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jangofctts · 3 years ago

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As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

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harrygroves · 3 years ago

Text

a simple favor -- chapter four

to chapter three

Billy’s been doing a damn fine job of avoiding all thoughts concerning Steve Harrington. It’s been a blissful, quiet week.

And now that week is up and hell is about to begin.

They’re in Billy’s Camaro, Steve insisted they take his car, and he’s been driving for almost three hours. Steve is fussing with the radio and fidgeting as they get closer and closer to his parents' summer home.

“Dude, you really need to chill out. You want some Xanax?” Billy offers.

“What? No, I don't want any -- why do you have Xanax?” Steve wrinkles his nose, arms crossed.

“I think you of all people would agree that life requires a little anesthesia every now and then.” Billy gives him a knowing look.

Steve looks like he wants to say something snotty so Billy turns up the radio as a way to deter him. Instead, Steve moodily stares out the window.

Billy lets him for a little while before reaching over and taking Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together. When Steve tenses up, Billy gives it a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be okay babe.” Billy says soothingly but his snarky grin gives him away.

“God, I hate you so much.” Steve grumbles, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away.

The summer house is actually a mansion. There’s a sprawling lawn in front of it, with trimmed hedges and a goddamn fountain. Billy wants to make so many jokes about silver spoons but he holds back because Steve looks like he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey!” Billy says once they’re parked, reaching over and shaking Steve’s shoulder.

Steve looks back at him, like he forgot Billy was there. He’s pale and wide-eyed.

“Oh fuck.” Steve whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god, this is such a stupid idea. What the fuck am I doing, they’re going to see right through this -- ”

Look, Billy doesn’t want to kiss Steve.

Well, actually, that’s bullshit. He does want to kiss Steve but he doesn’t want to want to kiss Steve. It’s very distracting and he’s just in this for the money. The ten grand.

He’s been telling himself this for a week, like a daily affirmation.

However, Steve is freaking out, which is usually good for a laugh or two but Billy needs him to get his shit together so he takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Steve is still trying to talk but the words get lost between them while Billy hums against his mouth, trying to be soothing and soft in hopes that it brings Steve out of his head. It works for a few seconds before Steve reaches up and puts one of his hands over Billy’s, which would almost be tender if Steve wasn’t trying to pull them off his face.

Billy lets him go and leans back. Steve is flushed and looks sad.

“Don't just...do that.” He mumbles.

Billy shrugs. “Kind of have to.” He grunts back, getting annoyed that Steve refuses to wrap his head around the thing he planned.

“Yeah, well…” Steve trails off. “Let’s go.”

They get out of the car and Billy grabs his bag from the backseat.

A girl their age with reddish-brown hair is running to them from the front door.

“Steve!” She yells and launches herself at him, wrapping him in a hug.

She babbles and laughs and smiles like Steve’s a goddamn prince.

“Should I be jealous?” Billy calls out to the pair.

Steve and Red Head look over at him.

“Oh, sorry, lost my head for a second. This is my sister, Robin.”

Sister, right. Steve had an older sister. Billy forgot about her, if he was being honest.

“Is this him?” Robin mumbles, but Billy can hear her just fine.

“Yes, uh. This is my...boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.” Steve says, smiling at Billy.

It’s too wide and his eyes are too bright. It’s the most human Billy has seen Steve look in weeks. It’s freaking him out.

Robin marches towards him and stretches out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Billy. Steve has told me absolutely nothing about you.” She says it with a bright smiles and zero hostility.

Billy shakes her hand and tries to give her a pleasant smile in return. “Yeah, Steve just wants me all to himself, ya know how he is.”

He doesn’t, he’s totally winging it but Robin laughs and Steve clears his throat.

“You guys must be tired and hungry, I’ll let you get settled. Mom and Dad will be on your asses enough at dinner, so why don't you guys go hide out for a while. I’ll keep them occupied once they’re back from the court.”

“Thanks Robin.” Steve says and gives her another hug. “See you later.”

Robin leaves them and Billy leans towards Steve.

“The court?” He asks.

“Tennis.” Steve replies.

Steve leads Billy through the house, past floor-to-ceiling windows and paintings that have to be original prints. A few people pass them, all wearing uniforms. Steve says hello to everyone pleasantly and Billy gives them tight smiles. They have fucking housekeepers. Servants. It’s so...rich. There’s a grand piano at the base of a giant staircase and Steve leads him up to the second floor, down halls littered with vases of flowers and tapestries.

“This is insane.” Billy hisses.

Steve shrugs. “It’s home.” He says it hollowly, like it is very much not a home.

They end up in a bedroom the size of Billy’s apartment. It’s got bookshelves built into the walls, armchairs in front of a fireplace, a walk-in closet where Billy drops his bag of clothes, it’s own bathroom and a giant LED television mounted on the wall.

There’s silver-framed pictures on the fireplace and nightstands beside the bed. Family photos, solo shots of Steve as a kid, in bowties with a bowl cut. Billy examines them all.

“Robin’s nice.” Billy says casually.

Steve’s sitting on his bed, which is huge, by the way and absently scrolling through his facebook feed.

“She’s great.” He agrees flatly.

Billy wonders if she is great.

“Facebook.” Steve mumbles.

“What?” Billy asks, looking at Steve.

“We...fuck, we don't have anything on facebook, about us.” Steve says, almost in horror.

Billy shrugs, walks over to join him. “So what? Not everything needs to be online. We can just say we’re one of those couples who don't showboat our love on the internet.”

Steve winces at Billy’s words and nervously chews on his lip. Billy grabs Steve’s phone.

“Hey!” Steve shouts at him, reaching for it.

“Knock it off, c’mon, Steve -- stop it.” Billy says, smacking his hand away. “This is going to work. But only if you calm down. Right now the only thing in our way is you. You’re getting too caught up in the details. Just chill out, hold my fucking hand, and give me a gross pet name and we’ll get through this.”

He says all this, direct eye-contact, no blinking. Steve is quiet for a second before taking a deep, belly-full breath and closing his eyes, making an O with his mouth and exhaling slowly. Once he opens his eyes, Billy gives him a nod. Steve nods back.

Meeting the parents at dinner is a stifling affair. Steve’s mom isn’t going out of her way in the slightest to hide how much she does not like Billy. She turns up her nose at his clothes, eyes his hair like Steve’s isn’t an unkempt mess and politely insults him wherever she can fit in a jab.

“Oh, beer. How perfectly simple. A simple man is good.”

“I like that car, Billy. Very rustic.”

“There’s something to be said about plain fabric. Some can be too cumbersome to care for, it’s nice for some things to be easy.”

Billy grins, toothy and fire-eyed, sneaking glances at Steve who is very interested in his salad.

Steve’s dad isn’t much better. He keeps going back and forth between glaring at Billy and scrunching his face together, like he’s scrutinizing.

“And where did you say you’re going to go to school?”

“How exactly did you meet my son?”

“What do your parents do for a living?”

Robin keeps trying to steer the conversation away from them but the parents aren’t having that.

“How long have you two been dating?” Mrs. Harrington asks during the fish course.

“Six months.” Steve says.

“Two years.” Billy says, at the exact same time.

There’s an awkward pause and Billy can practically hear Steve’s heart rate triple. Billy laughs and takes Steve’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“He was courting me for a lot longer than we’ve actually been together. All those fond memories, right, bunny?” Billy looks at Steve fondly.

Robin starts choking on something and has to thump at her chest to clear it up. “Bunny?” She croaks out.

Steve is bright red and staring at Billy with glassy eyes, probably seething but that just makes it more fun.

“Yes.” Steve blurts out, voice a bit high. “We, uh, I...really wanted...to be his boyfriend.”

Billy barrels onward. “He did that thing, with the boombox, stood outside my place till I let him in. It was so sweet.”

Robin is silent-laughing, and her eyes are starting to water. “I’m dying.” She says. “No seriously, I am fucking losing it over here.”

“They don't need all the details, sweetie.” Steve says in a syrupy voice.

“But the letter, I have to tell them about the letter.”

“No, no, I don't think so. That letter was just for you.” Steve says nervously.

“I would like to frame the letter.” Robin pipes in, struggling to drink water as her shoulders quake from laughter.

“So anyways,” Billy continues. “I finally just said, hey, let’s toss the guy a bone here,”

Robin is howling at this point.

“And he did, and we’ve been in love ever since.” Steve supplies quickly. “Now where is that next course, I am starving.”

He makes dagger-eyes at Billy who just takes his hand again and kisses Steve’s knuckles.

Once dessert and coffee have been consumed Steve gets to his feet.

“Well, we’re exhausted. Right, Billy?” He chirps.

“Sweetie, c’mon, how often am I going to get this kinda face-time with your parents? Shouldn’t we stay?”

He is hamming it up and Mrs. Harrington purses her mouth like the very thought is making her nauseous.

“Now, now. We’ll see them tomorrow morning.” Steve smiles back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mr. Harrington coughs heartily into his napkin.

They bolt and hole-up in Steve’s room.

After changing into pajamas -- Steve changes in the closet -- they sit on the bed watching television and Billy waits for the inevitable.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Steve finally snaps during their second episode of Golden Girls.

“I never gave you any indication otherwise.” Billy shrugs.

“That was so embarrassing, making it seem like I pined for you.”

“Well we had to say something, Harrington, and you were doing that Bambi-in-the-headlights thing, so I just rolled with it.”

“You rolled with it alright, I can’t believe you said all that shit.”

Billy snaps. “Fine, Steve, then you come up with stuff. Stop acting like a kid who doesn't want to get in trouble otherwise we’re going to get caught. Be a fucking man.”

That shuts Steve up for a long time. When Golden Girls ends and The Nanny starts up, Steve gets up from the bed and goes into the closet.

He’s only gone for a few moments before emerging with beer, little bottles of alcohol, and a bag of individually-wrapped chocolates.

“What the -- ”

“There’s a mini-fridge in there.” Steve mumbles.

He gives Billy a beer, deposits the bottles in between them and starts unwrapping a chocolate.

Finally, Steve says, “I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Billy replies, cracking open a beer.

“I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re really not.”

“...I’ll try harder.”

“Good.” Billy replies, eyes never leaving the television.

There’s this weird tension between them and it lasts for a little bit until Billy is so uncomfortable he has to say something.

“Dinner was...something.”

“Told you.” Steve grunts.

“Man, I don't know which one hated me more.”

“Mom, for sure. She loathes people who don't own at least three boats.”

“Damn, and I just have the one.” Billy deadpans.

Steve grins, actually grins, before he catches himself and pops another chocolate.

“This is like a fucking hotel.” Billy says, grabbing for a bottle.

“I learned very quickly growing up that the less time I have to spend outside this room, the better.” Steve says.

“I want to make so many ‘princess locked in an ivy tower’ jokes right now.” Billy says seriously.

“Shut up.” Steve snaps. “And it’s ivory, dumbass.”

Billy chuckles and drains one of the mini-bottles. “So, we’re essentially trapped in here, is that what you’re saying?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, we can go do whatever you want. There’s a couple libraries, an indoor pool, I actually convinced them to make a bowling alley in the basement.”

“You have a fucking bowling alley?” Billy asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, it was a birthday gift when I was, like, twelve.”

“Jesus christ, Steve.”

“Yeah, but we run the risk of dealing with them,” Steve’s parents, “So, ya know, wage your bets.”

Billy whistles. “Wow, you really don't like them.”

“No, I really do not.” Steve mumbles, eating another chocolate.

“So I gotta ask. Why me?” Billy opens another mini-bottle of vodka.

Steve looks away from the television, eyes Billy, then resumes watching. “You already asked that.” He points out.

“Yeah, but like, you could’ve found someone on Craigslist, like a lot of lonely losers do.”

“Wow, when you put it like that?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it was a matter of convenience.”

Billy puts a hand over his heart and pretends to swoon. “I love it when men say that to me.”

Steve throws a handful of chocolate wrappers at him.

Billy grins. “Okay, so really though, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

Steve contemplates this for a moment.

“Ever been horse-back riding?”

part five

#harringrove #my fic #alright lets meet the parents!#fake dating

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caiuscassiuss · 4 years ago

Text

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.2

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Part One is HERE

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) choking, rough sex), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo for helping me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!)

Saturday February 1st, 2020

Y/N’s Apartment

10 AM HKT

The little jingle of a FaceTime call echoed through your silent apartment, and you snuggled into the sheets of your bed.

“Hello? Kun huang?”

A flash black hair and a sweet smile appeared within the view of the camera.

“Huang Gua!” you exclaimed.

Instantly, the happy smile slipped off his face and transformed into an annoyed expression.

“Can you not? We’ve been over this,” he complained.

“Oh come on! It’s so funny,” you jibed.

“It’s not.”

“You only used to eat cucumbers for years. You earned that name yourself.”

“So?” he snorted. “You used to eat shrimp chips as a kid. I don’t call you shrimp, do I?” A devious expression flashed over his face.

“Kun Huang…” you warned.

“Maybe I should start now. Right, shrimp?”

“Oh my god, stop!”

“No, shrimp. I can keep going, you know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. I submit!” You laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So how are you now, Hendery? How’s your mom and dad? Oh my gosh, Hengwai!”

“I’m doing fine, as are mom and dad. Hengwai misses her little sister. They all want you to call them more. Sometimes I think they miss you more than me.” He pouted.

“Awww, poor baby. But give them my well wishes too! I miss everyone so much,” you said. For some reason, tears welled in your eyes.

Obviously, Hendery could tell you were about to start crying and started to panic.

“Y/N? Talk to me. Oh, you know I can’t take it if you start crying!”

He never really could. Even after many years spent together in your childhood, he was still awkward as hell around your tears.

You waved him off, swiping the tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just so lonely around here.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine! I swear!”

“Literally, one word and I’m on a flight to Hong Kong. I’m not playing,” he said gravely.

“Hendery, no. Besides, don’t you have some farms to run? I would never expect you to do that.”

“One word, Y/N. Just one.” He looked you dead in the eye.

You looked away. “Anyways, how are your farms going?”

A smile split his face and his eyes sparked. ��Guess who just got their hundredth farm?”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, you’re fucking joking! One hundred?! I’m so proud of you! Kun Huang!” you squealed.

“Yeah, I know right? It’s so weird knowing so many people depend on me for their livelihoods now. I get sort of scared when I sit back and think about it…”

As Kun Huang went on about his day to day troubles in agriculture, a small, wistful smile played upon your lips. Why didn’t you just stay back and fall in love with Kun Huang? It would have been so easy. Being with Kun Huang was like breathing, and you could’ve spent the rest of your life like this. No Minghao, no BDSM, and most importantly, no… him.

Dolos.

Master?

Sicheng.

You hated how smoothly the puzzle pieces fit together. Sicheng always left early on Fridays, even though he always stayed late. At office parties, he lacked a significant other by his side, even when many would drop everything if he so much as winked at them.

It was hard not to think about him. You had started to feel an increase in your heartbeat whenever you thought of Dolos before Wednesday. You had originally wanted to know who was behind Dolos’ mask and if he returned those feelings. But, fuck, he would be so mad if he found out who you were.

Not to mention, how humiliating it would be if he knew. You had staked everything on being a cold-hearted bitch when Sicheng took particular pleasure in sneering at “the inherent submissiveness” of her gender. So if he found out Dove, who liked to be slapped during sex, and her, the la dame sans merci of the company, were the same person, it would destroy any chance of credibility you may have had in his eyes.

This was all one big mess. One big, gigantic and catastrophic mess. For so long you had rigorously kept your professional and personal lives apart, but the universe had conspired against you: to make the best dominant you ever had to also be your work nemesis.

Some higher being was laughing at you, you knew it.

Sunday February 2nd, 2020

The Dong Family Villa on the Shek O Peninsula, Hong Kong

1 PM HKT

A curl of disgust twisted his lips as he looked down on the lawn party going down below him.

“Don’t you look happy, Sicheng.”

Sicheng acknowledged ChengCheng out of the corner of his eye and went back to glaring at the party in contempt.

“This is not how I wanted today to go.”

His childhood friend snorted and plopped himself down in a lawn chair, contemplating the blond haired man.

Sicheng spun around and picked up his glass of wine, downing the drink in one gulp. He settled himself next to ChengCheng with a frown.

“I just wanted to come here and fucking relax, but, no, my parents just had to use it for the fucking party. Fete. What-fucking-ever.” He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

Chengcheng looked over the balcony railing curiously. “Looks like a luncheon to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what’s up your ass?”

“Just some work stuff. It’s nothing.”

The brown-haired man frowned. “Then why aren’t you at Black’s then? Nothing can’t be resolved by a good fuck.”

At the mention of the club, a pained expression flashed over Sicheng’s face and his knuckles inadvertently tightened around the stem of his glass. The tension that had been in shoulders wounded itself up even more and this clued ChengCheng in.

Something other than work had Sicheng in knots. Very rarely did the blond man ever show he was angry—not even when his father lashed him as a child, nor when the family forced him to work for the company—so he was evidently very troubled by this ‘something’.

Sicheng’s phone rang and broke the silence. The man himself fished it out of his back pocket irritatedly.

“Excuse me for a moment, ChengCheng. I need to take this phone call.”

“Sicheng speaking,” he spoke as he stalked into the study.

“Hello sir, how are you—”

“Did you get the information or not?” Sicheng asked, cutting off the family’s retainer. His leg bounced, as he sat against the desk and he ran a weary hand through his hair.

“A-ah, unfortunately, Black’s doesn’t record pseudonyms digitally or on paper…”

“Fuck!” Sicheng yelled. Mr. Lau just had to be fucking careful, he thought irritably.

“... However, sir, I was able to obtain a membership list since the club was digitally updating their monthly list. I then compared it to the list from the previous month and found several missing names, indicative of them terminating their membership. I have compiled a dossier of several females that match your description of Dove and forwarded it to you.”

Sicheng quickly logged into his laptop, his blood rushing through his ears. The identity of the most perfect submissive he’s ever had could literally be sitting in his inbox right now.

With trembling fingers, he opened the attachment.

Wang Fang, age 25—

“Sir?”

The blond man glared at his phone. “Thank you for your service, Liu Wei. Goodbye.”

Wang Fang was a tall, spindly woman with a face like a horse. The policy of privacy by masks was kind to her at Black’s. However, the jaw was all wrong and he knew in his gut she was not his Dove.

He scrolled to the next page. Leila Williams, age 27—British expat, was absolutely gorgeous. But, even through the screen, she exuded an unshakable aura of self-assurance. A dominatrix, probably, so that excluded her from his search.

He went through 2 or 3 more documents; each one too plain or too ordinary to be Dove.

Y/N L/N, age XX.

Sicheng blinked rapidly, sagging into his office chair.

Y/N is—was—a member at Black’s?

The picture provided was the one from her LinkedIn profile: a professional headshot with a grey background. She was smiling tightly, coldly—just as she was in the office. The other image provided instantly tented his pants.

It was her, clearly on a night out. She was in attire that flattered her body and he could easily see himself running his hands over her. Y/N looked fucking fantastic with her unbound hair, so unlike her tight updos at the office. However, what drew his eyes was the most vibrant shade of red painted on her lips, which was parted slightly as she was laughing.

He recognized that lipstick. The same shade of firetruck red had been smeared across Dove’s cheeks many, many times. YSL Rouge Satin Lipstick—the one he told her he liked and she, like a good girl, had religiously worn.

Could that mean…?

Glancing at the side bar, he noticed there was one more page left in the dossier. Please let the next one be Dove…

His hopes were instantly deflated. Kwon Myunghee was too old and too artificial to be his gorgeous submissive.

With his heart in his throat, he scrolled back to Y/N’s page. Enlarging the picture of her laughing, he put a hand over her eyes and leaned back to observe.

Sicheng would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that mouth. Red fuck me! lipstick on an equally fuckable mouth parted in pleasure, or screaming his name while strung up on a cross. He would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that neck, covered in purple and red hickies or his fingermarks. An absolute damn fool.

Yet, at this moment, he would’ve given anything to be one.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Y/N was… Dove? And Dove… was Y/N?

So why did she leave? How did she end up at Black’s? Did she know? Did she end up there on purpose? Why—

Eventually, all the questions piled up in his head until he was left winded. Sicheng buried his head in his hands, pulling at his blond locks and breathing heavily. Something was bubbling in his chest and—

He started to laugh. He cackled, howled, at his shitstorm of misfortune, luck, and confusion until he was sprawled undignified on the Oriental carpet, staring up at the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling.

Monday February 3rd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

6 PM HKT

Shutting the door to your office, you collapsed into your chair and massaged your temples.

Today was the day Mr. Lee had left the office, leaving his official resignation. The top sales officials (including an off-color, brooding Sicheng) gathered in his office to congratulate him and give him an official goodbye. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into afternoon drinking when Mr. Lee pulled out the good liquor from a secret cabinet underneath his desk. You accepted a drink with a grimace, but Sicheng declined and remained uncharacteristically detached the entire time. Granted, you too were detached from the conversation, uncomfortable with the lewd retirement and mistress jeers spouted by the older sales officials as they steadily got drunker and less inhibited.

As the time ended and a consensus to leave had been reached, you thought you could escape and actually work... that was until Mr. Lee walked alongside you and stuck himself in the elevator with you.

The bastard had the audacity to grope your ass in the crowded elevator. You shivered, remembering the awful and grimy feeling as his hot breath whispered in your ear that he was available any time for a “catch-up”.

This day was a mess. You had a shit-ton of work to catch up due to that fucking meeting and you had been sexually harrassed; you were also anxious about the promotion and, on top of that, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sicheng.

Huffing, you ate some red-bean bread as you powered up your desktop. This was fucking ridiculous. You knew Sicheng had noticed your odd, reticent behavior around him and this skittishness was impeding your ability to work. Well, no better way to forget about your problems was to solve other ones at work.

For the next two hours, you slogged through work emails and analytics as the sun set over Kowloon Bay. Your hair had been unbound and your blazer had been messily thrown over the back of your chair as your work progressed. Since most of the office had left by now, you figured it was safe to relax in your office.

It was night time by the time you had finished your last project and you sat back in your chair, staring at the skyline. Was this how your life destined to be? At the top, surrounded by the comforts of life, but alone?

A knock sounded at the door, jolting you out of your thoughts.

Who the fuck would be at the office at 8 PM?

“Come in.”

You caught sight of a golden head of hair slipping inside of your office and you sighed. Of course, it was Sicheng.

He took a seat unbidden and stared at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. His eyes roamed the contours and curves of your features.

You arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything, Sicheng? I’m about to leave the office.”

He fought with himself inwardly, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally settled on what he wanted to say. “I’d like to ask a question.”

You adjusted yourself in the chair. “Feel free.”

From his blazer’s pocket, he pulled out an aged sheet of paper and slowly opened it, before setting it in front of you. Sicheng settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap, the lights of the Hong Kong skyline playing across his face and making his sharp features stand out.

“Do you recognize this?”

The blood literally froze in your veins as your eyes caught sight of your handwriting in the letter, along with the tear-stains that blotched the paper and the text. Your heartbeat rose to your throat and all you felt was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N?” he prodded.

You gulped and straightened out your top, your fingers trembling as you did so.

“No, I don’t. W-who’s Dolos? Why does this concern me?” you lied, stumbling a bit.

He watched you, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Don’t lie to me, Dove.”

“I-Dove? My name is Y/N,” you replied shakily. Grabbing your purse, you hurriedly stuffed all your personal belongings in while avoiding catching his seething stare. “Excuse me, I’d really like to get home.”

His jaw clenched and his palm twitched as he saw you had no desire to come clean.

“Look at me.”

Unthinking, you ceased all movements, put your trembling hands in your lap and looked up at him. “Sir?”

Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth; your eyes darted around the room in search for an escape. You felt akin to a caged animal as he grinned meanly, incongruous on his cherubic features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No—”

“You thought you could get away with this? You thought you could fucking play me?!”

You were aghast at seeing Dolos and Sicheng finally merging together in front of your eyes, and the result was grotesquely beautiful. His grin slipped off his face and twisted into a malevolent sneer. The naked fire in Dolos' gaze was finally unveiled in Sicheng’s eyes and, for the first time, you could see who Sicheng really was.

“Answer me, Dove—Y/N! Fuck, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Sicheng shouted, running his hands through his hair while he paced around your office.

You stared unblinkingly at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Fuck, this was all your nightmares coming true. You were going to be ruined and he was going to laugh on and on now that he knew you and Dove were the same.

“It was never supposed to end up like this,” you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up underneath your lashes.

“How was it supposed to end, huh? Fuck, you strung me along for six months—half a fucking year—”

“I didn’t fucking know, you ass! I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole if I knew who you were!” you hissed.

He laughed harshly. “You did a hell of a lot more than touch me, Dove. But after you got your fix, you pretended that this never happened.”

“You would’ve done the same, so this never did happen. Walk out right now and this will have never happened and we can go back to our normal, spiteful dynamic—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, if you think—”

“You don’t understand, Sicheng! Can’t you see I’ll be ruined by this? That we’ll both be ruined by this? I can’t afford that!”

“So you thought to just leave me? With just a fucking letter and nothing else?”

“I didn’t know, okay! I didn’t know what to do!”

“You lied to me, Y/N. Fucking lied to my face!”

“I had to! Because you and I were never supposed to find out!”

Sicheng moved to yell, but clamped his jaw shut. “You lying, cheating, slut,” he seethed.

Your mouth trembled for a moment at the sheer vitriol that sprouted from his lips, but you stood tall. “You know what? Maybe I am. But I can live with that if you’d just fucking let it go!”

“You think I’d be able to let go of this?!” He cupped your jaw roughly and pulled you into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss—not one with even a hint of finesse. Lips smashed into lips, with tongue and teeth grappling against each other as his hands bruised your wrists.

Your back hit your desk and he swept your belongings off the desk haphazardly, letting go of your chin to lift you onto the desk with no effort.

“Forget my tongue on your skin? Forget my hands in between your thighs?” he murmured between hungry dips of his tongue. “I’ll fucking show you.”

He kissed down your neck, stopping to nip at your collarbone, and left a trail of stinging lovebites all over your shoulders. Sicheng’s hips pinned you into the desk as he popped each button of your blouse, hurriedly ripping it to the side to leave more hickies upon your chest and breasts.

You moaned as he pushed the cups of your bra down, using his wicked tone to swipe complicated patterns but never once touching your tips. Finally, he nipped at them hard causing you to squeal embarrassingly.

“S-sicheng,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as he pushed up your skirt.

The blond man carelessly pulled your underwear aside and thrusted two fingers in.

“Fuck!” you gasped, as you buried your red face in the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t see it, but you knew he was smirking smugly so your hands drifted down to his tented trousers and gripped his erection hard.

“You wanna fucking play? Let’s play, baby,” he grunted and hastily unbuckled his belt. His glorious cock sprung up in the space between your thighs.

Sicheng pushed your back down onto the desk, leaving him to tower over you. Without warning, he roughly pushed his cock into your slit.

You both groaned at the pleasurable friction. Fuck, how could you forget this? His length stretching you out deliciously? His broad shoulders heaving in exertion?

He bottomed out slowly, stilling as his hips pressed into yours. A sly smile glanced over his face as his hand drifted over your neck.

“Sicheng! You asshole, fucking move!” you said to him, thrusting your own hips weakly for effect.

His devilish smile split his angelic features, and he shook his head. “Wrong name, Dove.”

His hips pushed into yours roughly and you whined, scratching at the edges of your desk. Sicheng withdrew just as quickly and thrusted in again, watching the lust ripple upon your expression. He had missed the way your left eyebrow ticked when he brushed against your G-Spot, your nose scrunching as you clasped his shoulders. Finally seeing your full expressions fulfilled something in him that he didn’t care to reflect upon.

After deep, staccato thrusts that had you gasping for breath, he settled into a smooth rhythm. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your back bowed, thrusting your breasts up to his hungry perusal. Unable to resist temptation—the godless Tantalus he was—he settled his plump lips over your nipples, raised his eyes to yours, and sucked.

Even with your palm practically stuffed in your lips, your keen echoed around the room loudly and slick dripped down your thighs, making the desk underneath your bottom sticky and wet.

He tsked, lifting his head up and looked deeply into your eyes. A slight grin settled over his lips and Sicheng tilted his head mockingly. “Oh sweet girl, haven’t you forgotten we’re in an office?” His eyes darkened even more. “I’ll have to keep you quiet, then, whore.”

His featherlight touches on your rib cage was replaced with a bruising grasp to your throat, stealing the air out of you. His wrist settled into your collar bone and his slender fingers mimicked playing the piano, placing pressure on different parts on your throat to an unheard rhythm. The blood rushed to your ears, the dizzying sensation of it blurring your sight and distorting your thoughts. The veins on his forehand, twisting and rippling in the light, caught your vision and he moved—ever so roughly—into you.

Sicheng set a new pace, stretching your legs even wider and your head fell back onto the desk with a thunk. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; you just felt the numbing sort of pleasure that radiated from your pussy.

“Fucking slut,” he gasped. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you? Wrapped yourself around my brain and haven’t let me so much as breathe without thinking about you.” His grip tightened around your neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, your phone on the floor rang and you both froze. He released the grip on your neck and bent down.

His back was like one of those old sketches the masters of the age practiced with, the light played upon his back and his muscles rippled under his skin—belying the power hidden within him.

“Who the fuck is Kunhuang,” he said flatly, wrath bubbling in his words.

You sat up. “H-he’s a friend. Nobody. No one.”

“See you soon, love,” he read mockingly. “Call me when you have time.”

Sicheng crowded into your space, your eyes jumping around to avoid looking at his incensed face.

“Kunhuang.” He spat like it was filth upon his lips. “You left me for him?”

Feeling his constrained fierceness and his frantic gaze, you pushed harshly at his chest and bared your teeth at him. “It’s not like that. He’s my childhood friend!”

His rage bubbled to the surface and his nostrils flared. It was all the warning you had before he suddenly took your hips and flipped, forcing a scream out of you.

Your chest and breasts now pressed against your desk. Sicheng tugged you down to his hips, lifting one of your legs to rest on your desk and exposed your core to him shamefully.

“I’ll take you from behind like the whore you are,” he stated. His rough tenor the grating upon your ears and scraping upon your skin.

He lined up and thrusted hard and you bit your lip, cheek against your deck and tears streaming down your face. It felt so good to be in his embrace, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your muscles.

Soon, you felt that feeling rising in your stomach, burning behind his eyelids as your orgasm began to build. His hands grasped your throat and he pulled, bowing your back to his chest and forcing his mouth to yours.

Teeth and tongue clashed and his cock hit this spot in you and you screamed into his mouth, tensing up beneath him as you shuddered painfully.

A grunt left him as he felt your muscles nearly strangle his cock and he only lasted a few, staccato thrusts until his vision went white.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7 AM HKT

You purposely did not look into Sicheng’s office window as you strode briskly down the hall with a coffee in your hand.

A few days ago felt like a watershed moment, but after you two had caught your breaths, the sheer amount of emotions in the room—frustration, satiation, anger, hunger—weighed upon your lips and forced them shut. He had quickly dressed himself, not saying a word, but he casted a glance in your direction that was undecipherable and left.

You, at the moment, did not know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? Sad? But you settled upon your usual solution: ignoring that anything had happened and resuming the normal.

Alas, the fates were unkind. They neatly disposed of your plans to avoid the man when the two of you were scheduled to meet with other sales heads in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the time came to be, you and Sicheng were the first ones there.

He studiously avoided looking at you, busying himself by opening up his laptop and flipping to a new page on his legal pad. You ignored him as well, scrolling through the latest news on your webpage. However, as the seconds ticked by, you could not resist resting your eyes upon him. It felt like a damn magnet was pulling your gaze to him.

He looked good today, from the brief glances you stole at him. Freshly shaven, his hair was styled neatly and he was in a dark green, cashmere sweater. Was this your fate? To be shamefully attracted to a man that equally repelled you?

“Interesting.”

The both of you shot a look at the door, where an unrecognizable, lanky man with a proud, straight nose was peering down upon you and swinging a plastic bag in his hand.

“Chengcheng? What the hell are you doing here?”

Completely ignoring Sicheng, he settled his lidded gaze upon you before his eyes lit up in recognition.

“So you’re the one that has shaken him, then.”

Dead silence permeated the room. He looked at the two shocked faces, both ashen. “What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? Please. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to ignore the way you two gravitate to each other.”

Your two quick glances that were meant to be unnoticed clashed, resulting in your eyes meeting. You both turned your eyes away.

Chengcheng snorted, as if that moment confirmed everything for him, and he chucked a bag at Sicheng.

“You forgot your lunch, remember?”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened. “Thank you.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned and ChengCheng’s eyes switched back and forth between you like a particularly exciting tennis match.

“You two need to talk. You’ll both age prematurely at this rate, with the angst you two are producing. Talk.”

He left with a wave, striding down the hall casually and stealing many of your female coworkers’ gazes.

“... He’s right, you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes flicked up to yours and he focused his full attention on you. Intensely, he contemplated you, tongue poking at the sides of his mouth.

“I agree. We can meet—” he cut himself off, looking around surreptitiously. “—at Black’s.”

You sucked your lip in between your teeth. “Fine. Neutral ground.”

He took a good, long look at you, like a man seeing water after seeing nothing but sand.

“Tonight. At 8.”

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

Black’s

7:50 PM HKT

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable despite the jittery nerves under your skin as you walked into Black’s.

The receptionist had given you a knowing look as you repeated the guest password, letting you in without question. You strapped on the standard, white lace mask and steeled yourself, opening the mahogany doors.

The club was abnormally busy; the guests and members crowded the couches and loitered on the floor. The quiet string music that could usually be heard was masked by the loud chattering of the people in the room.

“Is that you, Dove?”

You spun around to see the smiling, wizened face of Mr. Liu.

A grin broke out on your face and you took his hands. “Mister Liu! It is wonderful to see you.”

“I am happy to see you as well.” He chuckled with his eyes gleaming fondly at you. “Have you decided to visit this old man?”

Playfully, you lightly smacked his shoulder.

Mr. Liu was an important figure to you. All those months ago, when you arrived at Black’s to be screened, as a potential member and straight out of a relationship with Minghao—broken, shattered, hollow—he took one look at you and said no.

Why? You remembered asking tearfully. Am I not pretty enough? Rich enough?

He searched your pale, wan face, as if seeing the emotional scars Minghao had lashed into you, before sighing.

You shouldn’t be asking me that. Are you enough for yourself?

Confused, you had asked him to elaborate. He sympathetically replied that he could see you were entering the club for the wrong reasons. You were different, he’d said. You looked so innocent that he could not morally allow you into the club, despite the depraved patrons that gained membership. He knew, at the time, entering the club would cripple you.

So, what now? You asked, confused. He said he would keep your file open until you came back ‘at the right time.’

The ‘right time?’

You will know it when it comes.

And somehow, you did. After a few months of picking the pieces of yourself together and stabilizing your life, you had grown into a physically and emotionally healthy person. The “right moment” came and you sat in his quaint little office again, opposite of a smiling Mr. Liu as he stamped his approval.

After chatting a few moments, the volume in the room increased slightly and you frowned.

“Why is it so busy today?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what today is?”

“No?”

“Today is the evening before Valentine’s day, dear girl.”

“... Oh.”

New information in hand, you looked at the scene more closely. You could see that some couples in the crowd seemed to curl into each other, the affectionate brushes and knowing glances giving you a sick, sick feeling.

And that’s when you saw Sicheng.

Even masked, he drew attention from the members—attached and non-attached. His lean, fit form struck a figure and you couldn’t turn away from him.

He looked directly into your eyes and only a few seconds passed by as you two observed each other.

“Sicheng somehow found out, hm? Clever, devious boy.” Mr. Liu observed the dynamic much like ChengCheng earlier. His gaze was enraptured how the two of you clashed yet sunk into each other, the way two tidal waves—in a rare moment of offbeat rhythm—struck each other and subsequently merged. Push, pull, push, pull.

“Listen to him and he will listen to you. You two match more than you think,” he advised, bowed, and sunk off into the backrooms.

“Sicheng.”

“Y/N.”

Frustratingly, his face was unreadable. Nevertheless, he offered you his arm (a surprising show of manners) and he led you to a place you had never seen before.

This place was much less pristine than the rest of the club. The wallpaper was older, much more faded, and the wood looked much more worn.

This was one of Mr. Liu’s apartments.

The pair of you entered a comfortable sitting room with the lights low, to which only large candles had been lit.

He made sure you were properly ensconced into an armchair before he turned his back towards you and made his way to the drink carts.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sicheng asked, voice measured.

“A gin tonic would be wonderful.”

After carefully making your drink and pouring himself a healthy 4 fingers of bourbon, he handed your glass to you and sat down in the chair opposite of you.

Silence permeated awkwardly and you turned your eyes towards the tapestry in the middle of the room, giving yourself something to do.

“Were those feelings true?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Elaborate, please.”

“The last night…” He looked quickly at you, before turning his eyes away and clenching his jaw. “The last night we were together.”

“Ah.”

Absolutely, unequivocally. Dolos was everything you had searched for in Minghao and, while your relationship was unusual, you could not deny the string between you two.

Something burned at your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yes. Then and now,” you stated, opening yourself up for an attack.

His eyes widened and the twitching in his fingers stopped.

“And you, Sicheng?” you enquired boldly.

“Always,” he stated without hesitation. “It was never something as trivial as pillow talk.”

Seeing as he was on the brink of closing off, due to his rare moment of vulnerableness, you wrapped your hand around his.

His eyes shot to yours, then to your linked hands, before tightening his grip.

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. “I… One thing that has always been on my mind—why did you dislike me so much?”

He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes, I forget that you don’t see the way I see you. You are a smart, dauntless woman, who’s pushed all my buttons. It all just built and built upon each other until I found you—Dove—here.” He pauses. “I projected my frustrations onto Dove—you—here. But never, for a moment, doubt my feelings aren’t genuine.”

You pursed your lips. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your accusations of me being the office slut—very rude, by the way—were without malice. You constantly pushed me down, clashed with me in the workplace and you were just plain classist.”

Sicheng’s eyes were casted down, but his grip was steady. “I will not lie. Those words I spat at you were with malice. But now, in retrospect, they were nothing more but words of immature frustration that I channeled towards you. I know that I cannot take them back and they will forever linger in the air between us, but I can apologize and recognize those words were completely unacceptable.”

He angled his body fully towards you and clasped your hand in both of his. “I am sorry for my actions. My anger was misplaced and the sentiments do not represent me anymore. I am sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

“And then what? What do you want now, Sicheng?” An edge of desperation tinged your voice.

He smiled bitterly at you. “Everyday, the smell of you lingers and I, like Pavlov’s dog, cannot help but feel an ache in the marrow of my bones when I see your crimson red lips. Every night, when I go to bed, you are seared across the back of my eyelids and I cannot escape you, even in my dreams.” He paused. “I want you, or whatever scraps you’re willing to toss me.”

A sharp exhale left you nose and you blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to get hurt. You get off on hurting people.”

“With your consent.”

“Say I want a completely vanilla relationship,” you challenged. He didn’t flinch. “What about then?”

Sicheng clenched his jaw and held your gaze fiercely. “Anything.”

“I hate that you are all I’ve wanted in a man,” you admitted unwillingly. He hummed. “Will we be each other’s destruction? Or will we be each other’s maker?” you pondered nonsensically.

“Aren’t we already both?” he retorted.

Slowly, without releasing his hand, you rose from your chair and lowered yourself into his lap. His eyes traced your every movement. For a few, brief moments, you looked into each other’s eyes without the obsurance of a mask or the encumbrance of a workplace rivalry. Your left hand cupped his cheekbone and stroked the skin underneath his eye.

“This will be interesting,” you said.

He gave no sign of reaction, but tilted his head into your palm and closed his eyes. “After us, the flood,” he recited.

Monday, March 2nd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7:50 PM HKT

A secret grin tugged at your lips as you looked across the table at Sicheng, who was intensely focused on the presentation your coworker was giving. Perhaps he’d felt the weight of your gaze on him as he chanced a glance at you and gave you a small smirk.

The past month in your relationship with Sicheng was equally fulfilling and frustrating. There were times where both of you deliberately looked for a fight or misinterpreted each other, but there were also times you could shed your layers and just be yourselves with the other.

Even each fight, where you or Sicheng stormed out, or broke things, you came back to each other at the end. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling relentlessly. The flood, indeed.

You focused back in on the meeting and contributed to the smatter of clapter for the end of your coworker’s presentation. As he turned off the projector and people stood up to leave, Xiao Daiyu—the interim head of the Sales department—stopped you and Sicheng.

“Y/N, Sicheng, please stay back for a moment. I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Lee’s replacement.”

You and Sicheng glanced at each other and you sat back down. A while ago, you had both agreed the decision wasn’t going to break the quiet relationship you had built. It was going to be sour. You knew, when someone was chosen, things could get messy and awkward. But this… this was too good.

Daiyu sat down and put her hands together. “After much decision and going through your interviews, the CEO has stepped in and we are sorry to say neither of you are getting the position.”

You jerked your head around to Sicheng and he did the same—wild confusion and anger in both of your eyes. Both your years of loyalty and dedication are being passed over?

“Instead, we have decided to hire outside the company for some fresh intake. He may be young, but it comes to us that he’s highly recommended and would fit in with our culture well.”

A sour feeling came to your stomach and you narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to frown. They had decided to hire outside the company? This is how they decide to reward their workers? This was betrayal.

Glancing over, you could see Sicheng felt the same. His right hand grasped the arm of the chair tightly and you could see his knuckles turning white.

“I’d like to meet him and he’s coming—” She took a glance at her watch. “—right about now.”

A knock came from the door and a head of messy black hair peaked into the room.

“Daiyu laoban, great to see you.”

No. This could not be happening to you.

The wire glasses. The tall, lanky frame that filled the doorway. The almond shaped eyes hiding behind pitch-black hair, as black his shriveled little heart.

Daiyu, like the little bitch she was, giggled. “Y/N, Sicheng, please meet your new Sales Head: Xu Minghao.”

His eyes focused on you and your world suddenly felt tilted, careening sideways while the nausea hit you all at once.

“Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully.

You could feel Sicheng’s concern radiating from him at your ashen face and look of shock, but you couldn't even think as flashes of blood and tears and pain shuddered throughout your body.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m pleased to be working with you!”

(”After us, the flood” or “Aprés nous, le deluge” is an expression from Madame Pompadour, King Louis XV’s lover.)

And it’s finished. Thank you. Please don’t forget to read, comment, and reblog. I love you all and goodbye.

485 notes · View notes

audreycritter · 5 years ago

Text

“He’s my little boy!” Dick roared. The fury was wiped off his face in the silence after, and he stumbled back, unusually graceless, as if the admission had been a physical blow.

For a long time, they stood on the roof without speaking; Dick, panting with wild eyes; Bruce, a creased brow and a startled hurt. They held each other's gaze, a silent challenge, and neither were willing to break it.

“Are you going to take him from me?” Bruce finally asked. Then, Dick dropped his head and took a long, slow breath through his gritted teeth.

“It wasn't a threat, Bruce,” Dick said, so soft and precise. He knew exactly how far his voice carried, and raised it not one degree above that.

“I…” Bruce didn't pace, didn’t run his hands through his hair or raise his arms. His body language was all in his absences, the things he didn't do. He did, though, lick his lips, and swallow, struggling for the words he wanted. He was precise in those, too, when he had time to be. Sometimes, when he didn't. “It wasn't a defense, Dick. It was a question.”

“You can't just give him up,” Dick snapped, raising his chin to glare. “He’s not a bargaining chip, or a concession, or a thing to give away. He’s a little boy and he’s your son.”

“I'm not trying to,” Bruce said evenly. Dick hated his ability to sound calm when he wasn't. “Let me be very, very clear. I'm just asking: what do you want?”

“I don't know,” Dick muttered, rubbing at his brow.

“I didn't try to keep him from you. I didn't send you away, even if he thinks I did.”

“He thinks what?” Dick’s tone neared a hushed shriek.

“What did you think he would think when you ran off?” Bruce demanded, a bit of a razor edge in his calm. “You didn't say.”

“You hypocritical ass!” Dick hissed. “You don't bother to explain things all the fucking time and now, the one time I--” he stopped himself with visible effort. “No. No, that isn't what this is about. I left because...because I knew I would be in the way. He needs time with you. He wants time with you. Why would you tell him you sent me away? All this time, I've been waiting and it's been kill-- it's been hard. That's just going to make it take longer to…”

He trailed off, his lips pressed together. His hands were trembling with the strain of keeping himself from pacing, shouting.

“I didn't tell him, Dick. He’s so sure of his place with-- of your love for him, that it was the only option that made sense, when he realized it wasn't a mission keeping you away.”

Bruce’s soft tone belied the tension in his posture. Dick studied him, carefully.

“You could have explained,” Dick said, the pointed jab clear and shining. The final word broke off, pronged to dig and stick.

“I didn't think it would improve things between us if I told him the truth. He would have seen it as criticism of you. It was an impossible situation and I chose the one I could mend alone, with an apology,” Bruce said.

“You should have told him the truth,” Dick snarled, crossing his arms. The wind, chilled since they climbed onto the roof from the attic window, picked up and caressed with an icy touch. “I worked so damn hard to get him to just trust me, to trust us. He’s not like Tim, B. He won't just keep letting it go.”

“I should have done a lot of things,” Bruce admitted, turning to look out over the darkening lawn. For the first time since he’d come back, he sounded old. Older than he should have, even-- there was something frail in that admission, something that hinted at shaking hands and walking canes and soft foods and lonely days full of regrets. Bruce took a breath, set his shoulders. “I should have lied to Tim less. There isn't an excuse.”

Dick shivered, and it wasn't the wind that made him cold. He wondered how many lifetimes Bruce had lived away from them-- how much did he remember? He hadn't even gotten to ask.

No, he hadn't asked. He hadn't asked on purpose. He’d left.

“I didn't want to get between you, like this.” Dick uncrossed his arms, and jammed his hands in his pockets. He shrugged a shoulder toward the window, though Bruce wasn't looking. “I wanted him to have the time with you that I did. That he had with me. But I don't think I did it right, and now…”

“What do you want?” Bruce asked. His voice was flat, gentle. It was the way he spoke to people waving guns, holding detonators, on ledges. Something about it said, I have no needs, no wants. The only thing that matters is what you say next.

Dick had learned that voice from him. Dick also knew Bruce would rip his own heart out and give it to Dick, if he asked. Dick opened his mouth to argue, to growl, This isn't about what I want, is the point.

Instead, he started crying.

The sob caught in his throat and then escaped with a quiet whine, and he’d done this enough times the past year to know there would be no hug. The arms he wanted around him were gone, dead and buried, and even imagining it made him feel worse.

Then, Bruce pulled him into a hug. Dick’s forehead tucked against Bruce’s shoulder, in the embrace he’d learned was gone forever and now had to learn again, and his knees buckled. Bruce held him up, on the roof, the slate tiles under Dick’s bare feet.

“I didn't want to share you,” Dick mumbled through sniffs. “I didn't want to leave him. I don't want us to be fighting.”

“I know, chum,” Bruce said softly, into his hair.

“He’s my little boy, Bruce,” Dick said, feeling torn in two. “He wants you. He needs you. But I miss him. I was all he had, and he was why I kept going. I thought it was going to be forever.”

“I know,” Bruce said, his hug tightening.

“I don't know how to fix this. I've been terrified of talking about it, about you thinking I wanted you to leave. I don't want you to be gone again.” Dick’s face was hot, and he lifted his head to feel the cold air against his cheeks. He sank to sit cross legged on the roof, and Bruce lowered himself to sit beside him.

They sat for a long time, watching the moon creep up into the sky.

“What would you have done if John had come back?” Dick asked, after the tightness in his chest and throat started to ease. He very carefully avoided looking at Bruce.

Bruce, leaning back and propped on his arms, sighed.

“I had nightmares about it, after Clark came back. I don't know.”

“Bullshit,” Dick said. “You would have handed me right over.”

“It would have killed me,” Bruce said. “But yes. He was your father.”

“There were times,” Dick said slowly, “that I would be glad they were gone, because of what I had with you. Because of what we had. And then I’d feel like a monster. I don't think I've told anyone that before, other than Donna.”

“What did she say?” Bruce sounded curious, but reserved.

“‘Sometimes, Dick, you’re an idiot,’ or something close to that. She was right, anyway.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Bruce said.

“Sometimes,” Dick said. “And sometimes I was just a confused kid, who had my life broken into two parts. There was a before, that I missed, and an after, that was its own kind of good.”

“It was good, wasn't it?”

“It is good,” Dick said. He tugged, two fingers on Bruce’s sleeve, like he used to when he was little, until Bruce looked at him. He knew he looked pleading and he didn't care. “Damian already has his life broken into before and after, Bruce. I don't want to make him go through that again. How do we...how do I...fix that. I can't be here and give it up, it'll confuse and hurt him. I don't want to take him from you, either.”

“When my parents were gone,” Bruce said, gaze flickering out to the dark lawn and treeline. “Leslie and Alfred had joint custody. They decided I should stay here. When I was fourteen, I went to stay with Leslie for the weekend and tried to sneak out to a party. I told her Alfred had given me permission to go with friends.”

“Mm?” Dick prompted, after the pause stretched on.

“She said, ‘You aren't going to that party, Bruce.’”

Dick’s smile, gentle and sudden, curved one side of his mouth. “Alfred had warned her.”

“We have to be on the same page,” Bruce said, looking at him. The look was piercing, and intense. “If we want him to feel secure, he has to know he’s going to get the same answer from either of us. You can't be his brother and his father at the same time, not like that-- if we disagree, it can't be where he can hear. It won't be easy.”

The relief was making Dick lightheaded. He would have agreed to almost anything, in that moment. “Easy peasy, B. We’ll just have to be you-know-who and you-know-who again.”

“I seem to remember a certain man insisting he’d outgrown that role,” Bruce said, a bit wryly.

“Maybe it fits again, for this,” Dick said. “I didn't ever grow out of being your partner, B. I just...got stupid for a while.”

“You weren't the only one,” Bruce said. He stood, and offered a hand to Dick. “Let's get out of this cold.”

“Is it making your old man joints stiff?” Dick teased, clambering up.

Bruce’s hand, heavy and large, cupped the back of his neck and pulled him forward to press a kiss to Dick’s temple. “You did good with him, Dick.”

He rubbed the tears out of the corners of his eyes with a knuckle and inhaled slowly.

“I don't think you know how much I needed to hear you say that.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “I’m someone’s son, too.”

#bruce wayne #batman #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing

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averyhappychainsawhalloween · 4 years ago

Text

Reverence | Part 7

Thomas Hewitt X You

Masterlist with links to other parts

You sat out in front of the store. It was hot today with a lot of sun and you were thankful for the lemonade Luda Mae had made. You sipped it from a old mason jar and pressed the cool glass to your neck.

Hoyt had insisted on you coming out to the store to help Luda Mae during the weekend. Whether it was because she needed help or because Hoyt wanted you away from Tommy you weren’t sure. The last few days had whirled by so quickly. It was a lot of scrubbing dishes and minding an empty store. Even at night there seemed to be some mending to do. Every time a task was done there was yet another one to do as if they were trying to keep you busy. Even at night Hoyt sent Tommy out on errands to check the perimeter fence so you couldn’t steal into the basement and spend the night with him.

One morning, as you came downstairs for breakfast, you overheard Hoyt and Luda Mae talking.

“He’s sweet on her,” Luda Mae whispered.

“She’s an outsider, we don’t know a damn thing about her,” Hoyt said.

You had been replaying the conversation in your head over and over the last few days and still wasn’t sure where you stood with them. Thomas, obviously, enjoyed your company. Uncle Monty couldn’t give a shit about you. Luda Mae kept an eye on you but seemed to write you off as harmless. Hoyt still having suspicions about you at this point felt ridiculous, even if ultimately he was right.

They shouldn’t trust you because you didn’t plan on staying in the middle of nowhere forever.

You took another gulp of lemonade, leaning back in the lawn chair and glaring down at the empty road through the tent of sunglasses. The air hung hot and heavy with no breeze to speak of. Your dress was glued to your body with sweat and all you wanted was to go back to house and take a shower but you needed to prove something.

You hadn’t escaped last week with a clearly injured young man, but that only proved you weren’t stupid. However, if a car came by full of gas would you jump in and leave them?

Hoyt seemed to think so.

His squad car pulled in beside the store. After a moment the engine shut off and he appeared, walking around the building.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” you said, nodding to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking past you into the store.

You took another healthy sip of lemonade. He was just jealous you were kissing on Tommy and not him.

You could hear Hoyt and Luda Mae’s voices carrying from inside the store but couldn’t make any words out. You closed your eyes, stretching out under the sun. After a while you heard an engine rumble down the road and looked to see what it could be. As it came closer you could tell it was a larger vehicle, a van or a pickup perhaps. Drawn by the sound of the car, Hoyt came and leaned against the doorframe to the store.

As the car approached it flicked its blinker on signaling it would pull over.

“How stocked up are we?” you asked, your eyes on the car kicking dirt up the road.

“We’d be better off if you weren’t around,” Hoyt said. You rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses. “We could always use more. You never know when a shipment will roll through.”

“Noted,” you said as the car pulled in front of the store. The engine kicked off and two men stepped out. College aged by your estimation. You looked into the back seat and didn’t see anyone else. Two men didn’t seem like that big of a threat in the grand scheme of things.

“Hey, do y’all have a phone?” one of the boys asked, his twang overpowering.

“Not here,” you said, cutting in before Hoyt could speak. “But we got one back at the house. If you buy me some gum I could show you.”

Hoyt stayed quiet, watching you closely. You smiled at the boys and they wore their own grins. The one who had spoken was very clearly raking his eyes up and down your form.

“You got yourself a deal,” he said and stepped inside with his buddy presumably to buy bubblegum.

You looked up at Hoyt, your smile as bright as the afternoon sun.

“It’s not the catching it’s the keepin’ that’s hard,” Hoyt grunted.

“You know Sheriff it’s alright to like me,” you said playfully. “You might as well, I plan on sticking around for a long while.”

“Until Tommy gets bored of ya?” he said sharply. Your smile fell. The idea of Thomas getting bored of you hadn’t even crossed your mind. Angry at you, maybe, but bored? Was that something that happened? Had Tommy picked a girl to keep before and grew tired of her and threw her in the freezer with everyone else? It was enough to make you feel cold despite the relentless heat. Hoyt threw his head back, his whole belly shaking with a deep laugh. He was still laughing when the two boys stepped out of the store.

They tossed the packet of gum to you and you managed to catch it as it arced through the air.

“Thanks,” you said, your bubbly mood undercut by Hoyt’s nastiness. “This way.”

You started around the store to head through the tall grass back to the house with the boys in tow and heard Hoyt calling after you.

“You kids stay safe now!”

You yanked a stick of gum from the package and shoved it in your mouth, chewing out your frustrations on the sticky pink goo.

“Do you live close by?” a boy asked behind you. The gum boy again.

“Yeah, real close,” you said. You hadn’t timed the walk but it wasn’t going to kill them, that’s what all the chainsaws and knives were for. “Y’all from Austin?”

“Dave’s from Austin,” the bubblegum boy said, smacking his friend on the back. Dave had short cropped blonde hair and a stiffness about him. On closer inspection he seemed older than his friend and a lot less friendly. “I’m from Houston though. I’m Jake by the way.”

“Well, Dave from Austin and Jake from Houston, I hope you like our little stretch of highway while you’re here,” you said. “I hear it’s the nicest piece of nothing for the next forty miles.”

Jake laughed and suddenly he was beside you, shortening his steps to match your stride leaving his poor dear friend Dave behind.

“You’re pretty funny,” Jake said. You blew a bubble with your gum, filling it with air until it popped and wrapped it back in your mouth.

“Are you funny, Jake?” you asked.

“I’m plenty funny, right Dave?” he asked over his shoulder. Dave didn’t have a reply and Jake didn’t wait for one. “You live out here with your family?”

You looked up and saw the house coming into view. It was only a matter of time now.

“Actually the Hewitts were kind enough to take me in,” you said.

“What are you a troubled youth?” Jake asked, laughing as if that was a joke. His claim that he was “plenty funny” was looking weak at the moment.

“Oh very troubled,” you said, stepping into the shadow of the Hewitt home. “Drugs, alcohol, sex you name it I did it.”

The lies came easy to your tongue, if it was because Jake seemed like an easy mark or because you knew they’d only have to feel real for a few more minutes you weren’t sure.

“Sex?” Jake asked as the three of you came up the stairs onto the porch. Of course that was the word that caught his attention. You yanked open the front door and propped it open with your foot, ushering them in. Jake stepped aside and let Dave enter first and then hovered by you as you stepped inside. You pulled off your sunglasses and gave Jake a wink. A goofy grin stretched across his mouth. He really thought he had a chance. What a fool.

“Where’s your phone?” Dave asked, clearly more focused on the task at hand than his friend.

“Oh it’s downstairs,” you said, crossing to the metal door to the basement. You knocked your knuckles against, three quick raps to signal to Tommy downstairs. “Some fumbling with the wiring, I know but it’s hard to get anything fixed way out here.”

Dave nodded, accepting the explanation. He helped you slide the door open and started down the stairs.

“Your friend can handle himself right?” you asked Jake.

“Yeah, he doesn’t need me,” Jake said, running a hand through his hair.

“Come sit with me, I’ll get you some sweet tea,” you said with a smile so sugary it could have rotted your teeth clean out of your mouth. You led him to the kitchen making sure he sat in a chair with its back to the door. You took your time tossing your gum away, pulling a fresh pitcher of tea from the fridge and pouring a glass.

“I think it’s real admirable that you’re conquering your addictions out here,” Jake said, folding his arms across the kitchen table. You smiled at him, stepping in close enough to graze his shoulder as you place the glass on the table.

“Oh, I’m not conquering anything out here,” you said, your eyes glued to his despite the motion you saw in the corner of your eye.

“Then what are you doing?” he laughed nervously. Thomas stepped into the room as silent as a mouse despite his size. You kept your eyes down at your victim but could see Tommy raise a sledgehammer over his head.

“Indulging.”

The metal head came down on the man’s skull like a spoon through the shell of an egg. You watched bone crack and splinter as brains started to spill out onto the floor. Jake twitched and convulsed in his chair, his boots dragging across the linoleum. He may be moving but he wasn’t coming back from a hit like that.

Your smile was untamable as you looked up at Tommy.

“I did it!” you yelled jumping up and down. You caught Tommy’s hand and dragged him into your celebration. He dropped his hammer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Did you see Tommy? I brought them right to you!”

Thomas hefted you up into the air bringing your lips to his. It’d been a full week since your shower together and you had missed his touch. After chores and only Luda Mae and Hoyt for company most of the day it felt so good to be in his arms again. You brought your hands to his face, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“You did so good, Thomas,” you said, kissing him again. He twisted around and suddenly you were seated on the kitchen table with Tommy’s hips between your thighs. Goosebumps rose along your arms as a hand drifted from your waist to tangle into your hair.

A gunshot reverberated through the house. You jerked up, panic flooding your body. You jumped off the counter and followed Tommy out of the kitchen only to knock into him when he came to a quick stop.

At the front door Hoyt stood over Dave from Austin, smoke rising from the barrel of his gun and the hole he had put in the young man’s head. There was a trail of blood across the entrance way from where Dave had dragged himself from the basement trying to escape. You hadn’t heard a thing, but you weren’t thinking about him you had been thinking about Tommy.

“What did I tell you girl?” Hoyt snarled, shoving the corpse with the toe of his boot. When you didn’t respond he pointed at you with his pistol, his finger still on the trigger. “Come on what did I tell you?”

“I-It’s not the catching but the keeping that’s hard,” you repeated quietly. You hid slightly behind Tommy, sliding your hand into his for support. He squeezed your hand back.

“Does this look like you kept him?” Hoyt sneered, pointing the gun back down at the corpse. He fired again into the dead man’s head sending another loud bang through the house. “Well?”

“No, sir,” you said, your throat closing as a sob formed in your chest. You wanted to prove him wrong but you only succeeded into doing the complete opposite.

Hoyt crouched over the corpse and finished a keyring out of the man’s pockets.

“Tommy, get these boys downstairs,” Hoyt said before he grinned at you, his mouth curling into a terrible smirk. “Your little friend and I are going for a drive.”

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x reader #slashers x you

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

Text

His Fault.

Thank you @thinger-strang for the commission! 💕

Read on Ao3

Steve took Max first, grabbing her around the knees and lifting.

He didn’t know which kid was which, just picked them up and shoved them through the hole in the ground.

No thoughts in his head besides getting the kids to safety.

He was still dizzy from the fight, from Max’s wild driving, from being thrown into low oxygen conditions.

He grabbed Dustin.

The last kid to get through.

There was a rumble.

The ground shook.

And Steve stared death right in its face.

A pack of demodogs, heading right for them.

He grabbed Dustin, thought maybe, maybe he could shield him.

If this kid dies, it’s all my fault.

But the ‘dogs passed them by.

On their way to protect from El.

Because their plan didn’t work. Their carefully crafted idea to help El was bullshit.

He pushed Dustin up to safety.

He had brought these kids down here for no reason.

They had all gotten hurt for no reason.

All because of him.

Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

He was trying to get himself to get up, get out of the car.

Staring through the windshield at the small service.

Barb’s funeral.

The girl that died right outside his house. The girl who died in his pool.

The girl he killed.

By being too preoccupied with Nancy. By being too much of a stupid fucking jock.

It’s all his fault.

He got out of the car, stayed mostly to himself throughout the service.

He hugged Barb’s parents afterwards, offered his condolences.

He got the feeling that they never really liked him.

That’s okay. He doesn't really blame them.

And if they knew, if they knew what he did to their Barb-

They would do more than just not like him.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, thoughts of your fault your fault your fault whipping through his brain.

He killed Barb.

Steve was trying to think quickly.

It was a little tricky, what with the pounding in his head, the hits he was taking right to the gut.

He needed to somehow talk his way out of this.

Which sucked because talking has never been his strong point.

But he brought Robin into all of this. He had let Erica climb through those vents to get them into the elevator. He had helped Dustin suss out what the message meant.

Actually, he hadn’t.

He had been too fucking stupid to help with that.

No.

He had just encouraged the translation that was happening around him.

Had just walked three people right into the clutches of the Upside Down, and these violent goddamn Russians, and-

That one hurt.

He woke up sometime later to Robin yelling.

“Hey, will you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh my God! Steve!”

She sounded, actually relieved.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Robin was sitting next to him, both wrapped in thick blankets.

They had their own ambulance, Nancy and Jonathan in the one next door.

He had watched them take Billy off on a gurney, watched them slam a defibrillator to his body until his heart started beating again, watched them load him into the back of an ambulance, and take him off to the hospital.

The adrenaline, the heavy drugs, it was all out of his system.

And he was crashing.

“I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I shouldn’t have talked Dustin into translating the tape, I shouldn’t have-”

“Okay, Dingus. Let’s get some things straight. I’m pretty sure Dustin talked you into the translations. I don’t know if you’d be able to talk Dustin into anything. And you didn’t rope me into shit.”

“I mean, I mean with the Upside Down. This whole fucking conspiracy. You deserved to go your whole damn life without knowing any of this.”

“But Steve, I know about it now. The milk has been spilled. So stop crying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Yes, it is.

“Hi, welcome to Family- Nancy?”

Nancy had stopped in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Steve. I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Yeah. You know, with the mall being all, burnt down. And stuff.” She nodded slowly, stock still in the doorway. “Can I help you find something?”

“No. Thanks. I’m just browsing.”

“Well, uh, let me know if you need help. Or ask Robin, maybe. She’s better with the recommends.” Nancy seemed to startle, stepping into the store properly.

“Thanks, Steve.” He smiled tightly at her.

They really hadn’t talked since breaking up.

Of course, they’d spoken in the summer, but that was less exchanging pleasantries, more how do we stop the giant fleshy monster that’s trying to take over the whole world?

Which isn’t quite the same.

She browsed through the aisles, Steve doodling on the carbon pad next to the register.

She smiled tightly at him, a few tapes in hand.

“So, uh, how are you?” They hadn’t spoken since that night. Since he wandered over to her ambulance, checking in with her and Jonathan.

“I’m okay. Just working and stuff. Obviously.”

“And how’s Billy?”

“Managing. He’s in all kindsa therapy and stuff now.”

“That’s, that’s good.” She was all stiff as he handed her her change. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“Yeah, Nancy. Yeah, you too.”

He hated how shitty and awkward that had been.

Hated that she was the person he felt closest to for the better part of a year, and now they’re stuck with light conversation and forced smiles.

He pushed her so hard.

Always poking and poking.

Always too clingy, always too emotional, not emotional enough. Too insensitive, or just too much work.

He doesn’t know how anyone puts up with him.

“Hey,” Billy smiled softly at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that my little nurse is here.” Steve rolled his eyes, smiling back as he sat on the bed next to Billy.

He had brought him to his house from the military hospital.

Billy still had a long road of healing. His scars were pulled together, and the wounds were closed, but everything was still pretty rough.

“Can I get you anything?” Billy reached over for him.

His hands were scarred and rough, and he was still trying to regain feeling, the nerves having suffered far too much damage.

“Nah. Just sit with me.”

Steve took one of his hands, stretching his hand like the doctor had shown him.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Nah. My stomach’s all outta whack today. Don’t know if I could keep anything down.” Steve furrowed his brows.

“Are you, can I make you something? Soup?”

“Stevie, I’m okay. One day’s not gonna kill me.” It felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Something must've shown on his face because Billy was trying to sit up. “Sorry, that was a shitty joke.”

“No, I just-”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” Steve tried to gather himself.

“Don’t like jokes about you dying. Thought you were dead for, for like a week, you know. Before they told us you were stable.”

“Baby, it’s alright. I know it was hard on you.” Steve blinked rapidly.

“But I mean, it’s like, youwere the one, the one in the hospital I shouldn’t,” he stood up, Billy wincing as the bed shifted. “I’m gonna make you something.”

He was holding back tears as he spread peanut butter and jelly onto saltine crackers.

Billy had the best luck keeping it down when he felt sick.

He felt like shit whenever he did that. Got all mopey on Billy.

Billy was the one trying not to die in a hospital bed. Steve was just, doing what Steve does.

Making everything about himself.

He brought Billy the plate, kneeling next to him in bed.

“You okay?” Steve just shook his head, plastering on a nice smile for Billy.

“I’m fine, Bill. Just try to eat? For me?”

Billy managed three of the crackers before he heaved into the garbage bin placed next to the bed.

Steve felt like shit.

Billy’s core muscles were still healing, and throwing up only made him sore, made him tired and in pain.

“Billy, I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have made Billy eat. Shouldn’t have tried to make himself feel better by force-feeding Billy while he felt bad.

When he finally stopped, Steve helped him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“But you said you didn’t feel good.”

“You’re just trying to take care of me.”

Keyword here being trying.

Trying and failing at taking care of Billy.

“Steve, are you busy tonight?” Dustin had thrown open the door to Family Video stomping inside.

“I mean, no but I thought, isn’t tonight your big tournament?”

Dustin sighed dramatically.

“The arcade is closed.”

Dustin had been saving up for months, using the end of the summer to mow neighbors’ lawns.

Steve had even paid him to mow his own lawn.

He and the gang were going to rage for hours, Dustin organizing a special secret prize for whoever got the highest cumulative score.

He had put so much thought into everything, had been so excited.

And the arcade was closed.

“Can I talk to Keith?”

“Be my guest.”

Dustin pushed into the backroom.

Steve could hear his voice, could hear him arguing with Keith.

He came back out, Keith following behind.

“Harrington, I told you, customers aren’t allowed in the back.” He pointed to the Employees Only sign on the door. “Can you even read?” Keith rolled his eyes. Steve studied his shoes.

“And Henderson, I told you, the arcade is closed for renovations. A pipe burst in the storeroom.” Dustin Huffed. “Just, rent a movie or something. But you know, don’t ask for Harrington’s recommendation.”

Keith laughed to himself as he retreated to the back.

“Like I would ask you for a recommendation. I know what kind of movies you like.” Steve forced a smile at him.

“Sorry about your game night.” Dustin shrugged.

“I thought it’d be fun. We haven’t played DnD since Will moved. It just feels wrong without him, I guess. I thought this could bring us back to the fun spirit.”

“It’s a good idea. I’m sorry you’re gonna have to postpone.”

Steve just kinda lived with a big ol’ bit in his stomach these days.

But every time something like this happened, something where his friend was sad, and Steve was completely useless to help him, the pit seemed to grow.

He wonders what happens when the pit gets too big.

Billy stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly.

“You okay?”

Billy blew out a breath, rubbing his chest.

“Yeah. Just cold. It hurts.” They were standing outside, waiting for the kids to be finished with school.

Steve drove Dustin and Max home, usually brought Billy along with him.

Neil had been one of the flayed, the only casualty Billy said he didn’t feel bad for.

So Max had moved with her mom into a tiny two-bedroom house.

Billy was still staying with Steve for the time being.

“Oh! I got a sweater in my trunk.” Steve ran around to the back of the car, unlocking the trunk and digging through.

He kept his car pretty clean, just his bat, some jumper cables, and a go-bag.

So he should see the sweater right away.

But he didn’t.

He frantically shifted everything around.

“No, no.”

The sweater wasn’t there.

“Fuck are you, are you serious?”

He genuinely could cry.

Billy was blowing into his hands, rubbing them together when Steve slumped back over to him.

“Billy, I’m sorry. It’s not in there.” Billy squinted at him.

“That’s okay.”

“I thought it was, but I must’ve taken it out, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just, you know, come here and make it up to me.” He had a lazy smile on his face. “Come keep me warm.”

Steve wrapped himself around Billy, burying his face in his neck.

“I wish I could keep you warmer. I wish I had that sweater.”

“Baby, I’m okay. Just achy.”

Steve made sure to turn up the heat full blast when they got back in, the kids in the backseat.

“Fuck!”

The bottom of the box had given out, tapes crashing to the tiled floor.

He had been on his way to reshelve everything, after spending all day in the back rewinding.

But here he was, checking each plastic tape for cracks as he tried to find something else to put them in.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington.”

Ah, yes. That’s what he needs right now. Keith standing over him while he cleaned up the mess of tapes.

“What’d you do now?”

“The box, it just fell apart.”

“You know, Robin really went out on a limb to you to get this job.” Keith was standing over him, staring down at Steve sill kneeling on the ground. “Maybe I should just fire you both.”

“Wait, no!”

Steve’s heart was in his throat.

It felt like he was gonna choke on it.

“You, you can’t, I don’t care if you hate me, okay, just, just don’t fire Robin!”

Keith loved to do this. Dangle his measly power as manager over Steve.

Robin said it was some kind of revenge fantasy for how shitty Steve was to him in high school.

Steve just figures he deserves it.

Bottom of the food chain now. That’s where he is.

The guy that thought he was the hottest shit to walk the Earth. The guy that barely graduated. The guy that had to linger around his hometown. The guy has no life. The guy that has no future.

“Why not? She vouched for you.” Keith was eating a pack of M&Ms, crunching each one loudly between his teeth.

“Just, just don’t.” Steve felt like he could cry.

“Then get this cleaned up, and I’ll consider letting you both stay.”

Steve just nodded.

He didn’t think his voice would work without cracking all over the place.

He found a crate in the stockroom, stacking the tapes as quickly as he could.

He liked reshelving.

The organization system made sense, and he could do it easily without having to know anything about the movies, without having to know anything besides the alphabet, and the genre sticker each tape had.

Robin was better with customers.

Better at making change and recommending movies. Better at talking to people without sounding like an idiot.

But he finished reshelving, and had to retreat behind the counter.

“You’re being weird today.”

Steve had zoned out, staring through the front windows.

“Sorry.”

“Bad night?” he just nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about Keith’s little threat. She would just go on a rampage. Probably yell at him a lot. And if Steve being a fuck up didn’t get her fired, defending him for sure would. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie. Most nights are bad. “Steve, are you sure you’re okay? It feels like,” she glanced around. “It feels like you’re getting, like, worse.”

“Sorry.” She furrowed her brows.

“That’s not something you need to apologize for, you know that, right? I’m just worried about you.”

“Sorry.” Her face pinched up even more.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I, just you know. Not sleeping much.”

“I could come over? You said it’s better when there’s sound in your house. I can stomp around for a while.” He huffed a laugh through his nose, giving her the biggest smile he could muster.

“That’s okay. I’m managing, Rob.” She raised one eyebrow. “And besides, I, uh, I won’t be home tonight.”

She made a face at him, pursing her lips so she didn’t smile.

Billy had gotten his own apartment with the money the government had given him, a little thank you for your discretion gift when he was released from the hospital.

He had spent nearly a month in a coma, a month in which Steve had only left his room a handful of times. After waking up, delirious, and in pain, he had spent the next six months in heavy rehabilitation, in daily therapy, both mental and physical, in which Steve practically lived at the hospital with him.

They had bonded more than Robin could ever know, both boys spilling everything to one another, every dark thought, every bad memory.

Long story short, they were inseparable.

“Then have a fun night. And talk to Billy. Tell him you’re struggling.”

“I’m not-”

She stomped her foot, giving him a stern look.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Shit.”

Steve knew he had a key to Billy’s apartment.

But it wasn’t on his key ring.

“Are you kidding me?” He knocked on the door.

It took Billy a few minutes to come get him.

“I’m sorry, I, I lost my key.” Billy looked tired . It was Thursday. Billy was a stockboy at Meldvald’s on Thursdays. His doctor said getting a job would be nice, that it would help him rejoin society, make him feel good to support himself, all this shit.

Mostly, it just made Billy’s sore.

“It’s okay.”

“No, but, it’s not on my ring! I don’t know where it fell off, it could be anywhere, you might have to change the locks or-”

“Steve! It’s fine. Just get in here.”

Steve snapped his jaw closed. Billy shuffled back to the couch, groaning as he sat down slowly.

“Can I get you something? Have you eaten? I can rub your back if-”

“Harrington, just come sit with me.” Billy was giving him a little half-smile.

Steve stumbled over to the couch, and tucked himself right under Billy’s arm.

“What are we watching?”

“Some soap. There’s been a marathon all evening. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve leaned his head against Billy.

He had no clue what was going on. Had a question on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask about the plot points, the characters.

But he’s bothered Billy enough tonight, making him get up to open the door, always, always bothering-

“Hey, where’d you go?” Billy was stroking one rough hand through his hair.

“Nowhere.”

“Robin called me from the video store.” Steve sighed, burying his face into Billy’s neck. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re always okay.” He said it like he was mad, like he was frustrated with Steve.

He pulled back, sliding to the other end of the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Billy was staring blankly at him. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad. What are you even-” he cut himself off. “Steve, talk to me. You’re getting, distant.”

“I’m-”

“Please stop apologizing.”

Steve swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to help you.”

“I-” Steve’s throat was closing up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Billy shifted stiffly, reaching out for Steve’s hand.

“Talk to me, Baby. You know I’ll listen.”

“I, uh, I just.” His jaw was moving, but he couldn’t form any words.

Billy took his hands, pulling him gently.

Steve let himself be tugged, let himself fall into Billy’s lap.

“It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“All of it.”

“Can you, maybe elaborate?”

“Everything. It’s all my fault.” His chest felt pulled tight, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. “Everything, everything. My fault.”

Billy had no fucking idea what to do.

Steve was breathing sharply, his eyes squeezed closed.

He had both hands in his hair, pulling roughly.

“Steve, hey.” He took his wrists, trying to stop him. “Steve, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that?” Steve shook his head.

“Just, just try to take as deep a breath as you can, okay?”

Billy was trying to remember what his shrink had told him, the tips for dealing with his own panic.

But watching Steve fall apart, well. It was hard for Billy to keep it together.

He sat with Steve, holding his hands until he opened his eyes, until he was breathing without Billy reminding him to do it.

“Steve. Sugar. Talk to me.”

Steve was still slumped over, still had his head in Billy’s lap.

He turned to bury his face in Billy’s thigh.

“Sometimes I feel like the world is crushing me. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Can you explain that to me? You said everything was your fault.”

“Like, like Barb. She, it was my fault she died, and my fault the kids almost got hurt in the tunnels, and my fault that Dustin and Robin and Erica got stuck in the lab, and, and, and I’m so bad at taking care of you. I can’t do anything right.”

Billy could feel his tears, wet patches soaking through his sweatpants.

“You do a lot of stuff right!”

“Keith told me he was gonna fire Robin today, because I messed up again.”

“Fuck Keith. No way that creep has firing power. And maybe you should talk to Robin. Or go to your boss about him. He just likes going on a power trip with you.

“And as for, well everything, Pretty Boy, none of that was your fault. Barb was killed by, by a monster-”

“At my house, at my party, in my pool.”

“Still not your fault.”

“I thought she had left, you know? I didn’t know she was out there.”

“That just proves my point! You didn’t know she was out there, you didn’t know what was going to happen. That whole event , it had nothing to do with you. And the kids like, fully kidnapped you to bring you to the tunnels. If anything, that’s my fault for, you know. Doing what I did.”

Billy took a deep breath.

“I know a lot about guilt. I know how it feels like you’re just, you’re drowning. And you’re never gonna get to the surface, but that, that stuff. People make their own choices. You can’t control what other people do, you can just control what you do. And you, you do nothing but good. You just love, and you love, and you love. You always do what you think is best, and that’s what matters.”

“I feel bad all that time. Like, like right now I feel bad because, because of course you feel guilty, and I’m saying shit that doesn’t matter, and my problems they don’t-”

“Don’t you dare say your problems don't matter.” Billy was tangling his fingers through Steve’s hair, playing with it gently. “Your problems matter . They matter to me. It hurts me that you're struggling. It hurts me that I didn’t notice.”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.”

“You say that like it’s so easy. You take my guilt and you ease it. And that’s what I want for you.” Steve wasn’t crying anymore, but he was still curled up on the couch, still had his face pressed against Billy’s leg.

“I don’t know how. I’ve been so thoroughly crushed under all this that I’m scared of what happens if I claw through it all.”

“Maybe you won’t feel like shit all the time.”

“Feeling like shit is the easy part. It’s predictable.”

“I know. It’s safe .”

“Yeah. What do people even think about if they aren’t thinking about all the problems of the people closest to them and finding ways to blame themselves?” Billy laughed at that. Steve could feel his belly moving next to him.

It was a nice moment.

“I don’t know. That’s what movies and books are for. When you’ve got shit else to think about because you’re not trapped under a mountain of guilt.”

“Probably why I’ve read so few books, then.”

“We need to start watching more movies.”

“We need to talk about Steve.”

“Hi, Robin. It’s great to see you. How’s your day?” Robin rolled her eyes. She was leaned over the counter at Family Video, flicking through a magazine.

“He had a break down last night.”

“Finally. He’s been hanging on by a thread for weeks,”

“Yeah, try years.” She looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“He like, unloaded fully. He still blames himself for the girl that got killed in his backyard.”

“Wait, he thinks that’s his fault?”

“Yeah, and the kids in the tunnels, and also you and Dustin and Erica being brought into the whole mess. And also that he’s bad at taking care of me? Which, don’t know how he got that one. He does a really fucking good job taking care of me.”

“Jesus. He’s like, stressed.”

“To put it lightly.”

“So, what’s up? Where do I come in?”

“I’m planning an evening. A We Love Steve Harrington party.”

“I can be snack duty.” He smiled at her, clapping her on the shoulder. “It just us?”

“Yeah. I figured to leave the kids out of this one.”

“Good choice.”

“Be over at seven.” She nodded once, giving him a two-finger salute.

Steve was curled up, Billy spooned up behind him when there was a knock on the door.

“Go get that, will you? I’m all stiff.” Steve turned around, looking at Billy all concerned. “Go on. I’m okay.”

Billy had to shove him away before he finally went to answer the door.

“Oh, Robin, uh, hey.” She pushed one of her shopping bags into his arms.

“I was invited for an evening of bolstering you up.”

Billy came lumbering in, throwing himself down on the couch.

“I, don’t get it.”

“Robin’s here because you need some lovin’.” Steve’s bottom lip wobbled.

“That’s really nice.”

“You deserve it.” Billy was looking at him seriously.

Steve tucked himself into Billy’s side, Robin shoving herself next to him on the little couch.

Billy had pulled out all his lumpy blankets, and they had already torn into a box of cookies.

Steve was all warm.

Curled up in the blankets, watching The Aristocats.

“Thank you, guys. For this. It means a lot.”

“Can it, Dingus. Thomas O’Malley’s gonna sing.”

#sorry if this looks like shit on mobile #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #robin buckley #fav platonic soulmates #Dustin Henderson #harringrove fic #commissions #fic commissions

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pagingevilspawn · 4 years ago

Text

Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3.

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck.

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries.

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

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subarublue · 4 years ago

Text

Sparda Family Bonding Time Series - Part 1

Series Description: It’s family bonding time! Sparda family style! A series of short stories revolving around platonic familial relationships between the members of the DMC crew. Warning: Lots of fluff and bonding ahead.

One Shot

Title: Kindred Spirits

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Timeline: Post DMC5

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4153

Read on Ao3

Summary: Losing a brother is hard, even if you don’t always get along. Which is why Dante is ever grateful for this second chance with his...because he knows someone who’ll never get another chance with hers.

Notes: Mostly just some platonic comfort and family fluff between Dante and Kyrie with a splash of Vergil, Nero, and Nico.

It was inevitable, really.

They’d been back from the underworld for almost a month now, but they were still adjusting back to normal life. They’d been down there for so long, after all; constantly fighting for their lives and sparring each other in between. It wasn’t easy getting back into the normal swing of things. Well, normal for Dante, anyway. Vergil’s definition of normal was a whole other story.

So it really wasn’t surprising that a fight (a real one and not a sparring match) had finally broken out between them. Honestly, Dante was surprised it had taken this long to happen. Then again, he had been trying not to start one, not that he could say much for Vergil’s effort, if there had even been any. He didn’t quite know for sure. Talking wasn’t exactly Vergil’s strong suit; of course Dante wasn’t much better in that regard, either.

He wasn’t even sure what had started it. It probably didn’t matter; whatever it was had likely been trivial. This had been brewing ever since they got back (probably before so, even) and one wrong thing was bound to set them off, eventually.

Because things always ended up like this between him and Vergil. Yeah, sure they were capable of getting along for long periods of time, but somehow, no matter how good things were going, it always ended up in a fight eventually. That was just how it had always been, ever since they were kids. It was just unfortunate that this time it happened at Nero’s place.

Luckily, it was late so the boys were all in bed, sound asleep. At least, Dante hoped they were. They were making quite a ruckus outside and this was not something kids needed to see. Nico and Nero were watching on the sidelines and the latter was trying his best to not resort to yelling at his father and uncle, which would make even more noise. Dante was certain it wouldn’t be long before his nephew dove into put a stop to their brawl.

Except that Nero never got the chance.

Vergil had just given Dante his usual spiel of “Die!” which Dante was sure was only said in anger and he didn’t actually mean it (probably) when a distinctly feminine voice pierced the air with a ferocity he had never before heard from the young woman.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

It was like time had stopped for everyone, including Vergil and Dante who both froze in mid-strike. Everyone turned to look at the petite woman standing on the steps of the porch. Dante wasn’t sure when they had gained another audience, but he now knew that in addition to Nero and Nico, Kyrie was bearing witness to the traditional Sparda way of ‘discussing your problems.’

Apparently though, she was far less than content with the way their family handled their issues. Her hands were fisted in her skirt with a white-knuckled grip and the look on her face was one of absolute fury; an expression Dante had never thought the innocent girl was capable of. When he saw her angry tears beginning to fall, he felt panic well up inside him, though he tamped it down as best he could. He was never good at dealing with crying women. Not that he would have to worry about that. Nero would take care of her.

“If you two want to kill each other, then go do it somewhere else! I’m not going to stand around here and watch you two make the biggest mistake you’ll ever regret. This is our home and I WON’T STAND FOR THIS!”

No one dared to say a word. By now Dante and even Vergil had lowered their swords and while the latter appeared mostly stoic as always, there was the barest hint of shame in his expression. Dante’s expression was more akin to a scolded child. Even Nero and Nico were taken aback, though Nico recovered more quickly. She snickered a bit, but seemed to realize that was a big mistake and tried to stifle it, though the glare Kyrie shot her told everyone she hadn’t been successful.

“Um, Kyrie?” Nero addressed her tentatively in an effort to distract her. This was new territory even for him. They’d had disagreements before of course, but nothing that had ever brought out this kind of anger in her.

She leveled her heated look at Nero, and he stiffened in response until she looked back at the battered duo on their lawn. He didn’t get another word in.

“I won’t repeat myself. Either put those away and get cleaned up or leave! I’ll not have two grown men who are supposed to be brothers trying to kill each other at my house.” Her voice had calmed now, but only because it was devoid of emotion; as if she didn’t have the energy to feel any more. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back into the house, slamming the porch door behind her causing everyone except Vergil to flinch at the sudden noise.

The silence that followed in her departure was tense. Nero slowly turned to glare at his father and uncle with a look that rivaled his girlfriend’s from just moments ago.

“You two finished, then?” he said through gritted teeth. Dante could tell Nero was trying to rein in his temper.

“Yes.” Everyone was surprised when Vergil spoke first, but Dante was more so by his answer. He’d been certain Vergil was going to drag him off to finish their fight elsewhere. Instead, his brother sheathed Yamato without any complaint. That was definitely a change.

Huh. Guess he really is trying… But his thought didn’t get far before being interrupted.

“Dante?” Nero’s voice still held that angry tone, obviously waiting for a confirmation from his uncle, as well. Dante almost felt like a little kid again, being reprimanded for not paying attention.

“Yeah. No complaints from me.” He dismissed his sword as well to hopefully further appease his nephew.

“Soooo, uh, that was new. Didn’t know she had in it her, ya know?” Nico spoke up then, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Nero turned his glare on her, but it only lasted a second before worry settled on his face and he turned to looked at the door his girlfriend had left through.

“No, it’s not like her at all. I mean, she always gets a little emotional around this time of year, but she’s never gone off on anyone like that before...” Nero trailed off, obviously confused as to exactly what had Kyrie so upset all of a sudden.

“What significance does this time of year hold for her?” Surprisingly, it was Vergil who spoke up out of curiosity this time.

Nero looked stunned at first that his father had even bothered asking, but the look on his face quickly turned into a sorrowful grimace. Whatever the significance was, it affected Nero too, Dante noted.

That’s when he remembered.

Of course. This was the same time of year that the Savior incident occurred. They’d both been kidnapped by that old codger and used for his own, personal world-domination plan. Kyrie had been the bait and Nero had fallen right into his trap. It had been a horrible situation for the both of them. He was lucky he’d been able to rescue them...or well, Nero anyway; his nephew did all the damsel in distress saving. Either way, it stood to reason that the whole event left lasting scars.

“Her brother, Credo...he died around this time.” Nero looked pained as he spoke; Credo had been a brother to him, too. “I had to watch him die, but Kyrie? She never even got to see him one last time or say goodbye.”

At the mention of Credo, Dante’s eyes widened in realization and he suddenly felt very stupid for not putting two and two together immediately. Of course she was upset with them. Kyrie would have probably given anything to have her own brother back and here he and Vergil were, trying to make pincushions out of each other with their second chance.

He remembered Credo’s death clearly in his mind: questioning the dying man for information. Information that he gave freely in hopes that it would put an end to Sanctus’s plans. The man using his last bit of strength to stand, to ask Dante for one final request: to save Nero and his little sister.

God, I never even told either of them about his last moments. Nero probably didn’t even know he was still alive after the Savior took him. I should have...

Movement from Nero drew his attention away from his own thoughts. It was clear, despite what he’d just told Vergil, that Nero was still in the dark about exactly why their fight had upset Kyrie so much, but he was already moving to go after her. Dante panicked before he could stop himself.

“Wait, kid!”

He almost cringed as Nero turned to regard him with an angry look. What had possessed him to stop his nephew? Nero knew his girlfriend better than anyone so the kid was the logical choice to go and comfort her. Hell, he could probably do it better than Dante and Vergil combined, though relatively speaking, the two of them combined was almost never a good thing. Not to mention they both were complete shit at comforting others.

“What? You got a problem? You’re half the reason she’s upset so unless you’re gonna go fix this, just shut your damn mouth.” It was clear Nero was still angry with them, and Dante didn’t blame him. He didn’t like his father and uncle fighting if his stopping their fight right before their little underworld vacation was anything to go by.

But now, Nero was turning back to go after Kyrie, not even bothering to wait for an answer.

I should just let him go. They’ve been together long enough, surely she’ll tell him what’s bothering her and he can comfort her way better than-

Nero was opening the back door now and Dante couldn’t stop the words that left his mouth.

“Let me talk to her.” He regretted them the second he said it.

Stupid. This was a stupid idea. He was no good with crying women. Why was he doing this? Why was he putting himself in a situation where he was probably just going to make matters worse?

Oh, who was he kidding? He knew very well why he was doing this:

Guilt.

Not only did he feel somewhat responsible for what happened to the both of them and Credo, he’d never even told them about the man’s dying wish for Dante to save them. And here he was, fighting with his own brother right in their backyard.

Nero couldn’t cover his shocked expression, not that Dante expected any different of a reaction. In fact, even Nico and Vergil had surprised looks on their faces. When no one made a move to say anything, too stunned into silence, Dante figured he’d have to explain.

“Look, I think I understand what’s really bothering her, so...just let me talk to her. If I make it worse, you can step in and fix it.”

“If you make it worse, I’ll do more than just bitch-slap you this time.” Nero crossed his arms and leveled Dante with a glare to show he meant business.

“Deal.” He nodded to Nero as he passed him to head through the door. He really hoped he didn’t screw this up; for Kyrie’s sake...and his own.

It didn’t take him long to find her; she hadn’t gone far. She was sitting on a swinging bench on the front porch as he stepped out the door. When he heard her quiet weeping, he felt the panic rise up in him again.

Why? Why’d he volunteer for this again? He wasn’t any good at this whole comfort thing. Where was he even supposed to start?

Sorry’s usually a good place. He sighed. Yeah, right. What the hell was he supposed to say sorry for?

Sorry my brother and I not-quite killed each other and bled all over your lawn? Sorry your brother’s dead and mine’s not? Sorry it looks like we’re wasting the second chance we have when you deserve it a hell of a lot more?

God, he was terrible at this…and he hadn’t even said anything, yet.

He heard her try to stifle a sob, apparently now aware that she had company. He swallowed hard. He was not prepared for this at all.

Guess it’s time to do what I do best: wing it.

He took a seat at the opposite end from her. He watched her stiffen when his weight shifted the swing of the bench, slightly. Still unsure on how to start, he looked straight ahead, only glancing over at her every now and then as she tried to quiet her tears. He was half-hoping she’d say something first, though it soon became evident that would not be the case. He was just stalling because he was afraid; more so of upsetting her further than of Nero’s wrath.

He caught her out of the corner of his eye, chancing a glance in his direction to see who was currently sitting with her. He heard her choke back another sob, though whether it was from realizing it was him or some other reason, he didn’t know. It still solidified his thoughts that this was bad idea, but he was already here and Nero was expecting him to fix this. Besides, she deserved to know about her brother’s last moments. It was the least he could do. If he made things worse, he’d just have to let Nero beat the crap out of him. Maybe that would make her feel better, though he doubted it. This was Kyrie, after all. She’d never wish harm on anyone.

He cleared his throat finally, trying to gather up some courage. He knew he couldn’t stall forever.

“I’m no good at shit like this, so you’ll have to bear with me a bit.” Probably not the best start, so he paused to give her a chance to tell him to leave in case she didn’t want to talk to him. When she finally spoke, she didn’t tell him to leave, but she didn’t bother to turn and face him, either.

“It’s very rude to have fights at other people’s houses, you know?” There was a tinge of anger to her voice still. “Especially when you should be happy to have each other back.”

There it was. There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice. She really did think they were taking advantage of this second chance they had. So he’d been right, after all. Now, what to do about it?

Well, set her straight, of course....hopefully.

“I know it doesn’t look like we’re thankful to have each other back, but that’s not the case. Well, for me anyway. I can’t really speak for Vergil, but...he seems to be trying, I guess.”

“Is that how you show it? By trying to kill each other?” He could still hear her sniffle now and then, but her anger was overriding her crying for the moment. He sighed again.

“I ain’t gonna get into why we do things the way we do. We’d be here all night. What I can tell you is no matter how serious it looked, we weren’t gonna kill each other. Maybe a long time ago that might’ve been the case, but not anymore. Things are different now.”

“Because of Nero.” The anger was gone from her voice now, but it was replaced with an emotion he didn’t really think he could deal with well: sorrow.

“Yeah.” The silence following his admission was terribly uncomfortable. She was back to crying quietly again and he decided he should go with what his first instinct had been: apologize. Though he had far more to apologize for than just the brawl in her backyard.

“I’m sorry for what happened back then.”

“Just don’t fight here. I know Nero hates it.”

So do you. He didn’t say it out loud, though. Instead, he opted to correct her assumption. “I wasn’t apologizing for that, though I am sorry for that, too.”

He saw her in his peripheral vision; she slowly turned to face him. He was really glad he wasn’t looking directly at her. He could tell her face was tear-stained and it would have probably shot down any confidence he had to say what he needed to next.

“What are you apologizing for, then?” Her voice was strained from all the crying, but the confusion was still evident.

“For what happened to your brother.”

Her gasp was so quiet he would have missed it if he didn’t have exceptional hearing and he glanced at her briefly. Her eyes were wide and her hands covered her mouth in shock, obviously not having expected his answer. He swallowed thickly.

No backing out now, he thought. “I guess you could say I know what it feels like to lose a brother, too. I thought Vergil was dead for a long time. Even before that, I lost him to his own desire for power. We never really got along very well, but…it still hurt.”

“What happened that made you think he was dead”? Her shock had died down as she’d listened to him, now voicing an obvious question he should have anticipated.

A pained look crossed his face at the memory. She just didn’t know what can of worms she was trying to open. That was something he might tell them someday (or maybe Vergil would, if he really remembered it), but for now it was better left unsaid. They were getting off topic, anyway. Fortunately, she’d seen the look on his face at her question and understood it was a subject he didn’t want to get into.

“Sorry. I should have known better than to ask that thoughtlessly. It still hurts to talk about how Credo died, too.”

They were getting back to the reason he originally came out here in the first place and he was never one to pass up an opportunity, so he took it.

“You probably didn’t know it, but I was there…when he died, you know?”

“Yes, I know. Nero told me. He said you were there to catch him when he fell,” she said it like it should have been obvious and he knew she didn’t understand what he meant.

“No. Nero only told you what he knew.” She looked at him as he spoke and he turned slightly to face her more directly. Surely if he could face demons on a daily basis, he could face this. “He was still alive after Nero was taken by the Savior.” There was a long stretch of silence as she realized what this meant.

“But…Nero said he was probably dead when he fell from the Savior. He said that Sanctus…with Yamato…” She faltered, unable to talk about how her brother had died at the hands of someone he had respected and served. She was crying again now, and it took all his resolve not to look away again.

“Well, he wasn’t.” He met her eyes. He could barely catch the small glimmer of hope in them through her tears. She hadn’t had a body to bury and he suddenly realized that all she’d ever really wanted was a bit of closure, since she’d been practically comatose through the whole thing.

“I talked to him, before…you know.” He refrained from mentioning the man’s death again to try and avoid more of her tears. He turned away again, finding he couldn’t handle the look on her face. “He told me what the old man’s plans were. I guess that was his way of trying to right any wrongs he’d done in his last moments.”

“He was always very noble and selfless. He really thought what they were doing was for the better of the world.” She seemed to have gotten her crying under control somewhat as she reminisced about her brother, but her tone was still heavy with sadness. “And he was never one to be afraid of accepting responsibility for his own actions. I’m glad in his last moments that he wasn’t alone…and he was thinking of redemption.”

“Those weren’t his last thoughts, though.” He braved another glance at her before looking away again to stare at nothing in particular.

“W-what do you mean?” She seemed confused, as if she couldn’t think of anything else that might have mattered to Credo in his last moments.

“What do you think it means? He was pretty stubborn. Even as he sat there bleeding out, he forced himself to his feet so he could meet me face to face and ask me to honor his one last request-” Dante turned back to look at her fully this time “-to save you and Nero.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly before the waterworks started up again and he felt more panic welling up in him. Great. He made her cry more. God, this is exactly what he was afraid of.

“At the end…h-he was thinking of us?”

She was staring at her hands in her lap as more silent tears fell from her eyes. She wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular; just thinking out loud, but he countered her question, anyway.

“Did you really expect any different?” Her tearful gaze met his and he willed himself not to look away. “You said it yourself: he was pretty noble and selfless. Seems very much like him to be worried about the two people he cared about most rather than his own fate.”

He’d hoped that would be of some comfort to her and stop her crying, but he jerked when she suddenly let out a rather loud sob and lunged forward, gripping the lapels of his coat as she practically fell into his chest and started weeping. He swallowed nervously, half-expecting Nero to come out the front door ready to knock him around a bit, but no one disturbed them and he settled for awkwardly patting her on the back as she cried her heart out.

They sat like that for a while; long enough that awkwardness dissipated for him somewhat. He eventually opted to rest one arm around her back in a gentle half-embrace, which seemed to do far more at comforting her than anything else. Eventually, she stopped crying and he hoped that was good enough.

“Dante?”

He looked down at her as she pulled away from him and the panic came back full force when he noticed there were still tears running down her cheeks. There was something different about it this time, though. This wasn’t the sorrowful weeping from moments ago. Instead, the silent tears were a stark contrast to the gentle smile on her face.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Thank you.” She said before attempting to dry her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

He let out a short huff of relief. It seemed he wouldn’t get the crap beat out of him for the second time tonight. At least he could say that Vergil hadn’t faired too well, either. More so, he was just happy he could give her that little bit of closure that was long overdue.

“I’m sorry I never said anything before. Nero told me once he was the only family you had left and I guess I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m not real great at dealing with cryin’ women,” he admitted. That prompted a quiet laugh from her as he stood up from the bench and offered her a hand up, which she accepted graciously.

“I can understand that.” She gave him a knowing smile. “He was wrong, though.”

“Huh?” Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Nero. He was wrong. Credo wasn’t my only family left.” The smile on her face held a bit of a teasing look to it. His confusion bled into his expression as she took one of his hands in both of hers. “I have a new one now, in all of you.”

Tears started forming in her eyes again at the admission, while his widened in surprise this time. Her expression was anything but sad though, and Dante now recognized these tears for what they were: tears of happiness. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he pulled her into a gentle hug.

“It’s a bit late and maybe Nero hasn’t made it official quite yet, but...welcome to the family, Kyrie.”

“Thank you, Dante.”

When he pulled away, her smile was brighter than ever, despite the tears, and he thought that…maybe not all crying was so bad.

Part 1 of this series • Part 2 →

#devil may cry fanfiction #dmc #dmc dante #dmc kyrie #my writing #devil may cry #suby scrawls

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mellow-em · 4 years ago

Text

Bedlam (Sam Drake)

PROLOGUE: ALL GONE

The life she had built in only a year had disintegrated, and she was set on her stubborn mindset of finding her purpose away from Jackson.

I DO NOT OWN ANY TLOU OR UNCHARTED CHARACTERS! ALL RIGHTS GO TO NAUGHTY DOG!

(This is a tlou x uncharted crossover. It’s set in tlou universe, but its a fic between an oc of mine, and Sam! I’m not sure how this is gonna turn out so please bear with me)

Chapter 1

_________________________________

Jackson, Wyoming

______________________

His face was illegible beyond compare, signifying my speculations were true. My recollection of the previous year had felt feverish now, as if I couldn’t graze my fingers on the memories we held between each of us.

“You’re fucking lying.”

Denial.

He lowers his head, only showing the textured black hair, that glistened with flecks of grey and white. His shameful stature made my fists clench beside me. If I didn’t know any better, I would collide them with his face; a face that held floods of imperfections already.

The pitiful man that stood before me couldn’t even relay a word out into the open. He remained mute, and shook his head at the ground.

I hadn’t realised my breath was held at my throat, creating a hoarse sensation that began choking me. I was drowning in the searing atmosphere around the both of us, as it was anything but tranquil.

Regardless of my state of pure vexation though, I took it upon myself to suck in a breath of dry air, only to release it in a huff. I mirror his actions as well, bowing my head to take in the details of my shoes.

We had found these a few months back, along with some for Ellie. Her harsh aura had been flipped as soon as I presented her with the idea that we would have matching pairs of sneakers. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was done at a time of hope.

This version of hope so happened to be revived ten times greater than before, when we finally reached our goal given to us a year prior. But now, I finally realize that it was false hope.

With my reclaimed memories flooding back, a final statement replayed in my mind: If the fate of Ellie and I had looked like this before, I would have turned my back on the journey immediately.

“After everything we’ve done,” I felt the salt-tasting droplets of tears fall from my eyes, and down my reddened cheeks as I looked up at the selfish bastard I thought I knew, “after everything Ellie’s gone through, she-” I quickly lowered my head again, suffocating from my own words.

I sat myself down on the steps of his home. It had become habitual for me to reside at his place ever since we made it back to Jackson. Sitting on his porch, with a plate of food in our laps as we talked endlessly began to give me a form of peace after our horrific adventures across the country.

Now, it felt like I was stuck in a sustained deception of what I thought was a simmering hush from reality.

With my head in my hands I let out a soft stifle of a cry, as I sat there in complete disbelief.

Then my heartbeat fastened, and my rapid movements from my anxieties stopped as I realised something.

“Ellie doesn’t know… does she?” my voice was delicate, but it still held every sparing trace of anger sternly.

The silence continued to speak the answers for him, giving my hunch an even bigger victory. I truly didn’t want to believe this.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” I groaned in agony as I stumble off the steps, feeling the sheer pain overwhelming me.

I clutched my chest as I felt it ring itself out, creating a boulder of tension within my entire body. I stood in the middle of his lawn, hyperventilating from the truth bearing its sharp daggers deep into my frame. The world around me was spiraling out of control, causing my balance to falter slightly.

This resulted in him rushing to my aid, but we damn well knew I didn’t want it. As soon as his hand grazed my arm, I swatted it away harshly, and twisted my body to face his worrisome one.

The developing resentment I had for him was far from dwindled, staying true within my eyes as I bored my stare into his. As I looked into his hazel ones, I could see each memory through them; the good and bad.

Floods pricked at my waterline again as I stared him down. Keeping myself contained from lashing out was becoming harder with each passing minute.

That was when one final memory was displayed through his dilated pupils.

The words replayed within my head.

“Swear to the both of us that everything you said about the fireflies is true.”

“I swear.”

Actuality set in again as I felt his hands gently caress my shoulders. The touch created fumes of heat that set themselves off completely, and my exasperation manipulated my system. I hadn’t realized I had my hands clenched in tight fists again until one finally met his face. Maybe I didn’t know any better.

He stumbled back slightly, his hand jerking its way to hold his pained cheek. He now had a wave of anger across his features, with his hardened attitude spiraling as much as mine.

Only my excuse wasn’t as far fetched as his must have been.

I tried to keep a firm stance, even with the overwhelming feeling of unconsciousness threatening the adrenaline and I.

I still kept my fists clenched at my sides, with my knuckles fading into a white color,“You’re fucking selfish, and I hope you fucking know that.”

He mimicked my demeanor, as he stepped over to me. The closer he got, his frame began to tower over me. Though if his plan was to intimidate, he should know by now that it doesn’t work on me anymore.

“I did what I needed, to save you both.” His venomous, southern tone reverberated down to me, while his words contradicted it.

“Save us? “I laughed sarcastically, with a malicious hue coating me. I began to pace back and forth in front of him as I spoke, “Is that what were calling mass murder of the innocent these days? I suppose that goes for lying and manipulation too?”

“Kate-”

“Joel.”

His name drenched my mouth in poison.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, from what seemed to be frustration, while I wiped my tear-stained face aggressively.

He brings his hand to his face once more, stroking his unkempt beard while looking away. I held my gaze on him however, draining every last second I needed to be around him for.

An uneasy feeling began to settle within the pit of my stomach; I knew exactly what it was about.

I couldn’t bear to stay here any longer. This truth made the relationship I had with him, and life in Jackson unsalvageable. There was something pulling on my arm, however.

It was the thought of abandoning Ellie, knowing damn well I couldn’t do such a thing to her without letting her know. It would haunt me.

But, I wasn’t going to sit here while people were perishing by the second. I wasn't going to pretend life could feel normal again, regardless of my urge to live in such a fantasy. It may be something I wanted, but not something I needed.

I knew for a fact that Ellie would feel the same if she knew the truth, but for once, I wanted the kid to live in this unrealistic version of tranquility; she needed to try an experience of what her teenage years could be like, even if it’s fucked up to extremes.

It wasn’t long before my contemplative thoughts were put to rest as Joel’s voice rang in my ear. I sigh, transferring my focus onto him. I knew what needed to be done.

“Kate, listen I-”

“Ellie,” I gulp down the saliva building up in my mouth, “I need you to take care of her.”

His face was glistening with confusion now.

“And tell Tommy and Maria I said thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Kate what the hell are you on abo-”

“I’m leaving,” I direct my eyes to the mountains beyond the borders of Jackson, crossing my arms in front of me, “I should be gone long before sunrise, so.”

I glance at Joel without moving my head, and see his face noticeably falling as the words fell from my lips. Silence tore a hole within us for a short time, only for Joel to be the first to speak.

“Do I need to remind you what is out there?”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, Joel, I can take care of myself just fine.”

I begin to walk past him fixing my attention to gathering my shit, and getting the hell out of here. Though, Joel’s hand firmly grabs at my wrist, halting my attentiveness to the steps of the house ahead of me.

I yank my arm back to its rightful place at my side, shooting him a final look.

“Goodbye, Miller. Don’t come looking for me.”

I then walk myself into the house, deserting the former smuggler out in his front yard.

____________________

The life within the town had lessened to the hidden infestations of crickets that were scattered throughout, and the sounds of my converse crunching the textured, dirt paths of Jackson.

There was a slight alteration to the electrical systems around here, leaving the barbed wire on one section of the fence to loose its function; along with sneaking past guards, it was the perfect getaway without getting noticed.

Before even reaching a few yards towards the fence, I remember something. I still had one last thing I needed to do before returning to the life away from here.

I exhale a large puff of air in frustration, and turn back towards the direction I had come from. I reach into my jacket pocket, just to be sure I had what I needed.

My hands held a letter, along with a worn out, yet surprising functional cassette. As I ventured down the roads, the written prompts from the letter replay.

Ellie,

I wanted to give you a proper goodbye, but it just wasn’t possible.

I’m sure you’ll be wondering where I have run off to, and why I won’t be in bed when you go to rudely wake me up by jumping on me.

I’m leaving Jackson. I have some personal things that have been eating at me, and I need to sort them out myself. I told Joel to watch over you, and make sure you live as much as possible.

I’m not just talking about breathing. I need you to live your life up in Jackson as much as you can.

You deserve more happiness than anyone on this earth, Els.

And speaking of, I know you loved the song I sang to you at the bonfire the first night we were here. I found this a long time ago even before I met you and Joel. Consider it a very early birthday gift from me.

I love you kiddo.

-Kit

I felt something wet trickling down my face, only for me to abruptly swipe them off my scar-stained complexion.

I soon made it back to square one, making sure I remained quiet so both Ellie and Joel continued to sleep. If it were other situations, I wouldn’t mind too much. But I couldn’t face either of them any longer, as cowardice as it is.

I twist the doorknob to Ellie’s place, begging for it to be unlocked. Luck was my side, with the handle gently twisting with my hand.

With a few swift motions, I sneak myself in, silently closing the door with delicacy so Ellie wouldn’t wake up.

Her room was just coming together from it’s appearance; her worn furniture had been disarray across the wooden floors, along with several new articles of clothing scattered throughout the room.

My eyes wandered to the posters plastered across the walls, that I assume were freshly hung up. It was beginning to look like the small garage was home to Ellie, making my anxieties for her adjustments here less of an issue than before.

My attention finally directed itself to her frail stature, cuddled in a bed much larger than her. If it was possible, she could get lost in a bed like that due to her small frame.

She had a quilted blanket lazily draped over her, and a wide range of pillows supporting her head. She had been facing away from me, but I knew she was sleeping with her mouth open, as I could here the loud sounds of her breathing.

I smiled, wishing I was able to stifle a laugh without releasing her from her slumber. She had always been one to leave her mouth hanging open as she slept. The result was constant bantering between me poking fun, and her becoming defensive.

Our relationship had developed so well over time, and it had begun to feel like she was my daughter. My other half.

My smile immediately dropped as I dragged myself back into reality, and the reason why I was even here in the first place. I needed to do this, for myself and for her. I shook my head from its thoughts, and started for the direction of Ellie.

I made sure to walk to her bedside table as quietly as my frantic self could, hoping I didn’t disrupt her sound sleep. With each step closer to her, I held my breath, hesitant to even do this at this point.

As soon as I make it to her, I took in the features grazed upon her round head; her large cheeks sat with a shade of pink coating them, along with her freckles overriding her paler skin. Her eyes were closed gently, with her brows flatlined.

She was so peaceful when she slept.

I took out the letter and cassette from my pockets, gracefully placing them both on the table without a trace of a blare.

I held my fingertips on the letter, as if I were glued to the rustic piece of paper. I was hesitating again, so it was time for a push.

I released my hand from it, and turned to Ellie. Before I could even think, I leaned towards her, and kissed her temple weakly, and backed away.

As I had done before I went to the door with as little sound following me as possible, and twisted the knob of the entryway.

The door was open now, blowing the soft, night winds onto my face as if it were patches of silk.

As a final goodbye, I mentally threw a farewell into the open, as I gazed at my surrogate daughter one final time. Before I could shed a singular tear, I rushed out of there as fast as I could, releasing the tension-building breath I had forgot to unleash before.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled, with my voice becoming fragile as I spoke two final words in Jackson.

It was time to walk away.

As I venture back towards the fence as stealthily as I could, another set of Joel’s wise words skipped on a countless loop in my thoughts.

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

I needed to search for my own answers, whatever they were.

This was, and still is something to fight for.

I’m sorry.

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Five

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

It was supposed to be simple. Clear out Weston Water Treatment. Start a new settlement at Oberland Station. Backhand wrinkled her nose. Partially in irritation, and partially to ward off the foul smell of super mutant.

“If I'd known the place was infested I wouldn't have agreed to this shit.” She grumbled to the paladin in power armor beside her. “Rob could have been a little more generous with his count, I feel.”

Danse chuckled, “Don't try to act tough, Knight Vega. You're still here, right? It's only a couple of super mutants.”

“A couple, he says.”

A bullet whizzed over her head, interrupting the easy back and forth between the two of them. Danse gritted his teeth and readied his laser rifle. “For the Brotherhood!”

They easily picked off five mutants and two hounds, and Backhand pumped her fist in victory when a sixth mutant fell to Righteous Authority . However, then she heard something that sent her into a panic. Her whole upper body jutted heedlessly out from behind cover, stealth mods deactivated from her motion while she searched frantically for the source of the beeping. “Wait, Paladin wait! ” She yelled, grabbing hold of his arm as he thundered by and barely missing getting her fingers crushed in his elbow joint. His momentum dragged her along with him and she hurriedly dug her boots into the dirt. “There's a fucking-!”

Danse’s huge gauntlet clamped onto one of the many straps on her combat armor and without so much as a look out , he hurled her up over the road and into the deep pond beside the treatment plant. The super mutant suicider screamed in triumph, “ Die, metal man! ”

Backhand landed in the pond with an undignified splash, brown water pouring into her nose and mouth as she sank like a rock to the bottom. The following explosion sent shockwaves through the water and Backhand struggled to hold her breath.

Danse, oh God Danse, please be alright!

She finally broke the surface, eyes stinging from the acrid water. “Paladin Danse!” She coughed, hauling herself back up the banking. Smoking chunks of super mutant were scattered everywhere , green flesh burned brown and black. The suit of power armor was toppled over on its front. “ Danse! ” Backhand almost fell in her haste to get to the paladin, skidding to her knees beside the power armor.

Her Geiger counter started to click loudly.

“Shit, Paladin, c'mon! You've dealt with worse than this, you got cooked by a fucking rocket! Don't do this to me!” She pleaded, fighting with the manual release on the back of the suit. The fusion core was shattered, otherwise she could have just half-twisted the handle and popped him out easy. Backhand was stuck doing this the hard way. “Fucking answer me Paladin, please! ”

“That's not...soldier-appropriate language, Knight.” A choked cough came from the half-crushed helmet. “Can you get the back open? I can't really...it's very heavy in this thing.” He rose onto his knees with one hand propping him up, leaving Backhand more than a little impressed. “A Brotherhood soldier's conditioning requirements are somewhat rigorous, Knight. Now please. The back.” Despite his reassurances he sounded strained.

Backhand tore the plate metal over her knuckles on the rivets around the manual release wheel in her haste to get it undone, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally swung the back plate up out of the way. Danse pulled his head out of his helmet, got to his feet, and promptly collapsed.

Backhand swore again, rolling him over. It seemed like his armor had taken the brunt of the impact but he got rattled around inside it like an old world pinball. She'd griped about the lack of padding in their undersuits the very first time she’d seen them, ‘ stupid military branches, always cutting corners. ’

“Paladin, you still with me?” Backhand Vega, shittiest knight the Brotherhood has to offer. “Why the fuck are all your jumpsuits dark orange and brown , I can't tell whether you're bleeding or not!” She yelled in frustration, mostly to herself. At least that suicider had been the last of the mutants to deal with. “Alright, okay. You're out. Oberland it is.” She sighed when he didn't reply, slinging Righteous Authority across her chest and heaving Danse onto her back. Thank God for all that conditioning work so she'd been able to move her own armor frame back in the day. She may be in shape but Danse was by no means a small man.

Getting over the damn hill to Oberland left Backhand almost spent. Half-carrying, half-dragging him up the station stairs at the end was torment, her calves screaming bloody murder. She dropped him on the bed and left her supply satchel on the ground, rummaging through it for her Stims. Some Rad-X probably wouldn't hurt either, it had been a mini-nuke that exploded next to him.

“Knight Vega...” Danse mumbled blearily a few minutes after she inserted the Stim needle into one of the ports in his jumpsuit, the paladin obviously coming back around.

Backhand couldn’t stop the way she snapped at him. Now that the terror for her companion had faded somewhat, she was left feeling exhausted and irritated. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have been obliterated by that asshole!”

“Where are we?” Danse muttered instead, trying to sit up.

“Oberland. Lay the hell back down, stupid idiots don’t get to sit up.” She pushed his shoulder and Danse’s back hit the mattress with a wheeze of rusty springs. “Don’t move.” She growled, using one of her shoelaces to hang the bag of Rad-X from the rafters and then hitching the end of the tubing to the needle still in his arm. Danse grunted, the dazed look on his face making Backhand extremely nervous. “Paladin, stay conscious.” She waved her fingers in front of his eyes and Danse jerked to attention. “Stay with me.”

“I am, Knight Vega.” He retorted while his eyes drifted shut. “Right here.”

“Ah ah, no napping.” She tapped his cheek and his eyes rolled open again. “Stay with me, Danse.” Backhand repeated, a little softer this time.

“I am , Knight Vega.” Danse murmured. “Endured worse than this, remember?”

“Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry.”

Danse closed his eyes just enough to squint at her. “About me? You’re the one with no power armor. I’m supposed to be managing you , Vega.”

…

“Yeah, frickin’ bang-up job there ked.” Backhand retorted. “Coulda’ lost a hand in your elbow joint when you whipped past me like a bat outta’ hell.”

Danse noted with a faint flash of amusement that apparently her accent thickened when she was wound up. “My hearing is not in peak condition. Specifically, telling where the sound is coming from can be an issue in my helmet. Proctor Ingram can only tweak it so much.”

“That would have been good to know beforehand, Paladin.” Backhand said icily, her motions sharp and angry as she shed her combat armor breastplate. Her gauntlets followed suit, discarded in a pile on the floor. She was soaked to the skin, Danse noticed hazily.

His head was pounding again, vision slowly becoming more and more unfocused. “Tell me about what it was like, Knight. Before the…before the war.” Danse slurred, trying his hardest to change the subject and stay awake.

Backhand bit her lip, pulling the bedroll up a little higher until it was underneath Danse’s chin. He wasn’t sure whether she intended to simply ignore his question.

“It was green.” She said softly, putting his wondering to rest. “There was always someone in your business. People were on top of each other most of the time. I mean, I was in the military so cramped quarters were normal for me, but for civilians…it was pretty hellish. In the mornings once we’d had breakfast, I would take Shaun outside to the front lawn and he would roll around on his little blanket. The neighbors were walking their dogs or mowing the lawn or something, we would all make small talk about the weather.” Backhand stopped talking and sighed heavily, tapping at the bag of Rad-X to keep it flowing.

“What is it, Knight?” Danse hated the cold sweat that always broke out when he took Rad-X, but right now it was a necessary evil.

“I think a lot of folks were a little intimidated by me.” She theorized. “I mean I was a young veteran, and pretty quickly became a single mother. Unheard of. For a while after I moved in I still had the eyepatch from my discharge incident, then a pair of super dark sunglasses, which definitely didn’t defang my appearance.” Her smile was melancholy and she brought her fingers up to her eye, tapping the area beneath it.

The silence stretched on. Danse knew he needed to be patient. It’s not as if he could go anywhere, and it was fascinating to hear about pre-war from someone who had actually been there.

“I told the neighborhood kids that I was a pirate and showed them all how to make newspaper boats and hats so they could be pirates too.” Backhand smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I modified one of my old MLCE packs so I could carry Shaun around the cul-de-sac with me when I jogged. Didn’t have the money for one of those baby carriers or even for a stroller after the divorce, so the pack had to do. He would put his little head down on my chest and sleep. Wasn’t bothered by all the motion or anything, just like his mommy.”

Her pain was still clearly raw, even after however much time had passed. Danse didn’t know what to do, so he wiggled a heavy arm free of the sleeping bag and rested his hand on her own. She squeezed it back wordlessly, her jaw working.

When she spoke again, she sounded more steady. “I can’t say that it was bad . The environment was safe and quiet. Everyone in Sanctuary Hills looked out for one another. Even if it was more motivated by curiosity and nosiness than an actual desire to help.” Backhand mused dryly. “The milkman couldn’t leave an extra bottle on your doorstep without six other people knowing. So exactly like the military.”

“Sounds similar to the Prydwen.” Danse remarked, sick to his stomach a second after he said it. How many people must know about Maxson and I? He realized, swallowing hard to fight the sudden rush of nausea. He hadn’t thought about it at all, more than content with the illusion of privacy one usually maintained in the Brotherhood. The most obvious evidence of their dalliances was the busted mouth Danse always seemed to end up with, and those instances happened far too often for everyone to write it off as Danse just being clumsy or careless when he shaved.

I bumped it. He grimaced as he recalled his weak explanation back on the Prydwen, the way Backhand had narrowed her eyes at him.

Besides, he knew that he’d worn his excuses thin at this point. Trying to explain away the teeth marks Arthur left on his upper arm that one time was more than enough of a chore. He had looked like he’d been savaged by a feral, so at least he could understand the concern to an extent.

“Hey, you alright? All the color just dropped out of your face.” Backhand noticed, her brows drawn in worry.

Danse nodded, fixing his attention on the guttering lantern beside the bed instead of the wrinkles on her forehead. “Tell me more?” He asked eventually.

“I miss the convenience of food. Even with the shortages, there used to be a grocery store on practically every corner.” She sounded wistful. “Shaun hadn’t really started solid foods yet, he was only just beginning to leave the twenty-four-seven nursing program. Not a minute too soon, the little bugger would suck me dry.”

“You breastfed your child? Isn’t that-” Danse stopped himself, feeling uncomfortable. Normally breastfeeding was considered incredibly dangerous, for the baby and the parent. But before, when the radiation wasn’t so prevalent…things must have been different. “It’s none of my business, I suppose.”

“No no, I get it. I know that nowadays trying to raise a child is tough enough without the added dangers of the irradiated environment. It was simpler back then. Could just unbutton your shirt and go to town, instead of having to unbelt all your armor and find a safe spot so that Junior can get lunch in.” Backhand grinned.

Danse flushed a little at her frank speech, sternly telling himself not to dwell on the idea of her with an infant on her knee like some housewife from the pre-war mags. He had no recollection of his own parents, or siblings if he had them. Familial musing was not familiar territory, but it never failed to leave him with a sad ache in his throat. The same ache that assaulted him when he thought of Cutler-

Backhand hissed in pain and Danse snapped out of his slide into melancholy, watching with horror while she peeled off her other glove. “Shit, I didn’t even feel that.” She grimaced, spreading her fingers. The sheet metal on her gloves was ripped through in some areas, and it had apparently taken a few healthy chunks out of her knuckles and the backs of her hands. Blood dribbled over her palm and Danse felt… odd .

“Knight Vega, what happened?” Danse asked in confusion.

“I was in such a hellfire hurry to get you out of your gear and the fusion core in your suit was busted. I uh...I don’t really know.” Backhand admitted. “I went panic mode and muscled the manual release as fast as I could, basically.”

“The manual…” Danse trailed off as she wiped some dried blood away with the hem of her undershirt. “You need to bind that. Your knuckles-”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” She flapped a bloodied hand at him. “I’ve had worse.”

“It’s irrelevant whether you’ve had worse, the fact of the matter is that right now, you’re the one who needs to protect us.” Danse shot back, a little annoyed with her carelessness. “Who knows what could be lurking out there? Everything in the neighborhood must have heard the suicider explosion.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry, I’ll…you think a Stim would put this back together? Or should I save those for later?” She asked hesitantly.

“Did you take any Stims from the Prydwen?”

“No, I didn't want to take any resources from you guys.” Backhand shuffled through her pack, carefully counting out everything that she had. “I only have three Stims left. Wasn't expecting this detour.”

Danse cursed under his breath, pushing to sit up by propping his back against the wall. The Stim that she had given him was doing its job, of course, but it would be several hours before he was fit for duty again. Anything could happen in that time. “Come here.” He ordered, disliking the sideways look she gave him. “Let me see your hands.”

“H-Hey, I'll probably be fine. It's no biggie.” She protested, putting her left hand into his own all the same and then wincing. Danse, his brain jerkily reminding him that he was probably being a little too rough, nearly dropped her hand when he tried to casually loosen his grip. Alright, maybe he did spend more time than necessary in his armor. The truth of the matter is that Danse felt like a raw nerve without the comforting weight of plate metal on his body, exposed and too… soft .

“I'll wrap this.” He decided aloud after several moments of careful manipulation to make sure her fingers weren't broken. Danse flipped open the small pouch by his hip, tugging out a tiny roll of bandaging and a nonstick gauze to dress her knuckles. “What? A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared.” He huffed when he noticed Backhand staring at him.

“I gotta' get one of those.” She said, gesturing at the pouch. “Is that included in the suit? Or do they come separate from the requisitions officer?”

“I can put in a supply order for you, if you'd really like one. It has...look, there's loops here. You could hitch it to your combat armor.” Danse loosened the bag and showed her the plethora of MOLLE straps on the back, chuckling a little when she made a clumsy attempt to snatch it out of his hands. “Mm, nice try. I've been around Haylen and Rhys. You've got nothing on either of them when it comes to pilfering my supplies, Vega.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She grinned ruefully. “I really ought to be nice to you. After all, you saved me from pretty certain death.”

“I did?” Danse thought back momentarily and then remembered gauntlet slamming shut on the strap, whichever strap, doesn’t matter, shoulder-ribs, just be enough to hold her weight --He felt his face go hot recalling the unwarranted contact between them. “It was a…reaction. Sometimes I think I move too quickly for my mind to keep up.”

“Lucky for me, I guess! Maybe the Sarge's bandanna is rubbing off on you.” Backhand got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She had peeled her Vault suit down and tied the sleeves around her hips again, the fabric pulled tight from her motions.

Danse forced his eyes elsewhere, the sweat on his forehead having nothing to do with the Rad-X. What the hell is the matter with you? He scolded himself. Since when do you ogle women like this?

“Do you think we should stay here tonight, and try to get to your armor tomorrow?” Backhand asked.

“We have to. I’m not leaving it there indefinitely.” Danse cringed as he thought of the state his armor would be in. “I would like to go after it tonight, but I am…not in peak condition.” God , that stung to say. Whether he liked it or not, it was the truth.

“ Hell no, not tonight. I’d rather let you sleep off the Stim and Rad-X, have you in fighting shape bright and early tomorrow morning.” Backhand gave him a look that was actually fond and the ache mounted up in his throat once more. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Put your armor on!” Danse barked as she moved to the door, his voice harsher than he had intended. “You--I-I mean, you need to be prepared, Knight.” He tried to play it off, tried to relax his posture a little. He had nearly stood, shaky fingers crushing the rotted windowsill to try and support his weight.

She waved her bandaged hand at him, as if to say hush , but still buckled her chest plating back on. Danse knew her moments of insubordination should have been worrisome. Had he gotten too complacent, too used to the less stringent requirements of fieldwork?

He did let Rhys and Haylen slide. He just couldn’t stand the two of them dancing around each other anymore, it was maddening. Rhys talked a great game, he always had, but Danse would have to be blind not to notice the knight’s care for their scribe. It wasn't technically against regs, of course, but Danse knew if anything he ought to put his foot down. As their senior ranking officer, if the relationship went south between them he would be dragged into it. It was hard to justify it though, when he saw the two of them all curled up with one another.

Better that they enjoy themselves now. Life could be so incredibly short.

…

“Hey, what’s your deal with the muties?” Backhand asked curiously. He had gotten a boatload of pre-war nonsense out of her, she figured she had earned at least one question. “You lose one of your own to them or something?”

Danse made eye contact and Backhand’s breath caught in her throat. He looked positively worn, fragile , like all the life had gone out of his body. With an expression like that , she expected a great (if sad) story. All she got was a soft “ Yes ,” spoken in a voice thick with emotion.

When it became apparent that that was the end of it, Backhand cleared her throat and readjusted the dingy pipe pistol in her hands. She proceeded to methodically count her bullets, trying not to make him feel like she was waiting for the rest. The experience left her shaken. She had thought Danse to be the typical soldier, but it was obvious now that there was much more to him than that. He clearly cared deeply for the wellbeing and safety of each member of his team, possibly too much for him to escape unscathed. He was one of those , she realized, practically a kindred spirit to her dearly departed senior officer Sergeant Cathan. Courageous, firm, the shelter in the storm. A true embodiment of everything a soldier should strive to be.

“ I could not feasibly promise anything…it was not within my power to promise. ”

She noticed Danse pull the bedroll up around his shoulders as if he was cold. There was a sharp wind that blew through the old station on top of the hill, but Backhand, New Englander to the end, barely felt it. She leaned on the worn bannister of the stairs, her eyes squinted against the darkness as the stars brightened overhead.

There was more rustling from behind her and she assumed that Danse was doing his best to make himself comfortable on the old mattress, his frame a bit… large for the task. Backhand snuck a peek and was relieved to see him curled up in her bedroll, his back to the wall and eyes closed.

She hoped that Paladin Brandis made it to the Prydwen safe and sound (and that her armor was still in one piece). She may have hoped a little harder that Brandis was already giving Maxson a run for his money. The idea of Maxson being thrown off his game made her snicker quietly to herself.

Her good humor faded all too quickly when she recalled that there was nothing keeping them out here and away from the Prydwen once they finished cleaning up Weston. If something shifty was going on between Danse and Maxson, it wouldn’t be long before they were back in the thick of it. She cast another glance at the large man after she heard him mumble something, watching him shift around in the sleeping bag. There was an odd vulnerability to him when he slept, which she remembered all too well from their time in the police station.

The wan sunlight hadn’t woken him as she scribbled her note, but he stirred when she placed the paper down on the floor beside his head. His bedroll was bunched uncomfortably at his elbows and she took a selfish moment to kiss his forehead and then tug the fabric up around his shoulders. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned with herself. He had hummed in his sleep and snuggled down into the warm embrace of the bedroll. It made it incredibly difficult to leave, even with the two Mister Handy units cheerily patrolling the courtyard. If something happened…

Well, it didn’t really bear thinking about. Backhand had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time she and Danse would meet.

…

Backhand woke him for his watch shift at almost exactly two hundred hours. She looked fatigued and Danse ignored the protest of bruises on his body in favor of more quickly freeing up the mattress. “Got it warmed up for you.” He yawned, chuckling when she poked him in the ribs.

“I bet you did, you big furnace.” She teased, her eyelids already drooping. “Nothing to report, sir. All’s been quiet.”

“Carry on, Knight.” Danse saluted out of habit, scooping her combat armor up off the floor and beginning to adjust it to fit his own body. Once he was in some semblance of protective equipment, he snuffed the lantern on the bedside table and took his place at the window. He borrowed Righteous Authority from her, seeing as his rifle was back with his power armor. Probably lying on the ground, covered in super mutant gore. Danse frowned unhappily.

His night vision had always been impeccable, with or without his helmet. Danse scanned the landscape for threats, glad that they at least had the high ground. If anything tried to attack, he would know well before they arrived.

The Commonwealth was almost peaceful at night. Once all the raiders had bedded down with one another and the ferals had retreated to their holes, a tenuous calm reigned that was usually only broken by clans of ambitious super mutants or radscorpions.

Danse rested his weight gingerly on the wall, afraid that it may not be able to support him in its decrepit state. Thankfully it held fast and he relaxed after a moment. His pulse was still quick enough for him to be slightly anxious. It was a normal leftover from using a Stim, but he disliked the feeling; epinephrine and adrenal-sour in his mouth while his heart slammed a tattoo on his ribs.

Danse fought the desire to shake himself, certain that Backhand wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by the percussion of poor-fitting combat armor. Though she had mentioned that her son could sleep through anything, “ just like his mommy .” He imagined being on the front lines, getting your meager rest wherever you could and going for weeks without seeing a real bed would probably do that to a person. Lord knew he had a hard time readjusting to the quiet safety of the Prydwen after clocking lengthy stints of fieldwork or skirmishes with the Enclave.

He had dreamed of Cutler again. Danse exhaled slowly through his nose, fighting the tremble of his hands. Mercifully the dream had faded well before Backhand woke him. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to being shaken awake while still in the grasp of his memories. He shook his head, propping the barrel of Righteous Authority up on the windowsill. He couldn’t go on like this, haunted by the echoes of a man who had ceased to be. True, they had a bond. A bond which Danse had naively believed was unbreakable. But when Cutler had gone missing…

Danse was no stranger to horrifying experiences. Centaurs, super mutants and ferals plagued his nightmares, nightmares which inevitably led to an enormous super mutant hive in the Capital Wasteland...

Part Six

#fallout 4 #fallout four #paladin danse #paladin danse x sole survivor #paladin danse/sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #fallout #bethesda #video games #BOS #brotherhood of steel #canon-typical violence

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

another part of my kid fic universe for @zuluoscarecho ❤️️

warning: mentions of past abuse and deportation

“I spy with my little eye something... brown.”

"Um... Alex's hair?"

"No! His hair is black!"

"Definitely brown.

"Let's say both," Alex chimed in, smiling easily as he listened to Michael and Isaac play their billionth round of I Spy as they made their way to Texas to pick up Isaac's things from his Tía Ellie’s house.

It took a bit more negotiating that expected. Turns out, she’d never directly witnessed Isaac actively using his telekinesis, but she’d been getting suspicious that there was something off about him. She loved him, she’d said, but she was no longer comfortable housing him. She’d been getting in contact with a social worker and Isaac had overheard which led to him hunting down Michael in hopes he’d be a safe place to go. Alex had to take over the phone call at that point.

“Okay, okay,” Michael agreed, humming as he looked around for something brown. His hand was locked with Alex’s, resting on the center console of Alex’s truck. Alex gave his hand a soft squeeze. “My hair?”

Isaac erupted into unprecedented giggles, “Not everything is hair!”

“Well, shit, I don’t know what else comes in brown, dude, the tree trunks?” Michael asked, smile getting wider by the second.

Isaac had only been staying with them for a week so far, but he got comfortable fast. They’d set up his room and he would be starting school that following Monday, so it was clear he had no reason to not get comfortable. Besides, he and Michael had little telekinesis lessons and that seemed to help a lot at making him feel safe there. Alex made sure to add a little more to that safety by working on making sure Daniella had a constant, trustworthy line of communication to talk to Isaac every day. So far it’d been a little rocky, but he was working the little bit of magic he could manage.

He was determined to be a good father figure.

“No,” Isaac said.

“Okay, I give up, what is it?” Michael said.

“My hair.”

Michael laughed and turned in his seat to face him, looking some where in between impressed and baffled.

“You totally tried to throw me off course.”

“Duh.”

“You hear that, Alex? We’ve got a fuckin’ trickster in our backseat,” Michael said, huffing a laugh as he settled back into his seat, “He’s gonna outsmart us all.”

“Wouldn’t shock me,” Alex agreed, pulling his hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. His heart felt so full in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. Michael leaned over and kissed his cheek for extra measure.

“Me neither,” he agreed, looking back to Isaac when he pulled away, “How’d you do in school, by the way? Forgot to ask.”

“Good,” Isaac said, shrugging, “As and Bs.”

“Trying or not trying?” Michael clarified. There was a few seconds of silence and Alex could picture the distinct, guilty grin on his face that mirrored his father’s. “Well, I always say if they know you’re better than them without even trying then you’re doing something right.”

“Okay, no, that’s a horrible lesson,” Alex butted in. Michael scoffed in disagreement as Isaac just let out a soft laugh.

Isaac hadn’t really struggled to understand the fact that two men could be together (another thing they had to thank Daniella for) but it had been an adjustment for all of them and they had a conversation about the barest definition of Michael’s sexuality to nip any complicated questions in the bud. That had been preceeded by a talk with Danielle herself who said ‘that would explain a lot, good for you’.

In times of banter, though, he happily sided with whoever he felt could make the situation funnier.

“Yeah, Mr. Michael, bad lesson.”

“This whole teaming up against me thing is not gonna fly. You both seem to forget I could throw everything with my brain,” Michael said, more pouty than serious and only getting more laughter from the boy in the back seat, “And stop calling me mister, it makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” Alex told him. Michael stuck his tongue out at him, but didn’t argue. They hadn’t quite had the whole alien conversation yet. That felt like more a month milestone or something.

The rest of the drive to Texas went like that, conversation and jokes and listening to music. It took about three songs to realize that Daniella seemed to have only one flaw in raising Isaac and it was his lack of music taste. Alex put on Panic! to educate him.

Around the two and a half hour mark, Isaac had passed out against the window and Michael was laying over the center console to put his head on Alex’s shoulder. It was quiet and peaceful and so damn domestic that Alex could almost imagine they were taking a family trip to Disney World.

“I love you,” Michael whispered for no reason, fueling his little fantasy even more.

"I love you too.”

They arrived outside Ellie’s house around 1PM. The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it was nice enough. Lawns were manicured, kids were playing outside, people were walking their dogs. The fact that Daniella had been successful enough to have a house in a neighborhood like that and still got deported was a quick reality check Alex didn’t enjoy.

“Wake up, bud,” Michael said, reaching into the backseat to gently shake Isaac awake. It took him a minute but he rubbed his eyes and slowly came back to life.

They all climbed out of the truck and walked towards the front door. It opened before they could even knock, a small, white, blonde lady on the other side. By looks alone, it was difficult to tell how old she was--she could’ve been 23 or she could’ve been 45.

“Ellie?” Alex clarified.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, eyes landing on Isaac as he hid behind Michael, “Hey, Isaac. You scared me running off like that. I’m glad you’re okay.”

His small hands clutched Michael’s, hanging off him slightly. Michael didn’t seem to mind.

“We’re just here to grab his things or anything you managed to keep from Daniella’s house. We’ll keep it until she’s able to come back,” Alex said. Considering Michael had personal reasons for disliking this woman, it seemed best that Alex took over.

“Right. Everything I could save is in the guest room,” Ellie explained, moving out of the way to let them in, “Could I get you guys coffee? Water? Anything?”

“We’re okay, thank you,” Alex said.

She led them to the small room that Isaac had slept in when he was there, nearly every square inch of the room covered in things. Most of it was small trinkets and personal items and Alex considered that maybe he should’ve asked if he needed more boxes.

“I’ll go get you some newspaper to wrap some of it up,” Ellie said, quickly walking out of view.

“I... I was not expecting this,” Alex said carefully, looking around the room before looking to Isaac. He was still clinging onto Michael, looking either scared or embarrassed or both. Alex managed a warm smile. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Just surprised, ‘s all.”

Slowly, they began making trips to the truck. Alex had a few boxes and they filled them with newspaper-wrapped trinkets and mugs, handling them all with care. Then they got to the other stuff like his clothes, some of Daniella’s clothes, multiple sheet sets, curtains, a quilt Daniella made from his baby clothes. Then they got his books, toys, etc. It was just a lot. It had the entire backseat full and the trunk not too far off. It took three hours.

“You sure you don’t want anything? I can make lunch,” Ellie suggested. Alex politely declined.

“We’ll pick up something on the way home. Thank you, though, for taking care of him for so long,” Alex said. She nodded, but grabbed his arm to keep him in place after Michael and Isaac said their goodbyes and headed to the truck. “Is something wrong?”

“Be careful with him,” she said, voice hushed even though they weren’t in ear shot, “There’s something off about that boy. Daniella hid it well, but once you have him in your house... Things start happening.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Alex said, again trying his best to be polite. She knew enough, they didn’t need her discovering more.

“Just be careful,” she said sincerely, “I tried bringing him to church but--”

“Thank you for watching him, but we’re good now,” Alex cut her off, not really wanting to hear more. He knew she hadn’t done what Michael’s religious foster family had, but how much longer until she had? That was just something he could keep to himself.

Alex made his way back to the truck where Michael and Isaac were already waiting for him, both silent and probably for two entirely different reasons. So, Alex suggested food.

They ate in silence as well as they started their drive back to Roswell. Isaac looked drained which was probably his main reason for silence, but Michael looked out of it.

By the time they started driving through long stretches of empty desert, Isaac was sound asleep in the backseat. It was when the sun started going down, though, that Michael couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“You okay?” Alex asked softly, squeezing his hand as he heard his breathing slowly begin to escalate. He looked over at him and saw that his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were drawn taut, everything showing that he was trying to not cry mixed with his breathing becoming more and more erratic. A quick look in the backseat proved that Isaac was still asleep.

So Alex pulled over into the desert.

He got out of the driver’s seat and went over to the passenger side, all but pulling Michael out of the truck. He broke down as Alex pressed him into the door, trying to hold his face and get him to calm down.

“Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Alex asked softly, hands on his cheeks. He hated seeing him like this, yet loved that he was being so open with his feelings. It was a strange juxtaposition.

“After the house he grew up in was foreclosed, but before they had people go in and clean it out, he’d break in to get his and his mom’s things. They wouldn’t let him go in and get his shit after they took his mother, Alex. He had to break in,” Michael admitted, choking on a sob as he recounted it and meeting Alex’s forehead with his own. Alex frowned and that secondhand sadness seeped into his veins. “He shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“No, he shouldn’t have,” Alex agreed softly, weaving his fingers into his hair, “That’s fucked.”

“I feel so guilty,” Michael admitted, “I-I should’ve known about him. I should’ve been easier to reach, should’ve been the first person they called when they needed somewhere for him to stay.”

“How could you? Daniella didn’t tell you,” Alex assured him, “Which, honestly, was probably good for both of you. He didn’t need to get to know you when you were at your lowest.”

Michael sniffled, seeming torn on whether he could agree or not. Alex just continued to do his best at soothing him.

“But it doesn’t matter. We can’t change what happened. He found you, that’s all that matters.”

“God, I can’t... He was so close to ending up like me,” he said, clutching Alex’s shoulders, “I don’t want him going through that shit.”

“And he won’t, okay?” Alex promised, “He’s got us and we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Never let any of that happen,” Michael insisted, “He’s gonna have a good life.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s already got a ton of people who love him and want him,” Alex assured him, “We just need to make sure he knows that.” Michael sniffled and nodded his head. “You’re wanted too, by the way.”

Michael huffed a laugh, “It’s not about me.”

“Kinda is,” Alex said, “And that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared of what might happen to someone else and want better for them. That gives you a drive to be better for yourself.”

Michael breathed steadily a few times and Alex carefully dried his face, grounding each other easily. Alex moved just enough to kiss his forehead and Michael relaxed a little more.

“Sorry,” he said once he calmed down. Alex shook his head.

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay to cry and be sad,” he whispered, “It’s okay to be scared.”

Michael managed a smile and he whispered, “Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “But I still like hearing it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They met in the middle for a soft kiss that led to another that led to another before they slowly stopped. As easy as it would be to let it turn into something else, the truck was still running and they had a sleeping 10 year old in the backseat.

“You’re gonna be a great dad, Michael.”

“So are you,” he said, his hands sliding up to his neck before he pulled him into a hug, “You’re already great.”

They held each other for a moment before deciding it was okay to let go and climbing back into the truck. Michael leaned back over the center console to lay his head on Alex’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his bicep.

Alex really started planning that trip to Disney World.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #i never planned on you

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biillyhargroves · 5 years ago

Note

"Don’t you dare touch him!” + harringrove ???

take it out on me(fic requests open)

tw: depictions of child abuse & violence against minors. mildly graphic.disclaimer: this is one of the most intense fics I’ve written and I’m sorry.

Neil Hargrove is not supposed to be home.

Steve knows this. It is a Thursday night, and the Hargrove patriarch can only ever be found at Shanahan’s Pub on Thursday nights. He tucks in after punching the clock and remains there well past happy hour, well past last call. On some Thursday nights, Mr. Hargrove does not find his way home at all. He has been known, occasionally, to stay the night in the small gravel lot outside the bar and, more than once, been discovered there by Chief Hopper or one of the local patrolmen in the early hours of a Friday morning and been sent on his way. Susan Hargrove remains unfettered by her husband’s Thursday night disappearances. She enjoys the quiet, it seems. Sometimes, she works late; her husband cannot complain when he is not home to expect dinner, and she often orders pizza or an overwhelming amount of Chinese food to the house, or gives a couple of fives to her children, so that they do not go hungry in her absence. Steve has ridden shotgun on enough burger runs, has broken enough fortune cookies on enough Thursday nights to know that Neil Hargrove is never, ever home.

The house is always warm. Sometimes, El comes over, or Lucas sneaks in through Max’s window (a habit, he murmurs, when Billy reminds him that the front door is right there, shithead and that he doesn’t always have to break in like some criminal - “Look who’s talking,” Steve has teased, reminded of all the times that Billy has squeezed himself through second-story windows). The night is always quiet, Steve might even call them peaceful, when Neil Hargrove is not home.

And tonight, of course, is a Thursday night. Neil Hargrove is not supposed to be home, so it strikes Steve as rather odd that his battered old Ford is sitting in the driveway.

Steve wonders if perhaps the truck had broken down this morning. Maybe, after cursing at the damned piece of junk, Neil Hargrove had taken his wife’s car to work. Steve circles around the block once, twice, tries to see inside the yellow windows of the Hargrove house. He can see no shadows inside; no shapes besides the back of the couch, the living room lamp. Steve parks a few streets over, just to be safe.

Also to be safe, Steve creeps around the backyard. There is no light on in Billy’s bedroom, but there is in Max’s. Steve sees something- someone -dart inside the dimly lit room. He hears a door slam. Max jumps, almost screams, when Steve taps on her window. He apologizes her she even opens it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

“Shh!” Max hisses. Steve can hear yelling deeper inside the house. There are two voices, both of them male, one of them Billy’s. Steve cannot make out what he is saying but he doesn’t like the pitch of it, the tone of it, the way the words sound raw at their edges. “What are you doing here?” Max whispers.

“I-” Steve starts, and he lowers his voice when she glares at him- not in angry way, Steve notices. She looks scared. “It’s Thursday,” he says plainly.

Max only considers this for a fraction of a second before she says, “You need to go.”

Behind her closed door, there is a loud bang! and a subsequent thud! that makes them both jump. The walls shake. There is another shout- something between a grunt and a yelp -followed by a loud, angry bellowing sound. “You need to go,” Max says again, and her voice shakes like the walls. She starts to push Steve outside, but he grips the windowsill. She starts to close the pane but he grabs onto her wrist.

“Wait,” he says, and when she keeps trying to shove him away he says, “No, no, no. Hey, come on. What the hell is going on?”

“Steve, just go,” Max says desperately.

“No,” Steve says firmly. “No, I’m not just gonna walk away.”

“Steve,” Max says.

“No,” Steve repeats. “How bad is it?” he asks. “It sounds bad.”

“Steve, you have to go,” Max begs. But Steve has made up his mind. He pushes away from the window and instead of closing it like she’d wanted to, like she’d so desperately been trying to, Max leans her head outside. “Steve!” she calls, still trying to stay quiet. He is crossing the lawn, rounding the corner. “You’ll make it worse!” she says, but she doesn’t think he can hear her. Her step-father, though, could. He calls her name.

“Maxine!” he shouts. “What the fuck is going on in there?”

Without thinking, Max scrambles out the window. She is running around the house, following Steve’s path, by the time Neil Hargrove gets her bedroom door open. She hears him scream her name again and her heart jumps up into her throat. She thinks she might throw it right up, that all of her insides might come spilling out, and she swallows them all back down when she catches up with Steve.

“Steve, stop it,” Max pleads. He swings around and grabs her shoulders and she freezes. Steve hates the fear in her eyes, hates that he’s the one causing it- right now, at least, in this moment.

“Go to the Byers’,” he tells her.

“Steve,” Max says. Her voice is small, so very childlike, and for a moment Steve realizes that he has forgotten how young she actually is. She looks younger still with her eyes that wide, with tears in them, with her bottom lip quivering.

“Go to the Byers and call Hopper,” Steve says. “Make sure it’s him. Can you do that?”

“I-” Max starts, “Steve-” And then, in an instant, her face hardens. “Okay,” she says.

“Is your mom home?” Steve asks.

“She’s…” she starts. “No. No, she’s out of town.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Go.”

“You really should’ve gone home,” Max says.

Steve says nothing to this. Instead, he tells her, “Go. Mrs. Byers will help.” When Steve lets go of Max, she lingers for a moment. She stares at Steve with a look he can’t quite place. It’s not disappointment, but perhaps uncertainty. Disbelief, maybe. And, Steve thinks, even the tiniest spark of hope. She looks to the house and, when they hear Neil Hargrove shout again, she takes off down the street.

Steve opens the front door. He sees a shadow slip against the hallway wall, big and tall and monstrous. He hears Neil Hargrove growl, “Where’d she go?” he is demanding. “Is she covering for you, you God damned piece of shit? Where the fuck did she go?”

“Billy?” Steve calls, and this makes the yelling stop.

There is a momentary silence, so quick it seems like an illusion. Steve is frozen in the open doorway. His heart is hammering; he can hear it in his ears, can feel his own pulse throb through every vein. He can taste bile at the back of his throat and prays to whatever deity might deign to listen that it stays put. The shadow grows against the wall again, and it is followed by the thumping footsteps. Steve sees Neil Hargrove’s boots first, scuffed up and dirty, and then he sees his fists with their red knuckles. His face looks less like a man and more like a monster, like something out of the horror movies Max always made them watch. His eyes are hard and his glare feels like daggers drilling right through Steve’s head. He snarls, and Steve half-expects some animal growl to come out of him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Neil demands.

“Where’s Billy?” Steve counters. He looks behind Neil, but he cannot see anything in the dark hallway. Steve takes a step into the foyer. “Billy?” he calls again. “Billy?!” He doesn’t realize how far he’s moved into the house until Neil Hargrove is butting the stubby tips of his fingers against Steve’s chest. Steve stalls. He stops searching for Billy and looks at those knife-edge eyes.

“Get out of here, son,” Neil Hargrove says, voice low and downright sinister. Each syllable sends its own chill snaking down Steve’s spine. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out- not a word, not a squeak, not a scream. “Go on,” Neil Hargrove tells him.

But Steve doesn’t go.

Neil Hargrove hangs his head. A breathes a heavy sigh and then, turning slightly toward the hallway, he shouts, “Billy! You want to come out here and tell me who this asshole is?” There is no answer. Steve tries to listen, tries to catch even a small rasp of Billy’s breathing, but his ears are ringing and he can’t hear anything else. Neil looks to him again, a kind of sideways glance, and Steve feels another tremor shudder through him. “I’ll call the cops if you don’t get out,” Neil warns, but instead of finding a phone he shouts over his shoulder, “Billy! You get your ass out here!”

This time, there is movement; a small shuffling, a shifting of shadows. Steve watches Billy emerge from them. He presses one hand against the wall for support and his other warm is wrapped protectively around his middle. One eye is puffy and swollen, and Steve thinks he’s watching it swell right shut. Billy’s lip is bleeding - or perhaps it’s coming from his mouth, because his teeth look bloody when he opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what?” Neil asks, almost teasing. Billy glares at him. “You don’t look at me like that. I didn’t tell this kid to break into my house, now did I? He did that of his own volition.”

Billy looks down. Steve has never seen him so sheepish; so frightened. He looks to the door, still open to the black night outside. He thinks about Max. Would she be at the Byers’ yet? How fast could she run?

“Billy,” Neil Hargrove says in a sickly sing-song voice that makes Steve’s blood curdle. Steve snaps his head back toward Billy, who is just-barely holding himself up, his hair hanging over his face as he looks to his father. Neil’s voice is low and dangerous when he says, “You want to tell me who this is?”

“Some asshole,” Billy bites out.

“Some asshole,” Neil repeats. “Now, that might be the first right thing you’ve said all night.” He turns his attention to Steve. He tilts his head, considers him, and then he asks, “Now what are you doing barging into my house and calling after my son?” he asks. “Were you creeping around here?” he asks. “Looking for my boy?” he demands. “Were you in my daughter’s window, too?” he presses. Each question is punctuated with a shove; it is not harsh, just a jab of Neil’s fingers against Steve’s chest, and he advances with each strike. Steve steps backward, backward, backward until his heel almost slips off the lip between the door and the front stoop. Steve grabs the door jam to stop himself from falling, breaking eye contact only briefly to glance outside. When he looks back, when he finds Billy over Neil’s shoulder, Billy’s is glaring at him. Why are you here? his eyes say. Why is your stupid ass even here?

“It’s Thursday,” Steve murmurs, even though Billy had not asked.

“What was that?” Neil asks. Steve looks at him. He tastes the bile again; he doesn’t think he can hold it down. “It’s Thursday?” Neil asks. “Is this some kind of routine for you?” This time, when he shoves Steve, it is harsh. Steve loses his balances. He is thrust outside, tumbling ass over teakettle down the front steps and onto the walkway. His teeth catch his lip when he tries to curl his head away from the cement and now he tastes blood, too.

“Don’t!” he hears Billy yell, though he sounds about a million miles away. Neil Hargrove is looming over Steve, a great big shadow blocking out the moon and the stars and the soft yellow glow of the streetlamps. He hears footsteps, stumbling ones, and suddenly Neil is torn away. “Don’t you dare!” Billy snaps. “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Steve lifts himself up in time to see Billy one land one good punch before Neil throws him away- literally throws him, like a rag doll, and Billy lands with a crash that shakes the whole damn floor. Neil rounds on him; he rises, towers over his son, raises his fists.

“No!” Steve screams. He forces himself to his feet. He is shaky, and he bumps into the door on his way through it. He throws himself at Neil. He, too, is easily flung away.

“What the fuck is this?” Neil demands. He is rounding on Billy once more. Steve staggers to his feet, reaches for Neil, grabs fistfuls of the man’s black jacket. Neil twists around, his cracked knuckles scraping Steve’s cheek, his jaw, and when he can’t Steve off of him he slams Steve against the wall. Steve loses his grip. He falls to his knees. The shadow over him grabs the front of his shirt and hoists him up. “Who the fuck are you?” Neil Hargrove growls.

“Get off of him,” Billy snarls. He is on shaky feet, too, and Steve wishes he could just stay down. This isn’t Billy’s fight anymore, Steve things. He thinks about Max, about how she’d have to have called by now. He thinks that Chief Hopper must be on his way, he has to be, it’s been long enough. He looks at Billy, wants to plead with him: just stay down. it’ll be over soon. stay down. But Billy doesn’t. He beats his fists against his father’s back, pleading, “Get away from him!”

Again, Billy is thrown off. This time, when he lands, he doesn’t move. Steve’s heart jumps up, but he cannot move. Neil Hargrove still has him pinned to the wall. He glares, hard, at Steve.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” he says slowly. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”

Steve does not answer. He can hear car tires in down the street, the distance wail of sirens. He waits. Waits, waits, waits in silence until he hears the tires screech around the corner of Cherry Lane. Red and blue light washes over the dark street outside and the moment Steve sees them, the moment the first rogue beam shines through the window, Steve smiles.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Neil Hargrove asks, and Steve laughs.

Behind them, Billy is slowly crawling to his hands and knees. He looks confused. He watches the door, watches Chief Hopper’s beige car slide up to the curb. Neil Hargrove lets go of Steve and, without that strong grip wrinkling his shirt, Steve collapses to his knees. Billy looks at him. “What did you do?” he asks. Steve does not have a chance to answer. Chief Hopper is already taking long strides up the front law, is talking about a call about a disturbance at 4819 Cherry Lane. He is already peering inside, catching sight of the boys. There are cuffs in his hands and soon they are around Neil’s wrists.

Steve moves towards Billy, reaches for him, but Billy shrinks away.

“That was fucking stupid,” he spits.

“I had to do it,” Steve says. Again, he reaches for Billy, but this time Billy slaps him away.

“You shouldn’t have done anything,” Billy says, but the anger that is normally present in his voice, in his very being, isn’t there. He isn’t even looking at Steve. He is watching his father shout at the chief, is watching two uniformed officers tugging him away. Outside, the back door of Chief Hopper’s car swings open and Max emerges, Mrs. Byers following. Mrs. Byers stops at Hopper, who is saying something about waiting in the car. Max, though, practically runs into the house.

“Billy,” she says, and Billy’s eyes snap up to hers. Something close to a sob catches in her throat when she says his name again and throws her arms around his neck. She buries her head against him, mutters apologies that he does not answer. This time, when Steve reaches for Billy, Billy lets him touch his back- even lets him put an arm around his shoulders. Steve can feel Billy uncoiling beneath him. When Billy breathes out, Steve thinks the smallest cry comes out of him - disbelief and relief expelled in a single exhale. He leans forward and Steve moves to catch him, to secure between himself and Max.

“It’s okay,” Steve says. He will not say he’s sorry. He holds Billy, feels Billy’s free hand- the arm not wrapped around Max -close around his own waist. “It’s okay,” he says as Billy begins to cry.

#harringrove #harrigrove fic #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #max mayfield #steve harrington #welp. the deed is done.#wndasmaximoffs #answered #lex writes fics

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helly-watermelonsmellinfellon · 4 years ago

Text

Best lyrics on 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑘𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒.

the 1 -

“And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow.”

“We never painted by the numbers, baby, but we were making it count. You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.”

cardigan -

“And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.”

“I knew you tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy. I knew you. Leavin' like a father, running like water.”

“I knew I'd curse you for the longest time. Chasin' shadows in the grocery line. I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired, and you'd be standin' in my front porch light.”

the last great american dynasty -

“The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. There's only so far new money goes. They picked out a home and called it "Holiday House". Their parties were tasteful, if a little loud. The doctor had told him to settle down. It must have been her fault his heart gave out.”

“Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names, and blew through the money on the boys and the ballet. And losing on card game bets with Dalí.”

“They say she was seen on occasion, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea. And in a feud with her neighbor, she stole his dog and dyed it key lime green. Fifty years is a long time. Holiday House sat quietly on that beach. Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits. And then it was bought by me.”

“I had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

exile ft. Bon Iver -

“I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending. You're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out.”

“I can see you starin', honey. Like he's just your understudy. Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me. Second, third, and hundredth chances. Balancin' on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury.”

“I’m not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?”

“You didn't even hear me out. (You didn't even hear me out.) You never gave a warning sign. (I gave so many signs.)”

my tears ricochet -

“We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room. And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too.”

“I didn't have it in myself to go with grace. And you're the hero flying around saving face. And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. Look at how my tears ricochet.”

“We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean. Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring. You know I didn't want to have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene. You wear the same jewels that I gave you, as you bury me.”

“And you can aim for my heart, go for blood. But you would still miss me in your bones. And I still talk to you... (When I'm screaming at the sky!) And when you can't sleep at night... (You hear my stolen lullabies!)“

“You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears. And you're tossin’ out blame, drunk on this pain. Crossin’ out the good years.”

mirrorball -

“I'm a mirrorball. I can change everything about me to fit in. You are not like the regulars, the masquerade revelers. Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten.”

“And they called off the circus, burned the disco down. When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns, I'm still on that tightrope. I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me. And I'm still a believer, but I don't know why. I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try. I'm still on that trapeze. I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.”

seven -

“Please picture me in the trees. I hit my peak at seven feet in the swing over the creek. I was too scared to jump in. But I was high in the sky with Pennsylvania under me. Are there still beautiful things?”

“Sweet tea in the summer. Cross your heart, won't tell no other. And though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you. Your braids like a pattern, love you to the Moon and to Saturn. Passed down like folk songs. The love lasts so long.”

“And I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad and that must be why. And I think you should come live with me, and we can be pirates. Then you won't have to cry or hide in the closet.”

august -

“But I can see us lost in the memory, August slipped away into a moment in time. 'Cause it was never mine. And I can see us twisted in bed-sheets, August sipped away like a bottle of wine. 'Cause you were never mine.”

“Back when we were still changin' for the better. Wanting was enough. For me it was enough. To live for the hope of it all. Canceled plans just in case you'd call, and say, ‘Meet me behind the mall.’ So much for summer love and saying ‘us’, ‘cause you weren't mine to lose.”

“Remember when I pulled up and said, ‘Get in the car��? And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call? Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all.”

this is me trying -

“I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that. Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down.”

“They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential. And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that. I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here. Pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn't pour the whiskey.”

“At least I’m trying.”

illicit affairs -

“And that's the thing about illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings, and longing stares. It's born from just one single glance, but it dies and it dies and it dies! A million little times.”

“Take the words for what they are. A dwindling, mercurial high. A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.”

“And that's the thing about illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings, and stolen stares. They show their truth one single time, but they lie and they lie and they lie! A million little times.”

“And you wanna scream, ‘Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby". Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else. Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby". Look at this idiotic fool that you made me. You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else.’”

“‘And you know damn well, for you I would ruin myself a million little times.’”

invisible string -

“Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Bad was the Blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA. You ate at my favorite spot for dinner. Bold was the waitress on our three-year trip, getting lunch down by the lakes. She said I looked like an American singer.”

“A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar. Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

“Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart. Now I send their babies presents. Gold was the color of the leaves when I showed you around Centennial Park. Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven.”

mad woman -

“What did you think I'd say to that? Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? They strike to kill, and you know I will. What do you sing on your drive home? Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? Does she smile? Or does she mouth, ‘Fuck you forever’?”

“And there's nothing like a mad woman. What a shame she went mad. No one likes a mad woman. You made her like that. And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out, and you find something to wrap your noose around. And there's nothing like a mad woman.”

“Now I breathe flames each time I talk. My cannons all firin' at your yacht. They say ‘move on,’ but you know I won't. And women like hunting witches too. Doing your dirtiest work for you. It's obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.”

“Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy. What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry.”

“I'm taking my time, ‘cause you took everything from me. Watching you climb over people like me. The master of spin has a couple side flings. Good wives always know. She should be mad, should be scathing like me, but no one likes a mad woman.”

epiphany -

“Keep your helmet, keep your life, son. Just a flesh wound, here's your rifle. Crawling up the beaches now. ‘Sir, I think he's bleeding out!’ And some things you just can't speak about.”

“Something med school did not cover. Someone's daughter, someone's mother, holds your hand through plastic now. ‘Doc, I think she's crashing out!’ And some things you just can't speak about.”

“Only twenty minutes to sleep, but you dream of some epiphany. Just one single glimpse of relief, to make some sense of what you've seen.”

“With you I serve, with you I fall down. Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out.”

betty -

“You heard the rumors from Inez. You can't believe a word she says most times, but this time it was true. The worst thing that I ever did, was what I did to you.”

“But if I just showed up at your party, would you have me? Would you want me? Would you tell me to go fuck myself, or lead me to the garden? In the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing? I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything, but I know I miss you!”

“I was walking home on broken cobblestones, just thinking of you when she pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions. She said, ‘James, get in, let's drive.’ Those days turned into nights. Slept next to her, but I dreamt o’ you all summer long!”

“Yeah, I showed up at your party, will you have me? Will you love me? Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings? I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything, but I know I miss you! Standin’ in your cardigan! Kissin' in my car again! Stopped at a streetlight, you know I miss you!”

peace -

“But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade, ocean wave blues come. All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

“Your integrity makes me seem small. You paint dreamscapes on the wall. I talk shit with my friends, it's like I'm wasting your honor. And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences. Sit with you in the trenches. Give you my wild, give you a child. Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other. Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother. Is it enough? But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the West, I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best. But the rain is always gonna come if you're standin' with me.”

hoax -

“You know I left a part of me back in New York. You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars, from when they pulled me apart. You knew the password so I let you in the door. You knew you won so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars, from when they pulled me apart. But what you did was just as dark. Darling, this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart.”

“My only one. My kingdom come undone. My broken drum, you have beaten my heart. Don't want no other shade of blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do.”

#folklore #taylor swift #ts8 #music

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