did now. Perhaps he expected some type or response from her, but as Cedarkit remained silent he seemed to get that she wouldn’t speak further.

“Well” he meowed casually “I’d better get ready for my long day of loafing around. Do some stretches.” And with that the scarred tom waked off, tail twitching as he entered the elder’s den. Cedarkit had no idea what loafing was. She twitched her whiskers and found a good spot at the side of camp to watch the sunrise.

“Hey frog breath!” was a rude awakening, and Cedarkit realized with a start that she had started napping as she was watching the sunset. Springing to her paws she almost slammed the top of her head on the jaw of the warrior who had woken her. A grey tabby frowned at her, muzzle wrinkling with displeasure. Cedarkit remembered that they were Pigeonflight, a cat who was quite outspoken about her place in Windclan when she had been found in Windclan territory.

“Yes.” She asked, watching the warrior stoically. Pigeonflight blinked at her acquiescence to the name ‘frog-breath’ but continued forward in strong spirits.

“Rootstar is having Willowkit and Cloverkit’s apprentice ceremonies soon, so we need you out of the clearing.” Cedarkit nodded and moved away easily enough, though she was preoccupied on the warrior’s description of events. She was around the same age as Willowkit and Cloverkit, but the exclusion of her name from Pigeonflight’s wording made her worry they would keep her as a kit. She was aware of how unpopular the decision to let her into the clan was, but it seemed cruel to outcast her entirely. Shadowclan and Windclan had a rocky relationship for many moons, filled with conflict. Yet…the fire had forced her to seek asylum in Windclan, and the warrior code stated that they had to help a kit in need.

Still mulling her chances of becoming Cedarpaw at any point, she almost bumped into Willowkit, who was blocking the whole nursery entrance. Willowkit looked up, his head fur sticking in several different directions.

“Hey Cedarkit!” He meowed cheerfully, before wincing as his sister pounced on him, pinning him to the ground easily. Willowkit squirmed ineffectually on the ground as his siter firmly ignored him, licking his head thoroughly and getting rid of the uneven fur. Cedarkit backed up slightly, unsure if she was supposed to say hi back to Willowkit or if he was busy now. Cloverkit looked up suddenly, ignoring her brothers yelp as she accidentally pushed her paw into his ear.

“Cedarkit.” She hissed, ears flattening on her head. Cedarkit valiantly tried not to stare at the interesting white pattern on the kits face that broke up her tabby stripes. It was sort of star shaped, and the eye that was in the white patch was blue instead of green like her other eye.

“Hello.” She meowed out unsurely. Cloverkit huffed and jumped off her brother, walking away from the nursery with her tail held high.

“I hope you’re not getting apprenticed with the rest of us Windclan apprentices.” She grumbled before turning away fully. Cedarkit flicked her ears noncommittally.

“Don’t take her to heart Cedarkit!” Willowkit meowed from the ground “She’s just being grumpy because she woke up on the wrong side of the nest.” Cedarkit thought Willowkit was maybe a little too positive but shrugged and passed the other kit. The nursery was beginning to get too hot as the morning continued on, but she didn’t want to make Pigeonflight angry by walking through the clearing again.

Sunflowerclaw, the only queen in the clan, perked up as Willowkit approached.

“Did you bring me any prey?” She asked sleepily, paws curled around her only kit, Larkkit.

“Uh. No. Sorry.” Cedarkit mumbled, confused. The Queen was definitely much odder than her own mother and seemed to expect her kits to work for her, but she was the only Queen left to take care of any of the kits. Willowkit and Cloverkit’s mother Mintnose had died in a skirmish three moons ago, despite being barely recovered from pregnancy. At the time, Windclan had been so desperate for fighters to throw against Shadowclan, they had essentially sacrificed a mother of two kits. Still, they considered her death to be Shadowclan’s fault, and Mintnose had been brought up several times when Windclan had argued over her stay with them.

“Oh it’s fine I suppose. I’ll get Willowkit and Cloverkit to get me some after their apprenticeship.” Cedarkit doubted that the first thing new apprentice wanted to do was fetch prey for a queen who had been using them as servants for moons, but she nodded anyway. Best not to argue with Sunflowerclaw.

“All cats old enough to run through the moors join me for a clan meeting!” Rootstar’s strong voice called out, and Cedarkit took the excuse to escape from Sunflowerclaw.

Windclan gathered around the bump in the middle of Windclan’s camp, watching Rootstar with excitement. The clan was small enough to count, with only six warriors and no current apprentices. It was a grim picture, with only medicine cats, elders, and the only Queen to fill in the rest of the space. It was even more reason to be excited for new apprentices.

“Today I am proud as a leader to announce the Apprenticeship of Willowkit and Cloverkit.” Cedarkit’s ears lowered from where she watched the ceremony behind the elders. Her worst fear was confirmed, and she was being completely ignored. Wouldn’t she only be a drag on Windclan’s resources as a permanent kit? She watched the rest of the ceremony unfold with dread, hardly hearing who Willowpaw and Cloverpaw got as mentors, beyond seeing a flash of Pigeonflight’s grey pelt.

“I have however one last announcement to make.” Continued Rootstar, golden stripped pelt rippling with tension. The clan murmured uneasily, some sending glances in her direction. She couldn’t fully tell, but some looked sympathetic or pleased. Did others in Windclan find her treatment unfair?

“Cedarkit, step forward.” Cedarkit breathed out roughly before politely edging through the elders, stopping just before Rootstar. Up close, the tabby was massive, much bigger than most scrawny Windclan cats.

“I know many of you worry about Cedarkit’s loyalty, being from a clan of Foxhearts and murderers.” Rootstar began, in a frankly worrying start to an apprentice ceremony.

“Some of you feel that she is a drain on resources, or that we will have to waste a warriors time teaching her Windclan moves, when we have so few hunters as it is. I’ve heard your concerns, and I’ve come up with a solution I hope you’ll all be pleased with.” Cedarkit now figured the solution was to throw her down a cliff. This was a terrible speech if it was meant for the clan to trust her, which she imagined was probably not the goal anyway. Around her, cats murmured curiously.

“I am creating a new role, called helper. A helper will assist others with minimal tasks so our apprentices do not have to waste their time cleaning ticks when they should be practicing hunting and fighting. Our helper will also hunt, but we will assign her teaching to Mothscar so no warrior is inconvenienced.” Beside her, the scarred white fur of the elder she had talked to this morning appeared. He looked tense, his soft features simmering with some unknown emotion. Numbly Cedarkit wondered if he was angry for being spoken about like he was lesser than a warrior, despite his long moons of loyalty. Badgerstar would never have spoken so disrespectfully to an elder…

Cedarkit tried to breath normally, feeling lightheaded. She leaned back slightly onto Mothscar, but the old tom paid her no mind.

“Doesn’t this seem a bit cruel to young Cedarpaw?” Asked Mothscar in a good humored voice that betrayed how stiff his body was “It’s not her fault she was born in Shadowclan.”

Rootstar watched the elder with imperious yellow eyes. “Well, I’m not punishing her, am I? I’m simply doing what’s best for Windclan.” The elder said nothing in reply, whiskers twitching in silence. Rootstar continued “Either way, she shall no longer be Cedarkit, and she certainly will not be Cedarpaw.”

“Our little helper will be known as Cedar.”

#wc #warriors oc #warrior cats #warrior au #original warrior cat #warriors #warrior cat story #looming sunlight #windclan #shadowclan #fire

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years ago

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Run To You - Chpt.5

Summary: Bucky & Steve’s date has some unintended consequences forcing Bucky to make some hard decisions. Master list is HERE :)

Content Warnings: Attempted child abduction. Emphasis on ATTEMPTED. Becca will be fine ya’ll.

Word Count: 5.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Remember last chapter where I was like “oh hey enjoy this unusually large chapter”? Well, I went to write a normally sized chapter and my hand slipped. Whoops! Enjoy another giant beast chapter lovelies! And don’t hate me for the angst!! I promise this fic has a happy ending, it’s just a long road to get there. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Five

Bucky wakes to bright light streaming in his bedroom window and Becca sitting on top of him. “Wake up sleepy head!” she chirps, shoving his shoulder as hard as she can.

“Whoa, calm it down little miss.” Bucky grumbles.

“I’m gonna be late!”

Bucky looks over at the alarm clock and realizes she’s right. “Shit.”

“Bad word!!”

“Becca!” Bucky snaps and instantly regrets it. “Quieter, bug. Please. Come on, let’s get moving.”

Bucky hurries Becca through her morning routine, grabbing her tiny backpack and breakfast on their way out the door. Bucky knows he’s a mess, hair sloppily thrown up in a bun, sweatpants and a hoodie because he just can’t take the time to find real clothes. He doesn’t even bother to throw on his prosthetic. Becca nibbles at her string cheese and mini muffins as they hustle down the busy city sidewalks to her school, just finishing as they round the last corner. He gives her a quick hug and kiss before she runs into the building screeching hello to the teacher at the door. The teacher gives Bucky an odd look that he chalks up to him looking like a hot mess and he gives her a small wave and terse smile in return.

It’s early yet and Bucky doesn’t have to worry about work for a few more hours so he decides to splurge and stop for coffee and a breakfast sandwich on his walk home. One treat won’t hurt and he’s still holding on to the warm feeling in his chest from last night’s date with Steve. Waiting in line a few other people give Bucky strange looks and he wonders how rough of shape he’s in. He prays there isn’t a giant rip on his clothes or something but after a discrete check he doesn’t think that’s the case. Just a weird morning then.

The hoodie actually comes in handy once Bucky realizes he can’t carry both a sandwich and his coffee when he’s down an arm. Tucking the sandwich in his hoodie pouch, he sips the pumpkin spice latte slowly enjoying the sweet fall flavors on his way home. His phone starts chirping at him but with no free hand Bucky is forced to ignore it until he gets back to the apartment. It was going off earlier too and he figures who ever needs him so damn bad can just wait five more minutes.

Bucky stretches out on the sofa to enjoy his breakfast, throwing on a random movie from his queue, when he finally looks at his phone. He wonders if the world is ending and he missed it somehow. Eight missed calls from Steve, two voicemails, and four texts. Two calls from Natasha, one voicemail, and two texts. Three texts from Clint.

Natasha wants to know if he’s seen the news, if he’s okay, and what she can do to help.

Clint also asks if he’s okay and tells him he’s an ass for not sharing the deets.

Steve asks him repeatedly to call him, frantically apologizing in between.

Still confused and becoming increasingly worried, Bucky brings up the news on his phone and finds his own face on the front page. The picture is from the night before, he and Steve walking back to his place with Becca on Steve’s shoulders. They look so happy that it tugs at Bucky’s heartstrings before the realization of what this means sinks in. He shoots a quick text to Natasha assuring her that he’s fine and he’ll catch up with her tonight. Clint gets two emojis in response: a thumbs up and the middle finger. Steve, he actually calls back. The blonde had sounded so worried in his voicemails.

“Bucky, thank god.” Steve blurts out in lieu of hello.

“Well good morning to you too.” Bucky jokes.

“Are you okay? Is Becca okay?”

“Yeah, Steve, we’re good. I just dropped Becca off a preschool. I don’t know what you’re worried about, it was a normal morning outside of a few funny looks. But honestly that was probably me going out looking like a hobo because I overslept.”

“Buck…” Steve falters, “It won’t be long ‘til they figure out who you are. We can keep the press at bay here in the tower but you’re going to have some serious issues as soon as a reporter gets your name. You and Becca could come stay here for a bit or I can have a security team allocated to you both until the news dies down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down a minute. We don’t need security and I’m not dragging Becca to Manhattan just because some dudes with cameras may or may not come pester us. We’ll be okay.”

“I’m just worried about you guys. You didn’t sign on for the shit storm that’s blowing up right now. I’m so sorry, Buck.”

“Actually, I did.” Bucky points out, “I’m not stupid, Steve. I knew what I was signing on for the minute we started talking. It’s gonna be okay, nothing lasts forever and Becca is a resilient kid.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment, trying to compose himself to say what he knows he needs to say. “If you need to take some time apart until this all dies down…” he chokes up and lets the sentence lie.

“No.” Bucky’s voice is firm. “I’m not running on you again. We’re gonna deal with this together.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs heavily in relief, “I’m going to be tied up today doing interviews. Apparently there’s no hiding the fact that I’m bisexual now. It’s funny that I’ve never tried to hide it but the news is claiming I’ve been ‘publicly outed’ by the tabloids. I’m not going to say a whole lot about you, about us. I don’t want to speak for you or anything. But if you’re okay with it, I would like to confirm that I’m in a relationship and that I care about you very much.”

“Aww, you big sap. Yeah, of course that’s fine.”

“Can I call you later when I have time?”

“I’m working tonight but I’ll have a chance for a quick break around 10pm.”

“I’ll talk to you then. If you need anything, I mean it Buck, anything, just call me. I’ll pick up on national TV if I have to.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and hopes Steve can feel his exasperation through the phone lines. “Get going, ya punk. You have a country full of conservatives to horrify with your secret homosexual agenda.”

Steve laughs, the first bit of happiness he’s had since waking up to the news. “Will do.�� he says quickly and hangs up before his overly dramatic heart can blurt out something terribly stupid like I love you. He pushes down the tender, fledgling emotion, knowing it’s too fast but feeling the gentle flutters nonetheless.

Natasha arrives at Bucky’s apartment a full hour early that night so he can get her caught up while making dinner for her and Becca, while Becca watches an episode of Wonder Pets in the living room. Natasha apparently watched a few interview clips of Steve’s and teases Bucky over how completely smitten they both are. It’s nice and normal, the teasing and banter over a new relationship with his best friend. It makes him think Steve really was just being overly concerned with his fears.

It’s a blessedly slow night at the ER and no one seems to recognize Bucky as he hops from one patient to the next, getting people stabilized and ready to be seen by one of the doctors on shift. When Steve calls at ten he sounds better than he had that morning. He’s exhausted from the media circus but pleased that he was able to get the story out in his own words. He asked for privacy for all their sakes but knows it won’t last long. Bucky continues to assure him that they’ll handle things as they come and to not worry. Steve can’t help but feel like it’s the calm before the storm.

The calm only lasts until 2am. Dr. Strange pulls Bucky out of a patient room, pushing Darcy in to take his place and dragging him down the hall to the staff break room. “What the hell?” Bucky demands once the door is shut.

Strange��s face is grim, “There are currently fifteen reporters in the lobby all asking if you’re working and if anyone has a statement they’d like to make.”

Bucky’s stomach drops, “Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck indeed. I’ve already made some calls and the police are on their way to clear house. We don’t expect that to last however. HR is willing to give you the rest of this week off, paid, while we sort out protocol for this sort of thing. Amanda will call you tomorrow to talk details once the board meets and decides what we can do to protect both you and our patients. We obviously can’t have reporters milling around every time you work.”

Bucky doesn’t even know what to say.

“If you want to go gather your things, Paul in security will escort you out the back away from the reporters.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, because really what else can he do?

Darcy catches up with him as he’s packing up his locker, “They’re sending you home?” she cries, pulling him into a hug.

Bucky nods numbly, “Rest of the week, yeah. They have to, there’s too much going on right now. It’s paid at least.”

“Well that’s something.” Darcy concedes. “How are you getting home? It’s a madhouse out there.”

“Paul’s gonna have me go out the back. I’ll be okay.”

“Call me if you need me.” she insists, giving him another tight hug.

Bucky promises he will and then follows the kindly old security guard through the maze of hospital halls and outside.

The air is bitter cold and Bucky’s thankful for his heavy jacket as he hurries down the mostly empty streets home. Natasha is tapping away on her laptop when he arrives. She does cyber security work and swears she gets most of her work done after midnight anyway. It works out well when he needs help on his overnight shift rotations.

“What happened?” she demands and slams the lid of her laptop down.

Bucky shucks off his jacket and joins Natasha on the sofa. “Reporters showed up at the hospital, like a lot of them. Strange was on tonight, thank god, he’s a tough son of a bitch and he wasn’t putting up with crap from anyone. They snuck me out the back while the cops got rid of the reporters.”

“But what about tomorrow? Is this gonna affect your job?”

Bucky shrugs, trying to ignore the low level fear humming in his veins over that exact concern. “I honestly don’t know. HR is gonna call me tomorrow once they figure out ‘protocol’ for this. Somehow Strange got them to give me the rest of the week off with pay. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself for the next six days.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, surprised and happy for him. “I vote catching up on your Netflix queue and being a lazy ass. You never take a break, Bucky. And you of all people deserve one. Maybe go spend some more time with that gorgeous boyfriend of yours. Some kid-free time, if you know what I mean.” She wiggles her eyebrows until Bucky throws a pillow at her. She ducks easily, laughing. “I’m just saying! It’s been a long time since he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

Bucky bristles at the mention of his ex. He should have seen Brock for the piece of shit he was, but he’d missed it at first, too wrapped up in the bliss of a new relationship. In the end, Brock’s true colors had come out and Bucky had ended things before it could become even more toxic than they already become. He sighs, pushing the ugly memories away. “It hasn’t been that long. And you’re forgetting Micah from the hospital cafe.”

“It’s been four years since him. And Micah doesn’t count. That was a year ago and it didn’t go past a lunch date where he, and I quote, kissed you like a St. Bernard.”

Bucky shudders at the memory. “Okay, so it’s been a while. Maybe I will go see Steve one day while Becca’s at school.”

“That’s more like it!” Natasha cheers quietly, cautious to not disturb Becca. “So, do you want company or should I scoot and let you get some rest?”

“I love you for offering but I just wanna crash. If I can get a few hours now I’ll be able to get back on daytime hours easier.”

“Love you too.” Natasha leans over to hug him before packing up her stuff and heading out.

It was a crazy day but as Bucky climbs into bed, he’s still resolved that it’s going to be okay again soon.

Bucky is groggy when his alarm goes off at 7am but it’s better than he would have been if he hadn’t gotten any sleep. Becca is thrilled that he’s home and even more so when he tells her that he’ll be home the rest of the week. They make plans over breakfast for things they can do after she gets out of school since they have all the time in the world now. Bucky compromises with one quick park trip, which he cringes thinking about but he’ll just have to pack her inhaler and make sure she takes breaks, two trips to the library, and one night they’ll grab dinner at the neighborhood diner for their kids eat free night.

The week flies by and Bucky gets the all clear on Thursday to return the following Sunday once the hospital is able to put additional security in place. He’s thankful they’re not just letting him go to avoid all the hassle but several nurses and doctors apparently made their opinions loud and clear that he was worth the additional security measures. Bucky is eternally grateful for his coworkers and makes plans to take in a tray of thank you brownies on his first shift back.

A second round of good news comes in a few hours later; Steve is back early from his latest mission. They make plans for the following day, unwilling to wait any longer to see one another again. Steve will be, in theory, just hanging around the tower wrapping up some post-mission paperwork from earlier in the week so he’ll be able to take most of the day to show Bucky around the tower and spend time with him. He also offered to take them all to The Met after Becca gets out of school and Bucky said he’ll consider it. It’s a little extravagant, but something about picking her up together and going on an outing tugs at his heartstrings. It’s so perfectly domestic, like a real family would do. Bucky tries to ignore the longing he feels for something he’s never let himself consider before.

There’s a lone reporter lingering outside his apartment when Bucky heads out to pick up Becca from school. There were a lot the first two days but their numbers dropped off drastically when they realized he really wasn’t all that interesting. “Hey man.” Bucky gives the reporter a little wave. He has to give the guy credit for determination. “Still not going to do anything interesting, sorry.”

The reporter huffs a laugh, “Ya never know!”

Bucky laughs in return and heads off, trying to ignore the fact that the man is following him a few steps back. He gives the guy a few more days before he gives up too. Bucky is a single parent with a full time job, he doesn’t have the time to do anything interesting.

Rounding the corner to Becca’s school he spies the little girl talking to a man in a long beige wool coat. The man is tall and thin with greying hair and wire framed glasses. His appearance screams of wealth in a way that would make him fit right in as a parent of someone at the school, but something is off and Bucky steps up his pace. Becca hasn’t spotted him yet but he hears the man ask “Your daddy is friends with Captain America isn’t he?”

Becca, all proud smiles, informs him, “He’s my brother, not my daddy. And Captain America is his boyfriend.”

“Isn’t that nice. Hey, I have something you can give your brother for me, okay? Can you be a big helper? It’s right over here.” Becca looks unsure so the man smiles brightly and takes her hand, leading her down the sidewalk away from the school. A black van pulls up at the end of the block, a door swinging open and the man hurries her along.

Bucky screams Becca’s name and breaks out into a full run. Icy fear consumes him, driving him to move faster than he ever has before. Please God no, please, don’t let them take my baby girl.

The reporter realizes what’s going on and sprints right along with Bucky. They collide with the man and Becca at the same time. The reporter tackles the man, pinning him to the ground, leaving Bucky to grab Becca and roll to the ground shielding her in his arms. A teacher runs over with her phone out yelling “The police are on their way!” to them.

The man writhes underneath the reporter, trying to free himself while looking panickedly at the van. The van door slides shut and then the vehicle flies off with screeching tires. Once it’s out of sight the man lays his head back on the pavement in defeat.

“Just stay put buddy.” the reporter grumbles.

Now that Becca is safe Bucky is filled with a depth of rage he didn’t even realize he was capable of. Somebody tried to snatch his baby girl right in broad daylight. Bucky checks her over one more time before passing her off to the teacher who’s still holding on the line for 911.

Bucky stalks over to where the reporter still has the man pinned. His movements are predatory, his voice low, practically a grow, when he demands, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The reporter just stares at the man, also waiting for an answer.

“I am one of many.”

Bucky shakes his head. God, he just wants to punch this guy in his smug face. “Fine. Who do you work for?”

“Cut off one head and two more take its place.”

“I’m getting real sick of riddles and I still got at least two minutes before the cops show. Last time, asshole. Who the fuck do you work for and why do you want my kid?”

“The child, or you, it matters not. Either will get us the captain. We are everywhere. We will come again, and we will succeed. Hail Hydra.” The man crunches down on something and within seconds he’s foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolling lifeless back in his head.

Bucky looks to Becca, thankful the teacher is shielding her away from what took place. Ice cold fear runs in his veins. He knew there could potentially be a risk dating Steve, but it was an abstract sort of knowledge. Up until minutes ago he’d thought the only real concern was pesky reporters. Most of which, he has to admit, are actually good people just trying to make a living. A real threat, a fucking terrorist threat, is something he’d never really put much thought into. That name too: Hydra. Everyone knows of the Nazi group who Captain America has been trying to destroy since the 40s. A threat from them is very, very real.

The cops arrive and start dispersing the crowd that’s formed. It seems like forever until they’ve taken statements from everyone and the body is removed. Becca holds up as well as a four year old can trying to answer the police man’s questions, and Bucky fills in gaps as he can. They take his statement too and let him know they can provide a security detail if he wants. The officer looks sheepish but also recommends he call Steve because Shield and the Avengers can likely provide better security than the NYPD can. Bucky thanks the officer and agrees to call Steve as soon as possible.

Becca is shaking so hard by the time they head home that Bucky scoops the little girl up to carry her the whole way. Two uniformed officers follow them back and do a full sweep of the apartment just to err on the side of caution. Buck appreciates the security but as he stands in his too quiet apartment he realizes he can’t do this every day. He adopted Becca to give her a better life and now he’s put her in more danger than she ever would have been in being raised by their parents. All because some small part of him still held on to the hope that there was someone out there that he could love and would love him back wholeheartedly and forever. That despite his upbringing, he could have a perfect family of his own one day. Bucky feels painfully childish that his pathetic longing for a partner had almost cost him his sister.

Ever the responsible parent, Bucky stifles the emotions whirling in his chest and puts on a good front for Becca’s sake. She falls asleep halfway through Frozen II and Bucky doesn’t even bother trying to wake her. He knows there’s no fighting the adrenaline crash she’s feeling. His own crash will be equally brutal when it comes, but for now it’s still nowhere in sight. Bucky is too keyed up, restless and desperately trying to find a solution that keeps all of them safe and happy. He drags a cup of coffee and a blanket out onto the fire escape where he sits to watch the sun drop lower and lower among the roof tops. He’s almost finished his drink when a knock sounds on the door.

The security detail is supposed to be vetting anyone going near his apartment so the odds are good it’s someone he knows, but it doesn’t stop him from slipping a kitchen knife into his hand on the way to the door. Peering through the peephole Bucky sees red hair, black leather, and a very pissed off Natasha. “Let me in.” she says, it sounds like a warning.

Bucky opens the door and stands out of the way. It’s not worth arguing with Natasha when she gets like this.

“You turned off your phone.” She comments without emotion.

Bucky nods. “I don’t want to deal with it right now.”

Natasha follows him as he heads to the kitchen to return the knife, seemingly pleased by his caution. “By it, you mean Steve.”

“Amongst other things.”

“You know I’m here for you. Whatever you need, just name it.”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. I keep coming to the same answer and I hate it, Nat. I just… I can’t do this to Becs.” Bucky’s voice cracks on the little girl’s name and Natasha wraps her best friend into a tight hug.

“You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

“I don’t even know how to do what I want to do. I’m sure it’s not nearly as easy as movies make it out to be.”

“Let me help. You and Becca mean the world to me. Whatever it is we’ll figure it out together.”

Bucky sighs heavily, still leaning on Natasha. “We need to disappear.”

Natasha goes still, “Are you sure?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I can’t think of any other way to keep her safe. Even if I break up with Steve, Hydra can still use us as leverage. Feelings don’t just disappear... But people can.”

“Okay. Give me four hours.” Natasha pulls back and starts texting rapidly on a small cell phone Bucky has never seen before.

“What the fuck, Nat.”

“Working in cyber security has some perks.” She shrugs.

“I don’t think it’s normally supposed to have those kinds of perks.”

“Well, it depends on who you’re keeping secure.” Nastaha’s smile is cheshire.

“Damn. Okay, then. What do you need me to do?”

“Stay put. I’d say try to get some sleep but I know you won’t. Pack a duffel bag for each of you. No more than that, I mean it. Think in terms of what you absolutely can’t leave behind, this is not packing for vacation. You can buy basic stupid shit when you get where you’re going. Two outfits and whatever else you can’t leave that fits in two duffels. Got it?”

“Okay, got it.”

“Oh, and your phone. You won’t be needing that anymore.”

Bucky holds the phone out but doesn’t let go. “I have all of Becs’ baby pictures on there.”

Natasha gives him an understanding smile. “I’ll move them all to an online cloud storage site. You won’t lose a single one.”

Bucky releases the phone. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha hugs him tightly again. “Four hours. Be ready.”

And with that Bucky is left alone in his living room in shock. He supposes he shouldn’t be all that surprised. Natasha has always been a badass. He used to joke she was really a Russian spy and their friendship was just a cover for her real identity. Bucky now wonders now how close to the truth he might have been.

Four hours later, down to the minute, Natasha is striding through his door once again, a large envelope tucked under her arm. There’s no warm welcome or pleasantries, Natasha has her game face on and Bucky is still too rattled to try for levity. Spreading the papers out on the coffee table Natasha organizes everything quickly. “Birth certificates, immigration paperwork, social security cards, school records, medical records, a resume with work history and references, and a quick life history fact sheet for both of you.” She places a wallet from her pocket onto the table as well, flipping it open quickly to show him it’s fully filled with cards, cash, and an ID card.

Bucky scans over the documents, unable to believe she had pulled this off so quickly and how real everything looked. “Sebastian Stan?” he asks, nose wrinkling.

Natasha nods, “Yep, you’re Romanian. You moved here with your daughter Elena when she was two months old. Your wife died in childbirth and so you brought her here to start over.”

He spies the address on the drivers license. “Rochester? Is that where we’re actually going?”

“No, of course not. You and your daughter have recently moved to Cape Elizabeth, Maine. That’s where you’re headed. You’ll be happy to know their local urgent care center is looking for a new triage nurse. The pay is pretty good and it’ll be enough to cover rent for the cute little apartment that you just put a down payment on.” Natasha pulls something from her pocket, it’s flesh colored and rolled up tightly. She hands it over with a simple, “Here, you’ll need this too. Don’t want that guy drawing too much attention to you.”

Bucky stares at the silicone sleeve, realizing it’s a perfect fit for his prosthetic. The details are down to an art, from light arm hairs and tiny freckles. It’s soft enough too that as long as you don’t grasp it very hard, it’ll feel shockingly similar to his right arm. “Damn. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Of course not. Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Natasha glares at him affectionately.

Bucky chuckles, of course she’s the best at this. She’s been the best at everything since the day they met. “What happens to Bucky and Becca Barnes then?” he’s afraid to ask but he needs to know.

“They got on a flight to Moscow two hours ago. There’s a few nice security officers and cab drivers who will all verify they were sighted leaving the airport about eight hours from now.”

“That works for the rest of the world, but what happens if Steve goes looking? He has an awful lot of friends in high places.”

“Steve isn’t going to go looking right now. And even if he did, the alibi will hold up. Trust me.”

A tiny piece of Bucky’s heart shatters that Steve would just let him go so easily.

Natasha recognizes the look on his face and quickly adds, “He called you non stop after the news broke. Sent you dozens of texts too. You very nearly had the full force of SHIELD and the Avengers on your doorstep if it wasn’t for Tony Stark.”

“What happened?”

“Tony convinced Steve that if you weren’t calling or responding that he was as good as dumped. The rumor mill always hinted their relationship was strained but Tony really is good at kicking Steve when he’s down and Tony played his cards right on this one. Steve has been holed up in his apartment all night, he’s not doing too great.”

It kills Bucky to know he’s putting Steve through this pain, but he’s firm in his decision. He’d be more disappointed in himself but he’s too tired. Things got tough and he’s doing exactly what he’s been doing since he was a kid to protect himself: he’s running. “How do you even know all this?” Bucky asks, realizing Natasha shouldn’t have this level of detail on the goings on at the tower.

“I hacked into the security feed at Avengers Tower. Jarivs was a handful but not more than I could handle. Tony Stark is brilliant but he’s also arrogant, and that’s his downfall.”

“You are, without a doubt, the scariest person I’ve ever met. I’m gonna miss you.” Bucky can’t hold back the tears at the thought of leaving Natasha behind.

“What do you mean, miss me? You went to college with Natalie Rushman, you’re even Instagram friends. You haven’t seen me in a few years but we still keep in touch regularly.” Natasha brings out yet another little black phone he’s never seen and shows him Natalie’s Instagram account.

“How many of those little phones do you have tucked up your sleeve?” he teases.

“The world will never know.” she quips in return. “I do need to go though.” she adds in a more serious tone.

Bucky nods, he knew this was coming. He can’t get words past the lump in his throat.

“You have a train to catch in about forty minutes. That one will take you as far as Boston and there’s more tickets from there. Try and get some rest, you’ll be getting into town in Maine around eight in the morning.”

“I’ve gone longer without sleep pulling doubles at the hospital, this won’t be nearly as bad.”

Natasha gives him a half hearted smile, “You’re all set then.”

Bucky pulls her in for one last hug. “I’ll message Natalie when we arrive.”

“Mmm, yes. Sebastian would definitely snap a pic of his new hometown when he arrives. I’ve heard it’s very Insta-worthy.” Tears shine in Natasha’s eyes but they don’t fall. She swallows thickly. “Be safe.”

“You too.” Bucky manages to croak out through the overwhelming tide of emotions. He holds her for one last heartbeat before she slips out the door like a ghost.

Bucky goes through all the documents Natasha left behind and finds a thin red iPhone in the stack. There’s a post-it note stuck on top warning “do not activate until after you are on the second train”. So much for keeping himself occupied while he waits. In the end he spends most of the time pacing around the apartment and double checking his bags. He checks the time again, making sure he’s down to the final few minutes when he finally goes to get a sleeping Becca from her bed. She barely stirs as he carefully slides her into her warm purple jacket and slips socks and shoes on her feet. He slings her over his shoulder and collects the two duffels with his free hand. It’s a little jarring to see tan skin where he’s used to seeing shiny steel but he appreciates that Natasha thought of everything.

He worries momentarily about the security detail outside his apartment but quickly realizes they’re distracted helping an elderly woman catch her escaped pomeranian who’s barking up a storm. It’s a good diversion, one clearly planned out. Bucky holds on tightly to Becca and all but runs down the hall to the stairwell. He doesn’t slow down until he’s two blocks away and he realizes he really did escape without being sighted. Slowing his pace to a normal New York hustle, he heads towards the train station and to their new lives.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #steve rogers x bucky barnes #non winter soldier bucky barnes #captain america steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #parent!bucky #nurse!bucky #becca barnes #kid!becca barnes

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alolanrain · 5 years ago

Text

Ash scrambled for something to hold onto, completely forgetting that he’s in an open area. Machines and men laying dead and destroyed around him. Ash’s bones sang with pain, feel his joints popping with every sway as his body tries to pull him down more towards the floor. He can’t do that yet, he has to wait, wait for Lance or... or someone to come help clean this mess up.

He had pressed the button on his Pokédex, bit different then the other ones Trainers get. The bottom was small and green on the side, a little lower then the volume button, but it was discrete and that was all Ash needed. Pressed it half way through the battle when Charizard was knocked down the first time out fo five. That lizard never quite and Ash can’t ever be thankful enough.

So Ash waits. He hears it before feeling the wind from the helicopter. Standing perfectly still even though his legs want to crumble under the force of the wind and just how tired he was.

The helicopter shakes the building a little as it lands, another Team Rocket bade Ash has torn to shreds after getting kidnapped, he hears Pikachu’s cry of relief but his eyes refuse to open until the wind died down. When it did Ash peeled an eye open to spot Pikachu getting piked up by Agatha’s Gengar. Both Pokémon chirped and growled at each other as the shadow Pokémon made its way back to the oldest Elite Four.

Ash’s eyes were dragged away as he spotted Lance and Lorelei charge at him. They were lucky because Ash’s legs have our just as Lance reached him. Slotting his arms under Ash and cushioning his fall.

“You motherfucker!” Lance snarled at him. Grabbing and tearing his Poké balls off his belt and shoving them into her hand. “Take these and go round them up - You can’t even go a month without being kidnapped!” Lance turned his focus more fully on to Ash. Tugging him up more into his arms and wincing when Ash let out a weak sob. A knife he didn’t notice until now shifted in his side.

“Oh Arceus fucking Arceus.” The Kanto Champion hissed. “You’re so grounded when you’re healed.”

“Sorry.” Ash mumbled into the cape where it draped over Lance’s shoulder. Head almost rolling off until Lance shifted his hands about so he could cradle Ash more securely. Lance’s tight frown and scared eyes were the last thing he saw before exhaustion pulled him down into murky black water.

————

Next thing Ash knew he was in a hospital bed. The first thing his eyes focused on was Pikachu. Bandaged up and sleeping near his knee, head tucked under Ash’s only Unbandaged hand.

Looking to the left he spotted Lance. Arm crosses and head titling to the side, enough that it was going to create a pain in his neck. Ash wanted to reach over and nudge it back up, to make sure that Lance isn’t cranky and okay.

His arms felt to heavy, like they were being tied down. A sloppy slow look proved Ash wrong, he couldn’t really tear his eyes away from the white bandage covering his fingers and palm. He doesn’t feel the tightness and itchy ness that came with gauze. So that must mean his enhanced healing kicked in and took over the worst part of his inflicted wounds.

Ash rolled his head back to the left. Lazily watching Lance and how he breathed. Up, down, up, down. It was soothing. Enough so that Ash found himself matching his breathing and soon he slipped back to sleep. Fingers still curled around one of Pikachu’s ears.

————

Ash woke up once more, a bit better then the last time but now he was in a different bed again.

He knew this room alone wasn’t his, though it held the Kanto catsle aesthetic with its high ceilings and curved border on the ceilings to hold it up. Electric candles were placed in a few holes in the support arches, glowing but no where near enough to even light the room lowly. It was still dark except for the dark clouds and small Plink! Noises coming from the large windows on either side of the bed.

The sheets felt like silk more then cotton and felt nice against his worn skin. The pillows here the same, cushioning his head with nice cold sheets. It did well with the warm heater of a person laying next to him.

Looking to his left again Ash spotted Lance. A yellow eye cracked open as he slowly watched Ash sit himself up in his bed.

Lance’s room was much different then Ash’s. His was more for memory holding. All his pictures in big photo books stacked high on shelves; fairy lights glittering almost constantly since Ash finds it better to sleep with them on sometimes; his bed was much larger with tons of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals he won and various games and festivals with his friends. Over all his room was much more detailed to a teenager then Lances.

From what Ash could groggily remember, Lance’s room in the day time resembled kind of a monarchs bedroom style. Good and dark rich colors. Neatly cleaned all the time and the bed stationed in the middle of the room against the back wall with an entryway to a large balcony that reached to the large Kitchen. No pictures or anything and the only personal item Ash has ever seen in the room was a large comfy bed by the fireplace for his more freedom roaming Dragonite. Chubertson didn’t like staying in his ball for long periods of time unlike Lance’s other two.

“You good?” Lance grumbled besides Ash. One of his arms reached out to settle over Ash’s lap. He didn’t move much more after that.

“What happened?” Ash croaked out. Eyes watering from how dry is throat was and how it hurt to whisper.

Lance moved again before even responding. Reaching out over to the nightstand at his side and grabbed a cup of water with a straw. Shifting up and holding the straw to Ash’s lips, “Don’t down it.” Was his only warning.

Ash tried to not suck the water down greedily. Eyes trained on Lance’s golden eyes that seemed like they were glowing in the dark. He made a questioning noise, hoping Lance would start explaining. He did.

“You were completely trashed,” Lance chuckled nervously, “you and your team destroyed the entire base. No one was alive but for yourself and you’re Pokémon. Covered in blood both your own and not. It was a horrifying sight to see you, eyes closed and standing, as the helicopter landed.” He reached out. Running the knuckles down Ash’s face and then taking the empty cup of water.

“Thanks.” Ash whispered. Choosing to lay back down as Lance shifted again. Leaning an arm into his pillow so he could... well not really tower over Ash, but he still had to look down at the younger trainer.

“You clinged onto him, hard, when I came into reach. Arms clutching my elbows as I struggled to lift you up. Blacked out soon after. Lorelei got your Pokémon and Pikachu is somewhere in the room,” he tilted his head to look around but shrug his shoulders after he couldn’t spot the yellow mouse, probably under the bed, “you were admitted into the hospital and you slept for like three days straight.”

Ash wheezed a little at that. Curling close to the warmth that Lance radiated. The arm Lance wasn’t sent leaning reached out and curled over Ash’s shoulders. Hand splaying protectively over his shoulder blades.

“Now your here, healthy as you can be at the moment but your probably still tired.” Lance mumbled. Shifting once again down more under the coveres. Dragging Ash until his head settled under the older a Champions head.

“I am,” Ash yawned, “thanks for taking care of me.”

“Thanks for saving the world.” Lance grumbled into his messy hair.

“It’s... my job.” Ash tried to stifle yet another yawn as his eyes started to flutter shut.

“Then I gues taking care of you when you need it is my job as well.” Lance argues back.

“Night.” Ash mumbled.

“Night.” Lance whispered back.

#wolfy writes #ash ketchum #champion lance #charizard #team rocket #elite four agatha #elite four lorelei #pikachu #this is just some wholesomeness

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years ago

Text

The Nearness of You [Part Three]

Read Part One Read Part Two

Summary: Bucky Barnes is haunted by a ghost of the past. Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 2970 Warnings: Canon divergence, creative liberties, canon-typical violence, assassination, information that may not be accurate due to the aforementioned creative liberties and a lack of information on Google. A/N: There will be at least one more part to this mini-series! Huge thanks to everyone who has read/liked/reblogged. I have a lot of pride in this piece and I’m happy to be able to share it with all of you!

Years passed. Wars were waged, not only between countries and enemies, but between friends. Within the very inner workings of their own minds, never-ending wars were fought between the men they believed themselves to be and the men life had conditioned them to become.

After Y/N disappeared, Bucky convinced himself that the mission with Steve, the one he had already agreed to be a part of, would bring her back. Not only did she remain out of his reach, but he nearly lost his own life. He wouldn’t know it until years later, but Steve put that huge ship into the ice and was gone, for a while.

An entire lifetime of events had happened since the few kisses Bucky had gotten to share with Y/N. He’d lost an arm. Lost himself. Lost Steve. The latter two had been found again, but Y/N was the one thing that stayed missing. Bucky knew that if she hadn’t died at the hands of Zola, old age would have taken her by now. Ironic, thinking back on it; something he had never much believed in, played such a significant role in his life, but had been a part of him for such a brief moment in time. The impact, though, was lasting.

Sparring with Steve now, for training purposes, Bucky could feel the pull on his soul that her memory often caused. It was as though someone was reaching into his chest and tugging out his very essence. The pull distracted him and gave Steve the upper hand. Next thing Bucky knew, he was on his back with Steve’s cocky smile staring him down.

“Where’s your concentration today, Buck?” Steve asked, slightly breathless and slightly joking. He extended out a hand to help his friend up from the mat.

Bucky accepted the gesture. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Let’s go again.”

Steve looked unsure, but they hadn’t been training for long. With a shrug of his shoulder, he took up his stance a few feet from Bucky and the sparring began again.

Three more takedowns had taken place — two for Steve, one for Bucky, finally — when the familiar AI voice came over the intercom.

“Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY began, “your presence is requested in the main conference room.”

“Requested by who?” Steve frowned.

“Director Fury.”

There was no questioning that. Grabbing a couple of towels from a shelf by the door, the two men did the best they could to wipe away the sweat worked up from their training exercises before joining Fury and, presumably, the others of the Avengers team, in the conference room.

Only Fury was waiting for them, though, at the head of the table. On the projector screen, news coverage of the Cuban diplomat coming out of the United Nations headquarters. Within a few seconds, the man fell to the ground, his guards converging over him with guns drawn. Around them, visitors and staff and others in the area were running this way and that, trying to find cover. The frame paused there.

“He was declared dead on the scene,” Fury informed them. “Considering the entry wound was roughly the diameter of your pointer finger and the exit would was that of a baseball, we’re assuming a sniper round killed him, but no slug and no casings were found anywhere within a reasonable radius of the assassination.”

Steve snorted. “Did you check outside of a reasonable radius?”

“Not yet,” Fury answered. “Here’s the information we’ve been debriefed on as of now. Unfortunately, even surveillance cameras didn’t catch anything. Following the trajectory of the bullet, they believe they know where the sniper was staged, but besides there being no casing and no bullet, there’s zero evidence — no tracks in the dust, nobody saw anything. Forensics dusted for gunpowder in the area where they believe the sniper shot from. Not a single fingerprint, epithelial cell, nothing.”

Bucky heard it all, but the pictures Fury supplied them with had his attention. He knew a bullet that could do that damage. He knew the disappearing act.

“Someone with a sniper rifle came and went within shooting distance of the front door of the United Nations headquarters and isn’t seen, doesn’t leave a single ounce of evidence? Sure it wasn’t a ghost?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing as he reviewed over the information in front of him.

Fury turned to the other man in the room. “Barnes?”

Steve raised his brow at his friend. “You think Bucky knows something about this?”

“He knows I do,” Bucky answered quietly. “This is Hydra, no doubt. Another Winter Soldier is my bet.”

“I thought Zemo put them all down?”

“So did I.”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest. “So did we all. Intelligence is working on it, digging into the oldest files we have, working to see what we can find. In the meantime, before I set the team on this, I’d like the two of you to check out the scene. The sooner we can figure this out, the better.”

Bucky exchanged a glance with Steve; his friend’s expression read concern. “It’ll be fine. It’s just recon, right?”

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line. “Right. We’ll go now, report back as soon as we can. Maybe keep backup available, in case.”

Fury left them to ready for their mission. Steve looked at Bucky again, standing from his chair.

“Buck, if this is too much, we can get someone else.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky assured. “It should be me. I’ll recognize the signs, if they’re there. I’m good.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. Even after a lengthy stay in Wakanda, he knew that the old memories sometimes took a toll on his friend. If Bucky said he was good though, there was nothing for Steve to argue.

Once they were cleaned up and in street clothes, Bucky and Steve went together to the UN headquarters to scout out, well, anything they could find. Intel told them that a building roughly half a mile from the entrance of the building was where the shooter was believed to have set up for the shot.

“The building stopped the bullet,” Steve observed, pointing to a crater in the cement wall, “but who picked it up after all was said and done?”

Bucky tilted his head. “No one on our side, apparently. Fury said there was nothing found.”

“Doesn’t make sense. Made out with a sniper rifle, made out with the slug, right on the crime scene. But no one saw anything.”

“Someone knows how to blend in.” He squinted his eyes and looked closer. “Hey, Steve — you see what I see?”

Steve leaned closer, looking at a piece of material glinting in the afternoon sun. It was buried deep in the cement, almost undetectable.

Shrapnel. Bucky reached a gloved hand into the crate and carefully dug out the piece. Steve provided a small, brown envelope for them to drop the piece into, and they decided from there to find the rooftop from where the shot had been fired.

“So the assassin would have to go into the building — no way up or down on the outside. Unless they climbed. Not much fun, not too easy with the weight of a rifle.” Steve opened the front door of the building, casually milling around the shop to avoid suspicion of any more serious activity.

“If they’re trained, that’s nothing more than busywork,” Bucky commented, following Steve inside.

The two of them walked around the shop for a few minutes, before Bucky saw a staircase at the back of the shop. He managed to get Steve’s attention and nodded toward the staircase. Steve nodded his understanding and struck up a conversation with the shop owner so that Bucky could investigate without being detected.

Too many flights of stairs landed him at a metal door. Through the small window in the door, Bucky could see the vents on top of the roof. As quietly as possible, noting the rusted hinges, Bucky pushed the door open. The air up here was warmer, naturally, but the view was nearly perfect — he could see for miles. The UN building was a faint sight near the horizon, but with the right scope, Bucky figured a shot from here wouldn’t be so difficult.

He walked over the rooftop, his eyes searching out even the tiniest clue — like the sun glinting off that piece of shrapnel — that would tell him if this had been another Winter Soldier or not. Nick had told them forensics couldn’t find a thing, and now he understood why. The whole rooftop had been cleared; only the dust that could have settled in the last hours since the assassination were present. The paint on the building was chipped, the brick of the long-since-used chimney was cracked.

“Everything else is neglected, but all the dirt and dust is swept up. Doesn’t make sense,” he muttered out loud.

If a grappling hook had left marks, it was too difficult to tell them apart from the cracks and chips the years had wrought upon the building. He made a mental note to ask Fury if any air vehicles had been noted in the area; maybe the assassin had been dropped in and picked back up. It was unlikely a helicopter that close would have gone undetected by the employees or customers in the shop, but stranger things had happened. At least it would give them some information.

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered over to the chimney. Not a drop of soot or ash around it, though he remembered the fireplace at his parents’ house back in the day keeping the remnants of a fire until someone cleaned it up. That sort of thing didn’t just disappear. It was only more evidence that someone had cleaned up anything that might be left behind, though, didn’t tell him anything new.

Close to giving up, Bucky checked out the last bit of the rooftop on the other side of the chimney, for good measure. Still not finding anything, he began to wonder if this was even the right place where the shooter had been. Maybe the clean-up had happened as a decoy, something to throw everyone off the trail.

And then he saw it: the one brick out of place in the chimney. The breakaway was clean, too clean. Licking his lips, his brow furrowed with puzzlement, he pushed one end of the brick. The opposite side gave way, allowing Bucky to carefully move the brick out of its spot. In the opening that was left behind, a casing and a sniper slug were waiting.

His heart raced in his chest as he took both pieces, shaking them in his palm once before replacing the brick and putting the pieces in his jacket pocket. He had all he needed now. Well, enough to be of some help, anyway.

Back in the shop, he cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy, you ready to get outta here? I’m starving.”

Steve looked up. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the tips on bargain shopping, Mrs. Rittmiller.”

They both smiled and waved at the woman before heading out of the shop. Steve waited until they were almost a full block down before he asked.

“You found something?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Bucky replied. “We’ve got to get back to the compound. I’m done looking for today.”

This time, the whole team assembled in the conference room. Bucky sat nervously in his chair. This was going to lead to a fight; it always led to a fight. This new information in particular, however, was going to lead him right back to a fight he thought he had let go of after coming home from Wakanda. Those days were supposed to all be behind him.

“Soviet sniper slug,” Natasha observed, then met eyes with Steve. “Sound familiar?”

“It’s how we tracked Bucky when — how we tracked the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky leaned forward on the table. “It led you to me, I get it. It’s all right. But, that’s only part of what’s important about this. When I was in Siberia, the guards would talk about another soldier — someone I assumed was another soldier. Whatever high-priority jobs I didn’t do, it was this guy. Got in and out meticulously, without leaving any evidence behind, except for one thing, no one ever managed to find. The guy would retrieve the casing and the bullet from every kill, bury it either near the sniper stage or near where the victim had fallen, if possible.”

“Too much foot traffic to do that in front of the UN,” Nick noted.

Bucky swallowed. “But behind a brick in an old chimney on top of the building where the shot was fired from? A rooftop that’s hardly ever accessed? Judging by the upkeep, I’d guess it’s been months if not a couple, three years since someone’s been up there. Really, the brick being out of place came down to the details. If I wouldn’t have noticed, I doubt anyone ever would have.”

Tony Stark looked skeptical. “How come we’ve never heard of this other guy? You put him out of a job, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed, “I only know that he was never in Siberia, not when I was. We never crossed paths, I mean. The guards, they called him The Ghost.”

“Another ghost story,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are we sure this is the same person? Not a copycat, or even a newly-risen Hydra division that’s created a copycat?”

“I don’t think so.” Bucky stood from his chair and lifted his hands momentarily before letting them slap back down against his thighs. “I’ve told you what I know. You let me know when you decide what to do about it.”

He walked away from the conference room after that. The tension in his muscles was becoming too much, and he needed time to breathe. Needed time to sort out what it meant to potentially be back in the middle of all of this again.

In his room, he pulled a shoe box out from under his bed and set it on the mattress next to him. He opened the lid and took out the contents: old letters from his parents while he had been overseas, newspaper clippings from Steve’s first ridiculous performances as Captain America. Pictures from his youth, a few greeting cards his mother had saved.

At the bottom was the thing he had come here to find. A picture of him with Y/N, standing outside the medical tent at the camp where they had met. Bucky had been clever about the picture, claiming he wanted a picture with her to send to his mother to show who had stitched him up after the fight. He had his arm around her, and she smiling at the camera. It was a natural smile; Bucky remembered that she had been laughing at something he said right before the picture was taken. He was looking at her, smiling and so delighted with the fact that he had made her smile, brought her some little morsel of happiness. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear her laughter.

“How’d you manage to keep that?”

Bucky looked up from the picture to see Steve leaning in the doorway. “Ma. They sent all my belongings to her after the fall from the train. It got passed around to some different places, but Fury tracked this box down for me. This picture was at the bottom. I don’t look at it often, but sometimes …” Bucky let out a breath. “Sometimes seeing her is the only thing that helps me calm down. This is the only way to do that.”

It wasn’t the same as seeing her in person, but remembering what that calm had been like, it was enough to pull him back from the edge. Steve offered some comforting words, about how Y/N had been brave enough to go after Bucky, and he knew she would be incredibly proud of everything Bucky had overcome.

Bucky tossed the picture back in the box before piling the other things on top of it and replacing the lid on the box. “What’s the move, Captain?”

Steve hesitated to tell his friend at the moment, but there was never gonna good time to tell him that the decision had been made to go after The Ghost.

“And we’re sure it’s not me?”

Steve frowned. “What? Buck, of course it’s not you. How could it be?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ve done a lot of shit. I got wiped God knows how many times. Maybe The Ghost is just another persona Hydra put in my brain and buried deep down in there, where even Shuri couldn’t get to it.”

“It’s not possible,” Steve assured. “You were with me, training when it happened. All of that is on the compound’s cameras. Not one person here has had a passing thought that maybe it was you. All right? You’re a good man, I know that. I’ve always known that. Y/N knew that. The rest of them know that, now.”

Bucky didn’t say anything; he didn’t know what to say. A part of him had hoped they could explore the possibility that he was The Ghost, stall finding another lost soul for a while. The thought of looking into someone else’s eyes and seeing the pain and misery that he had dealt with for so long was almost more than he could think to bear.

For that reason, a few days later, when enough intel had come in on a possible location for The Ghost, Bucky tucked the picture of Y/N inside his jacket before loading onto the quinjet.

Part Four

Tags: @captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @jackryanplz @xtina2191 @shynara51 @captain-rogers-beard @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @pinknerdpanda

#marvel #fanfiction #bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #soulmates #soulbond #to be continued!#queue and i remember budapest very differently

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter.

Cherry-Orange Blossoms

Ao3

Chapter 1: Cherry Blossom Hanahaki

Katsuki’s crimson irises swam in a sea of white as he stared astonishingly at the unassuming little cherry blossom petal that rested in his right hand. Unassuming that it may be, all soft and silky and altogether normal for a cherry blossom petal, the damned thing had just forced its way up his trachea. His mouth hung open in disbelief for several seconds, because his mind simply couldn’t process the elementary fact that little petal represented: Katsuki Bakugo was plagued with Hanahaki Disease.

“No. Bullshit. This isn’t happening!” he growled and squeezed his eyes shut. Under his breath, he counted to ten. He would open his eyes and poof! The petal would be gone, a figment of his imagination banished by the return of his lucidity. He rattled off the final number and gingerly cracked an eye open; he then clenched his fist tight and screamed animalistically and kicked the bathroom stall door a few times with the sole of his sneaker. “Fuck! Shit! Damn! Fuuuuuuck!” he roared, each curse punctuating a kick. Cursing was just how he managed his anxiety, and damn, did he have a lot of stress right now, because that goddamn flower petal was still there.

He opened his palm again the glare at it critically. In his moment of insanity, he half expected the little petal to sprout legs and hiss at him. It just rested there, though, its lovely pinkness bright against the reddening hue of his skin. “Fuck. Calm down, Katsuki. Calm down. Phone. Where the fuck is my phone?!” With his free hand, he patted all his pockets. A rectangular lump in his left pocket indicated what he was looking for, and so he slid the smartphone out and unlocked it with his thumbprint. Trying to ignore the fact that his heart was hammering in his throat, he pulled up his Internet browser and searched for the known types of Hanahaki Disease.

“Narcissus Flower… Mint Flower… Apple Blossom… Violet Blossom… Orange Blossom…” Already, Katsuki’s hopes were beginning to plummet, as the list was ordered from least to most deadly. He clung to that fragile little shred of hope that his serotype simply had never been seen before. The thin thread snapped when he arrived at the bottom of the list.

“Cherry Blossom Hanahaki is the deadliest serotype of Hanahaki currently known,” he breathed aloud as he read the words once, twice, a third time. He glanced at the petal again, thinking that surely he must have gotten it confused for some other stupid flower, but it was unmistakably a cherry blossom. His stomach back-flipped, causing discomforting nausea to bloom in his system. He could feel the bile crawling up his esophagus, so he swallowed a few times to force it back down. He didn’t want to keep reading; holy fuck, he did not want to keep reading. But he knew he had to. He had to know. He inhaled shakily before forcing his vermillion eyes back to the phone screen.

“Currently, the disease is one hundred percent fatal, and there is no effective treatment or surgery.” The phone slipped from his hand to strike the floor with its corner, immediately spiderwebbing the fragile glass. Katsuki crunched the petal in his fist before digging both of his hands into his ash-blond hair. He leaned over until his chin touched his knees, and then his shoulders began to jump with raspy laughs. Soon, his maniacal laughter was bouncing around the empty bathroom, echoing in the small space before jumping back into his ears to fill his already reeling mind with more disorder. Tears of frustration and bitterness pooled at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t give that stupid fucking disease the benefit of seeing him cry, oh no. He just continued to laugh, because if he didn’t laugh, he was going to start screaming and tearing the goddamn stall apart like an animal.

“What the fuck… You’ve got to be shitting me… What the fuck?” he whispered between airy, hiccupping laughs. Thankfully, Katsuki was no moron. He at least knew who he had fallen stupidly in love with. She flashed in his mind, a clear, crisp picture amongst the knotting strings of his chaotic thoughts. Her smile lit up the room like a beacon as she tossed a glance over her shoulder at him. Her chestnut hair bounced with the movement, her natural highlights flashing honey-gold and deep auburn red even in the shitty fluorescents of the classroom. That little tacky Saturn charm she had won from one of those coin games in the bubble tea shop jumped with the velocity of her turn. “Good morning, Katsuki!” Except it wasn’t Katsuki’s name falling from her pretty pink lips.

It was that goddamn Izuku Midoriya’s.

“This is so fucked up,” he wheezed, and spread his legs to push his head between his knees. Somehow, it eased his breathing, because his chest was getting all tight like he was being squeezed in a vice. He sucked in raspy, gasping breaths of the stale high school bathroom air like it was instead from the freshest, cleanest countryside. “So fucked up.”

He was a dead man, a dead man walking, because there was not a snowball’s chance in the most bottomless pits of Hell that Ochako was ever going to fall in love with him.

Ochako was in love with Izuku. Everybody knew it. Katsuki remembered it so vividly, the day it went public. He was sauntering down the hallway, bookbag hanging off his shoulder, when she passed in front of them animatedly chatting with Momo Yaoyaorozu. Her gaze had flickered to him for the tiniest of moments, and she had flashed him a friendly smile. That damn Izuku was running up behind him screaming, “Kacchan, Kacchan!” in that stupid squeaky voice that never failed to get his blood boiling. Then she was on the ground, clutching her throat with a blue tint blooming in her face, and up came the blossoms- three of them, to be exact, uncanny replicas of orange tree flowers. Momo screamed and rushed into the classroom to alert Mr. Aizawa. Ochako doubled over, gasping and sobbing and hacking up more orange blossoms. The air stung with their pungent citrusy scent.

It didn’t take long for someone to finally weasel it out of her. She was in love with Izuku Midoriya, she said. Luckily Izuku was in love with her too. They went on a stupid date, held hands, that little shithead probably kissed her and fucked it all up because he was too busy blushing and stuttering, and boom! Ochako goes into remission and no more orange blossoms. Happily ever fucking after.

There wouldn’t be a happily ever after for Katsuki. Nope. He was going to choke out on stupid girly-ass cherry blossom petals and die in a hospital with a tube shoved down his throat and imitation flowers blooming in his ruined lungs. He dimly recalled his thoughts just ten minutes before, when the girls were gossiping about Itsuka Kendo.

Only pussies succumbed to Hanahaki. Only fools fell in love so hard they died for it.

Katsuki crushed the already mangled petal in his hand again. No one was going to know- not until the last minute, anyway. No one. As if to prove the point to himself, he hopped up to flush the petal down the toilet. His eyes watched lividly as the little pink bloom swirled around and around in the gushing stream before finally vanishing down the drain. Good riddance, he thought, though there were surely more to come. Good fucking riddance!

He jumped nearly half a foot into the air as the bathroom door suddenly slammed open.

“Yo, Baku-bro, you all right in here, dude?” Katsuki’s blood pressure spiked as he heard Denki’s voice floating around the white ceramic sinks. The blonde and Hanta cracked all manners of vulgar jokes about what could be taking Katsuki so long in the bathroom. Eijiro, in all his kind goodness, chastised them for their discourteousness. Katsuki went to unlatch the door, but froze when he felt a cough itching in the back of his throat. He practically shoved his entire fist in his mouth to force it back down; it remained a bubble in the center of his sternum, squirming and wriggling like a beast confined to a cage too small. The stall door squeaked as he threw it open and he shot a glare at the three boys, who all jumped at his sudden appearance.

“Jesus Christ, can’t a guy take a shit in peace? What the hell do you three want?” he griped nonchalantly as he strolled to the sink and made a show of washing his hands. He cleared his throat aggressively when the cough began to inch back up, and he managed to disguise it as the rumbles when it steadfastly jumped out. The other three seemed not to notice. They continued to playfully jibe at him for his nonexistent stomach issues as he sauntered out of the bathroom. Though he responded to their japes as he usually would, with snark thinly veiling some sort of uncouth affection, in the back of his mind, the image of that single cherry blossom petal burned like a neon sign on an otherwise empty highway.

~~~~~~~~~~

He managed to disguise the one cough, but not the rest. They were maddeningly persistent, like little mice clawing their way up his throat and leaving burning scratches in their wakes. No matter how much he hunched over his desk and smothered the noise with his sweating palms, someone would sneak a concerned glance his way. The effort of concealing them was beginning to make his chest muscles ache something terrible. The pain just caused his mood to plummet even more, and soon his temperament was too thunderous to even listen to Mr. Aizawa’s disinterested bass voice drone on about erosion or whatever the fuck he was talking about.

His leg spastically jumped up and down to try and channel some of the nervous energy. It didn��t dissipate much; his eyes began to twitch when his mind became absorbed with how much time was or was not passing. Twenty minutes felt like twenty hours. He kept sneaking glances at the clock and would get pissed off when he found the minute hand had barely moved. The singular thought I have to get the fuck out of here began to pound dully in his brain like a bass drum. The sound gradually rose in pitch until it was a thundering cacophony, or perhaps it was his heartbeat roaring in his ears. A wheeze tainted his breaths, and he watched with manic red eyes as each hot puff fogged against the enamel-like vanilla surface of the school desk. I have to get the fuck out of here. I have to get the fuck out of here! His throat was itching, burning, again. Was another petal forcing its way up? He hadn’t even looked at Ochako.

That subtle thought was the only trigger needed. His starved subconscious made his eyes roll in their sockets to settle on her, and his breath hitched as a substantial lump lodged in his throat. Her caramel-colored eyes were fixed on the chalkboard observing as Mr. Aizawa scrawled a diagram on its green surface. She had the end of her lead pencil in her mouth and was chewing on the plastic, and even though it was probably gross, Katsuki thought it was the most endearing thing. She was wearing red hair clips today to hold her bangs in place, the same shade as the red tie of their school uniform. In the back of his mind, he fancied they would match his eyes too.

“Fuck!” he hissed hoarsely through his blocked lungs as the cough wracked his already raw throat. His forehead made an audible smack as he slammed his face into the desk with both his hands laced over his mouth. His entire body was wracked with quaking tremors with every convulsion of his lungs, trying to force air out around the slim petal lodged in his throat. A mute, sweet taste bloomed over his tongue when it finally popped into his mouth. His body melted like butter against the school desk, even with the edge of it digging into his abdomen. He lifted his head wearily to find smears of his sweat over its surface.

“Katsuki?” His back slammed into the chair as he bolted up into a sitting position. His face turned the same ashen color of his fluffy hair as all the blood drained from it. His fingers compulsively dug into the thick fabric of his uniform pants, and his tongue repeatedly swiped over his lips, which were suddenly chapped and dry. His mind reeled in chaos. What the fuck? What the fuck is happening? Am I meek little Deku, freaking out like a weird little stalker dork? Look at her! Look at her, dammit!

“What?” There was not nearly the average amount of bite in the rude question. His neck cracked uncomfortably as he forcibly turned to make himself behold her, and his heart almost stopped. She blinked inquisitively at him. She leaned over slightly, hands clasped behind her back, and her eyebrows narrowed in concern.

“Here!” His eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair as Ochako dropped a few cherry throat lozenges on his desk. The paper-wrapped hard candies made loud clacking sounds as they struck the hard surface. “You’ve had a nasty cough since lunch. I always keep spares ever since… you know… so please take some!” she offered cheerfully. He gawked stupidly at the tablets. Somehow, his tongue formed a simple “thank you,” and she smiled brightly. “I hope you feel better soon! See you tomorrow!”

His head bobbled on his neck like an unsteady newborn baby’s, swiveling to watch her trounce away. He hadn’t even realized the class was over. She plucked her backpack from the floor, that purple glittery Saturn charm catching the light as it swung wildly, and scampered over to Izuku. His smile was annoyingly bright as he greeted her happily and interlaced his fingers with hers. Every ounce of moisture sucked out of his mouth, leaving it dryer than any desert. Discreetly, he spit out the petal and slipped it in his pocket; then, with slightly trembling fingers, he unwrapped one of the cherry throat lozenges.

Cherry-red, like her hairpins, like the uniform tie, like his eyes, like his heart that was shattering in pieces and his blood that would run cold once this disease ran its course.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath and popped the candy-like medicine in his mouth. It melted instantly over his tongue, liquidizing and spreading numbing relief into his irritated throat.

Inside his lungs, the disease took root, and cherry blossoms slowly unfurled their petals in the absence of sunlight…

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Want more stories? Check out my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @simplybakugou @sadistiks @cellotonin @pixxiesdust

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years ago

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The Chipper Cleaner

The Golden State of California hosted a melting pot of different cultures, cuisines and languages from around the world. The Great Depression of the 1930s hit families and businesses hard. Many people were out of jobs, some lived in the streets or in debilitated shacks close together. Mexican, European and Asian immigrants were often seen in camps, doing what they could to survive and live through the days. Men, women and sometimes children would help out in the fields and harvest wheat and food. It wasn’t uncommon to hear guitar playing or balls being kicked around or a few songs carried out in the desert air in an attempt to lift spirits up.

To make matters worse, a terrible drought spread through the nation in 1930. Crops died from lack of water and harvests failed across farms in the U.S. Thousands went hungry as farms and homes were lost. The former prosperous economic growth and glory of the Roaring Twenties was reduced to memory.

The 1940s would bring about World War 2, more women in the workforce and the internment of thousands of people with Japanese ancestry. For as diverse as California was, racism, sexism and discrimination were still commonplace everywhere.

In the vibrant city of Los Angeles, California, a nifty little girl was born. Her name was Nerissa, born March 22nd, 1929. She was born to her parents: Hiroto and Akemi Nifuti. Her mother, Akemi was from Japan and arrived to Hawaii. Having only met her husband through sent pictures as a picture bride, she and Hiroto got married on the docks of Hawaii. She was disappointed to hear that Hiroto was older and didn’t have any luxury cars or clothes. Nevertheless, it was an escape from her family duties back in her home country, so she moved and married him. After working on the plantations for a while, the couple decided to move to California, where they lived in a rural area. Their small house was made of wood that was painted red and white.

Close by their house was a field of wheat, soybeans and tomatoes growing on vines. Or at least, that’s how it should’ve looked during a good harvest. However, the drought had done a number on the family’s crops. The beans were small and dried up, the tomatoes hardly growing at all. The family had to be careful about not spending too much money…they made some of it selling their crops at a local farmer’s market. Thankfully, their jobs allowed them to keep a house and not go broke. Other families weren’t as lucky.

Niffty’s father was a farmer and newspaper editor and her mother worked at a sewing factory. Since Niffty’s parents were often busy with work, they hired a sitter to take care of her. The sitter was white with brown hair and green eyes, in her early 30s. She would often wear pink dresses with white polka dots on it, her mousey brown hair tied back. Although Michelle Marie Ann was Caucasian, she treated Niffty like she was her own daughter. She watched Niffty crawl, babble, and slowly take her first steps.

“Yay, nice job!” she said in a cooing tone as Niffty took her first steps across the floor before landing in a heap in her lap.

Michelle looked over at Akemi and Hiroto. “She’s a fast learner,” Michelle remarked. Both parents were pleased. Hiroto then went out to water what was left of the crops, while Akemi sat in a large room to get a head start on some dresses and hats.

Niffty started crying again and Michelle rocked her gently in her lap. Michelle let out a soft sigh and carried her to a bedroom to change her diaper.

Whenever Akemi had time to spend with Niffty, she taught her the Japanese language and etiquette.

Niffty started learning when she was a couple years old. Her mother would sing her songs and tell her stories. The little girl loved every minute of it. Niffty’s father would smile passively at them, before returning to work or have some drinks.

Niffty would later learn to write several Japanese characters as well, at least at home or when writing letters to distant family members.

“Hai. Yes,” Akemi said, with a nod of her head. Niffty copied the motion. “iie. No.” She shook her head, more of a frown on her face, before Niffty copied her.

“Onegai shimasu? What’s that?”

Niffty answered. “Please?”

“Very good,” Akemi said.

Of course, Niffty had to learn several things the hard way.

“Nerissa! iie!” Akemi scolded when a four year old Niffty had arrived into the house wearing dirty shoes. She pointed back outside and Niffty slumped back out to take her shoes off.

“Nerissa,” called her father. “I need your help digging up some dirt out here.” Niffty raced out and grabbed a small shovel. She helped her father dig holes and seek out fresh dirt to try and plant seeds.

At dinner time, the family had sushi, onigiri rice balls and grilled chicken skewers called yakitori. Niffty was struggling with holding chopsticks. Hiroto had to chuckle as Niffty’s sushi kept slipping from in between the wooden utensils. Niffty reached to pick it up but Akemi stopped her with a glare. Niffty kept her little hand extended, the two members locked in a sort of stare down. Niffty tried using the chop sticks in one hand before both utensils rolled off the table and clattered to the floor. Niffty grabbed the sushi and popped it into her mouth with a giggle. Akemi sighed and slapped her hand to her forehead. Hiroti rolled his eyes and helped himself to more food.

“Nerissa, dear you still have much to learn,” her mother said as Niffty bent down to pick up the sticks.

Akemi also showed Niffty the very important duties of cleaning the house and sewing clothing. “I work at a sewing factory,” she said. “And more than likely, you’re gonna work in a similar job if not the same. Watch closely.”

Niffty watched in curiosity as Akemi sat down and worked both a sewing machine and used her own hands. She weaved string of different colors through loops as she moved the sewing needles around in her hands. Niffty practiced on her own, sewing together a hole in a small cotton cap to start with. She fumbled several times but slowly got used to it. Several weeks later, she had made her first scarf.

“Quite impressive,” Akemi praised.

Niffty had poked at her fingers several times, but they eventually toughened up. Muscle memory took over in her fingers for many of the tasks she did. The more she performed them, the easier it felt…and the faster she did them. Sewing on buttons, bows and decorations was Niffty’s favorite part. It wasn’t long before she frequently helped out her mother with sewing and cleaning the house. It became an expectation for years afterward.

“Scrub harder, Nerissa,” Akemi said as Niffty learned how to wash dishes. “You need to really get the stains off around the bottom rim of the pot. Like this.” She grabbed a sponge and moved it rapidly up and down and in circles. Niffty laughed as she got her hands soapy and wet. On occasion, Akemi would playfully splash her with water. They would have a quick water fight with loud giggles before returning to work.

Cleaning chimneys was Niffty’s least favorite hobby. But it was one her father insisted she do. “You’ll eventually need to learn it if you ever get a somewhat decent job,” he reminded her. Women were working more, but opportunities were still very limited for them.

Using thick dusters and other supplies, she could easily fit into the small space. She hated how dirty she got from the soot and ash. Niffty felt like Cinderella much of the time, from the hard cleaning work she did, to fantasizing about going to a ball and meeting a prince. Imagining herself as a beautiful princess helped pass the time. The water in the wooden wash bin would be black by the time Niffty was done washing herself off. She would scrub her skin for half an hour, trying to get the grime off as much as possible.

Niffty soon she got some exciting news at age six: she was going to school for the first time. She was soon dropped off at Wellis Elementary, a yellow brick building. While at school, Niffty excelled at literature, home economics, art, reading, writing and history. She was also a fast runner in gym class as well. Math and science were subjects she struggled with.

Nifty would spend hours reading the books in the classrooms. She would often be seen eagerly raising her hand to tell the answer. She had to learn to slow down on whatever activity she did…many of the classmates couldn’t keep up with her!

“Shorty Jap! Shorty Jap!” jeered a bunch of mean older kids who shoved Niffty to the floor on her way to music. Niffty cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks. A nearby teacher arrived and took her to the nurse’s office.

“Just a bruise on your knee but it should heal up in no time,” the nurse said as Niffty wiped her tears away.

“Why are they so mean?” she sobbed. “What did I do?”

“Those kids are mean to all the newcomers,” the nurse said. “They tend to pick on the little kids in particular.”

“But I’m not that little,” Niffty said. “I just turned seven!”

“Sorry, I thought you were four.”

Niffty lowered her face, black bangs obscuring her forehead. Her face flushed in embarrassment. Her dress was white, her leggings tight and shoes were shiny and black. Her hair was short and black, her eyes dark brown and slanted. Her skin was a light brownish or as some bullies would mock, “yellow.” Indeed, Niffty was one of the shortest people in her class. There were rumors about her having a growth stunt, but Niffty had developed physically and mentally at a fast rate. Indeed, she was smarter than many kids her age.

“Don’t let them get to you,” the nurse said. “Now hurry on back to class.”

Fortunately, singing and playing instruments helped Niffty forget about the incident. “I’m gonna be a singer when I grow up!” she declared much to the bemusement of her classmates.

Niffty got home to see Michelle Marie Ann smiling warmly at her, wearing a fluffy lavender dress with a purple bow around her waist. Niffty remembered to leave her shoes outside.

“How was school?” she asked.

“It was fine,” she replied in a monotone.

“Only fine? You were so enthusiastic about it earlier.”

“Mean kids were mean to me.”

“How so? What did they do?”

“They said I was a shorty Jap and shoved me to the ground.”

A horrific look crossed Michelle’s face. “I’m so sorry, Nerissa,” she said.

Her parents shared concerned looks in the distance. Sooner or later, their daughter would have to learn the hard truth about who she was and about the society they lived in.

“It’s okay,” Niffty said. “I still got to learn new things and do the entire alphabet in English!”

“How wonderful!” Michelle smiled. Niffty was always optimistic, ever the imaginative one. Whenever things got down, Niffty would always see the silver lining in everything.

“What did the kids mean when they said that stuff?”

Michelle sighed, trying to put words together. “Let’s just say that many people don’t like others who are different.”

Before Niffty could ask further, Michelle said,” I have a surprise for you, sweetie.”

She dug into her dress pocket and pulled out a stuffed animal. Niffty beamed and took the figure and hugged it to her chest. It was a stuffed pink poodle decorated with white polka dots.

“Do you like it?”

“Oh I do I do I do!” Niffty squealed. The two of them shared a warm hug.

After dusting a bookshelf, vacuuming the rugs and polishing several appliances, Niffty soon got ready for bed. Michelle tucked her into bed. Hiroto was passed out on the couch and Akemi was up in her room finishing up outfits to sell.

“Can you read me a story?” Niffty asked.

“Of course my dear,” Michelle answered. “Which one?”

Niffty pointed to an orange picture book. “That’s one of my favorites.”

Michelle picked it up and read the title. “Princess Hachikazuki.”

Niffty cuddled up in her sitter’s lap as Michelle began. It was like she was transported to another world.

In the story, Lord and Lady Sanetaka prayed to the bodhisattva of mercy to give them an heir. The beautiful princess was born. The mother became sick and before she passed away, she placed a bowl on the princess’s head. The princess threw herself in a river when people laughed at her but soon, a prince fell in love with her. Although her rival stepsisters tried to separate them, Hachikazuki’s bowl came off of her head, allowing her to win a ladies contest. The couple happily married and the princess was reunited with her father.

“Oh I just love happy endings!” Niffty beamed as Michelle closed the book.

A year later, Michelle told her a story that seemed to stay with her. It would be the last story the sitter ever told.

“Read me a story, please?” Niffty asked.

“But it’s your bed time, Nerissa,” she said. “You’re getting old for this, according to your parents.”

“Please? Please? Please?” the little girl pleaded with shining eyes.

Michelle gave in with a smile. She knew Niffty would always be a child at heart. “Alright, but just one.”

She cleared her throat.

“Once upon a time in a vast kingdom, there lived a beautiful blonde haired princess. She lived in a palace with her father and mother, the king and queen. While she was there, she was taught how to sing, play the violin, dance and how to rule with a firm hand. The king and queen loved to perform for their subjects. They would host grand balls for the nobility and invite the well-off to join the fun. There were jesters, jugglers, and an array of delicious food for them to enjoy. All in all the princess was very happy, surrounded by the music.”

“But as she got older, she learned more about the land she was in. Her father had enforced strict rules on his subjects, and for good reason. Although the peasants, knights, shop owners and caretakers worked hard, they also fought a lot. It wasn’t uncommon for farmers to fight over crops, or fellow knights to raid churches and villages. Disease also spread rapidly.”

“One day, the princess saw a horrific sight. Soldiers from a rival kingdom arrived and mercilessly slaughtered the citizens! The knights in armor were no match for the guns. After the damage had been done, those who remained had to dispose of the dead and start over, always in fear that they would come again.”

“Father,” cried the princess. “How could you let this happen?!”

“My army is no match for the soldier’s guns,” he replied. “They invade and kill my people for the sake of it. But there is nothing that can be done. Perhaps the troublesome workers deserved their fate.”

“Mother!” the princess cried. “Can’t you do something as well? Those poor people suffer every day out there!”

But the queen was busy deciding which dress to wear for the next performance.

The princess tried to talk to the people around her, offering to help in any way she could. Many of them laughed and mocked her.

“A secluded princess trying to help us out?” they asked. “Who does she think she is? She doesn’t know anything at all.”

Fortunately, the princess befriended a woman warrior to help her out. The woman could live off the land and use any kind of weapon, but she had a bad temper at times. The princess had an idea.

“What if I run a refuge place to help travelers and my people get along? If not that, then at least, the poor would have a place to stay.” Her warrior friend agreed to help, provided she not get too optimistic about the iffy plan. The king and queen used some of their money to build the building by the trading route, just so they could focus on their own hobbies. They, too, didn’t agree with her ideas. The princess was saddened by her ignorant parents.

One traveler soon arrived, a man who smoked, drank and often ran around nude. He slept with women and men alike. He was a reckless fighter as well, and had almost died fighting off rival knights on the battlefield. The princess happily welcomed him in, but the warrior wasn’t as pleased. It was slow going, but it was a start.

Now, the king had many lords and men in his inner circle. One of them was a man who lived in the woods and hunted deer. He often wore a dark cloak and carried a staff with a deer skull on it. But he was also a devious trickster. He was feared throughout the land because of his great skill in dark sorcery. Many people had fallen prey to his curses, poor and wealthy alike…he loved making deals.

When the sorcerer saw that the princess was opening the place of refuge, he decided to check it out. He already had a plan to get to know the members of the royal family…having a secret grudge against them. Before he did, he gathered two people to his side. One of them was a strong muscular fighter…and the best gambler in town.

“Your skills in gambling and fighting are second to none,” the sorcerer said, soon gathering up lies. “I could use a strong hand like you. Those horrible soldiers killed my wife and children and I’m worried that I’ll be next.”

“I’m not helping you,” the gambler scoffed as he drank more booze and drinks. “Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“The soldiers weren’t affected by it and now…I’m left with nothing...”

“But if you work for me, I’ll give you more drinks and money. Plus if you’re looking for a nicer place to stay, the princess has a refuge center not too far from here.”

Reluctantly, the gambler shook the sorcerer’s hand and followed him.

Later, the sorcerer spotted a maid who was cleaning chimneys and caring for a bunch of children.

“You look like you’re pretty busy,” the sorcerer said. “Cleaning the same dirty place all the time sounds boring.”

“It is,” the maid said. “And lonely. There are no handsome men around either.”

The sorcerer then spoke in a smooth seductive tone. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Why, if you help me out, I’ll provide you with a clean house and introduce you to the most handsome of men in the kingdom. I’ll be your first friend if you wish.”

The maid eagerly shook his hand, and the trio went off to the hotel. Once they arrived, the princess welcomed them in with open arms.

“I’d love to help out with your place, your majesty,” the sorcerer said with an elegant bow. “Trying to make people better…that’s near impossible, but hey, it’s worth a shot.”

The sorcerer charmed the princess with dances and magic tricks. With a snap of his fingers, the place was repaired and clean. She soon became attracted to him. The man even made a splendid dinner for everyone to enjoy.

“He’s untrustworthy,” the warrior woman warned the princess. “I’m your best friend but please be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” the princess said. “I can take care of myself.” She hoped that her plan would work…and hoped she could prove herself worthy to her parents.

Then, on the next fateful day…”

“Nerissa!” called Akemi from down the hall. “It’s time to go to sleep!”

“She’s right,” Michelle said as she closed the book in a heart stopping snap.

“Awww, Michelle! Mother! You can’t stop there! We were getting to the good part!”

“Maybe another time,” said Michelle as she tucked Niffty into bed. “Good night, dear.” Michelle’s footsteps grew fainter as she left the room.

Nifty stared at the starry sky and the full moon though her window. “Maybe my dreams will come true someday,” she sang softly to herself with a smile and a look of longing.

“A dream is a wish, my heart makes

When I’m fast asleep.

In dreams, I will lose my heartaches

Whatever I wish for, I keep

“Have faith in dreams and someday

My rainbow will come smiling through

No matter how my heart is grieving

If I keep on believing

The dream that I wish will come true.”

Niffty yawned after she finished the song and settled into sleep.

Yellow Peril: Chinese workers arrive to U.S. mid 19th century, restricted to railroads and mines. Anti-Chinese groups worked to pass laws to limit Asian American equality with whites. Like Irish, Italians, Chinese and Japanese were viewed as threats to “racial purity” and a source of economic competition.

1886-1924 peak: People immigrating from Japan to find work to survive. Many arrived on Hawaiian Islands, moving to the West Coast. Immigrants selecting brides from their immigrant countries via a matchmaker who paired them only using pictures and family recommendations. Some women choose to be picture brides to escape familial duties and seek economic growth. Some came to Hawaii because it was a trend. Picture brides immigrated to the U.S. to be with husbands. Men would often pose in pictures with cars and items they did not own.

Nakodo: go between/match maker who looks at status, age, wealth of bride

Pucture brides had to go through immigration inspections. They would meet their soon to be husbands and attend a wedding ceremony on the docks.

Reality: older grooms living in racially segregated plantations

Plantation workers, many Japanese women. Irrigated and weeded the fields, stripped cane of dry leaves, or cut seed cane. Women were also expected to take care of the house, cooking, cleaning, sewing and raising children. Many women moved to Honolulu to start their own businesses.

Values instilled to children included filial piety, obligation to community and authority, reciprocal obligation, importance of hard work, frugality, drive for success (seiko).

Some married husbands were abusive or alcoholic or tried to sell women into brothels but many wives stayed for their children. Wives who eloped could be sent back to Japan.

No passports to picture brides in 1920.

Naturalization Act of 1870: revoking citizenship to Chinese Americans

Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882: stopped immigration from China

Japanese workers recruited, triggering a rapid increase in population.

Immigration Act of 1924: banned Japanese and Chinese from entering U.S.

Japantowns (Nihonmachi) in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle etc. community groups organized charity events and set up shops separate from whites, Japanese language schools.

Pearl Harbor attack 1941: led the United States into World War 2. Americans, French, England, unified to fight against Germany, Japan and Italy.

Kamikaze suicide bombings, Pearl Harbor, Baatan Death March, American POWs killed by Imperial Japanese forces

“Jap hunting licenses” Japanese forced to move away and close their businesses.

Stereotype of Japanese and schools as loyal to the emperor of Japan, promoting racial superiority and violent fighting skills.

1942: Japanese incarcerated in camps “War Relocation Camps” western U.S, 1942-1946 “one blood drop rule”

Jan 1942: immigrants required to have certificates and IDs on them

Unfavorable reports of Japanese action noticed by the U.S. government, (Pearl Harbor, Invasion of China 1931).

Thin barracks with little room for privacy, barbed wire fences and guards.

(shikata ga nai) “It cannot be helped.” School lessons only taught in Englsih. Dust storms, cramped living conditions. There was baseball, bands and recreation.

Internment ends 1945/1946

Japanese businesses, homes and places of worship were destroyed with vandalism, gunshots and explosives. Some people were shot in the camps while others died from lack of medical care.

Niffty lives her life as a Japanese American woman and teenager in the 1950s. She is little, with short black hair and pale skin. She is born in the 1920s…on March 22 (VA birthdate), 1929 (Year of the Snake)! Being the same age as Vaggie when she died at age 22, Niffty died in 1951. She is a human named Nerissa Nifuti (after the maid. Her last name is Niffty in Japanese).

March 22 1929: Niffty’s birth in Los Angeles, California, as Nerissa Nifuti. (Capital city based on New Orleans, New York and Las Vegas populous cities of the former homelands of the other characters)

1930: age 1

1931: age 2

1932: age 3

1933: age 4

1934: age 5

1935: age 6

Niffty briefly lives with her parents in a rural area. Picture bride mother who arrived from Japan and to Hawaii and worked on a plantation, older alcoholic father who lived in Hawaii.

1930s: Niffty learns to walk and talk and speak Japanese and English. She always removes her shoes whenever she enters her home and other buildings. She is fast in almost everything, crawling early, babbling early, very talkative and quick on her feet. Niffty is a fast learner as well, often ahead of her class. Niffty learns best by working with her hands. Niffty develops her love of reading and writing.

At some point, Niffty’s father becomes abusive to both of them but Niffty’s mother has to stay to uphold her family honor.

1936: age 7 Niffty starts school. Niffty is often chided for talking so fast and not being passive

Niffty is bullied in Weill school for her heritage and short height. Niffty excels at literature, running, music, singing, arts and crafts, reading and writing, but not at math, sports, science or history.

1937: age 8 With being a good housewife instilled in her at an early age, Niffty begins to clean and cook and sew early on, while also looking for the perfect husband in the future.

1938: age 9

1939: age 10 World War 2 begins

Niffty reads mangas and starts writing her own stories while maintaining a clean house for her family. They also have a black poodle named Michelle.

1940: age 11

1941: age 12

1942: age 13

1942: Year of Death. Niffty and her parents are sent to an internment camp. Manzanar Relocation Center. Niffty’s father is shot for trying to escape and her mother dies of an illness at an infirmary. The walls are thin and barracks are overcrowded.

1943: age 14

1944: age 15 Niffty is often surrounded by the stench of death. She eats like an animal and longs to be free.

1945: age 16

Niffty’s father is shot for trying to escape and her mother falls ill and dies in a makeshift infirmary. Niffty remains in the camp until 1945, finishing schooling and joining the band. Niffty has to live with several other families and children in cramped spaces. The lessons were only taught in English. Niffty falls in love with several boys. Niffty meets one nice one but he eventually leaves with his family, leaving Niffty behind.

Niffty returns to her home town with nothing to return to. She finds Japanese businesses, homes and places of worship destroyed with vandalism, gunshots and explosives.

By sheer luck, she is able to live and work for an upper class white family as a maid, cook and a person who sews their clothes. The mother is racist toward her but not the father nor the older sister, who tolerate her.

1946: age 17 Niffty is visited by Alastor through a radio. He offers her mangas, appreciation for her work and a new “perfect” boyfriend/husband, plus a radio. She agrees to help him out later on, but she gets more than what she bargained for.

1947: age 18 Niffty gets married to her boyfriend but still works for the family.

1948: age 19 Niffty’s husband starts hitting on Niffty’s white adoptive sister. Niffty’s adoptive parents make her do even more work since she is so good at it. Niffty’s fanfictions are read by others and starts attracting horny older men.

1949: age 20

1950: age 21 Niffty’s husband beats and violates her, though Niffty still remains in love with him. She lets him violate her, feeling more and more broken and helpless. One part lasted three hours, leaving her feeling sticky and disgusting.

Niffty asks the radio for advice and it influences her to do evil things. Jealous of her adoptive sister’s beauty and attention to her husband, Niffty kills her and cleans up the mess, serving her flesh in meat pies to neighbors.

During one evening on the streets, a horrified Niffty glances at a man violating a corpse of a woman and stabs him to death. She darts away before she can be caught.

1951: age 22 The trauma Niffty faces catches up and she snaps. Niffty kills her husband as he tried to rape and stab her and sets his house on fire. At the same time, she cries over the loss of him. She writes about it in a journal, which is discovered by the mother. This draws attention to the police, the father had called them earlier.

Niffty gets cornered by police inside her home. One of them is a relative of her husband. Niffty tries to run but gets shot three times in the thigh. Before anyone could do anything, the officer picks her up and tosses her into a burning fireplace, where she dies.

1951: Niffty arrives in Hell, lost and overwhelmed. One demon, a black spider named Rhapso hires her to work at a clothing Emporium. Niffty is beaten and chided for every little mistake she makes, every loose thread, driving her toward perfection like in life. Niffty also has to clean her boss’s room and cook meals. Out of sheer spite, Niffty steals and wears an elegant dress made of black swan feathers, sizing it down to fit her small body. Her boss threatens to roast her in the furnace but as she is immune to fire says “Let’s say you’re in deep hot water, brat.”

Niffty is thrown into the burning lake as punishment. Niffty plunges to the bottom of the lake, unable to breach the surface as sinners sink to the bottom instead of floating like in regular water. Though Niffty can survive in hot places, the heat and pressure becomes uncomfortable. There are also fiery underwater monsters to avoid. Niffty often has nightmares of her boyfriend sending her into an icy lake to drown, or watching her parents suffer at the internment camp. There is no way for her to interact with the world, make friends and no one to fall in love with. She dreaded having to be forcefully pulled from the surface by her boss and be forced to work more long shifts.

Until one demon is alerted by her presence…

After having signed the contract on Earth, Niffty’s presence is sensed by Alastor’s shadow. The shadow reaches in and picks up Niffty, the little demon gasping for breath. Then, she meets Alastor. Alastor reminds Niffty of the deal she had made in the living world and invites her to shake his hand to seal it. Niffty is eager to do so, already enamored by the Radio Demon’s charm.

Niffty’s boss comes back and demands Niffty go back to work, but Alastor says he would take Niffty instead. Niffty sets her boss and store on fire for revenge, entertaining Alastor. Niffty calls herself Niffty.

Niffty soon works for Alastor, making his meals, cleaning his cabin-like lair underground (Deer’s Den) (plus his above ground smaller radio studio cabin), sewing voodoo dolls and tailoring his suits. She also is handy in fighting as she is immune to fire, speedy, skillful with her hands and can fit into small places. In exchange, Alastor gives her a place to stay, money, some journals and clothing for her hobbies, plus voodoo creatures for her to eat and play with.

Niffty is soon summoned from the fireplace and gets to work cleaning the hotel rooms and helping make meals for the hotel residents. Niffty writes erotic fanfiction and sews in her spare time. Along with Husk, Niffty protects Alastor and helps kill his enemies.

Niffty starts an Instagram account under the name babyfeatherduster. She is seen posing at Alastor’s feet, hanging out with Husk and trying to take Alastor’s picture. People mistake her for a child, even though she is in her 20s.

Niffty’s true intentions would eventually be revealed. Niffty seeks to be doted on by lots of men, and she lives in a fantasy world of her own. And she’ll use any means necessary to make the world of Hell her own. (she might manipulate men into sleeping with her). Niffty shares traits with Charlie from Always Sunny. Niffty loves erotic stuff and that includes fanfictions, pictures and maybe spying on nude men. She has pica, eating stuff like spiders and fabric. Although Niffty likes to get lost in fantasy and romance, she may be the most socially aware member of the group. She can also manipulate people and knows about Hell’s racist/class driven system. Her delusions of authority and emotions hide a sense of insecurity. Like Charlie from Always Sunny, Niffty is good at sewing, cooking, singing and music.

#niffty #alastor #husk #hazbinhotel #nerissa #backstory

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