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storiesbyrhi · 2 years ago

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Bones and All - Chapter 10: Counting Numbers

Eddie Munson/Reader Series Masterlist

Warnings: canon typical violence/gore, swearing, weird parental relationships, animal farming/slaughterhouse setting (1 scene only); psychiatric hospital setting (1 scene only); discussion of religion; suicidal ideation/thoughts; no beta; updated each chapter

Synopsis: A Bones and All AU. What do you hunger for?

Chapter Summary: You walk a lonely road. 2822 words.

Author's Note: We are diverging from the book/film, my friends, because we wanna have a little more Stranger Things in this AU before we rejoin the canon. Enjoy. Also, a reminder my work has no beta, and is often riddled with typos. Forgive me, pls.

The first night you spent without Eddie was in Frankfort. In the morning, you woke up in a playground cubby house miserable, then hitched your way to Indianapolis. Another two nights alone in the city had you desperately lonely. All the people with their happy little normal lives. Couples in restaurant windows. Families in the parks.

You walked the streets scared and resentful. Guilt for leaving Eddie was eating you alive, so to speak, and the regret felt like it would last forever. It was turning you into a bitter and dangerous thing.

Breaking into cars and stealing cash and anything useful was easy enough; the hard part was avoiding witnesses. Early in the morning after your third night in Indi, you were down an alleyway behind some apartments. You smelt him before you saw him.

A man was asleep in the driver’s seat of a car. Through the window, you watched him breathe. On the backseat was a pile of clothes, his wallet, and some toiletries. He’d been kicked out of home, you figured. Maybe he’d been unfaithful. Maybe he’d hurt her. Your mind was giving you a lot of different maybes that would justify what your stomach was begging you to do.

You shook your head to yourself.

No.

Penny. Luke. Dmitri. Kevin. Marcus. Noble. CJ. Jamie. Lydia. Steve.

I’m not a monster.

Before you could settle on a story about the man and one about yourself, the front door opened and the man leaned out with a cough. You could smell the booze.

“What the fuck you doin’?” the man asked, squinting through the morning light.

You took a step back.

“Oh, hey, hey. Sorry, love,” he said, trying to soften his voice. He’d seen you and subsequently decided you were not a threat to him. Perhaps, the man thought, you could be of use. “You need some help or something?”

“No,”

“You sure? You look hungry.” And he looked hungover in the vilest way. “You wanna get in? I’ll take us to get breakfast, huh?”

Penny.

As you took a step closer to the car, the man smiled and it was nothing like Eddie’s.

Luke.

You could feel his eyes follow you as you rounded the front of the Honda Acord.

Dmitri.

The passenger door didn’t open as you lifted the handle; the man leaned across to pull up the lock.

Kevin

You hesitated for a second, wondering where Eddie was.

Marcus

The inside of the Acord was stuffy, the air stale.

Noble

“I’m Brian. What’s your name?”

“Wendy,” you lied.

Lydia

“Well, Wendy, you sure are pretty.”

Steve

Brian.

…

The Honda Accord took you northeast to Muncie. You didn’t stop to clean up until you were well beyond Indi’s city limits.

At the public library on Jackson Street, you found a quiet spot to read. The words on the page melted into the pink flesh of your brain and refused to process. When it took three goes at one page, you gave up, opting to instead pull out your journal.

The lines on the page asked how you felt, but you didn’t want to feel.

Slamming the journal shut and throwing it at your bag, you earned a few disapproving looks from the locals. Glaring back at them, you hardly recognised yourself.

You thought you were just hungry, but Brian was settling in your stomach and it still wasn’t enough. You wanted Eddie.

No.

He was better off without you. Yeah. He could do his own thing and not have to look after you and eat who he wants and not be made to feel guilty and… and…

Fuck.

There was a reason you’d not left Indiana yet. There was a reason your mind kept coming up with wild and fantastical stories about how Eddie got his scar. There was a really fucking obvious reason your entire existence was burning with longing.

“Well hello, little missy.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You looked up and saw him standing at the end of the aisle, the shadow of all the books casting him in half darkness.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He looked exactly how you remembered. The jacket, rat’s tail, and ear.

“Uh, hi… Sully,” you greeted, quickly putting your things in your bag and throwing it over your shoulder.

“Oh, you ain’t sad to see old Sully, are you missy? ‘Cause seems to me like this is some good luck,”

“Luck?”

“Well, you know. Without your new friend anymore.”

Luck or happenstance had nothing to do with it. “Have… Have you been following me?”

“I know, it seems crazy to me too! I just didn’t know what else to do,”

“What? Why?”

“Because we didn’t have our chance to say our goodbyes,” Sully said, moving toward you.

You walked out of the aisle and into a more open section of the library. Sully was keeping his voice low, and nobody was paying much attention.

“And I’ve been worrying on you. On your own as you are now,”

“Uh… Why… Why not say hello or something earlier then?”

“Oh no, I don’t interrupt. That’s bad manners. And you was with your friend. Where’d he go now? I saw him took off from Lafayette real fast. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, just a friend,” you answered, not sure why you were saying anything at all. Sully was looking you up and down, even reaching out to touch your face. You dodged his hands and shook your head.

“Oh, just a friend,” he repeated. “Maybe he didn’t get that telegram… He one of us?”

Normally the fact that people were predisposed to say nothing, do nothing, bystander effect, was to your benefit. But then and there, you silently screamed at the library patrons to help. For one person to step up and ask if you were okay. Eddie would have.

“Well, like I says – life is never dully with Sully… What do you say? Uh… Wanna… You wanna take a ride with Sully for a bit?”

“It’s… it’s weird that you’ve been following me,”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks – life will get weirder. I promise,” he said with an awkward chuckle and a terrible attempt at nonchalance. The laughter made the librarian look up. Sully continued his pitch. “I liked… I liked our talk. It’s a hard and lonesome road for us, isn’t it? So, there ain’t no sense making it lonelier,”

“I’m… a girl,”

“I know, about my daughter’s age… If I had one,”

“Is that what this is?” you asked.

Anger flashed across Sully’s face. You saw it before he could control it. He stepped from foot to foot on the spot, shoved his hands into his pockets, and hunched forward. “How do you like that?” he mumbled to himself.

“I’m not trying to upset you, Sully. I just don’t feel comfortable with this.” You could hear it in your tone, and you knew Sully probably could too. It wasn’t your intention to be patronising, but it was that or bare your teeth.

“You’ve never fit with someone before?” he asked then, making eye contact.

“I have… It’s just gotta go both ways.” And it had. It had for you and Eddie.

Sully started to breathe heavily. “You don’t like Sully,”

“Why do you say your name like you’re two different people?” you asked, itching with the feeling of being manipulated.

“You don’t like me,”

“I don’t trust you. And it doesn’t matter if I’m wrong or I’m right about that. It just matters that I feel it,”

“So, you’re not coming with me?”

Sully spoke like a child and his logic wasn’t far off that pattern either. Yet, there was an unmistakable knowing in his look and in his actions. Neither part of him was a facade. That’s what made him so unhinged and deadly.

Had Lydia Harmon been dying when Sully had found her? Or had he helped her along? If you hadn’t slipped out of the house that morning, where would you be now?

Everything was coming into focus.

“Not coming with you.”

There were a few seconds where you thought maybe he’d leave. “Fuck you, then,” he said quietly. He took his hands out of his pockets. “Fuck you, missy.”

You nodded and took a step away from him. Sully responded by rushing forward and grabbing your shoulders.

“You fucking bitch! I ate with you! I dried off with you! I ain’t ever done that with anyone else!”

Other people came running over to pull him off you.

“That means something, missy! That means something!”

As soon as his arms were ripped from you, you bolted from the library and down the street. Throwing yourself into the Accord, you started to sob. You could almost hear Eddie’s voice in your head telling you to go, go, GO!

You speed down Jackson Street and straight out of Muncie, watching the rearview mirror the entire way.

…

The ringing abruptly stopped.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Red,”

“Eddie?!”

“Yeah… Sorry I haven’t called in a few days… Been, ah… Doesn’t matter. How are you? You good?”

“Where are you? You sound weird,”

“I’m, ah, I’m driving home actually,” Eddie told her.

“Really? When will you get here?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be there tomorrow,”

“Can you stay?” There was hope in Max’s voice. Eddie was a monster for a lot of reasons, but he wouldn’t let it be for dimming that last light.

“Yeah. Yeah, this time I can,”

“Wayne’s gonna freak! Can I tell him?”

“Yeah, Red. Go for it.”

Max went to say something else, but the sound on the other end of the line stopped her. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“What? No. I’m good,”

“Ohhhhhkay… Can I tell Dustin you’re coming?”

“Sure… I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

…

After Muncie, you went east through Winchester and Versailles. It was easier being without a home in a city than it was out rural. You would have to decide to steal or buy supplies if you wanted to keep traveling, or find a place to make home. Deep down, you knew you weren’t going to do either. It was just stubbornness keeping you from where you wanted to be.

When you got to Sidney, Ohio, you ditched the Honda Accord and continued into the city centre on foot. Unlike Eddie, you weren’t well-versed in asking to swap number plates on a stolen car. And there was the fact that Sully knew the car. It was easier to disappear without it.

You found a mall and hatched a plan. As a child, you’d been so afraid of being left behind. Abandoned. Forgotten. Whenever you and your mother went shopping, you’d never wander off, terrified that she’d leave and you’d be locked in a giant store after closing hours. Now, it was exactly what you were aiming to do.

Biding your time, you considered hiding options. Eventually, you crawled under a display bed, finding the space below hollowed out and empty – no mattress or springs in sight. Laying starfished out on the floor, you listened as customers went by. Staff restocked and cleaned. Then, the store emptied.

That night, you remained on the floor under the bed, satisfied with a roof over your head. There would be no complaints about a lack of a soft below. In your dreams, your father came to you and smiled as he held out his hand. You opened my mouth and he put his fist inside. You ran down corridors, the walls stained with words, and one by one you found them, each of them, waiting for you in the dark.

...

Seventeen nights. That’s all the time that had passed since you had been left with a letter.

Fourteen nights since you left that house and ventured out into the world.

Seven of those nights had been spent with Eddie.

And since you left Eddie with no letter, three nights.

When you woke up under the bed in the store, your spine felt like it had curled in on itself. “Fuck,” you mumbled. Walking it off didn’t help. Shoplifting ibuprofen didn’t help.

More counting.

Six days since your last shower.

And the cash? Enough for another week unless you gave in to the fantasy of blowing it all on a family size pizza and shitty hotel room. But that would be dumb. It would be so fucking stupid.

…

“Yeah, hi, could I get a large meat lovers? With extra meat… Um… all of them? … Yeah. Thanks. I’m at the motel on the highway, um, opposite the new roadhouse? … Yeah that one. Room 7… Thanks.”

…

The knock on the door was gentle at first, just a soft tap tap. You hadn’t slept well in days, so deep in sleep that the noise was useless. When Anna knocked again, she called out, “Housekeeping!”

It wasn’t out of the norm to find people in the motel rooms after the prearranged check-out time. Anna unlocked room 7, stood in the doorway, and sighed. She looked around. Empty pizza box. Bag hardly unpacked. Towel on the floor.

“Miss! Miss! Housekeeping!”

You didn’t stir.

Anna walked into the room, carefully. She was always careful. “Miss. You need to wake up.” She poked your shoulder.

That did it. You shot up, twisting yourself in the sheets, and flying off the bed with a yelp. Anna waited for your head to pop up.

“Sorry!” you squeaked. “Sorry. I slept in. I’ll go.”

As she watched you pull jeans on and shove things into your bag, she smelt it. “How old are you?” she asked.

You looked up at her. “Twenty-one,”

“You seem younger.” Anna waited for you to figure it out. Nothing yet. “You’ve got… plans. Some place to go?”

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah. Totally,”

“I don’t believe you,” she stated. “You’re running. You eat the wrong person?”

That’s the trouble with questions, one always leads to another.

You stood up. Focused your senses. The penny dropped and you were instantly afraid. Of the three eaters you’d met, only one had been good. With a 66.6% rate of bad, you were already calculating if you could make it to the door before she could do anything.

“It’s alright. I know what it’s like out there,” Anna said. “Look… The kid they got at the desk is a couple fries short of a Happy Meal, so nobody’s gonna notice you staying another night. Just keep the lights off and stay quiet.”

As she turned to leave, you quickly said, “Thank you.”

Anna looked at you and frowned. “You can’t live like this. I tried. I tried for a long time. You stay out on the road and you get lonely. You get mean and you accept ungodly company. Can’t live like that,”

“I don’t… I don’t know what… else to do.”

She leaned against the doorframe. “Find somewhere. Or someone. Anything to keep you tethered to a real life.”

It must have been written all over your face. Anna smirked.

“Maybe you already found it. Don’t run from it… Be gone by morning, alright? And don’t eat the kid at the counter. He’s dumb, but he’s good people.”

You stood in the middle of the motel room a little shellshocked. For all the emotional repressing you were doing, a perfect stranger could see it on your face easily. Eddie felt like home. He felt like home. And you needed him and you wanted him and you would run all the way to him if you had to.

Sometimes you don’t know how true something is until you’ve heard the words put around it.

…

Eddie could have been anywhere. The only way to find him was to start at the beginning – Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe you’d find him there, but at the very least you could leave a message with Max for when he called her.

You hitched a ride from Sidney to Fort Recovery and another over state lines to Marion. There, you sat on a bench outside of a gas station and waited.

“Where you heading?”

He was standing with his back to the sun, which sat low in the sky. A silhouette of a man with a sure voice.

“Hawkins,” you answered, holding your hand flat above your eyes to shield them.

“On the way, if you wanna ride.” He stepped towards his car – a 1985 Cadillac El Dorado convertible. To you though, just a rich guy’s fancy yellow car. It had a custom number plate reading ‘TODFTHR.’

Perfect.

Inside, you looked at the dashboard. It was an entirely different machine to the van you and Eddie had taken from Cowboy Cook.

“You like her?” the man asked as he pulled out of the gas station and onto the road. “Got her this year,”

“Sure… She’s… nice,” you tried, but you knew nothing about cars to really make the call.

“I’m Todd. What’s your name, babe?”

You answered, “Wendy.”

End Note: In case you didn't see, I posted a new Eddie x Reader one shot. AO3 link here. Tumblr link here.

Fic Taglist: @azydrateanatomy @pussy-drunk @mrsdollardog @akiratoro420

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

#Mine #Bones and All #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You

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styxnbones · 2 years ago

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(gehenna-calling) LET’S GET SOME DANNY FACTS! 🐁 👎 🤝 🎒 🎭 🔪

🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?

I think Danny certainly tries to be friend-shaped, even if he sometimes comes off as over-familiar. In my mind he's like Excitable Little Brother -shaped.

👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

Surprisingly, considering the reason I made him, not Kellen- that antagonism is purely a them-problem. I'd actually say they kinda can't stand Bernadette. They've already spent years studying under one stuffy old nerdy vampire and now they've been passed off to another suffier, older, nerdier, vampire. Talking to her is like conversing with a brick wall, and she's totally unresponsive to his attempts to ingratiate himself. Safe to say Kellen's idolization of her makes no sense to him.

🤝 Does your OC have someone they want at their side when they are scared? Who?

Danny is a total momma's boy. Despite having it pretty easy compared to a lot of fledglings, they've still seen some harrowing shit and just wished he could go home and hug his mom- of course there's no way they could do that without having to explain all the *gestures at his whole appearance* so he's had to get by with sneaking some phone calls behind his sire's back.

🎒 If your OC had to pick three things of all their belongings to keep, which would they chose?

Cell phone, wallet, jacket. The first two are just smart, the third is sentimental.

🎭 What is the one thing your OC regrets most? Would they undo it, considering how their life turned out?

Picking the college that he did. If they'd gone literally anywhere else Katie probably would have let him at least finish his degree before killing them. He's making the best of it now, and he knows she'd have gotten him eventually anyways, but I think he often wishes he'd had more time.

🔪 What does your OC think how they’ll die?

Honestly, at this point, he doesn't really think he will. Danny is barely more than a fledgling and with a typical Kiasyd upbringing they've been pretty well sheltered from many of the dangers that face kindred- he's got a cushy job, easy access to a subdued herd, and with a beanie and some sunglasses they can pass pretty well as human. It also helps that the city he was embraced into has kind of fallen into the gaps in the conflict between the sabbat and the camarilla, so he's faced few threats from other kindred. If really pressed, they'd probably guess they'd slip up one day and some human would think they're an alien and have them dissected for science. All in all, they think Death already had their shot at him, and they missed. He's walked side by side with ghosts and figures if anything was gonna make him end up like that it would have happened by now.

#danny oc #ty for asking abt my new brain blorbo

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dollarbin · 3 months ago

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Shakey Sundays #30:

Zuma, Part 3

Yeah, I'm a total cheapskate.

My buddy Greg and I just had a long men's weekend together that featured no wives, no children, a frig stocked with light alcohol, pickled vegetables and not much else, and free access to another frig of the walk-in variety which had nothing in it except aging, leftover meat.

Greg, as host, politely suggested a shopping trip was in order.

"There will be no shopping, Greg," I boomed. "I did not come to shop."

Four days later I headed home, leaving behind a lot less of the pickled okra and asparagus, none of the White Claw and not a single piece of the aging meat. Old hamburgers and old chicken had featured in every meal.

Yum: Greg and I never went hungry, nothing went to waste and, best of all, zero dollars were spent on hummus, tomatoes or kale.

I can tell you the exact moment I became a dedicated, lifelong, tightfisted miser: check the price tag and you'll see that in November 1993 I hauled Zuma out of a Dollar Bin. That 99 cent investment set my standard going forward for reasonable purchasing. It's a standard I maintain: after all, nothing should cost more than a copy of Zuma. Tacos should be 89 cents a piece, but you're allowed to get a few of them; beers should be 59 cents per can, max.

Well, the world has changed. I wound up recently with different friends in a very dubious Mexican restaurant. I say dubious because there was more than one hostess and they both looked like super models. Beyond them I saw cloth covered tables, elegant dishes artfully arranged and signature cocktails served in hand blown glasses. Instantly my inner-miser started sending out serious distress signals to every inch of being, most especially to my ass.

Why my ass, you ask? Because my wallet (which is 20 years old and is really nice - after all, it was a gift and therefore I did not pay for it myself) was safely secured in a pocket beside my ass, and my wallet, and its contents, were in some serious danger because the tacos were clearly not going to cost 89 cents.

Seriously: how can any purchase ever seem worth it if you bought Zuma for 99 cents? Let's lean into the final two tracks on Side A and experience the record's yin and yangs of greatness.

Lookin' For A Love is unique to the record in that it's a full-on Crazy Horse track which was not produced by Young's long-time cocaine fiend of a producer David Briggs. Here they are again:

Poor Briggs is long dead, but he still scares me. Not only did he look like Young's one-time beer buddy and neighbor, Charles Manson, he also consistently pushed Young to make his music more gnarly and terrifying. If Briggs edited this blog there'd be a lot more suggestive pictures of Linda Ronstadt and Carly Simon posted to attract leering eyeballs; plus "ass" would be the least coarse word in a post.

A lot of what makes Zuma great is Briggs' dangerous influence. Girls? They're stupid. Birds? They're dangerous. Briggs had the guys record most of Zuma in his own Malibu home after daily, day long sessions at the bar and after telling his neighbors they would just have to deal with it. Those neighbors were apparently too frightened of Briggs to put a stop to it.

Instead, Neil himself put a stop to it: once the record was done he went back to his own home to record Lookin' For A Love. The band came with him, but Briggs was not invited.

And you can tell! The song is, well, pretty. Neil sings with (relatively) positivity and hope; Pancho, Ralph and Billy work through the changes with (relatively) sober care.

youtube

Had he been in charge, Briggs would have surely destroyed this version, ordered everyone to the bar for 6-8 hours, then had them do it over and over again until Neil's yearning on the beach turned from sensitive longing to leering threat.

But I love this song. Briggs made Young great a lot of the time. And sometimes Neil did the right thing and ditched him.

But let's flip the only remaining coin in my guarded wallet and listen to perhaps the most terrifyingly good song in Neil's whole career.

Over the years Shakey's put different spins on Barstool Blues: sometimes he says he has stoned during its creation; sometimes he says he was drunk. We'll split the difference here and assume it was a whole lot of both because the one consistent claim Young makes is that he has no memory whatsoever of creating this song. He woke up the next day and it already existed.

On occasion I've seen people blacked out drunk and still moving. Mostly they've been pissing in public and puking, sometimes at the same time. Never have they been making transcendent art.

But his ability to do just that, friends, is a big part of what makes Neil Young so special:

youtube

#neil young #shakey sundays #Youtube

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loki-hargreeves · 2 years ago

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An Eye For An Eye

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader, Steven Grant x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Warnings/Tags: Kidnapping, graphic descriptions of violence, death threats/thoughts of dying, mentions of body mutilation [doesn’t happen though], using a gun for self-defense, character death [murder], mentions of blood, dark undertones, hurt/comfort, angst, vulgar language, some references to Moon Knight comics, Marc is very sad, loads of crying, somewhat of a fluffy ending

Word Count: 13K [oops..]

Summary: Raul Bushman has a personal grudge against Marc Spector and he takes it out on you. When he kidnaps you, he taunts Marc by sending a video of you as his hostage. With the help of Khonshu, the Moon boys come to your rescue - which is unfortunate for Raul. Once you’re safe again, Marc can’t bring himself to face you because of the guilt so Steven and Jake take care of you.

A/N: Ok I realize it’s a bit bloody and teary but I had to get this out of my head. I hope you enjoy it! <3

DISCLAIMER! Please do not proceed to read this if the mentioned warnings and tags include topics that could possibly trigger or harm you. Take care of yourself.

“Darling, I’m home!” Steven’s cheerful voice replaced the silence of your shared flat as he finally came back home from work. The new museum he worked at was wonderful and his first week of being a tour guide had just come to an end. Steven was over the moon and knowing he was coming home to you only made him feel even better, as if he was literally walking on sunshine.

For once in his life, all seemed to be going so well. Steven felt invincible in a way. Little did he know of the drastic turn that would take place much sooner than anticipated.

When all he was met with was silence, Steven began to worry. Since you had told them you’d be home before them, it was odd that you weren’t there. Refusing to jump to conclusions, Steven pulled out his phone from his pocket and searched for you name in his contacts, calling you as he made his way further inside the apartment to inspect everything. The only sound he heard was the beeping dial tone.

You’d pick up and have an explanation. Everything was fine.

Steven turned the lights on and looked around the place. Your phone or wallet weren’t anywhere to be seen and the note he had left for you on the kitchen counter had been completely untouched. That was definitely odd. Usually you left a note for him too, especially if you were going somewhere. The bright, little notes were some of Steven’s favourite things.

“She’s not answering,” Steven said out loud, staring at the phone screen that let him know you hadn’t picked up the call. Marc and Jake were aware of what was going on, both of their minds racing to different places. Neither of those places were good.

Call her again, Marc demanded, trying hard not to let his fear get the best of him. Then again, Marc knew you. He knew that you would let them know if you wouldn’t show up when agreed. Perhaps for an ordinary couple, this wasn’t a big deal but Marc had enemies. Jake had enemies. Steven had them too, now. It was one of their greatest fears that one day those enemies would find you.

As Steven walked around the flat frantically, his heart began to beat harder all the way in his throat, it felt like. The dial tone was taunting him, making seconds feel like minutes as it kept on ringing.

“Pick up, pick up...please,” Steven made his way to the window, looking down at the London street that was illuminated by the yellow street lights. Darkness had swallowed the blue sky and you were somewhere out there, not picking up the phone. This was so unlike you and it gnawed at Steven’s heart. He didn’t even wish to imagine you in any sort of danger.

Shouldn’t have let her walk home at this hour alone! Jake had jumped to the worst conclusions. Steven looked at the man whose reflection showed up in the nearby mirror. Jake looked like he was about to explode from worry and anger, barely containing such intense feelings.

“Don’t say that!” Steven couldn’t bear it. There was no way he would let them assume the worst so soon. “Maybe she’s staying late. Let’s meet her half way, yeah? Come on, out we go!”

Steven was glad he hadn’t taken off his shoes yet as he rushed back outside, making sure he had his keys after the fact he had closed the front door and he was already in the elevator. The mirrors in the small space made it easy to see all the alters, yet somehow it wasn’t very comforting. Not when all of them were so clearly concerned over your safety. It was almost as if they just knew you weren’t staying late. This was much worse than that. There was a sick feeling in Steven’s gut as he stood there, waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

The feeling was growing worse by the second, spreading like fire and tugging at his guts until he felt nauseous. What if Jake was right? What if you were hurt? Lying in a ditch somewhere, cold and beaten, all alone.

The notification sound of his phone snapped Steven out of his thoughts. He ripped the phone out of his pocket and felt a wave of relief crashing against him when he saw your name on the screen.

“Oh thank heavens,” Steven almost felt like laughing as he thought about how worried he felt. Overreacting never did any good for anyone. There he was now, unlocking his phone and waiting to see your message. In all honesty, Steven expected something short and simple, just letting him know you’d be able to call him soon. When he saw a video file with a pitch black background and no other message, the relief was stolen from him just as quickly as it had arrived.

Steven knew he had to open it but every cell in his body told him not to click it. He froze, brown eyes glued at the screen in terror as he anticipated what would happen next.

It was Marc who fronted next, taking control of the body as Steven took too long to think about his next actions. Marc pressed the play button and then took a deep breath, but nothing could’ve possibly prepared him for what they were all about to see.

The video began and immediately chains were more easily visible, leading up to you. There you were, chained to what looked like a bed in a dark room. The volume was on full but no sounds were heard. Whoever had filmed the video zoomed in on your face, eyelashes resting against your bloodied cheeks. To believe you were just asleep would've been foolish. Someone must've knocked you out one way or another, a realization that made Marc sick to his stomach. Blood was boiling in his body, so much so he could hear it in his ears and feel how his skin was set on fire with rage. Whoever did that to you would pay for it with their life. That was certain.

Suddenly, the person who was filming it flipped the camera and revealed his face. The man was smiling cruelly since he knew exactly who was watching the clip and how he was reacting. Marc recognized that evil gleam from anywhere since he knew this man extremely well. That was Raul Bushman. A mercenary, just like Marc used to be although these days Raul Bushman was better known as a fucking terrorist. Marc had hoped the past would stay in the past but evidently, it had not. Life wasn't ever that simple. Now Raul was there, in the present with you as his hostage. Knowing how wicked Raul was terrified Marc because he couldn't be sure he would find you in time.

Don't go there, you have to focus! Jake was already in action mode, planning on how they would track this man down and bring you back home safely. If they let panic overtake them then it could cost you your life. There was no way any of them could let that happen. Steven was dead silent for once, not finding a single thing to say at that moment. Fear had completely enveloped him, but not fear for his own sake. Steven was scared he'd never see you again and for what? Because a sick man wanted to hurt you? How was that fair?

"Marc Spector," Raul addressed Marc in the video, simultaneously letting Steven know that this was personal. Jake had recognized that tattooed face as well. Steven hadn't as Marc's memories of his mercenary past weren't something he could personally recall.

Marc was thinking about ripping Raul's face off as he anticipated what he was going to say next. Did he want money? That didn't seem likely. Whatever he wanted, Marc was willing to give it if he could get you back. The killing could happen afterwards.

"I've got your girl," Raul chuckled, enjoying this for some sick and twisted reason. "She's not very chatty anymore. You should've heard her earlier! Did you teach her to speak like that or did you find yourself a sailor? Very vulgar, Spector. So naughty."

Marc who is that? Steven's voice barely carried above a whisper as he stared at Marc from the reflection of the elevator mirror. The elevator had reached the first floor but they had no intentions of leaving just yet. Running around in circles with no leads would be a waste of time.

Marc ignored Steven and forced himself to keep watching the video, his grip on the phone so strong it was a miracle it hadn't snapped in half yet. That's when Jake began to explain things to Steven in the background, their words turning into a haze as Marc stood there, in utter shock and disbelief at it all. He could only watch as Raul flipped the camera over to you once again and that's when the tears threatened to spill. How could he have let something like this happen to you? The love of his life, the sweetest and most wonderful person that had ever walked the earth. Marc felt so guilty. If you were to die now he would never forgive himself. Not in a million years and more.

"I'm sure you'd love to hear some conditions or whatever but the truth is," Raul sighed dramatically as he caressed your cheek, wiping away the blood, "I have none. The only reason I'm doing this is because of you. I'm curious to know what made you so soft and pathetic. What a waste of a man you are."

Just like that, the video ended. Raul's words echoed in Marc's head loudly, drumming into his skull and every beat made him feel worse. Marc could hear Steven and Jake yelling but none of their words made sense. The overwhelming worry and anger were over-spilling and Marc couldn't take it. He turned on his heel and punched the mirror as hard as he could, letting out a pained and frustrated shout and most likely alarming everyone else in the building but he couldn't have cared less. The smashed mirror showed Marc thousands of small reflections as glass fell on the floor. Crimson red was running down his knuckles angrily, most likely dripping on the floor. Marc didn't care. He only cared about finding you.

So did Jake who took control, needing to work on his plan immediately and not let Marc or Steven waste any more time. Jake pressed the elevator button back to their floor, leaving blood on the buttons. Whoever walked into the elevator next would have a surprise awaiting them. Raul Bushman, on the other hand, had something much worse awaiting him. If he thought for one second that he was more powerful than them, he was wrong and Jake was going to hunt him down no matter what it took. Touching you was the biggest mistake the poor excuse of a man had ever made.

The first thing you noticed as consciousness was coming back to you was the dreadful headache you had. It made you whine in pain as you tried to roll over, only to realize you were unable to move your arms. Horror spread throughout you as you remembered what had happened, eyes popping open as you took in the dark surroundings. The room was dim and quite small too, with only a bed and a dresser. It didn't have a window so it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. As creepy as it was, it didn't smell bad. You had expected the thick copper scent of blood to linger in the air or of something foul and rotting. Perhaps the cleanliness meant you weren't in a creepy dungeon but instead in a preoccupied building? Was that a good thing or not? You didn't know.

Stay calm, you repeated that to yourself as you took a few deep breaths. Freaking out wouldn't do you any good but it wasn't easy to steady your breaths either. As the memories came back to you, you could feel yourself slipping onto a world of doubt and worry. The man who had found you was absolutely terrifying. Not only was he tall enough to tower over you with ease, but his teeth also looked sharp and metallic. The man had scars all over his body and a look in his brown eyes that had told you he wasn't merciful at all. Years of hardships decorated every inch of his skin but he didn't seem to let that drag him down. He used it as armour, which made him evermore dangerous.

Just as you had feared, the door opened, allowing artificial light to pour inside for only a moment as he walked in. The door shut loudly and with a click, which meant it was locked. The tall man turned on the ceiling light, the single bulb hanging from the ceiling allowing you to see better, only to realize his cold eyes were glued to you. When he made his way further inside the small room, you could hardly hear his footsteps as your heart was thudding so loudly against your rib cage. How were you supposed to remain calm when a scary man had you chained down like an animal? What was he going to do? What did he want from you?

"You're awake sooner than expected," He finally spoke, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “Thought you’d be weaker.”

"What do you want from me?"

The man didn't reply instantly but judging by the stern look on his face, he had clearly heard you. For whatever reason he actually took his sweet time thinking about his reply as he circled the bed, never tearing his eyes off of you. As he reached the wooden dresser, he dragged a gun out of a holster and placed it on the surface with a loud thud, making sure it was pointed directly at you so even when the gun was untouched and simply resting on the dresser, it kept you on edge.

"What do I want from you? That's a silly question," He finally spoke, much more relaxed now that you were chained down and silent. "Nothing really. You're here because of Marc Spector," your lover's name was spoken as if it was poison on his tongue, every syllable tasting rancid.

"Why?" You decided it was better to talk to this man instead of being tortured. The more time you wasted like this, the better were your chances of survival. Surely, they were coming for you. The moment you thought about them, you felt a pang of guilt in your gut. Marc was probably freaking out by now. Steven must've been so scared. Jake? Oh Jake, he wouldn’t show it but you knew the protective man was ridden with anxiety. You didn't even want to imagine how stressed they must've been. Did they know you were there? Or did they think you had abandoned them?

The tall man pulled an old wooden chair next to the bed and sat down, being so close to you now that it made you worry. What was he going to do?

"Long ago, Marc and I used to be pals, if you will. He was a great mercenary. Unstoppable, quick, someone that a man like me could respect. Then something changed and he turned on us. Marc became soft, that rat," He spat angrily, slamming his large fist against the wall so hard you flinched, half expecting him to hit you instead. Your heart leapt to your throat and your eyes squeezed shut which you instantly regretted.

"Are you scared, love?" He mocked you, leaning closer to you so his foul breath landed on your skin, causing your hairs to stand on end. Stay calm.

“Anyway, I wanted to know what changed him and all leads came back to you. Funny how the same thing that made him soft is the same thing that makes him hard,” he laughed at his own wordplay, his belittling words making you feel dirty. What he was talking about was none of his business and you wanted to let him hear your thoughts, but decided to bite your tongue for now.

"W-What's your name?" You ignored him, focusing on your one and only task right now. Keep him talking. Nothing else mattered.

"You can call me Raul," He introduced himself while caressing your cheek. That's when you noticed it, his left hand only had three fingers. Raul caught you staring.

"Wanna know who did this to me?" Raul grabbed your jaw forcefully and made you face him. There was no warmth in his eyes, only deep and dark coldness that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was rough and it stung but you assumed it was better than whatever else it was he was capable of doing. Without knowing what else to do, you simply nodded, encouraging him to go on. By now, you felt your body betraying you as your limbs quivered underneath his touch. That's how easy it was for him to terrify you. At that moment, you wished you had abilities such as Khonshu had granted your lovers. You wished you could've broken free from these chains and returned home safely but alas, you couldn't. There you were, forced to look at this man and hear his stories, not knowing what was true and what wasn't.

"Marc did this," Raul revealed eventually, something about it making your gut twist in horror. Picturing Marc severing a man's fingers off was sickening. If it were true, you had to believe there was a good reason behind it. Khonshu only made him punish people who had already done evil things. This man was no exception.

"Tell me, sweetheart," Raul tilted his head slightly, "have you heard of the phrase 'an eye for an eye'?"

Who hadn't? You thought but kept that to yourself as you didn't wish to set him off. Somehow, it seemed like nothing was truly needed to set this man off as your silence alone was enough to push him into action.

Everything that happened next was surreal. You could only watch as Raul reached for something in his pocket, something that turned out to be a knife. It reflected the yellow ceiling light and you noticed just how sharp it was. There was a carved symbol on the blade which you didn't recognize but it didn't seem to matter when he grabbed your left hand that was still chained to the headboard.

"No! No, please! Please don't do this!" You screamed in shock when he pressed the sharp knife against the base of your index and middle fingers, not enough to cut your fingers off but your skin broke under the edge. "Please don't!" Panicked tears rolled down your face as you tried to wiggle free. It was of no use though and you both knew it.

"If you stop moving it'll be over sooner!" Raul yelled at you and then had the audacity to smile. The curve of his lips was sadistic, something straight out of nightmares. He enjoyed this.

Just as blood began to trickle down your palm, the hot liquid reminding you of how doomed you were, a phone rang in his pocket. That was your phone.

"Fucking hell!" Raul sighed, annoyed by the interruption but you were forever grateful because he stepped away and put the knife on the table next to the gun. So far, your digits were still intact but the ghastliness of what had almost happened shook you to the core, making you feel nauseous. The cut at the base of your fingers stung. Even without seeing it, you knew it'd leave a scar. A scar that would be much better than losing your fingers. As you were still recovering from the shock of what Raul nearly succeeded with, you didn't even realize what was happening.

Raul had answered the video call because Marc's face had shown up on the screen. He had anticipated a call again. As he picked up, he instantly turned the camera to you, letting Marc see what was happening.

"You have perfect timing, Spector. I was just about to cut her pretty little fingers off," Raul revealed casually as if he had no care in the world. He wanted to piss off Marc and it didn't seem like it frightened him at all. Either he was a fool or extremely powerful.

"Don't you fucking dare touch her!" Marc growled with wrath in his voice. You realized you had never heard him so angry ever before. His voice was alien, but at the same time, you found comfort in it. Was he going to find you? If so, would he be there in time? Would you see him again?

"If I do, what are you gonna do about it? There's not much you can do to stop me," Raul laughed again, grabbing the bloody knife and waving it around as he spoke. "I'm here, she's here and you're god-knows-where! Even if you do find us, you'll be too late! I will make you watch as I kill her, that I promise you!"

This couldn't be happening. This had to be a nightmare. If you had been able to, you would've pinched yourself. You felt so helpless as tears streamed down your face and you struggled against the cold chains that were wrapped so tightly around you that the skin beneath the metal was bruising at an alarming rate. Staying calm after hearing his morbid threats seemed like an impossible task.

If he was truly going to kill you, this could've been your last chance to speak to any of them. As much as the realization terrified you, you had to find the courage to speak again.

"I love you, baby, I'm so sorry," You sniffled, trying to see the screen but Raul didn't grant you the satisfaction of seeing Marc. "I'm sorry!" The apology poured from your lips quietly as the guilt was eating you alive. The violent sobs caused your lungs to feel like they were on fire and burning you up from within. Had you been more careful, this would've never happened. You were sure of it. If this twisted man took your life tonight, the happy future you had dreamt of would be ripped away from not only you but from them as well. It wasn't fair in any way.

"Don't interrupt me!" Raul shrieked all of a sudden, angered by your attitude. As he leapt toward you, phone in hand, Marc yelled something that got lost as you let out a startled scream. The next thing you knew, Raul hovered above you with the knife dangerously close to your neck. "Shut up! I don't want to hear this lovey-dovey shit, okay? Just be quiet!"

Beep beep beep

The call ended. Whether Raul accidentally ended it or Marc, it didn't matter. The line was lost and you feared that just like that, you would never hear from him ever again. Not another 'I love you' from Steven that he would tell you first thing in the morning. No more endearments from Jake in Spanish that always made your heart flutter with joy. No more vulnerable love confessions from Marc he would whisper to you when no one else was around.

For once, Khonshu was being useful. It was actually the Egyptian god who helped locate you. There wasn't anything that could happen at night that went by his sight. When even Jake was going bollocks over worry he felt for you, the god couldn't just let them run in circles and desperately try to find you. Raul Bushman was smart, unfortunately, and he made it near impossible to find him. Tracing the calls hadn’t worked and studying the background of the video revealed nothing.

Raul Bushman was well prepared, but Raul didn't have Khonshu. When the bird-headed god told Jake how to find you, he wasted no time getting a move on. After the video call where Raul revealed what he was about to do to you, it was urgent they got these as quickly as possible.

Khonshu wasn't too fond of you - or so he made it appear - but he was even less fond of Raul Bushman. There was no way he would let a worm like that kill you and also make his avatar distraught. The god knew that the loss of you would be detrimental. It would destroy his Moon Knight for good.

The Moon Knight suit came in handy as Marc soared across the starry sky, past the tall buildings in the city with one destination in mind. It wasn't the time to think about anything else than his next few moves. One wrong thought and his demeanour would falter. Your life was on the line here and he wasn't going to mess up now. And to think Raul Bushman had come back to haunt him and he didn't even bother to hide further away than the other side of London. The man was confident he could overpower Marc but that was a grave mistake. Marc would stop at nothing to make sure nothing like this would ever happen again. Had he been wiser, he would've killed Raul all those years ago during their run together in Cairo.

The location turned out to be a townhouse in the fancier parts of London, a mighty building that had stood there for hundreds of years. To people looking from the outside, it was beautiful and nothing about it really screamed that it was used by criminals. Marc's gut twisted painfully when he remembered you were in there, most likely scared for your very life. The way you had apologized to him over the phone as if any of this was your fault had killed a part of him inside. If anything, Marc felt as if this was his fault. You had done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing at all.

Getting into the place wasn't hard at all. Instead, the trickier part was to be quiet. Marc wasn't going to risk your life by being loud and giving Raul a chance to finish things off before it was too late. The lights were all turned off, which led Marc to believe no one else was there but you and Raul. The people who owned the place rarely used it as it turned out the house was used for criminal gatherings every once in a while. No one lived there. As a hideout, it would've been wonderful if it was only used for hiding from regular people. Hiding from gods and their avatars on the other hand was much trickier.

By now, blood was boiling in Marc's veins. He felt like an enraged animal that was hunting for prey, following its bloody trail with a deep hunger. Nothing could possibly get in his way now. He squeezed the golden crescent moon darts tighter in a desperate attempt to remain calm, steering away the dark thundering clouds in his head that carried with them his deepest fears. With somewhat of a clear mind, silent for once as none of the alters dared to make a peep, Marc navigated down the stairs and toward where he believed you were. His pounding heart was the only sound he could hear, for now, the muscle convulsing dangerously and so hard it wouldn't have been too much of a surprise if Raul could hear it.

"Nooo!" You let out a deep cry, riddled with pain caused by the weapon that had just made contact with your temple. Between all the threats Raul directed at you and your own fears, you felt lost. You didn't know what you were begging of or asking him not to do. There wasn't time for you to gather your thoughts as this scary man was losing his patience with you and with Marc who still hadn't shown up. Despite his claims of not using you as bait to lure him here, you didn't believe him. Raul was looking for revenge and he was willing to kill two birds with one stone.

Knowing you were used as bait to lure your lover into doom only strengthened the guilt. Somehow that hurt more than the physical pain he had brought upon you. No amount of blood or bruises could amount to the realization of how sick and twisted this was and what part you played in it all.

The most recent blow he had delivered to you had been worse than the others, causing your vision to blur and you to feel ill. Your stomach was bubbling in a nauseating way and you weren't sure if you would be able to keep your lunch down for much longer. The throbbing headache was only getting worse and you noticed that you couldn't focus your vision on anything anymore. Was your body giving up this easily or was it trying to defend you from what was to come by numbing everything out quicker? At this point, thinking felt too difficult of a task. Raul was pacing around the room in his rage, probably filming you still but you didn't make any sense of it anymore.

Blood coated your tongue and that was what you focused on as you rested against the thin pillow, wishing you were at home instead. At home, in your bed, next to the man you loved. Instead of tasting the iron in your mouth, you wished you had a cup of hot chocolate that Jake was surprisingly good at making. He usually added a pinch of chili to the sweet drink and it tasted divine. You wished you were in a warm bath with Marc, getting your back rubbed by his loving touch after a long day. You wanted to listen to Steven's voice as he read you to sleep. Who was the god he was reading to you about last night? Taweret? That must've been it. The goddess of fertility and childbirth. Thinking of that in such a dark moment was oddly comforting, bringing you the tiniest amount of peace in the midst of fear you had never felt before, fear that made your bones shake and your heart heavy with sorrow.

Little did you know your last act of consciousness had alerted Marc of your whereabouts. Just as you slipped into unconsciousness, your exhausted body unable to take any more of the pain, you caught a glimpse of a pair of white, glowing eyes. He had found you.

Raul hadn't heard Marc arriving and none of the alarms in the building had alerted him. However, when the man wrapped in mummy bindings and with bright, glowing eyes attacked Raul, he could only feel excitement. This was his chance to defeat Marc once and for all, make him suffer like how Marc had made him suffer. An eye for an eye. Raul took that very seriously.

Marc grabbed Raul by his torso and launched him against the wall so hard it sent the man right into the next room. Dust from within the walls exploded into the air, making it hard to see into the other room for a moment but that didn't stop Marc who followed Raul without any hesitation.

"Took you long enough!" Raul got up from the floor just in time, spitting blood on the floor as he braced himself for Marc's next move.

Marc clenched his jaw together and threw both darts at his former acquaintance, not surprised when all they did was scratch the surface. Marc grabbed more darts from his chest, glad he wasn't going to run out of them anytime soon as they magically reappeared thanks to Khonshu's powers.

As Marc leapt at Raul again, the taller man grabbed him and rolled both of them around. When Marc fell to the ground with Raul, he rolled over and lunged the sharp moon dart right into his chest, ripping a string of curses from his enemy's mouth.

"You're gonna regret ever laying a finger on her," Marc growled eerily, twisting the sharp dart that had sunk into Raul's flesh, feeling how the man's blood soaked his white glove. Having mercy was the last thing on Marc's mind now. He was going to make Raul pay for his mistake.

Meanwhile, you were slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to stay in the dark when you heard crashing and screaming nearby. As you opened your eyes and blinked a few times, you realized what was going on and it sent a rush of adrenaline through you. Marc was there for you but you were still chained to the bed. Trying to free yourself hadn't worked earlier but now that your hands were covered in sweat and blood, you decided to give it another try. Desperately, you tried to wiggle and pull your hands free, biting your tongue when the action hurt. The chains were pressing against your thumbs painfully but you knew you would be able to pull yourself free if you just tugged a little harder.

"Fuck..." You cursed under your breath and then yanked your hands toward your chest. To your surprise, your hands slipped out of the chains. The adrenaline that coursed throughout your body concealed just how much it had hurt. With all the strength you had left and with worry for your loved one who was fighting this monster all alone, you limped to the dresser where the gun was. Bloody fingers wrapped around the weapon and you were surprised by how heavy it felt in your shaking hands. There was a hole in the wall and as you narrowed your eyes looking through it, you saw... Steven? Yes. Steven was definitely the one in the suit, giving Raul a piece of his mind with the help of his truncheons.

"You messed up big time, mate," Steven's choice of words didn't match the hatred in the tone of his voice. He didn't sound much like himself as he was blinded by rage, acting the opposite of the sweet and loving man you knew. As Mr Knight, he used all his strength to deliver a blow against Raul's gut, not finding an ounce of pity as the grown man cried out in pain. The sight was surreal but you couldn't look away. Whether this was a dream or not, you were glad to see it. Perhaps it was wrong, you just didn't care. Your moral compass had been shattered by the hands of the man who had hurt you the same way just moments before.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself now looking at Jake who didn't let Raul fall on the floor. Instead, he held him by his crimson covered shirt and pressed his fingers into the deep wound Marc had made with his dart earlier, feeling how the blood oozed out of it. "That is for just thinking about her!" He pushed Raul against a bookshelf, the impact knocking the books all over the floor and the shelves snapping in half.

"And this is for hurting her."

When Jake proceeded to attack him again, you had to look away. Part of it was because you felt lightheaded and standing on your own proved to be much more difficult than it should've been. The other part was that Jake's violent ways were not for the faint-hearted to see. As you stumbled on the floor, it alarmed both of the men. For a split second, Jake was distracted as he hadn't noticed you getting up and Raul used that to his advantage.

As Raul tried to bite Jake with his sharp, metal teeth, something within you snapped. You pointed his own gun at him and pulled the trigger, shooting him in the leg before you even knew what you were doing. The loud bang made your ears ring and you dropped the gun, stunned when you watched Raul freeze on the spot. The bullet had pierced him and stopped him from going absolutely feral, yet it didn't seem to put an end to his wrath. Raul turned on his heel and tried to run toward you despite his injuries, seeing red now that you had shot him. Before he could take one too many steps, Marc stopped him.

All you could do was watch from the cold floor as Marc did his job. You had just shot someone. The gun was laying on the floor and you stared at it in disbelief, replaying the moment in your head like a broken record. All your pain was gone and you felt numb. When you looked at your hands, your own blood no longer felt like it belonged to you. Sure, you had shot a horrible man who was about to possibly hurt Jake but it still felt repulsive. A sickening feeling poured all over like thick goo you that you couldn’t shake off. It was useless trying to focus on the fight that was taking place right in front of your nose. The sounds of furniture breaking and bones cracking were completely shut out of your head.

Everything that had happened in just one night was too much for you to handle. There was only so much you could process at once. You had never hurt anyone before. Not like that. This was never supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

When suddenly Marc was kneeling on the floor in front of you, you finally snapped out of it. The passage of time confused you as you didn't know if ten seconds had passed or ten minutes. Marc looked at you with nothing but concern all over his face, every trace of anger far gone. Had he been talking to you?

"Oh baby thank god you're alive," Marc wanted to hold you but he was terrified of hurting you. He viewed you like an ancient artefact that could turn to dust with one touch. Seeing the evidence of Raul's abuse against you was tearing his heart apart in his chest and he felt each and every tear on a molecular level. You looked so out of it as if your mind was far away although your eyes gazed right into his. The innocent gleam had been chased away from your soul. Marc noticed it immediately and that was crushing. His sweet angel was hurt and he could only blame himself for it.

"Is he...?" Dead was the word you were looking for but couldn't say out loud. Would you be responsible for a man's death? Had the bullet torn apart important veins and caused him to bleed out?

"No," Marc shook his head. Not yet. Raul wasn't far away from it though but Marc was more worried about you than the man who was surely taking his last breaths anyway. The moment he had a chance to see how you were doing, he had taken it. What Marc hadn't expected was how bad everything was. Had it been wishful thinking to imagine he would've made it in time before Raul had hurt you? How foolish had it been of him to imagine Raul fucking Bushman would wait to hurt someone? Marc knew better than anyone what that man was capable of.

"Can you walk?" Marc inquired, not sure if he really wanted to hear your answer though. He wanted to make sure you weren't there to see what he was about to do in a hopeless attempt to grasp onto the remaining purity of your heart and soul. Besides he knew seeing death changed a person in more ways than you'd think. The last thing he wanted was for you to have to witness that.

As you remained quiet, now staring at your trembling hands, Marc knew he wasn't going to get through to you. As gently as he could, he wrapped his strong arms around you and helped you to your feet. Marc saw the gun on the floor next to a phone that was still recording everything, only now facing the floor so it only recorded sound. It was your phone and it was gnarly to think Raul had recorded everything with the ambition in mind to send it all to Marc. Ever so carefully, Marc guided you out of the room that would surely be in many nightmares to come and into the dark hallway. No one else had joined the party as far as he and Khonshu were aware so Marc felt it was safe enough to leave you alone for just a few more seconds.

There was a leather armchair in the hallway and Marc made you sit down on it, which you didn't mind. Everything happened in a blur and it was difficult to focus on anything in that state. He began ripping his Moon Knight costume, the magic bindings reappearing seemingly out of nowhere as he used it to wrap the deepest wounds he could see on you. At that point, Marc had to fight hard against his own body to hold back his tears, trying to stay strong for just a little longer. It was really difficult though when he was wrapping your fingers together to stop the bleeding of a wound that resembled something he had inflicted upon someone else years ago. Marc thought he had seen enough shit for one lifetime but this? This was crushing him in every possible way.

Unbeknownst to you, Khonshu was looming over Marc's shoulder and keeping guard - not that the god would say that out loud. It wasn't that big of a deal for him to make sure his avatar didn't get ambushed, right?

"He is still breathing," Khonshu broke the heavy silence in the townhouse that allowed Marc's thoughts to spiral into a dark place. Khonshu wanted Raul to pay the ultimate price for his actions and waiting patiently for Marc to get a move on was boring. The sooner they got it over with, the better.

Marc nodded to himself and then tightened the material in hopes it would stop the bleeding. "I'll be right back, I promise," He assured you softly. Marc didn't need to say what he was about to do for you weren't stupid. All you could do was nod, feeling nothing at all as Marc stood up and retraced his steps back to the room in which Raul was bleeding out. Not even fear as you sat alone in the dark hallway as your own thoughts drowned out the world around you.

Raul had severely underestimated Marc Spector, not knowing to expect the full wrath of a man enhanced by the powers of an ancient god. Not only that, he had enraged Marc and the two alters who all fronted to show him their rage. In his final moment on the cold, dirty floor, he was staring down into the barrel of the gun and then the man holding it, unsure exactly who he was looking at. Perhaps in some way, all three of them were holding that gun, all three men wanting the same thing - to end this man's life. Raul would never know who truly pulled that trigger.

The very last thing he ever heard was the scolding words of a man who took vengeance very seriously, especially when it came to injustices against the woman he loved;

"You fucked up the moment you decided to go after her and I'm not letting you make that mistake ever again."

Getting home and the entire process of getting washed and your wounds patched up had passed you near completely as you zoned out. It wasn't until Steven was putting one of his t-shirts on you that you really seemed to grasp where you were. Sure, you remembered glimpses of Marc getting you out of that building. He had insisted on taking you to a hospital as he seemed to have lost all care for himself, not giving a damn if the staff would've called the police on him and found out why he was covered in blood. But you didn't want that to happen. You didn't want to see any more people. All you wanted was to go home and be sheltered away from the rest of the world.

Jake was the one who cleaned your wounds. Luckily, they weren't too bad, nothing that would hold you back forever. What had hurt you the most was the mental toll of what had happened. Healing within would take so much longer and Jake was going to stay by your side the entire time. After he had cleaned your wounds, stitched you up and given you a bath, he wasn't sure what to do. It was late, the clock nearing the morning by now but neither of you felt like going to bed.

Steven was fronting at that point and he was worried sick about you because you barely spoke. Not that he was surprised or that he wanted to push the words out of your mouth, he was simply concerned. No one could blame him. The love of his life, the human version of an actual ray of sunshine who was never supposed to get hurt, was scarred so deeply. If he could turn back time, he would've done it in a heartbeat.

"Darling," Steven slipped the shirt over your head gently, making sure to stretch the fabric in order to avoid touching the deep, purple bruises and stitched up wounds. You barely lifted your arms to make an effort to ease the job. You didn't mean to be difficult or distant, it just happened. Every time you tried to focus on the present, a wave of utter pain threatened to crash against you and you didn't want that to happen, so you pushed it away. Prolonging it was most likely only making it worse but you were so scared of embracing what had happened. When you blinked, you could see the man's dead body on the floor, a picture your brain cruelly created to taunt you. Marc hadn’t let you see Raul’s corpse, but your mind was creative enough to give you a front row seat one way or another.

Although Raul had hurt you and stated he wanted to kill Marc, knowing he was dead made you feel strange. That man had been a monster yet you felt shaken by his death somehow. How much part did you have in it? Would they find his body and throw you in a cell? Would his friends come after you? After Marc?

"Hey," Steven could feel his heart continuing to break as he watched that empty look on your face, "talk to me, love. Please. Just please don't bottle this up, I'm here for you." Steven knew that if you kept all of these thoughts to yourself, that eventually it would break you furthermore. It wasn't healthy and yet at the same time, he was aware of the fact talking about it was possibly just as difficult but in the end, it would mean so much.

"He wanted to kill you," You finally managed to say something more than just a word or two. Raul had kidnapped you because he wanted to kill the man you loved that badly. Trying to accept that was hard as you couldn't picture hating Marc so much. Marc was wonderful. One had to be a true monster to find him so despicable.

"But he didn't," Steven reminded you, taking a hold of your right hand and he gave you a gentle squeeze as he intertwined your fingers. You could only watch as Steven brought your knuckles to his lips and he placed a soft kiss on your skin. The tender touch went straight to your heart, pulling at the strings that made you tear up. God you loved him so much and it pained you deeply to shut off like this. If only you knew how, you'd let him back in instantly.

Steven noticed the glistening tears in your weary eyes. "Oh love," it was difficult to keep his own tears at bay once he saw you like that. When you leaned against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, it took the man by surprise. Steven hadn't anticipated that but he was happy to hold you too, knowing you were finally letting your emotions out. Determined as hell, Steven was going to be your rock. In his mind, it was the least he could do.

When you felt his hand between your shoulderblades, caressing you gently and lovingly, you felt yourself relaxing against him. Tears kept spilling from your eyes and you were coughing in-between sobs, but letting it out felt kind of good as well. The tangled web within your soul was unraveling with every tear and every caring touch patched a crack in your heart. You were safe and nothing could happen to you now. They made sure of it.

As you thought of what they had done for you, an enormous amount of gratitude surged from within. You held Steven even tighter, wanting to thank him but you couldn't get the words out of your mouth, lips quivering as you wept. They hadn't only come to rescue you but they made sure Raul would never hurt you or anyone for that matter again. Having only shot him, you felt horrible. No matter how well Jake washed your hands, you couldn't shake off the sticky feeling that coated your skin. It seemed impossible to imagine how taking a life must've been like yet they had done it. For you.

Steven's cologne filled your lungs as you pressed your tear-stained face against his chest, probably leaving marks on the fabric but neither of you really cared. The familiar, clean scent was oddly calming and eventually, the rough and painful sobs calmed down. Your fingers clung onto his back tightly because you longed to stay close to him. His tender embrace and familiar scent was grounding you and every once in a while, Steven would whisper reassuring things to you. Being loved by him made you feel so lucky.

"Thank you," You managed after a while, barely finding your voice after screaming and crying so much in just one day. Your throat felt as dry as the desert but it seemed to be the least of your worries.

"You don't need to thank me, love. Not at all," Steven was genuinely surprised to hear that. He was shocked that you weren't running away from them actually. Why you decided to stay when their presence attracted such horrible people was beyond him but there you were. But you were together, even if you were to leave Steven was terrified more mysterious boogeymen from the past would come after you. Just thinking about it gave him an even worse headache than he already had. All he knew was that he couldn't make you thank them because truth be told, Marc wasn't the only one who felt guilty.

"You saved me," You looked up to him with red and puffy eyes, feeling sick of crying at that point. If only making it stop was that easy.

"You shouldn't have needed saving in the first place," Steven acknowledged, the words feeling like a punch in the gut. He hated that it was true.

They were all blaming themselves and you hated it. Sure, you had blamed yourself for this too but at the end of the day, Raul Bushman had been the one to initiate everything for his own selfish desires. There was one person to blame for this and that person was dead.

Steven felt a tear rolling down his cheek which he didn't even bother to wipe away as he looked at you with such deep love and compassion on his face it was almost overwhelming. What he seemed to tell you with his eyes did more justice than what a thousand words ever could've.

"Steven, my love,," You took a deep shaky breath and then lifted your arm to wipe his stray tear away, noticing how Steven leaned ever so softly against your touch. Hours earlier he had feared he would never be able to do that again. "Don't blame yourself. None of you should."

Steven didn't say it, but he instantly thought of Marc who had completely shut himself off. Not even Jake could reach him. Marc was loathing in guilt and no one knew when he would front again as he had made it very clear he felt as if he was a curse upon you. A wretched old affliction that was destined to continue causing you harm no matter what he attempted to do to stop it.

Steven blinked as the tears just kept coming. He felt awful because he thought he was supposed to be the strong one to be there for you but as time passed, he too began to process everything that happened. Had they been late, you would've been long gone by now. Tonight had been too dangerous, the worst possible scenario had been too close to coming true.

As you felt Steven shaking underneath your touch, you swore you wanted to bring Raul back from the dead just to kill him again. Seeing the kind man that you loved so much being in so much pain over worry he felt for you was like walking on burning shards of glass. You were just both two people who had been terrified of losing one another and you both carried guilt that you absolutely shouldn't have.

You cupped Steven's face, pulling him toward you as he willingly let you do so just to press a kiss on the bridge of his nose. Then you guided him to the crook of your neck, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and allowing Steven to pull you closer by the waist. The two of you held onto each other as if you were scared of letting of. The only comfort in the world you could find was in each other's arms. Steven inhaled your scent, convinced he could find paradise in the soapy fragrance. It was safe because it was you. You were alright.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you leaned against Steven, not sure if you were about to yawn or sob as your lips parted. A yawn ripped from you and you somehow relaxed even more, unaware of how tense you had actually been. If Steven had let you, you would've fallen asleep just like that, in his arms where you felt separated you from everything else, the rotten outside world. The bubble he created for you was soothing, a place where one could stay forever and feel okay.

The last thing you remembered before passing out from pure exhaustion was Steven ever so carefully guiding you toward the pillows and tucking you in. Whether he kissed your forehead or you just dreamt it, you didn't know but it didn't really matter. After that, everything was filmy. Pitch black unconsciousness swallowed you whole and for a moment, the misery that had soaked into your every cell was far away.

Jake couldn't sleep. Steven had dosed off into broken sleep but it was Jake who woke up and stayed awake afterwards. It wasn't a difficult task for him to keep his eyes open as the sun began to rise outside. He had made sure the front door was locked and that no shady people were around the apartment complex. Jake had even gone out of his way to make sure their tracks were covered. All seemed well, at least on paper. No one could prove what they had done and no one was coming for you. All seemed well yet you were far from well as far as Jake was concerned.

He sat down on the bed eventually and tried to relax, making sure he didn't disturb your much needed rest. Jake knew the danger had been dealt with but part of him couldn't relax. Something cruel within told him people were out there, waiting for the first chance they'd get to harm you. So there he was, guarding you and at the very least giving you a chance to rest. As Jake's dark brown eyes focused on the steady rise and fall of your chest, he felt how deep, sharp claws sunk into his heart. Anger bubbled within him but to his surprise, that wasn't strong enough to push away the sorrow he harboured. Someone had hurt you and Jake couldn't comprehend it.

As you looked at your sleeping figure, studying the way your lashes touched your cheeks and how your lips parted a little bit when your cheek squished against the soft pillow, he struggled to comprehend how anyone was capable of harming you. Dark eyes roamed down your body, scarring every little bruise and cut on your exposed skin. Eventually, Jake looked at your fingers that clutched onto the blanket. He remembered when Marc had taken Raul's fingers as a wicked warning to keep his hands off of people. It had been a mistake to simply warn a man like that. They should've gotten rid of him then and there.

Raul hadn't just hurt you. All those years ago, while on a mission in Cairo they had come across surprise witnesses. People who weren't supposed to be there. People that the higher ups who paid them wanted to get rid of. Marc hadn't had it in him to kill a child but Raul almost did that. Almost, as Marc had stopped him just in time. That's why Marc had done what he did, hoping it would keep Raul from ever even thinking about hurting kids. Surely there had to be a line drawn somewhere, right? Not for Raul. Raul didn't care about who he had to get rid of in order to succeed with his ambitions. At least, he would never get another chance to do anything ever again.

When you yelped, breaking the silence that had lingered in the flat, Jake nearly jumped to his feet. He had been deep in thought that he hadn't heard you waking up so afraid. For a moment, you felt panicked and you had to pull your hands to your chest to make sure you weren't chained to a bedframe. Being able to move freely was so relieving but it didn't last long when you noticed the dull ache in your every bone and muscle.

Jake took a hold of your hand, wanting to comfort you in any way he could as you woke up to a new day. "You're safe, mi vida. I've got you."

Hearing Jake's voice made you feel so much lighter instantly. Although you had been able to sleep for a few hours, you somehow felt more tired now than you did before falling asleep. But it didn't matter. You enjoyed the fact that you were safe, just as Jake promised. Being home and completely shielded from any danger was a wonderful feeling and you focused on that instead of the sense of impending doom that was trying to shake you off balance. Nothing bad would happen now.

"Have you slept at all?" You mumbled tiredly as you sat up, trying to rub the weariness from your eyes. It felt like your body was on fire, not in a good way. Last night, the adrenaline had managed to dull most of the pain but now that you knew you were safe and had been able to relax, the discomfort seemed to have intensified.

"A little," Jake shrugged as he stood up. He could tell by the way you were moving that you were hurting so he decided to grab painkillers and a glass of water. As he returned from the kitchen with them, he gave you the pill and made sure you drank enough water. Jake knew how to be caring and attentive too, he just wasn't too verbal about it. Words didn't come easily to him, or when they did the timing wasn't the best either. Actions spoke louder than words anyway, he thought.

That day you didn't manage to get much done, not the next few days either for that matter. As the shock from the horrendous night still rattled you all, you could only stay inside. As the third day came around the corner, you were still mostly in bed or on the couch, unable to pull your head out of the dreadful place it found itself in. Jake and Steven had both fronted many times but it was mostly Steven who kept you company and tried to cheer you up. Marc hadn't shown up not even once after he had brought you back home. He hadn't come back as he promised. Not even when you were asleep.

Steven had gotten out of bed for the day, leaving you to slumber in hopes you were able to relax at least in your rest. You fell asleep again several times, only sleeping for a few minutes at a time when sudden fear woke you up again. It always seemed to come out of the blue and it passed just as quickly. The more it kept happening, the worse it felt. Around the time the sun was setting again and you still hadn't gotten out of bed, your anxiety was threatening to get the best of you.

Steven was in the kitchen, making something for you to eat since you hadn't eaten much at all yet. He wanted to take care of you and covering the basics such as making sure you ate was the least he felt he could do. As he stirred the pasta sauce, Steven had to really keep fight to keep his negative thoughts away. He hadn't slept well, obviously, and it seemed to take a toll on him now. He had almost lost you. No matter how many times he reminded himself that you were alright, he felt rotten to the core. What had he done if Raul had actually succeeded in his plan? Steven couldn't even imagine the scenario. That was too sinister.

The next time your anxiety awoke you, it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing at your throat. You sat up in bed and could physically feel your stomach turning upside down in distress. You bent over and dug your nails into your thighs, trying to drown your whimpers by biting your lips together. Only one thing repeated itself in your mind like a chant, you shot someone. You almost died and you shot someone. You did that.

As a sick feeling within you only grew worse, you forced yourself out of bed and to the bathroom. Unsure whether you'd get sick or not, you decided to sit down on the cold tile floor near the toilet just in case. That's when the tears got to you again and it was frustrating, making you entangle your fingers in your hair and scratch at your scalp. Why couldn't you stay calm? Why couldn't you accept that it was over? What happened had happened and now everything was fine. Why was it so damn hard to stay calm?

Marc. You missed Marc. He had shut off completely and it was devastating. Was he angry at you? Could it be? Raul had done this to anger Marc specifically. Did Marc blame you in some way? As wrong as it seemed, you weren't sure if anything could surprise you anymore. The longer he stayed hidden, the longer you were left to make your own conclusions.

"Love? Are you in here? I've made dinner," Steven's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Hearing him was like music to your ears. He was like a warm blanket that chased away the coldness that threatened to turn you to ice. Your heart swelled in your chest with love for him because you were sure you'd be a wreck without the sweet man.

"Yeah," After taking a few deep breaths, you felt somewhat better and got up from the floor. As long as you tried getting out of your head, you were sure you'd feel better. So you walked out of the bathroom and let Steven serve you a plate of pasta although you were certain you could've helped yourself too. Steven was going out of his way to be thoughtful and as nice as it was, it made you fear he was doing so out of guilt. How long would this last? How long would you all be broken because of one man?

The two of you sat on the couch as you ate, mindlessly watching the TV that filled in the silent gaps. Usually, you and Steven would be talking nonstop and probably pissing off the neighbours too. Now conversation was hard. Just existing felt like a chore but at least every day that passed made it a little bit less awful.

"Steven?" You were nervous about what you wanted to say so you avoided facing him, instead focusing on the pasta that swirled around your fork.

"Yes?"

By now, you could feel the familiar heavy thud of your heart. "Have you heard from Marc?"

Steven wasn't a fool. He knew you noticed Marc's absence as well as he and Jake did too, if not even better. Until now, neither of you had mentioned it though. Steven didn't want to upset you any more than people already had. For a split second, he thought of brushing it off with a somewhat cheerful statement, but discarded that quickly. You didn't deserve that. You were hurt, not stupid. Treating you like a child and walking on eggshells around you couldn't possibly do any more good than it would do harm.

With a sigh, Steven put his plate down on the coffeetable right next to a book he hadn't touched in days now.

"No, not really," Steven admitted and dared to glance your way. "I'm sorry."

“‘s not your fault.”

“Well I’m still sorry, love.”

"Is he mad?" You mimicked Steven by placing your plate on the coffeetable, too agitated to focus on eating the rest of your food. The queasy feeling from earlier was creeping right back to you at an alarming rate. To say you were discouraged was an understatement, going through a cycle of sickness and dread ten times an hour.

Steven couldn't believe you honestly thought so. "Mad?" He had to be sure he heard right. When he saw the fearful look on your face, he knew he had. "No, not at all. He's just... well, if he's mad at anyone it's at himself."

"He can't blame himself for what happened!" You hoped that somehow, someway, Marc could hear you. "Gosh he's so stubborn sometimes," You didn't mean it in a malicious way, not at all. You loved Marc and you wished you could just speak to him and convince him he wasn't blameworthy of anything.

"Yeah," Steven pulled his lips into a thin line, side-glancing at the reflection in Gus' tank. Marc was there but he certainly wasn't saying anything. The man seemed out of it, his usual demeanour completely shattered. Jake was trying to convince Marc to just talk to you. Steven wished you could hear and see what he was seeing sometimes.

In an attempt to ease your mind, Steven moved closer to you on the couch and invited you into a hug. The people on the television were overly cheerful and giddy considering the gloomy atmosphere in the flat as bright colours flashed from the screen, painting the otherwise dark room in pinks and yellows. You leaned against Steven's welcoming frame and tried to stay calm, knowing Marc was in there somewhere. He'd have to show up sooner or later, right? He couldn't hide from you forever.

For once, it was you who was awake and Steven was asleep. Or at least you had been cuddling with Steven just moments earlier. It was a dead giveaway he was finally sleeping when you heard a light snore every once in a while between the deep and calm breaths. For a moment, you focused on that alone, letting the simple sounds of his breaths and heartbeat chase away the rest of the world. To you, sleep didn't come easy that night and neither were you sleepy. Just tired in every other possible way.

"I wish you weren't so hard on yourself, Marc," The words left your mouth as hardly louder than a whisper, as you did not wish to wake him up. The longer Marc stayed hidden, either too ashamed to face you or too heartbroken to front, you felt so sorry for him. It was killing you to know Marc couldn't bring himself to talk to you.

Fingers carefully traced the blanket that weighed over his waist. You rested your palm against his chest, needing to feel the subtle movement that kept you grounded to this moment. Slowly you got closer so that you could pepper kisses along his shoulder, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Even if you couldn't sleep, being close like this brought you some sort of relaxation and peace.

"I love you." Perhaps it was foolish, perhaps it was exactly what you needed, you closed your eyes and held onto him tighter, picturing a night from many weeks ago that reminded you of Marc. In your mind, it was that night and nothing horrible had happened yet. You were just close to each other, just two lovers enjoying the calm night after a lovely day together. There was no pain or guilt to be seen or felt.

The next morning, it was Marc that awoke to a new day. It was still early, way too early to actually get out of bed but he quickly knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. Your body was pressed against his and Marc felt his heart sinking to the very bottom of his stomach. He hadn't been able to speak to you or even really look at you since that night. Now there he was, with an arm wrapped around you and panic stirring within him. Although part of him longed to hold you and make sure you were alright, it almost physically pained him to be there. He saw the healing bruises on your skin, now tinted in a yellowish hue. They were scattered all over you, each small and bigger bruise making Marc enraged. How had he let this happen?

Gently, Marc pulled the blanket aside more, revealing your thighs and seeing the damage all the way down your legs. He saw the cut Jake had stitched in the bathroom that night. Marc traced his fingers over your skin so softly he wasn't even sure he was really touching you. Memories of that night came back to him, visions he had been stuck thinking of for a week straight with seemingly no break. He remembered how scared he felt when he first saw you chained to that bed. Marc had been terrified when he learned it was Raul who held you captive. That night was easily the worst of his life that was full of horrible days and nights. That night he almost lost you, the light of his dark and gloomy life.

"Marc?" You hadn't been in deep sleep so when you sensed shifting next to you, it was easy to tell you weren't the only one awake. It had been wishful thinking to picture it was Marc but sometimes wishful thinking turned out to be correct.

You saw it in his eyes. There was a familiar look in those brown irises, a light that only shone for him. Then you saw it in the way he carried himself. There were small things that gave the truth away. It really was Marc. Instantly, you felt wide awake as you faced your lover, nearly afraid to blink in case he would disappear again. "Marc..."

"I didn't mean to wake you," Marc failed to meet your gaze, holding himself together by a thread that was just about to snap. He thought about how he had carried you, how your blood had stained his clothes and how he was convinced you would see him as the monster he thought he was after everything that happened. You were all he had and despite being right next to you, Marc felt as if he had lost you already. After everything that happened, he knew nothing would ever be the same and he blamed himself for it all.

As he moved away from you, throwing his legs off the edge of the bed so he was sitting with his back facing you, it was clear he wanted to be anywhere but there. The bed felt colder and despite being so close to Marc, it felt like there were worlds between you.

Quietly, you got out of bed, the white t-shirt being the only fabric that covered you from the night. Carefully, you sat down on the edge of the bed next to Marc, relief washing over you when he didn’t get up and leave. Instead, Marc sighed deeply and turned to face you, now with tears in his eyes. Tears. As if you all hadn’t gotten sick and tired of those by now. The fact you hadn’t drowned in them yet was a miracle.

“Marc,” You searched for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his for the first time in what felt like a small eternity. “I missed you.”

The words affected him more than you’d ever know. Marc could still not believe you weren’t angry at him. Knowing you wanted to be by his side after everything was simply mind boggling.

“I missed you too, baby,” Marc admitted, finally beginning to speak about what had happened. Perhaps it was the closeness that made him feel like it was time or the fact that keeping everything bottled up was slowly killing him, either way Marc was encouraged to go on. “Fuck, I...I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you’re still here. I thought I’d lose you.”

“Marc-”

“What happened was never supposed to happen. I should’ve made sure of that long ago!”

“Marc!” You couldn’t let him sit there and keep blaming himself. Eventually the load he was carrying would break him and that would break you too.

He looked at you wide eyed, resembling a lost puppy. Seeing Marc like this was so unusual, he looked at you for guidance and forgiveness although forgiveness was something he never needed to ask for. It wasn’t needed in the first place but even if it were, you knew in your heart you’d forgive him a million times.

“What happened was not your fault,” Each word you said was clear and loud so that he couldn’t possibly mishear you. “The only person to blame for it is now dead and gone. Raul chose to do this. Not you, not me. He is the only one who should feel guilty.”

“You could’ve died,” Marc still didn’t budge, holding your hand a little tighter as he stated that. There was a deep desire within him that made him long to feel you even closer just as a reminder that you were alive.

“But I didn’t. I’m here thanks to you,” There were two sides two every situation. Marc could only see what almost happened and you were there to remind him of what actually happened, something he didn’t seem to consider at all.

“I could walk into traffic and get run over by a car tomorrow. I could get targeted by a random robber in a sketchy alleyway. Bad things happen and we can’t predict that. No one knows how much time we have but I know that no matter what, Raul’s actions weren’t your fault,” You didn’t mean to sound cruel but your words carried truth in them. No one could blame themselves for the unseen actions of the future. No one.

Like magic, something finally seemed to click in Marc’s mind. His shoulders relaxed and you could feel the tension melting from his muscles. When he let go of your hand just so he could envelope you in a hug, you wanted to thank whatever deity or god that must’ve given you this miracle.

Soon you found yourself on Marc’s lap, breathing in the subtle hints of his cologne as you rested your face against his shoulder. Marc held you tightly, but he was aware of your injuries so the man was mindful, not aiming to hurt you. His rough hand - now ever so gentle - was caressing the back of your head as his arm wrapped around you, keeping you close. Then at last, Marc let his tears rain down his face. The lid of the bottle was opened and you had knocked it over, letting it all spill out.

“I love you so much,” You whispered to him, repeating the confession a few times between soft kisses against his warm skin. You comforted Marc to the best of your abilities, playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck and ever so often wiping away the tears that were running down his throat.

“I love you too,” Marc had to return those words, his heart set aflame from love and passion that he felt for you. It was a fire no one could ever put out.

Marc held onto you for dear life, wanting to feel your heartbeat against his, to feel your chest expanding with air. Your scent calmed him as he let his sorrow out. Although only a few days had passed since you two last spoke, to him it felt like months. Looking back at how scared he had felt made him feel sick. It worsened when he couldn’t shake away the image of you in that fucking room. That was something no amount of words could ever clean from his memory.

But there you were. Not in a creepy room at the mercy of one of the most dangerous people Marc knew of. No. You were in his arms, in your bed and no one else could possibly bother you right now.

To Marc, this was all that mattered.

You were safe.

A/N: Okay so I definitely didn’t intend for this to be this long but here we are. I hope you liked it! :)

#Moon Knight fanfiction #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #Jake Lockley x Reader #moon knight #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #angst #hurt/comfort #raul bushman

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

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Demigod MC Series: Dionysus

Hey y’all, sorry for going dark! I’m alright, almost completely recovered in fact! I just got so sleepy while my body was fighting stuff off and couldn’t really work up the energy to write... Still going to be spotty for a short time, but I’m glad to have gotten this done. See ya soon!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus

Lucifer

Well, this mortal stumbled out of the portal covered in glitter, body paint, and carrying a red solo cup… which they proceeded to stare at like, "'ell sshhit… Thiz iz sum stron s'uff…"

First impressions were not on their side here.

He spent a depressingly long amount of time more or less assuming that the MC was a drunken f-up and spent the first few months trying to make them more… presentable.

But like… How do you stop someone from acting like a drunk fool when they can turn any drink they touch alcoholic???

For months they would show up to meetings buzzed or stumbling, all smiles and all giggles but HORRIBLY unprofessional, and he just couldn't stand it!

But then he found out their little secret…

Assassination threats befall the exchange students all the time. Most of them are dealt with quickly but some (through skill or dumb luck) manage to slip through...

He had been walking with the MC through their new vineyard in the House's courtyard, yet again trying to lecture them about their drunken behavior, when suddenly the two were ambushed!

Ten or so heavily armored demons dropped down from the sky to attack them! Lucifer was so preoccupied that he got cornered by three of them and it took him a hot minute to destroy them.

When he looked back at the mortal (who had been fighting a 1-on-7) he was certain they'd have been kidnapped or worse…

But he saw that they had already cut down two attackers with their weapon with ease. The other five were rolling in the dirt, babbling about inexplicable terrors and imaginary pain as their minds succumbed to madness…

Meanwhile, the MC just stood in the middle of it all with the icy glare of someone who’s just revealed how stone-cold sober they've always been under the surface...

When they turned back to him, they put their usual ditzy smile back on over the tormented wails of the demons around them...

MC: Whoopsie… Gotta little mad there. 🙂

He uh… took a big ol'step off their back after that. Surprisingly, they're more pleasant (and less dangerous) "drunk" than they are sober…

Mammon

Oh HELL yeah!! Lucifer actually gave him a mortal that knows how to party!!

Admittedly, they looked like utter trash when they first met, like, "Hey, I've been at this party since DAWN" trash, but they gave him one good look and pulled together a surprisingly hot smile.

MC: "-ey yer cute… Ya like strip poker?"

Spoken like someone else who also makes shit decisions… They were going to get along just fine!

And they did. The MC to him was that one friend that's always down for anything. Just anything. Whenever. Wherever.

He wants to try sneaking into Lucifer's room to steal stuff? Sure, what time?

He wants to take a mattress and see if he can ride it down the grand staircase of the palace? Alright, we bringin' pillows too?

He needs to set up another scheme that's gotta involve live rats and box of tiny hats and monocles?? That's oddly specific but count them in!!

Sometimes he honestly can't tell if they're laid back or just crave chaos... but it works out fine for him either way so who cares? 🤷‍♀️

And if you think normal Mammon is a pain in the ass for Lucifer? Check out drunk Mammon. All the same urges but literally none of the (marginal) competence!!

At one point, the eldest ended up stringing both Mammon and the MC from the ceiling after they both barged into his office looking for Goldie… while he was still in there… watching them wander around aimlessly calling out for a piece of plastic like it was a missing puppy…

They end up together on the ceiling a lot come to think of it, but hey, at least now he has some company. 😌

Leviathan

Thinks they're the most normal normie to have ever normed on this normie planet!!!

No, seriously. They're a billion times worse than Asmo!! All they want to do is go to parties and drink all the time! What kind of use is he to someone like that??

… That being said they ARE pretty fun to be around… And their sake is WAY better than anything he could get off Akuzon!!

They also like karaoke too! So at least he has someone else to go with (even if they get so drunk they can’t remember any lyrics and just belt barely coherent discount Mariah Carey vocals behind him...)

Of course, the real fun between these two is everybody else getting to watch a couple of the Devildom's sloppiest drunks attempt to communicate with each other…

Levi: MMM-*hic*-MCCC…!!! *throws himself at them from across the bar*

MC: What Leviachan??? 😨 Did the chair kick you off?!

Levi: Nooo! *pokes their cheek* I wanna-I wanna tell you sometin'...! *tries pulling them closer*

MC: Whaa? Secrets?? *leans in eagerly*

Levi: Mammon used all ma money on’a pyramid scheme a thou-zand years ago… AND HE STILL WON'T PAY ME BAAA-!!! 😭😭 *starts shaking them violently*

MC: *getting flung around like a limp noodle* Waaaat?! Nooo!!! I'm so sowwy!! 😢

Mammon: *watching it all go down right next to him* 😑 Ya guys need some water… I'm cuttin' ya off, got it?

MC: 😱 Shut yer whore mouth, criminal!! *starts pelting him with pretzel bites*

Levi: 😤 Yah!! *joins in*

Good thing he's a shut-in, because the hangovers he gets after those escapades are unreal…

Satan

A little concerned for their liver, honestly… How much damage have they already done to the poor thing...?

But at the same time, he'll be damned if they don't make some utterly fantastic wine!

Alcokinesis wasn't a power he would have pegged a demigod to have but apparently the great art of making drinks comes from their godly DNA.

When they first met, he was trying to get the MC to act less slovenly but made the mistake of agreeing to a wager: he'd let them dress however they pleased if they could give him the BEST drink he'd ever tasted.

Now, Satan isn't a huge drinker (thank you terrible alcohol tolerance), but he's still a man of fine tastes. Plus, he's sampled Demonus from Diavolo royal stock before. They should not have won…

But on that day, he had to let them go to RAD in a pink blanket toga... 😑 Their wine is just THAT good.

He hates to admit it, but they've gotten him drunk more times than he could probably count too… He's not a huge fan of clubbing with them and the others, but if they bring over a bottle from their vineyard he just can't resist. They're a master of their craft, truly.

And it's a good thing he likes their drinks so much, because if they called him, "Kitty-boy," when he's sober, he may have just become a sour grape himself…

They also may or may not have copious amounts of blackmail material of him either meowing between sentences, sobbing over some fictional character he likes, pole dancing on dares….

Yeah, he's been trying to destroy their phone for months now. If Lucifer were to see ANY of that, he's done for… 😣

He has also been meaning to ask them about other aspects of their abilities, their father is also the God of Madness after all, but anytime he tries to bring it up they shove another glass in his hand and tell him not to kill the mood...

Eh. What's the harm in having another drink, right? 🤷‍♀️

Asmodeus

Honey. He's MET Dionysus. He's been to a Dio-party or two and they're INSANE. He could not be more thrilled by this!!!

He practically scooped them up on the first night that they were in the House and it’s practically been a nonstop rave between these two ever since. They’re like the party twin he never knew he needed!!

He absolutely abuses their ability to turn pretty much any drink they touch into alcohol at clubs. It makes the nights so much easier on the wallet PLUS it makes an excellent little party trick to impress the succubi! Who doesn’t want a free drink? 😏

And can he just say that their drinks are better? Just flat out amazing! If it weren’t so unhealthy he’d consider drinking nothing but their booze and wine for the rest of his days, Satan’s certainly getting close to it.

But little does Satan know, he’s not even getting the GOOD stuff...

There’s the normal wine: grapes picked from the vineyard, hand squeezed, then magically helped through the fermenting process. But their real good stuff? They were given enchanted oak barrels from their father and anything that comes out of those is worth starting a WAR over. 😩

He knows, because he gifted an extra bottle to Diavolo once and Barbs came to him the very next day demanding to know what vineyard had produced it with the look of man willing to annex a small nation...

Asmo had to beg Lucifer to talk to Diavolo after the butler more or less kidnapped the MC back to the Castle… Devil knows even Barbs wouldn’t ever be able to reproduce their wine, so they could have been locked there for eternity!!

Thankfully, he got his party-buddy back and their debauchery continued! (Just now with Barbatos following them around sometimes like he’s trying to gather state secrets... It’s an impossible task but he hasn’t given up yet, bless his black heart.)

Beelzebub

He isn't much bothered by their carefree nature, at least they seem to be having fun with his family which he appreciates. 🙂

To be honest, though, he nearly ate them when they first met because they smell like freshly peeled grapes… and for good reason.

By their third day at the House they had (somehow) planted and cultivated a full on vineyard in the courtyard. Hell, the wall growing to their bedroom balcony was covered in grapevines!! Always ripe and completely healthy in defiance of the lack of sun... Whatever magic they used was strong.

And, of course, their grapes were also delicious! Easily among the best fruits he's ever tasted! Every cluster is ridiculously plump, juicy, and sweet like little droplets of pure Heaven… 🤤

When their fruit first ripened, the MC came out with a basket to collect some only to find Beel had gouged himself on over half of their crop!!!

… which may have been why he got snared up on one of the courtyard walls by pissed off grapevines... Even with all his strength, he couldn't break through them and had to wait for Lucifer to cut him down… 😔

From then on, Beel was pretty much the pesky rabbit to the MC's harvest. They had to set up traps and magical barriers to keep him from their precious grapes…!! Which inevitably meant one of his brothers had to come rescue him from their furious vines at least once a week... 🙄

SOMETIMES, the MC will bring him along to help harvest with them with the deal that he can have an extra basket for however many he helps them pick. But the second he takes a bite he shouldn't, it’s back on the wall!

Out of the vineyard, they're nice enough. But put some grapes between these two and they're mortal enemies… STOP messing with their plants, Beel!! 😤

Belphegor

So… this drunken fool is supposed to get him out of the attic? Never mind, this is never going to work…

He was SEVERELY underwhelmed when the "human" finally made it up the steps. This was who they decided to bring for their exchange program? They seemed like they could barely stand!

Naturally, he figured all the better for him. They probably wouldn't even last that long!

Some poor, incompetent human falling victim to a demon out there? Diavolo's reputation would in tatters and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger! (His favorite way of doing things really 😌).

But… they just kept coming back? Like. Nothing was killing them….! How guarded were they keeping this moron??

Or… maybe it was something else?

Sure, the MC seemed like a drunken idiot but there were times when he'd swear that they were just… too aware to be sloshed…

MC: *suddenly stops smiling at him mid-conversation and looks him in the eye* You tilt your head when you lie. You know that?

How can someone so cheerful ALSO be so unnerving…?

So really, he should have seen their sudden heel-turn after they opened the door coming. There he was, fully intending to take them by surprise and choke them after a hug…

...and they knocked him down, climbed onto his back like a spider monkey, and rode him around like a bucking bull using his horns like handlebars!!

It wouldn’t have been AS humiliating if they didn’t also keep shouting things like "Giddiyap!" And "Yee-haw!!"

It took him a whole month to be sure that any and all footage of that nightmare was erased and he STILL hates the MC quite a bit for it…. But he's too scared to attack them now, so…

The lesson here? It's not a fair fight when one side’s crazy... 😔😒

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods

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ragegrove · 2 years ago

Text

strcngergirls:

continued from here @turnedahero

“Well, for the shark’s sake, I hope we never have to find out.” When she was pregnant with Billy, back when he was the size of an apple nestled in her womb, she would have dreams about saving him. Once from sharks, once from wolves. And a lot more time from his father. The night before Billy was born, she had a nightmare, a vision in which she didn’t dive in soon enough, didn’t fend off the wolves good enough. Where she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Neil. She’d never told anyone that, not out loud, at least. And certainly not to Neil. Dottie may have scribbled it here and there in a diary along the way, but those were stories she thought were better left buried. Besides, her little Billy wasn’t a baby anymore. He didn’t need her to protect him from wild animals, he could do that on his own. But she was still too weak to protect him from dangerous people.

“I suppose it doesn’t have to be a van.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed at his comment, the corners of her mouth quivering as she held back a laugh. Dottie wouldn’t have minded being a soccer mom. In a different timeline, maybe Billy would’ve taken up soccer or baseball instead of surfing, but she had always supportive of whatever he wanted to pursue. But she couldn’t help wonder if surf moms fell under the same criteria when it came to vehicles. “Well, as long as there’s room for a weekend’s worth of fun in that Camaro of yours, I won’t object.”

Blue eyes follow him as he tosses the jumbled mess of a cassette player into the trash bin, and her brain begins to spin. She had always been a planner, to a fault if you asked Neil Hargrove. But Dottie was also a doer, and if something needed to be done, she’d make sure it was done right. “What are we waiting for, then? It’ll be my treat. Maybe we can stop for burgers after. You’re not too cool for burgers now, too, are you?”

“mom wrestling a shark? that’s funny.” but not as funny as her face and sigh at him about his commentary about vans and soccer moms that he sees once he’s walking back from the kitchen, it makes him laugh before his thoughts revert back to the previous conversation once it lingers longer on his mind.

“i would, too.” he blurts, saying it without needing to think it. exactly like the way he’d actually react to a shark or another animal or anything for that matter posing as a threat to his mother. the person he loves most in the world. he already has faced a monster for her, even when he was smaller. one that’s human with flesh and he’d do it again if he had to. “i mean, i’d join in on the wrestling match with the shark once it was no longer interested in me. it’d be my turn to wrestle it once it thinks it’s going to get to you.” behind the playful smiles & quips, he means that. they share the same fiercely protective instinct and can’t be more proud that it’s obvious he got it from her.

“of course there’ll be. i promise. ––when we go really fast, you know?” laughing playfully then blond curls brush against his neck at the shake of his head, “i’m not too cool for burgers.” he snorts, already going to his room to go get the camaro keys. smile on his face indicates he likes that idea. she just made it that much more fun by suggesting that after the store.

comes back with black chuck taylors and plops down on the couch for a second, pulling the high top shoes onto his feet. “you don’t have to pay for the cassette though.” after both shoes are tied, he rises again and reaches behind him. pulls out his wallet from back pocket real quick before they leave, showing her what’s inside, “look, i made a fifty for replacing the fan belt on the neighbor down the street’s car the other day and a fifty for cutting grass. not counting the other money i’ve already got put back, but this is spending money. so if you want anything, i’ll buy it this time mom.” he tells her with a soft smile, putting the wallet back into his pocket. it’s the least he can do, he thinks. plus he wants to share it with her.

continued from here @turnedahero

"Well, for the shark's sake, I hope we never have to find out." When she was pregnant with Billy, back when he was the size of an apple nestled in her womb, she would have dreams about saving him. Once from sharks, once from wolves. And a lot more time from his father. The night before Billy was born, she had a nightmare, a vision in which she didn't dive in soon enough, didn't fend off the wolves good enough. Where she wasn't strong enough to stand up to Neil. She'd never told anyone that, not out loud, at least. And certainly not to Neil. Dottie may have scribbled it here and there in a diary along the way, but those were stories she thought were better left buried. Besides, her little Billy wasn't a baby anymore. He didn't need her to protect him from wild animals, he could do that on his own. But she was still too weak to protect him from dangerous people.

"I suppose it doesn't have to be a van." She let out an exaggerated sigh. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed at his comment, the corners of her mouth quivering as she held back a laugh. Dottie wouldn't have minded being a soccer mom. In a different timeline, maybe Billy would've taken up soccer or baseball instead of surfing, but she had always supportive of whatever he wanted to pursue. But she couldn't help wonder if surf moms fell under the same criteria when it came to vehicles. "Well, as long as there's room for a weekend's worth of fun in that Camaro of yours, I won't object."

Blue eyes follow him as he tosses the jumbled mess of a cassette player into the trash bin, and her brain begins to spin. She had always been a planner, to a fault if you asked Neil Hargrove. But Dottie was also a doer, and if something needed to be done, she'd make sure it was done right. "What are we waiting for, then? It'll be my treat. Maybe we can stop for burgers after. You're not too cool for burgers now, too, are you?"

#strcngergirls #wait oh gosh dnkdsn i think my editor thing messed the format up *sobbing* idk how to fix it #if u need me to repost this / things look weird on ur side lemme know and ill repost my reply #cause this is the first time it has happened oh no D:

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, songfic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4700

Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language

A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.

There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good

“Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.

Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.

“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”

You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.

Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.

Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.

It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.

You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.

Dammit, Steve.

“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”

“I guess…”

Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?

This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.

Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.

Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.

Right?

Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.

Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.

And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.

“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.

“…and?”

“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.

Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.

“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“

“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.

Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.

Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.

It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.

“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”

“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.

God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.

Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.

Huh? He… knew?

“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.

“Why?”

Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.

Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?

No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“

-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.

One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.

“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“

You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.

“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”

You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.

“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”

Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.

“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”

You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.

A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.

“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”

He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”

There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm

Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.

Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.

Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.

On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.

“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.

It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.

It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” – a whisper full of honesty.

“Uh-huh.”

Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.

Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.

“…are you? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.

“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”

A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.

Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.

“What about it-?“

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?

You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.

Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.

“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”

The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.

“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.

You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.

“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.

The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.

Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.

“How did you know?”

“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”

“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.

Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.

And you were alright with that. More than alright.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.

You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.

“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it. “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.

“Yeah, so am I.”

Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“

Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.

You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”

You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.

“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”

Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.

“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“

Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.

“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.

“Huh?”

“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”

“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.

“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.

Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.

“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”

Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.

You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.

Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.

“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.

Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.

So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.

“Always.”

You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.

Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on

You reached the Tower hand in hand.

Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.

You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.

Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.

“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”

That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.

“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“

Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.

“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”

You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.

“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”

One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”

You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?

His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.

Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.

“Steve!”

Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.

“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?

I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.

Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.

“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”

“See you in ten then.”

You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside

*✧･ Bonus *✧･

If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.

He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.

He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.

Probably.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

S.R. masterlist

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.

Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #songfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #hurt/comfort #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #avenger reader #shield agent reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #walk me home tonight #anika ann

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sydneekomspacekru · 3 years ago

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Not the Hero ~ A Stranger Things fanfiction feat. Criminal Minds Baby Sister, Y/n Reid. ~ Part 2

Inspiration: Literally nothing, like just my midnight brain lmao. Summary: Y/n Reid is Spencer Reid's younger sister. Dr. Spencer Reid worked at the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. His younger sister interning for Penelope Garcia. That was, before Y/n's life was put in danger by an unsub - who was never caught - who kidnapped and tortured her. Now, Spencer and Y/n have been put under protective custody and moved to Hawkins Indiana. Now, Y/n faces much bigger threats as she and her new-found family try to navigate the Upside Down and all its creatures, while also dealing with the usual hOrMoNeS. Warnings: Language, PTSD, Light Smut (Eventual), Pining, talk of Kidnapping/torture, drug use, self deprivation, gore, death, smoking, self harm, now I'm naming all of the warnings from Stranger Things on Netflix... I think that's it.

A/N: Ahahaha reader is bisexual because like how the fuck is she not supposed to be with Robin and Steve working there🤣 The order of things is kind of scrambled so beware. Also I have no idea if I've correctly written for PTSD so if anyone has any advice, it is completely welcome and wanted.

Previous | Next

Your weekend was shit. You sat around the house, doing nearly nothing all weekend. You hadn't received another text from any of the team yet, and the one that you had got last Friday had deleted itself on Saturday night. Finally it was Monday morning, and you mentally prepared yourself for the embarassment that was undoubtedly going to ensue.

Oh dear God, you thought, I'm going to make a complete fool out of my self.

"Hey Y/n," your brother hollered, knocking on the door. You flopped back onto the bed, you had got some unpacking done, and hung up some shelves to put your things up on.

You tugged on your shirt, you felt like a human gum ball. "Come in." You sat up, crossing your legs.

"Hey," he opened the door, looking around your room. "What time do we need to-" He snorted, trying to hold back a laugh as he noticed your uniform. You took off the stupid hat and threw it at him. He made no attempt to catch it, but picked it up and put it back on your head. "You look great."

"Haha, funny man." You rolled your eyes. "We should probably get going, my shift doesn't start until eleven, but I would rather get there a little early and it's almost ten thirty now."

"Okay, I'm ready when you are." He smiled at you and left your room. You huffed as you grabbed your bag, stuffing your charger, wallet, gum, and a change of clothes. You'd rather not change when you got home, you knew you'd be exhausted.

You heard a thump somewhere in the apartment, and you struggled to work back the memories that threatened to strangle you.

You were sitting in the corner, not really knowing what to do. Someone came up to you and offered you a drink. What was the worst that could happen? You get a little drunk and Spencer yells at you, who cares? You accepted the drink, you took a sip and heard a loud thump echo through the house, you heard someone yell that everything was fine, someone had fallen in the bathtub.

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, and you checked the time. 10:28. I should better get going, you thought. The mall was about fifteen minutes away, and someone had to show you how to do it all. Even if "all" was just scooping ice cream and using the register.

You took a deep breath, and hollered for your brother to start the car.

Spencer pulled up to Starcourt Mall, and warned you once again. "If anything bad happens while you're working here, then you won't go anywhere until you move out." He was serious, and stared you down until you nodded. "Have a great first day of work, Y/n/n." He smiled now. You smiled, grabbed your bag, and hurried into the mall, turning into Scoops Ahoy. You cringed as the kids looked at you, one of them giggled. You gave the little boy a small smile, and went up to the counter. You glanced at the clock, 10:52. You still had twn minutes, it shouldn't take that long to get with the program. It was scooping ice cream.

"Excuse me." You said to the girl behind the counter, she was faced away from you.

"Ahoy?" She turned around to face you, and started the greeting with fake enthusiasm, but it ended more like a question. "Are you the new girl?" She asked, looking you over, smiling a bit.

"Yeah, where do I need to go? I know I'm early, sorry about that." You rambled out, it was all very awkward. You were standing in front of the counter, wearing the same outfit as her but you couldn't feel more out of place.

"You're good, you're good." She said, still smiling. "Come on, I'll show you the back. Steve is on his break, I'll make him show you what to do." She waved you behind the counter, and showed you to the backroom. "My name's Robin, by the way." She looked back at you before opening the door.

"I'm Y/n." You felt your face grow warm. Even though it was a small gesture, her opening the door made you feel special.

"This is the back!" She made a grand gesture, spreading her arms, as she hopped in front of you. The room was small, and certainly nothing magnificent. "Where we smoke weed and eat ice cream right from the carton." She winked, and you both laughed.

She walked over to a boy with brown hair, and you seriously hoped it wasn't the rude one from the other night. "This dingus right here is Steve." She smacked him lightly on the back, and he turned around. "You have to teach Y/n how to scoop ice cream." She snickered, turning to you, "Good luck, it'll be the longest five minutes of your life." She smiled at you, and started towards the door.

That was when you realized it hadn't even been five minutes. You hadn't been around the pretty girl named Robin for five minutes and you were already crushing on her. You breathed a laugh out as she spun and walked back out the door to go deal with a kid that dropped her ice cream.

You turned back towards Steve, still a little pissed off about your interaction on Friday. "So..." You said.

"I'm sorry about being an ass the other day, it was a sucky day." He stood up and tried to give you a smile. He obviously was not feeling great.

"Thanks." You tried to get past how desperately you wished Robin was in here instead of him, the asshole who told you to fuck off when you accidentally ran into him. "So, are you gonna teach me how to scoop ice cream or what." You snorted, it was kind of ridiculous. The idea that you had to be trained to scoop ice cream and put it on a cone.

"I guess so." He shrugged and told you to follow him. He brought you to the freezer and grabbed an extra thing of ice cream.

Scooping ice cream proved to be harder than it seemed. Your fingers were sticky with melted ice cream, and you and Steve were both cracking up because you were either dropping ice cream or flinging onto one of you.

"You're actual shift doesn't start until 11:30, so you still have twenty minutes to practice back here. But unfortunately, my break was over ten minutes ago. So, do whatever." He smiled and jokingly saluted you before walking back out.

You scooped ice cream and put it back in for ten more minutes before you got bored of it, and checked your phone. You got a text from Spencer, Good luck, have a good day. I'll pick you up when your shift is over.

You texted him back really fast, Thanks😊

You looked through your other notifications, two from Instagram, a couple from Twitter, most were from the various little games on your phone. You swiped all of them out, then you got to a text message from an unknown number. Your eyes lit up, and a wide smile found its way to your face.

You opened your phone, and looked through the message.

68 65 79 20 6d 69 6e 69 20 72 65 69 64 2e 20 67 6f 6f 64 20 6c 75 63 6b 20 40 20 74 68 65 20 6a 6f 62 2e 20 77 65 20 6c 75 76 20 75 2e 0a 2d 20 64 6d 2c 20 70 67 2c 20 6a 6a 2c 20 64 72 2c 20 61 68 2c 20 65 70

Damn, this is a little harder. It's not too much of a problem though.

It took fifteen minutes, but you finally finished.

Hey mini Reid. Good luck @ the job. We luv u. - Dm, Pg, JJ, Dr, Ah, Ep

It was Morgan that texted you this time, he texted more like a teenager than a 30-somethin year old man. It was quite laughable, really. You didn't realize it until you had already deduced that Morgan had sent the message, but whoevers initials came first on the signature was the one who wrote the message.

You snorted, you figured Garcia had been keeping tabs on you. You didn't realize that she could do that, though. You hadn't even started your job yet and she knew. I mean, unless she had been talking to your brother... But he wouldn't do that, would he?

Your eyebrows pulled together, would he really talk to them without telling you? Especially about you?Granted, you were doing the same thing, but you were his little sister, and he knew how attached you were to everyone.

104 101 121 32 121 97 108 108 46 32 104 97 118 101 32 121 111 117 32 98 101 101 110 32 116 97 108 107 105 110 103 32 116 111 32 109 121 32 98 114 111 116 104 101 114 32 116 111 111 63 32 108 117 118 32 121 97 108 108 32 116 111 111 46

You read over it, checking it against your key - Hey yall. Have you been talking to my brother too? Luv yall too.

You sighed as you realized you had to start your shift. "This'll be fun."

"That was not fun. At all." You laughed as the three of you walked to the back room. Robin showed you how to close up, now you, her, and Steve were heading to the back to change out of the ridiculous uniforms. "I mean, it's scooping ice cream for giddy little kids. I would've thought that they'd be happier." You ranted, both of your new friends laughed. They understood. "I mean, they're little shits. They're parents are feeding them sugar, and they're assholes!" You let your hands drop to your thighs, making a loud slap.

"Yeah, it doesn't get much better." Steve snorted, grabbing his bag, heading to the men's bathroom.

"So," Robin said. "I didn't see your car out there, is your boyfriend picking you up?"

You snorted. "I think you're forgetting that I just moved here a few days ago. My brother is picking me up."

"Nice brother you've got there. What about your parents?" You hesitated when you went to grab your bag. You grabbed your pajamas - the only thing you were doing when you went home was going to sleep, you would take a shower in the morning - and shoved your hat into your bag.

"My dad left when I was little, and I decided to move in with my brother a few years back. My mom didn't have a problem with it." You had never gone over that detail of your backstory.

"Oh, cool." She smiled and walked out the back door. Guess she isn't changing.

You walked into the bathroom, you were careful not to let any of your clothes touch anything while you changed. You were nowhere near as bad a germophobe as your brother, but it was still disgusting.

You shook your body out, thankful to be in some comfortable clothes, and ran your hand over your face.

You sighed, content, as you walked out of the bathroom. You were ready for Spencer to come pick you up and go to sleep. You pulled out your phone, squinting at the bright screen. You turned the brightness down, the store was dark except for the last scattered light bulbs you would turn off when you left. You texted Spencer, telling him you were ready.

You sighed and looked up, only to see someone in front of you. "Jesus, Steve! You scared the shit out of me." You had slapped your hand over your chest and he let out a quiet laugh.

"Sorry, I was just about to leave." He smiled at you. "Is someone picking you up?"

"My brother is. He'll be here in a little while, I only live fifteen minutes from here." You nodded, following him out of the store, flicking off the lights.

"Okay. I'll stay here with you until he gets here. It can get pretty creepy here by yourself." He nudged you with his shoulder.

You smiled at the offer, "Thank you." Was all you said. It meant a lot though, it would have been absolutely terrifying to be here alone.

Thirty minutes went by, and no word from Spencer. You and Steve had sat there on the curb outside of the mall, talking about anything really. You found out you both liked some of the same music, and that he went to Hawkins High School. Where you would have went if you hadn't graduated early. He was really impressed by that, "My ex-girlfriend was really smart too." It got quiet after that, you didn't want to pry, even though you were curious.

"Shouldn't your brother have been here by now?" He asked after a couple minutes of silence.

You checked the time, you hadn't realized it had been that long. "Damn, I guess so. I'll try calling him." You sighed. This was turning out to be a ship shape day.

"Hey, I can give you a ride if you need one."

"Okay, let me just see what's going on really fast." You weren't very fond of getting a ride from someone you had just met, but if your brother hadn't left the house yet, you supposed you didn't have a choice.

The phone rang thrice before he picked up,

"I'm so so sorry, Y/n. I fell asleep on the couch. I'll be right there." You heard him stumble, and knock into something. You stood up, starting to pace behind Steve in the entryway of the mall.

"Spencer, calm down. I'll just get a ride from a friend that works at Scoops too. You can go back to sleep." You heard all motion on the other line stop, dead silence rang through the other side.

"What's their name? I don't think you should do that, Y/n/n. I don't know her." You sighed. His voice had done that thing where it gets all tight and high, you hated it. It gave you anxiety, you knew when you got home you were going to get a lecture.

"His name is Steve, it's fine Spencer. Calm down. I'm getting a ride home. I love you. Bye." You were dreading going home. It made your stomach twist, and you hung up before he could say anything else. It was an overreaction, you cutting him off like that, but you were old enough to get a ride home from a friend. Even if you were terrified.

"I'm sorry, Steve." You said, sighing. "Can you please give me a ride back to my apartment? I'm sorry for forcing you into this situation. I can call him back if you need me to." You turned to him, he was still sitting down on the curb.

He stood up, putting his hand on your shoulder. "It's alright. I'll give you a ride home, come on." He gestured for you to follow him.

You climbed into his car, and he twisted the key in the ignition. "Do you want the heat on?" You nodded, it was February and you were cold. You weren't expecting to be outside in just some night shorts and a too big flannel that covered a tank top. You rubbed your arms, you didn't realize you were cold until you felt the warm air kick in.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, of course. It's not a problem." He nodded, glancing over at you. Your phone was blowing up. Spencer was texting you, trying to get a last name so he could give it to Garcia. You knew they had been talking. You scoffed at him.

"What's wrong?" He shifted in his seat some, he was angled more towards you.

"It's nothing really." You felt like you had to tell someone. "Just my brother and some past drama." You didn't want to though. You barely even knew this boy. "It's just... Can I tell you something? If I do, you can never tell anyone."

He nodded, his eyebrows scrunching together. "No, never. My lips are sealed." He smiled at you, "zipping" his lips. But he became more serious once he saw you weren't playing around. "I promise."

You sighed. "My brother is an FBI agent."

He raised his eyebrows.

"And I'm under protective custody because of his job." You decided to dive right into it. Why sugarcoat it? You had already decided to tell him, why hold anything back.

"Wow." Was all he said.

#Not the hero part 2 #Spencer Reid x sister!reader #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #Steve Harrington fluff #Angst #Fluff #Smut #tw kidnapping #tw kidnap mention

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years ago

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Not All Are Bad

Summary: Dabi, formerly known as Touya Todoroki, was arrested. While being interrogated, he spills everything that his father did to him and his siblings until the day he disappeared from their lives. Now, not only are you and Shouto in danger of losing your pups, your friends are too. It's up to you and Shouto to prove that not all Pro Heroes are abusive parents and spouses.

TW: Enji Todoroki's A+ parenting (heavy 600 ton sarcasm), abuse, swearing, referenced child abuse, abusive relationships (not anyone from Class 1-A), nosy reporters, A/B/O dynamics (I don't think that's a warning, but I'm adding it anyway.), mentions of sex but not actual smut because this is a SFW blog, mentions of pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy. If I forgot anything, or anyone wants me to add something, please let me know! Slide into my DM's or leave a comment. I would hate to make anyone uncomfortable and I will change it as soon as I see the notification!

A/N: This just popped into my head today, so I figured I would write it out! Also, a little run down of how my A/B/O scenarios work is under the cut with the rest of the story in case these kinds of things make anyone uncomfortable!

Quick run-down (if you don't care skip past all of the italics and find the bold words and the space where the story starts):

Alphas: An alpha is someone who's alignment makes them a lot more domineering in certain situations. They tend to be natural leaders and don't appreciate being questioned by someone they perceive as lower ranking than them. They release strong pheromones that allow them a certain level of control over the other alignments, usually omegas, but there are omegan protection laws that keep alphas from using this to their advantage in unsavory ways.

They get ruts twice a year, which means that they just get really possessive of their mates and anyone they consider family. This is expressed in different ways, from your typical A/B/O scenario when they get really h*rny, to simply scenting their mates and family more than usual. They tend to take their ruts off from work, because the chemical imbalance in their brains can sometimes make them go feral.

*When an alpha goes feral they will attack anyone they perceive as a threat to them or their families. They can sometimes go after their mates or even their pups if they think their pups are hurting their mate. It rarely happens among families, but there are extenuating circumstances. Common signs include an excessive amount of growling, snarling, howling, snapping etc. Sometimes, depending on how strong an alpha's alignment, their eyes will flash a deep crimson. (Think Kurapika from Hunter X Hunter)

*When an alpha offers to share their rut with an omega or beta, it is either a related family members (or found family, someone they feel no sexual attraction to), or someone they have been courting with. It's a big deal when an alpha requests that someone they're courting spend their rut with them. It shows that the alpha is ready to commit to a more serious kind of relationship.

*These are the alignments most likely to impregnate an omega or a beta. Rarely are alpha x alpha relationships able to conceive and bring a pup to full term. (For the sake of ease, it's the usual nine to ten months.)

Betas: These tend to be your more neutral alignments. They can smell pheromones, but they tend to have less of a reaction to the other alignments. They tend to keep the peace among packs, simply because they are less likely to become swayed by pheromones. They can snarl and growl like alphas, but they also purr like omegas, they are kind of in the middle of the spectrum.

*They don't have ruts or heats, but they aren't sterile either. They can impregnate an omega or even another beta with little issue, though they have a harder time impregnating alphas. They also have a hard time bringing a pup to term. It's uncommon, but it does happen.

Omegas: Now, most A/B/O scenarios I have read make omegas seem weak and taken advantage of. Not mine. An omega can just as easily sway an alpha with their pheromones as an alpha could with an omega. There are certain things that are just courtesy when in public, and there are laws about using one's pheromones to one's advantage. Omegas also tend to have more of the maternal instincts, but that's not the entirety of their character.

*They are the most likely alignment to get pregnant, and they are the least likely to impregnate another alignment.

When omegas get their heats, it shows mostly the same way as when an alpha goes into a rut, but sometimes they also become a lot more affectionate with younger members of their family since their maternal instincts are on a high, and they tend to become more clingy to people they see as protectors, for lack of a better word, usually their alpha friends or parents, depending on the age. Alphas tend to get possessive, while omegas become more clingy and touch-starved.

Please note: Sex and gender have nothing to do with one's alignment. One's alignment is simply something that happens by chance and rarely makes one less worthy of something than another.

Children are called 'pups' but they are still referred to as kids and children etc.

Children start presenting from as early as nine to as late as eighteen, and it's different for every child. The alignments all have different symptoms.

Alphas become easily irritated, possessive, sometimes they become destructive or even go feral when they present. They also tend to run a fever, and their eyes sometimes turn crimson, even if they don't go completely feral. Female alphas don't get their periods. They just get the rut.

Betas just tend to have their scents change. Pups smell a certain way, but when one presents, the scent changes. They also tend to be more in tuned with their packs' feelings.

Omegas become touch-starved, clingy, and sometimes more emotion. They tend to get cramps and muscle aches. Think about a girl on her period, minus the blood. Female omegas don't get periods or bleed during their heats, and neither do male omegas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Touya, Reizo, come on guys, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up!" you called, laughing as your pups practically climbed over each other to get into the hallway from their room, Reizo with his sweater on backwards and Touya almost falling on his face trying to get his pants up over his knees and his very colorful Pro Hero Shouto boxers.

"Moooommmaaa!" Reizo whined, blue eyes shining brightly as he fixed his sweater. "Touya pushed me!"

"Reizo bit me!" Touya argued, face flushing redder than his hair.

"Come on boys, come here," you cooed, crouching down and gesturing them over. "Do you love me?"

"Of course!" they cried.

"Do you love Daddy?"

"Yes!"

"So you guys must love each other right?"

They glanced at each other, frowning, but flushed, telling you everything you needed to know.

"We're family," you told them, keeping your arm firmly around each of their waists, despite Touya being almost as tall as you. "And that means that no matter how much you fight, or how much you irritate the snot out of each other, at the end of the day, you love each other. Right?"

"Yeah," they muttered, albeit a little reluctantly.

"Okay then," you said, ruffling their hair softly. "And remember, no matter what happens, your father and I will do whatever we have to to protect you and your cousins."

They nodded.

"Alright, now Daddy has the car running downstairs, so we need to get going!" you said, ushering your boys out the door, making sure to lock the door behind you.

"No one forgot anything?" Shouto asked, climbing out of the car to make sure that the boys were strapped into the car properly. "Everyone has jackets?"

"Yup!"

"You have your keys, phone, wallet?" Shouto asked you, opening the door for you.

"Of course," you replied, buckling up, letting Shouto know that he could shut the door.

"Alright, well, we have to get going anyway," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before he moved to close your door.

"Momma, Dad, why do we have to do an interview?" Touya asked, frowning.

He was your oldest boy, thirteen and a spitting image of his uncle, who he was named after, save for a white streak in his hair that covered his left eye, that he inherited from Shouto.

His quirk was a fire type quirk, and it relied on his emotions. His flames changed color based on how he felt, and when his emotions got out of control, so did his flames. Unlike what Enji had done with Touya, you and Shouto had taught your son to understand and channel his feelings so that he didn't harm himself or anyone else by accident. He was extremely in tune with his feelings, and his communication skills were through the roof, despite his age.

He was also intelligent, already having skipped two grades, and he was much more mature than most kids his age.

You supposed that with both of his parents being Pro Heroes, along with most of your found family, that he had heard and had to deal with things that other kids hadn't been exposed to. Not to mention that he had started taking care of Reizo more and more while you and Shouto were gone, despite both of you trying to make sure that one of you was always home with them.

Reizo was named after his grandmother, and he was ten, with white curls with (Y/H/C) undertones, and heterochromic eyes. One was gray, the other was the same shade of (Y/E/C) as your eyes. No one knew where the curls came from, but you were assuming it was from your side of the family, since most of the photos you had seen of Shouto's side of the family made it clear that it wasn't from him. Reizo's quirk was also some sort of mutation quirk. He was able to manipulate light at will, it didn't matter what kind.

One night, after you had woken up from a nightmare, you had checked in to make sure that both of your pups were safe and found Reizo sitting up in bed with a small ball of light in his hands. He had turned four a few months before, and while the doctors had assured you that he had a quirk, he had yet to manifest it physically.

Shouto had assured you, and vice versa, that it didn't matter if your pups were quirkless, you would love them regardless.

Reizo, even at four, had known that you were upset, so he had put on a little light show for you, and had managed to keep permanent star charts all around his room as he got older. He had memorized so many constellations and their stories that it made your head spin.

You and Shouto couldn't have been prouder of your boys, but that didn't mean that you subjected them to the media the way some heroes did with their kids.

In fact, you had tried to keep your kids as far away from reporters as you could, but you had also coached them on how to deal with them as they got older.

Touya, a recently presented alpha, had become much more protective of you and Reizo when reporters tried to stop you in the streets for questions.

Touya had never been violent, and you had been so proud of him when he had hung a reporter with his own tongue after they had gotten under Touya's skin with personal questions they had no right asking a thirteen-year-old.

"Because some things have been happening with your uncle Touya recently, and people are nervous. We're hoping that this makes them feel safer," you explained, turning in your seat to look at your boys.

Shouto's grip on the wheel tightened enough that it made a small noise, and you reached over, touching his thigh lightly.

"Hey," you whispered, turning back around, "it'll all be okay, we haven't done anything wrong. They have no reason to take the boys from us."

"I know, but he screwed everything up, not just for us, but for our friends too."

"Wait, what?" you asked.

"Bakugou called me to tell me that every hero with pups is going to be getting investigated, just to be sure. He and Kirishima might lose Kazuki and Eichiro," Shouto murmured.

"Fuck," you muttered, quietly enough that you knew your sons wouldn't hear you.

"Bakugou isn't exactly thrilled, but he's too afraid to do anything about it like he normally would."

"I can imagine," you replied. "But it's fine. No one from our class is going to lose their kids. We all love our pups, and we love everyone else's."

Shouto nodded, and you could tell that he was really trying to believe you.

"Hey," you murmured. "We're gonna be okay. Me and the boys and you. We're all gonna be okay."

He nodded again, and his grip on the wheel relaxed a little bit.

Interviews like this always made Shouto edgy, but he was extra concerned about this one and what was at stake.

He hated putting the boys in the spotlight, he hated even taking them to a news station, but he knew that you all had to do this if you wanted to stay together.

"I love you," he murmured, taking your left hand, kissing your hand lightly.

"I love you too Sho," you told him, smiling at him softly.

"Ready to walk through hell?" he asked as he pulled up to the building.

"With you by my side?" you inquired. "Always."

Shouto, as always, climbed out first, drawing a cheering crowd, and opened your door for you.

Then you each grabbed a boy.

Touya moved to stand dutifully by his father, and they both moved to your side.

You had your hand wrapped tightly in Reizo's, who was on your left. Touya, on Reizo's left, had an arm around his brother's shoulders protectively, and Shouto stood at the other end of your little line, glancing at you and his boys every few seconds.

Cameras flashed, and there were fans there to show their support to you and Shouto. Some of them held signs, other had merch.

Touya copied his father, his eyes steadfastly forward unless he was checking on you or Reizo, and his head held high with a confidence you knew wasn't entirely faked.

Reizo, on the other hand, was glancing nervously back and forth as you made you way inside.

"Momma, I don't like it out here," he said.

"I know baby," you murmured, barely pausing as you scooped him up into your arms, hiding his face in your shoulder.

Reizo was small, even for ten years old, and you could easily carry him in one arm while the other rested on Touya's shoulder, a comforting gesture.

Reporters shouted questions, fans screamed for some attention, and some people just watched, stone faced and blank.

Touya opened the door for you, and you ruffled his hair affectionately while Shouto kept a protective hand on the small of your back.

Shouto, who had been the first of you to meet the hosts, lead your family through the building, waving away assistance with enough politeness that no one got offended, but got the point across that he didn't need their help.

"Momma," Reizo murmured sleepily.

"Yeah baby?"

"Are Touya and I going to be taken from you and Daddy?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it baby," you whispered, trying to control the pheromones that were leaking around your scent reduction patches.

You had been straight with Touya about what was going on, he didn't appreciate being treated like a child, but you had sugar-coated the explanation you had given Reizo. He still understood, but it was terms he could understand.

"I love you Momma," Reizo said, clinging to the back of your shirt.

"I love you too baby," you told him, kissing his forehead lightly.

You and Shouto had declined the list of questions the station had sent you, and your PR managers had already 'leaked' it to the media that you and your family were winging this.

You had told the boys to answer the questions honestly, unless they didn't want to answer a question that made them uncomfortable.

You and Shouto had had a long conversation with the boys about this kind of thing, about personal information protection when being questioned, tone of voice, all of it, but at the end of the day, you knew that someone would find a way to twist everything.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur before you entered onto the stage, Reizo still in your arms.

Shouto and Touya were on either side of you, and you suddenly felt as if you had two bodyguards.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Todoroki. Mr. Todoroki, Mini Todorokis," Nariko, one of the hosts, said.

Shouto nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders absentmindedly.

"Nice to see you again too, Ms. Tanaka. I apologize for my husband, his second cup of coffee hasn't really settled in yet," you snarked, nudging your husband playfully.

"Dad doesn't function properly until nine in the morning," Touya added, flashing one of those dazzling smirks that would have people bowing to his every wish in a few years.

"My own son," Shouto muttered, making you laugh.

"It seems like your youngest takes after his father," Tatsuya, the other host, offered.

"Reizo does like his sleep," you agreed, rubbing your son's back soothingly.

"He's been spending too much time with his Uncle Katsuki," Shouto muttered, and you chuckled.

"Hey, when we were in school, you and Katsuki were the only ones that went to be bed before ten," you reminded him, wrinkling your nose in a teasing way.

Shouto opened and closed his mouth a few times before he pouted, tugging, very lightly, on a stray piece of hair that fell into your face.

"So, Touya- is it alright if we call you that?- what's it like? Having both parents be Pros?" Nariko asked.

"I don't mind if you call me Touya," your son said, looking surprisingly relaxed. "You guys don't ask the weird questions that some other reporters do. But, to answer your question, it's been . . . interesting, for sure."

"How so?"

"Well, for once thing, it's always stressful seeing them fighting on TV, no matter if it's a small time attention seeker or a high profile criminal. Dad has been my role model since I was little, even more so since I presented as an alpha. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a Momma's boy," Touya said, sending you a fond look. "So I want to make sure Momma's safe."

People in the audience cooed, and you let out a small purr, ruffling your son's hair.

"What do you have to say to that Mom?" Tatsuya inquired.

"Both Shouto and I already know that Touya is a Momma's boy," you informed them. "Both boys are, though recently Reizo has been spending more time with his father."

Reizo shifted in your lap, slowly peeling his eyes open, glancing around.

He rubbed his eyes as they asked Touya a few more questions, before he crawled from your lap into Shouto's.

Shouto waited for him to get settled before moving to make sure Reizo was secure in his position.

"So, Mrs. Todoroki-"

"Please, call me (Y/F/N)," you interrupted. "We've been doing this since I was in high school."

"Fair enough," Nariko said, smiling at you. "(Y/F/N), what's it like for you? Being a mother and Pro?"

"The separation anxiety in the beginning almost made me quit," you joked, waiting for the laughter to die down before continuing. "But seriously, being a mother is stressful enough, but I was rising through the ranks, so was Shouto. We both knew that our jobs were dangerous, and we made sure that we talked it through thoroughly before we even got together. When I found out I was pregnant, we both took a few days off to talk about things. We both agreed that I was going to take myself out of the field, stick to desk work, that kind of thing, and then we argued on baby names."

"Speaking of baby names," Tatsuya said, making sure you were done before continuing, "you named your son Touya. Care to explain the name choice, given everything that's happened?"

You and Shouto glanced at each other, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was leaving this one to you. He wouldn't be able to get through it if he answered.

"Until recently, we didn't know that Dabi of the League of Villains was Touya Todoroki. Shouto and the rest of his family thought that he was dead. I don't know the full story, since Enji didn't like me to begin with, and Shouto doesn't talk about him much. Shouto was separated from his siblings because of his father."

You tried to reign in all the angry pheromones leaking out, but it was hard. You had never really liked Enji Todoroki, in the uniform or out of it, and hearing about the abuse over the years from Shouto and his siblings had lowered your opinion even more.

"Anyway, when we started talking about names, Shouto brought Touya up. He said, 'I want there to be one Touya Todoroki that gets to see all the good the world has to offer'. Once he told me that, I couldn't say no, besides, I wanted there to be one Touya Todoroki that saw what love was supposed to be."

You took Shouto's hand, interlacing your fingers, and your son took your other hand.

"You got what you wanted," your son told you, voice cracking with emotions.

"So, Touya, do you think that your parents are a good example of love?" Nariko asked.

"Without a doubt," Touya replied, almost instantaneously.

"You answered that very quickly," Nariko told him, eyes wide.

"For those who don't know, my quirk reacts with my emotions," Touya said, setting his hand on fire, the flames a bright gold. "The flames change color based on my emotions. From the first day that my quirk appeared, neither of my parents have ever lost their patience with me. They have both taken the time to communicate with me. They taught me that showing emotions isn't a bad thing, it's something that makes us human.

"My parents have never raised their voices at us, me or Reizo. Even when we probably deserved it, they've never yelled at us out of anger or frustration. Never. They've never laid a hand on us either. I've never seen Dad's eyes change color even a little bit when talking with me, my brother, or my mother. He's gotten mad at a few people who can't take a hint, but he's never been violent around the house. He's never yelled at Momma, and Momma's never yelled at him either. Not in the time I can remember. Dad taught me how to be a good alpha. I said earlier he was a like a role model to me.

"I watched the way he treated Momma and followed his example. Now I know how to treat my future mate, and how to make things work. My parents are a good example of a healthy relationship, love, acceptance, parenthood, and a bunch of other things. They taught me and Reizo that communication is the key to everything. If only it was the key to cooking, because I think that's the only thing neither of them can do."

The audience had been cooing at your sons little speech, then laughed at his unexpected joke.

Tears stung your eyes and Touya seemed to panic a little bit.

"Sorry Momma, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"I know honey," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm just happy."

He sank into your hug, arms tight around your waist.

Shouto rubbed a hand down your back soothingly, and you pulled away, wiping your eyes.

"So, Mr. Todoroki, you've been very quiet," Tatsuya said. "Why are you letting your wife and son answer everything."

"If there's one thing I've learned in the fifteen years that we've been together," Shouto said, "it's that my wife has a way with words that I lack. Luckily, both our sons have inherited that from her. Besides, I like hearing her and my children talk. I like hearing their voice much more than I like hearing mine."

"And you said you didn't have a way with words," you teased, and Shouto chuckled.

Reizo rubbed at his eyes, glanced around, and crawled over your lap to get to Touya, who let his little brother tuck himself into his side, yawning.

"Finally awake baby?" you asked, turning your attention to your youngest son.

"Yeah," he murmured, stretching before he settled down again. "'M not used to being up this early on a weekend."

"We know," Touya teased, patting his brother on the head.

"Rude Touya!" Reizo whined.

"Boys," you chirped, "save the bickering for when we get home okay? Let these people do their jobs."

"Sorry Momma," they both muttered.

You smiled at them, and Shouto shook his head with a small smile.

"Are they always like this?" Nariko asked, trying to hide a giggle behind her hand.

"Pretty much," you admitted, smiling brightly. "But they are our sons, it's to be expected that they get a little snarky."

"We certainly were," Shouto muttered.

"To say the least," you agreed. "God, high school was rough. We were such problem children, I don't know how Aizawa dealt with us, or any of our other teachers for that matter."

"Speaking of your U.A. days, Touya, you're in class 1-A currently, aren't you?"

"Yes, I recently got my acceptance letter," he confirmed. "I can't wait! I already met some of my other classmates already, since they're cousins of sorts, but it's gonna be great to see where Momma and Dad went when they were my age."

"And you were accepted through recommendations, but you took the public entrance exams didn't you?"

"Yeah," Touya said, nodding. "I wanted to show everyone that just because I was accepted through recommendations didn't mean that I didn't have the power to back it up, or that I thought I was better than anyone else. I wanted to prove that it was through my power that I got in."

Shouto's eyes shined at the words his son used, and you took his hand, remembering the words that Izuku had told him at your first Sports Festival together.

"That's my boy," Shouto murmured, leaning across your lap to ruffle his son's hair.

Touya grinned, fixing his hair.

"Reizo, do you want to be a hero?" Tatsuya asked him.

"No, I want to be a natural disaster first responder."

"Why don't you want to be hero?" Nariko inquired.

"Because I don't want to steal my brother's spotlight," Reizo teased, cutting a playful glare at his brother. "Besides, they're heroes too, they just aren't Pros. Most civil servants are heroes, they just don't have the same title. Momma and Daddy taught me that!"

Reizo beamed at you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him, wrinkling your nose at him, which he did back at you.

"(Y/F/N), Mr. Todoroki, do either of you have anything to say to the people who are questioning whether Pro Heroes can be effective parents?"

"I can't speak for all Pro Heroes," you said, your voice going colder. "But I can confidently, without hesitation, tell you that the entirety of my graduating class- those that have kids- are better parents than most of our grandparents were. None of them would ever hit their child. And yes, we're all training our kids to use their quirks, but it's to teach them control, and we aren't training them for battle. Our children are not soldiers. And I think some people need to be reminded that while heroes are capable of handling situations that others are not because of our training, we're still human.

"Every time we leave our kids, every time we go out, we know that we might not make it back home. I worry about my kids whenever I leave for patrols. Every time I come across a strong opponent, I worry about whether my kids are safe, whether Shouto is safe, whether I'm going to make it back home. And to those that are specifically questioning Shouto's ability to be a parent, I'm disappointed in you. For those that are more than willing to let him walk in harm's way to risk his life for them, but doubt his parenting skills, well, ask any alpha from our class and they will tell you that I was not an easy omega to get to know.

"As an omega that was almost deemed unbreedable, unmateable, for me to let Shouto anywhere near me should be proof enough, not to mention the fact that we have two amazing pups. Not every hero is Enji Todoroki. Not every hero is thinking only of themselves or their image. The reason we're heroes is to help the world. We're not looking for fame and glory. We're looking to keep the world safer for our mates and our pups. We're heroes, but we're human, we're parents. I'm disappointed in every person that ever praised Enji Todoroki for his parenting skills, I'm disappointed in everyone that was fooled by his 'hero' persona. He may have had a license, but when it came down to it, he was no hero, not in any of the ways that mattered."

You leaned back against the couch, tearing your eyes away from the camera, leaning against Shouto's side.

"I have to agree with my wife on this," Shouto said. "My father set the bar pretty low when it came to what being a functional parents as a hero looks like, but our class is setting the bar high. None of our friends have pups that are terrified of when they walk through the door after patrols. None of our nieces and nephews have ever hated their parents with serious intent. Every member of our class, which we all know is still referred to as 1-A, adores their children. Even Katsuki does, and when we were in high school all he cared about was being number one. He took time off from work to raise his pups, and if that doesn't speak volumes, I don't know what does. When we get home, Touya and Reizo always jump to their feet and hug us.

"Katsuki's kids are the same way with him and Eijirou. The number of times (Y/F/N) and I have been knocked over when we get home from patrols is insane, honestly. Denki and Hitoshi's kids are just like Denki, always smiling. We've made mistakes of course- what parent doesn't?- but that doesn't make us bad parents. My father was a bad parent, most of the time he was a bad person, and I made it my mission to not be like him in anyway. I think I did pretty well."

You took Shouto's hand, squeezing it.

"Our class is one big family," you murmured, "and every time the kids are with us or any of our former classmates, they always smile. Like Shouto said, we've made mistakes, and we'll probably make more. We're human, it's what we do, but we're trying our best to be good parents. Our boys know that we just want what's best for them, that we support them no matter what. We taught our kids that it's alright to be afraid of things, but we also taught them that we shouldn't be something they feared. Class 1-A wanted to be the kind of parents where instead of them thinking 'Oh shit, I can't tell Mom or Dad' we wanted them to think 'I'm in trouble, I need to call Mom and Dad'."

"It sounds like you did a very good job," Tatsuya said.

"He's right!" Touya and Reizo chirped.

"You all agreed to wing this interview. We personally watched your PR agents tear up the copy of questions we were going to ask you, though (Y/F/N)'s went further and dissolved hers in water, so you had nothing to prepare yourselves with. Why would you do that?" Nariko asked.

"Momma and Dad are great parents," Touya began. "We knew that any questions you asked us would have only good answers. They get frustrated with us, they get mad, but they handle it well, they never take it out on us. Twist our words however you want, but at the end of the day, that's my final answer. I wouldn't want anyone else to raise me."

"Same," Reizo said. "And anyone that thinks Momma and Daddy are bad at what they do needs to get their eyes checked."

"Reizo," you chided.

"Sorry Momma, but it's true," Touya agreed.

"My boys," you murmured, pulling them both closer, resisting the urge to cry.

"There you have it folks," Nariko said. "I don't think there are any other questions we need to ask."

"None," Tatsuya agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the interview was on TV, and you couldn't resist the urge to watch it.

You were home by yourself for now. Shouto was out on patrol, Touya was at the dorms getting settled in, and Reizo was at a friend's house for the night.

It was clear how much your boys adored you, and it was clear that neither boy was frightened at all of you or Shouto.

Katsuki had called, practically in tears, though whether that was from the sappiness of you and your family or the kind things you had said, you weren't sure.

Most heroes had been cleared of any suspicion, they had started in the higher ranks and worked their way down, so you and the rest of your class had been cleared already.

After you had all learned that you were cleared, kids had been dropped at grandparents' and other trusted family and friends so the adults could celebrate.

It had been nice to see everyone, and there had been a lot of tears (Izuku and Katsuki were the worst, though you had been close to them), but there had also been a lot more laughter and drunken shenanigans that you would never tell your kids about.

Your ranking, along with Shouto's had shot through the roof after that interview, and you and your husband had both gotten tons of fanmail apologizing for ever doubting, and other that said they had never doubted at all and that they were glad that you were cleared.

Shouto had been so relieved when the investigations had been dropped, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"I told you," you had told him one night, and he stumbled across the interview on twitter, along with someone's breakdown of it.

You were lying in bed together, his arm wrapped around your waist as you laid on his chest.

"I know," he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

"You will never be like your father, and you will always be my hero, same with the boys."

"Speaking of the boys," Shouto began, cheeks tinted a little pink.

"Oh no," you teased, pushing yourself up to see his face.

"I . . . I want to have another pup," he admitted. "I want to try for a girl this time."

"Upset that both of our boys are almost as devoted to me as you are?" you asked playfully, moving to sit in Shouto's lap as you both readjusted.

"No, I love that our boys love you as much as they do, but they are Momma's boys," he said. "I want a Daddy's girl."

You couldn't help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss him.

"Let's ask the boys in the morning," you suggested. "Then we can try for a girl."

Shouto beamed at you, and you shook your head at him, kissing him again.

"Dork," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I would've asked sooner, but with the investigations going on, I didn't think it was the right time."

"You're right, it wouldn't have been, but we would've worked it out. We always do."

Shouto nodded, burying his face in your neck.

"I love you Shouto," you told him.

"I love you too (Y/F/N)."

#shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #fluff #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: endeavor

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thehangeddemon · 3 years ago

Text

Waiting for a Tuesday || Self Para || September 14, 2021

☠ WARNING ☠

This work contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and torture

Reader discretion is advised

“More tea, sir?”

Xavier glanced up from his newspaper and gave the waiter a pleasant smile. He shook his head. “I’m fine, John, thank you. You can bring me the check as soon as y—”

“Actually, John. Why don’t you go ahead and bring us another pot of tea? Anything but English breakfast,” he added with a chuckle that almost sounded condescending. “I don’t share my son’s fondness for it.”

The waiter watched as a man, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere and was dressed head to toe in black, invited himself to sit opposite Mr. Rossmara. He’d said ‘son’, but he didn’t really look old enough to have a son Mr. Rossmara’s age. He didn’t really resemble him either but that seemed less strange somehow.

What was strange was the way Mr. Rossmara was looking at the man across from him. He looked…stunned, like he’d seen a ghost or something. But beneath the surprise was an indiscernible emotion on Mr. Rossmara’s face that John thought looked just a little like fear.

At the stranger’s expectant look, John collected himself and cleared his throat, addressing Mr. Rossmara. “…Sir…?”

Xavier seemed to collect himself as well, though far more subtly. He folded up his newspaper and put the pleasant smile back on his face, determined to make it seem like nothing was wrong. Only someone who looked very closely would see how forced the smile was, or how measured his movements were.

“Yes, of course. Does earl grey meet with your approval?”

The man smiled like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “It does.”

“Very well. A pot of earl grey then, John.”

The waiter nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Xavier waited until John was well out of earshot before he spoke again. “Hello, Father. I didn’t expect you.”

Zagan let out another of those condescending laughs that set Xavier’s teeth on edge and dragged him right back to all his memories of Hell. “No, I’m quite certain you did not.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“My dear boy, it was hardly a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes. For as long as you’ve had your shipping business, you’ve come to San Francisco every Tuesday without fail to check in. And without fail, you finish your work just before teatime. By your own admission, this hotel has the best afternoon tea in the city. All I had to do was remember the name of the hotel and wait for a Tuesday.”

Zagan helped himself to one of the cucumber sandwiches that remained on the tray. “You’ve become predictable in your old age, my boy.”

Xavier had to fight to keep from shifting in his seat. Not any-bloody-more. He’d be changing that particular habit immediately. It didn’t suit him at all for someone outside his household to have such intimate knowledge of his movements, especially if that someone was his father. Such information was dangerous in the hands of a man like Zagan. It didn’t matter if it was only the day and location of a standing reservation for tea and cake, Xavier knew from experience that the less his father knew, the better.

Which was largely why he didn’t take any great pains to see him. Unless, of course, he was forced to.

“I see,” Xavier said, settling for an amused smile since a laugh was impossible. “I suppose I am becoming a bit predictable. Anyhow, it’s nice to see you, Father. Have you been well?”

“Well enough.” Zagan was watching him carefully, studying every nuance in his expression, listening to the tone and inflection of every word. Becoming familiar with anything that had changed since the last time he’d seen his demonic progeny.

Thankfully Xavier didn’t have to endure it for very long. John soon returned with their tea, giving him a reprieve from paternal scrutiny as it was poured. It was the only thing that would for the next little while.

This time it was Zagan who waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “So. Tell me. How is that shipping business of yours doing? And your myriad other ventures?”

The next hour or so was spent in what one could call easy conversation. They spoke of Xavier’s businesses, the sights he’d seen, the things he’d collected, the weather, the state of the world. Perfectly light, perfectly casual. At least from an outsider’s perspective.

From Xavier’s point of view things were far more fraught. Everything he said had to be carefully weighed, and there was a desperately thin line between revealing too much and appearing withholding, between looking at ease and projecting discomfort.

Having a conversation with his father hadn’t always been this difficult. In fact, just a few years ago Xavier would have been—and had been—completely comfortable not only talking to Zagan but spending entire days in his company. He’d even sought him out once or twice. But then, Xavier had had far less to lose a few years ago. He hadn’t had a child, a fiancé, staff that depended on him, friends he cared for.

He had all those things now. He had more than he’d allowed himself to have in fifty years, and the memory of how things had gone then still lived all too vividly in his mind.

Getting back to a point of comfort with Zagan after that hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. There hadn’t been a choice. It was either swallow his pain, grief, and desire for vengeance and make nice, or tempt his father into carrying out his threats.

Sitting here now, Xavier felt much the same as he had then; trapped, resentful, and desperate to get away.

He had no illusions of being able to do that any time soon, however, even when his father finally asked for the check. After such a long absence, Zagan was sure to take up as much of his time as possible.

His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately.

“Come,” said Zagan, getting to his feet. “Let’s take a walk.”

Xavier remained at the table while his father stepped outside, indulging himself with a long, weary sigh the moment it felt safe to do so. It had only been an hour and he was ready for another five-year interlude in their relationship.

What had brought Zagan up from Hell anyway? Surely this visit hadn’t only been for tea and a walk with him. His father hated humans, hated looking at them and being amongst them. There had to be another reason and no doubt it was something Xavier really didn’t want the know the details of.

“Probably scouting his next project child,” Xavier muttered to himself as he pulled his card from his wallet.

Bill settled, he stepped out into the late summer evening and breathed deeply. There was a chill in the air that said autumn was well and truly on its way. Soon the days would grow shorter and the nights longer. His collection of coats would emerge from storage. Every hearth in the manor would roar to life with cheerful, welcoming fires.

He sighed again, longing for the comfort of home as he looked for Zagan among the crowd of people in front of the hotel. That expression of disdain was easy to spot.

“Where shall we go?” Xavier asked, approaching him.

“I don’t know how you can stand it.” His father’s tone all but dripped disgust. “Being here day in and day out among these…creatures and the stench of their cities. It’s revolting.”

“I’d rather smog than brimstone.”

“I think I prefer brimstone.”

Right. That nipped the notion of walking on the street squarely in the bud. If only that were enough to dissuade his father, but alas.

Fortunately, there was a park nearby.

Zagan didn’t say a single word as they made their way there, clearly preferring to stew in his distaste until they were well clear of anyone who might catch a snippet of their conversation. Of course, he hadn’t been nearly so averse to it back at the hotel.

Xavier would just chalk that up to the difference between a well-appointed dining room and a crowded street.

His father’s demeanor seemed marginally more pleasant as they entered the park. It wouldn’t be empty for a good while yet, but it was an improvement from the street. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough of one to tempt him to stay much longer.

A few long minutes of not-quite-companionable silence passed before Zagan saw fit to fall into conversation again. The additional privacy meant they could discuss things that were far more relevant to his father’s interests than the weather or the goings on at a shipping company. Namely, any magic Xavier had learned, magical artifacts Xavier had acquired, and any kills Xavier had made.

The latter would perhaps prove to be a bit of a disappointment. Not only did Xavier kill less frequently these days, his choice of quarry had changed. The people that he’d once hunted were those he found interesting or amusing or intriguingly intelligent; only on the very rare occasion did he hunt someone who truly deserved it.

That was no longer the case. Lately when Xavier hunted it was only people who truly deserved it. He went for rapists and abusers. He went for people who hurt children, including and especially priests. There was immense satisfaction in knowing exactly where those people were going and what awaited them when they arrived, and even more in describing it in vivid, excruciating detail as they bled to death among the debris of a forest floor.

Hell was a far greater torment than anything he could visit upon them, and he was more than happy to send them on their way.

Zagan let out a loud, derisive laugh at that. “Are you indeed?” The old demon laughed again, putting Xavier’s back up and setting his teeth on edge. “My dear boy, you have been away from Hell too long. Who would’ve imagined? My son, the divine hand of justice for ne’er-do-well priests the world over. Never mind predictable; you’ve grown positively moral in your old age.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Xavier said softly, fighting to unclench his jaw.

His father gave him an amused look. “No?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve merely…unearthed an intolerance I didn’t give sufficient regard to before.”

“Have you? Well.” Zagan chuckled and adjusted his sleeve, looking positively chuffed in a way that both infuriated and unsettled. “You never did like priests. Who would, having had your childhood? I suppose that particular aspect of your personality was bound to rear its head again eventually. Perhaps…it’s entirely appropriate that it should do so now.”

Xavier didn’t register the movement until it was too late. He only had a moment to feel his father grabbing his arm before he was whisked through the familiar vacuum of demonic travel, and even less to register his new surroundings before he was thrown bodily against something cold and unyielding.

“You unearthed an intolerance, did you?” Zagan’s voice, so casual and amused just seconds ago, now quivered with rage.

Xavier went flying again, this time into something that splintered beneath the force of his weight. Wood?

“And when exactly did you do that, Xavier? Was it perhaps around the time that you became a father?”

Again, back into the unyielding cold. Stone. “Father, plea—”

“Not that I can even tell, since I’ve scarcely seen the child—my grandchild—more than twice since the day he was born!”

Xavier cried out as he was flung for a fourth time, several bones breaking upon landing forcefully on a stone floor. There was something soft beneath him, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough to cushion his fall.

He braced for another hit, relieved when none came. He could still hear the echo of his father’s furious footsteps, however, which meant the torment wasn’t over. Far from it. The pleasant Zagan of earlier was gone, and who had remained in his place was someone Xavier was very, very familiar with.

Familiar enough to know that he had only a few precious seconds to catch his breath and orient himself.

There wasn’t much he could see from this position apart from the ceiling of whatever edifice they were in but, not wanting to draw attention to himself too soon—or move lest he worsen his breaks—he observed what he could by turning his head.

Said ceiling, high and crisscrossed with thick wooden beams, appeared to be constructed of the same stone as the walls and floor. Dusty chandeliers covered in thick cobwebs were hung every few feet, the candles in them long unlit. The same went for the metal sconces on the walls.

He appeared to be lying in the middle of an aisle bordered on either side by what he could only assume was the wooden something he’d been thrown int—

No. Not just wood. Pews.

Xavier struggled into a sitting position, heedless of his broken bones and desire for inconspicuousness in his rush to confirm his suspicions, to confirm what he already knew.

Panic rose in his chest as he saw the cross silhouetted in stark relief against the waning sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window.

They were in a church.

Had this been any other time on any other day Zagan wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to mock and use his son’s fear against him. Xavier’s childhood memories of being harrowed and abused by his stepmother and local priest amused him to no end but on this day, he didn’t so much as comment.

He just stalked down the aisle toward Xavier and slammed him back against the floor with a flick of his hand.

“After all,” he said, voice dangerously soft as he crouched beside his son. “I can hardly drop by for a visit now, can I? Not with all those wards you have on the estate that threaten to annihilate anyone who comes in unannounced.” He almost smiled. “You’ve amassed quite the bag of tricks over the last fifty years.”

Xavier could only shake his head. “The wards aren’t—”

“Aren’t what? Aren’t meant to keep me out?” Zagan scoffed, giving Xavier a dubious look as he grabbed a handful of his hair from the back of his head and stood. “Dear boy, do you really expect me to believe that?”

He gave Xavier’s hair a good hard yank, ignoring his son’s cries of pain as he dragged him down the aisle and deposited him on the small set of stairs leading to the altar. “You didn’t ward against me fifty years ago only because you didn’t know how to. If you had, you would’ve done it in a trice to help keep that pathetic little slave of yours out of my grasp, but I’m sure that’s already occurred to you.”

Indignation fought its way in beside pain and panic, and Zagan noticed. His son’s emotions had always been pitifully easy to read, moreso when they ran as profoundly as he knew this did. The servant was still a sore spot even after all this time.

Zagan paused.

“Had you realized?” he asked, crouching again to run a single finger down Xavier’s cheek, those ancient eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “That this year marks the fiftieth anniversary? Had you realized, my beautiful boy, that half a century had passed since you came so close to defying me?”

Fifty years of pain and rage and grief so rarely expressed churned in Xavier’s gut and pulled at his soul. That his father could speak so cavalierly of Maximus and his loss made him want to scream and be ill in equal measure.

Had he realized? How could he not, when every day for the past year and a half had been a battle against remembering? How could he not, when every day he walked halls and sat in rooms identical to those Maximus had once drawn breath in, only to remember that they had burnt to the ground?

How could he not, when dead leaves and rose petals and ash were still enough to bring him to tears?

The same tears that streamed down his face now. Xavier was powerless to stop them and even if he could have, he likely wouldn’t have. After what he’d done to Maximus, an acknowledgement of his grief was the least Xavier could give him, even if his father was the only one who witnessed it.

“Oh my, look at that.” Zagan stroked his son’s face again, collecting those tears and rubbing the moisture between his fingers. He tsked, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s been an absolute age since then. How can a measly little servant still cause all this upset, hm? There now.”

Zagan slipped one arm under Xavier’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting and carrying him the rest of the way up the steps as if he weighed absolutely nothing. He gathered Xavier close, even took care not to jostle him too much.

Such loving gestures were not uncommon for the old demon. There were times in Hell when he had been the absolute image of gentleness and paternal affection, when he had held him as he did now and given him a reprieve from the torture.

But more torture had always followed. Showing him affection was rarely meant to comfort; it was meant to torment.

“I’m sure you feel like the past few decades have been a trial, but you see, I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.” Zagan set Xavier down as carefully as he’d picked him up, petting his hair as that indignant look returned to his son’s expression. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t doubt you’ve suffered a great deal over your servant. I don’t see why you would when they’re so readily available, but I don’t doubt it. I just think you haven’t quite…put things in perspective.”

With of wave of his father’s hand, every sconce, chandelier, and candelabra flickered to life, allowing Xavier his first real look at the derelict church. Not that there was much to see. No one had set foot in here for a very long time, let alone used it as a place of worship.

But when he turned his head, Xavier saw something that made his blood run cold.

Until now he’d felt trepidation, resentment, emotional anguish. Only when he saw the lines of a demon trap scorched into the threadbare carpet beneath him did he finally feel fear.

“Father…?”

“You see, my dear, I don’t think you realize how easy you got off all those years ago.” Zagan shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Father, please—”

Zagan knelt beside him. “My own son considers rebelling against me, disobeying me, gives a servant pride of place over his father, and what does he have to pay for it? Absolutely nothing.” He unbuttoned Xavier’s suit jacket and shirt, undid his trousers. “My son defies his father and still he gets to keep his estate, his businesses, his treasures. His life. All these things my son gets to keep, he goes virtually without punishment for fifty years, and does he realize that? Does it occur to him how generous his father has been in his infinite mercy? No. Rather than show gratitude, he has the childish audacity to believe he is the aggrieved party!”

Xavier didn’t see Zagan move. There was just an awful squelching sound, then searing pain as his father, having pierced his torso with a bare hand, sliced it upward and gutted him like a fish from groin to sternum.

“Which doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed your efforts,” Zagan said calmly above the echoing din of his son’s screams. Casually. “You’ve been such a good boy, treating your papa to afternoon tea and accompanying him for a walk. But I have been far too lax with you. You see that, don’t you?”

He gripped the jagged edges of Xavier’s wound and forced them apart to another chorus of screams. “All those wards, the prolonged absence.” Zagan shook his head. “There comes a point where it all gets to be a bit too much. What’s that expression? Getting too big for your britches? I think you’ll agree you got too big for yours a very long time ago. What’s more, I think you’ll agree that it’s high time that you paid the piper.”

Zagan got to his feet and made his way over to the wooden table beneath the stained-glass window at the head of the altar. He retrieved a hammer, a covered metal bowl, and a set of railroad spikes and brought them over to the demon trap, kneeling again.

Xavier could only watch him, borderline delirious as his chest heaved and his wounds bled. He didn’t dare lift his head to look at the damage; he’d seen enough of his own insides in Hell.

There was a vague hope that his blood would break the demon trap and allow him to get away, but he knew it was impossible even as he thought it. Zagan had prepared for this.

There was no getting away, especially once the first spike was hammered through one of his feet, piercing shoe leather, flesh, and carpet as it was driven into the stone beneath. Xavier bit back another scream, only to give in as his father pinned his arm above his head and drove the second spike into his hand.

“A necessary precaution,” Zagan explained, moving around to repeat the process on Xavier’s other side, barely reacting to the scent of demonic flesh charred by iron. “To make things easier for both of us. Remember what I always used to tell you?”

The third and fourth spikes were driven into Xavier’s free hand and foot, rendering him not quite immobile, but significantly limiting his range of motion. He was left completely vulnerable to Zagan.

“Well?”

He turned toward his father. The demon was looking at him expectantly, warmly—a complete contrast to that cold smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

“The more you struggle,” Xavier began, breathing raggedly, “the more it will hurt.”

“That’s exactly right. Good boy.” Zagan bent to kiss his brow and set the hammer aside. “Now be a love and stay still for your papa while he works.”

“What are you going to do?” Asked in a voice too soft and timid to belong to a demon.

“I thought you might ask. You see, I needed to come up with an appropriate punishment.” Zagan reached into his abdominal cavity and tore out a chunk of his liver, placing it on the carpet beside him while his son howled in agony. The shock and blood loss weren’t enough to kill him, of course, but there would be a great deal of both before Zagan was done.

“It had to fit the crime, else how could the lesson be truly felt?” His stomach joined his liver, spilling its bloody contents as it hit the floor with a sickening plop.

Xavier hadn’t felt pain like this since Hell. He wondered for a moment if he was in Hell. That endless red sky and the ceiling of the church blurred together in his mind while the stone under his back became the rocky banks of that boiling river of blood. He heard a scream—or perhaps a thousand—but no longer registered it as his own.

When his father spoke, he heard it as only an echo.

“I mentioned taking your estate and your belongings but upon reflection, that wouldn’t be a practical solution to the problem. You could always acquire more, and really, what do I want with a bunch of wine and trinkets and land?” The other half of his liver followed, then his spleen and pancreas, all added to the growing pile of viscera.

Zagan turned to Xavier, whose screams had quieted to pained whimpers as he began coughing up torrents of blood. “No matter how you look at it, it would only be an inconvenience to us both. An inconvenience, not a punishment. That was when I realized that there was something I could take from you that would serve as an appropriate punishment.”

The old demon reached into Xavier’s body with both hands this time, ripping through sheet after sheet of connective tissue as he worked to tear out Xavier’s intestines. Messy work but very necessary, although he did find himself wishing he’d brought a blade to speed up the process. But that’s what happened when one was forced to move with haste; things were bound to be forgotten.

To Xavier, that process seemed to take hours. Perhaps it did. He couldn’t help but think it would’ve been kinder to just kill him.

His only comfort was that the shock setting in made his body go almost numb, a small mercy for which he gave profound thanks. It was liable to be the only one he got. He only wished he could go deaf as well, or better yet, fall into blessed unconsciousness so he wouldn’t have to listen to or feel the rending of his flesh.

More hopes he knew would be dashed.

Such was Zagan’s concentration on his task that he fell silent. Humans did have such a lot of parts, but he had gotten most of it. It would do.

He gathered the slippery mass in his hands, considering adding them to the pile before deciding to simply drop them on his son’s lap. They didn’t need to be removed entirely, just moved out of the way.

“Right,” he sighed, looking around at his handiwork while he gathered his thoughts. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Your punishment.”

Zagan scooted a bit closer and tenderly took Xavier’s face in his hands, smiling beatifically as he stroked his son’s cheeks and smeared that handsome face with blood. “I believe you’ve lived in poor dead Christian for quite long enough, my precious one. Don’t you?”

For the second time since this ordeal began, panic took hold of Xavier. Not just a trickle of it, but huge, violent waves that made his adrenaline surge and had him struggling against his restraints despite the burning pain of the iron.

Please, God, let him not have heard correctly. Surely it was the delirium, the blood loss making him think his father had said what Xavier thought he’d just said. Or if had said it, perhaps Xavier just didn’t understand his meaning. It could mean anything, everything. Too much. Was it to be his life, a return to Hell? Was it—

“Settle down, Xavier,” Zagan chided, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “What did we say, hm? The more you struggle the more it will hurt, and this is going to hurt quite enough without you thrashing about like a landed fish. Settle.”

“Wh-what is?” Xavier’s voice was a raspy, choked sound, devoid of its usual elegance. For all that he struggled—or tried to, before pain and fatigue forced him to stillness—it was a battle to get out every single word. “Fath…father. What are y-you going…?”

“What am I going to do?”

At his son’s jerky nod, Zagan smiled and stroked his face again. “Just what I said. You’ve been living in Christian Deidrich’s body for far too long and it’s time for a change.”

“But w-what—”

“I’m going to take you out of Christian, Xavier. You will be removed from this vessel and placed into a new one.”

Xavier looked at this father in abject horror for a few silent, eternal moments before panic and adrenaline flooded back in with a vengeance.

He began to struggle to free himself in earnest as his father’s words and their full implications sank in. Whatever he’d suffered so far—gut-wrenching reminders of the past, the sear of iron, the removal of his organs—it would be nothing compared to what he knew awaited him now.

At this very moment, even the full weight of what it meant to lose Christian as his vessel couldn’t hold a candle to Xavier’s fear.

This reaction pleased Zagan immensely, and unlike before, he was perfectly happy to let Xavier wear himself out. In this weakened state it was all he’d manage to do, which would only make things easier once the real work began.

Besides, even if by some chance Xavier did tear the wounds around the spikes and freed himself, he was still inside the trap. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Zagan hummed to himself, giving his son’s cheek one last pat before getting to his feet.

One by one, he brought candelabras over to the altar. Not many remained after so many years of the church having been abandoned, but they were enough to give him the light he needed. The larger ones were placed around the perimeter of the trap and the smallest just inside. A single candlestick was placed beside Xavier.

Had he been able to, Xavier would’ve knocked that stupid candle over and set fire to the rug. Something his father probably would’ve considered if he wasn’t so obviously confident that it wouldn’t happen.

Xavier couldn’t deny that he was right to be. Already he was exhausted to the point of giving up. Physically, at least.

“Father…” he wheezed. “Plea…please…don’t—don’t do this to me…”

“Ahhh, I see we’ve moved from anger to bargaining,” Zagan chuckled, returning to his son’s side. “I understand, of course. A new face will be an adjustment after so many decades spent looking at the same reflection in the mirror, but don’t worry, my dear one. You’ll get used it.”

Xavier shook his head, swallowing back more tears. He didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted to remain in his body. No matter how mangled it was, it was his, and leaving it would mean suffering beyond measure in more ways than one.

“The spell…”

His father nodded patiently. “Yes, yes, I know. You locked yourself in. An excellent notion, truly. After all, one can never know who does and does not know an exorcism rite. No doubt it would have spoiled your fun if in the middle of a hunt, your quarry dispatched you back to Hell.”

Zagan stroked his hair again. “Pity that your good judgement should have to hurt you now.”

Tears began to flow freely again as Xavier tugged at his restraints with all the might he had left. It was precious little. “Fat-ther, please…please d-don’t…please…”

“Hush now. Begging won’t save you, Xavier.” Zagan picked up the bowl that until now had sat untouched beside the revolting mess of entrails. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered from the very fact that you’re able to be here, the church we are currently in is no longer consecrated ground. Faith left this place…” he shrugged, “a century ago, perhaps more. But despite that, there is one thing I’m so terribly curious to know.”

He removed the lid. “I wonder…despite the decades of absent devotion…if this water is still holy enough to hurt you.”

“N-nononono wait, don’t—!”

An awful steaming hiss drowned out his protests as Zagan slowly began pouring the bowl’s contents into Xavier’s abdominal cavity.

“You’re making it worse,” he said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the cacophony of tortured screams and howls of demonic pain.

His admonishment fell on deaf ears. The moment the first drop of holy water had touched his mutilated insides, Xavier had begun thrashing about in a desperate, mindless effort to escape from the torment.

Exhaustion had no hope of stilling his movements, even if those movements caused the water to splash and slosh about and cause even more pain. This was beyond the physical, beyond the human. Short of an exorcism this was the greatest suffering that could be inflicted on a demon, and Xavier had the great misfortune of knowing that was precisely what awaited him next.

He screamed, he sobbed, he begged his father to stop. At some point he even succeeded in tearing free of two of the spikes. But still the ordeal continued and would until the bowl was empty.

It would continue even when the bowl was empty, because for all that Xavier had moved about, a good deal of holy water remained on and inside of him. As long as it did, nothing would stop the screaming.

“Shhhh, darling, shhhh,” Zagan cooed at his son, pulling out the spikes that still restrained Xavier’s limbs so he could turn him on his side and empty out the water. It had completed its intended purpose and was thus no longer required.

He eased Xavier onto his back again and picked up the candlestick. “Right. I would very much like to say that’s the worst of it over, but we both know that’s not the case. Tell me, should I bother asking where you carved it?”

Although agonized groans and broken sobs had replaced blood-curdling screams, Xavier wasn’t in any condition to listen to his father, much less respond.

“I thought not. No matter. I have a fair idea which rite you used, and I believe that particular one calls for the inscription to be placed on the spine.”

At last, the true reason for the evisceration revealed.

Zagan brought the candle close to the gaping void that was Xavier’s torso, using its light to find exactly where the spell had been carved into the bone—a slightly easier task now that the holy water had rinsed out most of the blood.

“Ah, there it is.” Zagan tried to make out the symbols to confirm his suspicions. “What did I tell you?” he chuckled, setting aside the candlestick. “Predictable.”

Xavier had been left even weaker than before. His chest barely rose. His skin, already pale from loss of blood, looked gray and lifeless. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t burning in agony. The dread and fear and grief he should have felt eighty-six years ago when the hangman’s noose had been placed around his neck fell upon him now, far more heavily than they would have then.

Still, he had to try just one more time.

With what little strength he had left, Xavier turned to his father. “Please,” he begged, the barely audible whisper ragged and frail. “Father. Please…please don-n’t. You don’t—don’t kn-now…” he gasped for breath, “…what you—you’re take…tak-king…”

There was a beat of silence during which Xavier thought, just for a second, his father looked apologetic.

“But I do,” Zagan murmured, taking Xavier’s bloody, tear-stained face in his hands. He stayed like that for several moments, studying his child’s features one last time. He loved this face. It gave him no pleasure to destroy it. “I know exactly what I’m taking. My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

He bent to place a tender kiss on Xavier’s forehead. “Don’t fret. The pain won’t last. You’ll still be beautiful, I promise. I could never take that from you. You’ll even look like your brother.” He kissed Xavier’s forehead again, his brow, his cheeks, allowing them both the indulgence of true affection for just a moment.

Perhaps it would offer some comfort in the days to come.

Sighing, Zagan took the candlestick again and made another examination of the spell his son had used to lock himself in. It was simple, but perfectly effective against exorcisms and other such attempts to dislodge a demon from their vessel.

The symbols themselves were spread across four vertebrae and, upon closer inspection, appeared to be burned into the bone rather than inscribed. He had no doubt the process had been rather painful; things like this always were.

He reached in and carefully tore the first vertebra from Xavier’s spine, ensuring he removed only bone and nothing else.

Painful, yes, but not as painful as its reversal. Not in his hands.

Zagan recited a small incantation under his breath, brushing his thumb back and forth over the symbols as if merely rubbing away a bit of dust. With every swipe the symbols grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether, leaving behind nothing but clean, unmarred bone.

He held it up to the candlelight and examined it again. Pleased, he tossed it away and pulled out the next one.

Xavier, no longer strong enough to scream, could only groan and sob as his father ripped yet more parts out of his body, overwhelmed by fear and pain.

But there was another sensation as well; an odd, supernatural pull somewhere deep inside his being. It seemed to exist independently of the pain, and had nothing to do with what was happening to him physically.

It did, however, have everything to do with what was happening to him magically. This body, having been technically dead for so many decades, was dying again. In all reality it had already died again, and as his father methodically did away with his lock, Xavier’s hold inside his vessel began to loosen.

By the time the last vertebra was torn from his spine and the symbols on it erased, that hold was all but nonexistent.

“There we are,” said Zagan, sighing again as he smiled to himself. “Now the real work begins.”

Even if he’d been inclined to bother with an exorcism, it was no longer necessary. Given enough time Xavier would be forced to leave Christian’s body on his own, but Zagan wasn’t inclined to wait.

Instead, he reached into his son’s abdominal cavity one last time, thrusting through dead flesh and fractured bone and into the very core of him, physical and metaphysical, feeling around until his hand closed around what he sought.

Making sure to maintain an iron grip on his prize, Zagan ripped Xavier free from what remained of his moorings. When Zagan’s hand emerged, bloody and singed, it held a cloud of oily black smoke that crackled with electricity.

There were no anguished screams to mark this final parting, no sobs or desperate pleas to echo off the stone.

There was only the burnt out, mutilated husk of a body, the scent of sulfur, and a cloud of oily black smoke.

Zagan smiled at the smoke and released it, leaving it free but still stuck inside the demon trap, before pushing the husk out of the way to give himself more room to work.

What came next would require every last ounce of his will and concentration. This was magic he did not inherently possess, and if he could not see his vision clearly, if he could not believe in it wholly, it would not bear fruit.

He closed his eyes, steeling his will as he began to draw every bit of energy in the room outside his own toward him, no matter how small. The remnants of Xavier’s emotion, the electricity of a demon in true form, the lifeforce of the plants surrounding the church—all were taken and absorbed.

Even the candles were drawn in, extinguishing themselves one by one as Zagan pulled their heat and energy close, inserting his will and chanting ancient magic to manipulate the mass of energy to his whim.

And there, in the middle of the demon trap, it slowly began to take form. A single point of light that pulsed and grew as yet more light surrounded and encased it, becoming a womb for an old demon’s creation.

With every pulse, the air shimmered as it regained its charge, making Zagan’s skin prickle and burn to the point of pain. But still he did not buckle, digging even deeper and giving even more of himself as he watched the light become something at once both liquid and solid, something that elongated and molded itself until it resembled a human body.

Almost done.

He looked up at where the cloud of smoke hovered above his head. It would be cleaner to do it in one fell swoop. Faster. Even for a being as old as he was, keeping this level of concentration took its toll. Mere seconds could be the difference between success and miserable failure.

The new vessel was almost complete; the moment it was, he would draw Xavier into it and seal him inside. He had to move quickly, but gingerly, with the precision of a surgeon.

Zagan took a deep breath. Clenching one hand as tightly as he could to hold his creation in place, he used the other to draw his child down and guide him into his new vessel.

A different kind of light began emanating from the body as it was slowly given life. Zagan grit his teeth against the strain as it grew in strength, as he was pushed to the very edge of his limits by the effort of controlling so much raw energy.

No sooner had the last wisp of black smoke disappeared from view than the light burned out with enough force to shatter every window in the crumbling church.

Zagan fell back, utterly exhausted but brimming with triumphant hubris as he gazed upon his creation. His vision, made flesh.

It was perfect.

Zagan spent a few moments catching his breath and recuperating some of his strength, after which he got to his feet to gather himself. He adjusted his sleeves and went to retrieve his coat, brushing off bits of colored glass before slipping it back on. He placed the bowl and the candlestick back on their table, took a piece of glass and sliced through the carpet, breaking the demon trap.

And when he finally approached the unconscious, supine body that now belonged to Xavier, and watched as he drew his first breath, Zagan bent to place a kiss on his forehead.

“Perhaps now you’ll learn,” he whispered. “My beautiful boy.”

A rustle of wings, and Xavier was left alone in the darkness.

#Waiting for a Tuesday self para

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skellebonez · 4 years ago

Note

Since it's been a while since I prompted you, 38/51 for Traffic Light Trio and Spicynoodleshipping?

It’s also been a while since you... sent this... I am getting through my prompts slowly but surely! Hopefully the wait was worth it, it has been a while since I have written TLT or SpicyNoodles alone so this was really enjoyable! I apparently missed this more than I realized as this is quite long! (There are references to a past fill as well, but this can be read stand alone.)

If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down/Can you two save the kissing for later?

“For the love of- stop trying to get up Noodle-Brain!” Red Son snapped, albeit more with exasperated worry than anger this time. “You’re only going to make it worse!”

“No, really, I’m fine!” Xiaotian insisted, moving to once again attempt to stand.

He was not fine and his face soon came into contact with an impromptu date with Red Son’s open palm, catching him before he landed on the floor instead. Normally Xiaotian would have pulled his face back with a muttered "sorry" or "thanks" or "wow Red that was shockingly nice of you".

Instead he groaned and allowed himself to just kind of... hang there, his weight being held by that palm that probably felt oddly normal temperatured to him at the moment. Understandable given that his face was flushed red and that even to Red's naturally warmer body temperature touch he felt overheated in fever.

This was not quite the sight Red Son had expected to see when he had ventured out into the city on his own, just wanting to have some kind of time away from his work to gather his thoughts about... well, a lot of things. Ever since the entire fiasco with the Lunar New Year festival his mind had been wandering back toward when he worked with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao and things that happened afterwards.

He still had the phone he had accidentally kept from the green dragon and they had talked a few times. More than a few times. ... ok, maybe they had been texting near daily and had calls every other night and maybe he started watching her streams out of curiosity, and maybe he had been added to a group chat with the Noodle Boy and started to text him too, but he didn't really have anyone else to talk to outside of the his parents and Bull Clones! They were still enemies, just friendly ones! Frenemies! And it had been... nice. To talk to someone who seemed interested in what he wanted to say. And maybe understood him a little. Maybe possibly... didn't actually dislike him as much as he had believed initially.

... and maybe Red Son was deluding himself when he said he didn't actually like either of them, but that was neither here nor there! His thoughts were getting away from him!

The point was thus- he'd gone into the city for a break with the intention of heading to his private apartment he had for such occasions, happened upon one Noodle Boy laying face down on the seat of his (otherwise empty and clearly not being used for work that day) delivery vehicle looking absolutely miserable and burning up, and against his better judgment he took him back to said apartment. That was shockingly easy considering Xiaotian was pretty much passed out due to the high fever combined with his moving around and the fact Red Son could lift the vehicle himself if he wanted to (he didn't, he just took the keys with them so no one would make off with it).

And so that was how Red Son found himself in this predicament. In his apartment with the AC on just enough to be slightly uncomfortable, one sick Monkie Kid doing his best to remove himself from his couch with a cold compress on his forehead while insisting he was fine when he clearly was not, debating on whether or not he should have taken this dumbass to the hospital instead. If only because he was being frustrating to keep still.

"You are most clearly not 'fine', now lay back down," Red Son said with a warning growl, pushing his rival (gently, he wouldn't be so callous as to kick someone while they were down like this) back into the mound of pillows he had laid out for him. He never had visitors so he may as well make the best of this and pull out what he had in storage so they could be used for once. "If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down."

"... ok," Xiaotian finally acquiesced, closing his eyes and laying back into the plush around him and looking even worse than he had before he had been trying to convince the other he was fine. (Though had he not looked clearly sick the sight would have been almost cute to-NO! Red was not going to think that.)

Red Son didn't know what precisely was wrong with him, though based on his symptoms and reactions it was likely a basic but now out of control flu (regardless, he knew he himself was in little to no danger of most human illnesses) and helping him recuperate here (because no one except Red Son was allowed to defeat the Monkie Kid, not even an illness!) was looking like a more reasonable idea now. But he couldn't help but wonder how had the other man allowed himself to get this bad. Why had he even gone outside in his state? He wasn't working, his lack of normal uniform or delivery orders was evidence enough of that, so it wasn't as if he had been forced to go out by his boss. Was he just too stubborn? Did he think he would be ok for a few minutes and not realize he was this ill? The delivery boy was of no help in that regard, brushing off every attempt from the fire demon to learn the answers to those questions. He wasn't delirious, he just refused to answer!

So instead of trying to push again Red Son sighed and stood up. When Xiaotian opened his eyes to look at him in curiosity he frowned at the deep dark bags under them (had he ever been sleeping?) and the dull sheen they seemed to have before he held his hand up in a "stop" motion.

"You stay right there. I meant that threat. I am going to be back in 10 minutes. Do not test me..." Red stood, lifting both his arms for a moment before giving the other another glance. "And don't, uh... die, I guess."

And then Red was gone in a wave of his arms and a flash of fire.

He landed at the entrance to a nearby convenience store, not somewhere one would normally think he would frequent but convenience was convenience. And they had very good coffee to grab when he ran out in his apartment. Yes, he was a Villain with a capital V and could just torment the staff for free goods... but he knew that if he did that long enough the stores would start causing him trouble or close down and that would negate the convenience.

No, it wasn't because the first cashier that greeted him was willing to pay for his goods believing he had forgotten his wallet and thus felt guilty for his first attempt at doing so. And he would deny that until the day he died.

That wasn't his goal for the day, however. Red Son may not get ill the way humans did, but it felt useful to him to know how how to treat the more common ailments in the event his family may be forced to work with one. So he grabbed a basket and made a quick beeline straight for the nearest aisle with medicine.

In even less than the 10 minutes he cited he had a basket filled with flu medicine, more cold compresses, soup broth, and much more. Yes, all of this was absolutely necessary. He didn't care that much about his nemesis, he just wouldn't let an illness make him weak. Nope. That was the only reason. Nothing else. He totally wasn't caring for someone he considered a friend, he didn't have friends, not even Xiaojiao was a-

"Red?"

Crap.

"What are you doing standing in line at a convenience store?" Xiaojiao asked, and as Red turned back to her he saw that she had... some very similar items in her own basket, plus some comics. At his eyes widened in realization she looked down at his own basket and sighed. "... either this is a very interesting coincidence or Xiaotian did something he shouldn't have."

Red entered his apartment through the door, the noise rousing the apparently lightly sleeping man on his couch.

"Red? You're back alrea-!?" Xiaotian snapped his mouth shut as he turned his head and opened his eyes to see the wide smiling face of a, clearly to someone who knew her well, angry Xiaojiao. "... I'm in trouble aren't I?"

"Oh you have no idea," she replied lightly, setting down the snacks and books and other assorted items she had purchased while Red made his way into the kitchen with his purchases. "I told you I would be at your apartment with stuff after I finished covering your shift for you, so would you like to explain why Red Son found you nearly passed out in your tuk-tuk half way to the nearest store?"

Though her words were sharp and snappy, it was clear to the listening Red that they were so in genuine concern for her friend. There was a mutter from Xiaotian and a questioning sound from Xiaojiao before the man cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"You already helped me out... I just wanted to try to get that stuff myself so you wouldn't have to do more. I was feeling pretty ok until I drove for a while..."

Ah. So that explained it. Xiaotian had just been going out for medication himself. Not the best idea with a fever of his magnitude, but understandable if he believed he could handle something that simple. Red had begun to wonder if he had been trying to head to Flower Fruit Mountain with bow evasive he was being, but this was a much less disastrous answer.

"Xiaotian, you're my best friend," he heard Xiaojiao say in a much softer tone, and there was the sound of the shuffling on the couch. "I wanted to help you, it didn't matter to me how much it was. I've helped you get to Flower Fruit Mountain and kick demon ass! A delivery shift or two and a convenience store run is something I'd do in a heartbeat. Now open your mouth, I grabbed a thermometer so we can see how bad off you actually are."

There was an agreeable sound and a chuckle, then silence as Red continued what he had been doing. Taking out a dose of medication and preparing something for Xiaotian to eat. Or, rather, drink along side the tea he was also preparing for himself and Xiaojiao. It was little more than chunks of tofu and soup broth with some mild flavoring, something simple and easy to make and eat while sick and-

Red Son held his face in his hands and groaned softly as he waited for the broth to warm. What was he doing? His greatest enemies were in his living room, one sick with fever, and he was preparing medicine and food for him. Frenemies? Only he could defeat them? Is that really what he was telling himself to justify his actions? That they were friend-enemies and they were his to beat?

That was a bold faced lie and he knew it. Had known it for a while. Maybe since he first called Xiaojiao just to speak with someone who would listen to him. Maybe since he first watched her stream in curiosity. Certainly, though, since he accepted being added to the group text she had named "Traffic Light Trio" (really? What kind of name that that?). He would have never done that had he not considered them his friends, he knew that deep down. He just didn't want to admit it (and he super did not want to admit that he maybe felt his own face warm up when they complimented him or that he had butterflies in his stomach the off times they called him by nicknames).

As he turned off the now lightly boiling broth and set it to the side to cool, Red Son began to admit to himself that maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the Noodle Boy. It seemed that out of the three of them Xiaojiao had firm hold on the only available brain cells when it came to interpersonal relationships.

But that train of thought was not helpful at the moment, so he pushed it down (deeeeeeep down) as he gathered everything up and made his way to the couch again.

The sight that greeted him gave him pause Xiaojiao sitting on the arm of the couch and running a hairbrush through Xiaotian's tangled hair, Xiaotian looking slightly better thanks to the compress against his forehead and smiling softly against the pillows.

There were those butterflies. Oh. Red Son had it bad.

"So?" He asked, drawing their attention to himself as he sat everything on the nearby table. "How bad is it?"

"Not enough to take him to a doctor yet," Xiaojiao answered with a chuckle as she hopped down. "Though I think what you did before helped with that."

Red flushed a bit himself in response, grumbling under his breathe as he shoved the medicine and a cup of water into Xiaotian's hands. "WELL. Take this and. Maybe it’ll stay that way!" He attempted to sound as snappy as normal but the looks on both his guests faces told him he failed miserably in that regard.

"Thanks, Red," Xiaotian said with an earnest smile, and the butterflies were back and Red Son couldn't help the slight sparking of his hair in response.

"Don't mention it. Ever." He grumbled a bit, taking the cup before sighing and helping Xiaotian sit up straighter. "You shouldn't eat half laying down." He maneuvered the pillows to make a little wall between Xiaotian and a space next to the arm of the couch. A space he quickly occupied himself before handing him the bowl of broth over his shoulder. "So you don't have to move more."

The other two looked at each other with surprise on their faces before Xiaojiao smiled and sat on the other arm as they grew silent. Xiaotian eating, Xiaojiao playing on her phone, and Red... well. He tried to look like he was doing something on "his" phone, the one he took from Xiaojiao and replaced the old case with a showy flame covered one. But in reality he was just sitting there staring into space thinking "holy crap this is happening what have I done what happens next oh crap".

"Hey Red?"

"YES!?" He asked far too loud and quick with a squeak in his voice as his hair flared at Xiaotian's words, clearing his throat before repeating himself in a much more appropriate tone (only to earn a giggle from Xiaojiao).

He felt the other man lean back against him, and before he could even begin to fight his flush on his face he heard him chuckle as well. "I appreciate your help."

"L-like I said... don't mention it..."

Xiaotian chuckled again in reply and sighed, leaning completely against Red Son and as he looked over and down he saw his relaxed face and flushed deeper and... it felt nice.

He wondered why he ever pushed down his feelings before.

Xiaojiao grabbed the dishes with a knowing smirk, heading into the kitchen with a few parting words.

"Can you two save the kissing for later? Maybe when Xiaotian isn't sick?"

Both men flushed as deep as they could and sputtered out denials in response, and if that wasn't an indication that Xiaotian maybe felt similarly to Red as Red did to him...

#oh god i must have missed writing them a lot #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #ship fic #mk #qi xiaotian #red son #mei #long xiaojiao #traffic light trio #spicynoodleshipping #chimerashipping #(if you want it to be)#prompt fill

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

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