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allandoflimbo · 4 years ago

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Ashens (Part 18)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian. Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 17,000 (I’M SO SORRY) the first half of this story is flashback. The second half is the present.

Chapter Warning: Sex, twice. Sad Sex. Filthy sex. SMUT. VERY strong Language. Bucky and Reader will be very toxic in this chapter. It might be triggering if you’ve ever been in an emotionally abusive relationship.

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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There’s an imminent smell of old wood garnish and pumpkin spice escaping a bright orange glow that flickered in the background.

The odor was extremely strong, trickling through the thick and heavy air of the twelve by twelve room. There was a draft coming in through the window and it continued to help push the flame directly towards the center of the room- the scent marking anything in its direct path with a faint reminder of the close arrival of winter.

Though the glow of a candle was soothing, to many it was anything but pleasant; scented candles were a new thing and it was said to be something for the upcoming future generation.

The idea behind it was that it carried an artificial smell that held a memory you could carry along with you wherever you went. Its point was to remind you of where you were or what you wanted to be feeling, come the fitting setting. This specific pumpkin candle was to remind us all that it was a season of festivity and gathering, and much-needed warmth. The other obvious reason being that pumpkin was delicious.

If you weren’t eating it, you might as well be smelling it.

To most people, it made no sense. Why would you want to smell something so delicious and not be able to physically consume it? It was a pleasant odor coming from an artificial chemical, completely contrary to what is expected. Put simply, it was an empty promise.

One more strong whiff of pumpkin, mixed together with the cozy sound of a crackle of fire, he blinks and Bucky is brought out of his daze. He’s now entirely environmentally aware of his surroundings and sounds coming from additional places come into his perspective.

Within a moment’s relapse, he chooses again to regain focus on the other specific sounds aside from the antagonizing fake fire, gazing his eyes over the pleasant words in front of him.

To his dismay, they don’t sink in. He is distracted by the harsh rain pellets and the distant undeviating sound of a honking Durant. Unlike the candle, those sounds didn’t stand out to him as empty promises, but instead as a reminder of the harsh reality of the outside world.

His strong and confident fingers appeared to skim the yellow worn-out pages of his book on their own accord; his eyes still looking, but not necessarily seeing. Looking closer, with shoulders painfully slumped, he squinted his blue eyes. The words blurred into one and he began blinking desperately and shifting in his seat. He tried to regain his proper vision, not enjoying the sensation of not knowing or seeing what he was trying oh so hard to understand.

His right thumb gave a slight unconfident tremble as he tried to pick up the next page. After a couple of failed attempts, the paper not obeying (most likely due to his careless attempt- it’s not like he was actually reading it), he sighs in aggravation.

He closes his copy of This Side of Paradise harshly between his hands, bringing it to his face. He bounces his right leg uncontrollably up and down as he tapped his pointer finger on the cover of the worn-out novel, resting one elbow on each knee.

It was a nervous tick he picked up somewhere along the way.

The walls of the study room seemed to want to envelope him warmly, as if trying too hard to show comfort and security. There was an eeriness that made him constantly tremble and not feel comfortable at all. Maybe it was the hideous wallpaper, or maybe it was that disgusting odor of varnish from the freshly repainted wooden chair that he smelled when he first came in and could not stop thinking about.

There was no longer a sound of a honking Durant, and the rain seemed to dim down drastically as he continued to look into the distance. He wondered if it was the December air leaking through the slightly ajar window that made the tightness in his chest grow cold and frigid.

Aggravated, he placed the book down next to him on the side table, avoiding the waiting and apprehensive eyes staring at him. They had been staring at him for what felt like hours but had been only mere minutes.

He knew he was a strong young man, he'd always tried to be because that's how he was raised back in his little home town of Shelbyville, Indiana. And if asked about it, he would speak of it with great confidence.

When his mother passed away, his father had been the one to make sure to teach him that nothing like her death would be strong enough to tear him down. That instead, it would, and should, be a motivation for him to be a better person each and every time. He would need to transfer that hurt and despair into physical action.

But clearly, it had to come with a price and tremendous hard work. Things like that, non material things like emotional determination, could not be bought. If you wanted to be great, you had to work to be great. If you wanted to be strong, you'd have to work for it. He’d have to push through all the heartache and pain to reach that level of excellence that he knew his father wanted to see in him.

That is that natural characteristic they’re born with: soldiers.

It was well known, Bucky Barnes was a military brat. His father was always well respected at Camp Lehigh. They'd say back at camp that he was much like his father: loyal, headstrong, patriotic, and obtained strong morals. It was practically in his blood to be a fighter. A fighter for the good in people, the kind, and the innocent. It was his duty, and when he'd grow up to put his own two feet in combat boots himself, he would be prepared to take on any mission he was told. He would be more than capable of doing so.

They all promised him this and he himself grew up believing it.

But this, this of all things, was not something he was prepared for.

Because he's realized -at this exact moment- that his entire life he has lost almost everything and gained absolutely nothing in return. He'd put himself out there so many times to try and do the better good, from giving his last twenty five cents (that he initially wanted to use to buy flowers for the new pretty girl he met) to the little boy he saw walking down Broadway with no shoes.

He excelled in every class he'd ever taken because he knew it was good for him because it would make his father proud.

The shadow that belonged to the eyes and voice from earlier sat down in front of him behind a large desk that had a plaque.

It read ‘Director' in golden ink that had begun to fade from years of scratching and unkindly picking by kids that faced much less traumatic sentences than this.

Bucky's eyes lifted for the first time in what felt like a long time. He could feel the strain on his heavy eyelids as he did so. He regretted it the moment he looked up, because that's when reality seemed to have punched him directly in the gut. His eyes swelled and he blinked away quickly, not letting emotion get the best of his masculinity.

He'd refused to let a tear out.

But the look of pity on the man's face is what did it for him, it made him want to completely fall apart. He didn't like being looked at that way. He didn't like being the victim, the way it felt. He hated it with a passion. He wanted to run out of there and hide himself away for at least one small moment and cry.

"I'm so sorry."

That was the response he exactly did not want to hear. Bucky let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his short hair as the words rang in his ears like ticking bombs. Again, he didn't like the pity.

He tried to deny it and shake his head back and forth to himself but all that did was drive tears to trickle out of his blue eyes.

He knew this would pass with time, but being weak was not the reaction he needed to put on display. He was a soldier for heaven’s sake. No matter how destroyed his life seemed to be getting, he couldn't let it show.

Bucky cleared his throat, making sure his voice would sound strong before he would begin to speak.

And it was.

"It's not your fault.”

Twenty-one. That's how old Bucky Barnes was when his father passed away.

+ + +

They were both laughing so hard that she started getting tears, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the laughter or the bitter cold. They were both so caught up in the events of the night neither noticed how cold it really was.

Once their laughter dwelled down, she continued to stare at him in total admiration. He was something else for sure. She wanted to feel his arm around her again. She looked down at his freezing hand and took it into her cold one.

“Tell me about you, James.”

He smiled when she looked back up and he gave her a tight squeeze.

“First, tell me what a fine dame like you is doin here in Brooklyn.” A playful smile plays on her lips, but it’s a rhetorical questions so he continues, “What do you wanna know?"

She smiles even wider and this time it reaches her eyes, “Everything. I want to know everything about you by tomorrow mornin’.”

The fact that she suggested spending the night with him made him gulp.

He looks down at her lips and nods slowly.

He followed up by telling her that the apartment he had rented out for the next few weeks was just a couple of blocks away. On the walk there she had questioned what he meant by rent for a couple of weeks to which he responded with that he would explain there, but that they should get warm first.

When they arrived, his door ended up being three floors up. His dingy beat-up door made her smile inside. He gave off a classy, rich, stuck up vibe, but really he was simple and not much for being out there. She liked that he seemed so original.

He inserted the key into the normal door lock and bolt lock and opened the door for her to let her in first. She stepped into the “foyer”, if it could even be called that, and took a look around. It was more like a two by two feet space. She walked in the rest of the way and took a look around. It was basically a small studio, but a lot smaller. It was one room, inside there was a tiny kitchen on the left corner, a window that looked out to another brick wall, and to the right a metal bed with a white blanket.

But it was made, military style.

He walks over to his record player and places the needle gently down on the vinyl. If You Only Knew starts playing quietly.

He looks over his shoulder at her and notices her facial expression.

“Yeah, sorry” he chuckled dropping his keys by his iron stove, “I know it’s not much, but it’s temporary. You should’ve seen my old place before I left for training.”

He catches himself when he says it but it’s too late. Her head snaps to his direction and her face holds an emotion that he can’t really pin point. He can’t tell if it’s fear or surprise. He swallows hard and tries to direct the conversation to a different direction.

He curses himself in his head for his stupid slip up. He goes to the far kitchen and opens the cupboard, “I got some cookies, uhm,” he doesn’t know what to say with her staring at him like that. He closes the cupboard and runs a hand through his brown hair. It’s silent.

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A car honks outside after it runs through a puddle and Ella’s voice is haunting.

“You’re in the army.”

He’s caught off guard and his eyebrow raises at her voice. He looks at her. It wasn’t fear or surprise that she had felt when he said that, it was sadness. It was the one feeling he was afraid she’d feel, it was the reason why he didn’t want to tell her just yet. But it was too late, she knows now.

He nods.

He sees visible tears build up in her eyes. He doesn’t want this, he wanted this to be happy. Just a half hour ago they were laughing and now she’s in his apartment, shattered. She nods quickly and crosses her arms across her chest.

She was different and he knew it the moment he saw her. Any normal girl would love to be with a soldier, but not in this case. Not when it was something like this.

She looks at his bed and his window and shakes her head. This was a damn pit stop.

The made bed revealed just how loyal he was to what he had signed up for and she knew there was no backing out. But he was perfect, she couldn’t lose him. She had to at least stay for the long hall, she thought. It wouldn’t last forever anyway.

Her eyes meet his again. The tears had been blinked away and evaporated and her strong satire was back.

He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the sink, sighing. He had been waiting patiently for her response. Whatever she said would ever make or break this, and for God’s sakes if there’s anything he didn’t want to do it was break this.

“How long?” Her tone was strong.

“How long till I leave?” He was a bit confused by the question.

She nodded.

Bucky felt his heart sink. It wasn’t long. She would not like the answer. It was not good. She concluded this herself by his delayed answer and his stare at the floor beneath him.

She let out an exhausted sigh and a click of her tongue as she turned away from him. Now she was angry.

“Five days.”

They’re silent, standing there letting reality sink in. Minutes pass by. She takes a seat on his bed and takes off her coat. He watches her every move intently, wondering if she would decided to stay for the long haul or run out of his cheap room he dared call an apartment.

“Like I said. I want to know you.”

He heart soars and he smiles. He re opens the cupboard and takes out a box of cookies. He fills up two jars with milk and hands one of them to her as he practically dances over to her. He sits criss crossed on the bed. She chuckles at how innocent he looks just sitting there like that in his dress shirt and suspenders, like a kid.

It’s awkward at first, trying to sit cross cross with a long dress on, but eventually she manages by pulling her dress up around her thighs. Bucky blushes at this. She brings him out of the moment.

“So what are you doing in Brooklyn?"

He smirks, “I live here, Doll.” She gives him a confused look. He takes a deep breath and decides to start from the beginning, “I moved here when I was a teen. My father was in the army since we used to live back in Indiana. I used to go with him to camp, I loved everything about it. The respect those men held, the strong mentality they had, there’s was so much about what they were doing that made me see there was something greater to live for. To make this country better for us, so we can live and be peaceful and happy. There are way too many nasty people out there who don’t deserve to breathe our air. We are good people and I want to save the good people. It’s something serious, putting your life like that on the line. Unfortunately not all are willing.”

Daisy smiles at him talking about his love for the military. She remembers her mother’s words at that moment.

It really was in his heart, his love for humanity, “it’s in my blood, just like dad. I did training in New Jersey where he was stationed.” Mentions of his father makes him trail off for a second and Daisy notices. She places her hand on his, “and then they sent me back here for some additional work just until our physical forms go through to see who gets accepted. Who does leave in five days.”

Daisy perks at this, “So you’re not actually certain if you will leave?”

Bucky chuckles to himself and looks down. He reaches for another cookie, “Doll, my dad was well respected on the forces. They raised me to do the same. They practically have my name already there ready for me. I know I’m not staying.”

Daisy stays silent again. Bucky tosses the cookie back down and reaches for her cheek. She gasps and looks up at him, her blue eyes soft, “I’m not saying this to make this harder. I’m being honest with ourselves, because,” he looks at her eyes and then her lips. She swallows hard when she sees him looking there. Her heart starts to race in his chest as he moves in closer, “because I know all we have is five days and I want to make the most of it. I’ve only known you for a few hours but what I feel with you is something I know will last forever.”

The moment he says this he feels like he’s just put his heart own on his sleeve. Something he has never done. There was no taking it back now. He’s never had a relationship like this before, he prays to God he didn’t just mess it up. He starts getting afraid when she doesn’t respond, she just stares up at him. His eyes swell up slightly and he wants to add that it’s okay if she didn’t feel the same.

But No. he didn’t not want to lose this. So he slides his hand from her cheek even higher up the side of her head through her hair and watching her, “Please tell me you feel the same.” His voice is low and full of emotion. Hopeful.

She’s never felt this. This had to be the boy of her dreams, and now she felt like the one that was dreaming all over again. Just three hours ago she never even knew this man existed, but all of a sudden she felt like she’s known him all her life.

She moves in closer and watches his Adam’s apple bobble up. The proximity was too much to bear. He was too much, and yet she wanted more. She wanted him.

And she only had five days. They had five days.

And they were going to make the most of it.

The moment her lips crashed onto his was a moment he wouldn’t forget. The fire that exploded inside of him was a bright red flame and it burned through his heart. Instinctively, he brings his other hand up as well and slides it to the other side of her face. She slides her left hand up his thigh and he growls against her mouth, their tongues meeting for the first time. It was fast, hard, and needy.

He raises himself up onto his knees so he’s towering above her still criss-cross body. Her hand raises up higher up his thigh and he feels her delicate fingers reaching in his waist band. He growls against her mouth once more.

She uses his belt loop to bring his body downwards as she uncrosses her legs and lays herself down onto his bed. Bucky’s right leg drops down the side of the bed and accidentally kicks the glass over. They’re lips still stay connected and he’s bringing his right hand to the strap of her dress, and now Ella’s voice sounds like a goddamn melody.

He’s about to pull her strap further down but he stops himself.

He pulls away and they’re both breathing heavily, Daisy whimpers at the distance he puts between their lips. The sound makes him want to go back to what he was doing, but he stops himself.

She’s about to question him when he places her strap back against her clavicle. He pats it down gently and the act makes her laugh. His lips are swollen and she kisses them one more time. He moans into her mouth. She pulls away and lets him speak.

“I want to know you, too.” He says.

“We will. We have five days.”

+ + +

Her legs had curled up against her chest as she laid on her side, a single finger making soft patterns against his chest. It moved up and down sharply as his breathing became affected by what her touch was doing to him. He had stared down at her finger and then grabbed it diligently. She watched silently as he used his right hand to unfold her twirling fingers and fold it with his, holding it against his body.

She looked up at him incomplete awe, her eyes drifting down to his approaching lips. He dipped his head just slightly as he brushed his lips against hers.

They had stayed up all night talking about their goals, and what they loved to do. Daisy was a simple, innocent,, young girl. She loved dancing and flowers and she also admired the simplicity of innocence. She grew up in a Christian household and her morals were up there. They both laughed together when she brought up the fact that she never would’ve had thought she’d be cuddled in bed with a man she met only hours before.

They commented about their families, how Bucky’s little sister had been taken away from him not too far back, about his mother’s death.

“What about your father?” She had asked.

Bucky remained quiet as he stared up at her. She noticed his change in demeanor and her eyes squinted. Bucky let go of her hand and switched his position from on his side to on his back. He brought his leg up and folded his hands on his chest.

He felt her shift and lean against him. He looked over and saw her resting on her elbow, her left hand drifting up his neck and into his hair. She pulled on it slightly making him close his eyes.

“James.” She whispered, pleadingly. He opened his eyes and looking into hers.

“He passed away,” he could tell she was going to start saying condolences as her mouth opened but he beat her to it, “this morning.”

He thought she was going to start giving him sympathy, he expected it. But instead he felt her rest her head on his sturdy chest. He was taken aback at first, but then smiled softly and took in a deep breath. He allowed his hand to snake in through her soft blonde hair.

“You’ll get through this. You’re strong.” He swallowed as he felt her hand skim against his chest, feeling him. He didn’t want to push her into anything and was thankful that her hand just went to his waist, pulling his body closer to hers, “I can tell.”

“I want to be with you. And when I get back from war, I want to be with you again.”

+ +

She knew she was taking a risk by inviting him over to her house, but she had wanted him to meet her family. Sure this was fast, but how long did they truly have together? She obviously remembered the stories her mother told her.

Underneath the anxiety, love, and happiness she felt as he helped her mom cut the carrots, she genuinely hoped her parents would love him, too.

“How long have you known this boy, Daisy?” Her mom had asked over her shoulder as she washed some lettuce and tomatoes in some cold water in a bowl under the sink. Daisy bit her lip. Her mom noticed her hesitate, “ Daisy .”

Her tone was judging and all too motherly. Daisy looked up and saw her mom giving her a glare that quickly told her that she didn’t like where this was going. Daisy felt defensive.

“Momma, before you judge me, he’s an amazing gentleman and I fully trust him with everything,” she saw her mom shaking her head to herself and murmur something but the sound of the sink water drowned it out. Daisy got up exasperated and walked over to her mom, “Think about it, when was the last time I brought a boy home? You know I don’t bring just anyone. You are going to love him.”

Her mom smiled and looked over at her, shutting off the water.

“You are lucky I’m me and not your dang fatha’, Daisy.” She washed two more tomatoes, “Do you?”

Daisy gaped at her, not really know how to respond to that. To be fully honest she didn’t really think about it. When it came out while she was cuddly with Bucky earlier that day, it was natural and she hadn’t thought twice about it. But it seemed to soon to tell, but yet not fully impossible. She’d never felt the way she felt that when she was with Bucky. She felt heat creep up into her cheeks and her mom started to smile. The moment was interrupted by a strong voice.

“Love who?”

Both Daisy and her mother’s face fell at the heavy tone that washed over them like pure ice. Daisy’s eyes drifted up to her dad who was standing in the door way. He held a cigar in his right hand, his leather covered foot tapping away. He eyed them both, clearly he was eavesdropping and was not liking where this conversation seemed to have been going.

Daisy gulped. She looked down and fidgeted with her fingers.

“A boy, daddy.”

“Daisy invited him for dinner.” Her mom added casually, draining the water out of the bowl with her hands. The silence was deafening. Her dad could tell she was avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled maniacally as he tapped his cigar with his pointer fingers, some ashes tickling towards the freshly mopped floor. Daisy watched as if it were poison. Suddenly, she was very fearful.

“Is that so?”

Daisy nodded, finally looking up. Her dad looked serious, territorial even.

“Charles, quit scarin’ her. I hear he could be the one.” Her mom winked at her.

Her dad squinted angrily, “The one? And I’m just now hearing about this kid?” He walked over to his wife and rubbed her back soothingly, still giving Daisy a disapproving look, “and did I just hear love?”

Daisy groaned in aggravation, running her hands through her curls, “Mom, stop that.” Daisy sighed as she wiped her hands on her little dress and walked back over to the stool that sat on the far side of the large kitchen, “he’s a great guy. Daddy, I know that, it’s why I invited him today.”

“I just don’t get why I’m not meeting this damn boy.”

Daisy flinched at his tone, “Daddy, please.”

“Then explain it to me!”

Daisy dropped her face into her hands, “I was just worried about you meeting him because he’s not the typical guy you go for. But I do care about him, please, just give him a chance. He’s very sweet.”

Daisy practically felt her father roll his eyes. She looked up and saw a snarl on his face.

A soft knock on the door and Daisy immediately flew out of her seat to open it. Her dad made a comment to Daisy’s mother about agreeing to this in the background, but Daisy was now momentarily too excited to care. She took a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the doorknob.

She opened it and the moment her eyes landed on him, her heart went soaring and she literally felt herself smile. All the anger and fear she felt before dissipated. His reaction was mirrored to hers, his pearly whites making her blush hard. His gorgeous eyes wrinkled at the sides as he smiled. He looked perfect in a soft black suit, underneath it is a white dress shirt, but the top button undone. His hair was in a small quiff and shiny from his pomade.

She extended her hand out to take his in hers and pulled him inside playfully hard. They both giggled together, Bucky’s face leaning down to kiss the top of her cheek. She hadn’t realized how hard she really pulled him until he stood right in front of her, their fronts touching. She was blushing as he stared down at her face and then her lips.

He tilted his head slightly and started to lean down, and her eyes drifted shut, when the moment was interrupted but a cough.

“So you must be the boy Daisy won’t stop going on about.”

Bucky pulled back, red tainting his cheeks. At that moment he realized he had just been caught almost wanting to devour this woman’s daughter’s mouth right in front of her. He stepped back bit and straightened out his back and cleared his throat.

He brought his one hand across his chest and with the other he extended it out for a handshake. No longer lust in his eyes, he was now completely serious, his mission being to impress a high class family. Her mom smiled at how charming he was.

“Mrs Davis.” Bucky greeted with a firm shake and smile.

She could tell by his strong handshake that he had been raised well. She exchanged looks with Daisy, who clearly looked terrified and expectant of what her reaction to him would be. She looks back at Bucky.

“Daisy never mentioned your name.”

“James, mamn.”

“That’s a strong name.”

Everyone looked up to follow the voice. Charles stood there tall and brooding, another cigar in hand. Bucky stretched out his arm once more, too eagerly this time, “Please to meet you, Mr. Davis.”

Bucky waited as Charles stared down at Bucky’s hand, not taking it and clearly not wanting to anytime soon. Bucky stood there awkwardly, fear and rejection creeping into his guts. He slowly lowered his arm, Charle’s gaze not leaving his face.

“You live on the upper east side, too? What’s your Street? You’re dressed like a damn paper boy.”

Bucky’s face fell immediately and Daisy inwardly groaned.

Bucky licked his lips nervously and then fixed his back to stand taller as if to appear powerful. There was no way he was going to let this man tear him down.

“No, sir,” He hates that his voice is shaky. He gives Daisy a nervous side glance and then back to her dad, “I live in Brooklyn, sir.”

Her dad frowned and both Daisy and her mother knew this was going to go down fast.

“Brooklyn,” his tone was disapproving, “What do you do for a living, boy?”

Daisy took a step next to Bucky, “Dad, that’s enough.”

Bucky frowned and realized Daisy hadn’t really told them close to anything about him. While he understood, he was now dreading the whole entire conversation that would go down. Him and Daisy shared a look before Barnes looked back up at Charles.

“I’m in the military, sir.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow as soon as the words left his lips, then a scoff. Daisy looked up to his her mother’s face fallen and sad.

Bucky’s eyes darted between Daisy and her father, suddenly realizing that something that he said was not good.

“Sir, was something I said -“

“Daisy, tell me hows a boy who doesn’t have a real job suppose to be with my daughter? A goddamn soldier? Jesus.”

“For heaven’s sake, Daddy!”

“Charles, stop that!”

Daisy’s mother’s angry voice made everyone go silent at once. Bucky felt small, wanting to fade away into the ground below him.

Charle’s scoffed, tossing his cigar at Bucky’s beat up dress shoes. It was the best pair he owned and even those were not his best. He swallowed hard, trying to not feel small and sad.

“I’m gonna get Jimmy and then we can eat.”

Bucky stared down at the cigar at his feet, his heart feeling heavy. “A goddamn soldier”.

It replayed over and over in his head.

Suddenly, he felt a comforting hand on his back. He looked up and saw Daisy staring down at him, sad.

“Just a goddamn soldier, Daisy?” He motioned upwards with his hand. “What is this?”

Daisy looked down, “James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone.” That actually did help Bucky feel slightly better as he stood up taller. Daisy’s hand reached up as she cupped his cheek, “And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why.”

Bucky stared at her for half a second, doubting every word, before he simply complied and nodded. He smiled slightly.

+ +

The dinner was quiet and tense, and over much too slowly. Bucky had quickly pulled Daisy out into the hallway to say goodbye before he left, groaning into her mouth how he was never going back in there ever again. They both laughed and kissed.

And now here they were at the bar, the night before he had to leave. Bucky didn’t want to leave, because he had a feeling that this would be one of the last few days he would have any peace and serenity. His gut was twisting and turning as he played with the strand of her hair between his thumb and pointer finger. As his gaze drifted from her lips to her blue eyes he just knew deep inside that this is exactly the kind of feeling he wanted to be feeling for all of eternity.

He felt it when he touched her, when he looked at her, and when he held her in his arms.

It was like a wave of fresh air that reminded him of home - Daisy was his new home. He knew it happened fast, they all did, but sometimes true love doesn’t have to be complicated. When its meant to happen, it just simply happens. It’s simple as that - as simple as him tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her that pearly white smile that made the cheeks on her face turn a crimson red.

She leaned her forehead onto his as he held her close by her waist, the piano in the background that was once haunting, now insanely beautiful exactly like the woman in front of him.

When Bucky had told Steve he might ask her to marry him one day.

Those words Steve said kept ringing in Bucky’s head, even as he now held Daisy in his arms, but they meant absolutely nothing to him. She was his sanctuary, his now, and he would take it by the hand.

He would take advantage of these last few hours he had with her and he would pretend all is good in the world and it would stay that way. It had to.

He kept telling himself that so he, himself, could believe it. The truth was it was all going to go downhill, he could tell.

He knew that once he left for New Jersey tomorrow that he wasn’t going to automatically be drafted into war, there wasn’t a necessary need just yet. But his father had told him the speculations of how the US wanted to go after the Nazis, and he knew there was something else his father wasn’t telling him, and it would not be long before hell broke loose.

That’s when Steve and all the others would eventually be even more so analyzed and drafted, and so would Bucky - without a doubt.

Sure, he was courageous. It wasn’t that he was scared to go, but he needed to be certain that Daisy would always be safe. He would surely miss the moments of having her in his arms, safe and happy.

Softly, he took her left cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb across the top of her cheek bone,. He needed to take advantage of this moment that was staring them dead in the eye. He needed to. It didn’t matter how fast it was, how much he wanted to treat her preciously, and how much he respected her faith. He needed her.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he noticed her gulp and her mouth opened slightly. Daisy’s mouth went dry and she watched his usual blue eyes turn a heavy grey. Bucky smiled slightly, “I don’t want to seem like I’m making you do something you don’t want to, but I just…” his voice drifted off as his gazed dropped slightly. His eyes became clouded with disastrous visions of the future. He blinked it quickly away, wanting to just see the image of Daisy underneath him. Just her and her pearly white skin and those gorgeous lips kissing him.

At that moment Daisy knew exactly what he was asking.

She was a virgin and she had mentioned that to him when they started talking about the topic of her faith. She technically wasn’t supposed to be engaging in anything that was sexual before marriage to which Bucky simply nodded. At that moment, he decided he wouldn’t be too strong on her nor mention anything of his past sex life which would surely leave her blushing. He loved fucking.

But as she stared at him right then and there, realizing this could be the last moment where they’re both happy together and not having to worry about anything, she wanted just exactly the same thing he did. She closed her eyes tightly together and leaned her face closer to his, giving him a deep and sexy kiss on his top lip, biting it as she pulled away.

Bucky practically growled at her action, never seeing this side of her. Daisy was innocent, a classy lady, one that should always be treated as such. Sure, he knew of her passions for burlesque and lingerie (when she told him he had practically tried not to cum right then and there in his bed), but that was a dirty little secret that he concluded shouldn’t be mentioned out loud. She was always that beautiful, young, and morally behaved girl that stole his heart.

When she let go of his top lip, which was definitely throbbing now, he narrowed his lusty eyes at her and took it as a sign of acceptance.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t slightly shaking the whole time he walked her to his dungy little Brooklyn apartment. He looked straight adorable in his little Italian flat hat and suspenders, his coat draped across one of his arms, the other holding her hand as he slid his key into all three locks of the door.

She swore she could see him shake a little too when they had gotten inside and he put his coat on the tiny kitchen table and he turned to her.

The room suddenly felt even smaller, the air between them hot and utterly thick.

He eyed her up and down and swallowed hard. She wore a beautiful black dress that covered every single part of her that he now wanted to see exposed to him.

Her lips were slightly red from the many kisses they shared on the way to the apartment, and her pinup eyeliner was so damn pretty as it shaped her eyes to perfection. She was damn gorgeous and she knew it.

He slid off his dress shoes and then walked over to where she was standing. Her heart hammered away in her chest as his stunning blue eyes traced her body. The moment he finally stood before her, he realized he didn’t want to do with her what he did with every other girl.

He lifted his left arm to the side of her neck and watched her chest fall rapidly up and down. He grabbed her there lightly, and then slid it down the side of her body, eyeing the beauty that was simply her.

“James.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

He grabbed her right hand and pulled her along over to his bed. She looked down at him as he stared up at her, in awe and in love. She brought her hands to his face and touched his perfectly combed hair, smiling.

She stopped when he laid his hands over hers and brought it down between them. His face was now serious as he whispered, “Lay with me.”

He wanted to make love to her tonight.

Did they and it was slow and tender.

+ +

Bucky had told Steve he’d be back soon. It wouldn’t be too long - maybe a month, maybe even a few weeks. Bucky stepped onto the steam train and Steve and Daisy had stood next to each other as they waved him goodbye. The moment he sat down in his seat and the vision of the love of his life and his best friend became nothing but silhouettes, he threw his head back against his cold seat, taking a deep breath. He made a vow to himself that now was the time to make himself, his father, and his country proud.

The only thing he wanted more than his girl was to save the lives of every person he possibly could.

He took an additional deep breath, running a damp hand over his face. He stared up at the iron ceiling as the train swayed side to side and up and down over the slightly uneven tracks, making its way south.

He fidgeted uncomfortably as each horrible made up scenario of what could happen when he arrived went through his mind. He wondered if the chief and sergeant would agree that he’d be as fitting as his father in taking his place and if he’d make the best soldier he always wanted to be.

He took a deep breath and simply leaned his head against the glass.

His blue eyes watched as the scenery of green and trees became the last of peace that he had a feeling he would feel for a very long time.

+ +

Wheaton, New Jersey

The train ride wasn’t long; a little over an hour which was just enough time for Bucky to take his well-needed nap. When he had arrived at the station, he had noted the Jeep he was told that would pick him up along with two others who were on board. He didn’t even bother to meet up with them while onboard the train, wanting to take as much time to himself as he could, knowing it was probably his last opportunity.

The Jeep zoomed down a dirt road and through an intimidating metal gate. Bucky watched as young men ran around the perimeters, training intensely. Others were talking amongst each other as they took their break, sweaty bangs dangling onto their foreheads.

They looked at him in curiosity as his car sped towards its destination, probably wondering what was so special about this guy that he had to get to where he was going so quickly.

Suddenly, the car came to a heavy jolt and a hand slammed down beside him on his seat announcing their arrival. He jumped slightly at the intrusion but took a deep breath and opened the dingy door.

As Bucky stepped off the jeep and into the dirty mud of his new camp, he knew he needed to find his uniform and combat boots as fast as he could.

He stared down in a slight grimace at his freshly destroyed dressed shoes - he had just gotten them shined. He scoffed to himself and dragged it’s front against a random dry patch of grass trying to get off as much as he could. A young man jogged by, kicking some mud up onto Bucky’s new pants. Bucky looked on at the man as he ran, a look of anger written all over his face.

From a distance (from beneath a random tent that provided cover for a rest area, Colonel Douglas Smith watched in amusement the entire scene unfolding.

“This is Barnes’ son? The sniper?” He snarled under a grimace. He turned his head and gave Williams a disappointed look.

Another man -Williams- which sat to his left, looked towards Bucky’s direction over his daily newspaper. He watched on along with Douglas and smirked as Bucky looked around, lost.

His eyes drifted to Smith and then back down at his paper, giving it a slight smack, “Yes, sir.” humor tinted his voice heavily.

Smith shook his head in wonder as Bucky dusted off a piece of lint that was on his coat’s collar, “He better be right about this, or I swear to God.”

Bucky’s eyes scanned his vicinity, eyes narrowing diligently. His eyes finally landed on someone who seemed to be who he should be looking for, judging by their attire and posture of authority. Also, the fact that they had been looking at him first.

“He seems too pretty to be as good as they say.”

“His father says he is the best.”

Colonel Smith eyes Bucky up and down as he made his way over, sporting his new suit and fresh suspenders. As soon as he reached the two men, Bucky nodded at each one and took off his Italian flat hat, tucking it into his armpit revealing a perfectly groomed gorgeous head of hair drenched in pomade.

He reached out with his right arm for the Colonel to shake with a bright smile on his face, “James Barnes.”

“Colonel Douglas Smith,” he nods over to the man sitting down who seems very busy jotting something down, “This is Sergeant William of the one-oh-third.”

“Colonel. Serg.” Bucky confirms with a nod to each.

“Sit, boy.” Colonel demands with a motion of his hand in front of him. Bucky politely abides as he pulls out a chair to sit himself down. Bucky places his hat down in front of him and takes a deep breath, “First, I’d like to give you my condolences.”

Bucky momentarily stalls as his eyes drift back and forth between both men, but then clears his throat nodding, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Your father was a great man. Quite a fighter used to say he raised you from young to be the same way.” Colonel eyes Bucky up and down. Bucky gulps, finally feeling the pressure he had been slightly dreading from the beginning. He knew they were expectant of him, and now he was here to prove it and he wasn’t sure he had the balls of steels he had one day ago, “That true?”

Bucky clears his throat, “Yes, sir.” He leans down to reach into his briefcase and pulls out a beige file. He puts it onto the table and slides it across to Colonel. Smith is impressed by his promptness and professionalism and sees William smile from his peripheral.

“What’s this?”

Bucky clears his throat once again, “Dad trained me for many things,” he took a brief glance around the base, “I experienced boot camp at the age of fifteen. I’ve done long races, obstacle races, everything that tested my endurance, boxing, running- both in the rain and scorching heat. I’ve bled, I’ve learned not to cry and hold my own. I know tactics, I know what it takes to be a soldier, sir,” Bucky notes their faces still hold no expression of amazement he was looking for and he feels his palms sweating harshly, “My father did it so I knew how to be strong and prepared for when the time was right.”

Colonel Smith crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, not yet touching the paper in front of him. Bucky looked on in simple embarrassment from Smith to his folder, wondering if it was pointless to show as much pride as he did.

Smith’s strong voice makes Bucky jump when he starts talking, “You think that because you’ve trained since you were a young boy, but clearly have no experience being on the front line, that you are an American Soldier?”

Bucky automatically becomes defensive and his posture becomes confident. He didn’t like the nagging, the accusation of something he was not. That’s when he realized, he needed to prove himself. He was good, and they wanted to see it.

He leans closer to the table and crosses his hands out in front of him, “No, sir, of course not. Not yet,” His voice was strong and clear. The colonel sat there waiting for what Barnes had to add, “I have no experience yet with being in a war, not yet. But I have other experiences, first-hand experience.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“Guns.” Both Smith and William now give Bucky their full attention, looking straight at him in total interest. Smith even moves up closer to Bucky.

Bucky is almost one hundred percent more confident now than he was ten minutes ago because now he’s finally talking about something he knows he can own up to well. This he enjoyed immensely.

“Sure. Your file we have here does show you are good with targets, that you know what weapon is best for what, that you helped your father when it came to assembling and reassembling them for the troops, and that you are great at knowing the anatomy of a gun but many here can do that with intense training. What do you have that the others here don’t, James?”

The colonel was pressing now, and Bucky at that moment realized that what he was doing was not because he didn’t see a reason to not trust Bucky, but more so so he could prove himself, and this was his chance.

Bucky looked Colonel Smith straight in the eye with a snarl. He slammed one finger down on the table in front of them, “I’m not just good with targets. I hit them all.”

“I do not miss. This file,” Bucky again slams his finger down on the folder in front of them, “There are diagrams, spreadsheets, rough drafts, charts, and all my grades for every algebra, geometry, physics, and trigonometry class I’ve ever taken. All As. It also includes my use of Pythagorean theorems.” Colonel raises an impressed brown and opens the file. His mouth is slightly agape as he reads on what is pages and pages of mathematical equations, transcriptions, and each a different weapon usage.

For a cocky good looking guy, Bucky was clearly very very intelligent - a closet nerd.

“I might no be a soldier yet, but I’m already a good fucking sniper.”

William and Smith are smiling now as they see Bucky in the way they wanted to, “Look, I’ll go out there tomorrow if you need me to. Sure, I’m a kid, but that just means I have the time to learn more. I’m ready to fight.”

Colonel stares at Bucky for a beat. He nods, takes the folder in his hands, and stands up. Bucky looks up at him, “You will be here to assist Serg. William and I. And then we’ll see where we take you from there. We want a hard-headed kid here to help get these other guys in order.” His voice was softer now as he spoke on, “Soon, we’ll be out there in the real world and I feel you’ll do fine, kid. Your health record looks great, I saw your previous training records here at the base and they are impeccable,”

“Thank you, sir-“

“but,” Bucky swallows hard. Smith hands the file over to William, “We want you to focus on shooting. And train these damn ass kids that this isn’t just a game. William will escort you to your temporary quarter.”

Bucky nods and stands up, a wide grin on his face as Smith initiates the handshake this time, “Good luck, Kid.”

+ +

Letters.

That's how he spoke to her for two years. He missed her, he missed Steve, and he missed school. He missed Brooklyn, but he missed her most of all. She was everything he had ever wanted and more.

They refused to lose touch, but it seemed to have gotten harder the longer he spent time away from her. He almost started forgetting what it was she looked like and he did not like that at all.

He hoped more than anything that she didn’t forget what he felt like, what his cock felt like the inside of her pretty self. God, he missed her so much.

He’d be laying down in the bunker after one of her letters where she’d admitted that she missed all of his body, and suddenly he’d find himself a panting mess, a hand wrapped around himself. No other women in his life made him cum as much as she did. She was perfect.

Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.

He would pick up his pen and start writing.

Daisy,

I’ll be home soon, my love. I want and miss you, too.

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

Bucky jumped up looked upfront his lap from where he was writing to see Williams looking at him in curiosity, waiting.

“Be right there, Sergeant.”

Take care of Stevie for me, Daisy. Be careful, both of ya.

Much love,

Bucky

+ +

He’s standing in front of the men, showing them how to correctly calculate the wind and kickback of a PPSh-41. Ten iron cans laid on the grass as Bucky allowed his gun to swing back towards him. He smirks and slides it back into place in the holster around his waist.

“Johnny, you’re up.” Bucky would announce each boy’s turn until they’ve all managed to hit all targets. Some of them taking more thirty tries each to succeed.

As much as he’d try and teach them how to properly shoot each and every gun they had on hand, it was evident that they’d never be as good as him.

But there were good in other aspects, some of which actually reminded him of Steve back at home.

“Faster.” Bucky would demand as he walked in front of them as they did fifty push-ups each. He knew they could handle it.

Williams and Smith watched from afar as Bucky’s men eventually became some of the strongest and most courageous they’ve seen in a long time.

They shared a knowing look and Smith gave a small nod.

Bucky’s gaze drops from the men he’d grown to love down to his feet. He didn’t expect to be there for two years. He didn’t think he would go that long without seeing Daisy, but they ended up loving having him there.

Within weeks he had the entire infantry under his finger. At first, he wasn’t too keen on yelling at them at what to do and how to do it, but with time he realized it was for their best and they realized that too. He was actually not a complete asshole when it came to bossing everyone around, but to be fair it mostly had to do with the fact that they were all not too much younger than him either, some even older.

+ +

It had been Friday night when Bucky had everyone in their bed by 8 o clock, without a complaint or disobedience.

Bucky sat in his little office under the vintage desk light as he was reading one of Daisy’s latest letters, where she spoke about how her father had come home briefly but was quickly leaving for Siberia within a few weeks and how much she was dying to hold Bucky back in her arms again.

She kept begging and begging him non stop.

Bucky’s face was crestfallen as he wrote back that he promised he would be back, and that he had to talk to her about something special when he saw her again for the first time.

Truth was, he was going to ask her to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her even if it was from such far away. Bucky was tucking the letter into the envelope when someone cleared their throat from his left.

His head snapped and he smiled when he saw it was colonel Smith.

“Bucky, mind if we speak for a second.” Bucky nodded his head and tucked the letter in his back pocket. The colonel noted this with a nod, “That for the lady?”

Bucky smiled slightly, although it was also sad, “Yeah. Miss her,”

Colonel patted a hand on his shoulder, “I know, kiddo.”

They were about to go into Colonel’s office when Smith turned around. Bucky practically walked into him, not expecting him to stop so suddenly in his path. Bucky’s face was serious and he felt worried at the tension that quickly grew, “What is it, Colonel?”

Contemplating before speaking, he looked over Bucky’s shoulder, “The men love you,”

He looked back at Bucky, “You’re good. Really good.”

Bucky should’ve been proud of his words (he was slight) but he could tell something was going on. Smith’s tone and his eyes were off, something was clearly up.

“What’s going on?”

The colonel looked down. It looked like for a second that he was going to back out on telling Bucky. But clearly this wasn’t something anyone could control anymore, “They want them in.”

World War II had merely started about a little over a year ago. Nazi Germany was at its peak and troops were being sent out constantly. Bucky knew there were several infantries being sent in, along with the heavy draft. Bucky had spoken to Steve back at home and Steve kept mentioning about the guys all being deployed out, but not all. They were still trying to recruit more as time came, seeing who was eligible and who wasn’t. Bucky tried to convince Steve as much as possible to quit trying to join the army, to stop lying on his forms to get accepted.

At their base, they were training until they were to be pulled out.

And now was the time.

“But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

Bucky’s heart plummeted for a fraction of a second. He wondered what else he possibly had to say.

Colonel turned into his office and allowed Bucky to follow behind. Bucky closed the door behind him, reluctantly and with a hard swallow.

“There’s a group being deployed in two days. To England, the one-oh-seventh.”

Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. Pride filled deep within his gut and he tried to contain as much excitement as he could.

Smith went around his desk, “We agreed that you’re more than suitable to be deployed as well. So you’ll be with them.”

Bucky smiled. It was finally his time. It wasn’t just his men, but him as well.

“When?”

“A couple of weeks. The week before you’ll be allowed one week at home to see your friends,” Colonel looked at the letter that was peaking out behind him, “and your girl.” Bucky felt like he was going to cry from excitement at this point. Colonel’s face was still serious, “we want to assign you as an official Sergeant.”

The earth seemed two have shifted for a moment while Bucky processed the words. He couldn’t believe they would want him to serve at that level. Bucky’s brows raised in surprise as he stood motionless.

A soldier he always knew he would become one day, it was practically in his blood, but “Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” Smith crossed his hands out in front of him and stared up at Bucky, hopeful, “I knew the moment you started talking that you were different. You’re good, you’re loyal, you’re a true born soldier just like your father always said you were. You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on something unless they were worth it. You know how to take charge and you’re willing to be on the front line.”

That same image of a tormented child being strangled to death by a hand flicker’s through his mind's eye, except now the kid is thrown against a brick wall, completely deceased.

Bucky swallows hard, “My men, they will be with me?” He knew the answer because he was already told upfront but Smith but he needed to be sure. He needed to know all of them would be there by his side when he killed Schmidt.

“Yes. Drafting starts soon, son. You’ll be home for a little bit to say goodbye.” Smith smiled, “Go get your girl.”

+ +

He’d made sure all their beds were made before they all left to say goodbye to their loved ones one last time, and he made his as well. What good Sergeant would he be if he weren’t the best example if he were a hypocrite?

He hadn’t told Steve nor Daisy that he was coming home- wanting it to be a surprise. He stepped off the train, a tailored uniform, his new Sergeant cap on his head, and a pin on his left chest. He was ready.

A sharp wind blew in from the west, making him frown slightly in pain. The January air burned him like fire but yet gave life at the same exact time. This was reality and it was like a slap to the face. He was here to say goodbye.

Bucky had grabbed a paper from the boy at the train station and saw something about Howard Stark’s Expo and he felt like a little boy all over again. He loved Howard Stark, to be frankly honest he was quite a nerd for it. Not only did he make the best weapons that Bucky would love to have his hands on one day, but he also loved how smart and genius he was. How he was never afraid to reach the unreachable and to do what no one else had the guts to. He would kill to meet him one day and just tell him how amazing he was.

So he had to go to his expo before he left. He was ready to see his best friend and his girlfriend and that’s exactly who he was going to go with.

Bucky had been walking excitedly from the train station to Steve’s house, but he was not expecting to see him getting beaten up by a gentleman in an alley outside a theatre.

Anger blew up inside of Bucky as he ran towards the scene, “Hey!” He called out, grabbing both of their attention.

When Steve saw Bucky his eyes lit up.

Bucky grabbed the bully by his collar and kicked his ass while Steve watched from the corner of the dirty alley.

“I think you like getting punched.”

Bucky said as he helped Steve off the floor.

“I had him on the ropes.”

Bucky decided not to comment any more on how Steve needed to lay off and instead wanted to spend the last few hours he had with his best friend and his girl. He told Steve about how he was sergeant now for the 107th and that he was leaving for England in the morning the next day.

But he was also excited to share with Steve the one thing that Steve knew Bucky loved the most - Stark. When Bucky pulled out the newspaper that showed the expo that was happening that night, Steve notices the fanboy smile written all over his face. He couldn’t wait to pick up Daisy so they could all go.

When Bucky and Daisy saw each other for the first time, he had spun her around so hard her dress spun with her. Bucky kissed her so hard and she cried as she told him how much she missed him.

Steve just stared back in boredom.

“Are we going, or…?”

They both giggled and Bucky punched him playfully on the shoulder, “Come on, punk.”

The three of them walked into the expo. Steve was looking around in awe while Bucky had the biggest grin on his face as he held Daisy’s hand. She wore a beautiful dark drey below-knee dress and brown leather oxford heels and her lips were coated in the most beautiful shades of red.

It was everything Bucky had ever dreamed of. Stark literally blew his mind, especially when he brought out the beautiful to die for women and then make a car fucking fly. Even if it was for just a second.

Bucky’s heart soared.

Daisy looked up at him wonder and she watched his face light up in pure happiness. She didn’t know someone could be so beautiful and that she could love someone so much. She raised her right hand up to his face as a firework went off behind his head in the sky. It was blue - the same shade of his eyes.

He wasn’t expecting that gesture from her at that moment, so when he felt her soft little fingers on the side of his face, he snapped his head down to look at her. Her smile faded as he gave her a look of pure want.

She traces his lips with her thumb and leaned her head down on his chest. Her heart soared even more as he brought her to him in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of her head and then told Steve that they should call it a night.

Steve gave Bucky a tight hug and told him to be safe.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Bucky warned him with a smile.

When Steve split ways with the couple at his door, he knew exactly what they were up to. He was happy for his best friend, he just hoped they weren’t too emotionally involved more than anything. He didn’t want to see Bucky get hurt.

He looked at his best friend with a weird sorrow. He wasn’t sure why something in his gut was telling him that this happiness, this simpleness, was going to be very short-lived.

+ +

When they had gotten back to his apartment, he had her against his door and his lips were on hers.

This was it.

Snippets of that flash of that dead child kept hitting Bucky over and over as he kissed Daisy up against his door.

He tried to get rid of those images as much as possible as he grabbed her gorgeous legs, pulling them around his waist.

That seemed to have done the job perfectly because he felt himself growing hard for her.

“Please.” She pleaded desperately over his lips. He pulled away from her for a second and just stared at her beautiful face trying to take it all in. Reality hit them like a truck as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. This was goodbye, for a while.

He leaned in slowly, and this kiss was different. It was love and care, and so much need. A need for forever. He felt tears building behind his lids as the thought of never getting the chance of holding her like this ever again tried to take over his brain. She tightened her legs around him, her hands going to the straps of his belt.

“God, I missed you, Daisy,” He moaned against her mouth. He brought his right hand between her legs, pushing her panties to the side. He slid one finger from her clit down her slick slit and her head fell back with a thud against his door. She groaned out loud at the sensation that wracked through her body, “Missed the sounds you make. I love you so much.” He growled against her.

She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his face away from her neck to kiss him deeply again. She nodded against him as her hips met the rhythm of his hand, confirming that she felt the same way.

“Please take me, James.”

He walked them over to his bed and gently laid her down. She stared up at his lustful eyes, her lips swollen from his kiss, and her dress bundled up at her waist.

Bucky didn’t waste two seconds to pull it off her. Next, she helped him pull off his uniform jacket and shirt, revealing his gorgeous abs that she wanted to lick over with her tongue.

Next, she removed his pants.

She slowly tucked her fingers into the underside of his underwear as she bit her lip. It was obvious that she was teasing him.

“Just take it off.” He ordered.

She did as told and practically whimpered as his hard cock was revealed to her. She sat up and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra.

When he saw her perky breasts, he leaned down and kissed her once more. The first time they had sex it was different. It was innocent and timid, but now that he knew her body and she wasn’t so shy anymore, it was more carnal. The first time was about opportunities and their future.

But this, this felt like goodbye.

“I can’t wait, Daisy. I need you.” He confessed as he laid her down all the way. She nodded against his understanding.

He stretched out his left hand to hold onto the headboard while the other grabbed his pulsing shaft. She spread her legs and he slid into her with a long moan.

He looked down at her and watched as she arched her neck back in pleasure, the nails of her left hand digging into his sides.

“Faster.” She moaned.

The other thing that was different about this time was how fast it was. The first time it lasted for almost an hour, they had made love in the most sensual way that left his skin crawling. This time they were both so close so fast, they just needed that release due to being away from each other for so long.

She was practically screaming as he fucked her fast and oh so deliciously into the bed below her. It was so good that after only a few minutes she was looking down at the spot where they both met, her lips formed into a perfect o.

She started nodding quickly. She cried. Bucky groaned as he twitched inside of her, his pleasure growing just as strong as hers. He was right behind her. He put his other arm up on the headboard too, letting his restless hips do all the work.

All that was heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin and their moaning.

He picked up his pace as he stared deeply into the blue orbs. When she shut her eyes she let out a silent scream, and he felt her clench around his cock.

That did it for him. He whimpered.

He increased his speed until he felt his own end approaching, and it was going to be strong. When it did, he groaned, tightening his grips on the headboard, making it bang against the wall behind them. He continuously slammed his hips harsh against her.

“Fuck.” He groaned slipping out of her. She watched in awe and as he stroked himself so fast his hand became a blur - little spurts of white falling over her pretty tummy.

His eye drifted back to her face and he watched as a smile played on her lips. Her face was extremely flushed as she bit her bottom lip in a way that made him want to take her again. He chuckled lightly. It made his heart heavy, and he knew that now was the perfect time to ask her what he had been wanting for the last two years.

He let go of the bed and laid himself next to her. He placed his left hand above her hand and the other on the side of her face. They watched each other in complete love before he kissed her long and hard.

When he pulled away, she felt him slightly shaking and noticed the look of nervousness in his eyes. She swallowed hard.

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever.

+ +

Diamond ring on her hand, big heart in his chest, Bucky Barnes had been ready to devote his life her and to love.

Life had other plans for him.

Why be a husband when he could be brainwashed into becoming the Head of Hydra?

Why love with his heart and soul when he could kill and become the world’s greatest assassin?

They’re at the New York Library. Steve stands behind him, hands in pocket and eyebrows furrowed together.

70 years later, Bucky detests himself for who he has become. He hates it all. He hates that he woke up.

His hand trembles as he reads the article. It’s worn out, ink faded.

YOUNG WOMAN, FOUND IN HALLWAY, SHOT

Reason unknown, ongoing investigation

The blonde 21 year old was found shot through the skull in the five story building but an other woman after a shot was heard.

The woman states: “There was blood everywhere. It reeked of disaster. The poor girl was always so quiet and sweet.”

Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —

Bucky’s heart shattered, but those beautiful memories still stayed fresh in his mind.

Present

You watched him from underneath your lashes as his chest slowly moved up and down. He looked deep in thought, as if his mind had been somewhere else, even though he was physically there.

As his eyes examined you across the bed, you wondered what was going through his head.

You were shocked when he stretched out his arm and you felt his hand run through your hair, letting his thumb linger over the back of your neck.

“What does it mean?” He asks. His voice is deep and filled with emotion.

He’s asking about your tattoo.

“Nothing.” You say breathlessly.

His eyes were enthralling.

“There’s no meaning?”

“No.” You eyes leave his and you look out towards the direction of the dining area.

“Why did you get it?” He asks.

“It was in the moment. It felt like it would be thrilling; fun. The thought of forever made it even more so.” You say without a thought, letting your eyes close.

His hands don’t leave the back of your neck, and his touch remains gentle.

“You’re absolutely insane.” His tone has a chirp to it that you’ve never heard before and a near chuckle escapes your chest. He rubs his thumb there again it sends a jolt into your stomach. You open your eyes again to take a peak at him and the looks he’s giving you must’ve triggered something in your own appearance because his eyes furrow together, “What?”

“You reminded me of someone.”

He swallows thickly.

“Yeah?”

“Will.” You feel your throat grow tight at the mention of his name. Bucky senses a change in your tone and he knows that whoever this Will is, he had an impact on your life, “He died just a few days before Fury found me. He was my best friend. He was sweet, humble, funny, sarcastic, optimistic,” there’s a crack in your voice and Bucky’s breath hitches, “I loved Will. He was supposed to be here with me. We were coming to the Capitol together.” Bucky watches you intently as you speak so fondly of your dear friend. Emotions consume him and he’s in a warped daze, right hand that had been on your tattoo running up the side of your face and into your hair, “he was the only friend I ever had.”

Your eyes meet his and he sees in the tears in your eyes. He looks at you confused, fingers tightening in your hair.

“And then after I laid him to rest, I walked into the woods. I was crying and I was angry at him for leaving me. I fell down at slope, hurt my hand and my leg —” Bucky says your name quietly but you ignore him, “it was dark. I was afraid. But I wanted to continue on. Deep down I know I did. I needed to do it for Will. Then this man came and he was going to ruin everything, so I killed him. I had to,” it’s the first time you’re addresses your killing so verbally and so emotionally and it affects you more than you thought, “I had to kill him.” Bucky watches with concern as your fingers tremble against the sheets, “And then Fury found me and took me to your camp. I met Steve, and then I met you.”

Bucky pulls his hand away moments later.

You both lay there in silence. It’s the most you’ve spoken to each other since the night he first fucked you.

After you had sex in the kitchen, you both had separated quietly, going your separate ways until night time. You both slept on opposite sides of the bed and a couple feet apart.

It wasn’t even that it was awkward. There’s was just too much unsaid and still too much tension. You kept falling harder and harder, and you were getting weaker.

The next day you had gone to work and Bucky had found a plan to get into Ashen’s tower.

A day later, you finally spoke again.

At nights it was the hardest. You hated his sudden silence.

You hated that you had no idea what the hell was going on anymore.

Your eyes met in an intense gaze.

Bucky watched curiously as your left hand grazed over the sheets and up over his waist. You watched as his breath hitched, his breathing picking up.

“What the hell are we doing, Bucky?” You asked sincerely.

Part of you genuinely wondered if he was only doing this with you because you were the only girl available.

“Fucking.” He spats out too quickly. He continues to watch you as tug your fingers into the band of his dark grey sweats, “we’re fucking.”

You feel a surge of energy build its way up your body. You don’t know if it’s lust or anger, and it scares you that you can’t distinguish it. You begin to wonder if possibly it’s both.

You move closer into him dragging his sweats down as best as you could. Bucky had to help you by lifting his hips off the bed for a second. He lets out a long breath as his length escapes the confinements of his pants.

Your heart hurts as you take in his glorious body and his face. The face of a boy that you wished could give you more than this, the face of a boy that changed your life.

Because even though he was pure man, you knew deep down inside he still felt young. He felt robbed. You hated that you wanted to take him in any way you could. You hated that you loved making him cum and that he let you.

Eyes darting down to his half soft cock, you lick your bottom lip. You take him into your hand, thumb sliding over his tip. Bucky lets out a tight moan. It comes out heavy and needy.

His reaction gives you a boost and you give him a few languid strokes.

“Over the head, and under it.” He tells you with a gruff. You do as told, watching as pre cum oozes out of his hole. Bucky groans, stretching his right leg out. He mumbles something you can’t make out. Your look up to see him quickly lick his hand and the replace yours with his own over his growing dick, “Like this.” He curved it up towards his body and he teaches you how to stroke. You watch amazed as his flesh hand moves over his cock, noting how where his thumb and pointer finger meet focuses on the edge of the mushroom tip.

You put your hands over his and he lets himself go, letting you take charge again.

The feel of his saliva on your palm over his cock is filthy. Dirty. Fucking sexual.

You mimic his actions from earlier for about a minute until you decide to lick a strip up the underside of his shaft.

You hear him gasp underneath you and a heavy hand meets the back of your head. You look up at him timidly and he’s looking down at you. He looks as sinful as ever. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is agape. You can’t tell if it’s the pleasure you’re giving him or if he’s shocked.

It kills him how innocent you look with your head between his legs. Your lashes are so long and pretty and, oh, your lips look small plush too. You keep eye contact as you flick the tip of your tongue over his tip and a whine escapes his throat. You do it again, and again.

“Oh my god.” He moans. You take him into your mouth little by little, careful to not let your teeth scrape him.

You bob your head up and down, your right hand stroking what you can’t take down your throat.

You feel his hands pulling your hair into a makeshift pony tail and you groan around him.

“Fuck.” He gasps at the vibrations. One of his hands leave your head but the other stays there, helping you; guiding you.

You sit up up until your butt is in the air, with him still in your mouth, and your place your hands on his thighs. You take a deep breath, and he watches as you lower your head down his cock, as deep as it could go.

The chocking sounds are erotic to both your ears.

Bucky is breathing harder now and he takes your head in both of his hands, running his fingers gently down the sides as he slides you up and off his cock.

When your eyes meet, his looks lust blown. His gaze is briefly on your now swollen lips, and then he composes himself, hands going down to the hem of your white camisole dress.

He helps you pull it off in one go followed by your underwear. As soon as it’s off your feet you go to sit up when he stops you.

He grabs your pillow and places it behind you. You sit back. Bucky gives your body a hungry look as he grabs each of your knees, bending your legs up. He gives them a shove away from each other.

You feel exposed and naked and you know he can see just how soaked you are. You whimper as he slides to fingers up your bare and freshly shaved folds. He lets out his own moan as he gathers your juices onto the tips of his fingers, smearing them over your clit.

Shocked, you watch as he leans down until his front is almost perpendicular to the bed. He kisses the inside of your thigh, nibbling it as he makes his way to your center.

You feel his hot breath against your cunt as he tells you to put you to grab his head.

In a euphoric daze, you do as you’re told. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you as he licks your clit. You feel two of his fingers spread your lips and then he’s licking at you, feeding on you like you’re his favorite meal.

You groan, shoving his head closer to your pussy.

“Oh, shit.” You moan when he enters two flesh fingers into your as he sucks on your bundle of nerves.

Your left leg kicks out as he sucks and sucks. You’re breathless as you look down, the sigh of his head between your thighs being the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, god.” You say.

He looks up at you and you’re gasping. His eyes don’t leave yours as he continues to fuck you with two fingers, the tip of his tongue now flicking at you like mad.

You let out a heavy groan, your head tossing backwards in pleasure.

You feel him pull away and you whimper at the loss of feeling. You feel him grab the side of your waist and he’s pulling you against him until he’s back into the same position he was before.

Bucky leans over the side of the bed and goes into his night stand. You don’t know how to feel when you see him grab a box of condoms.

Did he buy that? Did he know he didn’t want it to be just a one time thing? He didn’t want it to be a one time thing?

You rips box and tosses almost angrily, and when he’s got the foil in his hand, he tears the edge with his teeth.

He slides the condom over his dick and then gently grabs your arms.

“I’ve never…” you stutter as you sit on his lap.

“I know you haven’t, i’ll teach you.” He slides you up and down over his cock, coating it with your slick. You’re leaned over him gasping and he’s grinning his teeth, “You can ride my cock, can’t you?” He purrs up at you so deliciously you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from whimpering, “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you cum. I want us to cum together.”

Your movements quicken as his words turn you on. He takes himself in his hand and rubs his tip up and down over your slit before finally pushing into your heat.

You both groan simultaneously. The pleasure is mutual and you both feel full and satisfied, for the first time. He’s gasping, both hands taking a hold of each side of your face.

He hates what this has become. He hates that his emotions are at an all time high right now.

His eyes look into yours as you move up and down and he remembers why he was so afraid of loving again.

As you move over him, he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it if something bad were to happen to you. As you fuck yourself on his cock, he knows he can’t fall down that rabbit hole again. He tried so hard to make you hate him and yet here you were, letting him fuck you.

You couldn’t like him. Not emotionally and not physically. It was for your own good. He was bad news, he knew he was.

Everything he touched always got destroyed. It always died.

He was cursed.

Your cunt gives him a perfect squeeze and he shouts.

“God, Y/N.” He cries, grabbing your hips and driving you down faster and harder.

He bends his legs and the sound of your skins hitting echoes around the loft.

Dirty.

Your hand goes to your pussy and you rub yourself furiously.

“Oh yeah.” You moan. He moans back in response, his own hips lifting off the bed to fuck into you.

He tells you to rest your hands on the pillow next to his head and you do so.

He grabs your hips and starts ramming up into you.

Looking down, his face is only a few inches from yours and you wished you could kiss him. You wonder if he can see past your lie of just wanting him for sex. You wanted so much more than an orgasm.

He was killing you.

With one of his ruthless trusts, he hits that spot inside of you that makes you see sparks and you feel your end approaching.

You’re breaths come out of your nose in sharp huffs, fingers curling into the pillow case.

You scream when he leans himself up, taking the side of one of your breasts into his mouth. His nibbles you with a growl.

You know he’s getting close too because his eyebrows are tight together and there’s a thin sheet of sweat over his body.

You cum beautifully over his dick. You know you’re probably shouting but you don’t care because there is absolutely nothing that could ever feel better than this. He helps you drag it out and he rams into you and you look down to see his eyes tightly closed.

You rub a thumb over the tops of his left cheek.

“Cum for me.” You whisper.

His mouth gapes open and he gives you a few more strong thrust before they start to falter. He lets out a loud and animalism grunt, followed by a slap to your right ass cheek.

You’re both panting as you collapse on top of him.

+ +

The building’s security infrastructure was a lot less advanced than Bucky had planned for, which was a great thing. He half expected to have to divert more cameras and more security. Especially for a Hydra centre.

Or maybe he was just that stealthy.

He had commenced his part of the mission earlier in the afternoon than he usually did, but that was because he wanted to see if he could catch Ashen this time.

Just as planned, at three forty five sharp, Ashen and three other man came in through the main entrance.

Bucky, having come in through a weak and dingy window across the building, watched from afar as they took the elevator. On cue, Bucky took the door to the stairwell.

He made it quickly to the seventieth floor until he hear the familiar voice. Waiting until it was far enough and he could no longer hear anything, Bucky stepped out into the hallway.

He makes sure to avoid directly sight of any cameras he sees along the way. So many years as the world’s most dangerous assassin gave him the stealth and experience needed to do it successfully. He would go undetected.

The building was modern and gorgeous. There were glass panels and long hallways. Bucky followed the men from a safe distance until they finally walked into a room, closing the door behind them. Bucky tried to maneuver as best as he could without being seen.

When he turned he saw something that left him stunned.

It was a medical bay, expect that there was just one bed.

He could see Ashen and those few men, who were now adorning lab coats.

What caught Bucky off guard was the little boy laying in the bed, unconscious. There were several tubs and IVs coming in and out of his little body. He was a strange color, almost light green. Ashen sat next to the boy, sad.

Bucky watched carefully as Ashen took the little boy’s hand in his.

“Hey, kiddo. Daddy got you a gift this time. It’s not the usual one you like, but I figured you’d still love it.” Bucky watched as Ashen pulled something out of his suit pocket. It was a Hershey kisses. Ashen placed it on the bed, “You need to wake up, buddy. It’s the only thing left before we can figure this out. Please, Ashens.”

Bucky’s heart sunk as the kid’s father’s head dropped down onto the bed. His hand ran over his head, the other continued to hold onto Ashens’ hand.

“Sir?” One of the men in the lab coats speaks.

“Yes?” Ashen responds.

“We can hold him on the machines for a few more months, but if things don’t start to look up —-”

“I don’t want to hear it. He will wake up. He will stay on the machines until I say otherwise.” He snaps, “We already have Stark technology being detected within the walls, we can’t afford to lose guard now. We are getting closer!”

“Sir—”

“He’s my son!” He shouts.

Bucky starts to back away when he hears someone about to turn the corner. He hides behind one of the walls that lead into a room until the close is clear. He finds his way back the way he came.

He needed to find you.

+ + +

“Pour me a Knob Creek on the rocks, sweetheart.” The man slurs, giving you a nod towards drinks behind you.

You tried not to groan as you gave him a fake smile. You quickly poured him the drink and slid it across the bar to the douchebag who wouldn’t stop eyeing you like a piece of meat.

“I’ll have the same.”

A voice says on the opposite side. You look over and you feel fear creep up in your bones.

Silas.

You nod, hands shaking as pour his drink.

He watches you closely.

“You nervous about something?” He asks.

You let out a shaky chuckle.

“No.” You say bluntly.

You slide him the drink and he takes it, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

“I won’t bite.” He says.

You look away. Shit did he remember you?

“Didn’t think you would.”

You go to turn around when he grabs your wrist. Your blood runs ice cold and your freeze on the spot. You can feel your heart beating away inside of your chest.

His eyes are intense as they stay on you.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asks.

You let out another chuckle.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not a whore?”

His blunt question insults you. You know he means one of the call girls down stairs, but it still bothers you.

“I’m a bartender.” You insist.

“Bartender?” His grip tightens slightly.

He stares into your eyes and you feel threatened.

Did he remember?

“Hey, everything alright out here?” You turn around, relieved to see Pietro behind you.

Silas quickly lets go of you and returns to his drink.

Pietro looks up from your wrist to Silas with a raised brow.

Your heart only calms down a bit before you clear your throat.

“You okay, Marina?” He asks you in the corner where Silas won’t hear.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Pietro doesn’t believe you and you can tell by the way he looks at you.

“If you ever have any issues with anyone here, please let me know.” You nod, “Good. Have a good night, you did good today.”

You give him another short nod, still unable to breathe properly.

+ +

Bucky was standing out on the balcony when you came home. He looked to be deep in thought about something so you gave him the space he needed. You avoided the bedroom and instead hung out for a bit on the couch, trying to process what happened tonight and how you would tell Bucky. You knew for certain he was going to flip out. Or maybe it was just your paranoia and he would tell you to relax and that you were overreacting.

You weren’t sure what would happen.

Bucky doesn’t decided to come inside until you’re in the kitchen grabbing some left over take out from yesterday. He stands in the entrance for a few seconds before sitting down at the table behind you.

“We need to talk.” He says.

You wait a few seconds before sitting in front of him. He’s looking down at his hand on his leg instead of at you.

He bites his lip and scoffs, disappointedly.

What was going on?

He stands up, runs his hands through his hair and begins to pace around.

“We shouldn’t have done this. Any of this. It was a mistake. I knew it would’ve been bad. A distraction. We shouldn’t have done this.” His mumbling under his breath and not making any sense to you.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You ask quietly and concerned.

He walks over to the counter and slams his flesh fist on it.

“What the fuck are we doing?” He shouts, “We’re supposed to be working, focusing on this mission, and instead,” he spins around pointing out the kitchen, “instead we’re out there fucking, Y/N. We’re acting like a bunch of fucking animals, humping each other’s brains out!”

“Bucky —”

“I knew, I knew this would’ve been a bad decision. I fucking knew I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“You need two people to have sex, Bucky.”

“You should have never told me you wanted to fuck me.”

“I never told you to fuck me. I was only telling you how I feel. That’s all I’ve been doing this entire time.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have.”

“You’re the one who told me you wanted to fuck me, Bucky! You’re the one that bought a fucking damn box of condoms while I was taking a damn shower!” You’re angry now as you stand up from the chair, “Don’t you dare tell me this was all me or all you, this was both of us.” You jammed a finger into his chest, “You bought me fucking plan B just so I couldn’t get pregnant with your damn child and then you fucked me again not even an hour later. Don’t you fucking dare.” You can feel the tears in your eyes.

He grabs your fingers and walks you back until your back is against the wall. He snarls down at you.

“Then fuck it. We like to fuck. Either it’s me or you or both us, fine. But we shouldn’t have done it.”

You want to push him away from you as you feel repulsed by him.

“Yeah? Was that what was going through your mind as you were shoving my head down your cock, Barnes? Making me choke on it? Or when you fucked me up against our window so our neighbors could see? I don’t have to fuck you ever again.”

“Good —!”

“—I literally told you I loved you and you attacked me for it—”

“—because it’s obviously only making everything worst—”

“—I then sleep with you, I gave you my virginity, and you have the audacity to stand here and say I seduced you when I gave you my innocence!” You shoved him away and he stumbled back. Your face felt red and you feel furious. You were shocked you weren’t crying, even though you felt like it, “Huh?” You give me another shove, “How fucking evil are you? You gaslighting piece of shit.”

He looked at you after that and your breathing was the only thing that could be heard. His face was stern and turned into a scowl as he looked down at you.

“I’m evil?” You took deep breaths through your nose to control yourself, “No, yeah you’re right, I am. I know I’m a piece of shit. I’m abnormal.” He spat the same words out you had used against him the other day, “I’m so damn evil, Y/N, that I’d rather try and focus on this damn mission than worry about getting laid.” You’re both breathing hard now. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Yeah, maybe before I was thinking with my cock instead of my head, but it needs to stop now. Last night was the last time.”

You could feel your heart thundering away inside of you. You squinted your eyes at him, seeing the underlying discomfort in his eyes.

“What happened today?” You ask slowly, carefully. He doesn’t answer you and you start to get angry again, “I come home, I found you outside looking all depressed and now you’re in here snapping at me about focusing on the mission. What. Happened. Today?” You emphasize through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath again, looking away from you he runs a hand through his hair and turns away from you.

“They know we’re here. We weren’t careful enough.” He says.

Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach along with your worst fears.

“What?”

“They know we’re here! I fucking followed them and I overheard them. We either weren’t careful enough or —- I don’t know!” He’s pacing again, “Your parent’s must’ve put in some kind of tracker to make the capitol aware or something of stark technology or maybe Hydra pre installed something. Whatever it is, they know we are here, and for all I know they could be watch us right now. We fucked up.”

You watch him as he stresses over this. He grabs at his hair.

“They don’t know it’s us, Bucky. If they did they’ve would’ve caught us by now.” You tick your jaw as you watch the muscles in his back flex, “Something happened at work today, too. I think Silas remembered me.”

Bucky scoffs, turning around again to face you.

“There’s no way he remembers you. We wiped him.”

“Maybe you’re right, but he was acting off. He came to order a drink and he grabbed me —”

“He grabbed you?”

“Just my hand. I was fine. Pietro showed up, sensed the tension, and Silas backed off.”

“Fuck.”

You take a deep breath, stepping away from Bucky.

“You’re right,” you eye him up and down, “We can’t let it happen again. We need to focus on this and I’m already exhausted from you.”

“Exhausted from me?” His voice is a low timber now, the anger from before having died over.

“You don’t even know the amount of emotional turmoil you put me through, do you?” He continues to stare at you quietly and you take another step towards him, “You took something I can never get back.” You say quietly, “And it’s up for you to decide what that something is.”

+ + +

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 27 - ao3 -

Matters settled, eventually, and just as eventually, it started getting better.

At first, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure if matters were actually better, or if he’d just grown numb and accustomed, but after the past year and more he thought that there was a serious possibility of it being the former rather than the latter.

Probably the biggest difference was the birth of little Lan Huan, who’d joined the world as a fat and squalling infant that Lan Qiren had loved at first sight and sleepless night – he was still too young to be separated from his mother, or at minimum his wetnurse, but Lan Qiren made a practice of visiting every few days to try to prepare himself for caring for him. The women were generally happy to shove the baby into his arms and let him play guqin or xiao for him until he fell asleep. Apparently Lan Huan was actually a very peaceable baby, an assertion which Lan Qiren had initially doubted on account of the circles under everyone’s eyes, but when he’d said so, the wetnurse had glared at him and pronounced that saying such things meant that the next child would be a true wild terror, and probably a biter to boot.

The frequency of Lan Qiren’s visits was actually less about Lan Huan, although he liked his nephew very much, and more about trying to establish a precedent for visitation. He hoped, eventually, to be able to bring Lan Huan to see his mother on such a frequent basis, once or even twice a week, knowing as he did that He Kexin lacked the temperament for seclusion. To his regret, she’d ended up spoiling that plan not long after she’d recovered from her pregnancy, misinterpreting his frequent visits as an interest in her, and he’d been forced to cut back for a while out of sheer disgust at the mere concept. He bitterly scolded her in his mind for being seemingly incapable of seeing any other reason that he would visit so often, especially during the times that Lan Huan was already asleep, although he suspected in his heart that the real reason was simply likely a longing for a connection with the only other person she regularly saw.

He still had hope of negotiating regular visits with his sect elders, eventually, but now he knew he’d probably be lucky if he managed to make it once every fortnight, when originally he’d hoped for twice a week.

Disturbing female disciples is prohibited, after all. Lan Qiren had a very good reputation, being widely known to be frigid as a stick of ice, using his brother’s terms, but there was only so much he could do when there was known to be an expressed interest on the other side, especially an interest of adulterous nature. And couple that with what had happened between them before…

At least she’d restrained herself to only making a verbal offer, this time.

Lan Qiren did not know how to explain to He Kexin in a way that she would understand that although he visited her regularly as a matter of duty, and although he was the only person other than his brother with whom she regularly conversed, he did not enjoy his time with her – that he blamed her in part for the destruction of his dreams, the shattering of his heart in a way that would likely never heal, even though he did not blame her for his brother’s obsession with her. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her, or that he had taken such extreme measures for her, and yet…

“She’s still a bitch,” Cangse Sanren announced, and her new husband smothered a snicker in his sleeve. “What? She is.”

Lan Qiren sighed, and Wei Changze, smiling, made an excuse to depart and let them talk between themselves. He was a good man, with an irrepressible sense of humor that regularly made Cangse Sanren laugh without any shame at all, howling and hooting like a monkey. He had courted her assiduously even after she’d departed the Lotus Pier, headed off to complete her education regarding the mortal world in the various Great Sects, and yet had been oblivious to the fact that she treated their liaison as a serious one – perhaps he had only truly believed that she would give herself to him when they actually married, their interminably long courtship finally ending the way any blind man would have guessed it would from the very beginning.

“I asked you to come here so that you could meet A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “Not to relitigate the matter of He Kexin, who at any rate is already suffering the punishment for her unwise actions.”

“Unwise is an understatement. She killed a man! On no basis, and without even a formal challenge! If she’d just kept her sword in her sheath and not jumped ahead three steps –”

“I’m aware.”

Cangse Sanren made a rude noise, but settled back, grumbling. “The baby’s cute, though,” she added begrudgingly. “Looks like you.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, he is my nephew. To the extent you can identify any traits whatsoever in a roly-poly puppy like A-Huan, they’re family features.”

“Of which you’re the finest representative!”

Lan Qiren gave her a look, and she grinned unrepentantly at him. “Heartbreaker,” she teased, but a moment later her smile faded. “Have you spoken with your brother?”

Lan Qiren’s gaze dropped to the table. “There’s no need,” he said. “He has always been torn between pride in his capability and the admiration of others on one hand, and a yearning to retreat from the world and its annoyances in order to focus fully on his cultivation on the other. Other than occasionally meeting with his wife, he is now able to wholly focus on the latter, and unlike He Kexin, his temperament is suited to the strictness of our seclusion practices.”

“There might not be a need,” Cangse Sanren agreed. “Did you speak with him anyway?”

“Once,” Lan Qiren said, voice short. After a few long moments, he added, a little painfully: “He said that our father had always seen seclusion as a means to reunite with his wife.”

Cangse Sanren hissed in a manner not unlike a very angry cat, or possibly an agitated snake, her eyes very nearly turning red from rage: naturally she knew about the whole awful background, the many years of age between Lan Qiren and his brother and the way his brother had always blamed Lan Qiren’s belated birth for the death of their mother, and by extension the shattering of their father’s heart when she left him behind, gone too early.

Lan Qiren’s brother had also said other things, mad things, things that Lan Qiren sought to forget as soon as he’d heard them but which he knew would likely haunt him in the dark of sleepless nights for the rest of his life. The worst of it was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, who he’d idolized for so long: his brother who was the perfect gentleman when he wanted to be, capable of being kind and charming and generous, of excellent cultivation and who excelled in each talent, who was thoughtful and reserved and in his own way a very good sect leader – the Qingheng-jun that the rest of the world had seen, the one that Lao Nie had befriended, the one so much of his sect had pinned their hopes on.

Lan Qiren felt, as always, like an inferior substitute.

No one had made his brother fall in love, nor to take such terrible actions to protect his love from her own foolishness, and yet, if Lan Qiren could have found another way out that the sect would have accepted, he would have. It would have been better, in his view, to lash them both with the discipline whip until they lacked flesh if it meant that they would stay free. A human could live with pain, but he wasn’t so sure they could do without freedom or hope…

Aren’t you just the same as me, his brother had sneered at him through the door that would part them for the rest of their lives, lashing out like a rabid dog that sought to hurt others in order to ease its own hurt, or else would you snap yourself into a thousand pieces begging for a scrap of my approval, which you will never receive, or whoring your vaunted righteousness out for a smile from your ‘sworn brother’?

Lan Qiren hadn’t done that, and wouldn’t. Unbelievable as it seemed, his stubbornness had stood up against Wen Ruohan’s and won; it had been Wen Ruohan who had changed to match him, rather than the other way around. He had vowed that the Fire Palace remained useless, and Lan Qiren believed him, especially when even Lao Nie confirmed it to be true. They had taken to exchanging letters this past year, since Lan Qiren could not visit the Nightless City until he had stabilized the Cloud Recesses and – sworn brotherhood or no – a visit by Wen Ruohan to the Cloud Recesses would be taken as a formal exchange, sect leader visiting sect leader.

Perhaps now, after a year, when he had more fully settled into his role…

“Did the trash say anything else?”

For a moment Lan Qiren was unsure whether Cangse Sanren had somehow managed to follow his thoughts and was now referring to Wen Ruohan, against whom she still bore something of a grudge, but then he realized that she meant his brother.

“Anything of value, anyway,” she huffed, tossing her hair and baring her teeth in the way she used to do before she realized that human beings didn’t use threat displays in that manner.

“He picked a courtesy name for A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “As is his right, of course.”

That had been Lan Qiren’s true motive in going to see his brother, in fact. He had refused to go see his brother for months, even if etiquette suggested he should go to pay his respects; it was only after A-Huan was born that he had finally yielded. It was only upon seeing the round and innocent face of little A-Huan starting to smile that he felt compelled to bend his stubborn back and compromise himself to reach out – there was very little, he found, that he wouldn’t do for his little nephew, who had no one else in the world.

His brother had been largely disinterested, though, even when Lan Qiren had inappropriately brought the child over for him to see – it had been too early for propriety, before the first month ceremony which marked the moment when the child could be exhibited more broadly, but Lan Qiren’s heart had hurt at the idea of his brother not seeing his son before the rest of the world had had a chance. It was not a large distance between the seclusion house his brother had chosen for himself, the same one that their father had planned to use before his suicide, and the house set aside for He Kexin, which Lan Qiren had taken to privately calling the Gentian House on account of the flowers that crowded around it.

Everyone had turned a blind eye to Lan Qiren’s little excursion – but his brother hadn’t cared.

It was He Kexin that he loved, that he was mad for, and in his selfishness he could not see extending that love to anyone beyond her. Lan Qiren was resolved to teach A-Huan to do better, to think of others first, to care for other people and think not only of them but of the people beyond them, just as he looked at He Kexin and thought to teach him to make his own judgments of people, to listen to their side of the story and analyze it carefully based on what he knew.

He could only hope that it would help.

When his brother had told him to leave, that he didn’t care to see the child, Lan Qiren had left, returning Lan Huan to his mother’s care, and returned himself to his brother’s door, boiling over with rage, to give him a piece of his mind.

It had backfired on him, of course. He would have been better off not going back at all – the rules said Do not succumb to rage, and they were right. All he had managed to obtain was a sore throat from all the yelling and a fresh set of nightmares.

And a name.

At least he had gotten Lan Huan a name bestowed upon him by his father, as he deserved.

“He selected ‘Xichen’,” Lan Qiren said, drawing out the characters and passing it over for Cangse Sanren to see. “It’s a good name.”

“Lan Xichen,” Cangse Sanren said, sounding it out and thinking over the meaning of the characters. “Yes, that’s a good name. Full of ambition and well-wishes…I bet the rotten trash-heap sees A-Huan as another incarnation of himself.”

Lan Qiren didn’t exactly disagree. Still, it would be rude to say so; he coughed and shook his head. “What about you?” he asked instead. “Are you and Wei Changze planning on giving A-Huan a playmate?”

And himself a student, in a dozen years or so. He’d started accepting students from rogue cultivators and other sects, just the way he’d planned; it was still in the early stages. He was still writing to small sects with fewer resources and offering to take their problem children because he knew that that was all they’d be willing to send to him, an outsider – there had always been lectures offered by the Great Sects, but they were one-off things, often accompaniments to discussion conferences or else excuses for the sects’ adults to gather and socialize while the children learned a few days’ worth of material. Taking another sect’s child for a full season, the way he planned to, was a much bigger ask. Much less to teach them his Lan sect rules, which weren’t even seen as applicable by the rest of the world…

Still, Lan Qiren had hope that eventually he would be able to demonstrate his merit; if his teaching worked with this first set of children, he hoped that it would work in the future for more of them. He hoped he’d be able to help them learn something, but even if he didn’t, they would at least have the experience of traveling – of visiting another place all on their own – so that if something happened in their lives to rob them of their freedom, they would at least have that much to remember. And in return, he would have them, his students, the feathers to brighten and color his dull nest and let him experience a little of what the world was still available to him.

Cangse Sanren laughed. “Not for a few years yet,” she said, eyes dancing. “You’re still safe! We want to have some time for ourselves, first – we’re going to travel around as rogue cultivators. I’ll write to you from every city, and send you things!”

Lan Qiren smiled.

“But only,” she said primly, “only if you promise me you’re not actually going to go through with growing that awful beard of yours again –”

“I’m a teacher now. I’m entitled!”

“You’re too young! You have to wait until you’re at least thirty for a beard.”

“By what rule?”

“My rule! Also my aesthetics; you’re so pretty –”

“I explained to you my reasoning already,” Lan Qiren complained. “What do you have against it, other than an aesthetic preference which is completely irrelevant to me?”

“I’m a rogue cultivator from Baoshan Sanren’s immortal mountain,” she proclaimed. “I seek to improve the world wherever it may be, fight evil and promote good, and keeping you clean-shaven is such a clear and vast improvement to the beauty of the world that it must be fiercely fought for –”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She burst out laughing. “How about this?” she giggled. “You can grow it after you’re thirty, or else whenever I’m not here, so that you can have it when you’re teaching your classes.”

“Thank you for your generous permission,” he drawled.

“No, no, it’ll be good!” she beamed at him. “That means that when I’m gone for good, you’ll have something to remember me by.”

Lan Qiren’s smile disappeared. “Cangse Sanren –”

“I told you long ago that I was doomed,” she reminded him. “Anyway, I’ve kept a low profile, haven’t I? I’m not dead yet, and you never know what might happen. And anyway, like I always said, a short life in exchange for a good life is a bargain I’m willing to strike…anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your children! The students, I mean; are they really all terrible bear children, without a single good trait between them?”

“They’re fine,” Lan Qiren said, distracted by what was quickly proving to be a new favorite subject. “I don’t know what everyone complains about with them. So what if they’re mischievous at first? In the end they all learn, you just have to give them attention and figure out what it is that they like, what will work to give them a basis to use in the future…”

“Surely some of them have to be disasters.”

“Don’t worry, I’m certain that your future child will be a fiend in human flesh born for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc on the serenity of my classroom,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “To be matched only by the inevitable offspring of Lan Yueheng and Zhang Xin, should they ever choose to put aside their furnaces and chemicals long enough to have them.”

Cangse Sanren giggled. “Just you wait,” she warned. “They’ll have a whole host of children, just like the common folk do; none of this two-and-done that you noble scions of the Lan sect prefer. They’ll have an entire horde for the next generation, and just when you think that you’re finally done with them, they’ll have an ‘accident’ twenty years too late, a child of their old age, and you’ll have to teach them alongside children young enough to be A-Huan’s heirs…”

“Why must you curse me?” Lan Qiren complained. “What have I ever done to you?”

It had been a good visit.

Yes, Lan Qiren thought, he was starting to adjust, little by little. The life he had now was not what he wanted, not what he’d dreamed of, but he could live with it – he had to, of course, but he thought that he also could. He would play for his nephew instead of a nameless crowd in a distant city, he would teach students a generation too early, he would only leave the Cloud Recesses on short excursions – night-hunting, or discussion conferences, or visits to his friends, to play with little A-Jue over in the Unclean Realm or the slightly older A-Xu in the Nightless City, whose would-be sibling had not made it despite Wen Ruohan’s concubine’s best effort. Wen Ruohan had written in his letter that he had promised her another as compensation, but only in a few years, once her body had fully recovered and A-Xu was old enough that another child wouldn’t be seen as a threat, which seemed fair to Lan Qiren.

He would live.

He might even enjoy it.

He only wondered a little, about Wen Ruohan – his sworn brother had, he thought, expressed some mangled version of feelings towards him, feelings that well exceeded the ordinary course for sworn brothers and which he thought he had made clear were not unwelcome, but amidst the hubbub that had later ensued Wen Ruohan had not spoken of it again. Lan Qiren could understand that he had been distracted, first by Lao Nie’s marriage – now ended, according to Lao Nie, who seemed as unperturbed by his announcement that his wife had disappeared permanently and would likely never be returning as he had by anything else about this mysterious woman that Lan Qiren had never had the chance to meet and now never would – and then by Lan Qiren’s brother’s situation.

And yet, he would have thought that there would be something…

Wen Ruohan has lived for generations, he reminded himself. He is an ancient monster of the old sort, unmatched by any other living being, excepting only perhaps those that long ago retreated into seclusion or the mountains. Waiting a year or even a few is for him little more than a brief pause. He may yet reach out again – and, of course, you could do the reaching out yourself, if you weren’t such a coward.

It wasn’t cowardice that stopped him, of course, no matter what names he called himself. It was uncertainty, and also, in his own way, a form of care – it was the Lan sect’s curse to love too strongly, to prioritize their hearts above all common sense. Lan Qiren did not want to burden Wen Ruohan with an offer that would not satisfy him, to hang around his neck an obligation of unwanted feelings the way his brother had done to He Kexin.

Lan Qiren could not see a way in which he could offer Wen Ruohan his heart and not his body, yet he knew himself well enough to know that he would be unhappy if he tried to offer both. He could exert himself if he really had to, force himself to go through the motions that seemed so dull and unpleasant, all squelching amidst bodily fluids and inelegant grunting and none of the attraction that other people had to compensate for it. But he couldn’t do so sincerely, and he wouldn’t be able to do it for very long without developing resentment at being forced to endure such a task routinely – and it did seem that regular people wanted it all the time.

Such a feeling, if ignored, would breed disorder between them, poisoning their hearts…no, Lan Qiren could not make the first move, to take the step that would breach the paper between them, change them from their current status as brothers and nothing more.

He had made his position clear.

The only question was – what would Wen Ruohan do about it?

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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messrmoonyy · 3 years ago

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really, really random but do you think you could write a shot of half blood prince tonks on christmas alone and she puts on the record player and dances to christmas music? (i know this is very specific ahaha)

I lovveeed this request so much! Thank you for sending it. I did write the whole thing and then re read the prompt and see if kinda strayed away from the prompt slightly, you asked for record player, so she does actually use a cassette player but I still hope you enjoy it!

As always request are open! Drop me an ask!

Check my Masterlist too!

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks ( only mentions of Remus. He does not appear )

Warnings: none. Just a very mopey Nymphadora

Tonks had never been one to take love all that seriously. In fact she’d thrown the word around almost carelessly, never really taking to its true weight and meaning. Falling in love with more people that she could count now. A ravenclaw girl in third year, a slytherin one in fourth, two different hufflepuff boys in Fifth and countless other short lived romances since. But when she looked back now she realised they weren’t really love at all. Because they hadn’t felt like she did now. When she thought of him. Remus.

It caused an ache in her chest, so deep it physically pained her. She knew that nothing else could hurt her as badly as this, only love. She hadn’t even meant to fall for him, she hadn’t planned to. He was wildly interesting and not to bad on the eye either, but she hadn’t being trying. It had just… happened. Friendly conversation became friendly touches. Friendly touches became late nights snuggled in the library by the fire. Which had become hand holding. Which had become kisses. And now… it had become heartbreak.

The argument they had had before he’d announced his departure had been a brutal one. She guessed it didn’t help that emotions were already running far too high with everything happening around them. She’d shouted. He’d shouted right back. He’d told her nothing she would say would ever change his mind and he was leaving. It was duty. His role in the war effort. To put his life as at risk as ever and plant himself in a werewolf camp for months on end. It’d ruin him, she knew it would. He’d told her about it from the first war, how much he hated it. How much it made him feel like an animal. Feral. Inhuman.

But she’d told him to go. Shouted at him and told him to get out of her sight, to go if that’s what he truly wanted. To never come back to her again.

She regretted that now. Of course she did. She wanted nothing more than to leave her parents house and turn up at Grimmauld place, drink tea and hot chocolate with him in the library, dance around to Sirius’ old records and talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up. But of course she couldn’t. Because he was gone.

To make everything truly worse, as another blinding hot blade to her chest, she couldn’t even turn to Sirius about it. Because he was gone too. And he really was never coming back. The loss of Sirius and her still healing injury from Bellatrix had knocked her down already, Remus leaving had just been the final kick. And it had all taken its toll.

She couldnt morph. Not a single fingernail would change the way she wanted. Thankfully for her she’d never really been one for tweaking her face dramatically , like she knew some with her powers did. But she felt lost without her bright hair, the tiny little tweaks to her nose and cheeks. She didn’t recognise herself anymore. She didn’t understand the face of the woman that looked back at her in the mirror, all limp dark hair and hollow cheeks. She wanted to blame him. Wanted to use it as some way to make her hate him. Forget him. So at least she couldn’t be relieved of at least one burden of pain, leave her with one less knife in her heart. But she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried to.

“ You gonna come down love? Your mums made you some dinner. Even got some apple crumble for pud. Yeah? Try eat a bit for us? “ her dad appeared at her old bedrooms door, knocking slightly as he spoke. It had felt odd being back at her parents house again for Christmas, she’d hadn’t visited in longer than she wanted to admit. Work ask the order had been running her to exhaustion everyday. She’d hoped being back home would bring her some comfort. Being around her childhood things. But it hadn’t really been working so far.

Her mum kept silently crying to herself over Sirius, every now and then she’d look over at her and see tears streaming over her cheeks as she cleaned or cooked. Misery just seemed to follow her whether she went now.

“ Dora love? “ she turned around when he’d dad spoke again and forced a small smile onto her face.

“ yeah. Be down in a minute… save me a piece of crumble “ Ted gave her a sympathetic smile and quietly left her. One thing she loved about her dad was he knew when she didn’t want to talk, and left her alone when she needed it. Andromeda was one to fuss.

She took a deep breath and made her way out of the room and downstairs, knowing Andromeda would only send Ted back up if she didn’t surface within a few minutes. They were both sat at the table when she walked into the dining room, her father looking up with a cheerful smile.

“ here she is! C’mon petal before it gets cold “ Andromeda’s eyes were bloodshot as was the norm nowadays, she’d tried she her best to hide the fact she’d been crying. But there were still tracks in the makeup on her cheeks.

The entire house had been decorated for Christmas and she thought the fairy lights and the tinsel should be cheering her up. But she found it wasn’t. Even her dads cheesy Christmas jumpers weren’t making her crack her smile.

Dinner was painfully silent for the most part. Ted occasionally tried to get both women to talk about something but conversation constantly fell flat. She looked at her parents as he silently tried to coax Andromeda to talk, holding her hand under the table and looking at her with the same amount of pure love he always had done.

Tonks had always wanted a relationship like theres. And she thought she’d been getting there. Remus had looked at her like that. Gazing at her when he thought she wasnt paying attention to him. Sharing his mug of tea with her at order meetings, waiting up for her if she had a late shift at the ministry, making sure she had something to eat before she slept. Little things. Small ways he told her he felt the same as she did.

Until he’d thrown it all back in her face.

When Andromeda cleared their plates and went to fetch dessert, Ted too disappeared of a moment only to return with his hand behind his back and a grin.

“ look what I found today love. Remember this aye? “ he held his hand out with a proud look on his face. It was a cassette. One he’d made up for her himself when she was little. She’d always been fascinated with muggle things and she still had the cassette player buried up in her room somewhere “ your Christmas one! Fitting “ she took with the first genuine smile she’d mustered in a while.

“ thanks dad. It’s Brilliant honestly “ he sat back down again when crumble was served but his proud smile didn’t drop.

After dinner she made her way back up to her room with a muttered excuse of being tired and locked herself in. The cassette tucked into the pocket of her jeans. She rummaged around the various boxes of junk in her room until she found the player and pulled out the tape. She smiled slightly when she found the tape wonkily labeled ‘ Doras muggle Xmas songs ‘ , putting it into the player and waiting for it to play.

The first beats of ‘last Christmas’ started playing and she practically felt her hurt slipping away from her shoulders. She turned the volume up, the headphones now blasting the voice of George Michael into her ears and she forgot about her troubles for a while.

She danced around with the first full genuine smile she had in weeks on her face, every song that played transporting her back to some memory from her childhood. Even the slower ones had her smiling, waltzing with herself around her room. until the tape came to an end with silent night. She stopped dancing and the smile dropped as the almost hauntingly beautiful song played. She’d danced with Remus to the very song on that first Christmas of her being in the order.

She’d turned up at Grimmauld place on Boxing Day, on Sirius’ invitation that the three of them could have their own Christmas celebration but Sirius had still been black out drunk from the clearly heavy night before. So she’d spent the majority of the day with Remus, hiding away from the kids. Drinking, dancing and even singing when Sirius had joined them later to get drunk again.

Her moment of happiness had faded to pure nothingness and she pulled off the headphones, tossing the cassette player onto her bed. If she focussed hard enough she could hear Sirius laughing still, picture Remus’ face as he tried to look unimpressed by one of Sirius’ filthy jokes- and failing miserably. Or feel Remus’ arm around her shoulders, his lips on her temple. The purely joyful atmosphere where just the three of them could be happy, Remus not worrying about people thoughts on him showing affection to her because Sirius didn’t care.

She found her feet moving then at their own accord, out of her room and creeping past her parents bedroom, down the stairs and out the door. She jogged down the garden path and past the wards protecting the house, apparating the second she was out.

She turned up on the top step of number 12. She really shouldn’t be there. She knew she should just go back to her parents. It wasn’t safe. But her hands reacted on their own and she opened the door. It was quiet inside. The quietest she’d ever heard it. Now Sirius laughing- or snoring. No kids charging around and pestering Kreacher. No mad-eye stomping along the hall.

Her feet led her into the library and she felt tears brewing in her eyes. She wanted to see Sirius blacked out on the sofa, Remus sat writing up a report at the desk, a fire crackling away. But neither were there. And the fireplace only held charred wood. The ache in her chest made her breathless, the deep burning pain of missing a dead man and one that might as well be.

She’d never felt so alone. Never had such a overwhelming feeling of loneliness that it made she’d weak in the knees. She could picture Remus at the desk, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, or how his cheeks flushed when she’d sneak up behind him and wrap her arms around his neck. The countless nights they’d fallen asleep on the sofa, danced, kissed, laughed.

But now it was just an empty room. In an empty house. No laughter. No dancing. No Remus.

She wanted to be back in that library when it was full of life. When Sirius was alive. And Remus was by her side. But it was never to be again.

Sirius was dead. And Remus was gone. And she wasn’t sure he’d ever come back.

#messrmoonyy writes #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remadora #harry potter #remus x tonks #ronks #the marauders #lupin #tonks x lupin #tonks #remadora one shot #remus x nymphadora

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theinkmage · 3 years ago

Text

Heartbreak

hI guysss sO i gave myself a prompt : The hero and the villain have been tasked with getting close to one another to obtain information for their respective teams, yet both are unaware of the other’s task. And one of them kills the other in the end.

TW/CW : death mention, stabbing, blood

"Remember, your sole mission tonight is to eliminate the opposition. If you fail, don't even think of coming back here, or else it will be your head on the chopping block."

The hero threw an arm across the villain's shoulders, pulling them closer as a sudden bout of gusty wind blew across the dark street, adding to the sharp biting chill of the night. Winter was close, which meant that the hero's year-long mission was about to come to an end. The hero should be jumping for joy, really, that if they managed to pass this level, they would be promoted. But they couldn't find an ounce of happiness in them.

"Your job was to get close to this particular hero and extract valuable information that will be of utmost importance to us. I assume you have managed to get most of the data that we need to bring down the heroes, given your competence. If that is so, then we have no more use for them."

The villain swallowed nervously, the cold metal of their dagger nudging uncomfortably against their arm, nestled snugly in its arm wrap, hidden out of plain view by the long sleeves of their coat. The villain might be callous, but only towards those who had wronged them. All that cruelty on the surface masked a deeply hurt and aching soul within, with friendship and love being its only salvation.

"This villain is smart, too smart. And evil. A threat to society what with the manifestation of their destructive powers that they have chosen to harm people with. For all you know, they might be catching onto our little plan. Or, they might even have a plan of their own."

The hero tightened their arm around the villain subconsciously as the two strolled through the almost-empty streets. Just ahead lay the park, herded by a small forest of trees and the usual pond. This was where the hero had asked the villain out for the first time. It was where their mission had first failed, considering the fact that they weren't supposed to catch feelings for the villain at any point in time.

"I hope you haven't gotten too attached to your subject. That simply won't do. You are supposed to kill them tonight before they have the chance to strike, do I make myself clear? And if you were to hesitate, think about who took you in when you were starving and injured on the streets."

The villain tried to stem the amalgamation of emotions that flooded their soul as their superior's words echoed in their mind. It was true that the villain had been abused and maltreated just because their powers were seen as destructive. The villain had never wanted to hurt anyone in the first place. They had hurt the villain first, and as a form of self-defence, the villain hurt them back. Years of hatred and tears and insults, all jumbled together into a huge roiling ball of anger and violence and revenge, set on destroying those who had made the lives of villains a living hell for something that they could never control.

"I hope you bear in mind that I do not take failure lightly. I shall be awaiting your success tonight."

The hero groaned internally, a deep nagging sense of dread coiling deep in their stomach. The air in the park was cooler, supposedly because of the many trees clustered around the area they were currently walking in. It was quiet, with the ducks bobbing silently in the clear blue water, the flies buzzing near the heat of the streetlamps, the slight rustle of rodents searching for food in the undergrowth. Peace settled over the hero as they tugged the villain onto a bench, plopping down onto it and staring up at the night sky. They wouldn't do it.

"If you want to show those heroes that we are not to be trifled with, then you will do as I see fit tonight."

The villain gnawed on their lip nervously, fingers sliding inconspicuously towards the dagger tucked in their arm wrap. Guilt sank its claws deep into the recesses of their soul, images of their dying friend and lover running through their mind. No, no, they would not be responsible for another death.

"Return before midnight."

The villain's fingers had been dancing nervously along their arm, almost as if trying to satisfy an inner itch that they couldn't reach. The hero leaned over, taking both the villain's hands in theirs, letting a smile appear on their countenance. God, they were so deep in already. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.

"Return before midnight."

The villain started as the hero grabbed their hands, rubbing soothing circles over their knuckles. Looking at the smile gracing the hero's lips, the villain couldn't help but let their lips quirk up in a little grin of their own. This was all that they had ever wanted. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.

When the hero let go of the villain's hands to tug them close for a kiss, the villain's fingers immediately slid to the arm wrap beneath their sleeve, gripping the handle of the knife and yanking it out in one smooth, practiced motion. The hand that was holding the knife was quivering badly, caught in limbo between wanting to slide itself back into its sheath or plunge its blade right into the hero's body. A single tear slid out of their eye and curved a path down their cheek.

As the villain released the knife, a sharp pain in their side made them yank away from the hero, hand clutched to their lower abdomen. Red seeped through the white shirt and pooled between their fingers, dripping slowly onto their lap. Betrayal and anguish tore through the villain like a hurricane as they gasped out shaking breaths, fingers curled slightly around the knife embedded deep in their stomach.

Guilt and regret was plastered all over the hero's face as they gently lowered the villain from the bench onto the ground. They were crying, too. These big fat tears that didn't look right on them.

"I…I'm sorry…" The hero choked out, holding the villain tight in their grip, hands clutching fistfuls of their shirt and hair, trying desperately to hold onto every single part of them.

The villain shook their head, wrenching out a choked laugh from their throat that morphed into a silent cry of pain. Yes, pain from the inflicted wound on their stomach, but also pain that stemmed from their supposed friend and lover's betrayal. "I c…couldn't ki-kill you, you know?"

At that, the hero sobbed even harder, tugging the villain closer to them, mumbling apologies over and over again even though there was no turning back. They rocked there, on the spot, for what felt like eternity, feeling the villain's blood drip-drip-dripping onto the floor, seeping into their clothes. Their limp shudders, small but close enough to be felt. Their sharp intakes of air, the grunts and whimpers of pain left unspoken and tears. The tears were the worst.

The villain had just one last ounce of strength left in their body before they departed for good. Their body felt so cold, so numb, bleeding out on the ground.

"H…hero." They gasped, panting for their last breath of air. "Th-thank you f…for eve…rything. I l-love you."

And then, the villain was gone.

The hero broke.

#hero x villain #hero #villain #heroes #villains #mentor #angst #death tw #betrayal #guilt #hurt #knife tw #blood cw #major character death #romance #friendship #hope u like it

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vs-redemption · 4 years ago

Note

Aaa im so sorry for bothering you! Can uou do my request from before (homeless kid) but now with hawks, shigaraki, and fatgum please? Im so sorry if its any trouble but your writing isFANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!

A/N: Phew! Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to make sure I gave you something I was proud of. And don’t worry! You aren’t bothering me. I was actually kind of wishing you’d included Hawks in the first request, and Shigaraki was a fun challenge to write! I really hope these meet your expectations.

A Surprise Meeting (Hawks, Fat Gum, and Shigaraki meet their abused child)

Warning:⚠️Mentions of child abuse and homelessness.⚠️

You can read the same scenario but with Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa HERE You can read the same scenario but with Todoroki and Dabi HERE

Hawks

Hawks knew his patience would be put to the test whenever the Hero Commission called him in for a face-to-face meeting. He’d opened up his agency as far away from the head office as possible for the sole purpose of avoiding their overbearing attempts to control not only his career, but his personal life as well. He appreciated everything the Commission had done for him to an extent. After all, he never would’ve ended up as such a successful hero if they hadn’t taken him in as a child and given him intensive training to perfect his quirk. There were a lot of things he’d hated about living under the Commission’s thumb though. Because of that, he really hated whenever he had to go back there.

“Thanks for coming today, Hawks.” The president of the organization herself had come to greet him. He gave her a roguish grin despite the fact he wanted to role his eyes. He hated when they thanked him for obeying when it wasn’t like he had a choice anyway. “There’s someone we’d like you to meet.”

Hawks followed the president as she led him deeper into the facility than he’d been in a long time. His wings twitched behind him as unpleasant memories began to surface in his mind. He felt confused and uncomfortable when he was brought into a small observation room that had a view of one of the commission’s training spaces behind a large two way mirror. “Are you going to explain what this is all about?” Hawks jokes to try and ease his own tension, “Or are you keeping me in suspense on purpose?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” The president’s face remains stoic as she turns away and speaks into an intercom. “Bring her in.” Hawks looks into the training room on the other side of the glass and sees a random agent of the commission step through the door with a tiny little girl following closely behind. She looked to be around two years old. Hawks’ jaw drops in disbelief when he sees the two fluffy wings sprouting from the child’s back. He’d seen other people with wing quirks before, but this kid’s resemblance to him was uncanny. Her hair was darker than his, but the black markings around her golden eyes had his mind reeling.

“Of course we did a DNA test,” the president says flatly. “She’s definitely your child.”

Hawks steps away from the glass and runs a hand over his face, letting the information sink in. The commission had so much influence over his personal life that he’d mostly stayed away from any sort of relationship, knowing that there’d be too much drama over maintaining his image and reputation for him to actually enjoy having that kind of connection with someone. Admittedly, he had bent his own rules and caved into pressure once or twice after graduating the commission’s program. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d mostly done it out of spite for all the years he’d spent being micromanaged.

“A woman dropped her off a few days ago,” the president’s voice turns sharp. “How could you let this happen?” Hawks wasn’t interested in a lecture at the moment, so he ignores the question in favor of moving closer to the glass and looking at his daughter more intently. She was cleaned up and wearing a standard uniform provided by the commission, but Hawks didn’t miss the painful looking scratches on her face or the raggedy, burned up ends of the feathers on her wings.

“What happened to her?” he asks, surprising even himself at the low tone of his voice.

“The mother admitted to doing most of it,” the president rattles off the information in a clinically detached way. “They’d also been living out on the street for a while as well, so who knows what might’ve happened.” The news was heartbreaking for Hawks. He hadn’t lived in ideal circumstances at that age either, and he wouldn’t wish that sort of life on anyone.

“Your wings didn’t start to grow back until you were a bit older, so we’re assuming it’ll be the same for her,” the president seemed oblivious to the emotional state of the hero standing next to her. “We’ve already started her on a special diet though, and she’ll begin her training regimen at the beginning of next week.”

Hawks wasn’t sure if it was some bird trait related to his quirk or just the knowledge that he was the kid’s father, but some sort of instinct kicked in with such intensity that it washed away any feelings of duty or habits of obedience that had been programmed into his brain.

“You’re not keeping her,” he says fiercely. The president just raises her eyebrows at him.

“The mother left her in our custody,” she states. “You should be thankful that we’re willing to overlook your mistake. With any luck, we’ll be able to groom this girl into a hero just as spectacular as you.”

“If you don’t release her to me, it’ll be you that’s made a mistake,” there was a promise of something terrifying in Hawks’ tone that seemed to finally shake the president’s resolve.

“You really think you’ll be able to be a decent parent?” she asks coldly.

“I won’t let her be robbed of a childhood like I was,” Hawks declares firmly. “If she wants to be a hero, she can make that decision when she’s old enough to do so.” Thankfully, the president decided not to argue any more. Hawks turns back to the window and allows himself to relax a bit. Looking over his daughter again, his heart filled with a love so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. He made a vow to love and protect his little girl so that she had the safest and happiest life possible.

Fat Gum

There was nothing quite like the feeling of walking around the lively streets of Osaka at night. People of all walks of life tended to come out around this time, and the delicious smell of cooking food filled the air. Taishiro Toyomitsu, better known as Fat Gum, could think of no better city to do his hero patrols. The crime rate was a little higher than in other places, but it was worth it for him to have easy access to the yakitori, yakisoba, and okonomiyaki stands that kept his quirk plenty fueled up.

Tonight he was in high spirits as he walked down one of the more famous shopping streets, stuffing his face with incredible snacks, and having friendly encounters with both locals and tourists alike. A couple of young musicians were playing on one of the street corners, so he tossed a few coins into their cup. Everything seemed to be fine basically, other than a few people who’d stumbled out of bars and needed help getting to a taxi. It was one of his more tame patrols, but he wasn’t going to complain about that.

He noticed that he was being followed near the end of the night, when most of the shops and restaurants were starting to close up. The busy streets began to empty as people hurried to catch the last few trains, and only when there were just a handful of people left out sweeping the sidewalks did the figure emerge from the shadows. Fat Gum was surprised to find that his pursuer was a young boy around nine years old with strange, aquamarine colored hair.

“Hey there, kiddo!” he kept a huge grin on his face but still kept his guard up just in case. “Can I help you with anything?” The kid looked to be in pretty rough shape as he gazed up at the BMI hero who towered over him. Fat Gum didn’t like the poor condition of the boy’s clothes, or that he appeared extremely dirty. The most concerning thing of all was how emaciated the boy looked. He could practically see the bones in his arms, and his cheeks were sunken with hunger. He wondered when the poor thing had last eaten a proper meal.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the kid finally speaks up after a moment. Fat Gum finally noticed that the boy had started shaking like a leaf. He wasn’t sure if the boy was just cold, or if he was actually afraid. He watched as the kid reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tattered old photograph. “By any chance, do you know this woman?” The boy flinches away while holding out the paper for Fat Gum to see.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, buddy!” the large hero says while taking the photo as non-aggressively as possible. “Let’s just take a quick look at this and… oh.” He recognized the woman staring back at him from the picture. He hadn’t seen her in almost a decade. He’d lost contact with her once she’d broken his heart after a short romantic affair. “Uh,” Fat Gum felt a little awkward, “Is this your mom?” The boy nods his head while keeping his eyes closed. “Then,” Fat Gum chuckles nervously, “am I your dad?”

“Yeah,” the boy mumbles before letting a few tears slip out, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” the need to be a hero for this boy was stronger than his discomfort with the situation. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. How could I have not known about this until now?”

“Mom wouldn’t let me tell you,” his voice cracks with emotion. “She said you’d be mad.”

“Well, that’s just silly!” Fat Gum shakes his head in disbelief. “Where is your ma’ now?” The boy finally glances up and meets his eyes. They were the same shape and color as his own.

“She got arrested yesterday,” he admits, sounding embarrassed. “Another hero caught her pickpocketing. She sometimes asked me to help her, but I haven’t been feeling well lately. We don’t have a place to stay either, so we had to find a way to get food.”

Fat Gum hated the thought of that woman not only keeping the existence of his son a secret, but also forcing a young boy to break the law. Perhaps that was why the boy looked so scared. He probably thought he was going to get in trouble too. Fat Gum had other ideas though.

“I’m really sorry that happened to your mom,” he says sincerely, “but she will have to pay for the crimes she committed.”

“I know,” the boy looks back down at his feet.

“But there’s no reason you have to follow in her footsteps,” Fat Gum says cheerfully. “I’m more than willing to take you under my wing. That is, if you don’t mind.” The boy finally allows a tentative smile to grow on his face. He clearly liked the idea.

“Well then, first I think we should get you to a doctor,” Fat Gum reaches down and gently pats the boy’s head. This time, he doesn’t flinch away. “And after that, I’ll make sure you get a decent hot meal! No kid of mine is going to look like skin and bones.” The boy eagerly agrees and allows Fat Gum to scoop him up into his arms. He had a feeling it was going to be a dream come true to finally have the fun and affectionate father he’d always imagined.

Shigaraki

People were always going on and on about how hard public servants worked and how important their jobs were. Heroes, police officers, firefighters, health workers… sure, they all had hefty responsibilities, but nobody ever considered the absolute nightmare it was being the leader of the League of Villains. Shigaraki wanted to see someone else try to manage the group of ragtag, lawless, misfits that he’d been left in charge of. It’d be one thing if they were all there to support him and his diabolical plans, but unfortunately a good number of his followers were just hanging around in the hopes of an opportunity to continue the work of the Hero Killer, Stain.

Stain had always been a sore spot with Shigaraki, ever sense the man had shown up at his hideout just to criticize him for not having a clear goal. He’d never admit it out loud, but the jerk might have had a point. At first, he’d just wanted to kill All Might, but that was only because it was what his master, All For One, had wanted. After All For One had been arrested, Shigaraki was sort of left without a guiding hand or a clear path to follow. He still wanted to kill All Might. And he wanted that annoying Midoriya kid dead too. When he really thought about it, Shigaraki just kind of wanted everyone to be dead.

The door to the villain’s hideout clicked open suddenly, making everyone in the bar turn to see who’d arrived. It was just Dabi, trailing in the scent of burnt corpses. Shigaraki clenched his teeth and sighs in annoyance. That ugly fire user was supposed to be out recruiting people to the League, but all he ever did was incinerate any potential members he came across.

“I didn’t know we were running a daycare service now,” Dabi comments lazily while grabbing a stool at the bar and signaling Kurogiri for a drink.

“What are you talking about?” Shigaraki felt the prickling urge to scratch at the flaking skin on his neck, but managed to control himself. Dabi was always trying to get a rise out of him and the worst thing he could do was take the bait.

“Some crusty looking rugrat is hanging around outside,” Dabi shrugs. “You might want to do something about that.” Shigaraki wasn’t sure if the annoying man was messing with him or not, but he sent Twice to check it out just in case. The last thing they needed was a lost child attracting the attention of any heroes. A few minutes later, Twice returned with what looked like a four year old boy trying to claw his way out of his captor’s arms.

“Put me down!” The kid protests before opening his mouth and biting down on Twice’s fingers. The villain drops the kid who lands with a thud on the floor.

“There really was a kid out there!” Twice gestures to the boy dramatically, “He’s completely rabid though! It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You picked the wrong place to run away to,” Shigaraki walks up to the boy feeling irritated. “You should’ve stayed with your mommy and daddy.” The boy glares up at him from the ground and Shigaraki gets a big shock. Aside from the hair color, it was like looking into a mirror. The boy had the same piercing red eyes as him. The skin around those familiar eyes was dry and irritated, just like his own too.

“You ARE my daddy!” The kid blurts out and the atmosphere in the bar gets extremely uncomfortable. Of course, the silence is broken by a snort from Dabi.

“Oh man,” he shakes his head. “I can’t believe someone actually had the stomach to sleep with you.”

“Shut up, Dabi!” Shigaraki tries to swallow down the panic and horror bubbling up inside him, but the persistent itch on his neck seemed to double in intensity over this unexpected news. He gives in, reaching up to scratch at the damaged pale skin below his ear. It had been All For One’s idea for him to have an ‘experience’ with a lady. He’d said it was an important part of becoming an adult, but now Shigaraki could only see it as a huge mistake. A voice drifted through his mind, telling him that it would only take five fingers to make this whole problem go away.

“Where’s your mommy?” Toga skips over happily, unable to resist inserting herself into the situation.

“I don’t know,” the boy was putting on a brave face, but it was clear that he was afraid. “We had to leave our house and sleep outside. Mommy said it was because my dad was a villain, but then she was gone when I woke up.”

The story struck a chord in Shigaraki. He’d been left abandoned without a home as well at a very young age. The last thing he wanted to do was sympathize with the brat though. What he wanted was for the kid to disappear. The idea of a guy like him being a parent was laughable. He was barely an adult himself, and he had enough on his plate right now. A small child was only going to be a burden. His fingers twitched, ready to activate his quick as he continues to look down at the helpless boy at his feet. The conflicting feelings inside him were making the itching flare up terribly. Every inch of skin on Shigaraki’s body felt like it was on fire now.

“You’re just like everyone else, aren’t you?” the boy suddenly slumps forward, the fight going out of him. “You hate me.”

A weird resolve washes over Shigaraki at those words. No. He wasn’t like everyone else. If there was one thing all the member of the League of Villains had in common, it was that they’d all been rejected by friends, family, and even heroes for traits they had little or no control over. This boy was just as much a victim of this crooked society as the rest of them.

“You’re forbidden from ever leaving this building,” Shigaraki states flatly. “And don’t expect anyone here to coddle you or clean up after you. The moment you become a nuisance you’re back out on the street.” The boy nods in understanding while finally pushing himself off the ground. Shigaraki wasn’t sure what he’d just signed up for. The only thing he knew for sure was that his job had just gotten a lot more complicated.

#Hawks #Keigo Takami #Fat Gum #tomura shigaraki #Taishiro Toyomitsu #mha imagines #bnha imagines #Cindy's Writing #bnha #mha

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liddolwhynot2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Chains: Part 4

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Summary: Both times he's watched a woman hold his heart in their grasp, and walk away without it.

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Parings: Levi/Reader, Erwin/Reader

Genre: Angst, One Sided Love, regrets, heartbreak, death, I think I should stop being mean to Erwin woops

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ChainsPt1 ChainsPt2 ChainsPt3

Drabble#1

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Being a leader was never on Erwin's agenda, not when he started out in the military at least. But he accepted that the only way to achieve his goals was to rise to the top, because there was simply no one he could entrust his dreams to.

He's accepted his role as a monster, the villain who gets innocent soldiers killed for his goals. People throw stones at him, hurl slurs at him, and Erwin thinks it's okay. It's fine.

Someone has to play the devil. Someone has to step up and take the heat. Who better then the man who spouts words like fast acting venom, whose one inspirational speech sends their loved ones to their graves in a matter of minutes?

His own actions lit this fire. His determination to discover what's in that basement, his absolute ruthlessness, they all contributed in him sitting where he is right now.

A one armed, pathetic man, who can't even sit up on his own.

The physical exhaustion is taking its toll on him, messing with his mind. Half of him wants to retire, to settle down in peace. The stress of his job has taken its toll on him. Erwin firmly believes that he shouldn't be alive right now, that his punishment was supposed take place inside the stomach of a titan. Its sheer dumb luck that some soldiers, in their devotion to him, rescued him. Otherwise, his corpse would be rotting away outside the walls right now, missed by no one. He isn't dead right now, and he should be grateful.

Except Erwin wishes he was dead right now.

Most soldiers retire after losing a limb the way he has, but Erwin can't bring himself to take the easy way out. He wants it to be difficult for him- especially since all he's done is get others killed. Some sort of deity-God or whatever is out there, is the reason he's still alive. Was it a sign he should move forward? Or a sign that he should stop and rest? Maybe it was punishment for his lack of humanity. Erwin doesn't know and frankly, he doesn't want to know. Not when it has the potential to jeapordise the mission that gives him the will to breathe.

He comforts himself, reminding himself of his goals. He has to prove that his father was right about the outside world. His entire purpose for living all these years, for pushing and exhausting his soldiers, has to come to fruition. Their efforts couldn't be in vain, their deaths wouldn't meaningless. Erwin is alive to achieve this. His time in hell is waiting for him, but not yet.

Not until he reaches the finish line.

His resolve is a little strengthened, so Erwin allows himself to settle into the pillows. He welcomes the darkness as he closes his eyes, determined to get some rest. He convinces himself to stop wishing for his own death, and allows sleep to finally overcome him.

He also pretends that every fibre of his being isn't screaming for you to be here, sitting besides him, holding his hand.

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It's painful, watching you and Levi go around each other in circles. He remembers feeling like shit, having to watch the woman he wants as his own, engage in a soft courtship with someone else. The fact that he has to see Levi everyday at work makes it even worse, knowing that the short man holds the heart of the woman he desperately wants without even trying.

He had been in his position once too, except his loose hold had caused you to slip away from him.

Erwin's beginning to accept his situation, that he'll never have you. He's had several moments of weakness, where all he wants is to storm to your house and tell you how he feels. Beg you to forget about Levi and give him one last chance. But he knows it won't work.

He knows he'll only be making a fool of himself.

So he begins to chain up his own heart. The organ that keeps him breathing, making him live even when his mind wishes he wouldn't, he has to stop it from its philanderous ways. The traitorous thing kept opening itself up, presenting its vulnerability to others, even when he knows better. He's fooled himself one too many times that someone like him can actually love like a normal person.

First Marie, then you. He isn't sure he can take more of this, the hurt, the loneliness.

Both times he's watched a woman hold his heart in their grasp, and walk away without it.

In their defense, it's not like they callously threw it away. It's not like they didn't try for him. The problem wasn't them, the problem was Erwin himself. It was best for everyone if he kept himself on a leash from now on, locked his heart in chains that would take a lifetime to undo.

But, much to his despair, no chain is strong enough to completely keep everything he feels out. He tries and tries, yet when he's on the verge of passing out from overworking himself, he keeps seeing your face.

And he keeps wishing that his mind would stop taunting him about you, why can't he see you smile at him?

Why must he visualize you smiling at Levi, gazing at him as though he's your everything?

Why can't he, even if its delusional and entirely fabricated, see you as his?

Life really is too cruel.

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Having known Levi for so long, he isn't surprised by his threats anymore. He's made a habit of being as nonchalant as possible in the face of an irate Levi. It's the only way to keep the man in line and from slaughtering half the people that cross his way for breathing too loud.

He remembers how he and Levi started out, Erwin was the one who extended the olive branch and made a move towards friendship. Despite his concerns about Levi's interest in you, he stuck to his priorities as a soldier and made it a point to befriend the man who would later become the most brilliant soldier the military has ever had.

He doesn't regret it, by any means, not as far as his professional life is concerned. But a part of him, the one that perisistantly tears at those chains, insists that he should. It's a horrible voice, dripping with self loathing, that reminds him how back then, he still had the power to stop Levi from coming near you. Erwin shuts it down of course, because its been years now, and disregarding his prolonged infatuation with you, he does consider Levi his friend.

He's reminded that Levi considers him a friend too, as he tries to stop him from going on the expedition to reclaim Wall Maria. He makes valid points, and maybe if Erwin's goals extended beyond that basement, he would have agreed to sit this one out. To value humanity over himself again.

But he can't.

He's always been too selfish, too reckless. Uptil this point, all his goals have aligned with saving humanity. But the jig is up, Erwin can't pretend that he's a saint anymore. He's not fighting for humanity like Levi thinks he is, it's always been about fighting to sate his own curiousity. To justify his hand in his father's death.

Like a glass shattering, he can see this realisation dawn on Levi. His image of the pristine commander who gave it all up for humanity has been effectively ruined. He now sees Erwin for the piece of shit he actually is. All this time, Erwin imagines, Levi likely thought that Erwin had never pursued you out of obligation to his duty. That he was playing hero by sacrificing his personal wants.

He sees the hurt in Levi's eyes, the absolute betrayal clouding him. He can tell he's questioning everything, wondering how he had never seen through the Commander he had sworn his devotion to so blindly before. The short man is a master of not expressing himself much, so he doesn't let his thoughts show on his face. But Erwin knows that these few minutes have tainted their friendship.

He feels upset about it of course, but a part of him is glad. And as he watches Levi leave his office, his footsteps loud, he feels something akin to relief.

At least there's one person in this world who finally sees him for who he really is, who won't buy into his lies anymore. Someone who he can actually feel some shame in front of while giving out his orders. Someone he doesn't have to look in the eye to lie to and convince them of his intentions.

Even if it meant you would likely find out about it too. But then again, Erwin is a master at earning the hatred of others, to the point that he's sure most people pray for him to die in the most gruesome ways possible.

Although, it feels much more soul crushing to so much as think about you of all people looking at him like that.

The idea of you harbouring that hateful, disgusted expression others do towards him, is far more painful then when he lost his arm.

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In all his time in the Survey Corps, many things that should surprise Erwin, have not. Or at least, that's the impression he purposefully gives to the world. His mind is practical, often choosing to immediately think of how to utlize the information he's learned in the best possible way. He's never shocked, never hesitant on planning what's next.

But today, for the first time, he's speechless. There's no plan of action to think of, no battle to jump into. There's no enemy he needs to deal with either. All he has to do is control the chains in his heart, and their increasingly dull resistance.

He's already had to accept that he's lost all of his chances with you, that you'll never look twice at him again. But now, it's even worse. Even his heart can't afford to ache for you, because you're pregnant.

It's history repeating itself at its finest really. He wasn't even this heartbroken when you and Levi got married, having coped with his loss with another binge drinking session and a meaningless one night stand where he could only see you. But this hurts too much, even for a strong man like him.

Erwin is used to being on the recieving end of bad news, so he smiles at Levi and congratulates him with a smile that's seen better days. He ignores the knowing looks from Hange, and the cool indifference with which Levi accepts his well wishes, all the while giving no indication of how he truly feels.

He makes himself follow his routine, to go to his office and work on his papers, and not grab a bottle of alcohol like he wants too. He goes on to solidify the plan for the upcoming mission, and not dwell on the idea of you becoming a mother to a child that's not his.

He works well into the night, before his bones grow weary and his hands scream at him to stop writing. He does his best to convince himself he doesn't need to sleep yet, but ultimately gives in and goes to bed. He thinks of the mission again, while drifting in and out of his dreams

As he embraces the darkness of sleep, Erwin wonders if a man whose dead inside can even classify as being alive.

Because if he survives the mission, it'll only be a victory for his body.

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Levi knows him too well, Erwin concludes to himself, as the short man kneels before him.

'.. I order you to die..'

The last time he was ordered to do something was by Commander Shadis, and no ones ordered Erwin around since then. He's been in the military for a long time, he knows how to give and take orders without feeling much. Its been a while since someone looked at him so fiercely and told him to do something no questions asked.

It should irk him, like it secretly used to before. Infuriate him even, that he's worked so hard to get to the top, only to have to be ordered about.

Instead, he's relieved. This order is the first in his life that's brought him so much relief, that's offered him an escape from his demons. His cell in hell is wide open for him, the guard impatiently waiting for the prisoner arrival.

Erwin has no plans of keeping him waiting any longer.

He smiles at Levi, and thanks him out loud. Because Levi has just saved him. He no longer has to be the demon that bears too many sins to count, the bastard that everyone looks to for orders. He'll finally be free.

Free of all responsibilities, of the burden of leadership, of being such a monster. And most importantly, Erwin almost giddily notes to himself, free of watching you and Levi create the family he wants with you.

He's grateful to Levi, who looks at him with a solemn expression. He doesn't want him to die, but if there's anyone who knows why Erwin is so okay with this order, it's Levi. The two of them look at each other meaningfully, aware they don't have the time to say more.

Erwim thinks his eyes manage to get across at least one message.

Take care of her Levi

Because Levi's eyes had looked like they were saying something too.

Of course I will

As he yells and charges towards the Beast Titan, spurring his cormades to do the same, he feels something shift inside of him. The chains stop rattling, going deathly silent. They don't loosen or untangle themselves. Rather, they disintegrate completely, not leaving behind even a speck of dust, let alone any evidence that they had existed before.

It makes him feel light, and fittingly enough, free.

In his last moments, time slows as he sees that rock heading in his direction, he knows his time has come to an end. It feels like ages past in those precious seconds, because he sees you.

He sees your pretty smile, hears your sweet laughter and envisions you standing in front of him, wearing that white dress, and vowing to love him forever. It's a sight that's so wholesome, that maybe he could have died with a smile on his face.

But he doesn't get to be lucky, not after selfishly playing the role of a monster his entire life. Before his lips can curl to express that one emotion, every part of him suddenly hurts. His vision goes black, leaving him aching to see you again for just one more second.

When he wakes up, he's in an endless void, surrounded by metal bars and, ironically enough, wrapped up in chains.

He's dead, and he knows it. Erwin can only bitterly chuckle at the beginning of his well deserved punishment.

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A/N: Surprise!! 🎉. Heyooo! I know I said part 4 will be fluff, but in my defense, I just couldn't get the idea of exploring Erwin's heartbreak before he dies out of my head. I have tagged a smol fluff drabble between Levi and reader, set in Chains. It's right here. So do read that!

How much did you guys like that? I felt kinda emotional writing it 😅

#Attack on titan #Snk #Aot #Erwin X reader #Erwin/reader #Levi x reader #Levi/Reader #Heartbreak #Angst #Longing #Death #One Sided Love #I'm very mean to Erwin I'm so sorry

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mrsbarnes107 · 4 years ago

Text

Secret of the Widow

-part eight-

Summary: Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude and a secret. Will the broken team take her in? Or is it too much to bare?

Warnings: language, *eventual* violence and smut, death, fluff, angst

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Disclaimer: this is posted to Wattpad as well and it WILL HAVE PLOT. I’m a Bucky hoe so there will be smut and romancy stuff but this is a series, so plot plot plot and slow burn.

*Bucky POV*

I've finally gotten away from Wilson and his incessant blabbering, and am now making my way to the training room to find Ali.

Ever since she got here, there's been this ache in the back of my mind. It feels a lot like the first time I saw Steve all those years ago. A dull tug, trying to pull something forward.

She knows me. Knows me well apparently. And I feel deep in this little dark corner of myself, that I know her too. She unsettles me immensely, the thought of her risking herself so wantonly with the Winter Soldier, knowing my past and darkness. It's horrible. But shes also comforting. A type of comfort I haven't felt in a long while.

She's a wild card still. Unpredictable. And yet she peaked my curiosity.

I still can't get her teary blue eyes out of my mind. I'm thankful I heard her sneak past my room the night before. Otherwise I never would have followed her to the lab. Never would have seen her pain and loss so openly. Her cries were heartbreaking, sobs wrenched from deep inside.

I understand what it's like to feel utterly alone and confused. And I wish I could take that feeling from her.

Taking a quick left I stop at the door of the training room, hearing music and the dull thud of knife hitting Kevlar.

God help me I can't get the image of her dancing so carefree in my hoodie out of my head either. Walking into the kitchen to that view, well fuck me back to the 40s. A beautiful woman dancing and singing, a home cooked meal on the stove, and a blade twirling between delicate fingers. She's going to give me whiplash. Or death.

This need to protect and cherish her conflicts with the instinct to be wary and set clear distance and it's worse than the cyclone at Coney Island.

I just know this isn't a good idea.

***

*OC POV*

"You're letting go too soon Doll."

FUCKING BLOODY HELL I'm gonna kill this man.

I very much did NOT let out a tiny squeak for the second time today and launch ANOTHER knife straight at Buckys (admittedly handsome) stupid face.

Okay I did.

With a cocky flourish he catches it and give the blade a nice twirl. "See? Too soon. You're aim would be more accurate if you hold off a second or so before releasing. And the blade would slice through the air better. It's catching too much resistance from the angle."

"You have gotta stop sneaking up on me Sarge. Unlike yourself, I'm too young for heart failure."

Bucky sends me a scowl and scoops up the rest of the knives from the target then makes his way over.

"Sweetheart, I may have some years under my belt, but I'm a fully and exceptionally functioning man." I look down to see the tip of a knife gliding up my stomach and to my throat, pausing to move a lock of hair behind my ear.

Suddenly sweaty I clear my throat and swipe a knife from his metal hand. "I'll take your word for it Buckaroo. Now you wanna show me how exceptionally you can teach?"

At that he steps behind me, chest pressed against my back, hard muscle very much evident under his tight shirt. His hand gliding down my arm softly until he wraps his fingers around mine, now holding the knife together.

His (very beefy) leg presses between my thighs, allowing his foot to hook around mine and reposition my leg.

Hell in a handbasket its fucking hot in here. Jeez. My heart is going wild and I know for a fact Bucky can hear it.

His breath ghosts along my neck as he murmurs low against my ear.

"You're quick and underestimated because of your size. Use that more to your advantage and strike like a little viper. Fast and deadly."

He guides my hand as if drawing the knife from my thigh holster, making my hips shift back against his. As our arms make a slow, practiced arc Buckys metal hand squeezes my hip telling me when to release the knife.

With another light squeeze he steps back and nods for me to continue.

This man will undoubtedly be a distraction in the field if I don't get it together.

With a sigh I drop to a knee only to pounce back up in a spin while drawing the blade, letting it sail through the air in complete silence, slicing through it only to come to a halt with a smack that echoed through the room. In the blink of an eye it went from my fingertips to the mannequins skull a good twenty yards away.

He really didn't need an ego boost but damn if he isn't talented.

"Better. Now let's see how you do hand to hand."

I was suddenly back to the mat with a very heavy soldier pinning my body down, knife pressing into the hollow of my throat.

I let out a soft grunt as piercing blue eyes filled with concealed torment and a hint of playfulness met my own. "Well this brings back memories... for me at least."

Using his confused pause as an advantage, I run my foot along the inner seam of his sweatpants as the other slips from between his to hook around his thigh.

A startled grunt escapes open lips and the knife moves a fraction as his hold loosens. With considerable effort I had the hulking soldier underneath my straddling hips, knife now running up his chest, small cuts appearing along his shirt.

Large hands rest on my thighs, squeezing with every dip of the blade as it runs along the ridges of concealed muscle.

"Dirty move Doll."

With a small shrug his shirt gets cut open completely. "It can get dirtier Sarge."

I shift against his hips and his hands clamp down hard, keeping my legs in place, most definitely leaving Bucky shaped bruises.

"Are we ever gonna have that conversation you promised? Cause I feel like I'm missing some important pieces to our story."

"Huh, I thought this was a training session, not a slumber party." With another squirm against his crotch he lets out a low growl and I hop up, tossing the knife into the floor by his head. "Come and get me Barnes."

With that I took off down the hallway, thundering footsteps quickly catching up with mine. Damn super soldier speed.

As his arm wrapped around my waist I let out a giggle and ducked underneath it, landing a blow to his stomach. Which did little more than make him let out a grunt of air as I dropped to swipe his legs from beneath him.

With a roll Bucky jumped back up and caught my arm, spinning me against the wall.

His thigh pressed between mine as his metal hand locked my arms above my head, our chests heaving together despite the minimal effort of the chase.

The forgotten blade appeared in his other hand, the sharp tip trailing down my arm, dipping along the collarbone. Buckys head tilted as my heart beat went double time, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

With a smooth flick of his wrist a bead of blood trailed down my throat, stopping between the swells of my breast, Buckys eyes following the slow path returning to mine darkened and razor focused.

With a glimpse to the lip I trapped between my teeth he cocks his head with a suspicious glare. “Bringing back more memories Sweetheart?”

“I don’t know, is it Sarge?”

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get you-

Buckys hips press firmly into my own, his thick thigh shifting higher, now tight against the needy heat between my legs. A very noticeably large and stiff bulge pressed into my hip. How am I not on fire yet?

A small whimper escapes my lips as Bucky trails his mouth and nose along the length of my neck, beard scratching deliciously against heated skin. My hips bucked, wonderful friction meeting my clothed center, a moan escaping with a sigh as I repeated the action.

Bucky growled low in his throat as his hips snapped against mine, leg tensing against my soaked cunt. “I might not remember our past yet Doll, but I remember this feeling. Your warmth. First time I looked into those big blue eyes I knew you were gonna ruin me. Had no idea who you were, but fuck it all I knew you somehow.”

With a slight tug he released my arms, hands falling to my waist, tracing a path along my body.

I rested my palm against his heart, as the other cupped his cheek. Thumb tracing his red lips I looked into lust blown confused eyes. “Maybe one day you’ll remember our story, until then I’ll remember for the both of us.”

A rough thumb brushes over a hard nipple as his hips start to rock steadily into my own. A small moan escapes as my fingers tangle in Buckys thick hair. His mouth once again finding my neck, this time leaving hot kisses. His tongue traced along my ear, teeth nipping along the skin until he reached the spot on my neck that made me keen.

His lips kissed a smile into my skin as he sucked it into his mouth, leaving his mark on my body. My greedy hand began to make its way to the band of his sweats as he-

“Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes, the team needs you in the conference room immediately.” Friday said from above us, damn near giving me a heart attack.

Cockblock. “Fucking hell.” I mutter as my head tilts back to rest against the wall, Buckys hot breath puffing against my chest from where his face is pressed into my shoulder. I run my fingers through his hair for a moment, relishing his warmth after so long being cold.

Bucky pressed a kiss to my collarbone as I clear my throat. “Well, duty calls soldier.”

As he backs away and releases my body, I rock onto my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before swiftly walking to the conference room.

I’m almost certain these shorts are ruined. My sanity is not far off either.

#avengers #avengers fic #black widow #bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #captain america #endgame #marvel #spiderman #sebastian stan #knife kink #winter solder #iron man #tony stark #steve rogers #tfatws #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #wanda maximoff

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liliesoftherain · 4 years ago

Text

Still Remember

Pairing: Tenya Iida x Reader, Hinted Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff?, Healing

Summary: You still remember how it all happened.

A/N: Hey guys! This is for my MHA & Readers discord server collab! Hope you enjoy, the prompt was rejection;-;

Masterlist for the works coming out tomorrow!

You still remember how cold it was that evening.

The way your breath made visible as little white puffs, or how the frost clung to the sides of the dorm building. You weren’t wearing the proper jacket to be out in this kind of cold, yet here you were, facing harsh winds instead of being snuggled into your cotton sheets.

You still remember the scolding he gave you.

The way he pursed his lips at the poor excuses that flew from your mouth, how he scolded you for not taking better care of yourself. He brought his hand up, palm open as he lightly tapped your head, faking a chop with a chuckle leaving his lips at your embarrassed expression. He shrugged his sweater off, and you did all you could to fight him on it, but the words failed you as soon as you saw his smile.

You still remember how the polyester felt upon your skin.

The way it engulfed your frame was comforting, the warmth instantly thawing your frozen features. His smell lingered on the fabric, filling your senses, and instantly soothing all of your worries. Iida had grabbed your wrist gently, rolling up the pooling sleeves so they rested above your hands. You blamed the cold for the roses that bloomed along your face.

You still remember how that was the past and how the past meant nothing.

That one moment had taken over your mind, thoughts on a constant loop as you laid awake. Even when asleep, your dreams were taken over by soft smiles and warm zip-up sweaters. However, no matter how much it had meant to you, you were sure it was nothing more than a kind gesture to him.

You still remember every day after.

Iida wasn’t a touchy person, so the little things he did made an impact on you. The way opened your doors, the way he spoke to you with a smile, the way he took it upon himself to make sure you were taken care of, the lingering touches and caring stares had to have meant something to him. It couldn’t have just been a kind gesture, there had to have more meaning behind it. Right?

You still remember the day you confided to someone about your feelings.

Bringing your crush up to Mina was probably not the best idea, not with the way she schemed. Yet you had to get it off your chest, the dam was threatening to burst at any moment you feared, and you’d rather spill the news on your terms rather than through word vomit. She helped you through it all, pushing you in the right direction to get it off your chest and out into the open. Which was what planned to do, the longing glances and minimal conversations weren’t cutting it anymore. You wanted the late-night talks about everything and anything, the company you could provide each other, the warmth of his sweater again.

You still remember the day you decided to risk it all.

You told Mina it was the day, that enough was enough and you had to let him know no matter the outcome. She was ecstatic of course, wishing you all the luck before practically shoving you off to track him down. You wanted until later that day, when most of your classmates were training or in their rooms before the last meal of the day. Iida was on dinner duty, currently alone in the kitchen as he prepared food. Midoriya, who was supposed to be his partner for the night, nowhere in sight. You greeted him casually, heart fluttering at the sight of his smile. A million thoughts passed through your mind, all regarding the brilliant boy in front of you.

You still remember the hurt of his rejection.

As soon as the words slipped from your mouth, the smile you grew to love was instantly gone. As soon as the silence stretched you knew it was all over, and you desperately tried to take back the words you said.

“(l/n)..”

The way he said your name broke your heart, just that one word and that was it. Any hopes of you together were shattered, all you could do was bow your head and mutter a small apology. His hand came out to you, yet he instinctively took it back, only whispering an apology of his own. You step back, unable to look him in the eyes, before turning around. Stepping out of the kitchen was no better, running straight into a chest. You look up to see emeralds full of pity, belonging to none other than Midoriya himself. You bite your lip harshly at the stare, shoving past him as he makes no effort to stop you.

You still remember the tears.

Rushing to Mina’s room that night was the only conclusion you came to, not wanting to be alone. You didn’t bother knocking, and slammed the door open, having startled the occupants inside. Your attention locked on the person you needed most, and you ignored the others who watched as you rushed into her arms. Your cries were soft-- no ugly sobs, no breathless hiccups, just burning tears trailing down your cheeks one by one. Her arms surrounded you, rubbing your back in hopes to soothe you. The tension in the room only grew thicker as a gruff voice spoke out;

“Who the fuck made you cry.”

You still remember her in his sweater.

A week after the incident, you stepped out of the dorms to run. To run from your pain, your feelings, to run from it all. It wasn’t fair he got to walk around as if nothing happened, you were determined to get there too. Just as you finished stretching, you look up and felt yourself freeze. It was spring now, the chilly nights turning more and more comfortable as time went on. A light throw-over was all that was needed, so why was she wearing his sweater now?

The sleeves were rolled up past her hands, just like they were for you. The fabric practically swallowed her frame, just as it did to you. The rubies on her cheeks shone brightly, the pearls of her teeth sparkling just as much. She looked happy.

It hurt, the way the weight on your chest doubled, and you felt the air escape your lungs. She saw you and waved, stopping in front of you to talk. You couldn’t hear the words she spoke, too focused on the way her light brown locks rested along his collar perfectly. Or how the color complimented her large, round eyes. She looked good, in his clothes, and yet all you wanted was to be the one in his sweater.

You excused yourself, leaving with a light jog before sprinting away, running away from the image of her bringing a crisp sleeve up to her dainty mouth--

A mouth you’re sure he’s explored.

Finally, for the first time since it happened, loud and painful sobs escaped your lips.

You still remembered watching them together till the end.

You had finally graduated U.A., going off to an agency had been easy enough. The days were long and challenging, but you lived for the distraction. It was getting better, the pain in your chest growing smaller each day you spent apart from the couple you used to live with. The awkward air between both of you never fully went away, and you lost a once close friend.

Even so, you were learning how to be happy with yourself.. Feeling proud when you have to work alongside one of them, and the squeeze of your heart dulls with each visit.

You still remember waking up and he wasn’t the first thing on your mind.

The day had started like any other, and you almost didn’t notice how your thoughts hadn’t drifted towards the hero. A tear of happiness fell from your eye as you realize, and at that moment you knew it was possible. That it was possible to forget, it was possible to move on, it was possible to love someone other than him.

You still remember loving another.

Finally, your thoughts lingered on the man who only thought of you. Your arms wrapped around a man whose embrace was meant for you. Your eyes trained on the man whose fiery red gaze only sought to find your frame. You felt peace, and you were glad it was him who was there with you every step of the way.

You still remember a lot of things,

and you wish to never forget them. They have made you into who you are today, and without them, you wouldn’t have been able to find the brilliant sun behind the clouds. As you lay in your lover’s warm embrace, you know you would go through the heartbreak all over again just to find him.

In a way, you suppose you were thankfully for Iida’s rejection. Without that, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have been with the love of his life, and you wouldn’t have been able to marry yours.

Sometimes fate has a funny way of working; a seemingly never-ending current dragging you to the bottom, trying to drown you in its lies and pain. Only to have you stop struggling and raise you back to the surface, right into the shores of warm beaches and breathtaking sunsets.

You will live to see another beautiful day, as long as you remind yourself the murky waters won’t last forever.

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years ago

Photo

LAURENCE ABBOTT is TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD and a MANAGER FOR THE WEIRD SISTERS & BOOK SELLER in FLOURISH AND BLOTT at DIAGON ALLEY. He looks remarkably like GIANCARLO COMMARE and considers himself NEUTRAL. He is currently OPEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: anxiety, bullying, death, depression

Reserved and melancholy, Laurence Abbott is the comforting nostalgia held in old books, the dimly lit cobblestones of a long lost city and the quiet strum of a bass guitar echoing in a candlelit forgotten room. Born to THEODORA GREEN, a Muggle with a delicate sensibility, despite giving birth to him in heartbreak she promised to the stars to love him with everything she had. Living a quaint life together in a recluse cottage on the coast of The Isle of Wight, Laurie was loved as Dora’s greatest treasure. Bringing warmth and music into the world, they built forts out of twigs and escaped in tales of folklore told with toes dipped in gentle streams. A quiet and tentative soul, Laurie wondered the world in blues and soft greys on rainy days. Tending to lavender gardeners to ease his anxiety, Laurie’s time was spent singing along to Patsy Cline and Simon & Garfunkel with his mother and collecting ancient coins which he displayed proudly. A music teacher herself, Dora sung poetic lyrics to Laurie as lullabies; showing him beauty even in the saddest of moments. While content as a duo, with a curious mind that wandered into his past, Laurie couldn’t help the drifting questions he held; particularly surrounding the absence of a father figure. While his questions were met with masked sadness from his mother, still she explained his father was an adventurer; lost on a quest to find sunken treasure for Laurie’s collection of forgotten things. Despite accepting the words downheartedly, he continued to long for the person he’d fabricated in his imagination. Adamant that the greatest treasure would merely be to meet his father. Though the unfortunate reality of people was that they were always laced with disappointment and broken promises.

A rap at the door on a stormy night, Laurie’s rose tinted dreams soon faltered at the appearance of the very man he’d been longing to meet. ALBERT ABBOTT, lingered in the hallway like a mere dream with dark features and eyes drawn tired from duty. Tentative to make the acquaintance of a stranger and merely five, Laurie clung to the stair railing as he caught words he’d piece together over the years that followed. His father wasn’t an adventurer at all, but a wizard belonging to one of the most noteworthy families in the United Kingdom. And Laurence? The result of a stolen love affair outside of an arranged engagement. To his father, he was merely a son he’d never known, a mistake, who’s blood status and very existence could bring the Abbott name to ruin. ARTHER, Laurence’s grandfather, was a traditionalist and believed in the power and entitlement that came with being a Pure-Blood despite it’s twisted morality. As the result of his grandfather and uncle PHILIP’S views, his father arranged to keep Laurence and Dora a harboured secret. Safe from prying eyes hidden in the muggle world and more importantly from CAOIMHE Ó BEIRNE and AUGUSTUS ABBOTT; his other family residing in Godrick’s Hollow. Laurence grew to expect disappointment in his father’s frivolity quickly. Disappearing for days often weeks, Albert visited sporadically; with Laurie often merely catching a glimpse of his father’s shadow as he left early in the morning, unaware he’d been there at all. Laurie’s once glowing perspective of people vanished. Viewing the world as a glass half empty, he learned to expect the worst in a hope to preserve his heart from more disappointment.

Merely a year after his father ventured back into their lives, the family were welcoming another; GILFRED ABBOTT. With a brother like the shining sun, Gilfred was almost the opposite of Laurence who drifted like rain clouds. Extroverted, vibrant and with a keen aptitude for Quidditch; he was the perfect son in Albert’s eyes who worked within the Quidditch Head Quarters, overseeing the Abbott’s family sponsorship of The Wimborne Wasps. The neglect Laurie felt merely grew as he watched his brother illuminated in the light of their father’s love, diminishing him further as he longed for a moment of affection in the shadows. While their differences set them apart, the brothers held a close bond. Equally as protective of the other, they were linked in the commonality of their father’s ineptitude and in the knowledge that despite themselves, because of their Half-Blood status, they would always be a tarnish on the Abbott name. Overhearing hushed conversations exchanged at twilight, Laurence learned that the lack of affection his father expressed stemmed from the blinding similarities he shared with one he’d never met; his half brother Gus. His father’s guilt loomed heavily, harboured lies became unspoken secrets amongst Laurie and his mother as they watched him toy between love and a society that deemed them as undeserving. With fears of their existence being exposed, Albert pleaded the necessity that upon his attendance to Hogwarts, Laurence claim Muggle-Born status and his mother’s maiden name. Fawning the reasons as merely an effort to safeguard financial security for his own and Gilfred’s futures; Laurence accepted, longing to please.

Aware that risk of exposure came with the potential of being scorned from the Abbott legacy, while wanting to cast aside the burden, logically he knew that the truth squandered opportunity; for him, but more importantly for Gilfred. Seeing himself as, yet again, being deemed less than in his father’s and relatives eyes, Laurie grew paranoid in the belief that maybe after everything they were right in seeing him as unworthy. Sorted into Ravenclaw under the name Laurence Green, he became a wallflower. Lacking self confidence and courage, he found friends among books; reveling in historic tales of Arithmancy and advanced reading of Ancient Ruins; the Library became his sanctum of solace. It was there that he met fellow introvert and inevitable best friend IRMA PINCE. Though younger than him, the Slytherin was renowned around the school for their powerful and unpleasant jinxes; specifically on books. Unfortunately with his luck, Laurie found himself accidentally dripping an ink spot onto a copy of Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration which proceeded to then hit him over the head several times. With a counter charm and sarcastic comment, she explained the trick was merely to stop the likes of NEPHTHYS NOTT from causing strife. Impressed by her intelligence and talent for non verbal magic, the pair were quick to form a close bond. Though their friendship was met with wondering jealous eyes from Irma’s close friends SEPTIMA VECTOR and AMETHYST CASTRO. Despite attempts to befriend them for Irma’s sake, the pair were inclusive and held Laurie in contempt for imposing. A keen observer, Laurie holds the suspicion that their envy however is rooted in love for Irma rather than his ineptitude.

Despite his quiet self-deprecating demeanour, his fake Muggle-Born status drew the attention of RABASTAN LESTRANGE who reveled in Laurie’s misery. Though as the scandal of his father’s affair unraveled, Gilfred and Laurence’s status as Albert’s sons were splashed across the pages of The Daily Prophet. Finding himself thrust upon a society he grew up despising for its blood prejudice, the days of sneered comments and upheld noses vanished as he was donned a member of The Sacred Twenty Eight. While those such as PERSEPHONE WILKES tried to find a new position in his good graces, his close knit group of friends - MARIANNE MACMILLAN, COINNEACH MCKINNON, FABIAN PREWETT, GIDEON PREWETT, CECELIA ABBOTT and BOOKER BAGNOLD -, held the same love for him as they always had. Expressing his heartache at catching glimpses of his half brother in hallways; Celia tried earnestly to ease the growing tensions between the brothers. Insecure after years of being held in contempt due to his lack of ‘purity’, Laurence held lingering jealousy and bitterness towards one he barely knew. Hurt that his father’s lack of acceptance stemmed from their similarities, he held Gus in disregard to save his own broken heart. While Gilfred was welcoming and open to the prospect of building bridges, Laurence refrained, instead finding solace in music. Participating in the frog choir and strumming chords on his bass guitar in the music room; it was there that he met close friend KIRLEY DUKE and the rest of The Weird Sisters.

While an unlikely friendship, the group bonded over their shared love for Muggle music - particularly upcoming band ‘The Smiths’-. While more reserved than the Sister’s wild antics, they welcomed him with open arms and a cigarette light. Filling in on base at the occasional practice, Laurence became the acting manager for the new and upcoming band; while just starting they still gathered attention from young sorcerers such as ORLAITH MACMILLAN and MARY MACDONALD. Taking a job at Flourish and Blott to help pay the bills of the apartment he shares with Coinneach, Fabian and Gideon; Laurence spends his days categorising books and logging sales. While almost the perfect job for a bookworm, with Laurence’s observant nature he’s noted his co-worker MADAM MIRIELLE’S frequent disappearances into the archives upon visits from STURGIS PODMORE. Though suspicious, after the death of Booker at All Hallows Eve 1982, Laurence has little time to dwell on uncertainty as he comforts Celia in her heartbreak. Spilling his sadness into songs and smoking one too many cigarettes donned in his washed blue denim jacket, a new acquaintance by the name of EVE DIGGORY, has become a small light of sunshine through his darkened clouds. While having only met the witch a few times over an exchanged book at Flourish and Blott; Laurence can’t help but feel the turmoil of waves in his chest ease in her presence. While he doesn’t believe himself worthy of being seen in a romantic light, the world still looks a little less painful with Eve and Irma’s smile captivating his attention; distracting him even for a moment from his solace of blues.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood

Pronouns → He/Him

Identification → Cis Male

Sexuality → Up To Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Hufflepuff)

Family → Gilfred Abbott (brother), Cecelia Abbott (cousin/close friend), Augustus Abbott (half-brother) Albert Abbott (father), Arthur Abbott (grand-father), Theodora Green (mother)

Connections → Irma Pince (best friend/potential love interest), Fabian Prewett (best friend/room mate), Gideon Prewett (close friend/room mate), Coinneach McKinnon (close friend/room mate), Marianne MacMillan (close friend), Booker Bagnold (deceased close friend), Kirley Duke (close friend), Septima Vector (friend), Meghan McCormack (friend), Eve Diggory (aquaintance/potential love interest) Rabastan Lestrange (adversary), Amethyst Castro (acquaintance), Nephthys Nott (adversary)

Future Information → Husband of Eve Diggory (subject to change), Father of Hannah Abbott

LAURENCE ABBOTT IS A LEVEL 5 WIZARD.

#hannah abbott #marauders rp #harry potter rp #giancarlo commare #harry potter rpg #laurence abbott #open #open wizard #open neutral #neutral #alleys #flourish and blotts #magic

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basicsofislam · 4 years ago

Text

ISLAM 101: 5 PILLARS OF ISLAM: ALMS AND CHARITY: FIQH OF ZAKAT IN DETAIL:

RECIPIENTS OF ZAKAT: (Part 3)

DEBTORS

In normal circumstances, zakat should be given to a person in debt, irrespective of the person’s prior wealth. Although in one way, debtors can actually be classified among the poor and destitute, the main difference is that their unfortunate state is presumably only temporary. By declaring, “Charity is not permissible for the rich, except for the following five: A warrior in the way of God, a zakat collector, a debtor, a person who buys the charity collected as zakat, and a rich person who receives from a poor the gift that was given to him as zakat,”12 the Prophet has pronounced the eligibility for zakat of a debtor, even if he is rich. On the account of Abu Said al-Hudri, a Companion during the time of the Noble Messenger had bought fruit, which were destroyed before he could offer their payment. Upon hearing this, the Prophet advised the others to lend him financial support. After the amassed total fell short of the required amount, the Prophet said to the creditors, “Take from what there is, for there is no more,” insisting on some additional understanding and compromise on their behalf.13 Falling into debt must never be seen as a method of receiving zakator as a pretext for escaping it, practices strongly condemned by the Prophet and certainly subject to divine fury. The people declared by Islam as being eligible for zakat, in this case, are not those who are penalized for their avarice, but rather those who are going through rough patches while leading a planned and moderate life. The bottom line is that life is transient, man is expected to behave responsibly, and errors perpetrated in this fleeting life may lead to a devastating scenario on the Day of Judgment.

FI SABILILLAH (IN GOD’S WAY)

In line with the various connotations the Arabic term may suggest, “fi sabilillah” is basically the commitment to put aside all personal duties and dedicate one’s entire time to spend in the way of God. Initially, this involves seeking and learning the knowledge that brings happiness in this life and in the hereafter, and in time, may also require the removal of impediments that stand in the way of spreading God’s name to all corners of the world. It is exactly for this reason that a group courageously taking such an immense task is entitled to zakat, thereby encompassing the broader meaning of the term jihad, as all kinds of struggle offered with the sole aim of pleasing God.

Analyzing the issue from the perspective of the Prophetic Era, the Ashab al-Suffa (Companions that had dedicated their entire time to the pursuit of knowledge), whose numbers reached up to 400, throw more light on the issue as exemplary models, in terms of the duty they had accomplished. Enduring a variety of difficulties, they nevertheless remained incessantly alongside the Prophet, eager to realize his very command and imbibe from him pearls of wisdom. Having devoted themselves solely in this direction, they frequently suffered hunger, even facing, on occasions, the threat of falling unconscious. Abu Hurayra, an heroic example of this devotion, responded to certain criticisms that came in his direction by simply stating, “My brothers complain that I narrate too many hadiths. However, while my Ansar brothers (Medinan Muslims) were busy cultivating their lands, and my Muhajir brothers (Meccan Muslims) were engaged in trade, me and others alike were incessantly by the side of the Prophet, memorizing his words, “At the risk of fainting from hunger.”14 This illustrates the extent of the dedication and consequent hardship which devout followers encountered for the sake of serving the Qur’an and the Sunna—and also exemplifies the different manner in which believers struggled to support Islam. Of course, the Qur’an is far from quiet on such sacrifices, eternalizing their earnest devotions as follows, in a verse which was also critical to some of the earlier discussions:

Alms are for the poor who are restrained in the cause of God, unable to travel in the land. The ignorant man counts them among the wealthy because of their restraint. But you will know them by their appearance. They never beg people with importunity. And whatever good things you spend, surely God knows them well. (Baqara 2:273)

Despite of the difficulties they constantly faced, these Companions would not divulge their hardships, causing others to overlook them when they identified people in no need. Even though there still were a limited number of individuals who might have had a fairly good idea of their dire situation, it was impossible to know the full depth of suffering they concealed to establish the faith of Islam. To cut a long story short, the following account provides an excellent example by which to crystallize this description.

Said ibn Musayyab, one of the forerunners of the Tabiun generation (the praised generation who were acquainted with the Companions, though they did not see the Noble Prophet himself) who was the son-in-law of Abu Hurayra, tells the following story about his father-in-law, as the elder walking around gleefully in a linen robe:

Plunged in deep thought, he (Abu Hurayra) then turned to himself, muttering “Get over yourself, Abu Hurayra! You seem to have long forgotten the days when you would collapse from hunger and children would start treading on you, and others would hasten to you, conceiving it as an epileptic fit. Nobody would understand, bar the Prophet (upon whom be peace) and Jafar ibn Abi Talib, who would say ‘Come Abu Hurayra!’ where upon you would tag along with them. How many times you entered the home of the Honorable Prophet, satisfying your hunger with milk, presented by him!”15

Abu Hurayra, in fact, could not pursue anything else, conceiving this as the only path to revive one’s world and reach the eternal abode. Abu Hurayra’s desire and sensitivity in running to the need of the Prophet, and in memorizing every single word he uttered, was equally matched by his vigor in joining the armed forces, when required, where he confidently assumed the front ranks. Similarly, Abu Lubaba, and many others, displayed the same attitude.

Thus it was for the likes of these exemplary figures, that divine glorification was revealed. As conveyed, there were more than 100 Companions who, while prostrating in salat (prayer), would hold fast to their insufficient clothes to prevent an exposure of their private areas. As a matter of fact, all possessions and wealth had been abandoned in migrating from Mecca to Medina for the sake of God. The Prophet (upon whom be peace) nurtured a unique sensitivity for his Companions, and he would give them everything that came his way; and yet, especially in the early years of the faith, it still fell short of covering even their basic needs. He himself would endure days of starvation, to the point where he even tied a rock around his stomach to diminish his own feeling of hunger—and yet his soft heart could not bear the hunger of his Companions. So while he lived a life well below the standards of those around him, he displayed an unmatched sensitivity to the requirements of others.

Through his efforts, Abu Hurayra achieved such proximity to the Messenger that more often than not, he would refer to the Prophet as his Khalil(Confidant), such that he would begin his explanations by saying, “My Confidant told me…” Or, “I went next to my Confidant.” Or, “I conversed with my Confidant…” and so on. By using this term, Abu Hurayra alluded to the ache and longing he experienced whenever he was away from the presence of the Prophet. In one of his many visits to the Prophet, he witnessed him offering salat while seated, showing signs of agony and distress. Immediately after the salat was finished, Abu Hurayra asked the Prophet why he offered his prayer sitting, only to receive this response: “Hunger; O Abu Hurayra!” Abu Hurayra, having witnessed such a heartbreaking scene, broke down in tears and the duty of consolation was, again, left to the Prophet, who uttered these words of gentle comfort: “Don’t cry, Abu Hurayra, because surely, the least torment on the Day of Judgment will befall the starved who have indeed already suffered its hardships.”16

Such was the attitude displayed by this great “Confidant.” While the Prophet endured a variety of hardships, it would obviously have been utterly unconceivable for Abu Hurayra and the other 400 friends – the Ashab al-Suffa – to opt for lives of pompous luxury. Affirming their faith in God granted them such an immense maturity that they were constantly on the lookout for opportunities where they could lend their services. So even while they lacked the basic necessities of the day—a horse to ride, a saddle, a flask to carry water in, or a loaf of bread, for example—they would still come to the Prophet, asking for opportunities by which they could serve in God’s cause and thus vehemently insisting, “Provide us with means, O Messenger!” Evidently, the Companions always sought additional opportunities by which they could support the growth of their faith community and offer themselves increasingly in the name of God. Of course, understanding the depth of service of his close Companions, the Honorable Prophet would give them support and suggestions, as well as anything material he could provide, in order to increase their benefits before God. On the sad occasions when he had nothing left to give, and he was starving himself, he would suffer the unparalled and additional agony of having to turn back a Muslim who was willing to do more for his faith but simply had nothing more to offer. The Qur’an’s depiction of the preparations in the lead-up to the Tabuk campaign draws attention to this profound and moving situation:

Nor (is there any blame) on those who came to you, to be provided with mounts, and when you said to them, “I am unable to provide you with mounts.” They returned with tears streaming from their eyes, grieving that they could find no means to contribute. (Tawba 9:92)

As mentioned earlier, it is unimaginable in any healthy community for the rich to indulge in luxury while there are those who, out of insufficient means, are deserted to their own starvation and despair. Therefore, mobilizing all financial means towards those who have dedicated their entire lives for a noble cause—and who shed tears not for their own discomfort, but only for their failures in finding the necessary means to give more—would ultimately revive their vanished hopes, instigating an immensely efficacious movement by which the rewards of overwhelming sacrifice would be jointly shared—and enjoyed—by all the benefactors. Within the broadest sense of the term, the invaluable groundwork would thus be laid for talented students and followers, germinating in them an enormous eagerness to become passionate servants in God’s way, and upholders of universal ethics. This is, after all, the essence and vision of Islam.

WAYFARERS

On the word of the Qur’an, the last group of recipients which is identified is that of wayfarers— individuals who become needy during travel, even if they are essentially rich back home. It has virtually become impossible, especially today, to avoid traveling, whether it be for work or to spread the word of Islam to all the ends of the world. The quest to travel in order to serve in God’s way; to provide a righteous example of faith in parts of the world with little or no exposure to Islam; or to resettle in different communities in order to directly invite others to Islam is, in effect, an excellent motive to establish funds, in concordance with the Qur’anic directive to accommodate the needs of travelers and those who lend their services to the mission of God.

This command is simultaneously a verification of how Islam attends to a person’s financial requirements while also decreeing the spread of good and the purge of evil—for including these altruistic souls as recipients of zakat allays their financial concerns and saves them from lagging behind in devoting their lives to the search for thirsty hearts eager to be quenched with the nectar of Truth.

The Messenger of God enunciated the rich among those who may occasionally be eligible to receive zakat while traveling (and thus in need of resources).17 The mention of travelers in the hadith is simply an elaboration of the Qur’anic command in relation to wayfarers. Therefore, though a person may possess enough wealth to donate zakat, he may also be eligible as a recipient, provided that he is in need during travels.

WHERE ELSE CAN ZAKAT BE GIVEN?

The essential aim of zakat is to cure all social diseases that stem from inequality in the distribution of wealth and, ultimately, create a tightly knit community resembling a robust building. Evidently, there exist certain institutions which are aimed at serving the exact purpose for which zakat is intended, and these tend to be well known within a community. Even though these institutions have technically not been mentioned among the other categories of recipients, they do receive zakat owing to their particular social aims and functions. These institutions, which are formed around the core concept of charity, have the power to reach out to the deprived, to ease their lives and, as discussed above, help avoid or discourage potential social strife.

In the words of the Prophet (upon whom be peace), a Muslim society is like one body where all parts join the agony of a single limb; viewed from this angle, reviving one certain part of society is commensurable to breathing new life into the entire organism. Espousing this kind of an impetus, each member of society is expected to become active. Actualizing God’s will in all parts of society will, in effect, terminate theft and other crimes connected to financial instability, graciously giving the community a brand new lease on life. While charity and aid foundations, scholarship funds and orphanages may, at first, give the impression of being excluded from the eight groups delineated by the Qur’an, they each fundamentally relate and encompass one or more of the specified recipient groups. The dictates of the Qur’an, in effect, are both general and unrestricted—the essence of a vibrant and comprehensive system of ordinances for life. Therefore, conditions like poverty, traveling, being in debt, or striving in the way of God are inherently deemed to generate the need for assistance, so that individuals in such conditions clearly achieve eligibility for zakat, and organizations which provide such targeted assistance must receive available funds in order to deliver the appropriate relief.

Illat, in Islamic terminology, means the basic reason for determining the permissibility or the impermissibility of an action, and it constitutes a crucial foundation of Islamic jurisprudence. Recall that as far as the muallafa al-qulub are concerned, they receive zakat as long as, or whenever and wherever, they exist and there is a need for warming their hearts towards Islam. The situation is similar for wayfarers, as discussed above; namely,zakat is only given to such a group as long as it exists—that is, as long as individuals fitting this description can be identified. Therefore, looking from this perspective, we can say that the very existence of institutions or foundations which serve the needs of any of the individuals defined, and which have as their primary intent and purpose the support of these groups, is sufficient reason for their entitlement to zakat.

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victoodles · 5 years ago

Text

Cruel World I’m Gone

A series of snapshots following life for you and Arthur after fall of the Van der Linde Gang. If you have any suggestions for future chapters (domestic fluff, meetups with the old gang, s m u t, hit a bitch up)

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“I gave you all I had.”

It was his last testament to a mentor - a father - long since departed from this world.

Arthur clutches the heel of Dutch’s boot, desperately trying to hold onto the last tangible evidence that the man he remembered was still with him. Before the Devil on his shoulder known as Micah plagued them with false promises of glory.

Even that is stripped from him as the shell of a leader pulls away and retreats into the darkness, leaving a battered and broken Arthur behind in the dirt.

Alone.

Arthur hurts. Hurts in ways he’s never felt before. He is no stranger to physical pain: having being beat, shot, even tortured. But this was a newfound suffering that leaves the heart he rediscovered shattered. Everything he’s ever known is dead and turning to ash as the last remnants of the Van der Linde’s burn away with Beaver Hollow.

There’s nothing left to salvage. But at least he managed to save those who still had a chance at life, away from the depravity. John, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, Sadie.

You.

It was unbearable to part ways with such a heavy air of finality surrounding the two of you. As he lifted you onto the back of Sadie’s horse with Abigail, your anguish was palpable. To hear you plead with him so desperately, begging to let you go along with him? It was worse than any bullet to the chest.

Regardless, he wouldn’t hear any of it, caressing your hands with bruised fingers as your tears continued to fall. You then tried to reason with him, bless your heart, knowing his stubbornness all too well. Whispering such sweet things, pretty dreams of leaving it all behind and starting over together far away.

Revenge was a fool's game, he was keenly aware, but it was well beyond that at this point. Now it was about making things right, and it was something only Arthur could do. Ever the dutiful guardian - even to a fault.

He finds the inner strength to let you go and swears he’ll see you again soon, to live out those pretty dreams.

Arthur never liked lying to you.

As he drags himself over to the cliff side, inch by agonizing inch, he supposes there’s some truth to his words. Perhaps all those prayers Swanson said on Arthur’s behalf put him in God’s good graces after decades of depravity. If He’s as forgiving as the Reverend foretold, maybe he’ll allow Arthur to watch over you from wherever he winds up. He never thought himself a devout man, but in light of recent events he decides there’s no time like the present.

Redemption had been a tumultuous climb for Arthur. But as he lays at the top of the mountains overlooking Roanoke Ridge, the effort was worth the outcome. He feels lighter, no longer burdened by crosses Dutch forced upon his shoulders. A veil has been lifted, and the colors of the dawn seem so much more vibrant than before. Shades of orange and pink blend together seamlessly and cast an ethereal glow over him and the country he loves.

He almost forgets about the excruciating aches that plague his body as the cool kiss of morning mist hits his cheeks. As the gang’s - ex-gang’s - primary enforcer he never could afford submitting to fatigue. But he feels tired, so tired, and he allows himself the luxury. Just this once. There is nothing left for him to do anymore.

Oh, he muses, the sun’s coming up.

You had been riding with Abigail on one horse with Sadie taking point on the other, rifle at the ready, for what felt like hours. Arthur’s last order of business was entrusting Sadie with escorting the two of you to safety - as far the hell away from this mess as possible.

Everything felt numb, the only sensation registering in your mind was Abigail’s trembling hands against your waist as you all rode onward in silence. Tears still fresh on your face as you brought yourself further and further away from what was now a past life. And what could have potentially held a future.

Arthur.

Yet another pang in your chest as guilt wracks the very foundation of your soul. You had been compliant in sending the man you love into the wolves den. Into the company of men who would spill his blood with smiles on their faces.

You could’ve stopped him.

You could’ve gone with him.

If he dies it’s your fault.

Without a word, you pull tightly on your horse’s reins and bring it to an abrupt stop. Abigail gasps lightly in surprise, peering over your shoulder to see what was the matter. Sadie notices the interruption.

“Sugar, we have to keep moving,” Sadie urged gently, trotting her own horse up next to yours. She was right, they did have to keep moving.

But not you.

You looked at her, gaze firm. “I have to go back.” Sadie opens her mouth to interject. Arthur was a proud man, but on the verge of tears he had implored her to keep you safe - alive. She empathised with your plight, truly she did. But this was her last promise to a man she practically owed her own life to. You stop her before she can protest your obstinance.

“I need to do this, Sadie. You know that.” Your eyes soften and she bites her lip, “You would for Jake.” Sadie’s eyes widen at your mention of her departed husband, knuckles whitening around the stock of her rifle. Her impassioned devotion to Jake began to put cracks in her usually hardened resolve and now it was her turn to shed a tear. She’s quick to wipe it away and takes a moment to compose herself.

Abigail looks between the two of you, disbelief apparent on her face. “You can’t be serious, Dutch has finally lost it! You heard what happened to,” she tries to hold back a sob, “to J-John...” Abigail grips your wrist tightly, “If you go back, there's no doubt he’ll kill you too!”

You smile at her wistfully; all of you had been carrying this heavy burden of grief in one way or another. The heartbreak was insurmountable. An entire way of life, a home - a family - was nothing more than dust in the wind now. Dutch’s swansong of one more score - of a better world for the Van der Linde’s - had enchanted the lot of you. It effectively distracted you from the treacherously thin ice he was willingly leading you on.

But now the honied melody had turned rotten.

“Arthur needs me,” was all you could say. Abigail looks to Sadie for a voice of reason in all of this but she is already dismounting her horse, offering its reins up to you.

“My horse is faster," She says, looking at you expectantly. Suddenly words elude you as you struggle to express your gratitude.

Now it’s Sadie’s turn to interrupt you. “It’s okay. Now get a move on.” She promptly helps you down, holding onto your hand for a beat longer before pulling you into a tight embrace. Her arms are so warm, and it adds to your pain knowing you have to pull yourself from them soon.

“Be safe. And,” she squeezes your shoulders, “bring him home.” The gravity of her request is filled with hope. You find yourself crying again and you nod in affirmation. Sadie had done her best to follow through on her oaths, and now it’s your turn to do the same.

You look back up to Abigail who is clearly devastated with your decision but she tries to make peace with it - for your sake. Another smile tinged with sadness tugs at your lips and you offer her your hand.

“You’re just as bullheaded as that man of yours!” Despite her hard tone, her words are laced with admiration and affection. You laugh genuinely for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“I guess we were just meant to be.”

Abigail brushes her fingers softly across your own. “That you are,” she all but whispers. She finds the strength to let you go and you mount up once more. As you settle into your saddle, you regard your friends for what could possibly be the last time. You turn your horse and prepare to head back into uncertainty, but Abigail calls your name a final time.

“You,” she pauses to mull over her farewell before deciding on, “you both gotta see lil’ Jack grow up. He’s gonna be somethin’ great one day!” Her words are bittersweet but they hold so much promise. You swipe the last of your tears away; there was no room for weakness anymore.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribs but you disregard it as you urge your horse onward through the forest surrounding Beaver Hollow. Determination boils your blood, refusing to sit idly by and let Arthur walk willingly into his own grave. You curse yourself for not fighting harder with him earlier. But this was Arthur Morgan, and persuading him to take you willingly into what would be a bloodbath was always going to be a losing battle.

Arthur wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

You cut through every available shortcut on the trails you know; stray branches scratch at your face but you can’t bring yourself to notice or care. The sun is just beginning to peek over the tree-line as you find yourself back at what was once the Van der Linde’s final campsite.

All that remains now is a charred husk as the blaze that consumed it dwindles down to a few meager cinders. Ashes cascade down like snowfall with the morning breeze around all the ruin. What once teemed with so much life had been desecrated beyond recognition. Despite the emptiness, you leave your horse behind a tree near the precipice of Beaver Hollow, away from any lingering eyes that could still be amidst.

At your hip, the pearl-inlaid revolver gifted to you by Arthur suddenly feels heavier. You’re no stranger to a gun, but aiming it at another human in contrast to an animal is still a foreign concept. Arthur had tried to keep your hands clean of blood, but he couldn’t always protect you from the dangers of the world you both resided in. He could at least provide you with the necessary tools.

Embedded in the dirt are multiple footprints - both human and equine - and you decide that’s as good a trail to follow as any. Tentatively you approach the camp, hand hovering just over your holster as you mentally prepare yourself for the worst. You hadn’t been witness to the carnage that transpired here, but the aftermath doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

A single body lays in a crumpled heap at the center of camp. The recognition of its dress wrenches the dread you feel deeper into the pit of your stomach. Before you can begin to parse what’s in front of you, your feet are carrying you to Miss Grimshaw. You drop to your knees beside her, eyes glazed over and hands still clutching at the fatal gunshot wound that claimed her life. A thin layer of soot covers her face and you take care to brush it away with shaking hands as you close the eyes that once held so much fire.

The camp’s matriarch may not have always been the gentlest of women, but she cared for all the girls with a passion you never saw even in your own mother. It was a tough form of love she dished out, but it had emboldened you into a fierce woman much like herself during your years with the gang. For all the grief you girls gave her, all the time spent complaining about her strictness, you are forever indebted to her for teaching you how to be a woman in this harsh world.

You told yourself you wouldn’t shed another tear, but as you gather Miss Grimshaw up into your arms you can’t hold back the onslaught of anguish. Fresh tears fall onto her cheeks as you bring her closer, resting your forehead against her own. You only cry harder when you feel just how cold she is.

As much as it hurts, you have to press forward. You brush the hair off her face and place a single kiss on her forehead before laying her gently back down. You cross her hands over her chest - she looks more at peace, as if she was only sleeping. With a hand to her cheek, you promise her you’ll return for her and continue on.

You turn your attention back to the trail of footprints, following them into the cave’s mouth behind the camp. It had always exuded an ominous aura that left the hairs on the back of your neck raised, but now was not the time for petty superstitions. You have your revolver at the ready as you walk into the cave as silently as possible. Whatever shadows could be lurking within would not get the jump on you.

It’s just like a hunting trip, you tell yourself in an attempt to assuage your fear. It’s a piss poor comparison; you wished it was a simple as keeping yourself hidden from ravenous beasts on four legs. But this was a different kind of animal, one with a human face and no qualms about taking a life.

Every echo that reverberates through the extensive tunnel system has your heart lurching into your throat. But you remain tenacious, continuing onward with two sets of muddy footprints as your guide through the caves.

The trail runs cold at the start of a rusty ladder and you breathe a sigh of relief that you’ll be moving onward and upwards out of the darkness. That solace gets caught in your throat at the sound of rushed steps heading in your direction. Panic singes your nerves and you quickly find shelter behind a large boulder near the ladder’s base.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to contain your shuddering breaths, hoping you don’t give your location away from the faceless cave-dwellers. The acoustics of the tunnels distort most of what they’re saying, but you can make out two distinct voices hurriedly passing by you.

“Dutch I think we should-”

“I believe you’ve done enough ‘thinking’ for the time being, Micah.”

Distress evolves into white-hot ire at the realization of who exactly you were alone with. The betrayal you experienced was nothing in comparison to Arthur’s twenty years of loyalty being discarded, you could admit that. But it still left a hole within you that was just as deep.

You stumbled into the Van der Linde’s just a trepid young woman trying to escape the shackles of an abusive home. As a man who dreamed of fame and fortune, it would’ve all to easy for him to turn you into the numerous bounty hunters your father sent after you. Weave together some extravagant tale of the big bad outlaws holding the wealthy socialite’s runaway daughter for ransom to turn a higher profit.

But Dutch had cast that all aside without a second thought and taken you in as another one of his ragtag children. Who your family was before did not define you. He had given you the chance to change the path life had predetermined for you.

That man was gone. Perhaps he was never really there to begin with - a mere facade. The inability to adapt to a rapidly changing world had broken his spirit and instead left something warped - unrecognizable. Leaving him susceptible to the temptations of a snake’s hiss that lurked just beyond in the underbrush.

The casualties - his casualties. Everyone’s faith he continually prattled on about that smothered with his own two hands.

Arthur.

The fingers clutching your gun feel restless all of a sudden.

You peer from behind your cover as they unknowingly pass you by, an imposing chest being carried between the two of them.

Our money.

The culmination of the gang’s hard work after the mess the two of them created in Blackwater. Plans, schemes, and money that people had bled for - died for. What gives them the right to run off into the night while the remainder of them would suffer from the aftermath of their reign of destruction? You practically draw blood from how hard you bite your lip, holding back your rage.

The barrel of your revolver is quickly pointed at Dutch’s back with quivering hands. It’s a shot as clear as day. You can end everything here and now, make up for countless years of false hope. Avenge those who fell in hopes of earning their keep and Dutch’s eternal admiration.

It was all horseshit, you think bitterly with gritted teeth.

You go to pull back the gun’s hammer when all too familiar voice comes to mind.

Revenge is a fool’s game.

It causes you to hesitate, the shaking of your hands intensifying. Your eyes dart between Dutch and Micah’s silhouettes and the morning light bleeding in at the cave’s summit.

Bring him home…

The finger resting just over the trigger retreats and you lower the gun to pursue someone much more significant.

You leave them with a final sentiment.

“Your time will come,” you whisper and hope that the wind carries that declaration up as far as it can travel. You’ll let the “when” and “where” be decided by a higher authority, whoever that might be.

With haste, you grab a rung and begin to climb up the ladder as fast as your arms can carry you.

Onwards and upwards.

As you continue to push yourself to every limit possible, your body screams from exhaustion. You feel as if your legs could give out at any moment but you can’t bring yourself to care as the steep hills transition into the cliffs of Roanoke Ridge.

You’ve tracked a series of hoof prints as far as you can before they end with the body of Arthur’s precious Appaloosa, Moonstone. Yet another innocent soul taken by this path of indiscriminate bloodshed.

There’s still no sign of Arthur, and you’re too frantic to decide if that's a good sign or not. Your breathing is labored, lungs burning and heavy in your chest. But you can’t give up now, not with so much at stake.

Bring him home.

Again Sadie’s words resonate in your mind; regardless of the outcome you will find him. You have to - he deserves that.

Face me to the west so I can see the setting sun…

A sunbreak slips through the morning clouds over the horizon, saturating them in varying hues of blue and yellow. It’s captivating, drawing you to the cliff’s edge despite the exhaustion in your muscles. A gentle wind that rolls over the treetops of varying oaks and cedars envelops you. You follow its direction in a daze and it leads you around the corner of a mountainside trail.

You briefly entertain the idea that your weariness has finally dissolved into delusion. For there amongst the wild poppies, you find a figure in the shape of Arthur laying under a stone alcove facing the still rising sun. It might be the work of a cruel God, but be it reality or mirage you’re just overjoyed he’s here. You don’t even realize you’re crying again.

And you’re running. Again. Your body is wailing but you don’t feel it, and even if you could you don’t care. You just don’t fucking care.

“Arthur…” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper but as you get closer,

“Arthur!” You cry out this time, desperate to get his attention. To get any sort of reaction.

Please. Please. PLEASE!

You collapse beside him and sob in relief when you see his eyelids flutter open weakly. He’s looks a wreck, covered in bruises and blood - a mixture of his own and god knows who else’s. Ugly splotches of red and purple are scattered across his face and his left eye is practically swollen shut. You realize he was going to lay here until he succumbed to the severity of his injuries and your heart breaks all over again. Your hands find purchase on both his cheeks as you move him carefully to look at you. Somehow he finds the energy to smile.

“An angel,” he manages to wheeze, bringing a hand up to card through your tousled hair. You let out a choked laugh and you place your own hand atop his. Keeping his touch on you to reaffirm he wasn’t just a clever hallucination.

“I...it’s me, my love. I’m here,” you bury your face in his chest. His heartbeat is faint but it’s there. By God it's there. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Your tears keep coming with no end in sight and they mix in with the blood on his jacket.

He tries to shush you, his split lip kissing your temple tenderly. “Why are crying darlin’?” It’s asked so sweetly it practically hurts your teeth and again you let out a huff of laughter. Your amusement quickly shifts to frustration - you can’t help it.

“You stupid fool!" The words are harsh but they have no edge to them. Now it’s his turn to laugh, albeit feebly. He places another languid kiss to the crown of your head this time. “You silly man,” you pound your fists softly on his chest.

“You were just going to-“ the words get stuck painfully in your throat. “Going to d-die here?” The thought of losing him weighed heavy on you and now you’re finally free. The both of you are.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.” It’s enough. He’s enough. He always is.

You’re weeping openly now against him, and he finds himself starting to succumb to his own emotions. With everything said and done, his grief hits him in one tremendous wave. The both of you are sobbing as the sun rises in the East. As it has done, and will continue to do for the two of you.

And so you cry.

For the past.

For the lost.

And now for the future.

#vic's fics!#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #writing this made me sad :)))#but now it's time for FUN

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